“With surprise,” Molotov answered. “But who can truly say what goes on inside a German’s head? Who can truly say if anything goes on in a German’s head? Your view is that we should inform the Race?”

“Yes, I think so,” Gromyko replied. “I think we should also be conspicuous about not moving troops into areas near Lizard-held Poland. They must not think we are trying to deceive them and preparing our own surprise attack.”

“A distinct point, and one I shall have to raise with Marshal Zhukov,” Molotov said. And if he fusses, I will ask him how well prepared he is for a nuclear exchange with the Lizards. With a little luck, I may be able to begin to exert a little control over the Red Army after all. He nodded to Gromyko. The foreign commissar nodded back, and even managed something of a smile. He probably knew what was on Molotov’s mind.

“I really do not see why you require my presence here, superior sir,” Felless said to Veffani as the motorcar that carried them pulled up in front of the residence the not-emperor of the Greater German Reich used as his own.

The Race’s ambassador to the Reich turned an eye turret toward her. “Because he is a Tosevite,” Veffani answered. “Because you are alleged to be an expert on Tosevites. I want your views on what he says and on how he says it.”

“And you want to continue punishing me for the incident in your conference room,” Felless added.

Veffani was unabashed. “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. Count yourself lucky that I let you remove the green bands denoting punishment: I do not wish to advertise your disgrace to the Deutsche. Now come with me. The matter over which we visit the Deutsch not-emperor is, or at least has the possibility of being, of considerable importance.”

“It shall be done,” Felless said miserably, and got out of the heated motorcar and into the chilly atmosphere that passed for summer in Nuremberg.

Up the stairs she went. The not-emperor’s residence, like most official architecture in the capital of the Reich, was on a scale designed to dwarf even Big Uglies, to make them feel insignificant when measured against the power of their leaders. It trivialized males and females of the Race even more effectively. So did the immensely tall Deutsch sentries at the head of the stairs.

A shorter, unarmed Big Ugly stood between the sentries. “I greet you,” he said in the language of the Race, and favored Veffani with the posture of respect. “And your colleague is…?”

“Senior Researcher Felless,” Veffani answered.

“Very well,” the Deutsch male said, and inclined his head to Felless. “I am Johannes Stark, Senior Researcher. I shall interpret for you with the Reichs Chancellor. He will be able to see you shortly.”

“He should see me now,” Veffani said. “This is the time set for our appointment.”

“The meeting he is currently attending is running long, the Big Ugly said.

“Delay is an insult,” Felless said.

Stark shrugged. “Come with me. I will take you to an antechamber where you can make yourselves comfortable.”

Felless doubted she would be able to make herself comfortable in any Tosevite building, and she proved right. The chamber was chilly. The seats in it were made for Big Uglies, not for the Race. A servant did come in with refreshments, but they tasted nasty. Felless endured. What choice had she?

After what seemed like forever, the Big Ugly named Stark returned and said, “The Reichs Chancellor will see you now. Please follow me.”

The Big Ugly named Himmler sat behind a desk so large, a starship might have landed on it. On one wall of his office was an enormous hooked and tilted cross, the emblem of his faction. On the other wall hung an equally enormous portrait of another Tosevite, this one with the hair on his upper lip cut in a pattern different from the one Himmler chose. Felless gathered that was his predecessor as not-emperor of the Reich.

Against all that immensity, Himmler himself seemed strangely shrunken. Even for a Big Ugly, he was unprepossessing, with a round, flat, soft-fleshed face with corrective lenses in front of his immobile eyes. He spoke in the guttural language the Deutsche used among themselves. Johannes Stark translated: “The Reichs Chancellor greets you and inquires why you have requested this meeting.”

“I greet him as well,” Veffani said. “I asked to see him to warn him and to warn this whole not-empire against taking any course that would jeopardize the long-standing truce on Tosev 3.”

Stark translated that, too. Felless wished she had some ginger. It would have made time pass more quickly. Of course, it would also have made Veffani mate with her on the spot, which might have entertained the Tosevites but would not have advanced diplomacy. Listening to Himmler and the interpreter drone on in their own language made it hard for her to care. At least she wouldn’t have been bored.

Himmler said, “On behalf of the Reich, I must tell you that I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“On behalf of the Race, I must tell you that that had better be so,” Veffani answered. “Any movement against Poland, any attack on Poland, will lead at once to the harshest and most stringent retaliation.”

“I deny that the Greater German Reich intends any attack on Poland,” Himmler said.

“Do you deny proposing to the SSSR a joint attack on Poland, your two not-empires to divide the region between you?” Veffani asked.

“Of course I do,” the Big Ugly replied.

Felless spoke up: “But you would deny it whether it was true or not, because it is in your interest to do so. Why should the Race take your denials seriously?”

Behind the corrective lenses, Himmler’s eyes swung her way. She had dealt with him before, but not often. Only now did she get the strong impression that his stare said he wished she were dead, and also that he wished he could arrange her death. Considering the policies of the Reich, he doubtless meant that literally. Had she been subject to his whimsy, she would have been terrified. Even as things were, that measuring gaze disturbed her.

“I repeat: I deny it,” Himmler said. “And I speak the truth when I tell you this.” His features moved very little as he spoke; for a Big Ugly, he showed scant visible expression.

“Do you also deny troop movements toward the frontier between the Reich and Poland have taken place?” Veffani demanded.

“I do not deny that there have been such movements, no,” Himmler said. “I deny that there is anything in the least aggressive about them, however. The Wehrmacht and the Waffen-SS conduct exercises as best suits them.”

“They would be well advised-very well advised-to conduct them elsewhere in the Reich,” Veffani said.

“You cannot give me orders,” Himmler said. “The Reich is a sovereign and independent not-empire.”

“I am not giving you orders. I am giving you a warning,” Veffani said. “Here is another one: if you attack Poland, the Race will destroy you.”

“If you attack the Reich, we will also destroy you,” Himmler said. “We can wreck this world, and we will do it.”

“He means what he says, superior sir,” Felless whispered to Veffani. “The ideology of this faction-perhaps of all the Deutsche-is full of images of battle destroying both sides.”

“I also mean what I say,” Veffani answered. He swung his eye turrets back toward the Tosevite leader. “That does not matter. If we are destroyed to ensure your destruction, we shall pay the price.”

“It would be the end for you. Do you not understand that?” Himmler said.

“No, it would not,” Veffani made the negative hand gesture. “It would be a setback for us. It would be an end for us on this world. But the Empire would continue on its other three worlds. For you Tosevites, though, it would indeed be the end. Please carry that thought in your mind at all times.”