He spoke now with unhesitating pride: "I am not not a traitor. I have never done anything but fight for freedom, even if I did not have a rifle in my hands." a traitor. I have never done anything but fight for freedom, even if I did not have a rifle in my hands."

"I suppose that is possible," Liu Han said: as great an admission as she'd made in any of these summary trials. She scratched the side of her jaw, considering. After half a minute or so, she said, "I sentence you to hard labor, building roads or entrenchments or whatever else may be required of you."

"Thank you, Comrade!" Ku Cheng-Lun exclaimed. Hard labor was hard hard labor; his overseers might well end up working him to death. He probably knew that, too-he seemed very well informed. But to come through one of these trials without getting executed was something close to a miracle. Ku had to be aware of that. labor; his overseers might well end up working him to death. He probably knew that, too-he seemed very well informed. But to come through one of these trials without getting executed was something close to a miracle. Ku had to be aware of that.

Sure enough, Liu Han sent the next man brought before her to the firing squad, and the one after him, and the one after him as well. Revolutionary justice ruled in Peking now. The little scaly devils had held sway for a generation. Traitors and collaborators and running dogs by the thousands, by the tens of thousands, needed to be hunted down and purged.

The fourth man after Ku Cheng-Lun claimed to be in the service of the Kuomintang. That presented Liu Han with another dilemma. The Kuomintang had risen along with the People's Liberation Army, but, having less in the way of armaments, was very much a junior partner in the struggle against the little scaly devils. Still, Liu Han didn't want to damage the popular front, so she sentenced the fellow to hard labor. If his fellow reactionaries chose to rescue him later, she wouldn't worry about it.

Nieh Ho-T'ing had also been trying traitors. They met for supper after nightfall ended the trials till morning. Over buckwheat noodles and bits of shredded pork, Nieh said, "Even if the little devils do end up putting down this revolt, they will have a hard time finding anyone to help them administer China."

"That is good... I suppose," Liu Han said. "Better would be driving them back so we go on ruling here."

"Yes, that would be better," Nieh agreed. "I do not know if it can happen, though. Wherever they concentrate their strength, they can beat us. That remains true, even with our new weapons-and we've used up a lot of those."

"The Russians will have to send us more, then," Liu Han said.

"That won't be so easy, not any more," Nieh Ho-T'ing replied. "The scaly devils have already shot up a couple of caravans-and Molotov, d.a.m.n him, doesn't dare get caught in the act of helping us. If he does get caught, the little devils land on him instead, and he won't take that chance. So we're liable to be stuck with what we've got."

"Not good," Liu Han said, and used one of the scaly devils' emphatic coughs.

"No, not good at all," Nieh said. "And we had an unpleasant report today from down in the south."

"You'd better tell me," Liu Han said, though she was anything but sure she wanted to hear.

"Here and there, the scaly devils are starting to use human troops against us," Nieh Ho-T'ing said.

"They've tried that before," Liu Han said. "It doesn't work well. Before long, the soldiers go over to us, or enough of them do, anyhow. Humans naturally have solidarity with one another."

But Nieh shook his head. "This is different. Before, they would try to use Chinese soldiers here in China, and you're right-that didn't work. But these men, whoever they are, aren't Chinese. They're mercenaries in the pay of the little devils. They don't speak our language, so we can't reach them. They just do what the scaly devils tell them to do-they're the perfect oppressors."

"Now that is not good. That is not good at all." Liu Han scratched her jaw, as she had while judging Ku Cheng-Lun. What she decided here was a good deal more important than her verdict in the clerk's case-though Ku would not have agreed with that. After some time, she said, "We will have to speak in the little scaly devils' language. The mercenaries are bound to understand that, or some of them are. Otherwise, the scaly devils couldn't give them their orders."

Nieh Ho-T'ing nodded. "Yes, that is a good idea. Better than anything we've tried yet-it's bound to be. Some people say these soldiers are from South America, others say they're from India. Either way, they might as well come from Home for all the sense we can make of what they say."

"We have to make them understand," Liu Han said. "Once we do, the rot will start."

"Here's hoping, anyhow," Nieh said.

