Felless cared very little for the proper att.i.tude. She was gloomily certain she could do her job here without an error for the next hundred years and Veffani would still refuse to transfer her to a starship or even to a different Tosevite not-empire. And she could not appeal to Cairo for relief from such high-handed treatment, not after several leading officials from the Race's administrative center on Tosev 3 had mated with her in the amba.s.sador's conference chamber.

Among the Big Uglies, mating created bonds of affection. Among the Race, all it seemed to create was resentment, especially when it was an out-of-season, ginger-induced mating. Felless sighed. Just what she didn't want: a reason to wish she were a Tosevite.

What she did want was another taste of ginger. The craving gnawed at her like an itch deep under her scales that she couldn't hope to scratch. She had several tastes waiting in her desk. The battle she fought wasn't to keep from tasting. It was to wait till she had the best chance of going long enough after her taste to keep from exciting males with her pheromones when she left her office.

It was also a losing battle. Her eye turrets kept sliding away from the monitor and toward the desk drawer where she'd hidden the ginger. You are nothing but an addict, dependent on a miserable Tosevite herb, You are nothing but an addict, dependent on a miserable Tosevite herb, she told herself severely. That should have shamed her. Back when she'd first started tasting, it had shamed her. It didn't any more. Now she knew it was nothing but a statement of fact. she told herself severely. That should have shamed her. Back when she'd first started tasting, it had shamed her. It didn't any more. Now she knew it was nothing but a statement of fact.

Like her eye turrets, the chair swiveled. Before she quite knew what she'd done, she turned the chair away from the computer table and toward the desk. She'd just started to rise when the telephone circuitry inside the computer hissed for attention.

She turned back with a hiss of her own, one that mixed frustration and relief. "I greet you," she said, and then, when she saw Veffani's image on the screen, "I greet you, superior sir."

"And I greet you, Senior Researcher," the amba.s.sador to the Reich Reich replied. "Come to my office immediately." replied. "Come to my office immediately."

"It shall be done," Felless said, and switched off. If she was busy, she could keep her mind-or some of her mind-off her craving. Had Veffani waited a little longer before calling, she would have created fresh scandal by poking her nose outside her office.

Maybe the call was a test. If it was, she would pa.s.s it. She'd pa.s.sed other, similar, tests before. If she pa.s.sed enough of them... odds were it still wouldn't matter. Veffani had made it all too clear he wouldn't let her go no matter what she did.

As she had on that disastrous day when the amba.s.sador summoned her after she'd tasted, she walked by Slomikk in the hall. The science officer turned an eye turret in her direction, no doubt wondering whether mating pheromones would reach his scent receptors in a moment. When they didn't, he kept on walking. Felless felt as if she'd won an obscure victory.

Pheromones didn't matter to Veffani's secretary, a female from the colonization fleet. Even so, after Felless' previous fiasco, the female was wary. "I trust there will be no problem when you go in to see him?" she said.

"None," Felless said, and walked past the secretary too fast for her to get in any more digs.

Veffani turned an eye turret toward her. "I greet you, Senior Researcher. You are commendably prompt."

"I thank you, Amba.s.sador." Felless fought to hold her temper. Nothing she did here would get her a commendation, and she knew it only too well. "How may I serve the Race?"

When Veffani didn't answer right away, hope began to rise in her. If the amba.s.sador didn't like what she had to say, maybe it would do her some good. At last, he said, "As you no doubt know, you were reckoned the colonization fleet's leading expert on alien races when your fleet set out from Home."

Felless made the affirmative gesture. "Yes, superior sir. I did not know then how much of my training would be useless here on Tosev 3."

"This world has surprised all of us," Veffani said, which was an undoubted truth. "The point I am trying to make, however, is that Fleetlord Reffet still reckons you a leading expert on the Big Uglies, no matter how little you deserve that recognition when compared to various males from the conquest fleet."

