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Sam Yeager sent him a look of mingled surprise and gratitude. He thought I was going to squawk, Jonathan realized. And Jonathan might well have squawked if he were the age he had been when his father went into cold sleep. But he’d done some growing and changing of his own in the seventeen years till they put him on ice.
He set a hand on his father’s shoulder. “It really is okay. I’ll just stay tuned for the next exciting episode, that’s all. We’ll find out who done it then, right?”
“Well, sure,” his father answered. “Right before the last commercial break. That’s how it always works, isn’t it?” They both smiled. Jonathan wished life really were so simple. Who didn’t? Who wouldn’t?
He went back down to the lobby. He more than half expected to find Inspector Garanpo poking around there, looking for signs of ginger. But the Lizard had left. Garanpo had a disorganized air that was also disarming. Jonathan had the feeling a keen brain lurked behind that unimpressive facade.
With a sigh, he went into the refectory. He couldn’t do anything about whatever Garanpo found out. He hoped his father could. Whether anyone up on the Admiral Peary would pay attention to the American ambassador was an interesting question. Sam Yeager was a civilian these days, while the starship was a military vessel. Would Lieutenant General Healey remember he was supposed to take orders from civilians? If he didn’t, what could Dad do about it?
Frank Coffey was sitting in the refectory talking with Kassquit. Jonathan would have liked to hash out some of his worries with the major, but he couldn’t now. What he would have to say wasn’t for Kassquit’s ears. Jonathan hoped Coffey did remember not to tell his new lady friend too much. Then he laughed at himself. He’d assured Karen that that couldn’t possibly happen, and now he was worrying about it.
Kassquit and Frank Coffey laughed. They had not a care in the world-not a care in more than one world. Jonathan envied them more than he’d thought he could. He had worries, sure enough. So did Coffey, as a matter of fact. The only difference was, he didn’t know it yet.
How stupid had they been, up on the Admiral Peary?
When Sam Yeager had a long conversation with Lieutenant General Healey, nobody aboard the Admiral Peary except the commandant officially knew what they talked about. That didn’t keep rumors from flying, of course. If anything, it made them fly faster than ever. As soon as Glen Johnson heard a rumor involving Healey and ginger, he just nodded to himself.
Sure as hell, the scooter hadn’t performed the way it should have when he took it over to the Horned Akiss. Sure as hell, it had seemed as if the little rocketship was heavier than usual. It had been heavier than usual. Somebody must have figured out a way to pack it full of ginger while fooling the Race’s sensors-or maybe the Lizards using those sensors had been well paid not to notice anything out of the ordinary. Such arrangements were common enough on Earth; no doubt they could be cooked up here, too.
Johnson felt like kicking himself because he hadn’t figured out what was going on before he delivered the scooter. He didn’t like thinking of himself as a chump or a jerk. What choice did he have, though? Not much.
He wasn’t the only one on the starship to work out what had probably happened, either. When he came up to the control room to take a shift less than a day after Yeager and Healey talked, Mickey Flynn greeted him with, “And how is everyone’s favorite drug smuggler this morning?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Johnson answered. “You can’t mean me.”
“I can’t? Why not?”
“Because that would violate regulations, and I’d get a spanking if I violated them.”
“This has, of course, been your abiding concern since time out of mind.”
“Why, certainly,” Johnson said. “Would I be here if it weren’t?”
“The mind reels at the possibilities,” Flynn replied. “Even if you were smuggling drugs to the Race, though, why would you worry about it?”
That was a good question. In truth, Johnson didn’t much care how the Lizards amused themselves in their spare time. He wouldn’t have minded sending them ginger… if it had been his idea. His voice roughened as he answered, “I’ll be damned if I want that shithead in charge of us making me do his dirty work for him.”
“I’m shocked-shocked, I tell you. Anyone who didn’t know better would think you’d conceived a dislike for the man.”
What Johnson said to that had something to do with conceiving, but not much. His opinion of Lieutenant General Healey was certainly less than immaculate.