Before Liu Han could answer, jet engines started howling low over Peking. Antiaircraft guns barked. Antiaircraft missiles took off with roaring whooshes. Bombs burst. The ground started to shake. Little waves shimmered in Liu Han's bowl of broth and noodles. She picked it up. "I wish we had airplanes of our own," she said. "The way things are, the little devils can hit us, but we can't hit back."

"I know." Nieh Ho-T'ing shrugged. "Nothing we can do about that, though. Molotov isn't about to pack fighter planes on camelback, any more than he's likely to send us landcruisers. But now, at least, we make the scaly devils pay a price when they use those things."

"Not enough," Liu Han said. More bombs burst, some not very far away. She glanced at the oil lamps that lit the inside of the noodle shop. So easy for a hit to knock them into the rubble and start a fire... Broad stretches of Peking had already burned from fires of that sort.

"If we fail this time, we try again," Nieh said, "and again, and again, and as often as need be. Sooner or later, we win."

Or we give up, Liu Han thought. But she would not say that; saying it seemed to make it more likely to come true. Part of her realized that was nothing but peasant superst.i.tion, but she kept quiet all the same. She'd grown up a peasant, never expecting to be anything else, and couldn't always escape her origins. Liu Han thought. But she would not say that; saying it seemed to make it more likely to come true. Part of her realized that was nothing but peasant superst.i.tion, but she kept quiet all the same. She'd grown up a peasant, never expecting to be anything else, and couldn't always escape her origins.

Bombs fell again, some nearer, some farther away. Nieh Ho-T'ing said, "If they keep doing this, there won't be anything left of Peking but ruins."

"Maybe not," Liu Han said, "but they'll be our our ruins." ruins."

Nieh eyed her with more than a little admiration. "You would say that about all of China, wouldn't you?"

"If it meant being rid of the little scaly devils for good, I would," she replied.

He nodded. "You always have taken the hard line against them."

"I have my reasons, even if some of them are personal and not ideological," Liu Han said. "But I am not really a hardliner. My daughter, now, she would say, 'Let all of China be ruined even if it doesn't necessarily mean getting rid of the little devils for good, just so they can't have it.' "

Nieh Ho-T'ing nodded again. "I see the difference. Mao would probably agree with Liu Mei, you know."

"Well, he'll have his chance with this uprising," Liu Han said. Unless the people refuse to fight any more-unless they would sooner have peace regardless of who rules them. Unless the people refuse to fight any more-unless they would sooner have peace regardless of who rules them. She kept that to herself, too. She kept that to herself, too.

"Mao has been a revolutionary his whole life," Nieh said. "A lot of us have. We will go on fighting, however long it takes. We are patient. The dialectic is on our side. We will bring the country with us."

"Of course we will," Liu Han declared. But then the doubts that never quite went away came out: "The only thing that worries me is, the little scaly devils are patient, too." Nieh Ho-T'ing looked at her as if he wished she hadn't said any such thing. She too wished she hadn't said it. But she feared that didn't make it any less true. More bombs rained down on Peking.

Just seeing Tosevite railroads had convinced Nesseref that she didn't like them. Instead of being clean and quiet, they roared and puffed and chugged and belched filthy, stinking black smoke into the air. One of these days, she was told, the Race would replace the horrible engines in Poland with more modern machinery. But it didn't look as if that would happen any time soon. There were so many more urgent things to do. No matter how filthy the locomotives the Big Uglies built, they did work after a fashion, and so they stayed in service.

And now she found herself in a pa.s.senger car behind one of those noxious locomotives. The rolling, swaying, jouncing ride was even worse than she'd expected, and left her as nervous as a wild Big Ugly would have been to fly in a shuttlecraft for the first time.

Fortunately, few Tosevites saw her discomfiture: one car on each train was reserved for males and females of the Race. In fact, Nesseref had the entire compartment to herself. A Tosevite conductor came through and spoke in her language (a relief, because she'd learned only a handful of words in either Polish or Yiddish): "Przemysl is the next stop. All out for Przemysl."

Out she went, in some anxiety. If no one was waiting for her here at the station, she would have to brave a taxi. That would be doubly difficult: first finding a driver who understood her and then surviving a trip through terrifying Tosevite traffic. Having experienced both, she vastly preferred s.p.a.ce travel, which had fewer things that could go wrong.