Now hope did surge, hot and strong, in Felless. Being a fleetlord himself, Reffet could cancel out Atvar and the males from the conquest fleet-even Veffani. He could... provided he wanted to badly enough. Felless had to fight to keep a quiver from her voice as she asked, "What does the exalted fleetlord require of me?"

"I cannot tell you, because no one has informed me." Veffani didn't sound very happy to tell her that. He went on, "The fleetlord's representative, a certain Faparz, will be coming down by shuttlecraft to inform you personally. He is due to arrive this evening."

"By shuttlecraft?" Felless knew she sounded surprised, but the amba.s.sador could scarcely blame her for that, no matter what else he blamed her for. "Why does he not communicate by telephone or electronic message?"

"That I can answer," Veffani replied. "The accursed Deutsch Tosevites are becoming altogether too good at reading and decoding our signals. And they are not the only ones, are they? Do I not recall your telling me an American Big Ugly succeeded for some time in masquerading as a male of the Race on the computer network?"

"Yes, superior sir, that is correct." Felless knew another stab of jealousy about Ttomalss-one that, for a change, had nothing to do with his escape from the Reich. Reich. His project involving the Tosevite hatchling kept paying handsome dividends. Felless might have thought of doing such a thing herself, but Ttomalss, having come with the conquest fleet, had an enormous head start on her... as he did in all matters Tosevite. She forced her thoughts back to the matter directly in front of her. "Then whatever message Faparz bears is one where security is an important concern?" His project involving the Tosevite hatchling kept paying handsome dividends. Felless might have thought of doing such a thing herself, but Ttomalss, having come with the conquest fleet, had an enormous head start on her... as he did in all matters Tosevite. She forced her thoughts back to the matter directly in front of her. "Then whatever message Faparz bears is one where security is an important concern?"

"I should think so, yes," Veffani answered. "My I offer you a word of advice, Senior Researcher?"

"I rather think I know what you are about to say," Felless replied.

"Duty requires me to say it anyhow." It wasn't just duty, either: Veffani looked as if he was enjoying himself. "Do not taste ginger between now and then. Faparz is not a Big Ugly male, and you will not win favor with him because he has mated with you. The reverse is likelier to be true."

"Believe me, superior sir, I understand that," Felless said stiffly. She would crave ginger, and this evening felt a long way off. But the amba.s.sador was undoubtedly right, even if he took too much pleasure in rubbing her snout in her own disgrace.

"For your sake, I hope you do," he said now. "I would just as soon see your punishment continue; in my opinion, you deserve it. You will prove that if you humiliate yourself with the representative of the fleetlord of the colonization fleet as well as with those from the conquest fleet." Felless did her best to hide her resentment, part of which sprang from Veffani's being right. The amba.s.sador went on, "I dismiss you."

"I thank you, superior sir." Felless did not in fact feel in the least thankful, but even Big Uglies recognized how hypocrisy lubricated social wheels. She hurried away before Veffani found any more pungent advice for her.

As was her habit, she retreated to her office. That proved a mistake; her eye turrets kept going back to the drawer where she kept her precious vials of ginger. But fleeing the office would have meant mingling with the rest of the emba.s.sy staff, most of whom where members of the conquest fleet and most of whom had no more use for her than did Veffani. Except when I've been tasting ginger, Except when I've been tasting ginger, she thought. she thought. They have a use for me then, but not one that makes them like me or respect me any more afterwards. They have a use for me then, but not one that makes them like me or respect me any more afterwards.

All that made perfect sense... in her mind. But she'd been on the point of tasting when Veffani summoned her to his office. No matter what made sense in her mind, her body craved ginger. It let her know it craved ginger, too, and in no uncertain terms. Every moment seemed an eternity. She wanted to call Veffani back and ask him when in the evening Faparz was scheduled to arrive, but made herself hold back. The amba.s.sador would surely understand why she made such a call: would understand, and would scorn her more than ever.

