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“Tosevite diplomatists have a phrase: balance of power,” Atvar said. “What this means is, using your less annoying neighbor to protect you from your more annoying neighbor. If the annoyance level changes, the direction of the alliance can also change, and change very quickly.”
“I see,” Pshing said. “Yes, that is the sort of system Big Uglies would be likely to devise.”
“You speak sarcastically, but your words hold an egg of truth,” the fleetlord said. “Because the Big Uglies have always been divided up into so many competing factions, they have naturally needed to develop means for improving their particular group’s chance for short-term success-the only kind they consider-and reducing the chances of their opponents. And now that we are a part of this competitive system, we have had to adopt or adapt these techniques ourselves. Without them, we would be at a severe disadvantage.”
“Back in the days of ancientest history, I am certain that our ancestors were more virtuous,” Pshing said.
“You would probably be surprised,” Atvar answered. “In preparing for this mission, I had to study a good deal more ancientest history than is commonly taught in schools. I can understand why so much of it is suppressed, as a matter of fact. Back in the days before the Empire unified Home, our ancestors were a cantankerous lot. They would likely have been better equipped to deal with the Big Uglies than we are, because they seem to have spent a good deal of their time cheating one another.”
“Exalted Fleetlord, you shock me,” Pshing said.
“Well, I was shocked myself,” Atvar admitted. “The trouble is, our early ancestors actually did these things and were experienced in diplomacy and duplicity. Since the Empire unified Home a hundred thousand years ago, we have forgotten such techniques. We did not really need them when we conquered the Rabotevs and Hallessi, though the fleetlords of those conquest fleets studied them, too. And, of course, our so-called experts aboard the colonization fleet studied our earlier conquests on the assumption that this one would be analogous. That is why they have been of so little use to us: false assumptions always lead to bad policy.”
“Experts aboard the colonization fleet,” Pshing echoed. “That reminds me, Exalted Fleetlord-you will surely recall Senior Researcher Felless?”
“Oh, yes.” Atvar made the affirmative gesture. “The alleged expert on Big Ugly psychology who decided to imitate or exceed the Tosevites’ sexual excesses. Why should I recall her, Pshing? What has she done now to draw my eye turrets in her direction? Another disgrace with ginger?”
“I am not precisely sure, Exalted Fleetlord,” his adjutant answered. “No one appears to be precisely sure. She used her influence in France to obtain the release of a certain prisoner charged with previous collaboration-sexual collaboration-with the Deutsche. As I understand things, it does appear that the prisoner was in fact coerced into this sexual collaboration, a Tosevite crime that ginger has allowed us to discover as well.”
“Indeed,” the fleetlord said. “What is the difficulty if Felless was acting in the interest of justice, as appears to be the case?”
“The difficulty, Exalted Fleetlord, is that the prisoner in question also has a family connection to one of the leading Tosevite ginger smugglers in Marseille,” Pshing replied.
“Oh. I see.” Atvar’s voice was heavy with meaning. “Did Senior Researcher Felless come to the Big Ugly’s aid from a sense of justice or from a longing for a limitless supply of the Tosevite herb, then?”
“No one knows,” Pshing answered. “Ambassador Veffani notes that her work has been excellent of late, but he also suspects that she still tastes ginger. Judging motivation is not always simple.”
“One could hardly disagree with that,” Atvar said. “Veffani is a more than competent male. I presume he is continuing to monitor developments in France?”
“He is, Exalted Fleetlord,” Pshing said. “If ambiguity diminishes, he will notify us, and will take the actions he deems justified.”
“Very well.” It wasn’t very well, but Atvar couldn’t do anything about it save wait. “What other tidbits of news have we?”
“We have received another protest from the not-empire of the United States concerning incursions of our domestic animals into their territory,” Pshing said. “They have also begun complaining that the seeds of certain of our domestic plants have spread north of the border between our territory and theirs.”
“If those are the worst complaints the American Big Uglies have, they should count themselves lucky,” Atvar said with a scornful laugh. “They are fortunate. They seem not to realize how fortunate they are. I shall not personally respond to this protest. You may tell them to compare their situation to that of the Deutsche and, having done so, to decide if their sniveling-use that word-has merit.”
