Colonization_ Down To Earth Part 25

"Dammit, I want another chance at him!" Monique Dutourd said in a savage whisper as she examined tomatoes in the greengrocer's.

"Not right now," Lucie answered, choosing one for herself. "If things change, then yes, certainly. But we don't want to draw too much heat from the n.a.z.is down on our heads, not for a bit."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to sleep with him." Monique knew she sounded bitter. Why not? She d.a.m.n well was.

"No, I'm sleeping with your brother." Lucie's voice made the prospect sound extraordinarily nasty, even though she and Pierre Dutourd were both on the dumpy side. "And getting the Lizards to do things isn't so easy, whether you know it or not. They were very unhappy when they rubbed out that fishmonger."

"Not half so unhappy as I was," Monique said mournfully. "I had my hopes up-and then the miserable fool started shooting too soon. And I'm still stuck with Kuhn."

Lucie shrugged. "If you want to put a.r.s.enic in his wine, I won't tell you not to do it, but you're liable to get caught. The advantage of the Lizards is, if they do the job, you get away scot free."

"So do you. So does Pierre." Monique put a tomato into her string bag. "The only reason Kuhn started bothering me was to get at Pierre-and I didn't even know Pierre was alive then."

"Only an American would expect life to be fair all the time," Lucie said. "It isn't as though the Boches Boches gave us no trouble." gave us no trouble."

That was undoubtedly true. It didn't make Monique feel any better. It didn't keep Dieter Kuhn out of her bedroom, either. "Maybe I will put a.r.s.enic in his wine," she said. "And after they arrest me for it and start working me over, I'll tell them it was your idea."

"They already want to get their hands on me," Lucie said with a shrug. "Giving them one more reason isn't so much of a much."

Monique was tempted to throw a tomato at her. But if she angered Lucie, her own brother might stop having anything to do with her. What would she do then? Stay an SS man's unwilling mistress till the end of time? That was intolerable. "I want to get away!" she cried, loud enough to make the greengrocer look up from what he was reading-a girlie magazine, by the cover.

"Well, then, why don't you?" Lucie said. "If you stay in your flat and let the n.a.z.i come over whenever he chooses and do whatever he wants, why do you think you deserve anything in the way of sympathy?"

Again, Monique felt like hitting her. "What am I supposed to do, sneak out of my flat, throw away my position at the university, and sell drugs with you in Porte d'Aix?" Without waiting for an answer, she took her vegetables up to the shopkeeper. He gave her an unhappy look; totting up what she owed made him put down the magazine. She paid, got her change, and went out into the warm air of late summer. The sun didn't stand so high in the sky as it had a couple of months before. Autumn was coming, and then winter, though winter in Ma.r.s.eille wasn't the savage beast it was farther north.

Monique was swinging aboard her bicycle when Lucie came out, too. Her brother's mistress said, "If you want to disappear, Pierre and I can arrange it. It's easier than you think, as a matter of fact. And if it gets that German out of your hair and out of your bed, why not?"

"You must be crazy," Monique said. "I've spent my whole life training to be a Roman historian. Now that I finally am, I can't just throw that over."

"If you say so, dearie," Lucie answered. "But I'm d.a.m.ned if see why not." She got on her own bicycle and pedaled away.

With a muttered curse, Monique rode back to her own block of flats. No bloodstains remained to show where the luckless fish seller had been gunned down instead of Sturmbannfuhrer Sturmbannfuhrer Dieter Kuhn, but she saw them in her mind's eye. Dieter Kuhn, but she saw them in her mind's eye. But I'm d.a.m.ned if I can see why it wasn't him. But I'm d.a.m.ned if I can see why it wasn't him. The words gnawed at her as she went upstairs. The words gnawed at her as she went upstairs.

They gnawed even more after Kuhn paid her a visit that evening. As usual, he enjoyed himself and she didn't. "I wish you would leave me alone," she said wearily as he was getting dressed to leave again.

