"I greet you, superior sir," Jonathan chorused along with everyone else.

By his body paint, the instructor, a male named Kechexx, had once served in the artillery. Now, like a lot of captured Lizards who'd chosen not to rejoin their own kind, he made his living by teaching humans about the Race. His eye turrets swiveled this way and that, taking in the whole cla.s.s. "It was to be a quiz today. Did you think I would forget?" His mouth fell open in a laugh. "Did you perhaps hope I would forget? I have not forgotten. Take out a leaf of paper."

"It shall be done," Jonathan said with his cla.s.smates. He hoped he wouldn't forget too much.

4.

The train rattled east over the dry South African plain. Rance Auerbach and Penny Summers sat side by side, staring out the window like a couple of tourists. They were were a couple of tourists; this was the first time they'd been out of Cape Town since the Lizards sent them into exile there. a couple of tourists; this was the first time they'd been out of Cape Town since the Lizards sent them into exile there.

"Looks like New Mexico, or maybe Arizona," Rance said. "Same kind of high country, same kinds of scrubby plants. I went through there a couple of times before the fighting started." He shifted in his seat, trying to find the least uncomfortable position for his bad leg and shoulder.

"New Mexico? Arizona?" Penny looked at him as if he'd gone out of his mind. "I never heard of antelopes out there, by G.o.d, bouncing along like they've got springs in their legs, or those big white plumy birds standing in the fields-"

"Egrets," Auerbach supplied.

"Those are the ones," Penny agreed. "And we saw a lion lion half an hour ago. You ever hear of a G.o.dd.a.m.n lion in Arizona?" half an hour ago. You ever hear of a G.o.dd.a.m.n lion in Arizona?"

"Sure," he said, just to watch her eyes get big. "In a zoo." He wheezed laughter. Penny looked as if she wanted to hit him with something. He went on, "The country looks that way. I didn't say anything about the animals."

He might as well not have spoken. "Even the cows look funny," Penny said; having grown up in western Kansas, she spoke of cows with authority. "Their horns are too big, and they look like those what-do-you-call-'ems-Brahmas, that's what I want to say."

"They look like longhorns to me," Auerbach said. That wasn't quite right, but it was as close as he could come; he knew horses better than cattle. With a chuckle, he added, "They used to have longhorns in New Mexico. Maybe they still do, for all I know."

"Hot d.a.m.n," Penny said, unimpressed. She held out a peremptory hand. "Give me a cigarette."

"Here." He took the pack out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her. After she lit one, he found himself wanting one, too. He stuck one in his mouth and leaned toward her so she could give him a light. He sucked in smoke, coughed a couple of times-which hurt-and said, "Just like in the movies."

"How come all the little stuff is like it is in the movies and all the big stuff really stinks?" Penny asked. "That's what I want to know."

"d.a.m.n good question," Rance said. "Now all we need is a d.a.m.n good answer for it." He stared out the window at what looked like a big hawk on stilts walking across the landscape. The train swept past before he got as good a glimpse of it as he would have liked.

He and Penny weren't the only ones smoking in the railway car; far from it. Smoke from cigarettes and cigars and a couple of pipes turned the air bluer than Penny's language. Everybody smoked: whites, blacks, East Indians, everybody. A couple of rows ahead, a black kid who couldn't have been more than eight was puffing on a hand-rolled cigarette about twice the size of the store-bought one Rance was smoking.

His sigh turned into another cough. Everybody rode together, too. It hadn't been like that back in the United States. Despite everything he'd already seen in South Africa, he hadn't expected it to be like that here, either. But the only ones who got special privileges on trains in this part of the world were the Lizards, and they didn't ride trains very often.

The car might have been the Tower of Babel. African languages dominated-some with weird clicking noises that seemed more as if they belonged in the Lizards' speech than in anything human, others without. But Auerbach also heard the clipped sounds of the British-style English some whites spoke here, the harsher gutturals of Afrikaans, and the purring noises the little brown men and women from India used.

