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But everyone’s manner changed when the three of them got back to the hotel room. “What’s up?” de la Rosa asked again, this time in a much less casual tone of voice.
Before answering, Sam checked the bug sniffer. Only after he saw everything was green did he ask what was on his mind: “Which is better, a treaty that doesn’t give us everything we ought to have or a fight to make sure we get it?”
“Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?” Frank Coffey quoted.
De la Rosa grinned at him. “You’re a lot of things, Major, but I’ll be damned if I can see you as a melancholy Dane.”
“You’re right-I’m too cheerful,” Coffey said. De la Rosa and Yeager both made faces at him.
“It’s a serious question, though.” Sam got back to business. “It looks more and more as if the Lizards aren’t going to give us full equality all over the Empire. So what do we do about that? Do we settle for something less, or do we go to war and blow everything to hell and gone?”
“Can’t very well phone home for instructions, can you?” de la Rosa said.
“Not unless I want to go back into cold sleep till the answer comes in twenty-odd years from now,” Yeager answered. “And there’s not much point to sending out an ambassador if you’re going to do it all by radio, is there?”
“You’re the man on the spot,” Coffey agreed. “In the end, it all comes down to you.”
Sam knew that. He wished Frank Coffey hadn’t put it so baldly. He wished the Doctor had revived. He wished for all sorts of things he wouldn’t get. The weight lay on his shoulders. He was responsible for billions of lives scattered among four different species. Nobody since the Emperor who’d sent the conquest fleet to Earth had borne that kind of burden-and the Lizard hadn’t known he bore it.
“If we accept an inferior treaty now, maybe we can get it fixed when we’re stronger,” Tom said. “We’re getting stronger all the time, too.”
“Other side of that coin is, maybe the Lizards will think they have a precedent for holding us down,” Coffey said. “What are your orders, Ambassador?”
He was a military man. To him, orders were Holy Writ. Sam had lived in that world for a long time. He understood it, but he didn’t feel bound by it, not any more. He said, “The first thing my orders are is out of date. Tom said it: I can’t phone home. I’m the man on the spot. If my orders tell me to insist on complete equality no matter what and I see that means war, I’m going to think long and hard before I follow them.”
“Are you saying you won’t follow them?” Coffey asked. That was a dangerous question. If he saw somebody wantonly disobeying orders… well, who could guess what he might do?
“No, I’m not saying I won’t follow them,” Yeager answered carefully. “But war on this scale is something nobody’s ever imagined, not even the people who were around when the conquest fleet landed.” He was one of those people. There were a few more up on the Admiral Peary. Back on Earth? Only the oldest of the old, and even they would have been children back then.
A good many Lizards who’d been active then were still around. That wasn’t just on account of cold sleep, either. They lasted longer than people did. But did they understand what they might be setting in motion? Sam didn’t think so.
“What will make up your mind, one way or the other?” Frank Coffey didn’t want to let it alone. He was capable. He was dutiful. He made Sam want to kick him in the teeth.
Still picking his words with care, Sam said, “If they say, ‘You have to do it our way, or we’ll go to war with you right now,’ I don’t see that I have any choice. We let them know we’ll fight. You can’t let them get away with that kind of threat. If they think they can, they’ll own us.”
“No doubt about that,” Coffey said. Tom de la Rosa nodded.
“Okay,” Sam said. “But if they say something like, ‘We want to stay peaceful, but this is the only kind of treaty we can accept,’ that may be a different story. Then it might be a better idea to say, ‘Well, we’re not real happy with this, but we’ll make the deal for now,’ and figure our grandchildren can finish picking the Lizards’ pockets.”
“I like that, or most of me does,” Tom said. “It won’t stop the ecological damage, but a lot of that’s already done.”
Coffey stayed dubious. “I don’t want them thinking they can push us around at all. They’re like anybody else who’s got power and wants more: give ’em an inch and they’ll take a mile. And who knows who’ll be doing the pushing around fifty years from now, or a hundred and fifty?”
“It hasn’t come to ultimatums yet,” Yeager said. “I’m still hoping it doesn’t.”
“But you wouldn’t have warned the Admiral Peary if you weren’t worried,” Major Coffey said. “I know you, Ambassador. You wouldn’t give Lieutenant General Healey the time of day if you weren’t worried.” He was too obviously right to make that worth denying. When Sam didn’t say anything, Coffey asked his question again: “What are your orders?”
They weren’t Sam‘s. They were intended for the Doctor. He would have had no qualms about carrying them out. Yeager was sure of that. “Basically, to ensure our freedom and independence,” he answered. “That’s what this is all about. Past the basics, I’ve got a lot of discretion. I have to. The home office is a hell of a long way from here.”
“You’re right about that,” Tom said.
“Sure are,” Frank Coffey said. “But you don’t get anywhere against oppression by bowing down and saying, ‘Thank you,’ to the fellow with the bullwhip. No offense, Ambassador, but that just doesn’t work.” Sam would have been happier had he thought the black man was wrong.
When the phone hissed for attention, Atvar had just come out of the shower. That was a smaller problem for a member of the Race than it would have been for a wild Big Ugly; he didn’t need to worry about decking himself with wrappings before he went to answer. But it was an annoyance even so.
Shaking a last couple of drops of water off the end of his snout, he sat down in front of the monitor and let the camera pick up his image. “This is Atvar. I greet you,” he said.
“And I greet you, Fleetlord.”
The face on the screen made Atvar hiss in surprise. “Your Majesty!” he exclaimed, and began to fold into the special posture of respect reserved for the Emperor.
“Never mind that,” the 37th Emperor Risson said, holding up a hand. “We have serious matters to discuss.”
Atvar made the affirmative gesture. “As always, your Majesty, I am at your service.”
“Good,” Risson said. “How seriously do you take this new report from Senior Researcher Ttomalss and the physicists he has recruited?”
“Seriously enough to pass it on in the hope that your eye turrets would move across it,” Atvar answered. “I cannot fully comment on the quality of the research. There I have to rely on the scholars involved. But, by their reputations, they are first-rate males and females.”
“Yes.” Risson used the affirmative gesture, too. “This being so, what they say is probably right. What do we do about that?”
“I think perhaps you should ask the physicists and not me,” Atvar said. “My own view is, we push ahead with this research as hard as we can. The Big Uglies already have a considerable start on us.”
“That is also a truth.” Risson used the same gesture again. “How likely is it, in your opinion, that we will be able to catch up?”
There was an interesting question-so interesting, Atvar almost wished the Emperor hadn’t asked it. The Race had had a head start on the Tosevites in technology. It didn’t any more. The Big Uglies moved faster than the Race did. If they had found something new and the Race had to make up lost ground…
The Emperor deserved the truth. Indeed, he required the truth. With a sigh, Atvar answered, “While it may not be impossible, I do
