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“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 passed 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 analysts 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 assimilating 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 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 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 principal links to Tosev 3, was also one of his principal 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 mass. “Tell me more,” Atvar said. “How serious is this attack? Is it the work of the local Tosevites springing from their superstitious 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?”
“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.” 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 assault, 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-assuming no more attacks from Khomeini’s fanatics.”
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nbsp; “Ah-you did not mention that maniac before,” Atvar said. “So these Big Uglies profess his variant of the local superstition?”