Every so often, the train would stop at a tiny, sunbaked town not much different from the tiny, sunbaked towns of the American Southwest. And then, at last, the conductor shouted, "Beaufort West! All out for Beaufort West!" He repeated himself in several different languages.

In spite of all the repet.i.tion, Rance and Penny were the only ones who got off at Beaufort West. It wasn't a tiny town; it had advanced to the more exalted status of small town, and lay on the northern edge of the Great Karoo. Auerbach shrugged. He didn't know exactly what a karoo was, but the country still put him in mind of west Texas or New Mexico or Arizona.

"Drier than Kansas," Penny said, shading her eyes with her hand. "Hotter, too-even if it's not as hot as it was on the train. Looks like the middle of nowhere. No two ways about that."

"Well, that's what we came for, isn't it?" Auerbach answered. "We can rent a car or get somebody to drive us around and look at lions or whatever the h.e.l.l else lives around here." He wondered if he'd see one of those tall, funny hawks close up.

"Okay." Penny shrugged and picked up their suitcases; she carried things better than Rance did. "Now all we have to do is find the Donkin House."

It was only a block away: logically, on Donkin Street, which looked to be Beaufort West's main drag, such as that was. It was hardly out of the motel cla.s.s, which didn't surprise Auerbach. He registered himself and Penny as Mr. and Mrs.; South Africans were even more persnickety about that than Americans.

Beef stew at a little cafe across the street from the Donkin House wasn't anything like what Rance's mother had made, but wasn't bad. A bottle of Lion Lager improved his outlook on the world. "We'll take it easy tonight," he said, "and then tomorrow morning we'll go out and see what there is to see."

"Miles and miles of miles and miles," Penny predicted.

"Miles and miles of miles and miles with lions and antelopes and maybe zebras, too." Auerbach poked her in the ribs. "Hey, you're not in Kansas any more."

"I know." Penny grimaced. "I'm not wearing ruby slippers, either, in case you didn't notice."

As things turned out, n.o.body in Beaufort West had a car to rent. The locals, even the ones who spoke English, looked at Rance as if he were mad for suggesting such a thing. The only taxi in town was an elderly Volkswagen whose engine coughed worse and louder than Auerbach. The driver was a middle-aged black man named Joseph Moroka.

"You speak English funny," he remarked as he drove Rance and Penny out of town onto the karoo.

Auerbach thought the cabby was the one with the funny accent, but Penny said, "We're from the United States."

"Oh." Up there in the front seat, Moroka nodded. "Yes, that is what it is. You talk like films I have seen at the cinema." He got friendlier after realizing they weren't native South African whites. That no doubt said something about the way things had been here before the Lizards came.

He found his pa.s.sengers lions. They were sleeping in the shade of a tree. He found plenty of gemsbok and kudu-he almost ran over a gemsbok that bounded across the road. He found a fox with ears much too big for its head. And Auerbach discovered that his hawk on stilts was called a secretary bird; it had a couple of plumes sticking up from its head that looked like pens put behind a man's ear.

"It is a good bird," Moroka said seriously. "It eats snakes."

Here and there, cattle roamed the countryside, now and then pausing to graze. "Need a lot of land to support a herd here," Auerbach said. That was true in the American Southwest, too. Joseph Moroka nodded again.

"Shall we head back toward town?" Penny said.

Rance gave her a dirty look. "If you just want to sit around in the room, we could have done that back in Cape Town," he said.

"Well, we can go out again tomorrow, if there's anything different to see than what we just looked at," she answered. Had they been by themselves, she likely would have told him where to head in. But, like most people, she was less eager to quarrel where outsiders could listen.

And compromise didn't look like the worst idea in the world to Rance, either. "All right-why not? We're going to be here a week. No point to doing everything all at once, I guess." He tapped the driver on the shoulder. "You can take us back to the hotel, Joe."

