Harry Turtledove - Aftershocks

Pierre translated that rather more bluntly. Monique gave him a dirty look. He laughed at her. But Ttomalss definitely was not a fool, for the thought had been in the back of her mind. While she wondered what to say, Pierre offered his advice: “If you mean yes, say yes. If you mean no, say yes anyway. They think we’re all sex-crazy all the time, anyway. It’ll help push him.”

“All right. Thanks. Translate this…” Monique thought, then said, “Yes. We’ve never had the chance yet, and I can hardly wait. We’ve just been friends up till now.”

After putting that into the Lizards’ language, her brother nodded vigorously. “Good. Real good. Friendship counts for a lot with them.”

“I’ve seen that from the questions he asks about the Romans,” Monique said.

Ttomalss sighed again. “In spite of your desire, however urgent it may be, I doubt I have the influence to do as you wish… Why are you two Tosevites laughing?”

Monique and Pierre looked at each other and started laughing again. “How do we explain he sounds like the worst bad film ever made?” Monique asked.

“We don’t,” Pierre said, which was also probably good advice.

“Back to the main argument, then,” Monique said. “Tell him Auerbach did me a large favor, and I want to pay him back.”

“What sort of favor was this?” Ttomalss asked. “I suspect it was no favor at all. I suspect you are inventing it to fool me.”

“I am not,” Monique said indignantly, though Pierre probably wouldn’t be able to translate the indignation. “If it weren’t for Rance Auerbach, I wouldn’t have my position here at the University of Tours.”

“Now I know you are lying,” Ttomalss said. “I happen to know for a fact that Senior Researcher Felless of the Race obtained that position for you. She was the one who suggested I talk to you about the history of the Romans.”

Monique nodded to herself. Now the question was, were Felless and Ttomalss friends or just professional colleagues? She said, “Senior Researcher Felless got me the position because Auerbach urged her to.”

“Urged her to, you say?” Ttomalss echoed. “Do you mean he threatened to publicize her ginger habit again?” (“ ‘Again’?” Pierre said. “So she’s got caught before, has she? Isn’t that interesting?”)

“Auerbach hasn’t said anything about it to the Race’s authorities since, not that I know of,” Monique told Ttomalss. “Not yet, anyhow.”

“Not yet?” Once more, Ttomalss repeated her words. Once more, he sighed. “You will next tell me that, if he stays imprisoned, he will accuse Felless of using ginger. The question you should ask yourself is, do I care?”

“No, superior sir,” Monique said. “That’s the question you should ask yourself, don’t you think?”

Sure enough, there was the rub of it. If Ttomalss didn’t care at all what happened to Felless, he’d be less likely to help get Rance Auerbach out of prison. Instead of directly replying right away, he said, “You want to help the Tosevite gain his freedom because he did you this favor. Do you remember that Senior Researcher Felless also did you the favor of obtaining this position for you? Is it just that you should threaten her after she gave you that assistance?”

“She wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been for Auerbach,” Monique said.

“Do remember something else as well,” Ttomalss added. “If you got your position thanks to the Race, you can also lose it thanks to the Race.”

“I know. Believe me, I know,” she said. “But I was working as a shopgirl before Rance Auerbach did me that favor. I can find work as a shopgirl again.”

“I daresay I could find another Roman historian, too,” Ttomalss warned.

“What do you think?” Monique asked Pierre.

“If he meant to tell you no, he’d have done it already,” her brother replied.

“I think you’re right. I hope you’re right,” Monique said. “Tell him this: I’m sure he’s right. If he wants to do that, he can. But if he wants to keep working with this Roman historian, he needs to give me some help here. He’s not paying me much money to work with him, and remind him of that, too.”

After Pierre translated, Ttomalss let out another sigh. “I can make no promises, but I will see what influence I can bring to bear,” he said at last. (“You won’t get any more than that out of him,” Pierre said.) “Can we now continue with our discussion of grades of Roman citizenship?”

“Yes, superior sir,” Monique answered, as meekly as if she were only a scholar of classical civilization, and not a blackmailer at all.

Glen Johnson had company as he rode his scooter through the scattered drifting rubble of the asteroid belt, though he was alone in the cabin. He couldn’t see his company with the naked eye, either. But his radar assured him he wasn’t alone in this stretch of space. One of the Lizards’ probes followed him on his rounds.

This wasn’t the first time a probe had shadowed him as he went hither and yon, either. He wondered if the machine had received instructions from back on Earth to keep an electronic eye on him, or if the computer controlling it had decided to follow him on its own. Mankind remained behind the Race when it came to computer-guided machinery. Just how far ahead the Lizards were wasn’t quite clear.

“Okay, pal,” Johnson said to the probe, not that it could hear him. “You want the grand tour, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

He remained convinced that, no matter how smart the probe was, he was smarter. It was faster and stronger and more accurate. But he was more deceitful. If the probe wanted to learn more about what all the Americans were up to out here in the vicinity of Ceres, he would cheerfully lead it down the primrose path.

His radar guided him toward one of the rocks on which a work crew had mounted a motor: a weapon, in other words, aimed at the Lizards back on Earth. He used his little maneuvering jets to go all around the asteroid, examining it in microscopic detail. The Lizards’ probe also went around the rock, though it stayed several miles farther out than he did.

After finishing his inspection, he radioed the Lewis and Clark: “Asteroid code Charlie-Blue-317. All installations appear to be operating according to design.”

That done, he took the scooter away from the asteroid and on toward another one of similar size about twenty miles ahead. He gave the second floating chunk of rock the same meticulous inspection he’d given the first one. As before, the Race’s probe followed him. As before, it also went all around the asteroid. There was only one difference: this asteroid didn’t boast a motor.

Even so, Johnson sent a radio message to the Lewis and Clark: “Asteroid code Charlie-Green-426. All installations appear to be operating according to design.”

Having said that, he went on to the next rock on his list. This time, the Lizards’ probe didn’t follow him quite so quickly. Instead, it kept prowling round and round the asteroid he’d code-named Charlie-Green-426. He knew exactly what it was doing. It was trying to figure out why he’d gone there and what installations he was talking about. He wondered how long the Lizards would take to figure out that he was yanking their tailstumps. The longer, the better.

By the time he was done inspecting the next asteroid-which also remained untouched by human hands-the probe had caught up with him. He sent off the usual kind of message: “Asteroid code Charlie-Green-557. All installations appear to be operating according to design.”

Then he had a new thought. Instead of heading off toward another drifting hunk of rock, he pointed the scooter at the Lizards’ probe and used the radar to steer toward it: it was so efficiently blackened, he couldn’t see it till he got very close. The scooter mounted machine guns. He didn’t know what sort of weaponry the probe mounted, and didn’t want to find out here.