Colonization_ Down To Earth Part 55

"A gift?" Ttomalss was floundering. "What sort of gift?"

"Something to show I care for her," the Tosevite replied. "I am not sure what sorts of things I can get for her here. That is another reason I came to you: to learn what is available in the way of such things."

"A gift to show you care for her," Ttomalss repeated. "Care for her in the alarmingly emotional way you Tosevites tend to care for your s.e.xual partners? Is that what you mean?"

"Well... yes, superior sir," the wild Big Ugly said. "It is a custom among us, for those who are fond of each other."

Ttomalss remembered encountering the custom, now that the Big Ugly reminded him of it. He had never thought it would matter to him. More to the point, he had never thought it would matter to Ka.s.squit. He asked, "If you were back in your own not-empire, what gift might you give a female for whom you had conceived such a foolish and violent fondness?"

"I might get her flowers, superior sir," Jonathan Yeager answered.

"Why?" Ttomalss demanded. "What possible good are flowers?"

"They are pretty," the Big Ugly replied. "And they smell sweet. Females like them."

"This liking is bound to be cultural," Ttomalss said. "Not having the proper conditioning, Ka.s.squit is unlikely to share it. In any case, flowers are unlikely to be available. Are there other possibilities?"

"Yes," Jonathan Yeager said. "I might get her... I do not know the word in your language, superior sir, but it would be used to make her smell sweet."

"Perfume." Ttomalss supplied the term. Then he said, "No," and used an emphatic cough. "We are more sensitive to odors than you Big Uglies, and what you find pleasant is often unpleasant to us. Perfume would be altogether too public a gift. Try again, or else abandon this idea."

He hoped Jonathan Yeager would abandon it, but the wild Tosevite said, "I might also get her sweet things to eat. This is a common sort of gift between males and females in my not-empire."

"You should have mentioned it sooner," Ttomalss told him. "It is something we might possibly be able to supply. Return to the quarters you share with Ka.s.squit. When I have the sweet foods, I will summon you."

"I thank you, superior sir," Jonathan Yeager said. "You do not have the custom of giving gifts, I gather?"

"To a much smaller degree than you Big Uglies, certainly," Ttomalss answered. "Among us, gifts are often slightly suspect. If someone gives me something, the first thing I wonder is what he wants in return."

"They can be among us, too," the Big Ugly said. "But they can also simply show affection, as I want to do here."

"Affection." Ttomalss spoke the word with amused contempt All too often, Tosevites used it when they meant nothing but s.e.xual attraction. "You are dismissed, Jonathan Yeager. I will try to get these sweets for you-and for Ka.s.squit." He had a genuine disinterested affection for the hatchling he'd raised, since he could not possibly want to mate with her. Like any male of the Race, he viewed decisions influenced by s.e.xuality with the greatest of suspicion.

He did sometimes wonder whether he or Veffani had fathered Felless' first brace of hatchlings when she'd come to them reeking of the pheromones ginger made females produce. He shrugged. If he had, he had. If not, not. Mating with Felless certainly made him feel no more affection for the difficult and cross-grained female.

But Big Uglies worked differently. He had seen that before, and saw it again with Ka.s.squit and Jonathan Yeager. Their matings made them feel increased liking for each other; the video records made that quite plain. With the wild Big Ugly, such behavior might have been a cultural artifact. With Ka.s.squit, it a.s.suredly was not. But it was there nonetheless. Ttomalss sighed. He wished his ward's behavior in this matter were less like those of the Tosevites who'd grown up in independent squalor.

Sighing again, he made a few calls to learn when and from where shuttlecraft from the surface of Tosev 3 were scheduled to reach the starship-a.s.suming they survived Deutsch attack on the way up. But the Deutsche, these days, had few s.p.a.ceships left in orbit around Tosev 3; the Race had done a good job of getting rid of them. Supply missions were almost routine again.

Sure enough, a shuttlecraft brought what he'd asked for. He summoned Jonathan Yeager and said, "Here are the sweets you requested."

Instead of delight, the wild Big Ugly showed confusion. "I had expected what we call choklit choklit," he said slowly. "These look like b.a.l.l.s of raiss raiss." A couple of words were in his own language. Ttomalss figured out what they were likely to mean.

