Part 9 (1/2)

”There do appear to have been some, yes, Exalted Fleetlord,” Ps.h.i.+ng replied, ”but only those of the common and primitive type manufactured in the SSSR and known as Katyushas Katyushas.” He had as much trouble with the Tosevite word as Big Uglies did with the language of the Race.

”Those things.” Kirel spoke in disgust. ”They are as common as sand, and are easy to carry on the backs of beasts. Even if they were supplied especially for this a.s.sault, the independent not-empires will be able to deny it and still seem plausible.” things.” Kirel spoke in disgust. ”They are as common as sand, and are easy to carry on the backs of beasts. Even if they were supplied especially for this a.s.sault, the independent not-empires will be able to deny it and still seem plausible.”

”They have done that too often,” Atvar said. ”We shall have to seek ways to punish them nevertheless.” He swung an eye turret back toward Ps.h.i.+ng. ”One plant destroyed, you said, and one damaged? How severe is the impact on the new towns in the area?”

”Production loss is about fifteen percent, Exalted Fleetlord,” Ps.h.i.+ng replied. ”The damaged plant will return to full operation in about forty days, as a preliminary estimate. That will reduce losses to about ten percent. Rebuilding the wrecked plant will take three times as long-a.s.suming no more attacks from Khomeini's fanatics.”

”Ah-you did not mention that maniac before,” Atvar said. ”So these Big Uglies profess his variant of the local superst.i.tion?”

”They do,” Ps.h.i.+ng said. ”Those captured proudly proclaim it during interrogation.”

”We would be better off if he were dead,” Kirel said. ”We have not been able to eliminate him, and rewards have failed to turn any Big Uglies against him.” Now he sighed. ”The Tosevites will betray us whenever they see the chance. It seems most unfair.”

”So it does.” Atvar knew he sounded unhappy, but couldn't help it. ”I shall increase the size of the reward-again.”

With a long, resigned sigh, Monique Dutourd sat up in bed. She reached for the pack of Gauloises on the nightstand, lit one, and turned to Dieter Kuhn, who sprawled beside her. ”There,” she said. ”Are you happy?”

He rolled over and grinned at her, a large; sated male grin of the sort she found particularly revolting. ”Now that you mention it, yes,” he answered. ”Give me a smoke, will you?”

She handed him the pack and the book of matches. What she wanted to do after that was go into the bathroom and soak in the tub for an hour, or perhaps for a week: long enough to get the feel of him off her body. If he'd cared what she wanted, though, he wouldn't have made her go to bed with him in the first place.

After a long, deep drag on the cigarette, he asked, ”And how was it for you?”

Monique shrugged. It made her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s bounce a little. His eyes went to them. She'd been sure they would draw his notice, and felt vindicated to find herself right. Now-how to answer the question? ”Well,” she said, ”it was, I suppose, better than being hauled off to the Palais de Justice and tormented, if that's what you mean.”

”Your praise overwhelms me,” he said. He didn't sound too angry. Why should he have? He'd got it in, after all. He'd had a fine time. And if she hadn't-too bad.

He hadn't deliberately tried to hurt her. She gave him that much. She'd dreaded worse when he made it very plain she could either come across or face another stretch of interrogation. If she'd let him have her because she liked him rather than acquiescing to a polite rape, she might have enjoyed herself As things were... well, it was over.

”Going to bed with me won't get you any closer to my brother,” she warned. ”If he finds out I did, it will only make him trust me even less than he does now, and he doesn't trust me very far as is.”

”So you say. But blood, in the end, is thicker than water.” Speaking French as a foreign language, Kuhn was fond of cliches. They let him say what he wanted without having to think too much about it. He went on, ”Your dear Pierre does stay in touch with you. We know that, even if we don't always know what he says.”

”You never know what he says,” Monique replied, stubbing out her cigarette in the gla.s.s ashtray on the nightstand while wis.h.i.+ng she could put it out on some of the more tender parts of the SS man's anatomy. As long as Pierre stayed tight with the Lizards, they gave him gadgets that defeated the best electronic eavesdroppers mere humans could build.

But Kuhn's smug look now was different from the one he'd worn after grunting and spurting his seed into her. ”We know more than you think,” he said. Monique was inclined to take that as a boast to get her to tell the German more than he already knew. But then he went on, ”We know, for instance, that he told you the other day he was going to eat a big bowl of stewed mussels for his supper.”