“It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord,” Pshing replied. “In fact, I shall take considerable pleasure in doing it. The American Tosevites complain because they have lost a fingerclaw, not because they have lost fingers.”
“Exactly so,” Atvar said. “You may also tell them that, and you need not soften it very much. And you may tell them that they are welcome to slay any of our domestic animals they find on their side of the border, and to enjoy the meat once they have slain them. Furthermore, tell them they may pull up any plants of ours they find in their land. We shall have no complaints if they do. But if they labor under the delusion that we can stop animals from wandering and plants from propagating and spreading, my opinion is and shall remain that they are deluded indeed.”
“May I tell them that?” Pshing asked eagerly.
“Why not?” the fleetlord said. “The Americans have self-righteousness as a common failing, as the Deutsche have arrogance and the Russkis have obfuscation. Tell Ambassador Lodge what he needs to hear, not just what he might want to hear.”
“Again, Exalted Fleetlord, it shall be done,” his adjutant said. “And, again, I will enjoy doing it.”
Atvar called up some maps of the northern part of the lesser continental mass. He checked climatological data, then hissed in derision. “It appears unlikely that our plants will be able to flourish in most of the regions where the American Big Uglies raise most of their food crops-their harsh winters will kill plants used to decent weather. They have not lost even a fingerclaw; they may perhaps have chipped one. The farmers in the subregion of the greater continental mass called India have a genuine grievance against us: there, our plants compete successfully against those they are used to growing.”
“As you say, the Americans have nothing large that exercises them, so they have to get exercised over small things,” Pshing answered. “The next Tosevite we discover who cannot complain at any excuse or none will be the first.”
“Truth!” Atvar used an emphatic cough. “I truly believe that their constant carping was what finally pushed the Deutsche into war against us. They complained so often and over so many different things, they finally persuaded themselves they were doing what was good and true and right. And so they attacked, and so they failed. I doubt it will teach them much of a lesson, but we shall do our best to make sure they lack the strength to try adventurism again.”
“Unlike Tosevites, we have the patience for such a course,” Pshing observed.
“Yes.” The fleetlord’s thought went down another road. “Fortunate that the SSSR, unlike the Reich, chose to see reason. Had the Russkis been determined to try to annex Finland in spite of our prohibition, life would have become more difficult.”
“We would have beaten them,” Pshing said.
“Of course we would have beaten them,” Atvar replied. “But beating them would have been the same as beating the Deutsche: difficult, annoying, and much more trouble than the cause of the quarrel was worth.” He paused. “And if that is not a summary of our experience on Tosev 3, I do not know what is.”
6
Sam Yeager swung up onto his horse with a certain amount-a certain large amount-of trepidation. “I haven’t done any riding since
Hector was a pup,” he said. “Hell, I haven’t done any riding since I was a pup: not since I got off the farm, anyhow. That’s more than forty years ago now.”
His companion, a sun-blasted sheriff named Victor Watkins, let out a chuckle around a cigarette. “It’s like riding a bicycle, Lieutenant Colonel-once you figure out how to do it, you don’t forget. We could go further and faster in a Jeep, but four legs’ll take us where four wheels couldn’t, even if the wheels are on a Jeep. And I know where the critters are, and the stuff they’re grazing on.”
“Okay.” Yeager couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard anybody actually say critters. Maybe Mutt Daniels, his manager when the Lizards came to earth, had-Mutt was from Mississippi, and had a drawl thick as the mud there. Sam went on, “Seeing them is what I came here for, so let’s do it.”
“Right.” Sheriff Watkins urged his horse forward with knees and reins. Awkwardly, Sam followed suit. The horse didn’t give him a horse laugh, but it could have. It wasn’t like riding a bicycle. He wished he were riding a bicycle.
At a slow walk, they went south out of Desert Center, California, toward the Chuckwalla Mountains. Desert Center lived up to its name: it was a tiny town, no more than a couple of hundred people, on U.S. 70, a place for folks on the way to somewhere else to stop and buy gas and take a leak. Yeager couldn’t imagine living there; it was ever so much more isolated than the farm where he’d grown up.
