#ttomalss

After more mutters, he telephoned Kassquit. “I greet you, superior sir,” she said. “How are you this morning?”

“I am well, thank you,” Ttomalss answered. “And yourself?”

“Very well,” she said. “And what is the occasion of this call?”

She undoubtedly knew. She could hardly help knowing. That she asked had to mean she was unhappy about proceeding. Even so, Ttomalss explained the news he’d got from the physician down on the surface of Tosev 3. He finished, “Are you willing to undergo this series of immunizations so you are physically able to meet with wild Big Uglies?”

“I do not know, superior sir,” Kassquit replied. “What are the effects of the immunizations likely to be on me?”

“I do not suppose there will be very many effects,” Ttomalss said. “Why should there be? There are no major effects to immunizations among the Race. I had most of mine in early hatchlinghood, and scarcely remember them.”

“I see.” Kassquit made the affirmative hand gesture to show she understood. But then she said, “Still, these would not be immunizations from the Race. They would be immunizations from the Big Uglies, for Tosevite diseases. The Big Uglies are less advanced than the Race in a great many areas, and I am certain medicine is one of them.”

“Well, no doubt that is a truth.” Ttomalss admitted what he could hardly deny. “Let me inquire of Shpaaka. When he gives me the answer, I shall relay it to you.” He broke the connection.

On telephoning the physician, he got a recorded message telling him Shpaaka had gone to teach and would return his call as soon as possible. His own computer had the same kind of programming, which didn’t make him any happier about being on the receiving end of it. Concealing annoyance over such things was part of good manners. He recorded his message and settled into some other work while waiting for Shpaaka to get back to him.

After what seemed forever but really wasn’t, the physician did call back. “I greet you, Senior Researcher,” Shpaaka said. “You asked an interesting question there.”

“I thank you, Senior Physician,” Ttomalss replied. “The question, however, does not come from me. It comes from my Tosevite ward, who is of course most intimately concerned with it.”

“I see. That certainly makes sense,” Shpaaka said. “I had to do some research of my own before I could give the answer: partly by asking Big Ugly students of their experience with immunizations, partly having some of them consult Tosevite medical texts so they could translate the data in those texts for me.”

“I thank you for your diligence,” Ttomalss said. “And what conclusions did you reach?”

“That Tosevite medicine, like so much on this planet, is primitive and sophisticated at the same time,” the physician told him. “The Big Uglies know how to stimulate the immune system to make it produce antibodies against various local diseases, but do so by brute force, without caring much about reducing symptoms from the immunizations. Some of them appear to be unpleasant, though none has any long-term consequences worthy of note.”

“I see,” Ttomalss repeated, not altogether happily. If the immunizations were likely to make Kassquit sick, would she want to go forward with them?

Shpaaka said, “I tell you this, Senior Researcher: finding your answer has been one of the more pleasant, enjoyable, and interesting things I have had to do lately.”

“Oh?” Ttomalss said, as he was plainly meant to do. “And why is that?”

“Because the medical college has been cast into turmoil, that is why,” the physician replied. “You may or may not know that some miserable individual who thought he was more clever than he really was devised the brilliant plan of making the Big Uglies pay for the privilege of exercising their superstitions, which has provoked disorder over wide stretches of Tosev 3.”

“Yes, I do recall that,” Ttomalss said in faintly strangled tones. Shpaaka’s sarcasm stung. Fortunately, the other male didn’t know he was talking to the originator of the plan he scorned.

“You do? Good,” Shpaaka said. “Well, someone then decided on the converse for the medical college: that no one who failed to give reverence to the spirits of Emperors past would be allowed to continue. What no one anticipated, however, was that many Big Uglies—including some of the most able students, and even including the hatchling of the Big Ugly for whom the medical college was named—would be so attached to their superstitions that they would withdraw instead of doing what we required of them.”

“That is unfortunate, both for them and for relations between the Race and their species,” Ttomalss said.

Shpaaka made the affirmative hand gesture. “It is also unfortunate for the Tosevites these half-trained individuals will eventually treat. They would have done far better by choosing to stay.”

Ttomalss hadn’t thought about infirm Big Uglies. He’d seen plenty in China—rather fewer in the Reich, where the standards of medicine, if not high, were higher. “Well, it cannot be helped,” he said after a brief pause.