For the first time, the black man got huffy. "You please to call me Mr. Moroka. Most white men here, they never bother learning blacks have names until the Lizards come. Now they have to learn, and learn right." He spoke with quiet pride.

It had been like that in the American South, too. Boy! Boy! would do the job, or would do the job, or Uncle! Uncle! for an old Negro. Things were changing there; things had been forcibly changed here. Auerbach rolled with the punch. "Okay, Mr. Moroka." His great-grandfather, a Confederate cavalryman, wouldn't have approved, but great-granddad had been dead a long time. for an old Negro. Things were changing there; things had been forcibly changed here. Auerbach rolled with the punch. "Okay, Mr. Moroka." His great-grandfather, a Confederate cavalryman, wouldn't have approved, but great-granddad had been dead a long time.

Moroka looked back and grinned. "Good. I thank you." If Auerbach showed manners, he'd show them, too. Rance supposed he could live with that. The cabby turned the VW around-there wasn't any other traffic on this stretch of narrow, poorly paved road-and started jouncing back toward Beaufort West.

He topped a low rise and had just begun the long downgrade on the other side when Rance and Penny both cried out at the same time: "Wait! Hold up! Stop the d.a.m.n car!" Auerbach added the last word that needed to be said, "What the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l are those things?" are those things?"

"Dinosaurs," Penny said in astonishment, and then, "But dinosaurs are supposed to all be dead. Extinct." She nodded in satisfaction at finding the right word.

"They are are dinosaurs," Rance said, his eyes bugging out of his head. "A whole herd of dinosaurs. What the h.e.l.l else can they be?" dinosaurs," Rance said, his eyes bugging out of his head. "A whole herd of dinosaurs. What the h.e.l.l else can they be?"

They were bigger than cows, though not a whole lot. Their scaly hides were a sandy yellow-brown, lighter than those of the Lizards. They went on all fours, and had big, broad heads with wide, beaky mouths. As Rance took a longer look at them, though, he noticed that their eyes were mounted in big, upstanding, chameleonlike turrets. That gave him his first clue about what they had to be.

Joseph Moroka breaking into peals of laughter gave him his second. "The Lizards call them zisuili," he said, p.r.o.nouncing the alien name with care. "They use them for meat and blood and hide, like we use cattle. These things give no milk, but I hear they lay eggs like hens. They are new here." He laughed again. "The lions have not yet decided if they are good to eat."

"They don't graze like cattle." Again, Penny spoke with expert a.s.surance. "They graze more like sheep or goats. Look at that, Rance-they don't hardly leave anything behind 'em. They crop everything right on down to the ground."

"You're right," Auerbach said. He could see from which direction the herd of zisuili was coming by the bare, trampled dirt behind them. "Wonder how the antelopes are going to like that-and the real cows, too."

Moroka wasn't worrying about it. He was still laughing. "But the Lizards, they do not use their cows to buy wives, oh no. They have no wives to buy. I should be like a Lizard, eh?" He found that funny as h.e.l.l.

Auerbach hadn't thought about the Lizards' having their own domestic animals back on their home planet. He supposed it made sense that they would. They didn't have trouble with much Earthly food, so ... He tapped Joseph Moroka one more time. "Anybody tried eating these things yet?"

"We are not supposed to," the cabby replied. Auerbach coughed impatiently. That wasn't an answer, and he knew it. After a moment, Moroka went on, "I hear-I only hear, now; I do not know-I hear they taste like chicken."

Atvar studied a map of the subregion of the main continental ma.s.s called China. "We make progress," he said in some satisfaction.

"Truth, Exalted Fleetlord," replied Kirel, the shiplord of the 127th Emperor Hetto, 127th Emperor Hetto, the bannership of the conquest fleet. "We have taken Harbin back from the rebellious Tosevites, and this other city, this Peking, cannot hold out against us much longer." the bannership of the conquest fleet. "We have taken Harbin back from the rebellious Tosevites, and this other city, this Peking, cannot hold out against us much longer."

