“No, I do understand that,” Yeager answered. “If we gave one of these females ginger, you would smell that odor. I wondered if you wanted to, is all.”
“Again, I say thank you, but no,” Straha said. “I am content to remain as I am. If I could join fully in the colonies now forming, it might be something else, but I know it will never be permitted.”
Exile. Once more, the word beat at him. It was what he was. He would never be anything else. He could never be anything else. If Atvar died tomorrow, his replacement would be Kirel, who might as well have hatched from the same egg. And Reffet, the fleetlord of the colonization fleet, was too new-come to Tosev 3 to understand what had driven Straha to do as he did.
Suppose he had succeeded in overthrowing Atvar, after the Big Uglies set off their first explosive-metal bomb. Suppose he had gone on to conquer the whole chilly, miserable planet. What would he do now? — for surely some females would taste ginger under his regime. He longed for a taste himself right now, as he sat here talking with Yeager.
He truly did not know what he would do. He did know Atvar was welcome to the problem. Whatever Atvar did would probably be a half measure, too little and too late. That was Atvar’s way. Straha said as much.
“It is not easy to figure out what he might do,” Yeager said, echoing Straha’s thought. “A lot of ginger goes into the parts of Tosev 3 the Race occupies, and a lot gets grown there, too. I do not see how the Race will be able to stop females from tasting it. And when they do…”
“Indeed, Sam Yeager,” Straha said. “Preventing that will be difficult. And I have heard that females continue to give off the pheromones for some time after first being stimulated to do so by the herb.”
“I had not heard that. I had better write it down.” Yeager did. The chimes at his front door pealed. He got to his feet. “Excuse me.” He hurried out to see who was there; he had no intercom to check from back here in his study.
After the door opened, Straha heard Yeager speaking English: “Oh, hello, Karen. Come on in. Jonathan’s back in his bedroom. Chemistry tonight, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, Mr. Yeager. He’s got to help me on this one-he’s better at it than I am.” This voice was higher and thinner than Yeager’s: it came, Straha judged, from a female Big Ugly. And, sure enough, the Tosevite who walked past the doorway wore her coppery hair long and possessed-and, indeed, displayed-prominent mammary glands. She also displayed a lot of skin, which was painted in a good imitation of the pattern a mine-clearance underofficer wore.
Straha did not know what to make of young Big Uglies imitating the Race like that. The first time he’d seen it, a couple of years before, he’d been offended. Now he was more nearly resigned, and hoped it meant assimilation in action. Even Sam Yeager’s offspring decorated himself so.
“Oh,” the young Tosevite said, seeing him. She assumed the posture of respect about as well as a Big Ugly could and shifted from English to the language of the Race: “I greet you, superior sir.”
“I greet you, Mine-Clearance Underofficer,” Straha replied with wry amusement. “My proper title is Shiplord.”
“Ship-?” The female’s small eyes went as wide as they could. Still in the posture of respect, she said, “I meant no offense.”
“I do not reckon myself insulted.” Straha watched her staring at his ornate body paint, and wondered if she would be sporting something like it soon. “You speak and understand my language well,” he said. “Now go and study your chemistry. It may prove useful to you later in life.”
From behind the young female, Sam Yeager spoke again in English: “Yeah, run along, Karen. I’m talking shop here, I’m afraid.” On she went, that bright hair shining. Yeager came back into the study. “I hope she did not disturb you too much, Shiplord.”
“By her presence? No,” Straha replied. “I spoke truth when I said she spoke well. But I hope you will not be insulted when I say I would sooner have a more experienced underofficer in charge of securing a mined area.”
“As a matter of fact, I agree with you.” Yeager shook his head, a gesture of bemusement Straha understood. “But I sometimes think a lot of young males and females would sooner belong to the Race than to their own kind.” He laughed a loud Tosevite laugh. “Even the ones who imitate the Race most closely, though, forget how different your mating habits are from ours. Imitating those would not be easy for them.”
“As things seem to have turned out, your young females and males would say they are imitating our females and males under the influence of ginger,” Straha observed. “That would let them do anything they like in matters pertaining to mating.”
“They already come too close to doing anything they like,” Yeager answered. “It was not like this when I was an adolescent. And my father could have said the same thing before me, and his father before him.”
“There in a sentence you have the difference between your species and mine,” Straha replied. “With us, everything is always the same from one generation to the next.” He paused. “Though I do wonder whether that will hold as true on Tosev 3 as it has on the other worlds we rule. Everything we do here seems built on sand.”
“If you cannot change on this world, you are going to have problems, sure enough,” Sam Yeager said.
“Changing our mating habits will not be easy,” Straha said. “But I can also see that keeping from changing our mating habits will not be easy, either. I crave ginger right now. Surely females will crave it as much as males. If at each taste it stimulates them to give off the pheromones that indicate they are in season… life on this planet will grow even more complicated for us than it is already.”
“You had better get used to the idea, then,” Yeager said. “How do you suppose it will change your society?”
“I do not know. In the absence of data, I would sooner not try to guess,” Straha replied. “My kind is not so given to reckless speculation as is yours.” He pointed to the Tosevite. “I will tell you this, however: life for you independent Big Uglies has also grown more complicated than it used to be.”
“How do you mean?” Yeager asked, and then checked himself. “Oh. Of course. The attack against the colonization fleet.”
“Yes, the attack against the colonization fleet,” Straha agreed. “You Big Uglies learn quickly, but you also forget quickly. The Race is different. If, two hundred years from now, the Race learns which not-empire is guilty of that attack, we will punish that not-empire. And we will be searching for the truth through all those two hundred years.”
“I understand,” Yeager said, but Straha wondered if he really did. He was, after all, a Tosevite himself, even if he had unusual insight into the way the Race thought.
“Is there anything else?” Straha asked him. Yeager shook his head again, this time in negation. Typical Tosevite inefficiency, Straha thought, to have one gesture do duty for two separate meanings. The exile shiplord got to his feet. “Then I shall depart. I now have much to think about, and so, I would imagine, have you.”
“Truth,” said Yeager. He walked with Straha to the front door, and stood watching till the male had got into the Tosevite vehicle in which he was conveyed from one point to another in this city-which was not small even by the standards of the Race.
“Take me back to my home,” he told the Big Ugly who was his driver and guard.
“It shall be done, Shiplord.” The fellow started the vehicle’s motor. As he did so, he remarked, “That was an attractive female who went into Major Yeager’s house.” He appended an emphatic cough.
“If you say so,” Straha answered. “I am glad you found something to amuse you while I was talking with the major. On me, I assure you, the attractiveness, if any, of the female was wasted. I did note, however, that she made a most improbable mine-clearance underofficer.”