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“We could do that,” Shpaaka admitted, “but both of them, aside from this sexual perversion, perform their jobs very well. Still, sanctioning permanent unions of this sort would surely prove destructive of good order. Why, next thing you know, they would probably want to rear their hatchlings themselves and teach them the same sort of revolting behavior.”
This time, Reuven did laugh. He couldn’t help it. He made himself grow serious again, saying, “We Tosevites do not consider any of the behavior you have mentioned to be disgusting, you know.”
“I would agree. It is not disgusting-for Tosevites,” Shpaaka said. “We of the Race found it disgusting in you when we first learned of it, but that was some time ago now. We have come to see that it is normal for your kind. But we do not want our males and females imitating it, any more than you would want your males and females imitating our normal practices.”
“Some of our males might enjoy your mating seasons, while their stamina lasted,” Moishe Russie said. “Most of our females, I agree, would not approve.”
“You are being irrelevant,” Shpaaka said severely. “I had hoped for assistance, not mockery and sarcasm. Except for their drug addiction and perverse attraction to each other, Ppurrin and Waxxa, as I say, are excellent members of the Race.”
“Why not just ignore what they do in private, then?” Reuven asked.
“Because they refuse to keep it private,” Shpaaka answered. “As I told you, they have requested formal recognition of their status. They are proud of what they do, and predict that, on account of ginger, most males and females of the Race on Tosev 3 will eventually find permanent, exclusive sexual partners.”
“Missionaries for monogamy, “Moishe Russie murmured.
Reuven nodded. “What if they are right?” he asked Shpaaka.
His former mentor recoiled in horror. “In that case, the colonists on Tosev 3 will become the pariahs of the Empire when the truth is learned back on Home,” he answered. “I think it altogether likely that the spirits of Emperors past would turn their backs on this whole world as a result.”
He means it, Reuven realized. The Lizards dismissed his religion as a superstition. He sometimes did the same with theirs. Here, that would be a mistake.
He said, “If you do not wish to punish them and you do wish to silence them, why not suggest that they emigrate to one of the independent not-empires? — to the United States, perhaps. Ginger is legal there and”-of necessity, he dropped into English-“they could get married, too.”
“That is a good idea.” Moishe Russie used an emphatic cough. “That is a very good idea. It would get this couple out from under your scales, too, Shpaaka, so they cannot agitate among the colonists any more.”
“Perhaps.” Shpaaka turned an eye turret toward Reuven. “I thank you, Reuven Russie. It is, at any rate, an idea we had not thought of for ourselves. We shall consider it. Farewell.” His image disappeared from the screen.
“Lizards who want to get married!” Reuven turned to his father. Now he could laugh as much as he wanted to, and he did. “I never would have believed that.”
“They’ve made people change a lot since they got to Earth,” Moishe Russie said. “They’re just starting to find out how much they’ve changed, too. As far as they’re concerned, changing us is fine. But they don’t like it so well when the shoe is on the other foot. Nobody does.”
“If they could stamp out ginger, they’d do it in a minute,” Reuven said.
“If we could stamp out alcohol and opium and a lot of other things, a lot of us would do it, too,” his father said. “We’ve never managed it. I don’t think they’ll have an easy time getting rid of ginger, either.”
“You’re probably right, especially since we use it so much in food,” Reuven answered. “One of these days, though, they may try-try seriously, I mean. That will be interesting.”
“There’s one word for it.” Moishe Russie winked. “If these Lizards do get married, who’d give the bride away?”
Before Reuven could reply, the ordinary telephone rang. He went over and picked it up. “Hello?”
“Dr. Russie?” A woman’s voice, one with pain in it. “This is Deborah Radofsky. I’m sorry to bother you, but I just kicked the wall by accident, and I’m afraid I’ve broken my toe.”
Reuven started to tell her that a doctor couldn’t do much for a broken toe no matter what-news that always delighted his patients. He started to tell her to come to the office in the morning if she really wanted to get it examined. Instead, he heard himself saying, “Remind me of your address, and I’ll come over and have a look at it.” His father blinked.