"I should hope not, at any rate," Atvar said. "The Chinese have no landcruisers and no aircraft to speak of. Without them, they can still be most troublesome, but they cannot hope to defeat us in the long run."

"Truth," Kirel said again. He was solid and conservative and sensible; Atvar trusted him as far as he trusted any male on Tosev 3. Back during the fighting, Kirel had had his chances to overthrow the fleetlord, especially during Straha's uprising after the Tosevites detonated their first explosive-metal bomb. He hadn't used them. If that didn't establish his reliability, nothing would.

Thinking of explosive-metal bombs in that context made the fleetlord think of them in this one as well. "These Big Uglies, the Emperor be praised, cannot lure a great part of our forces forward and then destroy them with a single blast."

Kirel cast down his eyes. "Emperor be praised, indeed," he said. "You speak truth again, Exalted Fleetlord: they are too primitive to create explosive-metal bombs. Some other Tosevite not-empire would have to provide them with such weapons before they could use them."

Atvar swung both eye turrets toward the second most senior male from the conquest fleet. "Now that is a genuinely appalling thought. The Chinese must understand that, if they did such a thing, we would bomb them without mercy in retaliation. Unlike the independent not-empires, they could not hope to respond in kind."

"Even so." Kirel gestured in agreement. "We could destroy half their population without doing the planet as a whole severe damage."

But the fleetlord remained worried. "I wonder how much they would mind. Along with India, which presents its own problems, China is the subregion that reminds me most urgently of how many Big Uglies there are, and how few of us. The Chinese Tosevites are liable to be willing to accept the loss of half their number in the hope that doing so would damage us more in the long run."

"Exalted Fleetlord, when have you ever known Big Uglies to think of the long run?" Kirel asked.

"Well, that is also a truth, and a good thing for us that it is, too," Atvar said. "Even so, you have given me something new to worry about. After so long here, I thought I had exhausted the possibilities."

"I am sorry, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel bent into the posture of respect. "Do you think warning the independent not-empires against pursuing such a course would be worthwhile?"

After brief consideration, Atvar made the negative hand gesture. "I fear it would be likelier to give them ideas that have not yet occurred to them, although I admit that ideas of a troublesome sort very readily occur to Big Uglies."

"So they do." Kirel used an emphatic cough. "Still, though, in spite of the difficulties the Tosevites pose, we do make progress all over this world."

"Some. Not enough," Atvar said. Kirel had put him in a fretful mood. "I would give a great deal-I would give almost anything I can think of-to know, for instance, which of the not-empires did in fact attack the colonization fleet. That, by the Emperor, would be a vengeance worth taking."

"Indeed it would." Kirel sighed. "But, knowing the enormity of the crime they were committing, those Big Uglies took pains to conceal their footprints."

"One day, we shall know. One day, they will pay," Atvar said. "And that will be progress, too, a step we can measure."

"Indeed it will," Kirel agreed. "I was, I confess, thinking of smaller steps: for instance, it is good to taste the flesh of our own domestic animals again, after so long living on solely Tosevite rations."

"I will not say you are wrong, for I think you are right. The thought of grilled azwaca cutlets makes my mouth water." Atvar had always been especially fond of azwaca. He walked over to the window of his suite and looked west across the great river toward the pyramidal funerary monuments that pa.s.sed for ancient on Tosev 3. In the green strips between the monuments and the river, azwaca were grazing, though without magnification he could not see them.

"I am more partial to zisuili myself, but the taste of every one of the beasts is a reminder of Home," Kirel said.

"Truth. But do you know what?" Atvar asked. He waited for Kirel to make the negative hand gesture, then continued, "I have already begun receiving complaints from Tosevite agriculturalists and pastoralists to the effect that our domestic animals graze so thoroughly, no fodder is left for any of theirs."