He exhaled in some annoyance. "You asked for sweets. These are sweets. Moreover, they are sweets from the subregion of the main continental ma.s.s called China. This is the subregion from which Ka.s.squit came."

"May I try one first?" Jonathan Yeager still sounded dubious. Ttomalss made the affirmative gesture. The Tosevite plucked one of the b.a.l.l.s out of the syrup in which it came, put it in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. "It has sesamisidz sesamisidz inside," he said. inside," he said.

"Is this good or bad?" Ttomalss asked.

Jonathan Yeager shrugged. "I do not think it is as good as choklit. choklit. But it is a sweet, and I thank you for it. I hope Ka.s.squit will like it. I think she will." He bent into the posture of respect-he did have manners, for a wild Tosevite-and took the container with the remaining sweets back to Ka.s.squit's chamber. But it is a sweet, and I thank you for it. I hope Ka.s.squit will like it. I think she will." He bent into the posture of respect-he did have manners, for a wild Tosevite-and took the container with the remaining sweets back to Ka.s.squit's chamber.

Ttomalss eyed the video that came from the chamber. He listened to Ka.s.squit exclaim in surprise and pleasure, and watched her try the sweets. She must have liked them; she ate several, one after another.

"No one has ever cared for me as you care for me," she told Jonathan Yeager. Before long, the two of them were mating again, though shielded from the possibility of reproduction.

Having seen that activity before, Ttomalss stopped watching the video feed. He hadn't imagined that Ka.s.squit's words could hurt as much as they did. Who had fed her when she was helpless? Who had cleaned excrement from her skin? Who had taught her the language and the ways of the Race? Did a few sweets and pleasurable mating count for more than all that?

He let out a discontented hiss. He had not been the one to think of giving Ka.s.squit an unexpected treat. Even so, it hardly seemed fair. He wondered if Tosevites ever so discounted the efforts of those of their own kind who raised them. It struck him as most unlikely. No, this case of ingrat.i.tude was surely unique.

I tried to get out, Monique Dutourd thought. Monique Dutourd thought. I did everything I could. Is it my fault that I didn't do it quite soon enough? I did everything I could. Is it my fault that I didn't do it quite soon enough?

Whose fault it was didn't matter. What mattered was that she remained stuck in Ma.r.s.eille. A pa.s.sport, even a pa.s.sport with a false name, did her no good whatever when she couldn't go anywhere with it. She had two choices now, as she saw things: run for the hills or wait for explosive-metal fire to burst over her city, as it had over so many cities of the Greater German Reich. Reich.

To her surprise, Pierre and Lucie were sitting tight. "How can you stay?" she asked them one morning over breakfast-croissants and cafe au lait cafe au lait as usual, war having affected the black market very little. "The radio said the Lizards blew up Lyon yesterday. How long can they keep from blowing us up, too?" as usual, war having affected the black market very little. "The radio said the Lizards blew up Lyon yesterday. How long can they keep from blowing us up, too?"

"Quite a while, I hope," Pierre answered placidly. "Pa.s.s the marmalade, if you would be so kind."

Monique didn't want to pa.s.s it; she wanted to throw it at him. "You are mad!" she cried. "We live on borrowed time, and you ask for marmalade?"

"Croissants are better with it," he said. She shook with fury. Her brother laughed. "I do not think we are all going to explode in the next few minutes. Will you calm yourself and let me explain why?"

"You had better, before I get on my bicycle and head for the hills," Monique said. "You were talking about doing that yourself, if you will remember?'

"I know." Pierre nodded and paused to light a cigarette. He coughed a couple of times. "First one of the morning. Yes, I know I was talking about fleeing. You still may, if you feel you must. But I doubt it is necessary to flee from Ma.r.s.eille."

"Why do you doubt it?" Monique bit off the words one by one.

"Why?" Pierre grinned at her and said no more.

"Enough teasing, Pierre." Lucie could tell when Monique was on the ragged edge of cracking, where her own brother could not. Turning to Monique, she went on, "We have-which is to say, Ma.r.s.eille has-a good many friends in high places. From what we hear from them, the city is safe enough."

"Friends where? Among the Germans?" Monique demanded. "They can't keep any place in the whole blasted Reich Reich safe." safe."