“Oh, it could be,” Shpaaka said. “All we have to do is rescind the idiotic policy we are now following. But I do not expect that, and I shall not take up any more of your time advocating it. Good day to you.”

“Good day,” Ttomalss answered, but he was talking to a blank screen: the physician had already gone.

He thought about telephoning Kassquit with the news, but decided to wait and take a meal with her at the refectory so he could pass it along in person. Among the Race, males and females had a harder time saying no in person than they did over the telephone. Ttomalss idly wondered if the same held true among the Big Uglies—those of them who had telephones, that is. Eventually, the Race would get around to researching such things. He doubted the time would come while he remained alive, though.

At the next meal, he put Shpaaka’s opinion to Kassquit. “How do you feel about the notion of bodily discomfort?” he asked.

“I really do not know,” she answered. “I have known very little bodily discomfort in my life here. The notion of illness seems strange to me.”

“You are fortunate—far more fortunate than the Big Uglies down on the surface of Tosev 3,” Ttomalss said. “You have never been exposed to the microorganisms that cause disease among them, and those of the Race do not seem to find you appetizing.”

“If I were to meet with wild Big Uglies, I would need these immunizations, would I not?” Kassquit asked.

“I would strongly recommend that you have them, at any rate,” Ttomalss said. “I would not wish to see you fall ill as a result of such a meeting.” And I certainly would not wish you to die, not after l have put so much hard work into raising you up to this point.

Kassquit might have plucked that thought right out of his head. She said, “Yes, it would be inconvenient to you if I died in the middle of your research, would it not?” After a moment, she added, “It would also be most inconvenient to me.” She used an emphatic cough.

“Of course it would,” Ttomalss said uncomfortably. “If you do decide to meet with these wild Tosevites in person, you would be wise to receive these immunizations first.”

“You very much want me to meet with them, is that not so?” Without waiting for Ttomalss’ reply, Kassquit gave one herself: “It must be so. Why else would you have gone to all the trouble of raising me?” She sighed. “Well, if I am going to be an experimental animal, I had best be a good one. Is that not a truth, superior sir?” She waved a hand at the refectory full of males and females. “For all your efforts, and for all mine, I can never fully fit in here, can I?”

“Perhaps not fully, but as much as a Rabotev or a Hallessi.” Ttomalss spoke with care. As Kassquit reached maturity, so did her sense of judgment.

She proved that by making the negative hand gesture. “I believe you are mistaken, superior sir. From all I have been able to learn—and I have done my best to learn all I could, since the matter so urgently concerns me—the Hallessi and Rabotevs are far more like the Race than Tosevites are. Would you agree with that, or not?”

“I would have to agree,” Ttomalss said, wishing he could do anything but, yet knowing he would forfeit her confidence forever if he lied. “But I would also have to tell you that, when the day comes when all Tosevites are as acculturated to the ways of the Empire as you are now, the Race will have no difficulty in ruling this planet.”

“May it be so,” Kassquit said. “And you need me to help you make it so, is that not also a truth?”

“You know it is,” Ttomalss answered. “You have known it ever since you grew old enough to understand such things.”

Kassquit sighed again. “Truth, superior sir: I have known that. And the best way for me to make it so is for me to begin meeting with Big Uglies in person. You have wanted me to do so since my first telephone conversation with Sam Yeager, and you were surely planning such a thing even before the Big Ugly precipitated matters. Can you truthfully tell me I am mistaken?”

“No,” Ttomalss said. “I cannot tell you that. But I can tell you I have not tried to force you onto this course, and I shall not do so. If you do not wish it, it shall not be done.”

“For which I thank you—but it needs to be done, does it not?” Kassquit asked bleakly. Again, she did not wait for Ttomalss to reply, but answered her own question: “It does indeed need to be done. Very well, superior sir. I shall do it.”

There in the crowded refectory, Ttomalss rose from his seat and assumed the posture of respect before Kassquit. His Tosevite ward exclaimed in surprise. So did a good many males and females, who also stared and pointed. He didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, what he’d done was altogether appropriate. As he rose once more, he said, “I thank you.”

“You are welcome,” Kassquit answered. “You may give whatever orders are necessary to begin the immunization process.”

When she finally slowed down, Ttomalss asked her, “And how do you feel about this encounter?”