She was trembling with the desperate urge to taste when the intercom unit connected to her door hissed for attention. "Enter," she called, and the male waiting in the corridor did come in.

"I greet you, Senior Researcher," Faparz said. The body paint on one side of his torso and one arm was plainer than Felless'. That on his other side was as colorful and ornate as anyone on or near Tosev 3 possessed.

"I greet you, Fleetlord's Adjutant," Felless replied. Veffani hadn't told her Reffet was sending his adjutant, and Felless hadn't expected it. Maybe the amba.s.sador hadn't known. But maybe he'd been hoping she would taste, and would end up in trouble because of it. Well, she hadn't. Pride helped fight her desire for the Tosevite herb-helped a little, anyway. "How may I serve the commander of the colonization fleet?"

"We are seeking to make colonization more effective, and to spread safely over broader areas of Tosev 3," Faparz replied. "Your insights into this process will be valuable, and most appreciated."

"I shall of course do whatever I can to aid this worthy effort," Felless said. "One thing that occurs to me is using animals native to Home to make portions of Tosev 3 more Homelike. This is, I gather, already beginning to occur informally; systematizing it could yield good results."

"I agree," Faparz said. "This notion has already been proposed, and is likely to be implemented." Felless hid her disappointment. But Reffet's adjutant went on, "That is the sort of idea we are seeking. That you can find such a scheme on the spur of the moment shows you are likely to be valuable to the project."

"Spirits of Emperors past look kindly on you for your praise!" Felless exclaimed. Then her own spirits grew gloomy, almost as if ginger were ebbing from her system. "But I must tell you, Fleetlord's Adjutant, that removing me from the Reich Reich may prove difficult. Amba.s.sador Veffani has... formed a grudge against me, and desires that I stay here to work among Big Uglies." may prove difficult. Amba.s.sador Veffani has... formed a grudge against me, and desires that I stay here to work among Big Uglies."

"I am aware of the nature of this, ah, grudge," Faparz said primly, and Felless' spirits tumbled down into her toeclaws. Then Reffet's aide continued, "Still, I believe we may accommodate the amba.s.sador while still involving you. Some of this research is being conducted at a consular site that, while within the boundaries of the Reich, Reich, is relatively close to territory the Race rules, and the climate there is certainly more salubrious than in this miserable, cold, dank, misty place." is relatively close to territory the Race rules, and the climate there is certainly more salubrious than in this miserable, cold, dank, misty place."

"If you are offering me a new a.s.signment, superior sir, I gladly accept." Felless had to swallow an emphatic cough that would have shown how glad she really was. Now she felt almost as if she'd had the taste of ginger she'd forgone waiting for Faparz. Wherever he-and Reffet-sent her, it couldn't possibly be worse than Nuremberg. Of that she had not a doubt in the world, not a doubt in the whole wide Empire.

Lieutenant Colonel Johannes Drucker floated weightless in Kathe, Kathe, the reusable upper stage of the A-45 that had blasted him into orbit from Peenemunde. He was glad to be a couple of hundred kilometers above the weather, even more glad than usual: fogs rolling in off the Baltic had twice delayed his launch. Here in s.p.a.ce, he still felt like a man serving his country. Down on the ground, he had trouble feeling like anything but a man his country was trying to get. the reusable upper stage of the A-45 that had blasted him into orbit from Peenemunde. He was glad to be a couple of hundred kilometers above the weather, even more glad than usual: fogs rolling in off the Baltic had twice delayed his launch. Here in s.p.a.ce, he still felt like a man serving his country. Down on the ground, he had trouble feeling like anything but a man his country was trying to get.

Gently, he patted the instrument panel. A lot of fliers named their upper stages for wives or girlfriends. How many, though, named them for wives or girlfriends who were, or might be, a quarter part Jew? Well, no one had tried making him change the name. That was something, a small something. Since the SS had had to give Kathe back to him, perhaps the official thinking was that she couldn't really have had any Jewish blood at all. Or perhaps the powers that be simply hadn't noticed till now, and a technician with a can of paint would be waiting when Drucker came down.

