Colonization_ Down To Earth Part 14

Reuven translated the male's words. They brought a fresh storm of protest. Some of the language in which the protest was couched made Esther and Judith exclaim, whether in horror or in admiration, Reuven couldn't quite tell. "A tax on religion?" someone said. "Who ever heard of a tax on religion?"

But an old man with a white beard answered, "I came to Palestine when the Turks still ruled here. They used to tax Jews, and Christians, too. Only Muslims got off without paying."

Understanding that, the Lizard said, "We tax Muslims, too. We tax all who do not venerate the Emperors."

"They're trying to convert us!" a woman said indignantly.

The Lizard understood that, too, and made the negative hand gesture. "You may follow your superst.i.tion," he said. "If you do, though, you have to pay."

Moishe Russie took out his wallet. "I am going to pay," he said, and gave the male a two-pound note and another worth five hundred mills. "This is for all my family."

"Pa.s.s on," the Lizard said, and stood aside to let the Russies into the synagogue. Reuven discovered they were not the first to go in. He and his father sat on the right side of the aisle, his mother and sisters on the left. All the conversation, among men on the one side and women on the other, was about the tax.

"How will poor Jews pay it?" a fat man asked. "It is not a small fee."

"Maybe we can get the Race to lower it," Reuven's father said. "If we can't, the rest of the congregation will have to pay for the Jews who can't pay for themselves. How could we spend money in a way more pleasing to G.o.d?"

The fat man didn't look as if he wanted to spend money at all, whether it pleased G.o.d or not. Reuven set a hand on his father's arm. "I'm proud of you," he said.

Moishe Russie shrugged. "If we don't help one another, who's going to help us? The answer is, n.o.body. We've seen that too many times, over too many hundreds of years. We have to take care of our own."

A couple of rows in front of the Russies, a scholarly looking man with a fuzzy gray beard was saying, "The Romans wors.h.i.+ped their Emperors, too. They didn't try to make the Jews do it."

"The Lizards aren't trying to make us wors.h.i.+p their Emperors, either," somebody else answered. "They're just trying to make it expensive for us if we don't."

"True enough." The man who looked like a scholar nodded. "But that wasn't quite my point. Who wors.h.i.+ps dead Roman Emperors nowadays?"

Reuven burst out laughing. He couldn't help himself. "There we go!" he exclaimed. "We'll convert all all the Lizards to Judaism, and then we won't have to worry about paying the tax any more." the Lizards to Judaism, and then we won't have to worry about paying the tax any more."

That got a laugh, even from his father. But the gray-bearded man said, "And why not? 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our G.o.d, the Lord is one.' That doesn't say what He looks like; He doesn't look like anything. He is as much the Lizards' G.o.d as He is ours. Nothing holds them back from becoming Jews: we don't talk about G.o.d having a human son."

Reuven almost repeated the crack about circ.u.mcising Lizards, but held his tongue; it didn't seem to fit, not inside the synagogue. Thoughtfully, his father said, "They could become Muslims as easily as Jews." That brought on a glum silence. No one liked the idea at all.

The scholarly looking man said, "They could, but they won't, not as long as the Muslims keep rising against them. And, pretty plainly, they want us to forget our own religions and wors.h.i.+p their Emperors. That would make it easier for them to rule us."

"Politics and religion," Moishe Russie said. "Religion and politics. They shouldn't mix. Trouble is, too often they do." He sighed. "For a while here, we just got to wors.h.i.+p as we pleased. I suppose it was too good to last."

Before anyone could say anything to that, the rabbi and the cantor took their places at the front of the congregation. Singing in the welcome for the Sabbath made Reuven forget about the tax his father had paid to enter the synagogue... for a little while, anyhow.

But, after the service was over, after Reuven and his father rejoined his mother and twin sisters, he said, "If the Muslims have to pay half a pound five times a day, all the rioting we've been through so far is going to look like nothing in particular. This town will go up like a rocket."

"We have enough groceries to last a while," his mother said. "We've been through this before. We can do it again, even if the riots will be worse. Whatever the Arabs do, they can't be worse than the n.a.z.is were in Warsaw."