”Oh, I am sure that will help you catch him,” Monique said sardonically. Under the sarcasm, though, she worried. Pierre had mentioned the mussels. That meant the n.a.z.is could unscramble some of what he said to her. Did it also mean they could unscramble some of what he said to other people, or to Lizards? She didn't know. She would have to find a way to make her brother aware of the risk without letting Kuhn and his pals find out she'd done it.

”One never knows,” he said, giving her a smile she was sure he was sure was charming. She remained uncharmed. Kuhn got up on his knees and leaned across her to put out his own cigarette, which he'd smoked down to a very small b.u.t.t.

Instead of drawing his hand all the way back, he let it close over her left breast. He twiddled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, as if he were adjusting the dial on a wireless. He probably thought that would inflame her. She knew better. His hand slid down to the joining of her legs. He rubbed insistently. He could have rubbed forever without doing anything but making her sore.

But, after a little while, apparently satisfied he'd done his duty, he drew her to him. She had to suck him before he would rise for his second round. She particularly hated doing that, and hated it worse after he laughed and murmured, ”Ah, the French,” as he held her head down.

If he'd spent himself in her mouth, she would have done her best to vomit on him. But, after a while, he rolled from his side to his back and had her get on top of him. She hadn't known an SS man was allowed to be so lazy. She did what he wanted, hoping he would finish soon. He finally did.

Afterwards, he got dressed and left, though ”See you again soon.” wasn't the sort of farewell she wished she'd had from him. Monique used the bidet in the bathroom, then did climb into the tub. She didn't feel like a woman violated, if a woman violated was supposed to feel downtrodden and put upon. What she felt like was a woman infuriated. But how to get revenge on a n.a.z.i? In long-occupied Ma.r.s.eille, that wouldn't be easy.

Suddenly, Monique laughed out loud. Dieter Kuhn wouldn't have been happy to hear that laugh, not even a little. She didn't care what would make the SS man happy. She didn't care at all. She had, or might have; connections to which the average woman of Ma.r.s.eille could not aspire.

She couldn't call her brother from the flat, not when the Germans had proved they truly could hear some of those conversations. She didn't dare. Even more than she didn't want to see Kuhn again erect while lying down, she didn't want to revisit the Palais de Justice. She didn't think the Gestapo Gestapo had learned much from its interrogation of her. But what she'd learned about man's inhumanity to man-and to woman-made her certain she never wanted to see the inside of that building again. had learned much from its interrogation of her. But what she'd learned about man's inhumanity to man-and to woman-made her certain she never wanted to see the inside of that building again.

Phoning from a telephone box was risky, too. She didn't know whether the n.a.z.is had their listening apparatus on her telephone (no-she didn't know whether they had it only only on her phone, for they surely had it there) or on Pierre's line as well. She couldn't write a letter, either; had the postman known her brother's address, the Germans would have known it, too. on her phone, for they surely had it there) or on Pierre's line as well. She couldn't write a letter, either; had the postman known her brother's address, the Germans would have known it, too.

”Merde,” she said, and s.h.i.+fted so the water sloshed in the tub. Even with unusual connections, getting what she wanted-getting Dieter Kuhn's naked body lying in a ditch with dogs and rats gnawing on it-wouldn't be so easy, not unless she wanted to endanger not only herself but also whoever might try to help her. she said, and s.h.i.+fted so the water sloshed in the tub. Even with unusual connections, getting what she wanted-getting Dieter Kuhn's naked body lying in a ditch with dogs and rats gnawing on it-wouldn't be so easy, not unless she wanted to endanger not only herself but also whoever might try to help her.

She got her own naked body, which was beginning to resemble a large, pink raisin, out of the tub. She dried as vigorously as she ever had in her life, especially between her legs. However hard she scrubbed at herself, the memory of the German's fingers and privates lingered. Maybe I feel violated after all, Maybe I feel violated after all, she thought. she thought.

Three nights later, Kuhn knocked on her door again. She enjoyed that visit no more than she had the earlier one, but not a great deal less, either-he didn't turn vicious. He just wanted a woman, and instead of hiring a tart he got himself a politically suspect professor for free. That was not the sort of Teutonic efficiency about which the n.a.z.is boasted, but it served him well.

The next afternoon, Monique stopped at a greengrocer's for some lettuce and onions on the way back from the university. She was about to take her vegetables over to the proprietor when a woman a year or two older than she was-short and dumpy, with the distinct beginnings of a mustache-came into the shop. ”Monique!” she exclaimed. ”How are you, darling?” She had a throaty, s.e.xy voice altogether at odds with her nondescript looks.