He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about anything of the sort. Instead, he looked outward. Somewhere out there, in the asteroid belt past the orbit of Mars, the Americans aboard the Lewis and Clark Lewis and Clark were doing... what? Drucker didn't know. Neither did anyone else in the Greater German were doing... what? Drucker didn't know. Neither did anyone else in the Greater German Reich. Reich.

What he did know was that he was enormously jealous of the Americans. They'd gone out there in a real s.p.a.cecraft, not just an overgrown Roman candle like the one he'd ridden into orbit. "We should have done that," he muttered. Germany had been ahead of the USA in rocketry during the fighting against the Lizards; it struck him as unconscionable that the Reich Reich's lead had been frittered away.

His gaze grew hungry, as hungry as those of the wolves that had once prowled around Peenemunde. The Americans had taken a long step toward building a real starship. If the Reich Reich had such ships, the Lizards would be shaking in the boots they didn't wear. If the had such ships, the Lizards would be shaking in the boots they didn't wear. If the Reich Reich had starships, they would be vengeance weapons, and the Race had to know it. had starships, they would be vengeance weapons, and the Race had to know it.

The radio crackled to life: "s.p.a.ceship of the Deutsche, acknowledge this transmission at once!"

It was, of course, a Lizard talking. No human being would have been so arrogant. No human nation could have afforded to be so arrogant to the Greater German Reich. Reich. But the Race could. However strong the But the Race could. However strong the Reich Reich was, the Race was stronger. Every trip into s.p.a.ce rubbed Drucker's nose in that unpalatable fact. was, the Race was stronger. Every trip into s.p.a.ce rubbed Drucker's nose in that unpalatable fact.

"Acknowledging," he said, shortly, using the language of the Race himself. Some of the Lizards with whom he dealt were decent enough sorts; with them, he went through the polite I greet you I greet yous. To the ones who only snapped at him, he snapped in return.

"Your orbit is acceptable," the Lizard told him. The Lizard would have been not just arrogant but furious had his...o...b..t been anything else.

"You so relieve my mind," Drucker responded. That was sarcasm and truth commingled. Weapons were tracking him now. They would have been ready to go after Kathe Kathe had an unannounced orbital change made the Race nervous. had an unannounced orbital change made the Race nervous.

"See that you stay where you ought to be," the Lizard said. "Out."

Drucker chuckled. "Not even a chance to get the last word." He chuckled again. "Probably a female of the Race." The real Kathe, had she heard that slur on womankind, would have snorted and stuck an elbow in his ribs. He probably would have deserved it, too.

He glanced down at Earth below. He was sweeping along above the western Pacific; a nasty storm was building there, with outlying tendrils of cloud already stretching out over j.a.pan and reaching toward China. The Reich, Reich, the Americans, and the Race all sold meteorological photos to countries without satellites of their own. Back when Drucker was a child, people had been at the mercy of the weather. They still were, but to a lesser degree. They couldn't change it, but at least they had some idea of what was on the way. That made a difference. the Americans, and the Race all sold meteorological photos to countries without satellites of their own. Back when Drucker was a child, people had been at the mercy of the weather. They still were, but to a lesser degree. They couldn't change it, but at least they had some idea of what was on the way. That made a difference.

Down toward the equator Kathe Kathe flew at better than 27,000 kilometers an hour. The velocity sounded enormous, but wasn't enough to escape Earth orbit, let alone travel from star to star. That bothered Drucker more than usual. He wanted to go out farther into the solar system, wanted to and couldn't. Some German s.p.a.cecraft had gone to Mars, but he hadn't been aboard any of them. And they were only rockets, hardly more potent than the A-45 that had lifted him into orbit. flew at better than 27,000 kilometers an hour. The velocity sounded enormous, but wasn't enough to escape Earth orbit, let alone travel from star to star. That bothered Drucker more than usual. He wanted to go out farther into the solar system, wanted to and couldn't. Some German s.p.a.cecraft had gone to Mars, but he hadn't been aboard any of them. And they were only rockets, hardly more potent than the A-45 that had lifted him into orbit.