"I had not heard of such complaints, but they do not surprise me," Kirel said. "Tosevite grazers have evolved in an environment of relative abundance. Because moisture is more widespread here than back on Home, so is vegetation. Tosevite animals can afford to leave some behind and still flourish. Our own beasts, by the nature of the terrain to which they are adapted, have to be more efficient."

"Over the course of time, it will be interesting to see what they do to the ecosystems in which they find themselves," Atvar said. "They may well make large stretches of this world resemble Home more closely than is now the case."

"Do we have a.n.a.lysts examining the issue?" Kirel asked.

"I do not," Atvar answered. "Reffet should: this is, after all, more properly an issue involving the colonization of this planet than its conquest. But what Reffet should be doing and what he is doing are too often not one and the same." He scribbled a note to himself. "I shall send an inquiry."

"He will resent it," Kirel said.

"He resents everything I do and everything I do not do," the fleetlord said scornfully. "Let him resent this, too. But if Tosevite ecosystems become more Homelike, that will aid in a.s.similating this world into the Empire, will it not? I can justify the query on those grounds."

"No doubt you can, Exalted Fleetlord. Fleetlord Reffet will still resent it." Kirel had long since made plain that his opinion of the head of the colonization fleet was not high. That had not failed to endear him to the head of the conquest fleet. He added, "Since you are rationalizing it as a conquest issue, perhaps our experts should should also examine it." also examine it."

"Perhaps they should." Atvar sighed. "We are stretched very thin. We have been stretched very thin-thinner than anyone ever imagined we would be-since we came to Tosev 3 and discovered the inadequacies of the data our probe sent us. Well, perhaps we can stretch a little thinner yet."

"We have said that a good many times, and we have always succeeded in stretching up till now," Kirel said. "We should be able to stretch once more."

"So we should," Atvar said. "I keep worrying that we will eventually snap and break, but it has not happened yet. Why Why it has not happened yet, I cannot imagine, given what this world is, but it has not." it has not happened yet, I cannot imagine, given what this world is, but it has not."

Before Kirel could answer, Atvar's telephone hissed for attention. When he activated the screen link, his adjutant stared out at him. "What is it, Pshing?" he asked suspiciously. Pshing, being one of his princ.i.p.al links to Tosev 3, was also one of his princ.i.p.al sources of bad news.

"Exalted Fleetlord-" the adjutant began, and then broke off.

Atvar's heart sank. This was going to be one of those times. Like an itch, the certainty burrowed under his scales. "You had better tell me," he said heavily.

"It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord," Pshing said. Yes, he was gathering himself. Yes, that meant he needed to gather himself. After a deep pause, he went on, "Exalted Fleetlord, there has been an attack on the desalination plants supplying fresh water to the new towns in this region."

A map appeared on the screen beside his face. It showed the eastern coast of the peninsula the Big Uglies called Arabia that depended from the main continental ma.s.s. "Tell me more," Atvar said. "How serious is this attack? Is it the work of the local Tosevites springing from their superst.i.tious fanaticism, or are the independent not-empires using them as a cloak for their own larger designs against us?"

"Those two need not be inseparable," Kirel pointed out.

Atvar made the hand gesture of agreement, but then waved the shiplord to silence; he wanted to hear what Pshing had to say. "One of the plants is destroyed, another badly damaged," the adjutant reported. Red dots appeared on the map to show the affected desalination plants; the others remained amber. "Our defense forces have slain a large number of Tosevites, all of whom appear to be native to the vicinity. Whether they were inspired or aided by other groups of Big Uglies as yet remains to be determined."

"They were surely aided in one way or another," Atvar said. "They do not produce the weapons they use against us."

"Truth," Kirel said. "But whether the Deutsche or the Americans or the Russkis furnished weapons for this particular attack is another matter."

"Indeed it is." Atvar's voice was grim. "Adjutant, were there, for example, rockets fired at these installations?"