”Bonjour, Lucie,” Monique said to her brother's lady friend. ”I was hoping to run into you before too long. I have so much to tell you.” She did her best to sound like a woman getting ready to swap gossip with an acquaintance. Lucie,” Monique said to her brother's lady friend. ”I was hoping to run into you before too long. I have so much to tell you.” She did her best to sound like a woman getting ready to swap gossip with an acquaintance.

”I'm all ears, and I've got some things to tell you, too,” Lucie answered in like tones. ”Just let me get some garlic and I'll be right with you.” She chose a string of fragrant heads while Monique was paying for what she wanted. Monique went out to her bicycle and waited by it. She could speak more freely outside than anywhere indoors. Who could guess where the n.a.z.is might have planted microphones?

Lucie came out a couple of minutes later, grumbling about the prices the grocer charged. They weren't that bad, but Lucie liked to grumble. She reached into her handbag and took out a pair of sungla.s.ses. Maybe she thought they made her look glamourous. In that case, she was wrong. Maybe, on the other hand, she just wanted to fight the glare. Even in early spring, Ma.r.s.eille's sun could give a foretaste of what brilliant summer days would be like.

Monique looked around. n.o.body was paying any more attention than what people usually gave a couple of women chatting on the street. A man riding by on a bicycle whistled at them. He was easy to ignore. Taking a deep breath, Monique said, ”The Germans can tap your phone, at least when you and Pierre talk with me.”

”Ah.” Lucie nodded. ”I knew that. I wanted to warn you of it.” She frowned. ”The n.a.z.is turn into bigger nuisances every day.”

”Oh, don't they just!” Monique said. Lucie had given her the perfect opening for the rest of what she had in mind, and she proceeded to use it: ”Everyone would be better off without one n.a.z.i in particular, I think.”

”Dieter Kuhn.” Lucie spoke the name without hesitation and with great a.s.surance: so much so that Monique wondered if Pierre and his friends-human and otherwise-had microphones in her flat, too. Lucie went on, ”Perhaps that can be arranged. I do not say it surely can be, but perhaps. It depends on whether we can find a way that does not point straight back at ourselves.”

”If you can do it, that would be wonderful,” Monique said. ”If not, I will try to think of something else.”

”Some people need killing,” Lucie said matter-of-factly. Monique found herself nodding before she wondered what she was doing a.s.sociating with people who said things like that. She'd had no choice, but that wouldn't be enough to satisfy her priest-not that she'd been to confession in a good long time. And besides, she was the one who wanted the German dead.

But she might not be the only one who wanted him dead. ”If you could arrange for the Lizards to do the job...”

”It could be,” Lucie said. ”They have not always the stomach for killing, but some of them do, without a doubt. They differ less, one from another, than people do, I think, but they are not all the same, either. I may know a male or two who would do better business without this nosy n.a.z.i poking into their affairs.”

Just then, a Lizard came by on the other side of the street. Lucie shut up with a snap. Monique wondered if he was one of the males Pierre's companion had in mind. Before she could ask, she stared at something else: the Lizard was walking a long-necked, four-legged, scaly creature on a leash, for all the world as if it were a poodle or a greyhound. Pointing toward it, she said, ”For heaven's sake, what is that thing?”

”It has a name. I've heard it, but I forget what it is,” Lucie answered. ”The males of the conquest fleet were here to tend to business. The colonization fleet has also brought farm animals and pets like that one.”

”Ugly little thing, isn't it?” Monique said.

”Which, the Lizard or the pet?” Lucie asked, and startled a laugh out of Monique. Her brother's lady friend went on, ”I do business with them, but that doesn't mean I have to love them. Au contraire Au contraire.” Monique nodded, and then looked thoughtfully at Lucie. That was the first confidence, no matter how small, she could remember getting from her. Was Lucie starting to trust her at last? And if Lucie was, what did that say about Monique? That she was the kind of person a drug smuggler's woman would trust? She'd hoped she might think of herself as something better than that.

Like what? she jeered. she jeered. A n.a.z.i's wh.o.r.e? A n.a.z.i's wh.o.r.e? She reached out and set a hand on Lucie's arm. All at once, being her confidante didn't look so bad. She reached out and set a hand on Lucie's arm. All at once, being her confidante didn't look so bad.