“They have not worried about that so far,” Gorppet said. “Why should they worry now?” Something else occurred to him; he started to laugh. “I wish I were an underofficer training them. I would enjoy that, I think.”
“Yes, plenty of males will be looking for the chance to show the colonists just how ignorant they are of the way things work on Tosev 3,” Hozzanet agreed. “We shall have no shortage of volunteers for that duty.”
Gorppet made the affirmative gesture. Then another new thought struck him. “Do they intend to teach males and females to be soldiers, or just males? Before, it would have mattered only during mating season. With ginger, though, it matters all the time. Has anyone bothered to think about that?”
“I do not know,” Hozzanet said. “It would not surprise me if our leaders did their best to forget about the herb.”
“They would be fools if they did,” Gorppet said. “Of course, that may not stop them. But I am far from sure that military discipline and mating behavior can stand side by side. Someone ought to point that out to them.”
“Truth,” Hozzanet said. “Go ahead.”
“Me?” Now Gorppet made the negative gesture. “No one would pay any attention to me. I am lucky to be an officer at all.”
“Your skill made you an officer. Luck had nothing to do with it,” Hozzanet said. “Draft a memorandum. I will endorse it and pass it up the line.”
“It shall be done, superior sir.” Gorppet could say nothing else. What he thought was, Look what your big mouth got you into this time. After a moment, he did add, “Some members of the Race are likely to say that this makes us like the Big Uglies, who also usually exclude their females from combat.”
“Some members of the Race are fools,” Hozzanet replied. “You will, I suspect, have observed this for yourself. The Big Uglies are sexually dimorphic to a greater degree than we are, and have practiced mechanized warfare only a short time. Up till recently, raw strength was necessary for their combat, so it is no wonder their females were commonly excluded. That is not an issue for us, but control of our sexuality is. Can you imagine what the Deutsche would have done to us after spraying ginger over a battlefield with both males and females on it?”
“I can, but I would rather not.” Gorppet shuddered at the thought. “Very well, superior sir. I will emphasize that point when I write.”
He didn’t enjoy drafting the memorandum. He hadn’t had to do such things very often as an infantrymale and then an underofficer. The risks of combat were familiar: pain, mutilation, death. The risks here were subtler, but real nevertheless: embarrassment, mockery, humiliation. He was no writer, and was painfully aware of his own deficiencies. He feared everyone else who saw the memorandum would be painfully aware of them, too.
With some-more than some-trepidation, he showed Hozzanet the document once he’d finished it. The other officer read through the piece without a word. Gorppet was sure he’d produced nothing but a broken egg. At last, when Hozzanet turned one eye turret away from the monitor and toward him, he managed to ask, “Well, superior sir?” He sounded miserable. Fair enough-he felt miserable.
“I shall do what I said,” Hozzanet answered. “I shall endorse it and send it on to our superiors in the hope that it will do some good. I think it is very effective-very clear, very straightforward. You make a good case. You certainly have convinced me. Some of the officers set above us, of course, have trouble seeing past the ends of their own snouts. Maybe they will ignore this. But maybe, on the other fork of the tongue, it will help them see farther. We can but hope, eh?”
“Yes, superior sir.” Now Gorppet sounded dazed. Delight coursed through him, almost as if he’d had a taste of ginger. “Clear? Straightforward? My work? I thank you, superior sir!”
“You are welcome,” Hozzanet said. “You are very welcome indeed. You did the work. I am merely approving its quality, which should be-and, I think, will be-obvious to everyone.”
“I thank you,” Gorppet repeated, more dazed still. This was better than ginger, for the pleasure lingered. It didn’t steal away to be replaced by gloom at least as strong.
“As I said, you have earned the praise,” Hozzanet told him. “I would not be surprised if I were calling you ‘superior sir’ one of these days.”
That, as far as Gorppet could see, was a preposterous extravagance. He didn’t say so; contradicting Hozzanet would have been rude. But he didn’t take the notion seriously, either. His longtime service below officer’s rank had convinced him that surviving was more important than advancing, anyhow.
Work went on while he waited for his superiors to respond to the memorandum. Longtime service below officer’s rank had convinced him that they would take their own sweet time about it, too. One afternoon, he let out a surprised hiss. Hozzanet swung an eye turret his way and asked, “Something interesting?”
“Yes, superior sir,” Gorppet answered. “Remember that Tosevite male named Drucker, who was going down to Neu Strelitz to search for his mate and hatchlings?”
Hozzanet made the affirmative gesture. “I am not likely to forget him. That trip cost us a good male and a motorcar. Cursed Deutsch bandits. Why? What about him now?”
“He has been positively identified in Neu Strelitz,” Gorppet said. “Up till now, the assumption was that he too perished in the attack, even if his body was not found.”
“Assumptions are commonly worth their weight in ginger,” Hozzanet said, which made Gorppet laugh. The other male went on, “Do you suppose he might tell you the truth about what happened if you went down to Neu Strelitz and asked him?”
“Superior sir, I do not know,” Gorppet answered. “Some of that, I suppose, will depend on what did happen and how close his ties to the bandits are. Even if he owes me certain debts, Big Uglies reckon kinship more important and friendship less so than we do.”
“I understand that,” Hozzanet said. “I ought to, on this miserable ball of mud. Go on. Do your best.”
“It shall be done,” Gorppet said-again, what other choice had he?
When he got to Neu Strelitz, he found it to be another small city that had taken considerable damage during the fighting. The Deutsche were doing their best to put things to rights again. They were energetic and hardworking, almost alarmingly so.
“There!” said the informant whose tip had got back to him-a yellow-haired Tosevite female who went by the name of Friedli. She spoke the language of the Race badly but understandably. “See you him, walking there?”
“Yes.” Gorppet found one question to ask before going after Drucker: “Why do you give him away to us?”
“He my mate threatened and betrayed,” she answered. “Now get him!”
Kinship, not friendship, Gorppet thought. He skittered down the street after Johannes Drucker. When he caught up, he said, “I greet you.”
The Deutsch male stopped and stared down at him. “Gorppet?” he said, and Gorppet used the affirmative gesture. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to ask you the same question,” Gorppet said. “How did you escape the ambush that killed Chinnoss? Have you found your mate and your hatchlings?”
Drucker hesitated before answering. In that moment of hesitation, Gorppet became convinced he wouldn’t learn anything. And he was right. The Big Ugly replied, “I am sorry, but I really cannot tell you what happened that day. I was knocked unconscious when the motorcar rolled over, so I know nothing.”
“I do not believe you,” Gorppet said bluntly.
“I am sorry,” Drucker repeated. “I was lucky not to be killed.”
“That was not luck,” Gorppet said. “You were not killed because you are not a male of the Race.”
Johannes Drucker shrugged. “I must go. Will you excuse me?”
“Suppose I arrest you instead?” Gorppet demanded, his temper kindling.
“You may try.” The Big Ugly shrugged again. “I doubt you will succeed, not here in a town without a garrison.”