Her face, unlike those of Big Uglies raised by their own kind, revealed little of what she thought. That made her seem a little less alien to Ttomalss. After a pause for thought, she said, “I do not precisely know, superior sir. In some ways, he seemed to understand me remarkably well.”

Like calls to like, Ttomalss thought. But he did not say it, for fear of putting thoughts in Kassquit’s mind that she hadn’t had for herself. What he did say was more cautious: “In some ways, you say? But not in all?”

“Oh, no, superior sir, not in all,” Kassquit answered. “How could that be possible? I have been raised among the Race, while he is only a wild Big Ugly.”

Unmistakable pride rang in her voice. Ttomalss understood that; he wouldn’t have wanted to be a wild Big Ugly, either. He asked, “Are you interested in holding further conversations with this—what did you say the Tosevite’s name was?”

“Sam Yeager.” Kassquit, naturally, pronounced the alien syllables more clearly than Ttomalss could have done. “Yes, superior sir, I think I am—or willing, at any rate. You have spoken of me as a link between the Race and the Tosevites. I know the Race’s side of this link well. Except for my biology, though, I know next to nothing about the Tosevite side.”

Her ignorance was deliberate on Ttomalss’ part; he’d wanted to integrate her as fully into the Race as he could. Now it was time to see how well he’d done. But something else sprang to mind first. “Sam Yeager?” he said, knowing he was botching the name but wanting to bring it out as well as he could. “That is somehow familiar. Why is it somehow familiar?”

“I do not know, superior sir,” Kassquit answered. “It was not familiar to me.”

But Ttomalss hadn’t asked the question of her, not really; he’d been talking to himself. He went over to his computer terminal and keyed in the name. The answer came back almost at once. “I thought so!” he exclaimed, skimming through the information on the screen. “This Yeager is one of the Big Uglies’ leading experts on the Race, and has done considerable writing and speaking on the subject.”

“As if the Big Uglies could have experts on the Race!” Kassquit said scornfully.

“They seek to learn about us, as we seek to learn about them,” Ttomalss answered. “I am, in some measure, an expert on Tosevites, so this Big Ugly may be my counterpart in the not-empire known as the United States.”

After some thought, Kassquit made the affirmative gesture. “It could be so,” she said. “He appeared on our computer network for some time without drawing suspicion. No one with only a little familiarity with the Race could have done that.”

“Truth,” Ttomalss said; he would not have cared to try to impersonate a Big Ugly, even if only electronically. “In his way, then, he too may be a link between the Tosevites and the Race. Perhaps further conversations between you may indeed be of value. I am glad you are willing to hold them.”

“I suppose I am,” Kassquit agreed. “We must make arrangements before we can do that, of course. His telephone is not fully integrated into our network; he came to our consulate in his city to call me. I can exchange messages with him by computer, but that is not quite the same thing.”

“No—it lacks immediacy,” Ttomalss agreed. “But it will do to set up a time for another conversation. Feel free to make those arrangements.”

“Very well, superior sir.” Kassquit assumed the posture of respect. “I depart.” She left his compartment, ducking her head a little to get out through the doorway.

Ttomalss wondered if he ought to get in touch with this Yeager himself. After the Deutsche, a Tosevite who showed some understanding of the Race would prove a refreshing change. In the end, though, he refrained. Let Kassquit handle it, he thought. Best to learn how she will fare in this new situation. She had the right of it; he had brought her up as a link between the wild Tosevites and the Empire, between Tosev 3’s past and its future. An unused link was useless.

And it was very interesting indeed that the Big Uglies were developing links of their own to the Race. Ttomalss spoke into the computer: “The Tosevites consistently demonstrate coping skills far superior to those the Rabotevs and the Hallessi showed after their initial contact with the Race. This no doubt hatches from the intense competition among groups of Big Uglies prior to the arrival of the Race. The Tosevites have come to view us as if we were one more of their not-empires: dangerous to them, but not necessarily of overwhelming superiority.”

He stabbed out a fingerclaw and turned off the recording mechanism. Nevertheless, he continued speaking out loud. It helped him put his thoughts in order: “And how do the Tosevites’ coping skills compare to those of the Race? Unless I am badly mistaken, they outdo us to the same degree as they do the Rabotevs and Hallessi. They are used to dealing with powerful rivals and to adapting themselves to changing circumstances. Both these things are unfamiliar to us, or were unfamiliar to us before we came to Tosev 3.”

