But Jonathan answered, “Sure, I’ll tell you. It’s because my dad and mom were in the Battle of Chicago, or at least the first part of it. Their ship got shot up when it took them and everybody else who was working on our explosive-metal bomb out of Chicago when it looked like the Lizards would break in.”

“Oh.” Karen thought about it, then nodded. “Okay. I guess I can put up with it for that. But it won’t be much like what really happened, you know.”

“Of course it won’t-it’s a movie.” Jonathan stopped at the light at Vermont, waited for a couple of southbound cars to go by, and turned right to follow them. On the radio, a fellow with a soft drawl shouted above twanging electric guitars. Jonathan’s parents found modern music raucous-all the more reason for him to like it.

He drove with his left hand for a couple of seconds so he could poke Karen in the ribs with his right forefinger. As she squeaked, he went on, “And don’t tell me you’re just putting up with it, either, not when you’ll be drooling all over everything every time James Dean shows up-and since he’s the star, he’ll show up most of the time.”

She made a face at him. “Like you won’t be leering at that French chippie, whatever her name is-you know, the one who keeps trying to fall out of her clothes all the time. What was she doing in the battle of Chicago?”

“Decorating it?” Jonathan suggested. Karen poked him in the ribs for that, which made him swerve the car and almost nail a station wagon in the next lane. The fellow in the station wagon sent him a dirty look. Jonathan gave Karen one, too, and added, “You were the one who said it wouldn’t be much like what really happened.”

“I didn’t mean like that,” Karen said. They kept teasing each other till they got to the Vermont drive-in, a little past Artesia. Houses were thin that far south; some of the little farms and orchards and nurseries that had been there since before the war still survived. The drive-in movie theater made a raucous addition to the air of rural charm.

Jonathan chose a parking space well, away from the snack bar, though a good many closer to it were open. Karen raised an eyebrow-she knew what he had in mind aside from watching the movie. She stuck out her tongue at him, but didn’t say anything. If she had said something, he might have moved the car. As things were, he said, “I’ll be right back,” and headed off to bring back a cardboard carton full of grease and salt and chocolate and fizzy, caffeinated water and other nutrients essential to human life.

When he got back, he found that Karen had mounted the little speaker on the window of the front driver’s-side door. She was waiting in the back seat, and opened the rear door for him so he wouldn’t have to put down the carton and maybe spill all the goodies.

They grinned at each other as they started eating Milk Duds. She hadn’t come along with him just to watch the movie, either. They didn’t do anything but grin, not yet; cars were still coming in, the glare of headlights blasting into their faces every few seconds. Jonathan didn’t even put his arm around her. They’d have plenty of time for that later.

By luck-and also by Jonathan’s strategic choice of parking space-nobody parked close to the Ford. He looked out at the white lines painted on the asphalt as if he’d never expected such a thing. “How about that?” he said.

“Yeah, how about that?” Karen did her best to sound stern-that was one of the rules of the game-but a giggle lurked somewhere down at the bottom of her voice. They’d been going out for a good long while now. Sure enough, she knew what he had in mind, and he knew she knew, and had it on her mind, too. It wasn’t as if they’d just started discovering each other.

They’d made a good-sized dent in the big bags of popcorn when the screen lit and music blared out of the tinny speaker. An announcer’s voice followed: “Here are scenes from our coming attractions!”

Now Jonathan slipped his arm around Karen’s shoulder. Her flesh was warm and smooth under his hand. She slid closer to him-carefully, so as not to disturb the surviving food and what was left of the sodas. One of the coming features had dinosaurs that looked remarkably like overgrown Lizards tearing up the landscape, one was a tear-jerking love story, and one had Red Skelton and Bing Crosby wisecracking, strutting their stuff, and outwitting real Lizards (one of whom Jonathan thought he recognized) left and right.

“My father would like that one,” Karen said with a sigh.

“Uh-huh,” Jonathan said. “So would mine, even if he spent half the time telling everybody else in the car with him what all was wrong with it.”

“How are Mickey and Donald?” Karen asked as the cartoon came on-a rascally rabbit who eluded Lizards and bumbling human hunters at every turn.

“Growing like weeds,” he answered. “Eating us out of house and home.” Cliches were safest when he talked about the hatchlings. His father surely wished he wouldn’t talk about them at all, but hadn’t ordered him not to do it. He tried not to betray the trust he’d earned. Adding, “They keep learning things all the time, too,” seemed safe enough.

“And now, our feature presentation,” the announcer boomed. Karen snuggled closer to Jonathan. He let his hand close on the smooth skin of her shoulder rather than just resting there. Quite involuntarily, he took a deep breath. He had to remind himself they weren’t in a hurry: for one thing, it was a three-hour movie.

Spaceships filled the enormous screen. “That’s terrific trick photography,” Karen said.

“No, it’s not-it’s real Lizard newsreel footage. I’ve seen it before,” Jonathan answered. “I wonder how much MGM had to pay the Race to use it.”

They watched the movie for a while, though the view from the backseat wasn’t so good as it would have been from up front. Jonathan soon discovered the film was even hokier than he’d feared; just from things his folks had said, he soon found half a dozen absurdities. But some of the battle sequences looked very gritty and realistic. They were newsreel footage, too, human-filmed black-and-white footage turned into color with the help of computers. Watching how the director cut back and forth from them to the actors and the story he was shooting himself kept Jonathan half interested for a while. James Dean aside, Karen hadn’t much cared to begin with. Before long, they found other things to do.

Jonathan untied the bow that held her little halter top on. It was so small, nobody coming by in the dark would notice whether she was wearing it, anyhow. And… “You did the body paint under there, too!” he exclaimed.

Karen smiled at him. “I thought you might find that out,” she answered as he caressed her. She turned toward him. He kissed her, then lowered his face to her breasts. She sighed and pressed him to her. They sank down onto the seat together.

Neither of them had the nerve to go all the way in the drive-in, but Jonathan’s hand glided along her thighs and then dived under the waistband of her shorts and inside her panties. He kissed her breasts and her mouth as he rubbed her. His lips were pressed against hers when she let out a little mewling cry a couple of minutes later. He’d made sure he would be kissing her just then; he knew she got noisy at such times.

“Sit up,” she said. She unzipped his fly, reached in, and pulled him out. His breath came ragged. Her touch seemed sweeter than ever as she stroked him. And then, instead of finishing him with her hands the way she usually did, she bent over him and took him in her mouth. She’d never done that before. He was astonished at how good it felt. She didn’t have to do it very long, either-he exploded almost instantly. Karen pulled back, wheezing and gulping and choking a little, too. She grabbed a napkin from the cardboard carton and wiped at her chin. “Sorry,” she told him. “You caught me by surprise.”