Her brother and his lover both burst out laughing. "Among the Germans?" he said. "No, not at all. By no means. I would not trust what a German told me if Christ came down from Heaven with a choir of angels to a.s.sure me it was so. But we have plenty of friends in high places among the Race, of that you may be very certain. They do not want to see such a fine place of business wiped off the face of the Earth-and so it will not be."

Monique stared at him. "They will spare this city... for the sake of the ginger trade?" she said slowly. "I knew your connections with the Race were good. I never dreamt they were that that good." She wondered if Pierre was fooling himself. good." She wondered if Pierre was fooling himself.

But Lucie said, "Here we are, an obvious target close to Spain, a target close to Africa, but have they attacked us? No, not at all. Are they likely to attack us? I do not think so."

"Well..." Monique hadn't thought of it in those terms. Ma.r.s.eille was was an obvious target. The n.a.z.is knew it as well as the Lizards did; they wouldn't have installed all those antiaircraft missiles in the hills outside the city if they hadn't known it. But not even an enemy airplane had appeared over Ma.r.s.eille, let alone an enemy missile. Grudgingly, Monique said, "It could be, I suppose." an obvious target. The n.a.z.is knew it as well as the Lizards did; they wouldn't have installed all those antiaircraft missiles in the hills outside the city if they hadn't known it. But not even an enemy airplane had appeared over Ma.r.s.eille, let alone an enemy missile. Grudgingly, Monique said, "It could be, I suppose."

"So far, it is," Pierre said. "I see no reason to believe the future will be very much different from the past."

That almost set Monique laughing, where nothing else had come close to doing the job. It was a very Roman att.i.tude. It was, from everything she'd seen, also very much the att.i.tude of the Race. But it wasn't the att.i.tude of the Reich, Reich, and it didn't work so well for the Lizards here. That worried her. and it didn't work so well for the Lizards here. That worried her.

Pierre wasn't worried. After stubbing out the cigarette, he said, "Go on, Monique. Go shopping. Spend my money on whatever you want. After the Lizards finish the n.a.z.is, they will still need people to buy and sell for them. We will be waiting. And if the Germans come back in another twenty years"-he shrugged-"they will need people to buy and sell for them, too. And we will still be waiting."

That wasn't a cla.s.sical Roman att.i.tude, but she had no doubt the inhabitants of ancient Ma.s.silia had shared it. And they would have had reason to do so. But not even Caesar's sack of the ancient city would have wrecked it anywhere near so thoroughly as one explosive-metal bomb could. Monique wasn't sure how well Pierre understood that. wasn't a cla.s.sical Roman att.i.tude, but she had no doubt the inhabitants of ancient Ma.s.silia had shared it. And they would have had reason to do so. But not even Caesar's sack of the ancient city would have wrecked it anywhere near so thoroughly as one explosive-metal bomb could. Monique wasn't sure how well Pierre understood that.

She found another question to ask her brother: "How long can you hold out if the Lizards don't come into Ma.r.s.eille to buy what you have to sell?"

He chuckled again. "Oh, twenty or thirty years, I would say. They make me extra money. I don't deny that. But I do most of my business with people, anyhow. I can go right on doing that. Whether there is a war or not, plenty of things come into the Old Port. There aren't enough Germans in the world to look through all the little boats that sail in from Spain and from Italy and from Greece and from Turkey."

"Ah, Turkey," Lucie said rapturously. "The business we do with Turkey, all by itself, could keep us afloat."

"Poppies, I suppose," Monique said, and her brother and his lover nodded. Monique had visions of opium dens and other sinister things. She didn't know any details. She didn't want to know any details. She shook her head. "Sordid."

"It could be." Pierre shrugged. "In fact, I suppose it is. You do not see Lucie or me using these things, do you? But there is a great deal of money to be had, from the Lizards and from the n.a.z.is and from-" He broke off.

From the French, he'd been about to say. Monique knew it. Her brother wasn't too proud to take his profits wherever he could find them. And she'd been living off his largesse ever since escaping Dieter Kuhn. She hadn't thought till now about how filthy the bargain was. Maybe she hadn't let herself think about it. he'd been about to say. Monique knew it. Her brother wasn't too proud to take his profits wherever he could find them. And she'd been living off his largesse ever since escaping Dieter Kuhn. She hadn't thought till now about how filthy the bargain was. Maybe she hadn't let herself think about it.

