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military might if you did not keep provoking your surrogates against us with hopes of a triumph surely impossible.”
    “Have you not seen, Ambassador, how little is impossible on this world?” Molotov said.
    “We have seen this, yes: seen it to our sorrow,” Queek replied. “Were it not so, I would not be here negotiating with you. But since I am, perhaps we can discuss this matter further.”
    “Perhaps we can,” Molotov said. “I have doubts as to whether it will come to anything, but perhaps we can.” He watched Queek lean forward slightly. Yes, the Lizard was serious. Molotov did not smile. Getting down to business was a capitalist phrase, but in the privacy of his own mind he used it anyway.

    Ttomalss politely inclined his head. “It is a pleasure to see a new face from Home, superior female,” he said to the researcher from the colonization fleet who had come to consult with him. On the whole, he was telling the truth; he had not always got on well with the colleagues who had accompanied him in the colonization fleet, or with the Big Uglies he studied.
    “In this matter, I should call you ‘superior sir,’ ” the newcomer—her name was Felless—replied. “You have the expertise. You have the experience with these Tosevites.”
    More than I ever wanted, Ttomalss thought, remembering captivity in China he’d expected to lead to his death. Aloud, he said, “You are gracious,” which was also true, for Felless’ body paint showed that she outranked him.
    “You have had all the time since the arrival of the conquest fleet to assimilate the implausible nature of the natives of Tosev 3,” Felless said. “To me, having to try to understand it in a matter of days—a most hasty and inefficient procedure—it seems not merely implausible but impossible.”
    “This was our reaction on reaching this world, too,” Ttomalss said. “We have since had to adapt to changing conditions.” He let his mouth fall open. “Anyone on Tosev 3 who fails to adapt is ruined. We have seen that demonstrated—and most often painfully demonstrated—time and again.”
    “So I gather,” Felless said. “It must have been very difficult for you. Change, after all, is an unnatural condition.”
    “So I thought before leaving Home,” Ttomalss replied. “So I still think, at times, for so I was trained to think all my life. But, had we not changed, the best we could have done would have been to destroy this planet—and where would that have left you and the colonization fleet, superior female?”
    Felless did not take him seriously. He could tell at a glance; he barely needed one eye turret to see it, let alone two. That saddened him, but hardly surprised him. She had the beginnings of an intellectual understanding of what the Race had been through on Tosev 3. Ttomalss had been through every bit of it. The scars still marked his spirit. It would never be free of them till it met the spirits of Emperors past face to face.
    “You are to be commended for your diligent efforts to gain understanding of the roots of Tosevite behavior,” Felless said.
    “Nice to know someone thinks so,” Ttomalss said, remembering quarrels down through the years. “Some males, I think, would sooner stay ignorant. And some would sooner put their tongues in a ginger jar and forget their research and everything else.”
    He waited. Sure enough, Felless asked a hesitant question: “Ginger? I have seen the name in the reports. It must refer to a drug native to Tosev 3, for it is certainly unknown back on Home.”
    “Yes. It’s an herb that grows here,” Ttomalss said. “For the natives, it is just a spice, the way balj is back on Home. It is a drug for us, though, and a nasty one. It makes a male feel smart and bold and strong—and when it wears off, it makes him feel like having some more. Once it gets its claws in you, you will do almost anything for another taste.”
    “With more enforcement personnel here now, we should be able to