Now that his attention was drawn to it, Yeager saw it was different from the others past which his horse had taken him. It wasn’t quite the right shade of green; it put him in mind of tarnished copper. He’d never seen any leaves that looked like these: they might almost have been blades of grass growing along its branches. It didn’t have flowers, but those red disks with black centers at the ends of some of the branches might have done the same job. Sam reined in. “Can I get a closer look at it?”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Watkins said.
Sam dismounted as clumsily as he’d boarded his horse. He walked over to the plant from the Lizards’ world, scuffing up dust at every step. When he reached out to touch it, he yelped and jerked his hand back in a hurry. “It’s like a nettle,” he said. “It’s got little sharp doohickeys”-a fine scientific term, that-“in between the leaves.”
“Found that out, did you?” Sheriff Watkins’ voice was dry.
Rubbing his hand, Yeager asked, “You ever see anything eating these plants?”
“Nope,” the sheriff answered. “Not unless you mean the Lizards’ animals. Nothin’ that oughta live here’ll touch ’em. Haven’t seen any bees go to those red things, either.”
“All right.” That had been Sam’s next question. He took a notebook from his pocket and scribbled in it. If bees wouldn’t visit these things, how did they get pollinated? Could they get pollinated-or whatever they used as an equivalent-here on Earth? Evidently, or this one wouldn’t be here.
Watkins said, “You put on leather gloves and try and yank that thing out, you’ll find out it’s got roots that go clear to China.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Yeager wrote another note. Back on Home, plants would have to suck up all the water they possibly could. It made sense for them to have roots like that. A lot of Earthly plants did, too. Sam suspected these would prove very efficient indeed.
Sheriff Watkins said, “Come on. These things are just the sideshow. You really want to see the animals, right?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said thoughtfully. “Do I? If these things start crowding out the stuff that used to grow here, what’ll the bugs and the kangaroo rats and the jackrabbits eat? If they don’t eat anything, what’ll the lizards and the bobcats eat? The more you look at things like this, the more complicated they get.” Remounting his horse proved pretty complicated, too, but he managed not to fall off the other side.
“Supposing you’re right,” Watkins said as they rode on toward the animals from Home. “Isn’t that reason enough to give the Lizards hell for what they’re doing to us? What they’re doing to Earth, I mean, not just to the USA.”
“They don’t want to listen,” Yeager answered. “They say we’ve got cows and sheep and dogs and cats and wheat and corn, and that’s what these things are to them: only natural they’ve brought ’em along.”
“Natural, my ass.” Watkins spat. “These critters are about the most unnatural-looking things I’ve seen in all my born days.” He pointed ahead. “Look for yourself. We’re close enough now.”
Sure enough, Sam could peer through the dust now and see what raised it. The Lizards’ domestic animals made him feel he’d been yanked back through seventy million years and was staring at a herd of dinosaurs. They weren’t as big as dinosaurs, and they had the Lizards’ turreted eyes, but that was the general impression. They were low-slung, went on all fours, and had, instead of horns, bony clubs on the ends of their tails. One of them whacked another in the side. The one that had been whacked bawled and trotted away.
“Those are zisuili,” Sam said. “The Lizards use them for meat and for their hides. Zisuili leather is top of the line, as far as they’re concerned.”
“Hot damn,” Watkins said sourly. “What do we do about ’em? Look how they eat everything right down to the ground. Worse’n goats, for Christ’s sake. There’s nothing but bare dirt left once they’ve gone through somewhere, and this land won’t take a whole hell of a lot of that.”
“I see what you’re saying,” Yeager answered. “It’s probably why they kick up so much dust.” He clicked his tongue between his teeth. “You were right, Sheriff-this is what I came to find out about, sure enough.”
“I’ve already found out more than I want,” Victor Watkins said. “Question is, like I said, what do we do about the goddamn things?”
The two men had no trouble getting close to the zisuili, though their horses didn’t much care for the alien animals’ smell. Neither odors nor sight of Earthly creatures and people bothered the beasts from Home. Noting that, Yeager said, “We shoot ’em whenever we see ’em. They aren’t shy of us, are they?”
“No, but when the shooting starts they run like hell,” Watkins replied. “A guy with a machine gun would get a lot more done than a guy with a rifle. Desert Center’s a rugged kind of place, but machine guns don’t exactly grow on trees around here.”
“Some machine guns can probably be arranged,” Sam said, but he wondered how many machine guns the USA would need from the Pacific to the Gulf of Mexico, and for how many miles north of the border. And machine guns couldn’t do anything about plants from Home. What could? Nothing he saw, short of an army of people pulling them up by the roots.
The Lizards were making themselves at home on Earth. Sam had read plenty of science-fiction stories about people reshaping other planets to suit themselves, but never one about aliens reshaping Earth for their convenience. He didn’t need to read a story about that. By all the signs, he was living it.
Neither he nor Watkins had much to say as they rode back to Desert Center. They passed another couple of plants from Home. However the things propagated, they’d sure as hell got here.
“We’ll do everything we can,” Sam promised as he got down from his horse and, with more than a little relief, headed for his car.
“You’d better,” the sheriff said. He walked off toward his office, not looking back.
Another car was parked by the Buick. It hadn’t been there before. A couple of men in business suits came out of the little cafe across the street and walked briskly toward Sam. “Lieutenant Colonel Yeager?” one of them called. When Sam nodded, both men produced revolvers and pointed them at him. “You’d better come along with us, sir,” the first one said. “Orders. Sorry, pal, but that’s how it is.”
Walter Stone stared out through the window of the Lewis and Clark’s control room in considerable satisfaction. “Amazing what you can do with aluminized plastic, isn’t it?” he said.
“Not so bad,” Glen Johnson agreed. “You put out a big enough mirror, you pick up plenty of sunshine for power and for heat and for I don’t know what all else.”
Stone looked sly. “Are you sure you don’t?”
Johnson looked sly, too. “Who, me?” They both grinned. A mirror that focused a lot of light down to one small point was a splendid tool. It was also a weapon. If that point of light ever suddenly swung across a Lizard spy ship…
With a sigh, Stone said, “The only trouble is, that would mean war back home, which we can’t afford.”
“I know.” Johnson grimaced. “It’s not just that we can’t afford it, either. We’d damn well lose.”
“Are you sure?” the senior pilot asked.
“You bet your ass I am,” Johnson said, and tacked on an emphatic cough. “Don’t forget, I’m the guy who flew all those orbital missions. I know what the Race has got out there; hell, I know half that hardware by its first name. Push comes to shove, we get shoved.”
“Okay, okay.” Half to Glen’s relief, half to his disappointment, Stone didn’t want to argue with him. He liked arguments he wouldn’t have any trouble winning. Stone waved at the mirror again. “One of the reasons we’re out here is to complicate the Lizards’ lives in all sorts of ways they haven’t even thought about yet. Having plenty of power and energy available is a long step in that direction.”
“Did I say you were wrong?” Johnson asked, and then, “Say, what’s this I hear about another ship heading this way before too long?”