She took a deep breath, getting ready to tell him in great detail what she thought of him for doing what he did. Before she could speak, though, sirens all through Ma.r.s.eille started to scream. She sprang to her feet. "That is the attack warning!"

"It can't be!" Pierre and Lucie said it together. But it was. The way they leaped up from their seats, the sudden horrid fear on their faces, said they knew it was, too.

Monique wasted no time arguing with them. "To the shelter, and pray G.o.d we aren't too late." With that, she was out the door and rushing down the stairs. Her brother and Lucie didn't argue with her, either. They followed.

"How soon?" Lucie moaned. Even terrified, she sounded s.e.xy. Monique wondered if that was worth admiring. But she also wondered, much more, about the question. If the Lizards had launched a missile from Spain, it would be in before she got to the bas.e.m.e.nt of the block of flats, and that would be that. If it came from farther away, she had more time-but not much.

Down, down, down. The sirens kept screaming. Monique felt like screaming, too. Farther behind her, people with slower reactions were were screaming, screaming with the dreadful fear that they might be too late, too late. She knew that fear. She clamped down on it till she tasted blood and realized she was also clamping down on the inside of her lower lip. screaming, screaming with the dreadful fear that they might be too late, too late. She knew that fear. She clamped down on it till she tasted blood and realized she was also clamping down on the inside of her lower lip.

And there was the door to the cellar. "Merci, mon cher Dieu," "Merci, mon cher Dieu," she gasped as she rushed inside: the most sincere prayer she'd sent up in many years. Oh, she'd wished Dieter Kuhn dead, but wishing that turned out to be far more pallid than wishing that she herself should stay alive. she gasped as she rushed inside: the most sincere prayer she'd sent up in many years. Oh, she'd wished Dieter Kuhn dead, but wishing that turned out to be far more pallid than wishing that she herself should stay alive.

Pierre and Lucie came in right behind her. Pierre started to slam the door, but a big, burly man almost trampled him. Monique grabbed her brother. Cursing, he said, "You're going to kill us all."

She had no good answer to that, not after her prayer of a moment before. The discovery that there were circ.u.mstances under which she would rather not stay alive was as astonishing as the discovery of how much she wanted to live.

More people crowded into the shelter. And then came a roar like the end of the world-just like the end of the world, Monique thought-and the lights went out. The ground shook, as if in an earthquake. It knocked Monique off her feet. She thought she was dead then. Monique thought-and the lights went out. The ground shook, as if in an earthquake. It knocked Monique off her feet. She thought she was dead then.

Someone-maybe the burly man-did slam the door. After that, the darkness should have been complete, absolute, stygian. But it wasn't, not quite. A light brighter than summer sunshine at its hottest showed all around the cracks between the door and its frame. Ever so slowly, it faded and reddened. Then it was was black. Monique didn't think the light itself had vanished quite so abruptly. She judged it much more likely that the block of flats had fallen down and cut off the view. black. Monique didn't think the light itself had vanished quite so abruptly. She judged it much more likely that the block of flats had fallen down and cut off the view.

People-men and women both-were screaming about being buried alive. In the pitch blackness, Monique understood the fear, not least because she felt it herself. And then her brother flicked a flame from a cigarette lighter. "Ahh," everyone in the shelter said together.

Pierre held up the lighter like a sacred talisman. "There will be candles," he said in a voice of great certainty. "Hurry and find them."

There were several boxes. They'd fallen off their shelf, but a woman brought one to him. He lit it and closed his lighter with a snap. The candle flame was pallid, but ever so much better than being stuck in the dark. Monique was still afraid, but much less than she had been.

Pierre went right on speaking with authority: "Now we wait. We wait as long as we have air and food and water-or, better, wine-and even this little light. The longer we wait, the safer it will be when we have to come out. I do not know if it will be safe-we will be taking a chance, of that there is no doubt-but it will be safer."

From everything Monique knew about explosive-metal weapons, he was speaking the gospel truth. Even now, radiation would be entering the shelter, but she didn't know what she could do about that. Or rather, she did know: nothing. She turned to-turned on-her brother and snarled, "No, they won't bomb Ma.r.s.eille. You have friends in high places. You know these things."