He smiled at her-a smile both sated and something else, something less pleasant. "I know you do. That is one of the things that keeps me coming back, sweetheart. Bonne nuit Bonne nuit." He turned on his heel and walked out, jackboots thumping on her carpet.

After he was gone, she got up, cleaned herself off-the bidet didn't seem nearly enough-put on a robe, and tried to read some Latin. None of her inscriptions seemed to mean anything. She fought them for a while, then sighed, scowled, and gave up and went to bed.

She slept late the next morning: it was Sunday. Church bells clanged as she made her morning coffee. Along with a croissant and strawberry jam, it made a good breakfast. She lit a cigarette and sucked in harsh smoke.

A flat full of books, a university position where promotion would be slow if it ever came at all, a German lover she loathed. This is what I've made of my life? This is what I've made of my life? she thought, and the notion was far harsher than the smoke. she thought, and the notion was far harsher than the smoke.

She didn't want to go back into the bedroom even to dress; it reminded her too much of Dieter Kuhn's odious presence. As soon as she had dressed, she left and manhandled her bicycle down the stairs. She couldn't stand staying cooped up in there, wrestling with a dead language and with dead hopes. Off she rode, away from her troubles, away from Ma.r.s.eille, up into the hills back of the city that rose steeply from the Mediterranean Sea.

The Germans had placed antiaircraft-missile batteries in those hills. Otherwise, though, she had a surprisingly easy time escaping from civilization. Presently, she pulled off a dirt track and sat down on a flat yellow stone. Somewhere a long way off, a dog barked. Skippers flitted from dandelion to thistle to clover. If only I didn't have to go home, If only I didn't have to go home, Monique thought. Monique thought.

Here and there in the hills, men scratched out a living from little farms. Others herded sheep and goats. One of them is bound to be looking for a wife. One of them is bound to be looking for a wife. Monique laughed at herself. Not going home was one thing. Spending the rest of her life as a peasant woman was something else again. Next to that, even Dieter Kuhn looked less appalling... didn't he? Monique laughed at herself. Not going home was one thing. Spending the rest of her life as a peasant woman was something else again. Next to that, even Dieter Kuhn looked less appalling... didn't he?

Monique didn't have to think about the German now. She didn't have to think about anything. She could lean back on the stone and close her eyes and let the sunshine turn the inside of her eyelids red. She wasn't free. She knew she wasn't, but she could pretend to be, at least for a little while.

A bee buzzing round her head made her open her eyes. Another bicyclist was coming up the dirt track toward her. She frowned. Company was the last thing she wanted right now. Then she recognized the man on the bicycle. She stood up. "How did you find me?" she demanded angrily.

Her brother smiled as he stopped. "There are ways."

"Such as?" Monique said, hands on hips. Pierre's smile got wider and more annoying. She thought for a moment. Then she got angry for another reason. "You put some miserable Lizard toy on my bicycle!"

"Would I do such a thing?" Her brother's amiability was revoltingly smug.

"Of course you would," Monique answered. She looked at the bicycle that had betrayed her. "Now-did the Germans do the same thing? Will that dog of a Kuhn come pedaling up the road ten minutes from now?" If anything, she would have expected the SS man to get out from Ma.r.s.eille faster than her brother. However much she despised Dieter Kuhn, he was in far better shape than Pierre.

"I don't think so." Pierre still sounded smug. "I would know if they had."

"Would you?" Monique didn't trust anyone any more. I wonder why, I wonder why, she thought. "Remember, the n.a.z.is are starting to be able to listen to your talk on the telephone, even though you didn't think they could do that. So are you sure the gadgets you have from the Lizards areas good as they say?" she thought. "Remember, the n.a.z.is are starting to be able to listen to your talk on the telephone, even though you didn't think they could do that. So are you sure the gadgets you have from the Lizards areas good as they say?"

To her surprise, her brother looked thoughtful. "Am I sure? No, I'm not sure. But I have a pretty good notion with this one."

Monique tossed her head. No matter how good a notion he had, she didn't particularly want him around. She didn't want anyone around. Why else would she have come all the way out here? "All right, then," she said grudgingly. "What do you want? You must want something."

