Ftaeml was speaking. “Here beside me is…” He broke into a multiple squeal of the strange tongue. “…who is commander of the ship and the expedition. She…no, perhaps ‘he’ would be better…he is hereditary marshal and…” The Rargyllian broke off and fretted. “You have no equivalent rank. Perhaps I should say ‘mayor of the palace.’”
Greenberg suddenly said, “How about ‘boss,’ Doc?”
“A happy suggestion! Yes, this is the Boss. Her…his social position is not highest but his practical authority is almost without limit.”
Kiku asked, “Is his authority such that he may conduct plenipotentiary bargaining?”
“Ah, yes, certainly!”
“Then we will get on with it.” He turned to the actor and nodded. Then he spoke to the desk in front of him, using a hush circuit: “Getting all this?”
A voice answered his ears alone. “Yes, sir. The picture pick-up faded once but it’s all right now.”
“Are the Secretary General and the Chief of Staff listening?”
“I believe so, sir. Their offices are monitoring.”
“Very well” Mr. Kiku listened to the Secretary General’s speech. It was short but delivered with great dignity and the actor paced it so that Ftaeml might translate. The Secretary General welcomed the Hroshii to Earth, assured them that the peoples of the Federation were happy that the Hroshii had at long last found their lost sibling, and added that this happy accident should be the occasion for the Hroshii to take their rightful place in the Community of Civilizations.
He sat down and promptly went to sleep for all practical purposes, eyes open and face fixed in kindly dignity. The double could hold this Roman-Emperor pose for hours without really noticing the review, or ceremony, or whatever he might be chaperoning.
Mr. MacClure spoke briefly, seconding the Secretary General and adding that the Federation was now prepared to discuss any matters of business between the Federation and the noble Hroshii.
Greenberg leaned to Kiku and whispered, “Should we clap, boss? Somebody ought to and I don’t think they know how.”
“Shut up,” Kiku said amiably. “Dr. Ftaeml, does the commander have a speech of formality to deliver?”
“I think not.” Ftaeml spoke to the leading Hroshiu, then answered, “The reply is a serious comment on the two speeches made, rather than an answer of formality. He states that the Hroshii have no need of other…lesser…breeds and says we should now get to business without further, ah…trivia.”
“If it is true that they have no need for other peoples, please ask him why they have come to us and why they have offered us presents?”
“But you insisted on it, my friend,” Ftaeml answered in surprise.
“Thank you, Doctor, but I do not want your comment. Require him to answer. Please do not coach him.”
“I will try.” Ftaeml exchanged several sentences of the high whining with the Hroshij commander, then turned back to Kiku. “Forgive me. He says that he acceded to your childishness as the simplest means of accomplishing his purpose. He wishes to discuss now the surrender of John Thomas Stuart.”
“Please tell him that the matter is not open to discussion. The agenda requires that we first settle the question of diplomatic relations.”
“Pardon me, sir. ‘Diplomatic relations’ is a concept difficult to translate. I have been working on it for days.”
“Tell him that what he sees now is an example of diplomatic relations. Free peoples, negotiating as equals, with peaceful intentions, to their mutual benefit.”
The Rargyllian simulated a sigh. “Each of those concepts is almost equally difficult. I will try.”
Presently he answered, “The hereditary marshal says that if what we are doing constitutes diplomatic relations you have them now. Where is the Stuart boy?”
“Not so fast. The agenda must be taken up point by point. They must accept an embassy and a mixed mission for cultural, scientific, and trade purposes. They must leave with us a similar embassy and mission. Regular travel between our two sovereignties must be planned. Not until these are disposed of can there be any mention of the Stuart boy.”
“I will try again.” Ftaeml spoke to the ‘Boss’ Hroshiu at length; the reply was short. “He tells me to tell you that all those points are rejected as not worthy of consideration. Where is the Stuart boy?”
