Page 90 of Second Contact (Colonization 1)

And Liu Mei, no matter how clever she was, still had certain blind spots of her own. In musing tones, she repeated, “The Americans were very brave when the shooting started.”

Liu Han didn’t know whether to laugh or to go over to her and shake her. “When you say ‘the Americans,’ you are talking about the younger one, the one called Jonathan, aren’t you?”

Liu Mei flushed. Her skin was slightly fairer than it would have been were she of pure Chinese blood, which let Liu Han more easily see the flush rise and spread. Her daughter lifted her head, which also made her stick out her chin. “What if I am?” she asked defiantly. She was bigger and heavier-boned than Liu Han; if they quarreled, she might do some shaking of her own.

“He is an American, a foreign devil.” Liu Han pointed out the obvious.

“He is the son of my father’s friend,” Liu Mei answered. Liu Han hadn’t realized how much that meant to her daughter till Liu Mei started learning about Bobby Fiore. Liu Han had known the American, known his virtues and his flaws-and he’d had plenty of each. He hadn’t-he couldn’t have-seemed quite real to Liu Mei, not till chance let her meet his friend. Jonathan Yeager drew especially favorable notice in her eyes because he was associated with Bobby Fiore.

Picking her words with care, Liu Han said, “He is one who likes the scaly devils a great deal, you know.” If her daughter was infatuated with Major Yeager’s son, she did not want to push too hard. That would only make Liu Mei cling to him and cling to everything he represented harder than she would have otherwise. Liu Han remembered the paradox from her own girlhood.

“So what?” Liu Mei tossed her head. Her hair bounced, as Liu Han’s would not have; Bobby Fiore had had wavy hair. Liu Mei went on, “Is it not so that having more people who better understood the little scaly devils would be useful for the People’s Liberation Army?”

“Yes, that is always so,” Liu Han admitted. She pointed a finger at her daughter. “What? Are you thinking of showing him your body to lure him back to China to help us against the scaly devils? Not even a maker of bad films would think such a plan could work.” And so much for being careful of what I say, she thought.

Liu Mei blushed again. “I would not do such a thing!” she exclaimed. “I would never do such a thing!” Liu Han believed her, though some young girls would have lied in such a situation. She remembered the scandal surrounding one in her home village… But the village was gone, and the girl who’d had a bulging belly very likely dead. Liu Mei went on, in more thoughtful tones, “But he is a nice young man, even if he is a foreign devil.”

And Liu Han could not even disagree with that, not when she’d thought the same thing herself. She did say, “Remember, he may have a foreign devil for a sweetheart.”

“I know that,” her daughter answered. “In fact, he does, or he did. He has spoken of her to me. She has hair the color of a new copper coin, he says. I have seen a few people like that here. They look even stranger to me than black people and blonds.”

“There is a fable,” Liu Han said. “When the gods first made the world, they did not bake the first men they made long enough, so they came out pale. Those are the usual foreign devils. They left the second batch of men in too long, and that is how blacks came to be. The third time, they baked them perfectly, and made Chinese. It is only a fable, because there are no gods, but we look the way people are supposed to look.”

“I understand,” Liu Mei said. “But I have got used to pale skins, because I see them around me all the time these days. Red hair, though, still seems strange.”

“And to me, too,” Liu Han agreed, remembering the redheaded man she’d seen the day the Liberty Explorer came into the harbor at San Pedro.

Before she could say anything more, someone knocked on the door to the suite the two Chinese women shared. Liu Han went to open it without hesitation; the U.S. government had posted armed guards in the hallway, and so she did not fear another attempt at murder.

Indeed, the fellow standing in the hallway could not have looked less like an assassin. He was pudgy and wore dark-rimmed spectacles. To her surprise, he spoke fairly good Mandarin, even though he was a white man: “Comrade Liu Han, I am Calvin Gordon, aide to the Undersecretary of State for the Occupied Territories. I am pleased to be able to tell you that the first shipments of arms for the People’s Liberation Army left San Francisco and San Pedro harbors, bound for China. I hope they will reach your country safely, and that your comrades use them well and wisely against the little scaly devils.”

“I thank you very much,” Liu Han said. “I did not expect anyone to tell me, especially in person.” She glanced toward the telephone that sat on a table by one end of the overstuffed sofa in the suite. Americans seemed to think talking on it was as good as actually being with a person.