From the way the candlelight filled the lines of his face with shadow, he looked to have aged twenty years. He said, "I was wrong. Shall I tell you I was right? I have some hope. If we had been closer to where the bomb burst, we would already be dead."

Out of the darkness where the candlelight didn't reach, someone said, "Now we have to see whether radiation sickness kills us in the next day or two. If it doesn't kill us, we have to see how many years it takes off our lives."

"Shut up," Monique said fiercely. She didn't want to think about that; she wanted to remember she'd stayed alive so far. "We have to see how much there is to eat, and how much to drink, as my brother said. And we have to see how many buckets and pails we can find." Her nose wrinkled. The shelter would be a nasty place before long. Something else occurred to her. "And we'll need shovels and poles and picks, if there are any, to dig our way out when we can't stay here any more. If there aren't, we'll have to do it with our bare hands." If we can. If we can. She didn't want to think about that, about being entombed here forever. And she didn't want to think about what they would find when they did-if they did-dig themselves out. She stood there in the cellar, and stared and stared at the candle. With her cla.s.sical training, the flickering flame put her in mind of her own life. But if the candle went out, they could light another. If she went out... She didn't want to think about that, about being entombed here forever. And she didn't want to think about what they would find when they did-if they did-dig themselves out. She stood there in the cellar, and stared and stared at the candle. With her cla.s.sical training, the flickering flame put her in mind of her own life. But if the candle went out, they could light another. If she went out...

One more thing she didn't want to think about.

Johannes Drucker had done everything he could with Hans-Ulrich's Bus, Hans-Ulrich's Bus, but he wasn't going to be able to stay in s.p.a.ce much longer. He'd managed to make the air purifier go a lot further than it was designed to, but he'd be eating his underwear before too long-though by now, after four mortal weeks, it was far too filthy to be appetizing. but he wasn't going to be able to stay in s.p.a.ce much longer. He'd managed to make the air purifier go a lot further than it was designed to, but he'd be eating his underwear before too long-though by now, after four mortal weeks, it was far too filthy to be appetizing.

He knew why he was still alive, when most if not all of his comrades up here had died: he'd never got orders to attack the Lizards. After a while, the Reich Reich had stopped ordering him to land. But no one down on the ground had included him in the a.s.sault on the Race. Maybe the powers that be had thought him too unreliable to be trusted in the fight. Maybe, too, they'd just forgotten about him by now. He wasn't sure who, if anybody, was in charge down on the ground these days. had stopped ordering him to land. But no one down on the ground had included him in the a.s.sault on the Race. Maybe the powers that be had thought him too unreliable to be trusted in the fight. Maybe, too, they'd just forgotten about him by now. He wasn't sure who, if anybody, was in charge down on the ground these days.

Maybe I should have done what I could to hurt the Lizards, even without orders, he thought, for about the five hundredth time. But the war was madness. As far as he was concerned, Poland wasn't worth having. He'd fought there, and did not hold the place in high esteem. But Himmler and then Kaltenbrunner had thought otherwise, and the new he thought, for about the five hundredth time. But the war was madness. As far as he was concerned, Poland wasn't worth having. He'd fought there, and did not hold the place in high esteem. But Himmler and then Kaltenbrunner had thought otherwise, and the new Fuhrer Fuhrer threw the threw the Wehrmacht Wehrmacht over the border, as. .h.i.tler had in 1939. over the border, as. .h.i.tler had in 1939.

"We did better then," Drucker muttered. The Poles hadn't been able to fight worth a d.a.m.n, no matter how brave they were. The Race, on the other hand...

The Race, he realized, had decided to use the Reich Reich's attack as an excuse to smash Germany. The Lizards had warned they would do just that, but n.o.body in authority seemed to have listened to them. They hadn't been kidding.

"German upper stage!" The radio crackled to life-in English. "Anybody home in there, German upper stage? Over."

"Am I an idiot, that I'm going to answer you?" Drucker asked. He'd maintained radio silence ever since the slugging started. If he started transmitting, the Lizards would get a fix on him and blow him out of the sky. He'd known Americans were naive, but this struck him as excessive.

"German upper stage! German upper stage! If you're alive in there, you might as well give up," the American flier said. "What's the point to you ending up dead, and maybe more Lizards, too? You aren't going to win the war all by yourself." Silence for a few seconds, then, "Over and out."

