“So what?” Molotov repeated. “The Chinese are in rebellion against you. Why is it surprising that they should use large quantities of munitions?”
“By everything we have seen, the Chinese are incapable of manufacturing many of these munitions for themselves,” Queek said. “This leads us to the conclusion that the Soviet Union is supplying them.”
“You have no proof of that whatever,” Molotov said. “I deny it, as I have denied it whenever you have made that accusation.”
“These photographs prove-” the Lizard began.
“Nothing,” Molotov broke in. “If they were taken on the Chinese side-your side-of the border, they prove nothing about what my country is doing.”
“Where else would the bandits and rebels in China have come up with such advanced weapons?” the Lizards’ ambassador said. “They cannot make these weapons for themselves. The caravan carrying the weapons was intercepted near the USSR’s border. Do you seriously expect the Race to believe even for a moment that the Soviet Union had nothing to do with them?”
“Were any of these weapons of Soviet manufacture?” Molotov asked-a little apprehensively, because there was always the chance that the Red Army, in its zeal to arm the People’s Liberation Army, might have ignored his orders against such a blunder and added Soviet weapons to those obtained from the Reich.
But Queek said, “No. They were made by the Germans and Americans.”
Molotov was confident his relief didn’t show. Nothing showed unless he wanted it to, and he never wanted it to. And, as a matter of fact, the USSR hadn’t supplied the Chinese with many American weapons lately. Nice to know we really are innocent of something, he thought. It makes my protestations all the more convincing.
He said, “In that case, you would do better to talk with the Germans and Americans, don’t you think, instead of making these outrageous false charges against the peace-loving workers and peasants of the Soviet Union.”
“We do not necessarily view them as false,” Queek said. “The Race understands that it is far from impossible to obtain weapons from the nation that manufactured them, and then to pass them on to bandits who support your ideology.”
“On the basis of this presumption, you have made these provocative charges against the Soviet Union,” Molotov said. “In view of the unsettled state of the world this past year, do you not think you would be wise to avoid provocation?”
“Do you not think you would be wiser to keep from provoking us?” the Lizard returned.
“As I have repeatedly told you, I deny that we have done any such thing, and it is plain that you have no proof whatever of any guilt on our part,” Molotov said. Had the Race had any such proof, life would have grown more interesting than he really cared to deal with. He went on, “You might also inquire of the Japanese, who had their own imperialist ambitions in China before the Race came to Earth.”
“We are doing so,” Queek answered. “But they deny any part in supporting these bandits, who, as they accurately point out, are ideologically aligned with the USSR, not with Japan.”
“They might well support them anyhow, merely for the sake of giving you trouble,” Molotov answered. “Has this concept never occurred to you?”
“Before we came to Tosev 3, it probably would not have,” Queek said. “You Tosevites have taught us several interesting lessons on the uses of duplicity. If we are less trusting now than we were just after we arrived, you have only yourselves to blame.”
That, no doubt, held a lot of truth. But it had nothing to do with the business at hand. “You had proof against the Germans,” Molotov said, “the best proof of alclass="underline" they attacked you. You had proof against the Americans, because of the defector. With proof, war becomes justified. To threaten war without proof is foolhardy. I insist that you convey my strongest possible protest to the fleetlord. I demand a formal apology from the Race for making these unfounded and unwarranted accusations against the Soviet Union. We have done nothing to deserve them.”
He sounded vehement, even passionate. Queek spoke in the Lizards’ language. The interpreter sounded downcast as he translated: “I shall convey your insistence and your demand to the fleetlord. I cannot predict how he will respond.”
An apology, of course, would cost Atvar nothing but pride. Sometimes that mattered very much to the Lizards. Sometimes it seemed not to matter at all. They were less predictable than people that way.
But then Queek went on, “It may be that we have no proof of the kind you describe, Comrade General Secretary. Regardless of your protests and your bluster, however, you must never forget that we do have a great deal of circumstantial evidence linking the USSR to these weapons. If the evidence ever becomes more than circumstantial, the Soviet Union will pay a heavy price-and it will be all the heavier to punish you for your deceit.”
“As you must know, the peace-loving workers and peasants of the Soviet Union are prepared to defend themselves against imperialist aggression from any enemies,” Molotov answered, once more suppressing a nasty stab of fear. “We taught both the Nazis and the Race as much a generation ago. Our means of defense now are more formidable than they were then. And, just as we were prepared to stand shoulder to shoulder with the United States, you may reasonably expect that the USA will also stand shoulder to shoulder with us.”
He had no idea whether the Lizards could reasonably expect any such thing. Harold Stassen would act in what he reckoned his nation’s self-interest, and Molotov had no good grip on that. He also had no notion whether Stassen would be reelected in 1968; political writers in the United States seemed dubious about his prospects. But Queek couldn’t readily disprove his claim.
And it seemed to rock the Lizard. It rocked him, in fact, a good deal more than Molotov had thought it would. Queek said, “You have told us to mind our own business in our dealings with you. Now I tell you to mind your own business in respect to our dealings with the United States. You would be wise to heed and obey.”
Well, well, Molotov thought. Yes, that was a more interesting response than he’d looked for. He wondered what had happened between the Lizards and the Americans to prompt it. No new crisis had come to the notice of the GRU or the NKVD. The NKVD, of course, was not what it had been. Damn Beria anyhow, Molotov thought, as he did whenever that unpalatable truth forced itself to his attention.
Aloud, he said, “I was not speaking of your dealings with the United States, but of my own country’s. I have no control over how you and the Americans deal between yourselves, any more than you have control over how we and the Americans deal between ourselves.” He yielded a little ground there, or seemed to, without committing himself to anything.
Queek said, “I have told you everything the fleetlord instructed me to convey. For your benefit, I shall repeat the gist: do not meddle in China, or you will regret it.”
“Since we have not meddled in China, I do not see why you are telling us not to do so,” Molotov replied. “You have never been able to prove otherwise.”
“You remain under very strong suspicion.” Queek got to his feet, and so did his interpreter. The Pole looked unhappy. He had come in hoping to see Molotov discomfited, but had not got what he wanted. Instead, his own principal was downcast while leaving. As Queek stalked toward the door, he added, “Sometimes strong enough suspicion is as good as truth.”
The Soviet Union ran on exactly the same principle. Nevertheless, Molotov affected outrage, snapping, “It had better not be. If you attack us on the basis of suspicion, a great many innocent human beings and members of the Race will die as a direct result of your error.”