But a Big Ugly on the platform waved to her, waved and called, "Shuttlecraft Pilot! Nesseref! Superior female! Over here!"

With more than a little relief, Nesseref waved back. "I greet you, Mordechai Anielewicz. I am glad to see you."

"And I am glad to see you," her Tosevite friend replied. "I was even gladder to see you when I came out of that house in Kanth. Seeing any friends there was very good indeed."

"I can understand how it would have been." Nesseref's eye turrets swiveled this way and that. To her, this crowded platform in Przemysl, full of shouting, exclaiming Big Uglies, was a frightening place; she would not have wanted to be here without a friend, and especially a Tosevite friend. But this was different from what Anielewicz had gone through inside the Reich. Reich. She was, fortunately, sensible enough to understand as much. No one wanted to kill her here-she certainly hoped not, at any rate. But Anielewicz could have died at any moment in Kanth, and he'd volunteered to go there understanding that was so. She was, fortunately, sensible enough to understand as much. No one wanted to kill her here-she certainly hoped not, at any rate. But Anielewicz could have died at any moment in Kanth, and he'd volunteered to go there understanding that was so.

Now he said, "Come with me. My apartment is not very far away. My mate and hatchlings look forward to meeting you. Well, Heinrich looks forward to meeting you again. And he looks forward to showing you his beffel."

Nesseref's mouth fell open in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Ah, yes-the famous Pancer." She p.r.o.nounced the Tosevite name as well as she could. "He may be interested in meeting me, too-I probably smell like a tsiongi, and that is an odor that will always get a beffel's attention."

Anielewicz spoke three words in his own language: "Dogs and cats." "Dogs and cats." Then he explained: "These are Tosevite domestic animals that often do not get along with each other." Then he explained: "These are Tosevite domestic animals that often do not get along with each other."

"I see," Nesseref said. She skittered after Anielewicz so she wouldn't lose him in the cavernous train station. Tosevites stared and pointed at her and exclaimed in their unintelligible languages. Many of them inhaled the burning herb that always struck her as noxious; its acrid smoke filled her scent receptors.

Outside, the cold smote her. Mordechai Anielewicz repeated, "It will not be far."

"Good," she said, shivering. "Otherwise, I do believe I would freeze before I got there. This winter weather of yours makes me see why you Tosevites deck yourselves in so many wrappings."

"I have seen members of the Race do it, too," Anielewicz said. "Staying warm is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I suppose not." Nesseref hurried down the street after him. "But wrappings are rarely necessary back on Home. We do not like to think they should be necessary anywhere we live."

"What you like to think is not always what is true," Anielewicz remarked, a comment with which she could hardly disagree.

She sighed with relief on entering the lobby to his block of flats, which was heated. "You must understand, you have more tolerance for cold than we do," she said. "Here, frozen water falling from the sky is something you take for granted. Back on Home, it is a rare phenomenon at the North and South Poles and at the peaks of the highest mountains. Otherwise, for us, it is unknown."

That made the Big Ugly let out several of the barking yips his kind used for laughter. "It is not unknown here, superior female," he said, and tacked on another emphatic cough. "If the Race is going to live in large parts of Tosev 3, you will have to get used to cold weather."

"So we have discovered," Nesseref said, with an emphatic cough of her own. "The males of the conquest fleet have had more of a chance to grow accustomed to your weather than we newcomers have. I must tell you, my first winter here was a dreadful surprise. I did not want to believe what the males had told me, but it was true. And seasons here on Tosev 3 last twice as long as they do on Home, so that winter seemed doubly dreadful."

"Without winter, we could not enjoy spring and summer so much," Mordechai Anielewicz said.

Nesseref answered that with a shrug. Suffering to make pleasure seem sweeter struck her as more trouble than it was worth. She didn't say so; she didn't want to offend her friend and host. Instead, she followed him upstairs.

That the apartment building had stairs instead of an elevator said something about the level of technology the local Big Uglies took for granted. Nesseref remembered the fire that had destroyed not just Anielewicz's apartment but his whole apartment building. Such a disaster would have been impossible in her building, with its sensors and sprinklers and generally more fireproof materials.

