Nothing seemed so tempting as giving way to despair. If she stopped caring about what happened to her, maybe she could accept the likelihood that she would never leave this place again. Then she could start shaping a life for herself within the razor-wire perimeter.

She shook her head. She wouldn’t give up. She couldn’t give up. She hadn’t given up after Ttomalss took her daughter away from her, and she’d got Liu Mei back. If she kept up the struggle, she might get her own life back one day, too. After all, who could guess what would happen? The Japanese might resume their war with the little scaly devils. Or the Germans might fight them. The Germans were strong, even if they were fascist reactionaries. If they caused the scaly devils enough trouble, maybe the little devils would have to loosen their grip on China. You never could tell.

She went back to the tent she shared with Liu Mei to tell her daughter the news she’d had from Nieh. But Liu Mei wasn’t in the tent. Liu Han’s carefully constructed bravado collapsed. If the little devils had taken her daughter off to do horrible things to her, what good was bravado?

A woman who lived in the tent next door said, “The scaly devils do not have her.” She had a southwestern accent that hardly seemed Mandarin at all to Liu Han, who had trouble following her.

When at last she did, she asked, “Well, where is she, then?”

The other woman, who was not a Communist, smiled unpleasantly. “She went out walking with a young man.”

“A young man!” Liu Han exclaimed. “Which young man?” The camp held a lot of them, far more than women.

“I have no idea.” The other woman was full of sour virtue. “My children would never do such a thing without my knowing.”

“You ugly old turtle, you must have had a blind husband if you have any children at all,” Liu Han said. That produced a splendid fight. Each of the women called the other everything she could think of. The other woman took a step toward Liu Han, who only smiled. “Come ahead. I will snatch you even balder than you are already.”

“Oh, shut up, you horrible, clapped-out whore!” the other woman screeched, but she backed away again.

Contemptuously, Liu Han turned her back. She listened for footsteps that would mean the other woman was rushing at her, but they didn’t come. She wondered if she ought to wait in her tent for her daughter or to go after her.

She decided to wait. Liu Mei came back about an hour later, alone. “What have you been doing?” Liu Han asked.

“Walking with a friend,” Liu Mei answered. Her face showed nothing, but then it never did-it never could.

“Who is this friend?” Liu Han persisted.

“Someone I met here,” her daughter said.

“And what other sort of person is it likely to be?” Liu Han said, full of sarcasm. “Someone you met in Peking, maybe? Or in the United States? I am going to ask you again, and I want a straight answer this time: who is this friend?”

“Someone I met here,” Liu Mei repeated.

“Is it a man or a woman? Is it a Communist or a Kuomintang reactionary?” Liu Han said. “Why do you beat around the bush?”

“Why do you hound me?” Liu Mei returned. If the nosy neighbor hadn’t told Liu Han her daughter was walking with a man, that would have. “I can walk with whomever I like. It’s not like there’s anything else to do.”

If she went walking with a man, they might soon find something else to do. Liu Han knew that perfectly well. If Liu Mei didn’t, it wasn’t because Liu Han hadn’t told her. “Who is he?” Liu Han snapped.

Liu Mei’s eyes blazed in her expressionless face. “Whoever he is, he’s none of your business,” she said. “Are you going to be a bourgeois mother worrying about a proper match? Or are you going to be an upper-class mother from the old days and bind up my feet till I walk like this?” She took several tiny, swaying, mocking steps. Her face might not show expression, but her body did.

“I am your mother, and I will thank you to remember it,” Liu Han said.

“Treat me like a comrade, if you please, and not the way the keeper in a traveling beast show treats his animals,” Liu Mei said.

“Is that what you think I do?” Liu Han demanded, and her daughter nodded. She threw her hands in the air. “All I want is for you to be happy and safe and sensible, and you always have-till now.”

“All you want is to keep me in a cage!” Liu Han shouted, and tears streamed down her face. She stormed off. Liu Han stared after her, then started to cry herself. Everything she’d worked for lay in ruins around her.

18

Much as he would have liked to, Straha hadn’t passed on to the Race what he’d learned about the hatchlings Sam Yeager was raising. In an odd sort of way, he was loyal to the United States. After all, if this not-empire hadn’t taken him in, Atvar would have given him a very hard time. And Yeager was a friend, even if he was a Big Ugly.

But those weren’t the main reasons he’d kept quiet about that business. His main concern was that he wouldn’t get the reward he most desired: a return to the society of the Race. After all, his own kind had done the same sort of thing with a Tosevite hatchling. How could they condemn the Americans without condemning themselves at the same time?

His driver walked into the kitchen. “I greet you, Shiplord,” he said casually. “Looks as if the sun is finally coming out.”

“You knew!” Straha said angrily. “You knew all along, and you said not a thing-not a single, solitary thing.”

Had the Big Ugly asked what he was talking about, Straha thought he would have taken a bite out of him. But his driver didn’t bother affecting innocence. “I was following the orders of my superiors, Shiplord. They wanted this secret kept, and so it was. I am surprised Sam Yeager obtained permission to have you visit his home, as a matter of fact.”

“How do you know he even asked permission?” Straha asked. “I do not know that he did,” the driver answered. “I know that he should have. If he did not, it will be one more black mark in the book against him.”

That was an English idiom, translated literally into the language of the Race. Straha had little trouble figuring out what it meant. He said, “Yeager is a good officer. He should not have difficulties with his superiors.”

“If he obeyed orders, if he did as he was told to do, he would not have difficulties with his superiors,” the Big Ugly said. Then he let out a couple of grunts of Tosevite laughter. “Of course, if he acted in that fashion, he might not be such a good officer, either.”

Straha would have reckoned a perfectly obedient officer a good officer. Or would he? He thought of himself as a good officer, and yet he was one of the most disobedient males in the history of the Race. This planet corrupts everyone, he thought.

His driver dropped into English. “You know what Yeager’s problem is, Shiplord? Yeager’s got too goddamn much initiative, that’s what.”

“Initiative is desirable, isn’t it?” Straha switched to English, too.

“Yes and no,” his driver replied. “Yes if you’re going after what your superiors tell you to go after. No if you go off on your own. Especially no if you keep sticking your nose into places they told you to stay away from.”

“Yeager does this?” Straha made a mental leap of his own. “Is that why he has had trouble with Tosevites trying to harm him and his family?”

“I really couldn’t tell you anything about that,” his driver said. “It might just be a run of bad luck, you know.”

Like any male of the Race, Straha read Big Uglies imperfectly. But he’d been associating with this one for a longtime. He had a fair notion when the Tosevite tried to lie by misdirection. This felt like one of those times.

He started to press his driver, to try to learn more from him: for he was sure the Big Ugly knew more. Instead, though, he left unuttered the questions he might have asked. He doubted the driver would have told him much; the Tosevite’s first loyalty was to his American superiors, not to Straha. And if word got back to them that Straha had been asking such questions, Sam Yeager might land in more trouble still. The exiled shiplord didn’t want that.