“It could be so,” he answered. “I will not say that it is, but it could be. I fear you will have to conduct that investigation for yourself. I am too occupied with matters here to lend you much assistance. Felless will soon be laying her pair of eggs-she stubbornly refuses to leave Deutschland, despite possible health hazards-and will not be able to do as much work as usual for a little while before she finally does. That means I will have to do some of hers as well as my own.”

“Very well, superior sir,” Kassquit said coolly. To her, Felless remained an unscratchable itch deep under the scales she did not have. “I shall attempt to draw out this Regeya, whoever and whatever he may be, and to see exactly what information he is seeking. Armed with that knowledge, I may be able to convince the authorities to take me seriously.”

“I approve of this course,” Ttomalss said, and broke the connection. Kassquit wasn’t sure she approved of it. Being a Tosevite, would she be able to convince the authorities to take her seriously no matter what she did? She was not looking forward to the experiment, but saw no alternative.

Meanwhile, she had the chance to converse with Regeya and monitor his messages to learn what interested him. He knew where he wanted to sink his claws, that was plain: he aimed to learn all he could about whatever the Race knew of the American space station. That puzzled Kassquit. If he was a Big Ugly himself, why wouldn’t he know such things?

Her first assumption had been that, if he was a Tosevite, he was an American-how else would he know so much about the United States? Then she began to wonder. She supposed the Big Uglies spied on one another as well as on the Race. Was Regeya from the Reich or the SSSR, seeking what the Race knew about a rival?

She couldn’t ask him that, not in so many words. She did ask, How and why do you know so much about these particular Big Uglies?

In due course, Regeya answered, I have followed their doings since they freed me after the fighting stopped. The Race and the Big Uglies will be sharing this planet for a long time. Sooner or later, Tosevites will travel to other worlds of the Empire, as Rabotevs and Hallessi will come here. We and the Big Uglies had better get to know each other, do you not think? After the interrogative character, he used the Race’s conventional symbol for an emphatic cough.

Kassquit studied that. No matter who-or what sort of being-had written it, it made good sense. Truth, she replied.

Some in the discussion group reported that the Americans were again increasing the number of shipments up to their station. No one can tell what they are shipping, though, the male who sent the message said. Whatever it is, it stays crated until inside the station. This is inefficient even by Tosevite standards.

What are the Big Uglies hiding? Regeya asked on noting that message.

If they were not hiding it, we would know, the male who had sent the earlier message replied. Kassquit laughed to see that. The message continued, Whatever it is, we know enough always to keep an eye turret on that station.

A good thing, too, Regeya replied.

Kassquit made a small, exasperated sound. Would an American Big Ugly have said such a thing? Would any Big Ugly have said such a thing? Didn’t the Big Uglies know enough to show solidarity against the Race, as the Race showed solidarity against them? She knew the Big Uglies did not show solidarity among themselves, but still…

Finally, curiosity got the better of her. Are you a Tosevite? she sent to Regeya.

If he was, she thought that had a decent chance of scaring him out of the Race’s computer network. But she did not have to wait long for his reply. Of course I am, he answered. Just as much as you are.

She stared at that. Her heart fluttered. Did Regeya, could Regeya, know who and what she was? He would have to have excellent connections indeed to gain even a hint of that. And Kassquit, unlike Regeya, was a fairly common name. Or was he just making a joke? She had gathered he was fond of joking.

What do I tell him? she wondered. By the Emperor- dutifully, she cast down her eyes-what do I tell him?

What if I am? she wrote back.

We would both be surprised, Regeya replied, again very quickly. He had to be waiting at the computer for her messages. What is your telephone code? he asked. Perhaps we need to discuss this in person. Kassquit was appalled. Even if she left the vision blank, Regeya would be able to hear that she did not fully belong to the Race.

I would rather leave things as they are, she wrote. She knew that was rude, but better to be rude than to betray herself.

As you wish, Regeya answered promptly. We may be more alike than you think. Kassquit made the negative hand gesture. Whether Regeya belonged to the Race or to the Tosevites, she would not be much like him. She was sure of that.

Getting back into space felt good to Glen Johnson. After his run-in with Lieutenant General Curtis LeMay, he’d wondered if his superiors would let him ride Peregrine again. But nobody else at the Kitty Hawk launch site had said boo to him about LeMay’s appalling visit to the BOQ. It was as if the general had delivered his tongue-lashing and then cleared out without mentioning it to anybody, which was possible but not in accord with the usual habits of general officers. Johnson had feared his career would be blighted for good.

His orbit was lower and therefore faster than that of the American space station. Whenever he passed below it, he paid close attention to the radio chatter coming from it. The traffic told him the station was getting yet another new load of surprises, which didn’t surprise him. So many bus drivers were going up there, the Greyhound lines probably had to shut down half their routes.

He couldn’t tell what the supplies were. That didn’t surprise him, either. If he heard exactly what was going on up there, the Lizards and the Germans and the Russians would, too. He didn’t want that. But he did want to know what was going on.

One thing he could tell, both by radar and by spotting scope: whatever those supplies were, the crew aboard the space station wasn’t letting them go to waste. Sometimes he thought it looked bigger than it had on his previous pass each time he caught up with it. It was as big as one of the Lizards’ starships these days, and showed no signs of slowing its growth.

“What the hell are they doing up there?” he asked a universe that did not answer. Construction in vacuum and weightlessness wasn’t easy, but the station kept shifts going around the clock.

He couldn’t ignore everything else in space, much as he would have liked to. During his tour, Peenemunde launched a couple of A-45s and brought the manned upper stages back to Earth quite a bit faster than was their usual practice. Anything out of the ordinary was suspicious, as far as Johnson was concerned-and as far as his superiors were concerned, too, even if they didn’t seem suspicious about what was going on at the American space station.

He tried pumping the Nazi spacemen about what their bosses were up to. That was doctrine. The Germans didn’t tell him doodly-squat, which was doubtless part of their doctrine. They tried pumping him about the U.S. space station, too.

“Dammit, Drucker, I don’t know what’s going on up there,” he told one of his German opposite numbers when the fellow got not just nosy but pushy to boot. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

Drucker laughed. “And you so angry with me got when I told you the same thing. I do not know what we are here with these test launches doing.”

Listening to the Germans, Johnson had discovered, was a matter of staying patient till they got around to the verb. He laughed, too, but sourly. “Yeah, but the difference between us is that I know I’m telling the truth, but I’ve got the nasty feeling you’re lying to me.”