Aftershocks Read Free

interested anyhow, not when he hadn’t the faintest idea whether Käthe was alive or dead. Had he watched too many bad films and read too many trashy novels? That struck him as very likely indeed.
    Ttomalss said, “The other male is from the not-empire of the United States. He is here on a . . . research mission, I suppose you would describe it.”
    Something in the way he hesitated didn’t quite ring true to Drucker, but the German was hardly in a position to call him on it. And the Lizard had used the masculine pronoun.
So much for beautiful spies.
Drucker laughed at himself. “All right,” he said. “No matter who he is or where he is from, I look forward to meeting him.”
    “Wait here,” Ttomalss told him, as if he were liable to wait somewhere else. The Lizard left the cubicle. Ttomalss could leave. Drucker couldn’t.
    After about forty-five minutes—his captors had let him keep his watch—the door slid open. In came a young man with a shaved head and with body paint on his chest. He nodded to Drucker, ignoring his nakedness (he wore only denim shorts himself), and stuck out his hand. “Hello. Do you speak English?” he said in that language.
    “Some,” Drucker answered in English. Then he shifted: “I must tell you, though, I am better in the language of the Race.”
    “That suits me fine,” the American said, also in the Lizards’ tongue.
He’s very young,
Drucker realized—the shaved head had disguised his age. He went on, “My name is Jonathan Yeager. I greet you.”
    “And I greet you.” Drucker shook the proffered hand and gave his own name. Then he eyed the American. “Yeager? It is a German name. It means ‘hunter.’ ” The last word was in English.
    “Yes, my father’s father’s father came from Germany,” Jonathan Yeager said.
    In musing tones, Drucker said, “I knew an officer named Jäger, Heinrich Jäger. He was a landcruiser commander. One of the best officers I ever served under—I named my oldest hatchling for him. I wonder if there is a relationship. From what part of Germany did your ancestor come?”
    “I am sorry, but I do not know,” the young American answered. “Maybe my father does, but I am not sure of that. Many, when they came to America, tried to forget where they came from so they could become Americans.”
    “I have this heard,” Drucker said. “It strikes me as strange.” Maybe that made him a reactionary European. Even if it did, though, he was a wild-eyed radical when measured against the Lizards. He asked, “What sort of research are you engaged in here?” The unspoken question behind that one was,
Why would the Americans send a puppy instead of a seasoned man?
    To Drucker’s surprise, Jonathan Yeager blushed all the way to the top of his shaved crown. He coughed and spluttered a couple of times before answering, “I guess you could call it a sociological project.”
    “That sounds interesting,” Drucker said, hoping Yeager would go on and tell him more about it.
    Instead, the American pointed an accusing finger his way and said, “And I know why you are here.”
    “I have no doubt that you do,” Drucker said. “If my attack had been a little more fortunate, we would not be having this talk now.”
    “That is a truth.” Jonathan Yeager sounded surprisingly calm. Maybe he was too young to take seriously the possibility of his own demise. Or maybe not; he went on, “My father is an officer in the U.S. Army. He would talk that way, too, I think.”
    “Professionals do.” Drucker started to say something else, but checked himself. “Is your father by any chance the male who understands the Race so well? If he is, I have some of his work in translation read. I should have of him thought when I heard the name.”
    “Yes, that is my father,” Jonathan Yeager said with what sounded like pardonable pride.
    “He does good work,” Drucker said. “He is the only Tosevite who ever made me believe he could think like a male of the Race.