“Are you sure?” the widow Radofsky asked. Reuven nodded, a useless thing to do over a phone without a video attachment. After he gave her assurances she could hear, she gave him an address. It wasn’t more than fifteen minutes’ walk away; Jerusalem was an important city, but not on account of its size.
“A house call?” Moishe Russie asked when Reuven hung up. “I admire your energy, but you don’t do that very often.”
“It’s Mrs. Radofsky,” Reuven answered. “She thinks she’s broken her toe.”
“Even if she has, you won’t be able to give her much help, and you know it perfectly well,” his father said. “I don’t see why you didn’t just tell her to come to the office tomorrow morn…” His voice trailed off as he made the pieces fit together. “Oh. Mrs. Radofsky. The widow Radofsky. Well, go on, then.”
After grabbing his doctor’s bag, Reuven was glad to get out of the house. His father didn’t mind his paying a professional call on a nice-looking widow. His mother probably wouldn’t mind when his father told her, either. What the twins would say-no, he didn’t want to contemplate that. At romantic fifteen, they thought he was a fool for not having gone to Canada with Jane Archibald. About three days a week, he thought he was a fool, too.
He had no trouble finding the widow Radofsky’s little house. When he knocked on the door, he had to wait a bit before she opened it. The way she limped after he came inside showed why. “Sit down,” he told her. “Let me have a look at that.”
She did, in an overstuffed chair under a lamp, and held up her right foot. She winced when he slid the slipper off it. Her fourth toe was swollen up to twice its size, and purple from base to tip. She hissed when he touched it, and hissed again and shook her head when he asked her if she could move it. “I have broken it, haven’t I?” she said.
“I’m afraid so,” Reuven answered. “I can put a splint on it, or I can leave it alone. It’ll heal the same either way.”
“Oh,” she said unhappily. “It’s like that, is it?”
“I’m afraid so,” he repeated, and tried to make her think about something besides his inability to help: “What’s your daughter doing?”
“She’s gone to sleep,” the widow Radofsky answered. She wasn’t easily distracted. “Why did you bother coming here, if you knew you wouldn’t be able to do much? You could have told me to wait till morning.”
“It’s all right-it might have been just a nasty bruise. It’s not, but it might have been.” Reuven hesitated, then added, “And-I hope you don’t mind my saying so-I was glad for the chance to see you, too.”
“Were you?” After a pause of her own, she said, “No, I don’t mind.”
13
“Scooter calling Columbus. Scooter calling Columbus,” Glen Johnson radioed as he approached the second American constant-acceleration spaceship to reach the asteroid belt. “Come in, Columbus.”
“Go ahead, Scooter,” the radio operator aboard Columbus said. “We have you on our radar. You’re cleared to approach airlock number two. The lights will guide you.”
“Thanks, Columbus. Will do. Out.” The lights aboard the spaceship had been guiding him for a little while now. He’d hardly needed the chatter. But the Columbus’ radio operator on duty was a woman with a nice, friendly voice. He enjoyed listening to her, and so talked more than he might have otherwise.
; He had no idea whether he would enjoy looking at her; they’d never met in person. He knew he enjoyed looking at the Columbus. That’s doing things right, he thought. The Lewis and Clark had started out as a space station, and had had to be expanded and revised before leaving Earth orbit. It had reached the vicinity of Ceres, yes, and done what it was supposed to do once it got here, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the spacegoing equivalent of a garbage scow.
By contrast, the Columbus had been designed and built as an interplanetary spacecraft from the inside out. It wasn’t quite so elegant a piece of engineering as a Lizard starship, but it was on the right track. It was a series of spheres: one for the crew, then a boom, another sphere for the reaction mass, then a second boom, and finally, in lonely splendor, the nuclear engine that heated and discharged the mass. It was a better job in just about every way than the Lewis and Clark. And the spaceship that came after the Columbus would be better still. Human technology wasn’t static, the way the Race’s was.
