Ttomalss hissed in surprise on noticing that the shrines with the highest attendance were not on territory the Race ruled at all, but in the not-empire of the United States. He wondered what that meant, and wondered all the more so because the Americans had gone to the extreme of immolating their own city to keep the Race from gaining influence over them.
Further investigation of this apparent paradox may well prove worth-while, he wrote. Then he noticed that Atvar had arranged to send the two perverts who had caused so much scandal to the United States. The Amen-cans would apparently put up with anything, no matter how bizarre.
The telephone hissed. “Senior Researcher Ttomalss,” he said. “I greet you.”
“And I greet you.” The image that appeared on the monitor belonged to Tessnek, who’d been an itch under Ttomalss’ scales every since he started trying to raise Tosevite hatchlings. With him, I have to put up with any-thing, too, Ttomalss thought. Tessnek went on, “Are you aware of the latest disgusting behavior on the part of your pet Big Ugly?”
“She is not my pet,” Ttomalss said. However much Kassquit disheartened him, Tessrek was the last male before whom he would show that. “She is a citizen of the Empire, as I am and as you are.”
“She certainly boasts of being one,” Tessrek said, “but her behavior hardly makes the boast anything in which she or the Empire can take pride.”
“By which I suppose you mean that you tried baiting her again and found yourself unhappy at the outcome,” Ttomalss said. “You really should learn, Tessrek. This has happened before, and it will keep right on happening as long as you refuse to recognize that she is an adult and an intelligent being.” He himself was none too eager to recognize Kassquit as an adult, but he wouldn’t admit that to Tessrek, either.
Tessnek hissed scornfully. “I am not referring to the Big Ugly’s usual rudeness. I am resigned to that.” He was lying, as Ttomalss knew, for the sake of moral advantage. Before Ttomalss could call him on it, he continued, “I am referring to the disgusting growth of hair she is cultivating on top of her head. It truly does sicken me. I want to turn my eye turrets away every time I see her.”
“You have never complained about the hair wild Big Uglies grow,” Ttomalss replied, “so I think you are singling her out for undue, unfair attention.”
“But those other Big Uglies are, as you point out, wild,” Tessnek said. “Both you and Kassquit have been prating that she is a proper citizen of the Empire. Proper citizens of the Empire do not grow hair.”
“I know of no law or regulation forbidding citizens of the Empire from growing hair.” Ttomalss swung both eye turrets toward Tessrek and spoke in judicious tones: “As a matter of fact, you might try it yourself. It could do wonders for your appearance.”
Tessrek hissed again, this time in real fury. Ttomalss broke the connection in the middle of the hiss. With any luck, Tessrek wouldn’t bother him for some time. Ttomalss’ mouth fell open in a laugh. He hadn’t enjoyed himself so much since… Since mating with Felless, he thought. But then he made the negative gesture. The pleasures of mating were altogether distinct from other sorts.
He went back to work with a lighter liver. A moment later, though, he too hissed, in chagrin and dismay. He’d bounced Kassquit’s arguments off Tessnek’s snout. They made a surprisingly good case when he used them against a male he’d long disliked.
Of course, when Kassquit used those arguments against him, he’d thought them absurd. What did that mean? He was scientist enough to see one possibility he’d rejected out of hand before. By the Emperor, he thought, and cast down his eye turrets. What if she is right?
Once conquered, the Rabotevs and the Hallessi had soon abandoned almost all of their own cultural baggage and been assimilated into the larger, more complex, more sophisticated culture that was the Empire. And their cases had always been the Race’s models for what would happen on Tosev 3.
But what if the model was wrong? In terms of biology, the Big Uglies were fan more different from the Race than either the Rabotevs on the Hal-lessi. And in terms of culture, they were far closer to the Race than the Rabotevs on the Hallessi had been. Both those factors argued that they would acculturate more slowly and to a lesser degree than either of the other species the Race had conquered.
Even if Tosev 3 was finally conquered in full, Tosevites might go right on letting their hair grow and wearing wrappings. They might keep speaking their own languages and practicing their own superstitions. That would make life-to say nothing of administration-more difficult for the Race.
Ttomalss wondered if in their own history the Big Uglies had known any situations analogous to this one. He knew less than he should have about Tosevite history. So did the Race as a whole. It hadn’t seemed germane. But maybe it was. I wonder how I can get in touch with a Tosevite historian, he thought. Maybe Felless will know a way, down there on the surface of Tosev 3.
“No,” Pshing told Straha when he tried to call Atvar. “The fleetlond is busy with important matters, and has given orders that he cannot be disturbed.”
“Am I no longer an important matter, then?” Straha demanded angrily. “Were it not for me, you would still have no idea which Tosevite not-empire struck at the colonization fleet.”
“I am sorry, sup-” Atvan’s adjutant checked himself. Straha’s rank remained a point of ambiguity. He wasn’t a shiplond any more, not to anyone but himself. What was he? Nobody quite knew. Not enough for Pshing to call him superior sir, evidently. “I am sorry,” Pshing repeated. “The fleetlond has given me explicit orders, and I cannot disobey them.”
Straha wondered if he were the only male of the Race on Tosev 3 who’d ever imagined disobeying orders. After a moment’s thought, he realized he wasn’t. There had been mutinies during the first round of fighting-only a handful, but they did happen. By all he’d been able to find out, few of them had had happy aftermaths for the mutineers.
Had his own defection had a happy aftermath for him? He was still try-ing to figure that out. It could have been worse. He did know that. He could have defected to the SSSR, for instance. He shuddered at the thought. He might have done it. He hadn’t known any better then.
“And now, if you will excuse me…” Pshing said, and broke the connection.
Straha wondered what would happen if he tried to walk into Atvar’s of-fice despite being unwelcome. By far the most likely result would be his expulsion. He sighed. Much as he enjoyed irritating the fleetlond, here he would get more irritation than he gave out.
I was freer in the United States, he thought. For a moment, the idea of redefecting crossed his mind. But he made the negative gesture. After the destruction of Indianapolis, the Americans would not welcome him.
On the other fork of the tongue, the Race didn’t welcome him, either. He was still Straha the traitor as far as males and females here in Cairo were concerned. What he knew was useful. He himself? They wished they could take his knowledge and leave him alone. They might as well have been Americans.
He made the negative gesture again. In that regard, the Race was worse than the Americans, because his own kind were more self-righteous and sanctimonious. And, he realized, he had more of a taste for freedom, for doing what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it, than had been true before he defected to the United States.
Who would have believed it? he thought. The Big Uglies’ ideology has painted itself on me. That wasn’t true to any enormous extent-he still thought the American reporter who would have printed his opinion that the United States had been responsible for attacking the colonization fleet was addled. The male had had no business doing any such thing.