“In that case,” Mr. Kiku answered quietly, “tell them that we do not bargain with barbarians. Tell them to pick up the trash—be sure of forceful translation!—with which they have littered our home, and get quickly back to their ship. They are required to take off at once. They must bundle their precious Hroshia aboard, by force if need be, if they ever expect to see her again—they will never again be allowed to land.”
Ftaeml looked as if he were about to burst into tears he was incapable of shedding. “Please! I beg you not to antagonize them. I tell tales out of school… I go beyond my professional duties…but they could now destroy this city without recourse to their ship.”
“Deliver the message. The conference is ended.” Mr. Kiku stood up, picked up the others with his eyes, and headed for the retiring room.
The double went ahead. MacClure caught Kiku by the arm and fell into step. “Henry…you’re running this, granted. But shouldn’t you talk it over? They’re savage beasts. It could…”
“Mr. MacClure,” Kiku said softly, “as a distinguished predecessor once said, in dealing with certain types you must step on their toes until they apologize.” He urged the Secretary toward the door.
“But suppose they won’t?”
“That is the hazard. Please…let us not argue in their presence.” They went into the retiring room; the door closed behind them.
Greenberg turned to Kiku. “Nice try, boss…but what do we do now?”
“We wait.”
“Okay.” Greenberg went nervously to a wall relay, picked up the scene inside the auditorium. The Hroshii had not left. He could just make out Ftaeml, surrounded by creatures much larger than the medusoid.
The double said to Kiku, “Through with me, sir?”
“Yes, Arthur. A good job.”
“Thanks. I’ve got time to get this make-up off and catch the second game of the doubleheader.”
“Good. Perhaps you had better change your appearance here.”
“Shucks, the photographers know. They play along.”
He left, whistling. MacClure sat down, lit a cigar, took a puff, put it down. “Henry, you ought to notify the Chief of Staff.”
“He knows. We wait.”
They waited. Greenberg said suddenly, “Here comes Ftaeml.” He hurried to the door and let the Rargyllian in.
Dr. Ftaeml seemed very tense. “My dear Mr. Kiku—the Hroshij commander states that they will agree to your strange wishes for sake of prompt settlement. He insists that you now deliver the Stuart boy.”
“Please tell him that he misunderstands entirely the nature of friendly relations between civilized people. We do not barter the freedom of one of our citizens against their worthless favors, even as they would not barter the freedom of their Hroshia Lummox. Then tell him that I order them to leave at once.”
Ftaeml said earnestly, “I reluctantly deliver your message.”
He was back quickly. “They agree to your terms.”
“Good. Come, Sergei… Mr. MacClure, there is no need for you to appear unless it suits you.” He went out into the hall, followed by Greenberg and Ftaeml.
The Hroshij “boss,” it seemed to Kiku was more baleful than ever. But the details went promptly forward—an equal number of Hroshii and of humans to constitute the, missions, passage to be provided in the Hroshij ship, one of the Hroshii there present to be ambassador to the Federation. Ftaeml assured them that this Hroshiu was of practical rank second only to the expedition commander.
And now, said the Hroshij commander, it is time to turn over to us John Thomas Stuart. Ftaeml added anxiously, “I trust you have made arrangements, my friend
? I dislike the tenor of this. It has been too easy.”
With a feeling of satisfaction soothing his troubled stomach Mr. Kiku answered, “I see no difficulty. The Stuart boy is willing to go, now that we are assured of civilized relations. Please make sure that they understand that he goes as a free being, not a slave, not a pet. The Hroshii must guarantee his status and his return passage, in one of their own ships, whenever he so wishes.”
Ftaeml translated. Presently he answered. “All of that is satisfactory except for something which I will translate as a ‘minor detail.’ The Stuart boy will be a member of the household of the Hroshia Lummox. Naturally—I translate here most carefully—naturally the question of the boy returning, if ever, is a personal prerogative of the Hroshia Lummox. Should she grow tired of him and wish to return him, a ship would be made available.”
“No.”
“No what, sir?”
“A simple negative. The subject of the Stuart boy is finished.”
Ftaeml turned back to his clients.
“They say,” he answered presently, “that there is no treaty.”
