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“I greet you, superior sir,” Drucker said once the connection went through. “How may I help you?”
He doubtless meant, How may I hinder you? Big Uglies were not immune to polite hypocrisy. Gorppet said, “I congratulate you on your promotion. And I believe I should also congratulate you on recovering your mate and hatchlings. Is that not a truth?”
“Yes, that is a truth,” the Tosevite replied. “No harm in admitting it now.”
“I hope they are all well?” Gorppet said.
“Yes,” Drucker said again. “I thank you for asking.”
“I suppose you want them to stay well?” Gorppet said. “You must, after searching so long and hard to find them.”
This time, Drucker paused before answering. Gorppet had not thought him a fool. When he did speak again, what he said was, “I do not care for the way this conversation is going. What is your point?”
“My point is that I hope I will not have to tell anyone about your recent friendship with Mordechai Anielewicz,” Gorppet replied. “I believe that would be unfortunate for all concerned. Do you not agree?”
Silence stretched a good deal longer now. At last, Drucker said, “In the language of the Race, I cannot call you all the vile names I am thinking in my own language. I wish I could. What do you want from me in exchange for your silence?”
He caught on quickly, all right. Gorppet said, “Is it not a truth that your government seeks to conceal weapons that should have been surrendered to the Race?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” the Big Ugly said.
“No? That will probably mean I shall have to make some other telephone calls,” Gorppet said.
Drucker spoke in his own language. Gorppet didn’t understand a word, but it sounded impassioned. Then Drucker returned to the language of the Race: “You will want me to betray my own not-empire. That is very hard for me to do.”
“The choice is yours,” Gorppet said.
Another long silence. “You will hear from me from time to time,” Drucker said, breaking it. “You will not hear from me very often, or I would give myself away.”
“I understand,” Gorppet said. “I think we may have a bargain. Do not forget your obligation, or the bargain will come undone. I warn you now. I do not intend to warn you again.”
“I understand,” Drucker said, and broke the connection with what struck Gorppet as altogether unnecessary violence.
But that was neither here nor there. Turning to Hozzanet, Gorppet said, “I believe he is recruited. The true test, of course, will be in what he reveals. If he fails us…” He shrugged. “If he fails us, he will pay the price.”
“He will deserve it, too,” Hozzanet said.
Before Gorppet could reply, his telephone hissed. It was another voice-only connection with a Tosevite on the other end. “I greet you,” the Big Ugly said. “Mordechai Anielewicz speaking here.”
“And I greet you,” Gorppet said in some surprise. “I was just talking about you, as a matter of fact. How may I help you?”
“You need to know something has gone missing,” the Jewish leader answered.
“Do I?” Gorppet thought for a moment. “In that case, I probably also need to know what has gone missing-is that not a truth?”
“Yes,” Anielewicz said. “That is a truth.” He used an emphatic cough.
When the Big Ugly didn’t say anything more, Gorppet realized he would have to prompt him. He did: “Will you tell me what has gone missing, or did you put this telephone call through to tantalize me?”
Mordechai Anielewicz sighed, a sound much like that a male of the Race might have made. “I will tell you. You will have heard, I suppose, that the Jews of Poland possess an explosive-metal bomb captured from the Deutsche years ago, at the end of the first round of fighting.”
“I have heard this, yes,” Gorppet replied. “I do not know whether it is a truth or not, but I have heard it.” His tailstump lashed in sudden alarm. “Wait. Are you telling me-?”
“I am telling you that we do indeed possess this bomb,” Anielewicz said. “Or rather, I am telling you that we did possess it. At the moment, we do not. By we here, I mean the organized group of Jewish fighters who have held it for all these years.”
Gorppet’s head started to ache. “Do you mean to say than an explosive-metal bomb has been stolen?” That got Hozzanet’s complete, and horrified, attention. “If you do not have it, who does?” That seemed a good question with which to start.
“There is no sign of violence in the place where it was kept,” the Tosevite replied. “This leads me to believe some of my fellow Jews have taken it, and not Poles or Russians or Deutsche.”
“I see,” Gorppet said. “And what would Jewish hijackers be likely to do with an explosive-metal bomb?” He answered that for himself: “They would be likely to bring it here, into the Reich, and try to use it against the Deutsche, against whom they have strong motivation for seeking vengeance.”
“That is also my belief,” Mordechai Anielewicz said. “If the Deutsche still have any explosive-metal weapons of their own hidden away, they might be provoked into using them against you-and against us in Poland-if such a bomb destroyed one of their cities without warning.”
“So they might,” Gorppet said unhappily.
“I am sorry for the inconvenience,” the Big Ugly said. “I do not know for a fact that the bomb can still burst. But I do not know for a fact that it cannot, either. We have tried to maintain it over the years. It is large and heavy. In my measure, it weighs about ten tonnes.” He translated that into the Race’s units.
Gorppet thought he must have made a mistake. “Are you sure?” he asked. “That seems an impossibly large weight.”
But Anielewicz answered, “Yes, I am sure. Tosevite technology with these weapons was primitive in those days. We have improved since. That is our way, you will recall.”
“Yes. I do recall,” Gorppet said tonelessly. A hopeful thought occurred to him: “You Tosevites have many different languages. Would Jews in the Reich give themselves away by how they speak?”
“No,” Anielewicz said. “I am sorry, but no. Yiddish, our tongue, is close to the Deutsch language as is, and many Jews are fluent in that language itself.”
“Splendid.” Gorppet turned an eye turret toward Hozzanet. “By the spirits of Emperors past, superior sir, what do we do now?”
“They let someone wander off with an explosive-metal bomb?” Atvar spoke in tones of extravagant disbelief. Extravagant disbelief was exactly what he felt. Even for Big Uglies, that struck him as excessive. “They do not know who? They do not know when? They do not know where? They do not know how?”
“It must have happened during the fighting in Poland, Exalted Fleetlord,” Pshing replied. “Things were chaotic then, you must admit.”
“Whose side are you on?” Atvar snarled. “I would not mind so much if another Deutsch city vanished from the map, but I fear the Deutsch Big Uglies could still retaliate against us. No matter what they claim, I find it unlikely that they have surrendered all of their explosive-metal weapons.”
“Another round of fighting would leave the Deutsche extinct,” his adjutant remarked.
“I wish they were extinct now,” Atvar said. “But they have been damaged enough not to be dangerous at the moment, and the one set of reasonably reliable Tosevite allies we have had, the Jews of Poland, have turned on us.”
“They did not mean to do so,” Pshing said.
“I do not care what they meant to do.” The fleetlord was in a perfect fury of temper. “They are letting their own private, trivial feuds influence the policy of the Race. That is intolerable-intolerable, do you hear me, Pshing?”
“Yes, Exalted Fleetlord,” Pshing answered. “But what will you do? What can we do?”
