Harry Turtledove - In the Balance

One of Atvar’s eyes swung across the map from Chicago to Washington. The situation was as Kirel described. Still… “ Results in the case of Berlin were not altogether as we anticipated,” he said, a damning indictment among the Race.

But Kirel said, “It had unexpected benefits as well as shortcomings. We gained the allegiance of Warsaw and its environs shortly after employing that first device.”

“Truth,” Atvar admitted. It was an important truth, too; the Race too often saw only hazard in the unexpected, even if opportunity could also hatch from it.

“Not only that,” Kirel continued, “but it will also create uncertainty and fear on the part of the Big Uglies who do continue to resist. Destroying a single imperial capital might be an isolated act on our part. But if we destroy a second one, that shows them we can repeat the action anywhere on their planet at any time we choose.”

“Truth,” Atvar said again. Like any normal male of the Race, he distrusted uncertainty; the idea of using it as a weapon was unsettling to him. But when he thought of it as inflicting uncertainty on the foe, in the same way that his forces might inflict hunger or death, the concept became clearer-and more attractive. Moreover, Kirel was usually a cautious male; if he thought such a step necessary, he was likely to be right.

“What is your command, Exalted Fleetlord?” Kirel asked.

“Let the order be prepared for my review. I shall turn both eyes upon it the instant it appears before me. Barring unforeseen developments, I shall approve it.”

“Exalted Fleetlord, it shall be done.” Tailstump quivering with excitement, Kirel hurried away.

“This is Radio Deutschland.” Not Radio Berlin, Moishe Russie thought as he moved his head closer to the speaker of the shortwave set. Not any more. Nor was the signal, though on the same frequency as Berlin had always used, anywhere near as strong as it had been. Instead of shouting, it was as if the Germans were whispering now, in hope of not being overheard.

“An important bulletin,” the news reader went on. “The government of the Reich is grieved to report that Washington, D.C., capital of the United States of America, appears to have been the victim of a bomb of the type which recently made a martyr of Berlin. All radio transmissions from Washington ceased abruptly and without warning approximately twenty-five minutes ago; confused reports from Baltimore, Philadelphia, and Richmond speak of a pillar of fire mounting into the night sky. Our Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, has expressed his condolences for the American people, victims like the Germans of the insane aggression of these savage alien invaders. The Fuhrer’s words-”

Russie clicked off the set. He did not care what Adolf Hitler had to say; he wished with all his heart that Hitler had been in Berlin when the Lizards dropped their bomb on it. The regime there had deserved to go tip in a pillar of fire.

But Washington! If Berlin represented everything dark and bestial in the human spirit, Washington stood for just the opposite: freedom, justice, equality… yet the Lizards destroyed them both alike.

“Yisgadal v’yiskadash shmay rabo-” Russie murmured the memorial prayer for the dead. So many would be dead, across the ocean; he remembered the posters the Germans had plastered all over Warsaw before the city fell to the Lizards… before the Jews and the Polish Home Army rose up and helped the Lizards drive the Germans out of Warsaw.

No doubt that had been justified; without the Lizards, Russie knew he and most if not all his people would have died. That reasoning had let him support them after they entered Warsaw. Gratitude was a reasonable emotion, especially when as fully deserved as here. That the outside world thought him a traitor to mankind hurt deeply, but the outside world did not know-and refused to see-what the Nazis had done here. Better the Lizards than the SS; so he still believed.

But now- Booted feet pounded down the corridor toward his office, breaking in on his thoughts. The door flew open. The moment he saw Mordechai Anielewicz’s face, he knew the fighting leader had heard. “Washington-” they both said in the same breath.

Russie was the first to find more words. “We cannot go on comfortably working with them after this, not unless we want to deserve the hatred the rest of mankind would give us for such a deed.”

“Reb Moishe, you’re right,” Anielewicz said, the first time in a long while he’d given Russie such unqualified agreement. But where Russie thought in terms of right and wrong, the Jewish soldier almost automatically began considering ways and means. “We cannot simply rise up against them, either, not unless we want the bloodbath back again.”

“Heaven forbid!” Russie said. Then he remembered something he would sooner have forgotten: “I’m supposed to go on the radio this afternoon. What shall I say? God help me, what can I say?”

“Nothing,” Anielewicz answered at once. “Just the sound of your voice would make you the Lizards’ whore.” He thought for a moment, then gave two words of blunt, practical advice: “Get sick.”

“Zolraag won’t like that. He’ll think I’m faking, and he’ll be right.” But Russie had been a medical student; even as he spoke, his mind searched for ways to make false sickness seem real. He thought of some quickly enough; the punishment they’d inflict on him would also scourge him for letting the Lizards make him into their willing tool. “A purgative, a good strong one,” he said. “A purgative and a stiff dose of ipecac.”

“What’s ipecac?” Anielewicz asked. Russie made ghastly retching noises. The fighter’s eyes went big and round. He nodded and grinned. “That should do the job, all right. I’m glad they have you in front of the microphone instead of me.”

“Ha.” It wasn’t a laugh, only one syllable of resignation. But Russie thought such florid symptoms would convince Zolraag something truly was wrong with him. The epidemics in the ghetto, the endemic diseases from which all humanity suffered, seemed to horrify the Lizards, who gave no signs of being similarly afflicted. Russie would have liked to study at one of their medical schools; no doubt he would have learned more there than any Earthly physician could teach him.

“If we want this to work, we’re going to have to do something else, you know,” Anielewicz said. At Russie’s raised eyebrow, he elaborated. “We’re going to have to talk with General Bor-Komorowski. The Poles have to be in on this with us. Otherwise the Lizards will turn them loose on us and stand back and smile while we beat each other to death.”

“Yes,” Russie said, though he both distrusted and feared the commander of the Armja Krajowa. But he had other, more immediate concerns. “Even if I manage not to broadcast today, I’ll still have to go back to the studio next week. The week after that at the latest, if I take to my bed and swallow more ipecac in a few days.” His stomach lurched unhappily at the prospect.

“Don’t worry past this afternoon.” Anielewicz’s eyes were cold and calculating. “Yes, I can piece together enough uniforms, and I can find enough blond fighters or fellows with light brown hair.”

“Why do you need fighters with-?” Russie stopped and stared. “You’re going to attack the transmitter, and you want the Nazis to get the blame for it.”

“Right both times,” Anielewicz said. “You should have been a soldier. I just wish I had some men who weren’t circumcised. Humans would know the difference. The Lizards might not, but I hate to take the chance. Some Poles think the only thing the Germans did wrong was to leave some of us alive. They might rat on us if they get the chance.”