"I should resent that," Pierre said. Monique shrugged, as if telling him to go ahead. He laughed, annoying her further, and went on, "There you have me."

"Say your say, then, and leave me what's left of the day. Monday morning, I have to be a scholar again."

Pierre clicked his tongue between his teeth. "And Monday night, very likely, you will have another visit from the fellow you love so well."

She spent the next minute or so cursing him. One of the main reasons she'd come up here was to forget about Dieter Kuhn for a little while. It didn't seem she could even do that.

Her brother waited till she ran down, then said, "If you want to be rid of him for good, you really should come down to the Porte d'Aix. He won't bother you there, I promise you that, and you might be very useful to me."

"I don't care whether I'm useful to you or not," Monique flared. "All I want is to be left alone. I haven't had much luck with that, and it's your fault."

He bowed, more than a little scornfully. "No doubt you are right. Do you care about whether the Boche Boche comes to your bedroom tomorrow night?" comes to your bedroom tomorrow night?"

"d.a.m.n you," Monique said. If it weren't for Kuhn-and it wouldn't have been for Kuhn except for Pierre... "All I want is to be left alone." She'd already said that. Saying it again underlined it in her own mind.

Saying it again did nothing for Pierre, though. "You can't have that. It might be nice if you could, but you can't. You can have the n.a.z.i up your t.w.a.t, or you can have the Porte d'Aix. Which will it be?"

Monique looked around for a rock. There by her feet lay a good one, just the size of her hand. If she bounced it off her brother's head, she might shut him up for good. It wasn't so simple. It couldn't be so simple. If she stayed where she was, that didn't just mean Kuhn. It meant her cla.s.ses, her research, her friends at the university-not that she'd had time for them lately. And her research had gone to h.e.l.l; she'd thought that the night before. As for her cla.s.ses, Kuhn had got to know her through them. So what did that leave her?

Nothing, which was exactly what her life had become. How could it be worse, down there in the Porte d'Aix? How could it be worse, down there in the Porte d'Aix? One word and she'd find out how it could be worse. The past couple of years had taught her such things were always possible. One word and she'd find out how it could be worse. The past couple of years had taught her such things were always possible.

"Porte d'Aix," she said wearily. If it was worse, it was worse, that was all. At least she'd escape Dieter Kuhn.

Pierre beamed. "Oh, good. I won't have to tell my friends to put all that stuff back into your flat." She glared furiously. He kept right on beaming. "Little sister of mine, I knew you would see sense when someone pointed it out to you."

"Did you?" Monique said. Her brother nodded. She asked another question: "Did I?" Pierre couldn't answer that one. Neither could she. But she'd find out.

Nesseref bustled about, making sure everything in her apartment was just the way she wanted it to be. She didn't have guests all that often, and these would be special. She'd even borrowed a couple of chairs for the occasion.

She swung an eye turret toward Orbit. The tsiongi wasn't too happy about being on a leash inside the apartment. Maybe she'd be able to let him off later on. But maybe she wouldn't. She wouldn't know for a bit, and didn't feel like taking chances: very much a shuttlecraft pilot's view of the world.

When the knock came, she knew at once who it had to be: no male or female of the Race would have knocked so high on the door. Few males or females would have knocked at all; most would have used the hisser set into the wall by the door frame. But using the hisser required a fingerclaw, and her guests had none.

She opened the door. "I greet you, Mordechai Anielewicz," she said. "Come in. And this is your hatchling?"

"I greet you, Nesseref," the Tosevite said. "Yes, this is my hatchling. His name is Heinrich." He said something to the younger Big Ugly in their own language.

"I greet you, superior female," Heinrich Anielewicz said in the language of the Race. "I learn your speech in school."

He didn't speak very well, even for a Big Ugly. But she could understand him. As she did with Mordechai Anielewicz's use of the Race's written language, she made allowances. Speaking as if to a youngster of her own species, she said, "I greet you, Heinrich Anielewicz. I am glad you are learning my speech. I think it will be useful for you later in life."

