“But Tosev 4 is an utterly worthless world,” Atvar said. “Why would anyone, even Big Uglies, be so addled as to bombard it with meteors?”
“Perhaps,” Tsalas said gently, “to give them practice in hitting other, more inherently valuable, targets.”
That needed a moment to sink in. When it did, Atvar let out a hiss of unadulterated horror. “You are telling me that they could bombard us here on Tosev 3 from out in the belt of minor planets,” he said.
“I believe so, yes, Exalted Fleetlord.” Tsalas sounded no happier than Atvar felt. “I apologize for not bringing this to your notice sooner. Connecting several apparently unrelated pieces of data took longer than it should have. On the other fork of the tongue, perhaps we should count ourselves lucky that the connection was made at all. The American Tosevites plainly intended to keep it secret from us.”
“Yes. Plainly,” Atvar said. “And we shall have to see about that, too. Indeed we shall. I thank you, Senior Science Officer. I believe you may well have done the Race a great service.” He listened with some small part of one hearing diaphragm to Tsalas’ thanks, then broke the connection and shouted, “Pshing!”
His adjutant rushed into the office. “What is it, Exalted Fleetlord?”
“Summon the American ambassador to me this instant. This instant, do you hear?” Atvar said. “I do not care what that Big Ugly is doing. I do not care if he is eating. I do not care if he is mating. I do not care if he is standing in front of a mirror and watching his hair grow. I want him here at once. No delay, no excuse, is to be tolerated. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Exalted Fleetlord. It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord.” Pshing fled.
Henry Cabot Lodge arrived quite promptly, even if not so soon as Atvar might have wished. “I greet you, Exalted Fleetlord,” he said, his accent thick but understandable. “What can I do for you today? I gather from your adjutant that the business is urgent, whatever it may be.”
“You might say so,” Atvar answered. “Yes, you might say so. How does the United States dare to prepare to bombard Tosev 3 from the belt of minor planets between Tosev 4 and Tosev 5?”
He wondered if Lodge would have the nerve to deny the charge. But the Big Ugly said, “We are a free and independent not-empire. We are entitled to take whatever steps we choose to protect ourselves. So long as we are not at war with the Race, we do not have to make an accounting of our actions to you.”
“Do you recall how close you came to being at war with the Race not long ago?” the fleetlord demanded.
“Yes. And I also recall the price we paid to avoid it,” Henry Cabot Lodge replied. “It was just that we should pay it then, for we were in the wrong. But we are not in the wrong here, Exalted Fleetlord, and you have no right to protest our legitimate research in space.”
Lodge was never a male to bluster and threaten. But he sounded determined here. Even Atvar, no great expert on Tosevite intonation, could tell as much. He said, “Regardless of whatever installations you devise out there, Ambassador, the Race remains able to destroy your not-empire many times over.”
“I understand that,” the Big Ugly said steadily. “We are now able to treat with you on more fully equal terms, however.”
And that, unfortunately, was a big, ugly, unpalatable truth. “We could wreck this entire planet, if necessary, to keep you Tosevites from escaping your solar system.” Atvar had had that thought before. Now, suddenly, it seemed much more urgent-and also much harder to do. Could he give such an order, slaying all the colonists along with the Big Uglies? He wondered.
He or his successors would have to be the ones to do it, if anyone did. By the time he sent a query Home and waited for a reply at the laggard speed of light, that reply would come far, far too late to do any good. Not even the Emperors had borne such responsibility, not since before the days when Home was unified.
Henry Cabot Lodge said, “That is madness, and you know it perfectly well.”
“Truth: it is madness,” Atvar agreed. “But Tosev 3 is a world of madness, so who knows whether a mad answer might not be the best?” To that, the American Big Ugly had not a single word to say.
17
Bombs burst in Peking, shaking the ground. At the Central Committee meeting, Liu Han turned to Nieh Ho-T’ing and said, “We are making them work much harder this time.”
“Truth,” the People’s Liberation Army general answered in the language of the little scaly devils. He went back to Chinese: “Thanks to the missiles we got from the Soviet Union, they cannot use their landcruisers or their helicopters or even their aircraft so freely as they would like.”
Mao glanced across the table at them. “We have held Peking now since the uprising began. We hold a good many cities here in the north, and the countryside surrounding them.”
Nieh nodded. “From there to the Soviet border, the scaly devils appear only at great peril to their lives.”
“If Molotov wanted to, he could legitimately recognize us as the government of liberated China,” Mao said. “But will he do it?” He scowled and shook his head. “He does not dare, the dusty little worm, for fear of angering the little devils. Stalin was ten times the man he is. Stalin knew no fear.”
To Liu Han, Nieh murmured, “Anyone who isn’t afraid of the little scaly devils has tiles loose on his roof.”
“Well, of course,” she whispered back. “You know how Mao is. Molotov hasn’t given him everything he wanted, so of course he’s going to rant about it. He isn’t satisfied till things go exactly as he saw them in his mind.”
“That makes him a great leader,” Nieh said, to which she nodded. He added, “It can also make him very tiresome,” and Liu Han nodded again.
Mao took no notice of the byplay; Mao took as little notice as he could of anything that didn’t involve himself. He went right on talking. When Liu Han started paying attention to him again, he was saying, “-might be better off demanding recognition from the little scaly devils than from the Soviet Union.”
Heads bobbed up and down along the table. Chou En-Lai said, “I think there is some hope they may give this to us. We have shown them we are determined and we are not to be trifled with. If we send them an embassy, I think they will listen. They had better listen, or they’ll be sorry.”
“That’s right. That’s just right,” Mao said. Of course he thought anyone who agreed with him was right. He continued, “They’re already sorry. We can send them an embassy under flag of truce. If they heed us, well and good. If they don’t, we’re no worse off.” His forefinger shot out. “Comrade Liu Han! You have dickered with the scaly devils before, haven’t you?”
“Uh-yes, Comrade,” Liu Han said, taken aback.
“Good.” Mao beamed at her, his face round as the full moon. “That’s settled, then. We’ll send you through our line. You know what you are to demand of them.”
“Our independence, of course,” she answered.
“That’s right.” He nodded. “Yes, indeed. No more imperialists in our country. We’ve seen too many-first the round-eyed devils, then the Japanese, then the little scaly devils. No more, not if we’re strong enough to hold our own against them.”
“What if they refuse us that?” Liu Han asked.
“Then the fight goes on, of course,” Mao said.
But she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Comrade. What I meant was, what if they offer us something less than full independence but more than nothing? What if they offer us, say, some small area to rule on our own, or if they offer us some voice in affairs but not real freedom?”