Harry Turtledove - Aftershocks

Such a lack of acceptance didn’t even anger Kassquit any more; she’d encountered it too often. She said, “Please mention my name to the fleetlord. You may possibly be surprised.”

To another member of the Race, the females surely would have said, It shall be done. Here, she plainly debated refusing Kassquit altogether. At last, with a shrug, she replied, “Oh, very well.” Her image disappeared as she set herself to finding out whether Fleetlord Reffet would indeed condescend to speak to this Big Ugly who bore the title and name of a female of the Race.

If Reffet decided he didn’t care to speak with Kassquit, she probably wouldn’t see the female in his office again; the connection would just be broken. But Kassquit knew she’d done the Race-and Reffet-a considerable service in identifying the male who called himself Regeya on the electronic network as Sam Yeager, wild Big Ugly. She hoped the fleetlord would remember, too.

And, for a moment, she wished she could forget. Had she not unmasked Sam Yeager, she would never have become intimate with Jonathan Yeager. She would have come closer-much closer-to remaining a good counterfeit female of the Race. But that hadn’t been how things worked out. Now Jonathan Yeager was permanently mated to another wild Big Ugly. And now Kassquit knew she was doomed always to stay betwixt and between. She could never make herself into a proper member of the Race, but she could never fully be a Tosevite, either.

The female reappeared. “The fleetlord will speak to you,” she said in startled tones. She vanished again. Reffet’s image replaced hers.

Kassquit folded into the posture of respect. “I greet you, Exalted Fleetlord,” she said. “Is it not a truth that I have been adjudged a full citizen of the Race?”

“Let me examine the facts before I answer, Junior Researcher,” Reffet said. One of his eye turrets swung away from her, presumably to look at another monitor. No matter how she tried to make them behave so, her eyes refused. After a little while, Reffet swung both eye turrets back toward her. “Yes, that does appear to be a truth.”

“Do I have all the privileges of any other citizen of the Empire, then?” she persisted.

“I would say that would follow from the other.” Reffet added the affirmative gesture.

“In that case, Exalted Fleetlord…” Kassquit took a deep breath. “In that case, I request that you formally reprimand my mentor, Senior Researcher Ttomalss, for falsely assuring me that he had stopped recording my every activity when in fact he has not. He admitted as much when I caught him in the lie. And I daresay you can see and hear him admit as much on the recording he has denied making. I also request that you order him to cease such recordings in the future.”

“Junior Researcher, are you sure you wish to pursue this formally?” Reffet asked.

“Exalted Fleetlord, I am,” Kassquit replied. “I see no other way to gain at least some of the privacy a citizen of the Race is entitled to. Being who I am, being what I am, I know I can never hope to lead a normal life. But a citizen of the Empire should not have to lead a life in which she is on constant display.”

“Truth,” the fleetlord of the colonization fleet said. He let out a soft hiss as he pondered. At last, he made the affirmative gesture to show he had decided. “I shall order Ttomalss to cease this recording. But I shall not reprimand him. As you note, your situation is not and cannot be normal.”

“I thank you,” Kassquit said. “But perhaps you misunderstood. I do not want him reprimanded for the recording. I want him reprimanded for the lie.”

“Think carefully on this, Junior Researcher,” Reffet said. “I understand your reasons, I believe. But do you truly wish to alienate your mentor? For one in your… unusual position, having a prominent friend could prove valuable, and not having one could prove the reverse.” He used an emphatic cough.

Kassquit started to answer with something sharp, but checked herself while she thought. Reluctantly, she decided the fleetlord’s advice was good. “I thank you,” she said. “Let it be as you suggested. But could you please informally let Ttomalss know you are displeased with him because of the lie?”

Reffet’s mouth fell open in a laugh. “Perhaps you do not need a prominent friend after all. You are a strong advocate for yourself. I shall do that. Farewell.”

Well enough pleased with herself, Kassquit began checking the areas of the electronic network in which she was interested. Before long, Ttomalss telephoned her. Without preamble, he said, “I suppose you are responsible for the tongue-whipping I just got from Fleetlord Reffet.”

“Yes, superior sir, I am,” Kassquit answered.

“I am certain you think I deserve it, too,” Ttomalss said. “Things are now arranged as you desired. You are no longer being routinely recorded, and that is a truth.” He used an emphatic cough.

“Good,” Kassquit said, and used one of her own. She and Ttomalss both broke the connection at the same time. She hoped she wouldn’t have to go on without his help. If she did, though, she expected she would manage. She was fundamentally alone. Being who and what she was, how could she be anything else? “I just have to live with it,” she murmured, and set about to do exactly that.

Vyacheslav Molotov was walking past his secretary’s desk on the way to his own office when his legendary impassivity cracked. Stopping in his tracks, he pointed at the object that had startled him and said, “Bozhemoi, Pyotr Maksimovich, what on earth is that? ”

“Comrade General Secretary, it is called a Furry,” his secretary replied. “My cousin is the protocol officer in our embassy to the United States, and he sent it to me. They are, apparently, all the rage there-by what he said, he had to fight a mob of housewives at a department store to get his hands on any of them.”

“I had forgotten you were related to Mikhail Sergeyevich,” Molotov said. He peered over the tops of his spectacles at the so-called Furry. “I fail to see the appeal. There must be many more attractive stuffed animals.”

“But this is not an ordinary stuffed animal, Comrade General Secretary,” his secretary said. “Here, let me show you.” He aimed a handheld control at the toy’s nose. The Furry opened its eyes and swung them over the room, for all the world as if it really were waking up and looked around. It waved a hand and spoke in English.

“Bozhemoi! ” Molotov said again. “I see what you mean. It is almost as if the devil’s grandmother lives inside the little thing.” When he spoke, the Furry’s eyes turned toward him. It said something else in English. For all he knew, it was answering him. “Does it hear me?” he asked.

“Literally, no,” his secretary said. “In effect, yes. It has all manners of sensors and circuits stolen from the Lizards’ technology, which make it much more versatile than toys commonly are.”

“Versatile,” Molotov echoed, watching the Furry. It had been looking at the secretary, but its alarmingly lifelike eyes returned to him when he spoke. “Amazing,” he murmured. “The Americans are foolish to use so much of this valuable technology in something to amuse children. They are, in some ways, very much like children themselves.”

“My cousin writes that a Canadian actually invented the Furries, though they’re being made in the United States,” his secretary said.

“Canadians. Americans.” Molotov shrugged. “Six of one, half a dozen of the other. There are no big differences between them, the way there are between us Russians and the Ukrainians, for instance.” He warily eyed the Furry. Sure enough, it was eyeing him, too. “Turn it off, Pyotr Maksimovich.”