When the vehicles carrying the hydrogen and oxygen had withdrawn, a Tosevite motorcar approached the shuttlecraft. Two Big Uglies got out of it. One wore wrappings of a color not far removed from that of his own skin. The other… Nesseref stared at the image of the other in her monitor with more than a little bemusement. He wore minimal wrappings, shaved the hair on his head, and had body paint on his torso. She had heard some Big Uglies aped the styles of the Race, but had seldom seen it for herself-it was uncommon in Poland, and for all practical purposes nonexistent in Cairo.

She was supposed to fly two Tosevites up to a starship. She supposed these were the ones; after they got out, the motorcar had turned around and driven away. Making sure struck her as a good idea. She used the external speaker: “You are the American Tosevites Sam Yeager and Jonathan Yeager?” No doubt she was making a hash of the alien names, but she couldn’t help that.

“We are, superior sir,” answered the Big Ugly in the tan wrappings. “Mind if we join you?”

“Superior female, if you please,” Nesseref said. “Yes, you have permission to come aboard. This shuttlecraft has been fitted with seats suitable to your species.” She undogged the hatch and let in some of the local atmosphere, which was cool and moist and left the odor of partially burned hydrocarbons on her scent receptors.

“I am sorry,” the same Tosevite said as he came through the hatch. “We cannot tell your gender by voice, as we can among our own kind.” He spoke the language of the Race well, and seemed to have some feeling for proper behavior. As he lay down on one of the seats, he continued, “I am Sam Yeager, and this is my hatchling, whose familiar name is Jonathan.”

“I greet you, superior female,” said the Tosevite who wore the body paint of a psychologist’s assistant.

“I greet you… Jonathan Yeager.” Nesseref hoped she had that right. Neither Big Ugly corrected her, so she supposed she did. She went on, “We do not have long to wait before leaving for the rendezvous with the starship. Do you mind my asking the purpose of your visit?”

“By no means,” said Sam Yeager, evidently the superior of the two. “We are going to meet one of our fellow Big Uglies.” Nesseref wondered if he’d correctly understood the question. He proved he had by adding, “Yes, I mean exactly what I say there.”

“Very well,” Nesseref replied with a shrug. She had an eye turret on the chronometer, which showed the launch window rapidly approaching. When the proper moment came, she ignited the shuttlecraft’s motors. Both Big Uglies grunted under acceleration, and both behaved well when it cut off and weightlessness began.

Docking was quick and routine. Nesseref could have gone aboard the starship while waiting for the proper time to descend from orbit and return to Poland, but she didn’t bother. She just stayed where she was, enjoying a little weightlessness while knowing too much wasn’t good for her.

When she did leave the docking station at the starship’s central hub, she used her maneuvering jets to get clear of the great ship, then fired her braking rockets to fall out of orbit and down toward the surface of Tosev 3. She traveled, of course, from west to east, with the direction of the planet’s rotation, which meant she had to pass above the territory of the Greater German Reich before reaching Poland.

“Do not deviate from your course,” a Deutsch Big Ugly warned. “You and you alone will be responsible for the consequences if you do.”

“I do not intend to deviate,” Nesseref answered. “The Reich will be responsible for any aggression, as I am sure you know.”

“Do not threaten me,” the Tosevite said, and used an emphatic cough. “Do not threaten my not-empire, either. We are seeking our legitimate rights, nothing more, and we will have them. You cannot prevent it. You had better not try to prevent it.”

Silence seemed the best response to that, and silence was what Nesseref gave it. Despite bluster, the Deutsch Big Uglies did not seek to attack the shuttlecraft. Nesseref let out a long sigh of relief as she landed at the port between Warsaw and Lodz whose construction she’d supervised.

“This is the first time in a while I have heard anyone be glad to return to Poland,” a male in the control center said as she arranged ground transportation to her home. “Many males and females are looking for the chance to escape.”

“If war comes, who knows which places will be safe?” Nesseref said. “Weapons can land anywhere.”

“That is a truth, superior female,” the males said. “Weapons can land anywhere. But if war comes, weapons will land on Poland.”

And that was also a truth, even if one Nesseref didn’t care to contemplate. She also didn’t care to discover that no male or female of the Race was heading toward the new town in which she lived. The only driver available was a scrawny Big Ugly with an ancient, decrepit motorcar of Tosevite manufacture. Nesseref was anything but eager to entrust herself to it.

That must have shown, for the Big Ugly let loose one of the barking laughs of his kind and spoke in the language of the Race: “You flew between the stars. Are you afraid to drive to your apartment?”

“When I flew between the stars, I was in cold sleep,” Nesseref replied with dignity. “I will be awake to experience this, worse luck.”

The Tosevite laughed again. “That is funny. But come, get in. I have not killed anyone yet, even myself.”

Nesseref found that a dubious recommendation, but did climb into the motorcar, which had the right-side front seat modified to fit a posterior of the sort the Race had. But the motorcar boasted no safety straps of any kind. And, she rapidly discovered, the Big Ugly drove as if he labored under the delusion of being a killercraft pilot. Traveling a relatively short distance along a narrow, asphalt-topped road proved more terrifying than all the shuttlecraft flying Nesseref had ever done.

In the shuttlecraft, of course, she had radar and collision avoidance alarms and radio to talk with the ground and with other pilots in the neighborhood. Here she and the driver had no aids whatever. All the other Big Uglies on the road drove with the same reckless disregard for life and limb as he displayed.

“Madness!” Nesseref exclaimed as he passed a lorry and then swung back into his lane so that another lorry, this one oncoming, missed him by a scale’s thickness. She was too rattled even to bother appending an emphatic cough.

“You want to get home as soon as you can: is that not a truth?” the driver asked.

“I want to get there alive,” Nesseref answered. This time, she did use an emphatic cough. It felt very emphatic, in fact.

“Is that really so important?” the Big Ugly said. “In the end, what difference will it make? When the war comes, you will be dead either way.”

“Do you want to die sooner than you must?” Nesseref returned. She thought she would die in the next instant, when an animal-drawn wagon blithely started to cross the road on which she was traveling. But the Tosevite lunatic handling the motorcar had quick reflexes, even if he had no sense. Its suspension swaying, the motorcar dodged the wagon.

“That fellow is a fool,” the driver said; Nesseref was convinced he said so because he had no trouble recognizing others of his own kind. After a moment, he went on, “I am a Jew. Do you know what the Deutsche did to Jews when they held Poland?” He didn’t wait for her answer, but continued, “They could not kill me then. And I do not think they or anyone else will have an easy time killing me now.”

If the way he drove hadn’t killed him, Nesseref doubted explosive-metal bombs or poison gases could do the trick. But she asked, “If war does come, what will you do?”

He hesitated there no more than he did on the roadway: “Fight the Deutsche as long as I can. I have a rifle. I know what to do with it. If they want me, they will have to pay a high price for me.”