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“I do not know,” Atvar answered. “I simply do not know. Conditions on Tosev 3 are different from the way they were when the latest signals reached us. How they are different, who can guess? But they are different. Whatever the difference is, I doubt that it redounds to our advantage.”
“This is a disaster,” the Emperor said. “A disaster, nothing less. We would have done better not to land on Tosev 3 at all, to leave the Big Uglies to their own devices. Maybe they would have destroyed themselves by now. They would not have had any external rivals then, so they might have gone on with their local wars.”
“It could be, your Majesty,” Atvar said. “Unfortunately, this is not a choice we can make now. We have to deal with the situation as it is, not as it was when the conquest fleet arrived.”
“I understand that,” the 37th Emperor Risson said. “But am I not allowed to wish it were otherwise?”
“Why not, your Majesty? We all have wishes about what might have been when it comes to the Big Uglies. How could it be otherwise? The way things really are is less than satisfactory.”
“Truth,” the Emperor said. “Now tell me this, if you would be so kind-suppose we grant every concession the American Big Uglies seek from us. If we give them everything they say they want, will that be enough to make them keep whatever agreement they may make with us?”
“They are, in their own way, honorable. They would intend to stick to the terms of a treaty, your Majesty,” Atvar said. “The trouble with them is that, unlike us, they are changeable. In twenty years, or fifty years, or at most a hundred years, they will not be what they are now. They will look at the treaty, and they will say, ‘This is not relevant, because we are not the same as we were. We are smarter. We are stronger. You need to change this, that, and the other thing to reflect these new conditions.’ And you may be sure the new terms they demand will be to their advantage, not ours.”
“We do change. But we change slowly and sensibly,” Risson said. “By all the signs, they change for the sport of changing.”
“Oh, they do, your Majesty. They admit it,” Atvar replied. “Change has become ingrained in their culture in a way it never did with us. Their motorcars look different from year to year-not because the new ones run better, though they often do, but merely so it can be seen that they are new. They change the style of their cloth wrappings in the same way, and for the same reason. It is as if we changed the style of our body paint every few years.”
“We could not do that! It would hatch chaos!” Risson exclaimed.
“I understand that. It is one of the reasons I find our young males and females with their false hair and even their wrappings so disturbing. But the Big Uglies embrace change, where we mostly endure it,” Atvar said. “Anyone who does not see that does not see the first thing about them. It drives us mad. That we are so different often drives the Big Uglies mad, I think. But their variability has proved a great source of strength for them.”
The Emperor let out another unhappy hiss. “Again, you are telling me war now may be our best hope.”
“It… may be,” Atvar said unwillingly. “But it also may not. If war comes, it will cost us more than we have paid in the whole history of the Empire. I do not believe Sam Yeager was lying or bluffing when he said the American Big Uglies would attack all our worlds in case of war. I do not believe we will be able to block all their attacks, either. They will hurt us. They will hurt us badly. Whether the other independent Tosevites will join them against us, I cannot say. If they do, that would make a bad situation worse. How much worse, I am not prepared to guess.”
“And what will happen to Tosev 3 if war breaks out between us and the independent Big Uglies?” Risson asked.
“Well, your Majesty, I am not there. In his wisdom, the previous Emperor, your illustrious predecessor, chose to recall me.” Atvar could not keep acid from his voice. He went on, “My opinion, however, for what it may be worth, is that the Big Uglies should never get another chance to start a war if they are addled enough to fight now. And if that means leaving Tosev 3 uninhabitable for us and for them, so be it. Up until this time, they were local menaces, restricted to their own solar system. That, unfortunately, is no longer the case.”
“It is too late now to send you back to Tosev 3,” the Emperor said. Atvar bent into the special posture of respect. Risson had just done what no one else had done before him: he’d admitted the Race had made a mistake in recalling the fleetlord. He gestured for Atvar to rise, then went on, “Do all you can to promote a peaceful resolution of our difficulties. If that fails… If that fails, we will do what becomes necessary, and we will do our best.”
“It shall be done, your Majesty,” Atvar said.