“I know that. Treaties are not signed with…they have a word meaning ‘servant’?”
“They have servants of several sorts, some higher, some lower.”
“Use the word for the lowest sort. Tell them that there is no treaty because servants have no power to treat. Tell them to go and be quick about it.”
Ftaeml looked, at Kiku sadly. “I admire you, my friend, but I do not envy you.” He turned to the expedition commander and whined for several moments.
The Hroshiu opened his mouth wide, looked at Kiku, and squealed like a kicked puppy. Ftaeml gave a start and moved away. “Very bad profanity, untranslatable…” The monster continued to make noises; Ftaeml tried frantically to translate: “Contempt…lower animal…eat you with relish…follow back your ancestors and eat them as well…your despicable race must be taught manners…kidnappers…child stealers…” He stopped in great agitation.
The Hroshiu lumbered toward the platform, reared up until he was eye to eye with Mr. Kiku. Greenberg slid a hand under his desk and located a control that would throw a tanglefoot field over the lower floor…a permanent installation; the hall had seen other disturbances.
But Mr. Kiku sat like stone. They eyed each other, the massive thing from “Out There” and the little elderly human. Nothing moved in the great hall, nothing was said.
Then from the back of the hall broke out a whining as if a whole basket of puppies had been disturbed at once. The Hroshij commander whirled around, making the floor shake, and shrilled to his retainers. He was answered and he whined back sharp command. All twelve Hroshii swarmed out the door moving with speed incredible for beings so ungainly.
Kiku stood up and watched them. Greenberg grabbed his arm. “Boss! The Chief of Staff is trying to reach you.”
Kiku shook him off. “Tell him not to be hasty. It is most important that he not be hasty. Is our car waiting?”
CHAPTER XVI
“Sorry We Messed Things Up”
JOHN THOMAS STUART XI had wanted to attend the conference; it required a flat refusal to keep him away. He was in the Hotel Universal in the suite provided for him and his mother, playing checkers with his bodyguard, when Betty Sorenson showed up with Miss Holtz. Myra Holtz was an operative for BuSec of DepSpace, and concealed her policewoman profession under a pleasant façade. Mr. Kiku’s instructions to her concerning Betty had been: “Keep a sharp eye on her. She has a taste for excitement.”
The two guards greeted each other; Betty said, “Hi, Johnnie. Why aren’t you over at the heap big smoke?”
“They wouldn’t let me.”
“Me, too.” She glanced around. “Where’s the Duchess?”
“Gone shopping. I’m still getting the silent treatment. Seventeen hats she’s bought. What have you done to your face?”
Betty turned to a mirror. “Like it? It’s called ‘Cosmic Contouring’ and it’s the latest thing.”
“Makes you look like a zebra with the pip.”
“Why, you country oaf. Ed, you like it. Don’t you?”
Ed Cowen looked up from the checker board and said hastily, “I wouldn’t know. My wife says I have no taste.”
“Most men haven’t. Johnnie, Myra and I have come to invite you two to go out on the town. How about it?”
Cowen answered, “I don’t favor that, Myra.”
“It was her idea,” Miss Holz answered.
John Thomas said to Cowen, “Why not? I’m sick of checkers.”
“Well… I’m supposed to keep in touch with the office. They might want you any time now.”
“Pooh!” put in Betty. “You carry a bodyphone. Anyhow Myra does.”
Cowen shook his head. “Let’s play it safe.”
“Am I under arrest?” Betty persisted. “Is Johnnie?”
“Mmm…no. It’s more protective custody.”
“Then you can protectively cuss him wherever be is. Or stay here and play checkers with yourself. Come on, Johnnie.”
Cowen looked at Miss Holtz; she answered slowly, “I suppose it’s all right, Ed. We’ll be with them.”
Cowen shrugged and stood up. Johnnie said to Betty, “I’m not going out in public with you looking like that. Wash your face.”
“But Johnnie! It took two hours to put it on.”
“The taxpayers paid for it, didn’t they?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Wash your face. Or we go nowhere. Don’t you agree, Miss Holtz?”
