“And I with you, superior sir.” Ttomalss’ wits, distracted by the mating urge, remained less sharp than they should have been. When something new occurred to him, he cursed himself for not having seen it sooner. “How the Tosevites will laugh at us now that we are interested in such matters once more.”
“As I said, soon it will be over,” Veffani replied. “And of one thing you may be sure: Tosevites have short memories. Very soon, they will forget their mockery and accept our behavior as normal for us, just as their behavior, however revolting we find it, is normal for them.”
“In one way, superior sir, that is a most perceptive observation on your part,” Ttomalss said, and explained to the ambassador to the Reich how Kassquit, even though raised as nearly as possible as a female of the Race, still sought physical relief at regular intervals. The researcher went on, “In a different way, though, I fear you may be too optimistic, for when have the Big Uglies ever proved accepting either of us or of other factions of their own kind?”
“Well, that is also a truth.” Veffani let out an annoyed hiss. “I cannot think straight, not with these pheromones still in the air. And every male in the place will have scent receptors tingling, looking for the female in her season.”
“And soon the rest of the females will be in heat, too-and so the mating season will go,” Ttomalss said. “And then it will be over for another year. We shall have a new crop of hatchlings to begin to civilize, which will afford the Big Uglies further chances for mirth, not that their own hatchlings are anything save risible.” He checked himself. “No, that is not strictly true. Their hatchlings are risible while they are raising them. When one of us attempts the task, it is, I assure you, no laughing matter.”
“That I believe. You have my admiration for your efforts along those lines,” Veffani said. “I should not have cared to try to emulate them. What I should care for is-” He broke off and made another self-mocking tongue waggle. “What I should care for is another mating. Being in the season makes us strange, does it not?”
Before Ttomalss could answer, a male came hurrying down the hall. The scales of his crest were raised; he had the determined stride of one who knew exactly what he wanted, though not exactly where it was. A moment later, another similarly intent male followed him. Ttomalss laughed. “It has begun.”
With his mouth open, he caught more of Felless’ pheromones. His crest stood higher, too.
Nesseref was fed up with Tosev 3: not with the Big Uglies-who, while their reproductive habits were revolting, had proved to have some interesting and even personable individuals among them-but with her own kind. She gave Bunim, the regional subadministrator headquartered in Lodz, a sour stare. “In my opinion, superior sir, you cannot have it both ways. You wanted the shuttlecraft port in this area, but now you keep raising objections to every site I propose.”
“That, Shuttlecraft Pilot, is because you continue to propose objectionable sites,” Bunim replied. “Things in this region are more complicated than you seem to understand.”
“Enlighten me, then,” Nesseref said, with more sarcasm than she should have aimed at a superior. At the moment, she would cheerfully have aimed a weapon at Bunim. Obstructionist, she thought.
Through the window of his office, she could see little clumps of frozen water twisting and swirling in the icy breeze. The stuff was interesting, perhaps even attractive in a bizarre way-when seen through a window. Nesseref had acquired more experience of snow than she’d ever wanted, trying to find a landing site that would satisfy her and Bunim both.
Despite the cold, despite the snow, Tosevites still met to buy and sell in the market square on which Bunim’s office faced. They put on more layers of muffling and went about their business. In a way, such determination was admirable. In another way, it made her reckon the Big Uglies addled.
Bunim said, “The situation is complicated in this way: the Race rules Poland, but not in the way we rule Rabotev 2 or even the way we rule most other parts of Tosev 3. The two groups of Tosevites here-the Poles and the Jews-are both heavily armed and could, should they rise up against us, cause us a great deal of difficulty. The Jews are even said to possess an explosive-metal device, though I do not know for certain if this is true.”
“I met a Tosevite who said he was checking the security for such a bomb,” Nesseref said.
“All Tosevites lie,” Bunim said dismissively. “But the point is, the only reason the locals tolerate us is that they loathe the not-empires to either side of them, the Greater German Reich and the SSSR, more than they loathe us. We do not want them to loathe us more than they loathe these not-empires, or they might succeed in expelling us. Thus we have to step carefully. We cannot simply move in and take whatever we want. This includes taking land we want, provided the Big Uglies now owning it do not care to give it up. Now do you begin to see?”
“I do, superior sir.” What Nesseref thought she saw was a confession of weakness, but saying so would not do. What she did say was, “You are telling me you are treating these Big Uglies as if, in property rights and such, they were males and females of the Race.”
“Essentially, yes,” Bunim said.
Nesseref’s opinion of that policy was not high. Bunim, however, would not care what her opinion was, and his superiors would support his opinion. Nesseref said what she could: “I do wish this policy had been communicated to me some time ago rather than now. Doing so would have prevented a great deal of friction between us.” I could have done my job properly and gone away, she thought savagely. This is not a garden spot. From what I have seen of Tosev 3, it has no garden spots.
“I suppose I assumed you understood what the situation was here,” Bunim said. “We of the conquest fleet take matters Tosevite so much for granted by now, we are liable to forget that you colonists are less familiar with them.”
“It would be better if you did not.” Nesseref got up. “And now, superior sir, if you will excuse me…” She turned and departed without looking back at Bunim, so she never found out whether he excused her or not.
Outside, the wind snapped at her as if it had teeth, blowing snow into her face and into the front of the building where Bunim had his office. She drew her own mufflings more tightly around her. Her eye turrets turned toward the guards around the building. She pitied them. They had to endure this brutal weather for far longer stretches than she.
They’d also had to endure Bunim for a far longer stretch than she had. She pitied them for that, too. Now she turned an eye turret back toward his office. He infuriated her. He knew things, didn’t bother to tell them to her, and then blamed her when her work had problems.
“Unconscionable,” she muttered. But his superiors would back him. She was very sure of that. They’d served with him since the conquest fleet arrived. She was only a newcomer, and a newcomer of lower rank at that. “Unfair.” That was a low mumble, too. It was also the way the world-any world-worked.
She hated it, hated Bunim, hated everything about Tosev 3 except, strangely, a Tosevite or two. Rummaging in her belt pouch, she pulled out one of the vials of ginger males had given her. Maybe that would make her feel better. Nice if something could, she thought.
The breeze threatened to blow the ginger out of the palm of her hand. It was so cold that she wondered if her tongue would freeze to her skin when she shot it out. The taste of the herb was like nothing she’d ever known, sharp and sweet at the same time. And its effect was everything the males of the conquest fleet had said it would be, everything and then some. The truth of that amazed her as much as the sensation itself; she knew perfectly well how much males were in the habit of exaggerating.