He examined Felless’ notes on her talk with Eichmann and his own interview with the Big Ugly called Hoss. They were consistent with other data the Race had compiled on the Reich. The Deutsche, all evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, remained convinced they were genetically superior to other Tosevites; that the Deutsch word Herrenvolk translated as Master Race hatched endless sardonic mirth among Ttomalss and his fellows.

That the Deutsche put their theory into practice by attempting to exterminate those they judged genetically inferior had puzzled and horrified the Race ever since it came to Tosev 3. The government of the Reich had not changed its policy in all that time, either. The only reason its exterminations had slowed was the increasing scarcity within its borders of members of the proscribed groups.

Ttomalss dictated a note for the computer to record: “Recent interviews confirm that one reason the Deutsche have been able to succeed with their policy of extermination is the equally relentless policy of euphemism they use in connection with it. Big Uglies tend to focus on words as opposed to actions to a greater degree than is common among the Race. If they conceive themselves to be ‘carrying out a final solution’ rather than ‘killing fellow Tosevites of all ages and sexes,’ they do so without worrying about the truth behind the screen of words. A male or female of the Race, if faced with such a prospect, would be likelier to go mad.”

But the Tosevites are mad to begin with, he thought. Nevertheless, he left the note unrevised. No one-certainly no one among the Race-could argue against the madness of the Deutsch notempire. Unfortunately, no one could argue against the success of the Deutsch not-empire during the time just before and after the arrival of the Race, either.

What did that combination of success and madness mean? The most obvious answer was, a quick end to success. Pundits among the Race had been predicting that for the Greater German Reich ever since its noxious nature became obvious. So far, they’d been wrong. Anyone who chose anything obvious pertaining to Tosev 3 seemed doomed to disappointment.

He had just thought of something new to add to the note when the door hissed for attention. Whatever the thought was, it fled for good. He cursed in mild annoyance, then turned on the exterior microphone to ask, “Who is it?”

“I: Felless,” came the reply from the corridor.

Ttomalss felt like jumping out the window. Unfortunately, he would have bounced off it instead; it was made from an armored glass substitute. “Superior female, have you tasted ginger during the past day?”

“I have not,” Felless said. “I swear by the Emperor.”

“Very well.” Ttomalss cast down his eyes in automatic respect undimmed by living so long on Tosev 3. “You may enter.” He hit the control that opened the door. “If you are lying, we shall both regret it.”

As soon as Felless had come into the room, Ttomalss closed the door behind her. Not much air from the corridor could have come in with her, but he still got a whiff of pheromones. For a bad moment, he thought they were hers, and that she had lied to him. Then he realized he did not smell them strongly enough to send him into the full frenzy of the season, only enough to make him jumpy and edgy and acutely aware she was a female, where in normal times he would have ignored the sex difference.

“I greet you, superior female,” he said, as dispassionately as he could.

“I greet you,” Felless returned. Then she pointed. “The scales of your crest are trying to rise. I am not in my season now.”

With an effort of will, Ttomalss was able to make the offending scales lie flat. He did his best to quell the turmoil he could not help feeling. “No doubt it is someone else’s pheromones I smell, then, superior female,” he said. “And how may I help you today?”

Part of what he meant was, Could you have sent me a message and not disturbed me by coming in person? The pheromones had not-quite-addled him enough to make him say that out loud.

If Felless understood the subtext of the question, she gave no sign of it, which was probably just as well. She said, “I want to discuss with you the ideology of the Deutsch Big Uglies as it relates to their policy of massacring other groups of Tosevites of whom, for whatever obscure reasons, they fail to approve.”

“Ah,” Ttomalss said. “As it happens, I was just recording a few notes on that very topic.” She’d made him forget what he was going to say next, too, but he was not so pheromone-addled as to tell her that, either.

“I should be grateful for your insights,” Felless said, sounding more like a working member of the Race and less like a female in heat than she had for some time. Maybe she really was fighting the urge to taste ginger.

“Insights?” Ttomalss shrugged. “I am far from sure I have any of significance. I do not pretend to be an expert on the Deutsche, only a student of Tosevites in general who is attempting with limited success to apply that general knowledge to a particular situation more unusual than most.”

“You do yourself too little credit,” Felless said. “I have heard males speak of Tosevites with unusual insight into the Race. I think your experience in rearing Big Ugly hatchlings makes you the converse to these.”

“It could be so. I had hoped it would be so,” Ttomalss answered. “But I must confess, I am still puzzled by Kassquit’s reaction on learning you and I had mated.” He’d spent a good deal of the time since that unfortunate telephone conversation trying to repair the bond he had formerly established with the Tosevite fosterling. He remained unsure how far he had succeeded.

Felless said, “Mating, as I have been forcibly reminded of late, is not a rational behavior among us. Things relating to it must be even less subject to rational control among the Big Uglies.”

“Now that, superior female, is an insight worth having,” Ttomalss said enthusiastically. “It shows why you were chosen for your present position.” It was, in fact, the first thing he’d noted that showed why Felless was chosen for her present position, but that was one more thing he did not mention.

“You flatter me,” Felless said. As a matter of fact, Ttomalss did flatter her, but she offered the sentence as a conversational commonplace, and so he did not have to rise to it.

He had just finished recording Felless’ remark when the computer announced he had a telephone call. He started to instruct it to record a message, but Felless motioned for him to accept it. With a shrug, he did. The computer screen showed a familiar face. Kassquit said, “I greet you, superior sir.”

“I greet you, Kassquit,” Ttomalss said, and waited for the sky to fall: she would be seeing not only his image but also Felless’.

To make matters worse, Felless added, “And I greet you, Kassquit.”

“I greet you, superior female,” Kassquit said in tones indicating she would sooner have greeted the female researcher as pilot of a killercraft equipped with tactical explosive-metal missiles.

“What do you want, Kassquit?” Ttomalss asked, hoping he could keep the conversation short and peaceful.

“It was nothing of great importance, superior sir,” the Tosevite he’d raised from a hatchling replied. “I see that you are busy with more important matters, and so will call back another time.”

Had he taught her to flay him with guilt in that fashion? If he hadn’t, where had she learned it? She reached for the switch that would break the connection. “Wait!” Ttomalss said. “Tell me what you want.” Only later, much later, would he wonder if she had moved more slowly than she might have, to make him beg her to stay on the line.

“It shall be done, superior sir,” she said now, and even her obedience wounded. “I was wondering if you, in the capital of the Deutsch not-empire, could hope to have any influence over the smuggling of the illegal herb ginger through the territory of the Greater German Reich.”