Special Operative Holtz had only a flower pattern adorning her left cheek, aside from the usual tinting. She said thoughtfully, “Betty doesn’t need it. Not at her age.”
“Oh, you’re a couple of Puritans!” Betty said bitterly, stuck her tongue at Johnnie and slouched into the bath. She came out with her face glowing pink from scrubbing. “Now I’m stark naked. Let’s go.”
There was another tussle at the lift, which Ed Cowen won. They went to the roof to take an air taxi for sightseeing, instead of going down to the streets. “Both you kids have had your faces spread around the papers the past few days. And this town has more crackpots than a second-hand shop. I don’t want any incidents.”
“If you hadn’t let them bully me, my face wouldn’t be recognizable.”
“But his would.”
“We could paint him, too. Any male face would be improved with make-up.” But she entered the lift and they took an air taxi.
“Where to, Chief?”
“Oh,” said Cowen, “cruise around and show us sights. Put it on the hourly rate.”
“You’re the doctor. I can’t fly across the Boulevard of Suns. Some parade, or something.”
“I know.”
“Look,” put in Johnnie, “take us to the space port.”
“No,” Cowen corrected. “Not out there.”
“Why not, Ed? I haven’t seen Lummox yet. I want to look at him. He may not be well.”
“That’s one thing you can’t do,” Cowen told him. “The Hroshii ship is out of bounds.”
“Well, I can see him from the air, can’t I?”
“No!”
“But…”
“Never mind him,” Betty advised. “We’ll get another taxi. I’ve got money, Johnnie. So long, Ed.”
“Look,” complained the driver. “I’ll take you to Timbuctu. But I can’t hang around over a landing flat. The cops get rude about it.”
“Head for the space port,” Cowen said resignedly.
There was a barricade around the many acres assigned to the Hroshii except where it had been broken to let their delegation enter the Boulevard of Suns, and even then the barricade joined others carrying on down the avenue toward the administrative group. Inside the enclosure the landing craft of the Hroshii sat squat and ugly, almost as large as a terrestrial star ship. Johnnie looked at it and wondered what it was going to be like to be on Hroshijud. He was uncomfortable at the thought, not because he wa
s fearful but because he had not yet told Betty that he was going. He had started a couple of times but it had not worked out right.
Since she had not raised the subject he assumed that she did not know.
There were other sightseers in the air, and a crowd, not very thick, outside the barricade. No single wonder lasted long in Capital; its residents prided themselves on being blasé and in fact, the Hroshii were not fantastic compared with a dozen other friendly races, some of them members of the Federation.
The Hroshii swarmed around the base of their ship, doing unexplained things with artifacts they had erected. Johnnie tried to estimate their number, found it like guessing beans in a bottle. Dozens, surely…how many more?
The taxi cruised just outside the point patrol of police air cars. Johnnie suddenly called out, “Hey! There’s Lummie!”
Betty craned her neck. “Where, Johnnie?”
“Coming into sight on the far side of their ship. There!” He turned to the driver. “Say, mister, could you put us around on the far side as close in as they’ll let you?”
The driver glanced at Cowen, who nodded. They swung around, the police sentries and came in toward the Hroshij craft from the far side. The driver picked a point between two police cars and back a little. Lummox could be seen clearly now, closely attended by a group of Hroshii and towering over them.
“I wish I had binox,” Johnnie complained. “I can’t really see.”
“Pair in the glove compartment,” offered the driver. Johnnie got them out. They were a simple optical type, without electronic magnification, but they brought Lummox up much closer. He stared into his friend’s face.
“How does Lummie look, Johnnie?”
“Okay. Kind of skinny, though. I wonder if they are feeding him right?”
“Mr. Greenberg tells me they aren’t feeding Lummie at all. I thought you knew?”
“What? They can’t do that to Lummie!”
“I don’t see what we can do about it.”
“Well…” John Thomas lowered the window and tried to get a better look. “Say, can’t you take it in closer? And lower maybe? I want to give him a good checking over.”
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