“If this stuff won’t kill ’em, what will?” She drank about as much as he had, then yanked out the cork, put on the lid, and stowed away the scotch. An amber globule the size of a pea still floated in the air in the middle of the cubicle. Lucy and Johnson both moved toward it at the same time.
Johnson nodded to her. “Go ahead. It’s yours.”
“A gentleman.” Lucy opened her mouth. The droplet of scotch disappeared. Then she leaned forward a couple of inches farther and kissed him.
Seemingly of themselves, his arms slipped around her. The kiss went on and on. “Jesus,” he said when they finally broke apart. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
“So have I,” Lucy said. “Now I have a better notion that I can… I don’t know, trust you isn’t quite right, but it’s close enough.”
He wondered what she would have done-if she’d have done anything-had he been a pig with the bottle or stolen that floating drop of Cutty for himself. Then he stopped wondering, because she unzipped her coverall and wriggled out of it. She wore bra and panties underneath. A lot of women had stopped bothering with brassieres-what point to them in weightlessness? — but not her. Either she was too stubborn to care or she didn’t want to put herself on display like that. Johnson was too busy getting out of his own clothes to worry about it.
They caressed each other and stroked each other and kissed each other all over. Floating free as they did, who was on top was a matter of opinion, unimportant opinion. Presently, a little awkwardly, he went into her. She wrapped her arms and legs around his back. He used one hand to snag a handhold and the other to keep on stroking her down where they were joined.
That brought her along about as quickly as he came himself: he’d gone without a long time. Then, before long, there were other little moist, sticky droplets floating in the air. They both hunted them down with rags. “Messy,” he said with a grin, as happy and relaxed as he’d been for a long time.
“It always is,” Lucy said. “Usually, though, men don’t have to pay attention to it.” He shrugged and snagged another drop before it hit a wall. The world was still every bit as liable to blow up as it had been half an hour before, but that didn’t seem to matter nearly so much.
Kassquit read each day’s news reports with mounting alarm. The Race had made it very plain to the Deutsche that any aggression the Big Uglies tried would be punished manyfold. The Deutsche had to understand that. But here they were, sounding fiercer and more determined every day.
“Are they addled?” she demanded of Ttomalss in the starship’s refectory. “They must know what will happen to them if they go on. You were among them for a while. Why do they not believe us?”
“Tosevites have a greater capacity for self-delusion than do males and females of the Race,” Ttomalss answered, and Kassquit knew no small pride that he spoke to her as if she were a female of the Race. He went on, “Past that, I will only say that fathoming their motivations remains difficult if not impossible.”
“They cannot hope to defeat us,” Kassquit exclaimed.
Ttomalss waved at the males and females (mostly males, for this ship had orbited Tosev 3 since the arrival of the conquest fleet, and still carried a large part of its old crew) of the Race in the refectory with them. “Our kind is relatively homogeneous,” he said. “Big Uglies are more variable. We come from one culture; they still have many very different cultures. We are discovering that cultural differences can be almost as important as genetic variation. We had some evidence of this in the assimilation of the Hallessi, but it is much more striking here.”
“I can see how it might be.” Kassquit looked down at her soft, scaleless arms; at the preposterous organs on her chest that secreted, or could secrete, nutritive fluid; at the itchy stubble between her legs that reminded her she would soon need to shave it off again. “After all, what am I but a Big Ugly with cultural differences?”
“Exactly so,” Ttomalss said, which was the last thing she wanted to hear. More often than not, Ttomalss hadn’t the faintest idea he’d upset her; this time, for a wonder, he noticed, and amended his words: “You are a Tosevite citizen of the Empire, the first but surely not the last.”
“There are times-there are many times-when I wish I could be altogether of the Race,” Kassquit said wistfully.
“Culturally, you are,” Ttomalss said, which she couldn’t deny. He went on, “Physiologically, you are not, and you cannot be. But that has not stopped either the Rabotevs or the Hallessi from becoming full participants in imperial life.”
That was also a truth. But it was only a partial truth. Kassquit said, “Both the Rabotevs and the Hallessi are more similar to the Race-physiologically and psychologically-than Big Uglies are.”
“We have known from the beginning that assimilating this planet would be harder than incorporating Rabotev 2 or Halless 1,” Ttomalss answered. “But we are willing-indeed, we have no choice but-to expend the time and effort necessary to do what must be done.” He let his mouth fall open and waggled his lower jaw: wry laughter. “They are very perturbed back on Home. We have just received answers to some of our early communications after we discovered the true nature of this world. They are wondering if any of us still survive.”
“Considering the attitude of the Deutsche, they have a right to be worried,” Kassquit said. “If the Reich has a missile targeted on this ship, we could die in the next instant, probably before we even knew we were hit.”
“If that happens-if anything like that happens-the Reich will cease to exist,” Ttomalss said. “The Deutsche have to know as much. They have to.” He sounded as if he was trying to reassure himself as well as Kassquit.
“But do they truly grasp it?” Kassquit persisted. “They have shown no sign of doing so. And even if they are smashed, can they weaken us enough to leave us vulnerable to uprisings from the areas we rule, or to attacks from the SSSR or the USA?”
“I am not the fleetlord; I do not know such things,” Ttomalss said. “What I do know is that we will destroy all the Tosevites if we ever appear to be in danger of being conquered ourselves.”
What felt like a lump of ice formed in Kassquit’s belly. She tried to call up a word, and could not. “In ancient days, when incurable disease was spreading-”
“Quarantine,” Ttomalss said, this time following her thought well. Kassquit made the affirmative gesture. The male who had reared her continued, “Yes, that is the planned strategy. Tosevites here in this solar system can be managed, one way or another. Tosevites who might travel between the stars in their own ships… We cannot permit it. We shall not permit it.”
That made sense. If it meant exterminating Kassquit’s biological species… it still made sense. She could see as much. The idea of wild Big Uglies with starships-in essence, wild Big Uglies with a conquest fleet of their own-was truly horrifying. What might they do to Home or other planets of the Empire, all of which were essentially undefended? Far worse than the Race had done on Tosev 3: she was sure of that. They wouldn’t want to colonize Home-they’d want to smash it.
Alternatives? Well, she herself was one of the alternatives. “We have to do everything we can to keep them from seeking such a thing, which means we have to do everything we can to assimilate them before they are technically able to do such a thing.”
“Truth.” Ttomalss added an emphatic cough.
“In aid of which,” Kassquit said, “how are the arrangements going for another meeting between the American Tosevites and me?”
“Fairly well,” her mentor answered. “For some reason, the Americans seem more hesitant now than they were before, but I still expect matters to be resolved before long.”