Silence returned. Drucker grimaced. He scratched his chin. He'd grown quite a beard this past month. The American made good sense, in a way-but only in a way. As a soldier, he was supposed to strike at the enemy, wasn't he?

Then why haven't you? He pondered that, as he had so often before. He came up with the same answers he had before, too: "n.o.body gave me any orders. And it's a G.o.dd.a.m.n stupid war, too." He pondered that, as he had so often before. He came up with the same answers he had before, too: "n.o.body gave me any orders. And it's a G.o.dd.a.m.n stupid war, too."

He glanced down toward the Earth. He was approaching Europe, though clouds hid much of the continent. Even if they hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to see much. From 350 kilometers up, even ma.s.sive devastation was invisible. But he'd seen bombs blazing like suns as they burst at night. And he knew there had been many more he hadn't seen.

Every time he pa.s.sed above the wreckage of the Reich, Reich, he wondered if he would get orders at last, though by now he'd almost given up on it. If he did get them, this would be the place-the only place. The Lizards had knocked out all the German relay ships. It had taken them a while: longer than it should have, even if the delay worked to the he wondered if he would get orders at last, though by now he'd almost given up on it. If he did get them, this would be the place-the only place. The Lizards had knocked out all the German relay ships. It had taken them a while: longer than it should have, even if the delay worked to the Reich Reich's advantage. They never had paid as much attention to the seas as they should have. But they'd finally got round to it.

Did the Reich Reich have any working radars these days? If not, his superiors wouldn't even know he was up here. Of course, all his superiors might well be dead. His family all too likely was. He'd cried himself sick about that the day the missiles started flying. He blamed Kaltenbrunner much more than the Lizards. The Race had been content with the status quo. The have any working radars these days? If not, his superiors wouldn't even know he was up here. Of course, all his superiors might well be dead. His family all too likely was. He'd cried himself sick about that the day the missiles started flying. He blamed Kaltenbrunner much more than the Lizards. The Race had been content with the status quo. The Fuhrer Fuhrer hadn't. hadn't.

"He should have been, d.a.m.n him," Drucker said. He'd cursed himself sick that first day, too.

A burst of static came from the radio. "s.p.a.cecraft of the Greater German Reich Reich! All s.p.a.cecraft of the Greater German Reich Reich! The fight for justice in Europe continues," a voice said in clear German. "Punish the Lizard aggressors however and wherever you may. Your sacrifice will not be in vain!"

When the message finished, it began repeating. As far as Drucker could tell, it was identical the second time around. A recording? He wouldn't have been surprised. Was anyone alive down there to give orders to the remaining German s.p.a.cecraft? Could anybody down there be alive at all?

Millions, tens of millions, of people down there were surely dead. But what about the high command? He had to admit that he wasn't sure. Party and military leadership had known for a long time that a war with the Race might be coming. They would have done everything they could to make sure they could go on fighting it.

In the middle of the recorded message's third repet.i.tion, it suddenly broke off. A different voice came on the air, one that sounded both military and tired unto death: "Be it known that all charges against Lieutenant Colonel Johannes Drucker are rescinded and that he is raised in grade to colonel. By order of Walter Dornberger, acting Fuhrer Fuhrer of the Greater German of the Greater German Reich Reich."

Drucker stared at the radio receiver. His boss at Peenemunde was running whatever was left of the Reich? Reich? How had that happened? When had it happened? Why hadn't Dornberger started broadcasting sooner? How had that happened? When had it happened? Why hadn't Dornberger started broadcasting sooner?

And, even more to the point, if Dornberger was was running the running the Reich, Reich, why in h.e.l.l wasn't he surrendering just as fast as he could? He'd thought the idea of war against the Race utter madness, as Drucker had. It had proved to be utter madness, too. Why wasn't he giving up, then? why in h.e.l.l wasn't he surrendering just as fast as he could? He'd thought the idea of war against the Race utter madness, as Drucker had. It had proved to be utter madness, too. Why wasn't he giving up, then?

Did he think he could win? Had the Race refused to accept his surrender? Was he trying to prove he could still hurt the Lizards after they'd done their worst to Western and Central Europe?