He sighed. That was, if anything, an understatement. Back on Home and throughout the Empire, the Race viewed change with active suspicion. It occurred slowly, over centuries, so that it was rarely visible in the course of a male or female’s lifetime. Things weren’t like that on Tosev 3—another understatement.

With the recorder still off, Ttomalss continued, “And the Big Uglies have had an altogether unexpected influence on the Race. Because the Tosevites have proved so strong and so quick to change, they have forced the males of the conquest fleet to become far more changeable than is our norm. This is also proving true for the males and females of the conquest fleet, but to a lesser degree. Indeed, the difference in outlook between veterans of Tosev 3 and the far more numerous newcomers has caused considerable friction between the two groups.”

He’d seen that firsthand, not least in his dealings with Felless. She had learned a good deal since her revival, but still did not really appreciate just how changeable the Big Uglies were, because she was not very changeable herself... except when she’d tasted ginger.

“Ginger,” Ttomalss muttered. Before he said anything else, he checked to make sure he truly had turned off the recorder. Talking about ginger was nearly as dangerous as talking about explosive metal. Once he’d satisfied himself no one but he would ever hear his words, he went on, “Ginger is another change agent here on Tosev 3. That was true before the colonization fleet came, but it is even more true now, thanks to the herb’s effects on females. Tosev 3 disrupts even our sexuality, pushing us closer to Tosevite norms. This will have profound consequences for the relationship between this world and the rest of the Empire for a very long time to come.”

No, he couldn’t have said any of that in a place where it might have become public. From things he’d gathered down at the embassy to the Reich, discussions on these subjects were under way at the highest levels. If the fleetlords and shiplords and ambassadors wanted his opinions, they would ask for them. His title might be senior researcher, but he was not senior enough to offer his views unsolicited. Nor would those above him be delighted if his unsolicited views went out over the computer network.

He sighed. Hierarchy and concern for status were and always had been hallmarks of the Race. Back on Home, where everyone played by the rules, they worked fine and contributed to the stability of society. On Tosev 3... Here, Ttomalss feared they made the Race less adaptable than it should have been.

“Adaptable,” he muttered. “Coping skills.” The Race shouldn’t have had to adapt. It shouldn’t have had to cope. The Big Uglies should have been the ones doing all the coping. By now, they should have accepted the conquest. They should have been learning the language of the Race in place of their own multitude of tongues. They should have begun to venerate the Emperor, as Ttomalss did himself.

Instead, they stubbornly preferred their own superstitions. Some of them even presumed to mock the veneration of Emperors past, even if it had served the Race well for a hundred thousand years and more, and the Rabotevs and Hallessi since they were conquered. Ttomalss hissed angrily, remembering the arrogant Dr. Rascher in the Reich.

Out shot his fingerclaw again. This was for the record: “My view is that we should go forward as aggressively as possible with programs to acquaint the Big Uglies with the spiritual benefits of Emperor veneration. Bringing them to a belief system more congruent to the truth than are their own superstitions can only help in assimilating them into the Empire.”

With an emphatic cough, he turned off the recorder once more. That opinion needed to get into the Race’s data stream. He felt so strongly about it, he added an emphatic cough. The sooner fanatics like Khomeini could no longer use the local superstitions to rouse the Big Uglies against the Race, the better.

And then Ttomalss had an inspiration. He turned on the recorder for the third time. “Economic incentives,” he said, getting the main idea out, and then amplified it: “If Tosevites are taxed for the privilege of continuing to adhere to their native superstitions but not if they agree to venerate the spirits of Emperors past, the truth will be more readily propagated among them.”

Almost of itself, his hand shaped the affirmative gesture. If adhering to their superstitions cost the Tosevites under the Race’s rule money, they would be more inclined to drop those superstitions and adopt the correct usages that prevailed on the other three planets of the Empire. They would not be compelled to do so, which was apt to spark fanatical resistance. They would simply come to see it was in their own best interest to conform to standard practice.

“How splendidly devious,” Ttomalss said. What better way to get rid of superstition than to tax it out of existence?

Now he was going to have to look for males and females in positions of authority to support his scheme. He wanted to skitter with glee and excitement. He hadn’t had such a good idea since he’d decided to raise a Tosevite, hatchling among the Race.