It seemed like fate, then-and not a very benign sort of fate, either-that the commandant of the Admiral Peary summoned Johnson to his office as the pilot came off his shift. Mickey Flynn said, “There, you see? He was listening all along.”
“I don’t care. He already knows what I think of him,” Johnson answered, which was true enough. But, however little he wanted to, he did have to find out why Lieutenant General Healey wanted to see him.
Healey greeted him with the usual unfriendly glare. But he said nothing about what Johnson had said in the control room. Instead, fixing him with a glare, the commandant barked, “Are you ready to fly the Lizards’ scooter back to the Horned Akiss? We’ve learned everything we’re likely to from it.”
“That depends, sir,” Johnson answered.
Healey’s bulldog glower only got angrier. “Depends on what?” he demanded, hard suspicion in his voice.
“On whether you’ve loaded it up with ginger, the way you did with ours. If you have, you can find yourself another sucker, on account of the Lizards are going to land on whoever tries to pull the same stunt twice like a ton of bricks.”
“You’re the best scooter pilot we’ve got. It’s almost the only thing you’re good for. I can order you to fly that scooter,” the commandant said.
“Yes, sir, you sure can,” Johnson agreed cheerfully. “And you can fling me in the brig for disobeying orders, too, because I won’t take it out of the air lock till you tell me the truth about it.”
“I always knew you and that Lizard-loving Yeager were two of a kind,” the commandant snarled.
That answered Johnson’s question without directly answering it. “Why don’t you send Stone, sir?” he asked in turn. “He’s always happy to do anything you say.”
“He is the senior pilot,” Healey said stiffly.
“You mean you can’t afford to lose him but you can afford to lose me?” Johnson said. “Well, sir, I’ve got news for you: I can’t afford to lose me. So when you send that scooter over, find yourself another boy to ride herd on it.”
The commandant glowered at him. Healey had come to expect insubordination from him over the years. Outright insurrection was something else again. “Consider yourself under arrest, Colonel,” Healey said. “Report to the brig at once.”
“Happy to, sir,” Johnson answered. “Only one question: where the hell is it? I haven’t gone looking for it till now. I didn’t even think we had one.”
“We do, and you have so,” Healey said. “It’s on B deck, room 227. Enjoy yourself.”
“Sir, I won’t be talking to you, so I expect it’ll be a pleasure.”
Johnson also had the pleasure of leaving before the commandant could reply. He headed straight for the brig. It proved to be a compartment like any other on the starship. The only difference was, it had a door that wouldn’t open from the inside once he closed it after himself. That could be no fun at all in case of emergency, but Johnson refused to dwell on unpleasant possibilities. He strapped himself onto the standard-issue bunk and took a nap.
Nobody bothered him. He began to wonder if Healey’d told anyone he was jugged. Then he wondered if anybody would come by and feed him. He had visions of someone finding a starved, shriveled corpse in the brig the next time Healey decided to throw someone in there, which could be years from now.
He told himself he was being silly. Stone and Flynn would notice he wasn’t showing up for his shift. They’d ask where he was… woul
dn’t they? Healey would have to tell them… wouldn’t he? It all seemed logical enough. But when logic and Lieutenant General Healey collided, all bets were off.
Three hours later, the door to the cell opened. It was Major Parker, Healey’s adjutant. Johnson looked at him and said, “I want a lawyer.”
“Funny, Colonel. Funny like a crutch,” Parker answered.
“What, you think I’m kidding?” Johnson said. “My ass, pardon my French.”
“And where are you going to find a lawyer here?” the other officer asked in what he evidently intended for reasonable tones. He looked dyspeptic. Anyone who had to listen to Healey all the time had a good reason for looking dyspeptic, as far as Johnson was concerned.
He said, “Okay, fine. Screw the lawyer. Let me talk to Ambassador Yeager. That ought to do the job. By God, that ought to do it up brown.”
Parker looked as if he’d asked for the moon. “The commandant sent me here to let you out as long as you give me your word of honor you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