"Calling the German s.p.a.cecraft! Calling the German s.p.a.cecraft!" Another peremptory signal, but this one in German, and one he was glad to answer.

"Kathe here, with Drucker aboard," he said. "How goes it, here, with Drucker aboard," he said. "How goes it, Hermann Goring Hermann Goring?"

"Well enough," the radio operator aboard the German s.p.a.ce station replied. "And with you?"

"Not too bad," Drucker said. "And when do you take off and start rampaging through outer s.p.a.ce?"

"Would day after tomorrow suit you?" The radioman laughed. So did Drucker. Up above them, some Lizard listening to their transmission would probably have started tearing out his hair, if only he'd had any to tear.

"Day after tomorrow wouldn't suit me at all," Drucker said, "because then I couldn't be aboard when you left. And I want to go traveling."

"I don't blame you," the radio operator said. "The frontier is out this way. If the Americans are going to explore it, we had better do the same."

"Not just the Americans," Drucker said, and said no more. The Lizards already knew the Reich Reich mistrusted them. For that matter, the mistrust ran both ways, no doubt with good reason. mistrusted them. For that matter, the mistrust ran both ways, no doubt with good reason.

Drucker wondered just how soon the Hermann Goring Hermann Goring really would be leaving Earth orbit for something more worthwhile. Sooner than it would have if the Americans hadn't lit a fire under the really would be leaving Earth orbit for something more worthwhile. Sooner than it would have if the Americans hadn't lit a fire under the Reich Reich's s.p.a.ce program-he was sure of that. He was also sure the Race would be horrified to have not one but two Earthly nations on the way toward genuine s.p.a.cecraft.

A little later, he pa.s.sed about twenty kilometers below the German s.p.a.ce station. Through Zeiss field gla.s.ses, it seemed almost close enough to touch. The job of converting it to a s.p.a.ceship was going much more smoothly than it had for the Americans. But they'd kept what they were up to a secret, while the Reich Reich was making no bones about what it had in mind. If the Lizards didn't like it, they could start a war. Such was Himmler's att.i.tude, anyhow. was making no bones about what it had in mind. If the Lizards didn't like it, they could start a war. Such was Himmler's att.i.tude, anyhow.

The swastikas painted on the s.p.a.ce station were big enough to be easily visible. Straining his eyes, Drucker imagined he could read Goring's name above them, but he really couldn't, or not quite. He chuckled a little. Down on Earth, the late Reichsmarschall Reichsmarschall was a bad joke, the was a bad joke, the Luftwaffe Luftwaffe moribund and subservient to the moribund and subservient to the Wehrmacht Wehrmacht and the SS. But Goring's name would go traveling farther than the pudgy, drug-addled founder of the German air force could ever have imagined. and the SS. But Goring's name would go traveling farther than the pudgy, drug-addled founder of the German air force could ever have imagined.

And the Lizards couldn't-or at least they'd better not-try to forbid a German s.p.a.cecraft from going where an American one had already gone. That would mean trouble, big trouble. It might even mean war.

Back when he'd been driving a panzer against the Lizards, Drucker would have given his left nut to control the kind of firepower he had at his fingertips now. He'd been so outgunned then... and he was outgunned up here, too. He sighed. The Lizards had more and better weapons. Odds were they would for a long time to come. But the Reich Reich could hurt them. That was the essence of German foreign policy. And he, Johannes Drucker, could hurt them with his nuclear-tipped missiles. could hurt them. That was the essence of German foreign policy. And he, Johannes Drucker, could hurt them with his nuclear-tipped missiles.