"That's true," Reuven's father agreed, and added an emphatic cough for good measure. "I thought the Reich Reich would have fallen apart from its own wickedness by now, but I was wrong. Back when we were living in London, that fellow named Eric Blair who used to broadcast with me called the n.a.z.is and the Russians a boot in the face of mankind forever. I used to think he was too gloomy, but I'm not so sure any more." would have fallen apart from its own wickedness by now, but I was wrong. Back when we were living in London, that fellow named Eric Blair who used to broadcast with me called the n.a.z.is and the Russians a boot in the face of mankind forever. I used to think he was too gloomy, but I'm not so sure any more."

"You mention him every now and then," Reuven said. "Do you know what happened to him after we left England?"

"He's dead-ten or fifteen years now," Moishe Russie answered, which took Reuven by surprise. His father went on, "Tuberculosis. He had that particular soft cough even back when I knew him-but as far as I know, he never let it get in the way of his broadcasting." He sighed. "It's too bad. He would still have been a young man, and he was one of the most honest people I ever met."

They walked on through the quiet streets back toward their house. Moths fluttered around street lamps. The day's heat had faded; the night air made Reuven glad he had on a sweater. A mosquito landed on his hand. He slapped at it, but it buzzed away before he could squash it.

"When the muezzins call for prayer tomorrow morning..." he began.

"We'll find out what happens," his father said. "No point to borrowing trouble. We get enough of it anyhow."

Because the next morning was Sat.u.r.day, Reuven didn't have cla.s.ses. The Race thought humanity's seven-day cycle absurd, but had given up trying to impose their own ten-day rhythm on the medical college. Weekend Weekend was an English word the Lizards had had to borrow. Their custom was to rotate rest days through the week, so ninety percent of them were busy at any given time. They reckoned the Muslim Friday day of rest, the Jewish Sat.u.r.day, and the Christian Sunday equally inefficient. was an English word the Lizards had had to borrow. Their custom was to rotate rest days through the week, so ninety percent of them were busy at any given time. They reckoned the Muslim Friday day of rest, the Jewish Sat.u.r.day, and the Christian Sunday equally inefficient.

Reuven slept through the amplified sunrise calls to prayer from mosques in the Muslim districts of Jerusalem, and no gunfire awakened him, either. He ate bread and honey for breakfast, and washed it down with a gla.s.s of milk. The relief he felt at the silence in the city was sweeter than the honey, though.

It didn't last. He'd hoped it would, but hadn't expected it to, not down deep. He and his family were heading toward Sat.u.r.day morning services when, as the call to prayer drifted in from the Muslim districts, gunfire rang out: not just rifles but automatic weapons and, a moment later, cannon.

Moishe Russie stopped in his tracks. "We go back," he said, and his tone brooked no contradiction. "G.o.d only knows what the streets will be like when services are done, and I don't care to find out by experiment."

"G.o.d will also know why we didn't go to shul shul this morning," Rivka Russie agreed. She set a hand on each twin's shoulder. "Come on, girls. Back to the house." The gunfire started up anew, this time much closer. Esther and Judith's mother gave them a shove. "And hurry." this morning," Rivka Russie agreed. She set a hand on each twin's shoulder. "Come on, girls. Back to the house." The gunfire started up anew, this time much closer. Esther and Judith's mother gave them a shove. "And hurry."

By the time they got home, emergency vehicles were racing along the streets, those of human make clanging bells and those with Lizards inside hissing urgently to clear the right of way. Reuven hurried toward the telephone. Before he could pick it up, it rang. He grabbed it. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Are you all right?" Jane Archibald asked.

"Yes, we're fine here," he answered, adding, "I was just about to call you. Is the dormitory safe?"

"So far, yes," she answered. "No trouble here yet. This is all aimed at the Lizards, not at us. But everyone is worried about you and your family."

That deflated Reuven; he'd hoped Jane had called only because she was worried about him. But he repeated, "We're fine. I hope there'll be something left of the city when all this dies down again."

