Part 29 (2/2)

”Of course,” Straha said, though he was glad Sam Yeager had reminded him who Ka.s.squit was. ”I regret to have to tell you, I have heard nothing.”

”Too bad,” Yeager said. ”Anything I can find out would help a lot. If we can work things out with the Race, my hatchling and I will be going up into s.p.a.ce to meet her. The more we know, the better off we will be.”

”If I hear anything of interest, you may rest a.s.sured I will inform you of it,” Straha said. ”But I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

”Truth,” Yeager admitted. ”It would make things a lot easier if you could. Well, I thank you for your time.” He s.h.i.+fted into English for two words-”So long”-and hung up.

Not altogether by chance-very likely not at all by chance-Straha's driver strolled into the kitchen a moment later. ”That was Sam Yeager, wasn't it?” he asked.

”Yes,” Straha answered shortly.

”What did he want?” the driver asked.

Straha turned both eye turrets toward him. ”Why are you so curious whenever Yeager calls?” he asked in return.

The driver folded his arms across his chest and replied, ”My job is being curious.” Your job is giving me the answers I need, Your job is giving me the answers I need, was his unspoken corollary. was his unspoken corollary.

And, by the rules under which Straha had to live, the driver was right. With a sigh, he said, ”He was making inquiries about Ka.s.squit?”

Unlike the ex-s.h.i.+plord, his driver didn't need to be reminded who that was. ”Oh. The female Tosevite up in s.p.a.ce?” He relaxed. ”All right. No problem there.”

That roused Straha to indignation: ”If you Big Uglies have problems with your finest expert on the Race, my opinion is that you have severe problems indeed.”

As usual, he failed to irk his driver. The fellow s.h.i.+fted into the language of the Race to drive home his point: ”s.h.i.+plord, you were one of the best officers the conquest fleet had. That did not mean you always got on well with your colleagues. If you had, you and I would not be talking like this now, would we?”

”It seems unlikely,” Straha admitted. ”Very well. I see what you mean. But if Yeager is as great a nuisance to his colleagues as I was to mine, he is a very considerable nuisance indeed” He spoke in tones of fond reminiscence; if he hadn't made Atvar's blood boil, it wasn't for lack of effort.

His driver said, ”He is,” and used an emphatic cough.

”I see,” Straha said slowly. He'd known Yeager had occasional trouble with the American authorities, but hadn't really believed they were of that magnitude. No wonder I sometimes feel as if he and I were hatched from the same egg, No wonder I sometimes feel as if he and I were hatched from the same egg, he thought. he thought.

”Ka.s.squit, though, is legitimate business for him,” the driver said. ”He should stick to legitimate business. He would do better if he did.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode away.

Arrogant, egg-addled... But Straha cursed the driver only mentally, and even then the curse broke down half formed. The Big Ugly was anything but addled, and the ex-s.h.i.+plord knew it. Indeed, his effortless competence was one of the most oppressive things about him. But Straha cursed the driver only mentally, and even then the curse broke down half formed. The Big Ugly was anything but addled, and the ex-s.h.i.+plord knew it. Indeed, his effortless competence was one of the most oppressive things about him.

When the driver had gone round the corner, Straha opened a drawer, took out a vial of ginger, poured some into the palm of his hand, and tasted. Even as pleasure surged through him, he carefully put the vial back and closed the drawer. The driver knew he tasted, of course. The driver got ginger for him. But he did not like to taste in front of the Big Ugly. He treated the Tosevite as he would have treated one of his own aides: no high-ranking officer cared to do something unseemly while his subordinates were watching.

Tasting ginger, of course, was legal under the laws of the United States. But those laws mattered only so much to Straha. He lived under them, yes, but they weren't his. his. The whole snout-counting process by which the Big Uglies in the USA chose their lawmakers had never failed to strike him as absurd. Emotionally, he still adhered to the regulations of the conquest fleet, and under them tasting ginger was a punishable offense. The whole snout-counting process by which the Big Uglies in the USA chose their lawmakers had never failed to strike him as absurd. Emotionally, he still adhered to the regulations of the conquest fleet, and under them tasting ginger was a punishable offense.

With the herb blazing in him, he followed the driver out to the front room. The Big Ugly had just settled down with a magazine, and seemed somewhat surprised to have to deal with Straha again so soon. ”Can I help you with something, s.h.i.+plord?” he asked.

”Yes,” Straha answered. ”You can tell me whose snout you intend to choose in the upcoming snoutcounting for the leader of your not-empire?'

”Oh, I think I'll vote to reelect President Warren,” the driver answered in English.

Straha didn't blame him for s.h.i.+fting languages; the Big Uglies' tongue was better suited to discussing this strange quadrennial rite of theirs. The ex-s.h.i.+plord also used English: ”And why is that?”

