“Yes, my father’s father’s father came from Germany,” Jonathan Yeager said.

In musing tones, Drucker said, “I knew an officer named Jager, Heinrich Jager. 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.”