Down to Earth

“I greet you, my friends.” Frederick, in Rance’s opinion, spoke the Lizards’ language with a fu

He didn’t say a word about Rance and Pe

Now Pe

“I have males covering me,” Gorppet warned, so Rance wasn’t the only imperfectly trusting soul here.

“I have males covering me,” Frederick said, as if he took the idea altogether for granted.

“And I have males covering me,” Pe

“The exchange,” Gorppet said. Rance peered through the darkness. He could hardly see a thing.

“Now,” Frederick said, and the gloating triumph in his voice made Rance realize he was going to try to hijack all the gold. Rance filled his ruined lungs to shout a warning-

And another shout came from the edge of the park, a shout in an African language. A shot followed it, and then another, and then a stuttering roar of gunfire. Screams rang out, not just from human throats but from those of the Race. “Surrender!” a Lizard called, his voice amplified. “You ca

By then, Rance was already on the ground, rolling toward cover. Old reflexes took over, modified only by the need to hang on to his cane. Bullets snarled not far enough above his head. “Who says we ca

He wouldn’t have brought so many if he hadn’t intended to cut Rance and Pe

What they had now was a nasty three-cornered gunfight, with Rance in the middle of it. He shouted Pe

He crawled toward her, or toward where he thought she was. Muzzle flashes sparked here and there, putting him in mind of giant, malignant lightning bugs-or of the fight in Colorado where he’d got himself ruined. He’d never thought he would wind up in anything like that again. He wished to Jesus he hadn’t.

Somebody ran toward him-or maybe just toward the gold. Everyone human would be making a beeline for that. All the Lizards would be rushing toward the ginger, either to taste it or to grab it as evidence. Getting himself in deeper was the last thing he wanted to do, but Pe

The ru

“Rance!” That was Pe

“I’m here,” he answered, and then, “Get down, goddammit!” What was she doing still breathing if she didn’t have the sense to hit the deck when bullets started flying? Another burst of gunfire from off to the right underscored his words. That was the direction from which Gorppet and his pals had come. They were making their getaway now, and doing a good, professional job of it. He wondered if they’d been able to nab the ginger before they started out of the fighting.

“Jesus Christ,” Pe

“Yeah, I think so,” Auerbach answered. “Where’s the gold? Where’s Frederick?” The African worried him more than the Lizards did. The Lizards played by their own rules. Frederick was liable to do anything to anybody.

“Fred’s dead, or I think so, anyway,” Pe

“Yeah.” But Auerbach remembered Pe

“Oh. The gold?’ Pe

“I do not know,” Rance said in the same language-good security. “But I can find out, and that is a truth.”

“Suits me fine,” Pe

She pushed something at Rance. It wasn’t a very big package, but it weighed as much as a child. He gri

“Yeah, that’s the best way.” Pe

Atvar turned one eye turret from the computer screen toward his adjutant. “Well, this is a shame and a disgrace and a first-class botch,” he remarked.

“To what do you refer, Exalted Fleetlord?” Pshing asked. He approached the computer terminal. “Oh. The report on the unfortunate incident down at the southern end of the main continental mass.”

“Yes, the unfortunate incident.” Atvar’s emphatic cough said just how unfortunate an incident he thought it was. “When we discover a deal for ginger in progress, it is generally desirable to capture the guilty parties, the herb, and whatever was being exchanged for it. Would you not agree?”

His tone warned Pshing he had better agree. “Truth, Exalted Fleetlord,” he said.

Atvar pointed to the screen. “By this report, did we do any of those things in this incident? Did we accomplish even one of them?”

“No, Exalted Fleetlord,” Pshing said unhappily.

“No,” Atvar agreed. “No. No is the operative word indeed it is. No suspects, or none to speak of-only hired guns. No ginger. No gold-it was supposed to be gold, I gather. Two males killed, three wounded, and who can say how many Big Uglies? We have had a great many fiascoes in the fight against ginger, but this one is worse than most.”

“What can we do?” Pshing asked.

That was indeed the question. It had been the question ever since the Race discovered what ginger did to males, and had even more urgently been the question since the Race discovered what ginger did to females. No one had found an answer yet. Atvar wondered if anyone ever would. Not about to admit that to his adjutant, he said, “One thing we can do is make sure we do not disgrace ourselves in this fashion again.”