He used the language of the Race. As far as Ttomalss was concerned, that only made the horror underlying his words worse. The researcher said, “I do not understand the logic behind your statement.” I ought to learn that phrase in the language of the Deutsche, Ttomalss thought. Spirits of Emperors past know I use it often enough.

“Is it not obvious?” Dr. Rascher said. “Does the Race not also punish males who mate with other males?”

Ttomalss shrugged; that was a gesture the Race and Tosevites shared. “I have heard of such matings happening among us,” he admitted. “During the mating season, we are apt to become rather frantic. But the occurrences are rare and accidental, so what point to making a fuss, let alone punishing the behavior?”

“It is not rare and accidental among us,” the Big Ugly said. “Some misguided males deliberately pursue it. They must be rooted out, exterminated, lest they pollute us with this unnatural behavior.”

“I do not understand,” Ttomalss said again. “If they mate among themselves, they cannot have hatchlings. This in itself eliminates them from your gene pool. Where is the need to root out and exterminate?”

“Mating among males is filthy and degenerate,” Dr. Rascher declared. “It corrupts the young in the Reich.”

“Even if what you say is true—and I have seen no evidence to that effect—do you not believe the problem to be self-correcting?” Ttomalss asked. “I repeat, these males are unlikely to breed, and so, except for new mutations—assuming this trait to be genetically induced, about which I have seen no evidence either for or against—will in the course of centuries gradually tend to diminish. You Deutsch Tosevites, if you will forgive me for saying so, have always struck the Race as being impatient even for your species.”

He had been around Big Uglies long enough to recognize Dr. Rascher’s glower for what it was. The Deutsch physician snapped, “And the Race has always struck us Aryans as being insanely tolerant. If you are daft enough to put up with degeneracy in your own kind for centuries or millennia on end, that is your affair. If we choose to take direct action in uprooting it, that is ours.”

Plainly, Ttomalss wouldn’t get anywhere with this line. The Race, to its dismay, had got nowhere in attempting to dissuade the Deutsche from slaughtering the Jews in their not-empire for no other reason than that they were Jews. Since they were as determined to slaughter males with different mating habits, they would go on doing that, too. Males... That sparked a thought in Ttomalss’ mind. “Have you also females who mate with females? If so, what do you do with them?”

“Exterminate them when we catch them, of course,” Dr. Rascher replied. “We are consistent. Did you expect anything different?”

“Not really,” Ttomalss said with a sigh. Unless he was mistaken, Rascher’s face bore an expression of smug self-satisfaction. The researcher hadn’t been familiar with that expression in his work in China, but had seen it on a great many Deutsch officials. They are ideology-mad, he thought. Too many Big Uglies are ideology-mad. They are as drunk on their ideologies as they are on their sexuality.

“You should not have,” Dr. Rascher said, and added an emphatic cough. “It is most important for the Aryan race to preserve its purity and to prevent its defilement by such elements as these.”

“I have heard you Deutsche use this term ‘Aryan’ before,” Ttomalss said. “Sometimes you seem to use it to refer to yourselves and yourselves alone, but sometimes you seem to use it in a different way. Please define it for me.” He knew how important precise definitions were. The Deutsche, all too often, preferred arguing in a circle to precision, though they vehemently denied that was the case.

Dr. Rascher said, “I will define it with great pleasure, taking the definition from the words of our great Leader, Adolf Hitler. Aryans have been and are the race which is the bearer of Tosevite cultural development. It is no accident that the first cultures arose in places where the Aryan, in his encounters with lower races, subjugated them and bent them to his will. As a conqueror, he regulated their practical activity, according to his will and for his aims. As long as he ruthlessly upheld the master attitude, not only did he really remain master, but also the preserver and increaser of culture, which was based on his abilities. When he gives up his purity of blood, he loses his place in the wonderful world which he has made for himself. This is why we so oppose the idea of mingling races.”

“You Deutsche see yourselves as Aryans, then, but not all Aryans are necessarily Deutsche—is that correct?” Ttomalss asked.

“It is, although we are the most perfect representatives of the Aryan race anywhere on Tosev 3,” Rascher replied.

“Fascinating,” Ttomalss said. “Most fascinating indeed. And what is your evidence for these assertions?”

“Why, I told you,” Dr. Rascher said. “In his writings, Hitler sets forth the doctrine of the Aryans in great detail.”