"I also think so," Heinrich said, whether because he really did or because that was an easy way to answer, Nesseref did not know. Then the gaze of the small Big Ugly-he was just about Nesseref's size-fell on Orbit. "What is that?" he asked. "It is not a beffel."

Nesseref laughed. Orbit would have been insulted had he understood. "No, he is not a beffel," the shuttlecraft pilot agreed. "He is called a tsiongi."

"May I..." Heinrich cast about for a way to say what he wanted; he plainly didn't have much in the way of vocabulary. But he managed: "May I be friends with it?" Without waiting for a reply, he started toward the tsiongi.

"Be careful," Nesseref said, to him and to Mordechai Anielewicz as well. "I do not know how the tsiongi will react to Tosevites coming up to him. None of your species has ever done that before."

Mordechai Anielewicz followed his hatchling, ready to s.n.a.t.c.h him back from danger. The younger Big Ugly, rather to Nesseref's surprise, did what a male or female of the Race might have done: he stretched out a hand toward the tsiongi to let the beast smell him. Orbit's tongue shot out and brushed his fleshy little fingers. The tsiongi let out a discontented hiss and deliberately turned away.

Although Nesseref didn't know all she might have about how Tosevites reacted, she would have bet that Heinrich Anielewicz was discontented, too. Mordechai Anielewicz spoke to his hatchling in their own language. Then he returned to the language of the Race for Nesseref's benefit: "I told him this animal might smell on him the odor of the beffel we have at home. Some of our own animals do not like the smell that others have, either."

"Ah? Is that a truth? How interesting." Nesseref saw no reason why things like that shouldn't be so, but that they might be hadn't occurred to her. "In some ways, then, life on Tosev 3 and life on Home are not so very different." She turned her eye turrets toward Heinrich Anielewicz. "And how did you get a beffel of your own?"

"I find it in the street," he answered. Then he started speaking his own language.

Mordechai translated: "He says he gave it something to eat and it followed him home. He says he likes it very much. And you know how the beffel helped save us when the fire started."

"Yes, I know that. You wrote of it," Nesseref said. "What I find hard to imagine is having a fire starting in a building where males and females of your species live."

"When I see this building, I understand why you find it hard to imagine." The larger Anielewicz used an emphatic cough. "But our buildings are not like this. And this fire was set on purpose, to try to kill me, or so I think." He spoke quickly there, doing his best to make sure his hatchling couldn't follow what he said.

He succeeded in that, and, in any case, Heinrich Anielewicz seemed more interested in Orbit than in Nesseref. The shuttle-craft pilot said, "You have vicious enemies."

"Truth." Mordechai's shrug was much like one from a male of the Race. "Do you see why I would rather talk about befflem?"

"Befflem?" Heinrich understood that word. "What about befflem?"

"What interests me about befflem," Nesseref said, "is that they have so quickly begun to run wild here. I hear this is true of several kinds of our animals. We begin to make Tosev 3 into a world more like Home through them."

Heinrich didn't get all of that. Mordechai did. He said, "For you, this may be fine. For us, I do not think it is."

Before Nesseref could answer that, the timer in the kitchen hissed. "Ah, good," she said. "That means supper is ready. I have made it from the meat of Tosevite animals, as you asked, and made sure none of it was from the one you call 'pig.' I do not understand why you cannot eat other meats, but I am not quarreling with you."

"We Jews can eat other meats, but we may not," Mordechai Anielewicz said. "It is one of the rules of our... superst.i.tion, is what the Race calls it."

"Why have such rules?" Nesseref asked. "Do they not pose a nutritional hardship?"

"Nor really, or not very often," Mordechai answered. "They do help remind us that we are a special group of Tosevites. Our belief is that the one who created the universe made us his chosen group."

Nesseref had learned that all Big Uglies were on the p.r.i.c.kly side when it came to their superst.i.tions. Picking her words with care, she asked, "Chosen for what? For disagreements with your neighbors?"

Mordechai Anielewicz translated that into his own tongue. He and Heinrich both let out yips of barking Tosevite laughter. In the language of the Race, Mordechai said, "It often seems so."