"If it ever does," Jane said. "And I'm not half sure the Lizards hope the same thing. They may be looking for another excuse to slaughter the people who don't like them and have the nerve to stand up to them." Because of what the Race had done to Australia, she naturally thought the worst of them. But, as a helicopter flew low over the house and began pouring rockets into a target bare blocks away, Reuven had a hard time telling her she was bound to be wrong.

Liu Han, Liu Mei, and Nieh Ho-T'ing peered north from a four-story building the little scaly devils somehow hadn't yet managed to knock down. Through smoke and dust, Liu Han spied the column of tanks advancing on Peking. Another column was coming up from the south. The People's Liberation Army had done everything it could to throw back the scaly devils. In the end, everything it could do hadn't been enough.

"What now?" Liu Han asked Nieh.

"Now?" the People's Liberation Army officer echoed, his face grim. "Now we try to escape to the countryside and carry on the revolutionary struggle there. We cannot hold this city, and there will surely be a great bloodbath of a purge after the little devils retake it."

"Truth," Liu Han said in the scaly devils' language. After their uprising succeeded, the Communists had meted out summary punishment to every collaborator they could catch. Liu Han was sure the enemy would not be so foolish as to fail to return the favor.

One of the advancing tanks started pumping rounds into the city from its big gun. Every explosion wrecked a little more of Peking-and drove home to the people left inside that they could not hope to halt the little scaly devils' advance.

But the People's Liberation Army kept fighting. Peking's defenders had no real artillery with which to oppose the little devils' tanks. They did have mortars; the tubes were hardly more than sheet metal, and artisans could make the bombs they fired. Those bombs began bursting among the tanks.

Liu Han cheered. So did Liu Mei, though she didn't change expression. Nieh looked as sour as if he were sucking on a lemon. "That will do no good," he said, "and it will tell the enemy where our weapons are positioned."

Sure enough, the little scaly devils, who had been shooting more or less at random, began concentrating their fire on the places from which the mortars had opened up. One after another, the mortars fell silent. Liu Han hoped at least some of them were shamming, but she had no way to know.

Nieh Ho-T'ing said, "And if we are going to leave, we had better leave now. If we wait till the little devils are in the city, it will be too late. They will set up checkpoints, and they will have collaborators with them, people who are liable to recognize us no matter what stories we tell."

Again, he a.s.sumed the scaly devils would follow the pattern the Party had used. Again, Liu Han found no reason to disagree with him. But Liu Mei asked, "Can we do anything more here before we have to leave?"

"No," Nieh answered. "If we had a radio, we might direct fire-for a little while, till the scaly devils triangulated our position and flattened this building. That would not take long, and it would not help the cause. The best thing we can do is survive and escape and fight on."

"He's right," Liu Han told her daughter. To prove she thought so, she started down the stairs. Nieh Ho-T'ing followed without hesitation. Liu Han looked back over her shoulder, fearful lest Liu Mei, in a fit of revolutionary fervor, stay behind to court martyrdom. But her daughter was following, though shaking her head in regret. Seeing Liu Mei made Liu Han go faster. When they got to the ground, she asked, "Which way out?"

"The scaly devils are coining from the north and south," Nieh answered. "We would be wise to go east or west."

"West," Liu Mei said at once. "We're closer to the western gates."

"As good a reason as any, and better than most," Nieh Ho T'ing said, while Liu Han nodded. Nieh went on, "The last thing we want is to get stuck in the city when it falls. That can be very bad."

"Oh, yes. It can be bad in a village, too," Liu Han said, remembering what had happened to her village at the hands of first the j.a.panese and then the little scaly devils. "It would be even worse in a big city, though."

"So it would," Nieh agreed. "It would indeed."

A couple of youths ran past, both with shaved heads and wearing tight-fitting s.h.i.+rts with the patterns of body paint printed on them. They looked and sounded frightened, not of the people around them but of the little scaly devils whom they aped. Now they were discovering where their loyalties truly lay.