“I hope it shall,” Risson replied. “As I say, we shall attempt it, at any rate.”
He is not confident we can beat the Big Uglies if it comes to war, Atvar realized. The fleetlord would have been more shocked had he been more confident himself. What had the Tosevites learned in the years since the latest signals from Tosev 3 reached Home? What would they learn in the years while the order to attack was speeding from Home to Tosev 3? Whatever it was, how would they apply it to weapons? Would the Race be able to keep up, to counter them?
“If the spirits of Emperors past are with us, we will not have to do that,” Atvar said.
“Let us hope they are. Let us hope we do not have to,” Risson said. “But let us also be as ready as we can, so we will see trouble as it hatches and before it grows… too much.” Atvar wished the Emperor hadn’t added the last two words, but made the affirmative gesture anyway.
13
Ttomalss had stopped stalking around Sitneff looking for befflem to boot. Kassquit would do whatever she did. If it brought her emotional and physical satisfaction, well and good. If it brought her emotional travail… she was an adult, and would have to cope with it as best she could.
So the psychologist told himself, anyhow. If a small, mean part of him rather hoped his former ward ran into emotional travail, he had the grace to be ashamed of that part. He did his best not to let it affect his thinking or his actions.
It wasn’t as if he had nothing else on his mind. One morning-early one morning-Pesskrag telephoned him and said, “I hope you know you are responsible for commencing the unraveling of work thought to be truth for tens of millennia.”
“Am I?” Ttomalss said around a yawn. “And how should I feel about this-besides sleepy, I mean?”
“You are-you and that other psychologist back on Tosev 3, that Felless,” Pesskrag said. “If you two had not brought the Big Uglies’ research to our attention, we might have remained ignorant of these developments… forever.”
“Now that you know of them, what can you do with them?” Ttomalss’ eye turrets were beginning to decide they would work together after all. Once he got some breakfast, he probably would be capable of rational thought. He wouldn’t have bet on that when the telephone first hissed for his attention.
“That is why my colleagues and I have been experimenting so diligently: to begin to find out what we can do,” the physicist answ
ered. She went on, “We are not altogether sure we believe what we are finding.”
“I have asked you before-just what is so startling about these Tosevite discoveries?” Ttomalss said. “Are you in a better position to tell me than you were the last time we spoke?”
“We may see more change in the next two to five hundred years than we have seen at any time in our history since Home was unified,” Pesskrag said.
“What sort of change?” Ttomalss demanded. “How will things be different?” He hoped for concrete answers.
Pesskrag remained resolutely abstract. “Senior Researcher, at present I have no idea. But, as we evaluate each experiment, it will suggest others, and we will probably have a much better notion of exactly where we are going in a few more years.”
“There are times when I believe you are doing your best to addle me with frustration,” Ttomalss said. Pesskrag laughed and made the negative gesture. Ttomalss made the affirmative one. “Yes, I do believe that. Will you not give me at least some idea of how much you have learned since we last spoke?”
Laughing still, the physicist replied, “It shall be done, superior sir. Last time we spoke, I believe I said our knowledge was like a new hatchling, still wet with the juices from its egg. We have indeed advanced from that point. Now, in my opinion, our knowledge is like a new hatchling on which the sun has dried the juices from its egg.”
“I thank you so very much.” Ttomalss’ pungent sarcasm set Pesskrag laughing all over again. Ttomalss stubbornly persisted: “How far is the gap from fascinating experiment to workable new technology?”
“I am very sorry, Senior Researcher, but I have no way to judge that,” Pesskrag replied. “It will be a while. Technology that induces such major changes will have to be investigated with unusual care. That will slow its implementation. We will need a good many lifetimes before we can fully evaluate it.”
She’d said that before, too. “Suppose we were reckless. Suppose we were reckless to the point of being addled.” Ttomalss tried to force on her a mental exercise he’d used before. “Suppose we knew whatever it is you now think we know. Suppose we cared nothing for consequences, only for getting the maximum use from this new knowledge. How soon after your discoveries could we have workable new technology?”