“Yes, you did tell me that,” Ttomalss agreed. “But what was Hitler’s evidence? Did he have any? What do Tosevite historians say about these questions? What does archaeology say about them? Why do you accept Hitler’s word and not the statements of those who disagree with him, if there are any?”

Behind corrective lenses that magnified them, Dr. Rascher’s eyes—they were of a washed-out gray, a very ugly color to Ttomalss—grew larger still, a token of astonishment. “Hitler was the Leader of the Reich,” the Deutsch physician exclaimed. “But naturally, his writings on any subject are authoritative.”

“Why?” Ttomalss asked in genuine puzzlement. “He must have known something about leading, of course, or he would not have led your not empire, but how much did he understand about these other things? How much could he have understood? He spent most of his time leading or getting ready to lead, did he not? What chance did he have to study these other issues in any sort of detail?”

“He was the Leader,” Dr. Rascher replied. “He knew the truth because he was the Leader.” He tacked on another emphatic cough.

Ttomalss and he stared at each other in perfect mutual incomprehension. After a long, long pause, Ttomalss let out another sigh. He’d had a lot of these moments with Big Uglies. Trying to get past this one, he said, “You claim this as revealed belief, then, not as scientific knowledge. You hold it as a superstitious opinion, like the ones expressed in... what is the local one here? Ah, Christianity, yes.” He was pleased he’d remembered the name.

But Rascher shook his head. “This is scientific truth. Christianity, on the other fork of the tongue, is a belief similar to your veneration of the spirits of Emperors past.”

He might know the idioms of the Race’s language, but he was an ignorant, barbarous Big Ugly, and did not cast down his eyes when mentioning the Emperors. And he mentioned them in insulting fashion, too. “You have no business speaking of that which you are too foolish to comprehend,” Ttomalss snapped. Dr. Rascher laughed a yipping Tosevite laugh, which further infuriated the researcher.

“Neither have you,” the Big Ugly retorted.

Now Ttomalss and he stared at each other in perfect mutual loathing. “Whatever the veneration of the spirits of Emperors past may be”—Ttomalss lowered his eye turrets toward the ground; he was no ignorant barbarian—“we do not shape the policy of the Empire around it.”

Even as he spoke, he realized that wasn’t completely true. After its first two planetary conquests, the Race had encouraged Emperor-veneration among the Rabotevs and Hallessi, using it as one means of binding the subject peoples to the Empire. Plans had been developed to do the same here on Tosev 3. So far, however, none of those plans had come to anything.

Dr. Rascher said, “Whether the Race lives according to its principles is of no concern to me. The Reich, I am proud to say, does.”

“These principles seem to include slaughtering anyone your famous Leader happened to dislike.” Ttomalss was too nettled to stay anywhere close to diplomatic. “How fortunate for you that his dislikes did not include doctors.”

He’d succeeded in making the Big Ugly as angry as he was. Rascher sprang to his feet and pointed toward the door. “Get out!” he shouted. “Get out, and never show your ugly snouted face outside your embassy again!” He punctuated that with another emphatic cough. “Your kind deserves extermination far more than any Tosevites.”

Ttomalss also rose, with more than a little relief: he found the Big Ugly­style chair in which he’d been sitting imperfectly comfortable. “I never thought any intelligent race or subgroup deserved extermination,” he said. “You Deutsche, though, tempt me to believe I may have been mistaken.”

Having got the last word, he returned to the Race’s embassy in something approaching triumph. He was still studying his recorded notes, trying to find anything resembling sense in the Reich’s policies, when the telephone circuitry in his computer hissed for attention. On activating the telephone, he found himself looking into Veffani’s face. The ambassador said, “I have received a complaint of you from the Deutsche.”

“It could be, superior sir,” Ttomalss said. “I have a good many complaints against them, too.” He summarized his conversation with Dr. Rascher, including the Big Ugly’s revolting comments about the veneration of the spirits of Emperors past.

“They are revolting,” Veffani agreed. “But you have insulted them to such a degree that they insist you leave the Reich immediately. By the usages of diplomacy on Tosev 3, they are within their rights to make such a demand.”

“It shall be done.” Ttomalss did his best to sound as if he were obeying an order he didn’t care for. Inside, though, he felt like skittering for joy, mad and carefree as a hatchling.

“I want you to know one thing, Senior Researcher,” Veffani said.

“What is that, superior sir?” Ttomalss asked, as he knew he should.