Some of their number, though, would be joining the collaborators who'd escaped the purges in welcoming the little scaly devils back into Peking. Liu Han was sure of that. Some of them, before too long, would be marked down for liquidation. She was sure of that, too.

Liu Mei said, "I'm afraid I don't really know how to live in the countryside. I haven't gone out there very often."

"It's not like the city-that's true," Liu Han said, and this time Nieh nodded in response to her words. "But we'll get along. One way or another, we will." She set a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You're not afraid to work. As long as you keep that in mind, you'll do all right."

The walls that in earlier years had s.h.i.+elded Peking from the world around it were now battered by the little scaly devils' bombardment. People weren't fleeing only at the gates; they were also scrambling out through breaches in the wall. Thousands-tens of thousands-of men and women would be descending on the villages around the city.

"Eee!" Liu Han said unhappily. "They will be like so many locusts-they will eat the countryside bare. There will be famine."

That word, heard too often in China, was enough to make two women also hurrying toward the gate whip their heads around in alarm. Liu Mei said, "Would we do better trying to stay, then?"

"No." Nieh Ho-T'ing and Liu Han spoke at the same time. Nieh continued, "Once we get among people who know who and what we are, we will not starve. They will set food aside for the leaders of the struggle against the little devils' imperialism."

"That is not as fair as it might be." Had Liu Mei been able, she would have frowned. Her revolutionary fire burned very bright, very pure.

Nieh Ho-T'ing shrugged. "I could justify it dialectically. Maybe I will, when we have more time. For now, all I'll do is say I don't feel like starving, and I don't intend to. When your belly cries for noodles or rice, you won't feel like starving, either."

That quelled Liu Mei till she and Liu Han and Nieh hurried out through the Hsi Chih Men Hsi Chih Men, the West Straight Gate. It led to the great park called the Summer Palace, a few miles northwest of Peking, but the fugitives did not go in that direction. Instead, they fled through suburbs almost as battered as the interior of the city until, at last, buildings began to thin out and open fields became more common.

By then, the sun was sinking ahead of them. The moon, nearly full, rose blood red through the smoke and haze above Peking. Nieh said, "I think we had better sleep under trees tonight. Any building will already have snakes in it-two-legged snakes. We'd better keep a watch through the night, too." He wore a pistol on his hip, and tapped it with his right hand.

"Good idea," Liu Han said. They weren't really in the countryside, not yet, but the very air around her felt different from the way it had back in Peking. She couldn't have told how, but it did. She c.o.c.ked her head to one side. "Come on," she said, pointing. "There will be water over there."

"You're right," Nieh said. "I can tell by the way the bushes grow." Liu Mei looked from one of them to the other as if they'd started speaking some foreign language she didn't understand.

Unlike Nieh Ho-T'ing, Liu Han hadn't consciously known why she was so sure they would find water in that direction. She'd spent half her life in Peking. So much she'd taken for granted when she was young would seen strange now, to say nothing of unpleasant. But she hadn't forgotten everything. She might not have known how she knew water was there, but she had.

"It tastes funny," Liu Mei said after they drank.

"You're not used to drinking it when it hasn't come out of pipes," Liu Han said. For her, water straight from a little stream was a taste out of childhood. Nieh took it for granted, too. But for Liu Mei, it was new and different. Liu Han hoped it wouldn't make her daughter sick.

They found a place where pine trees screened them from the road, and settled down to rest there. Liu Han took the first watch. Nieh Ho-T'ing handed her the pistol, lay down among the pine needles, twisted a few times like a dog getting comfortable, and fell asleep. Liu Mei had never tried sleeping on bare ground before, but exhaustion soon caught up with her.

The late spring night was mild. Explosions kept rocking Peking. Careless of them, owls hooted and crickets chirped. Flashes on the eastern horizon reminded Liu Han of heat lightning. Fugitives streamed away from the doomed city, even in darkness. Liu Han hung on to the pistol. She hoped n.o.body else would try to rest here among the trees.

