"There do appear to have been some, yes, Exalted Fleetlord," Pshing 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 Pshing. "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," Pshing 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," Pshing 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 wishing 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 shifted 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 shifted 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.

With a hiss of glee, Nesseref strode into the new shop that had opened in the Race's new town outside of Jezow. "Pets!" she exclaimed. "Now this truly makes me think I am back on Home!"

"I am pleased I am finally able to open," replied the female in charge of the place. "The animals, of course, were almost all brought here as frozen fertilized ova. At last, we have been able to begin thawing them and letting them come to maturity."

"One small step after another, we do advance on this world," the shuttlecraft pilot said. "When I talk with males from the conquest fleet, they often seem amazed at how far we have come."

"When I talk to males from the conquest fleet, I am amazed at how little those ragam.u.f.fins have done," the other female declared. "They should have delivered all of Tosev 3 to us, not just patches of the planet. And this place!" Her eye turrets waggled in exasperation. "It is so chilly and wet, I might as well be back in cold sleep."

"When I was first revived, I was furious to discover the conquest incomplete, too," Nesseref said. "As I have come to see more of the Big Uglies and the things they can do, I have more sympathy for the conquest fleet."

"I do not care to see more of the Big Uglies," the female said, and used an emphatic cough. "I have already seen more than I like. Not only are they barbarians, they are dangerous barbarians. The only worthwhile thing this planet produces has been made illegal, and where is the justice in that?"

"Ginger, do you mean?" Nesseref asked, and the other female made the affirmative hand gesture. Nesseref said, "The stuff has been made illegal for good reasons. It tears up our society as nothing else has ever done."

"When I taste it... uh, that is, when I did taste it"-the female in the shop was being cagey, not knowing exactly who Nesseref was-"I did not care about the society of the Race. All I care, uh, cared about was how good I felt."

"Yes, I understand as much." Nesseref decided to let it go. Pretty plainly, the female in the shop was still tasting, laws or no laws. As plainly, nothing Nesseref said would make her change her mind. Nesseref hadn't come into the shop to argue about ginger, anyhow. She said, "I want to see your tsiongyu."

"Most males and females are more interested in my befflem," the other female replied. She was going to score points off Nesseref any way she could, for Nesseref had tried to score points off ginger.

Patiently, the shuttlecraft pilot answered, "Befflem need care every day. My work can take me away from here for days at a time. Tsiongyu are better at fending for themselves when their owner is away."

The pet-shop keeper sighed. "I wish my work took me away from this frigid place for days at a time. I would love to go somewhere, anywhere, with decent weather." She seemed to remember she needed to do business. "Come with me. You will have to walk past the befflem, I am afraid. I have them in front, because they are in greater demand."

Befflem turned their eye turrets toward Nesseref as she went by. They wanted to be bought; every line of their small, sinuous bodies proclaimed how much they wanted to be bought. They opened their mouths and squeaked endearingly. Nesseref was tempted to change her mind. No doubt about it: befflem were more friendly, more responsive, than tsiongyu.

But a beffel without companionship from the Race would not be happy, and was liable to turn destructive. Nesseref did not want to come back to her apartment and find it torn to pieces by an animal with nothing better to do.

"Here are the tsiongyu," the other female said, as if she didn't expect Nesseref to recognize them without help.

Where the befflem were eager to make friends with any female or male who came near, the larger tsiongyu sat aloof in their cages. Each one was as proudly drawn up as if it were the Emperor. Nesseref pointed to one with striking red-brown stripes. "May I see that male, please?"

"It shall be done," the proprietor answered, and opened the cage. When she reached for it, the tsiongi hissed in warning, as its kind had a way of doing. Had it tried to bite and scratch, Nesseref would have asked to see another. Even after so many millennia of domestication, about one tsiongi in four remained convinced it was by rights a wild animal.

After hissing, though, this one allowed the female to pick it up and take it out of its cage. When she set it on the floor, it stood there on all fours lashing its tail, as if to show how irate it was at being handled, but did not streak for the door, as many of its kind might have. Here and there back on Home, feral tsiongyu, no less than befflem, made pests of themselves.

Nesseref extended a hand toward the animal. It hissed once more, not so loudly as it had before, but again did not try to bite. Instead, it extended its tongue in the direction of the hand. Nesseref waited, knowing its scent receptors were telling it what to think of her.

"It seems to accept you," the female from the shop said. By her tone, she might have wished the tsiongi had taken a bite out of Nesseref.

"So it does," Nesseref said. "I will buy it, and I will need supplies for its care. At least it will not have parasites here, which will make things easier."

"Truth," the proprietor said. "You will need a leash, a container for its wastes, and absorbent for the container, at least until you train it to use your own waste-disposal unit. Will you also require a supply of food?"

"This would come from the flesh of Tosevite animals?" Nesseref asked.

"Yes, of course," the other female replied. "Eventually, we will use our own beasts, as we do back on Home, but that time is not yet here-like the pets, the food animals are only now coming to Tosev 3."

"I will feed it table sc.r.a.ps, then," Nesseref decided. The pet-shop proprietor's tailstump quivered in poorly concealed annoyance: she would get less from Nesseref than she'd hoped. Nesseref wondered how much she was spending on ginger, and how badly she needed more. Well, that, fortunately, was not the shuttlecraft pilot's worry.

She picked up the tsiongi, moving slowly and carefully so as not to take the animal by surprise. It stuck out its tongue again and studied her with its large eyes, very much like those of the Race. She took it up to the front of the shop, past the befflem. They tried to leap through the bars of their cages; they did not like tsiongyu. The tsiongi eyed them with lordly disdain, as if to say it knew it could dispose of three or four befflem without working very hard.