On the other fork of the tongue, this building was more s.p.a.cious than the one in which she lived. Part of that was because Tosevites were larger than members of the Race, but only part. The rest... The Big Uglies didn't seem to build as if every particle of s.p.a.ce were at a premium. The Race did. The Race had to. Home, and especially Home's cities, had been crowded since before the Empire unified the world. The Tosevites' architecture said they still felt they had room to expand.

Their technology has come very far very fast, Nesseref thought. Nesseref thought. Their ideologies lag behind. Their ideologies lag behind. In a way, that was a comforting thought; it let her view the Big Uglies as primitives. In another way, though, it was frightening. The Tosevites had the means to do things they could scarcely have imagined a few generations before. In a way, that was a comforting thought; it let her view the Big Uglies as primitives. In another way, though, it was frightening. The Tosevites had the means to do things they could scarcely have imagined a few generations before.

She wished she hadn't thought about how expansive they were.

"Here we are." Anielewicz led her down the hall and opened the door to what was, she presumed, his apartment. It did not seem so very s.p.a.cious, not with so many Big Uglies inside it. They greeted her in turn: by their wrappings, she identified two females and two more males besides Mordechai Anielewicz.

And there was a beffel: a very fat, very sa.s.sy beffel who swaggered out as if he owned the apartment and the Tosevites in it were his servants. He stuck out his tongue at Nesseref, taking her scent. For a moment, it was as if he had to condescend to remember what a member of the Race smelled like. But then he caught Orbit's odor clinging to her, and swelled up in anger and let out a sneezing, challenging hiss.

"Pancer!" Heinrich Anielewicz said sharply. He spoke to the beffel in his own language. Nesseref had no idea what he said, but it did the trick. The beffel deflated and became a well-behaved pet once more.

"You have him well trained," Nesseref told the youngest Tosevite. "I have known many males and females of the Race who let their befflem be-come the masters in their homes. That is not so here."

"Oh, no," the hatchling said. "My father would not allow it."

Mordechai Anielewicz laughed again. "Convincing Heinrich of that was easy enough. Convincing Pancer of it has been harder."

Nesseref laughed, too. "Even among us, befflem are a law unto themselves."

Anielewicz's mate did not speak the language of the Race nearly so well as he did, but she spoke with great intensity: "Superior female, I thank for to help Mordechai for to find us. I thank you for to help to go to Kanth, too."

"You are welcome, Bertha Anielewicz." Nesseref was pleased she'd recalled the name, even if she didn't p.r.o.nounce it very well. "I am glad to be a friend to your mate. Friends help friends-is that not a truth?"

"Truth," Anielewicz's mate agreed, along with what was surely intended to be an emphatic cough.

Nesseref had wondered what sort of food the Tosevites would serve her; Anielewicz had made it plain that following the Jewish superst.i.tion limited what he and his kinsfolk could eat. But the shuttlecraft pilot found nothing wrong with the roasted fowl that went on the table. Big Uglies ate more vegetables and less meat than the Race was in the habit of doing, but if Nesseref enjoyed more pieces of the bird and less of the tubers and stalks that went with it than did her hosts, no one seemed to find that out of the ordinary.

"Here." Mordechai Anielewicz set a gla.s.s half full of clear liquid in front of her. "This is distilled, unflavored alcohol. I have seen members of the Race drink it and enjoy it."

"I thank you," Nesseref said. "Yes, I have drunk it myself."

"We have a custom of proposing a reason for drinking before we take the first sip," he told her. Raising his gla.s.s, he spoke in his own tongue: "L'chaim!" "L'chaim!" Then, for her benefit, he translated: "To life!" Then, for her benefit, he translated: "To life!"

"To life!" Nesseref echoed. Imitating the Tosevites around her, she raised her gla.s.s before sipping from it. The alcohol was potent enough to make her hiss; after it slid down her throat, she had to concentrate to make her eye turrets turn in the directions she wanted. She asked, "May I also propose a reason for drinking?"

Anielewicz made the affirmative gesture. "Please do."

Raising her gla.s.s, the shuttlecraft pilot said, "To peace!"