But Calvin Gordon said, “President Warren ordered me to fly out from Little Rock and let you know. He wants you to understand that China is important to the United States, and we will do everything we can to help free your country.”

“That is good,” Liu Han said. “That is very good. But, of course, we do not know if these arms will actually reach the People’s Liberation Army.”

“No, we do not know that,” Gordon agreed. “The world is an uncertain place. If the weapons get past the Japanese and the little devils and the Kuomintang, the People’s Liberation Army will use them. And if they do not get past the Japanese and the little devils and the Kuomintang, we will send some more, and we will keep sending them until the People’s Liberation Army has them. Does that satisfy you?”

“How could I ask for anything better?” Liu Han said. “I thank you, and I thank President Warren, and I thank the United States. Now that you have done this, I have done what I came here to do.”

She exchanged polite pleasantries with Gordon for a few minutes. Then he gave her what was almost a bow and left. As she turned in triumph to Liu Mei, she realized she had told the American diplomat the exact truth. Nothing held her daughter and her in the United States any more. She could go home.

Existence crawled past for Kassquit. She had never had nor wanted a great deal of contact with males of the Race other than Ttomalss. She would undoubtedly have spent much of her time in her chamber while he was in Nuremberg even without the confusion females and ginger brought to her ship. With it, she felt even more alone than she had before.

Penalties for tasting ginger-especially for females-kept getting harsher. Males and females kept on tasting, though. Kassquit hadn’t found herself in the middle of any more mating brawls since that first one, but she knew she could at any time. That made her even less interested in coming out of her chamber than she would have been otherwise.

But, as always, she had to come out to eat. Although she avoided the busiest times at the refectory, she still did need to deal with occasional males and females of the Race. Sometimes they would be eating when she came in. More often, she would encounter them in the corridors on her way to and from eating.

She met Tessrek more often than she wanted. For one thing, the researcher’s compartment was close to her own. For another, he had enjoyed baiting her for as long as she could remember, and perhaps for longer than that.

“What is that sour smell?” he said one day as she was returning to her compartment. “It must be the reek of a Big Ugly.”

Of themselves, Kassquit’s lips drew back, displaying her teeth in an expression that was anything but a smile. “Not the smell you want, is it, superior sir?” she said, sardonic and polite at the same time. “You would sooner sniff a female of your own kind drugged into her season, would you not? Then you can behave like an animal without shame, truth?”

Tessrek recoiled. He was not used to counterattacks from Kassquit. “You are only a Tosevite,” he snapped. “How dare you presume to question a male of the Race on what he does?”

“I am an intelligent being,” Kassquit returned. “When I see a m

ale of the Race acting like an animal, I am intelligent enough to recognize it, which is more than can be said for the male in question.”

“Your tongue is abominable, not only in its shape but also in the uses to which you put it,” Tessrek said.

Kassquit stuck out the organ in question. She thought it abominable, too, but she would not admit that to Tessrek. Nor would she tell him that she had thought of having it surgically split to make her more like a proper member of the Race. What she did say was, “The things my tongue describes are abominable. The things you do are abominable, worse than any for which the Race has mocked the Tosevites.”

And Tessrek recoiled again. When not in his season, he, like any other male or female of the Race, found reproductive behavior of any sort repugnant. Being reminded of his own had to flay him. “What a little monster Ttomalss raised up among us!” he said angrily.

“I have only told the truth,” Kassquit said. “You are the one who tells lies about me. You have got away with it up till now, but I will not tolerate it any more. Do you understand me, Tessrek?” It was, as best she could remember, the first time she had used his name instead of an honorific.

He noticed, too, and took offense. “Do you presume to use me as an equal?” he demanded.

“I beg your pardon,” Kassquit said sweetly. Tessrek started to relax. Kassquit sank the dart with double enjoyment because of that: “No doubt I gave you too much credit.”

For a moment, she thought Tessrek would physically assail her. He displayed his sharp teeth in a threat gesture more fearsome than hers, and also spread his fingerclaws. Kassquit made herself stand her ground. If he attacks, she told herself, I will kick him as hard as I can.

Tessrek took a step toward her. Feeling as curious as she was frightened, she took a step toward him, as if answering his challenge. And he, with a hiss both furious and frustrated, turned and skittered down the corridor in retreat that rapidly turned into rout. Still hissing, he rounded a corridor and disappeared.

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