He hoped he wouldn't have to. They would surely blow him out of the sky the instant after he launched. The one thing he didn't think they'd do was try to blow him out of the sky before he could launch. They'd attacked Earth without provocation, but hadn't staged any unprovoked a.s.saults since the fighting ended.

Maybe that made them more trustworthy than human beings. Maybe it just made them more naive. Drucker never had figured that out.

His radio crackled into life. "Relay ship Hoth Hoth to s.p.a.cecraft to s.p.a.cecraft Kathe. Kathe. Urgent. Acknowledge." Urgent. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledging," Drucker said. "Was ist los, Hoth?" "Was ist los, Hoth?" The relay ship, down in the South Atlantic, kept s.p.a.cecraft in touch with the The relay ship, down in the South Atlantic, kept s.p.a.cecraft in touch with the Reich Reich even when they were out of direct radio range. All the s.p.a.cefaring human powers used relay ships. The Lizards, with their world-bestriding lands, didn't have to. even when they were out of direct radio range. All the s.p.a.cefaring human powers used relay ships. The Lizards, with their world-bestriding lands, didn't have to.

"Urgent news bulletin," the radio operator down below answered.

"Go ahead?' Drucker did his best to hide the alarm that surged through him. But surely his superiors wouldn't order him into battle with a news bulletin... would they?

Plainly reading from text in front of him, the radio operator said, "Radio Nuremberg has announced the death of Heinrich Himmler, Chancellor of the Greater German Reich. Reich. The Chancellor, on duty to his last breath, suffered a coronary thrombosis while working on state papers. No date for services celebrating his life has yet been set, nor has a successor been named." The Chancellor, on duty to his last breath, suffered a coronary thrombosis while working on state papers. No date for services celebrating his life has yet been set, nor has a successor been named."

"Gott im Himmel," Drucker whispered. Things would be hopping down in Nuremberg now. Even more than Hitler before him, Himmler had stayed strong because he let no one around him have any strength. Drucker whispered. Things would be hopping down in Nuremberg now. Even more than Hitler before him, Himmler had stayed strong because he let no one around him have any strength. Nor has a successor been named Nor has a successor been named was liable to cover some vicious infighting in the days to come. was liable to cover some vicious infighting in the days to come.

"Have you got that, Kathe Kathe?" the radioman asked.

"I've got it," Drucker said. This is liable to be the safest place I could find, This is liable to be the safest place I could find, he thought. He almost said it aloud, but thought better of that. he thought. He almost said it aloud, but thought better of that.

And then the fellow down below said it for him: "Staying a few thousand kilometers away when the big boys squabble isn't so bad, eh?"

"That's the truth, sure enough," Drucker answered. "Well, I don't give orders. All I do is take them. Whoever the new Fuhrer Fuhrer is, he'll tell me what to do and I'll do it. That's the way things work." is, he'll tell me what to do and I'll do it. That's the way things work."

Without a doubt, someone aboard the Hoth Hoth was recording every word he said. Without a doubt, the was recording every word he said. Without a doubt, the Gestapo Gestapo would be listening to make sure he sounded properly loyal to the would be listening to make sure he sounded properly loyal to the Reich Reich and to its and to its Fuhrer, Fuhrer, whoever that turned out to be. Drucker knew as much. He was no fool. He also knew his loyalty was liable to be suspect. That meant he had to be especially careful to say all the right things. whoever that turned out to be. Drucker knew as much. He was no fool. He also knew his loyalty was liable to be suspect. That meant he had to be especially careful to say all the right things.

And the radioman aboard the Hoth Hoth said, "That's how we all feel, of course. Our loyalty is to the state, not to any one man." said, "That's how we all feel, of course. Our loyalty is to the state, not to any one man."

He said all the right things, too. And Drucker made a point of agreeing with him: "That's how it is, all right. That's how it has to be."