"To peace!" The Tosevites echoed her this time, Anielewicz again translating. They all drank. So did she. The alcohol was strong, but it was also smooth. Before Nesseref quite noticed what she was doing, she'd emptied the gla.s.s. Anielewicz poured more into it.

Seeing everyone in the apartment having a good time and no one paying any attention to him, Pancer let out a plaintive squeak. Heinrich Anielewicz patted his own lap. The beffel jumped up into it and rubbed himself against the young Big Ugly as he might have against a member of the Race.

Maybe the alcohol had something to do with the solemnity with which Nesseref spoke: "Watching something like that makes me hope our two species really will be able to live in peace for many years to come."

"Alevai," Mordechai Anielewicz said in his language. As he had before, he translated for her once more: "May it be so." Mordechai Anielewicz said in his language. As he had before, he translated for her once more: "May it be so."

"May it be so," Nesseref agreed, and then tried the Tosevite word: "Alevai." "Alevai." Maybe it was the alcohol, but she had no trouble saying it at all. Maybe it was the alcohol, but she had no trouble saying it at all.

.20.

Car keys clinked as Sam Yeager fished them out of his pocket. "I'll be back in a bit," he called to Barbara and Jonathan. "I'm going to see how the alterations for my tux look."

"You'll be dashing," his wife said. Sam snorted. That wasn't a word he'd ever thought to apply to himself. Jonathan just snickered. His tuxedo already fit fine, so he didn't have to worry about return trips to the tailor.

Out on the street, cars slid past, their lights on. It was just a little past five-thirty, but night came early in December, even in Los Angeles. Yeager unlocked the door to his own Buick in the driveway, got inside, and fastened his seat belt. As he started the engine, he shook his head in bemus.e.m.e.nt. Back before the Lizards came, n.o.body'd bothered putting seat belts in cars. Nowadays, everyone took them for granted: the Race's att.i.tude toward minimizing risk had rubbed off on people.

He backed out of the driveway and drove south down Budlong toward Redondo Beach Boulevard, on which the formalwear place stood. Maybe he really would look dashing by the time the j.a.panese-American tailors were done with him. Jonathan did, sure enough. But Jonathan, of course, was a young man, and it would be his his wedding day. Sam knew he needed more help to look sharp than his son did. wedding day. Sam knew he needed more help to look sharp than his son did.

He'd gone only a couple of blocks-he hadn't even got to Rosecrans yet-when he spied motion in the rearview mirror. He needed a heartbeat to realize it wasn't motion behind the car. It was motion inside inside the car: somebody who'd been hiding, lying down on the back seat or maybe between the front and back seats, coming up and showing himself. the car: somebody who'd been hiding, lying down on the back seat or maybe between the front and back seats, coming up and showing himself.

That heartbeat's hesitation was at least half a heartbeat too long. By the time Sam took one hand off the wheel and started to go for his .45, he felt something hard and cold and metallic pressed to the back of his head. "Don't even think about it, Yeager," his uninvited guest told him. "Don't even start start to think about it. I know you're heeled. Keep both hands where I can see 'em and pull on over to the side of the road if you want to keep breathing even a little longer." to think about it. I know you're heeled. Keep both hands where I can see 'em and pull on over to the side of the road if you want to keep breathing even a little longer."

Numbly, Sam obeyed. He'd known this day might come. He'd known it ever since he gave Straha the information he'd uncovered. He'd known it before then, as a matter of fact. But he'd been extra careful since that day. This once, he hadn't been careful enough. One mistake, that's all you get. One mistake, that's all you get.

"Attaboy," his pa.s.senger said when he parked the car by the curb. "Now-tell me where it's at, so I can pull your teeth. Don't get cute with me, either. I'd sooner ice you someplace where it's quieter than this, but I'll do it right here if I've got to."

"Right hip," Yeager said dully. Smooth and deft, the man in the back seat half stood, reached forward, slid his hand under the safety belt, and plucked out the pistol. I was stupid twice, I was stupid twice, Sam thought. Sam thought. I couldn't have got it very fast there myself. I couldn't have got it very fast there myself. Right now, though, that didn't look as if it would matter. Right now, though, that didn't look as if it would matter.

"Okay," said the man with the pistol-with two pistols now. "Get moving. Go down to Redondo Beach and turn right."