”Well, the country's doing okay, or better than okay,” the Tosevite said. ”Warren's made sure we're strong, and I like the way he's handled relations with the Race. We have a saying: don't change horses in midstream. So I figure staying with the man we've got is probably the best way to go.”

That sounded cautious and conservative. It might almost have been a male of the Race speaking, not a Big Ugly. As a Tosevite might have stuck out his index finger, Straha stuck out his tongue. ”Suppose Warren loses, though. Suppose more American Tosevites choose the snout of this other male, this... Humpty?”

”Humphrey,” his driver corrected. His sigh sounded like the sigh of a male of the Race. ”Then they do, that's all. Then Humphrey becomes president, and we all hope he does as good a job as Warren did. I'd support him. I'd follow his orders. I'd have to.”

”But you would still think all the time that this other male, the one you have leading you now, would be able to do the job better,” Straha persisted.

”Yes, I probably would,” the driver said.

”Then why would you follow Humphrey?” Straha took care to p.r.o.nounce the name correctly.

”Because more people would have voted for him than for Warren,” the Big Ugly replied. ”We've been over this before, s.h.i.+plord. With us, the government is more important than the names of the people in the top slots. Things go on any which way.”

”Madness,” Straha said with conviction. ”What would happen if some large number of American Tosevites decided they did not like the way the snoutcounting-uh, the election-turned out, and refused to obey the male who was chosen?”

To his surprise, the driver answered, ”We had that happen once, as a matter of fact. It was just over a hundred years ago.”

”Oh? And what was the result?” Straha asked.

”It was called the Civil War,” the driver said. ”You may have noticed some of the anniversary celebrations we've been having.” Straha made the negative hand gesture. Lots of things went on around him that he didn't notice. With a shrug, the driver went on, ”Well, whether you've noticed or not, the war caused so much damage that we've never come close to having another one over an election.”

So Big Uglies could could learn from history. Straha wouldn't have bet on it. The Tosevites were most adept technically; had they not been, this planet would be a firmly held part of the Empire. But they'd been doing their best to destroy one another when the conquest fleet arrived. learn from history. Straha wouldn't have bet on it. The Tosevites were most adept technically; had they not been, this planet would be a firmly held part of the Empire. But they'd been doing their best to destroy one another when the conquest fleet arrived.

Straha wondered what would have happened if the Race had waited another couple of hundred years before sending out the conquest fleet. The Big Uglies had already been working on explosive-metal bombs. Maybe they would have committed suicide. Or maybe, Or maybe, Straha thought unhappily, Straha thought unhappily, not a single s.h.i.+p from the conquest fleet would have managed to land on Tosev 3. not a single s.h.i.+p from the conquest fleet would have managed to land on Tosev 3.

The ginger was leaving him. So was the euphoria it had brought. Imagining the Race ambushed by fearsome Big Uglies came easy at such times. It had come too close to happening as things were.

”Is there anything else, s.h.i.+plord?” The driver returned to the language of the Race, a sure sign he considered the conversation on snoutcounting at an end.

”No, nothing else,” Straha answered. ”You may return to your reading. What publication have you got there?”

By the way the driver hesitated, Straha knew he'd hit a nerve. He thought he knew what kind of nerve he'd hit, too. Sure enough, when the driver showed him the magazine, he found it to be one featuring female Big Uglies divested of most of the cloth wrappings they customarily used.

”I do not mind your t.i.tillating your mating urge if that does not interfere with your other duties, and it does not seem to,” Straha said.

Despite that rea.s.surance, the driver closed the magazine and would not open it again while Straha was in the room. He was as embarra.s.sed about openly indulging his s.e.xuality as Straha was about tasting ginger in front of him. While different in so many ways, Big Uglies and the Race shared some odd things.

Straha said, ”Never mind. I will leave you in privacy. And I will not hold it against you that you are so reluctant to extend me the same privilege.”

”s.h.i.+plord, my job is to keep you safe first and happy second,” the driver answered. ”It is much harder for me to keep you safe if I do not know where you are and what you are doing.”

”But it would be much easier for you to keep me happy under those circ.u.mstances,” Straha said. The driver only shrugged. He had his priorities. He'd spelled them out for the ex-s.h.i.+plord. And Straha, like it or not, was stuck with them: one more delight of exile.

Arguing with Heinrich Himmler hadn't got Felless tossed out of the Reich. Reich. From that, she reluctantly concluded nothing she would do would get her expelled. The proper att.i.tude under those circ.u.mstances was to buckle down and do her job in Nuremberg as well as she could. From that, she reluctantly concluded nothing she would do would get her expelled. The proper att.i.tude under those circ.u.mstances was to buckle down and do her job in Nuremberg as well as she could.

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