As he flew along, as the signal from the Hoth Hoth faded, he wondered who would take over for the late, unlamented (at least by him) Heinrich Himmler. The SS would naturally have a candidate. So would the faded, he wondered who would take over for the late, unlamented (at least by him) Heinrich Himmler. The SS would naturally have a candidate. So would the Wehrmacht. Wehrmacht. And Joseph Goebbels, pa.s.sed over when Hitler died, would want another try at ruling the And Joseph Goebbels, pa.s.sed over when Hitler died, would want another try at ruling the Reich. Reich. There might be others; Drucker did his best not to pay attention to politics. Maybe that was a mistake. More and more these days, politics kept paying attention to him. His...o...b..t swept him up toward the There might be others; Drucker did his best not to pay attention to politics. Maybe that was a mistake. More and more these days, politics kept paying attention to him. His...o...b..t swept him up toward the Reich. Reich. By the time his tour ended, everything was likely to be over. By the time his tour ended, everything was likely to be over.

12.

Vyacheslav Molotov felt hara.s.sed. That was not the least common feeling he'd ever had, especially after Marshal Zhukov rescued him while smashing Beria's coup. Every American presidential election made him nervous, too. The prospect of dealing with a new man every four years was enough to make anybody nervous when that man could start a nuclear war just by giving an order. But Warren seemed likely to beat Humphrey, which would give Molotov a breathing s.p.a.ce before he had to start getting nervous about the USA again.

Now, though, Himmler had had to go and die. Molotov thought that most inconsiderate of the n.a.z.i leader. Himmler had been a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, no doubt about it. But, on the whole (the recent aborted lunge at Poland aside), he'd been a predictable b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Who would manage to throw his fundament into the seat he'd occupied?

What sort of madman will I have to deal with next? was how Molotov phrased the question in his mind. American presidential candidates, at least, spelled out what they had in mind before taking office. You could plan for a man like that, even if he looked likely to be unfortunate. But the only qualification for was how Molotov phrased the question in his mind. American presidential candidates, at least, spelled out what they had in mind before taking office. You could plan for a man like that, even if he looked likely to be unfortunate. But the only qualification for Fuhrer Fuhrer that Molotov could see was a quick, sharp knife. that Molotov could see was a quick, sharp knife.

He did not dwell on how a German politico might view the process of succession in the USSR. He took his own country, his own system, for granted.

His secretary looked into the office. "Comrade General Secretary, the foreign commissar is here for his ten o'clock appointment."

As usual, Molotov glanced at the clock on the wall. Gromyko was precisely on time. He always was. Few Soviet officials imitated him. Despite two generations of Soviet discipline, most Russians seemed const.i.tutionally unable to take the notion of precise time seriously. "Send him in, Pyotr Maksimovich," Molotov said.

Gromyko, craggy features impa.s.sive as usual, strode past the secretary and into the office. He leaned across the desk to shake hands with Molotov. "Good day, Vyacheslav Mikhailovich," he said.

"And to you, Andrei Andreyevich," Molotov replied. He waved Gromyko to a chair. They both lit cigarettes, Molotov's Russian-style in a long paper holder, Gromyko's an American brand. After a couple of puffs, Molotov said, "You will, no doubt, have a good notion of why I want to see you."

"What ever gave you that idea?" Gromyko had a good deadpan, all right. "It's not as if the Reich Reich were of any great concern to us." were of any great concern to us."

"No, of course not." Molotov wouldn't let the foreign commissar win the palm for irony without a fight. "Why, for the past generation Germany has scarcely mattered to us at all."

"Even so." Gromyko stretched out an arm to tap his cigarette into an ashtray on Molotov's desk. After another drag on the cigarette, his manner changed. "I wonder what we do have to look forward to."

"That is the reason I asked to speak with you," Molotov replied. "You will be flying off to Nuremberg for the state funeral day after tomorrow. I await your impressions of the potential German leaders."