No one did, not while she was on watch. In due course, she woke Nieh, gave him back the automatic, and went to sleep herself. She didn't think she'd been asleep very long when three gunshots hammered her out of unconsciousness. Screams and the sound of pounding feet running away followed those thunderclaps.

"Somebody who thought he'd try being a bandit, to see what it was like," Nieh said lightly. "I don't think he cared for it as well as he expected to. Bandits never think victims are supposed to have guns of their own."

"Did you hit him?" Liu Mei asked-she was sitting up, too.

"I hope so," Nieh Ho-T'ing answered. "I'm not sure, though. I know I scared him off, and that's what matters. Go back to sleep, both of you."

Liu Han doubted she could, but she did. When she woke, birds were chirping and the sun was rising through the smoke above Peking. Her belly was a vast chasm, deeper than the gorges of the Yangtze. She went back to the little stream and drank as much water as she could hold, but that didn't help much. "We have to have food," she said.

"We'll get some." Nieh sounded confident. Liu Han hoped his confidence had some basis. Had she been a peasant villager, she wouldn't have wanted anything to do with refugees from the city.

When they came to a village, the peasants greeted them with rifles in hand. "Keep moving!" one of them shouted. "We have nothing for you. We haven't got enough for ourselves."

But Nieh Ho-T'ing said, "Comrade, is that the proper revolutionary spirit?" He went up to the peasant leader and spoke to him in a low voice. Several other peasants joined the discussion. So did a couple of their womenfolk. At one point, Nieh pointed to Liu Han and spoke her name. The women exclaimed.

That seemed to turn the argument. A few minutes later, Liu Han and Liu Mei and Nieh Ho-T'ing were slurping up noodles and vegetables. A woman came up to them. "Are you really the famous Liu Han?" she asked.

"I really am," Liu Han answered. "Now I am also the hungry Liu Han."

But the woman didn't want to take the hint. "How did you get to be the way you are?" she persisted.

Liu Han thought about that. "Never give up," she said at last. "Never, ever, give up." She bent her head to the noodles once more.

Straha made the negative hand gesture even though Sam Yeager couldn't see it, not with the primitive Tosevite telephone he was using. "No," the ex-s.h.i.+plord said, and added an emphatic cough. "I was not aware of this. It did not come to my attention before I, ah, decided to leave the conquest fleet and come to the United States."

"Okay," Yeager answered, an English word he sometimes threw into conversations even in the language of the Race, just as he sometimes used emphatic and interrogative coughs while speaking English. "I did wonder, and thought you might know."

"I did not," Straha said. "That we should attempt to rear Tosevite hatchlings makes sense to me, however. How better to learn to what degree your species can come to conform to our usages?"

He waited for the Big Ugly to wax indignant. Tosevites-especially American Tosevites-often got very shrill about the rights of their kind, especially when they thought the Race was violating those rights. If they or their fellow Big Uglies violated them, though, they were much less strident.

To Straha's surprise, all Yeager said was, "Yes, I can see how that would make sense from your point of view. But I have the feeling it is liable to be hard on the hatchling you are rearing."

"That is part of the nature of experiments-do you not agree?" Straha said. "It is unfortunate when the experiments involve intelligent beings, but I do not see how it is avoidable. Sometimes such things are necessary."

Again, he expected Sam Yeager to get angry. Again, Yeager failed to do so. "You may have something there, s.h.i.+plord," he replied. Straha had to fight down a small, puzzled hiss. He'd known this Big Ugly longer than almost any other, and thought he knew him better than any other save perhaps his own driver. Now Yeager wasn't responding as he should have. Straha knew the Tosevites were a highly variable species, but Yeager usually thought so much like a male of the Race that the ex-s.h.i.+plord had expected him to maintain a respectable consistence.

"How did you happen to make the acquaintance of this Tosevite reared under the tutelage of the Race?" Straha asked, trying to find what lay behind Yeager's curious indifference to the experiment.

"She identified me as a Big Ugly by the way I wrote," Yeager answered. "I had no idea she was one till I heard her speak. You know we have trouble with some sounds in your language because of the way our mouths are made."