"Here are the other things you will require," the shopkeeper said. "If you will let me have your card, so I can make the charge against your account... I thank you. And here is the statement of what you have purchased."

"And I thank you." Nesseref examined it to make sure the other female hadn't charged her for tsiongi food or anything else she hadn't bought. Satisfied, she tucked the bit of paper into one of the pouches she wore on her belt. Then she set the tsiongi on the floor and fastened the leash onto its long, flexible neck. It endured the indignity of being leashed with the air of a prisoner enduring interrogation from the Deutsche or some equally fierce Big Uglies. But when Nesseref started out of the shop, the tsiongi trotted along at her heels.

When she got to the door, she turned back and said to the shopkeeper, "If I had bought a couple of befflem, they would already have tangled their leashes around my legs three different times."

"Befflem are not hatched to be led on leashes," the other female replied. "Their free spirits are what make them enjoyable."

"Their free spirits are what make them nuisances," Nesseref said. "If they had any brains and weren't so friendly, they'd be Tosevites." The female in the pet shop drew back, obviously insulted. Nesseref left before that female found anything to say. The tsiongi stayed right with her. The wild ancestors of tsiongyu had hunted in pairs, a leader and a follower. In domesticating them, the Race had in effect turned its own males and females into pair leaders.

Nesseref proudly led her new pet through the streets of the new town. Several males and females exclaimed over it; a couple of them asked where she'd bought it. She told them about the pet shop. The tsiongi, meanwhile, accepted the attention as nothing less than its due.

Its air of restrained n.o.bility lasted till it caught sight of a feathered Tosevite flying creature, a plump beast with a metallic green head and a grayish body, walking along looking for, tidbits. The tsiongi turned an eye turret toward Nesseref, plainly expecting her to attack this thing that could only be prey. When she didn't, when she just kept walking, the tsiongi gave what sounded like a male or female's hiss of irritation. Then it sprang for the flying creature itself.

The leash, which Nesseref hung on to, brought the tsiongi up short. The Tosevite creature flew away with a whir and a flutter of wings. The tsiongi stared as if it couldn't believe its eye turrets. Maybe it couldn't; fewer animals flew back on Home than here on Tosev 3, and tsiongyu didn't hunt flying creatures there. It had probably thought this one couldn't do anything but slowly walk along. The feathered creature had given it a surprise, as all manner of Tosevite creatures had given the Race unpleasant surprises.

"Come along," Nesseref told it. "I will feed you something, even if you could not catch that animal." Still looking as if it thought it had been cheated, the tsiongi reluctantly followed.

Half a block farther on, it saw another bird. Again, it tried to attack. Again, the bird flew away. Again, the tsiongi seemed astonished. That happened twice more before Nesseref got back to her apartment building. By then, she was laughing at the tsiongi-all the more so because the beast's native dignity seemed so frazzled.

She had got the tsiongi almost back to the apartment building when a beffel-naturally, not on a leash-ran past. The male to whom it more or less belonged called, "Careful there, Goldenscale!" Goldenscale didn't feel like being careful. It infuriated Nesseref's tsiongi in a way the birds hadn't. And the beffel wanted to fight, too. Nesseref had to drag her pet the rest of the way to the entrance.

"You had better be careful," she called to the male with the beffel. "Your little friend there will be someone's supper if you are not."

"Befflem do what befflem do," the male answered with a shrug, which had some truth to it. He raised his voice: "Come, Goldenscale! Come!" Despite his emphatic cough, the beffel went on doing what it did, which in this case involved antagonizing Nesseref's tsiongi.

The tsiongi tried to slam through the gla.s.s entryway door to get at the obnoxious beffel. It slammed into the gla.s.s instead, and looked even more bewildered than it had when the birds flew away. Nesseref took it to the elevator. Once the tsiongi couldn't see the beffel any more, it regained its dignity. Even so, Nesseref wondered if she would ever be able to take it out on the street for a walk.

Flight Lieutenant David Goldfarb was going through the motions, and he knew it. The Canadian consulate in Belfast had lost interest in having him as an immigrant once he proved unable to retire from the RAF. Officials at the American consulate hadn't formally told him no yet, but they hadn't shown any signs of saying yes, either.

And the Lizards, on whom he'd pinned such a great part of his hopes, had let him down. From what Cousin Moishe said, he'd done his best to get the fleetlord interested in the plight of an oppressed British Jew, but his best hadn't been good enough. Goldfarb believed Moishe had indeed done his best. He just wished that best had been better.

Since it hadn't been, he was left to keep an eye on the radar screens that watched the sky and s.p.a.ce above Belfast. He was doing just that, and trying not to doze off inside the darkened room that housed the radar displays, when an aircraftman first cla.s.s came in and said, "Telephone call for you, sir."

"Thanks," Goldfarb replied, and the enlisted man saluted. Goldfarb turned to Sergeant Jack McDowell, his partner on the shift. "Will you keep an eye on things, Jack? I doubt I'll be long."

"Aye, sir, I'll do it," McDowell replied in his rich burr. He didn't look down his nose at Goldfarb for being Jewish-or if he did, he kept it to himself. He didn't even have to do that; his place in the RAF was odds-on to be more secure than Goldfarb's.

Not caring to dwell on such things, David tapped the aircraftman on the shoulder. "Lead on, Macduff," he misquoted, and followed the youngster down the hall and into an office where a telephone lay with the handset off the hook. Goldfarb eyed it with the warm affection a bird gave a snake. It was, he feared, all too likely to be Basil Roundbush trying to get him into fresh trouble-as if he didn't have enough already. With a sigh, he picked up the telephone. "Goldfarb here."