"Well, you and your hatchling and I are not disagreeing," Nesseref said. "Let us sit down and eat together. I have alcohol for you, if you would care for it. Afterwards, we can talk more about these things."

"Good enough," Mordechai said. "Can I do anything to help?"

"I do not think so," Nesseref said. "I have chairs for your kind, and I also have your style of eating utensils. Let us use them now."

Heinrich Anielewicz went straight through the doorway into the eating area. Mordechai Anielewicz had to duck his head to get through, as he'd had to duck his head to enter Nesseref's apartment. She'd wondered if he would be able to stand straight inside the apartment, but his head didn't quite brush the ceiling.

Even so, he said, "Now I understand why the Race calls us Big Uglies. In a place made for the Race, I feel very large indeed." He spoke in his own tongue to his hatchling, who answered him in the same language. The older Tosevite translated: "Heinrich says he thinks this place is just the right size."

"For him, it would be." Nesseref corrected herself: "For him, it would be now. When he is full grown, it will seem cramped to him, too. Here, sit down, both of you, and I will bring the food and the alcohol."

"Only a little alcohol for my hatchling," Mordechai Anielewicz said. "It is not our custom to let hatchlings become intoxicated."

"Nor ours," Nesseref agreed, "but a little will do no harm." The elder Anielewicz's head went up and down, the Tosevite gesture of agreement.

After a moment, Nesseref brought bowls of stew from the kitchen to the table. Nothing in the stew would offend Mordechai and Heinrich's sensibilities: it was of the local meat called beef, and had more vegetables in it than Nesseref would have used had she been cooking for herself. Tosevites, she'd learned, preferred more calories from carbohydrates and fewer from proteins and fats than did the Race.

As everyone began to eat, a problem developed. Mordechai Anielewicz said, "Superior female, may we please have knives as well as forks and spoons? Some of these pieces are rather large for us."

"It shall be done." Nesseref hurried back into the kitchen and returned with the utensils. As she handed one to each of the Tosevites, she said, "You have my apologies. I cut the meat and the vegetables in portions that would fit my mouth, forgetting that yours are smaller."

"No harm done," Mordechai Anielewicz said. "We have creatures called 'snakes' that can take very large bites, but we Tosevites cannot."

The Big Uglies' smaller mouthparts didn't keep them from finishing the supper at about the same time as Nesseref did. "Is it enough?" she asked anxiously. "I do not know just how much you eat at a meal. If you are still hungry, plenty more is in the pot."

After the elder and younger spoke back and forth, Mordechai said, "My hatchling tells me he has had enough. You gave him about what he would eat at home. I would thank you for a little more, if it is no trouble."

"It is no trouble at all." Nesseref used an emphatic cough. She brought the bigger Big Ugly another bowl of stew, and also took a smaller second helping for herself. To the growing hatchling, she said, "You may play with the tsiongi while we finish, if he will permit it. Please be careful, though. If he does not, just watch him. I do not want you bitten."

Heinrich Anielewicz followed that without need for translation. "I thank you, superior female," he said. "It shall be done." He brought out the stock phrases more fluently than he spoke while trying to shape his own thoughts in the Race's language. Pushing back his chair, he returned to the front room. Nesseref listened for sounds of alarm, but none came.

Mordechai Anielewicz sipped at his alcohol. He too seemed to be listening to make sure Heinrich and Orbit were getting on well. When things had stayed quiet for a little while, he said, "May I ask you a question, superior female?"

"You may ask," Nesseref said. "I may not know the answer, or I may know and be unable to tell you. That depends on the question."

"I understand," the Big Ugly said. "Here it is: Do you know how close the Deutsche came to launching an attack on Poland recently?"

"Ah," Nesseref said. "No, I do not know how close, not for a certainty. For that, you would have to talk with the males of the conquest fleet. I do know my shuttlecraft port was placed on heightened alert, and that the alert was abandoned a few days later. The Race, I would say, judges any immediate danger past."