Striking the Balance

Ppevel wouldn’t have called Tessrek directly. He might well have called the male who supervised both Tessrek and Ttomalss, though, to make sure his orders were obeyed. That would have been all he needed to get rumors flying. Ttomalss said, “Go tend to your own research, and may it be treated as cavalierly as mine has.”

Tessrek let his mouth fall open in a derisive laugh. “My research, unlike yours, is productive, so I have no fear of its being curtailed.” He did leave then, and just as well, or Ttomalss might have thrown something at him.

Only a little later, a male in the red and silver body paint of a shuttlecraft pilot gave the gateway a dubious look with one eye turret. He speared Ttomalss with the other, saying, “Is the Big Ugly ready to travel, Researcher?” His tone warned,It had better be.

“It is,” Ttomalss said grudgingly. He examined the other male’s body paint again and added, even more grudgingly, “Superior sir.”

“Good,” the shuttlecraft pilot said. “I am Heddosh, by the way.” He gave Ttomalss his name as if convinced the researcher should already have known it.

Ttomalss scooped up the Tosevite hatchling. That wasn’t as easy as it had been when the creature was newly emerged from the body of the female Liu Han: it was much bigger now, and weighed much more. Ttomalss had to put down the bag of supplies he had with him so he could open the gate, at which point the hatchling nearly wriggled out of his arms. Heddosh emitted a derisive snort. Ttomalss glared at him. He had no idea of the difficulties involved in keeping this hatchling of another species alive and healthy.

Being taken to the shuttlecraft fascinated the hatchling. Several times on the journey, it saw something new and said, “This?”-sometimes with the interrogative cough, sometimes without.

“It speaks!” Heddosh said in surprise.

“Yes, it does,” Ttomalss answered coldly. “It would learn to speak more if I were allowed to continue my experiment, too.” Now the hatchling would have to acquire the horrible sounds of Chinese rather than the Race’s elegant, precise, and (to Ttomalss) beautiful language.

The clanging noises the shuttlecraft airlock doors made frightened the hatchling, which clung tightly to Ttomalss. He soothed it as best he could, all the while trying to look on the bright side of things. The only bright side he found was that, until he could obtain another newly emerged Big Ugly hatchling, he would get enough sleep for a while.

More clangings signaled the shuttlecraft’s freeing itself from the starship to which it had been attached. With centrifugal force no longer giving a simulacrum of gravity, the shuttlecraft went into free fall. To Ttomalss’ relief, the hatchling showed no perceptible distress. It seemed to find the sensation interesting, perhaps even pleasant. Data showed that the female Liu Han had had the same reaction. Ttomalss wondered if it was hereditary.

There was a long-term research project, he thought. Maybe someone could start it after the conquest was safe and secure. He wondered if the day would ever come when the conquest was safe and secure. He’d never imagined the Race making concessions to the Tosevites in negotiations, as Ppevel was in yielding the hatchling to them. Once you started making concessions, where would you stop? That was a chilling thought, when you got down to it.

The shuttlecraft’s rocket engine began to roar. Acceleration shoved Ttomalss back into his couch, and the hatchling against him. It squalled in fright. He comforted it again, even though its weight pressing on him made him far from comfortable. The hatchling had calmed before acceleration ended, and squealed with delight when free fall returned.

Ttomalss wondered if the Big Ugly female Liu Han could have done as well with the hatchling, even if she’d kept it since it emerged from her body. He had his doubts.

When Otto Skorzeny came back to the panzer encampment, he was grinning from ear to ear. “Brush the canary feathers off your chin,” Heinrich Jager told him.

The SS man actually did make brushing motions at his face. In spite of everything, Jager laughed. Whatever else you could say about him, Skorzeny had style. The trouble was, there was so much else to say. “Off it went,” Skorzeny boomed. “The Jews ate the story up like gumdrops, poor damned fools. They brought up their own wagon to carry the present, and they promised they’d sneak it past the Lizards. I figure they can do that, probably better than I could. And once they do-”

Jager tipped back his head and slid his index finger across his throat. Chuckling, Skorzeny nodded. “When is the timer set for?” Jager asked.

“Day after tomorrow,” Skorzeny answered. “That’ll give ’em plenty of time to get the bomb back to Lodz. Poor stupid bastards.” He shook his head, perhaps even in genuine sympathy. “I wonder if anybody’s ever done such a good job of committing suicide before.”