Striking the Balance

“I know that.” Yeager nodded. The refugee shiplord had never made any great secret of his preference for the stick over the carrot. Sam remembered the American atomic bomb sitting somewhere here in Hot Springs, surely no more than a few hundred yards from this stuffy little studio. He couldn’t tell Straha about the bomb, of course; General Donovan would nail his scalp to the wall if he pulled a boner like that. What he did say was, “With three not-empires making atomic bombs, you’d have had a hard time stopping all of them.”

“Truth there, too, of course.” Straha sighed. “When peace comes-if peace comes-what becomes of me?”

“We won’t give you back for the Race to take vengeance on you,” Sam told him. “We’ve already said as much to your people in Cairo. They didn’t much like it, but they’ve agreed.”

“Of this much I am already aware,” Straha answered. “So I shall live out my life among you, the Tosevites of the U.S.A. And how am I to pass my time while I am doing this?”

“Oh.” Sam started to see what the refugee was driving at. “Some males of the Race fit in fine with us. Vesstil’s taught us an amazing lot about rocket engineering, and Ristin-”

“Has for all practical purposes turned into a Big Ugly,” Straha said with acid in his voice.

“When you think about where he is, what’s he supposed to do?” Sam asked.

“He is a male of the Race. He should have the dignity to remember that fact,” Straha replied.

After a second, Sam figured out what the Lizard reminded him of: a snobby Englishman looking down his nose at a countryman who’d “gone native” in Tanganyika or Burma or somewhere like that. He’d seen enough jungle movies with that as part of the story. Only trouble was, he couldn’t say as much to Straha, not without insulting him further. Instead, he said, “Maybe if we get a peace, we’ll get a”-he had to fumble around to get across the idea he wanted, but finally did-“an amnesty along with it”

“For the likes of Ristin, there will surely be an amnesty,” Straha said. “He shall have it, though he does not require it to enjoy his life. For the likes of Vesstil, there also may be an amnesty. Vesstil has taught you much-this is truth, Sam Yeager, as you say. But he came among you Tosevites at my order. He was my shuttlecraft pilot: when I ordered, his duty was to obey, and obey he did. Despite the aid he has furnished you, he may be forgiven. But for me, Sam Yeager, of amnesty there shall be none. I tried to remove the fleetlord Atvar, to keep him from losing the war to you Tosevites. I failed-and so did he, for is the war won? Do you think he will let me enter any land the Race holds after peace comes-if peace comes? It would but remind him I was right to doubt him, and that the conquest failed. No. If I am to live, it must be among you Big Uglies.”

Sam slowly nodded. Traitors didn’t get to go home again: that looked to be the same among Lizards as it was with people. If Rudolf Hess flew back to Germany from England, would Hitler welcome him with open arms? Not likely. But Hess, in England, was at least among his fellow human beings. Here in Hot Springs, Straha was as trapped among aliens as a human tool of the Lizards who spent the rest of his days with them-or, more accurately still, spent the rest of his days on Home.

“We’ll do everything we can to make you comfortable,” Yeager promised.

“So your leaders and you have assured me from the start,” Straha replied. “And, so far as is in your power, so you have done. I cannot complain of your intentions. But intentions go only so far, Sam Yeager. If peace comes, I shall remain here, remain an analyst of the Race and propagandist for this not-empire. Is this not the high-probability outcome?”

“Truth,” Sam said. “You’ve always earned your place here. Don’t you want to go on doing that?”

“I shall-it is the best I can do. But you fail to understand,” Straha said. “I shall stay here, among you Tosevites. Some other males, surely, will also stay. And we shall build our tiny community, for we shall be all of the Race we have. And we shall have to turn our eye turrets toward what the rest of the Race is doing here on Tosev 3, and study it for the leaders of this not-empire, and never, ever be a part of it. How to live with that loneliness? Can it be done? I shall have to learn.”

“I apologize,” Yeager said. “I did not see all of it.” Back before the Germans conquered France, every once in a while you used to read stories in the papers about the doings of Russian emigres in Paris. If any of them were left alive these days, they would have sympathized with Straha: there they were, on the outside looking in, while the great bulk of their countrymen went about building something new. If that wasn’t hell, it had to be a pretty fair training ground.

Straha sighed. “Before long, too, in the scale of things the Race commonly uses, the colonization fleet will reach this world. Egg clutches will be incubated. Will any be mine? It is to laugh.” His mouth fell open.