“No doubt. However I have not been unhappy under it.” He stood up. “I’m glad that we have concluded our talk so amiably.”
“Just a moment, Mr. Kiku. There are one or two other matters. Just what are you doing for John Thomas?”
“Eh?”
“What’s the contract?”
“Oh. Financially we mean to be liberal. He will devote most of his time to his education, but I had thought of giving him a nominal title in the embassy—special attaché, or assistant secretary, or some such.”
Betty remained silent. “Of course, since you are going along, it might be well to give you a semi-official status, too. Say special aide, with the same salary? It would give you two a nice nest egg if you return…when you return.”
She shook her head. “Johnnie isn’t ambitious. I am.”
“Yes?”
“Johnnie is to be ambassador to the Hroshii.”
Mr. Kiku had grave trouble talking. At last he managed to say, “My dear young lady. Quite impossible.”
“That’s what you think. Look, Mr. MacClure got cold feet and welched on you, didn’t he? Don’t beat around the bush; by now I have my connections inside your department. He did. Therefore the job is open. It’s for Johnnie.”
“But, my dear,” he said weakly, “it is not a job for an untrained boy…much as I think of Mr. Stuart.”
“MacClure was going to be dead wood, wasn’t he? Everybody knows that. Johnnie would not be dead wood. Who knows the most about Hroshii? Johnnie.”
“My dear, I admit his special knowledge; I grant that we will make use of it. But ambassador? No.”
“Yes.”
“Chargé d’Affaires? That’s an awfully high rank, but I’m willing to stretch a point. But Mr. Greenberg must be the ambassador. We require a diplomat.”
“What’s so hard about being a diplomat? Or to put it another way, what could Mr. MacClure do that my Johnnie can’t do better?”
He sighed deeply. “You have me there. All I can say is that there are situations which I am forced to accept, knowing them to be wrong, and others that I need not accept. If you were my own daughter I would paddle you. No.”
She grinned at him. “I’ll bet I outweigh you. But that’s not the point. I don’t think you understand the situation.”
“No?”
“No. Johnnie and I are important to you in this dicker, aren’t we? Especially Johnnie.”
“Yes. Especially Johnnie. You are not essential…even in the, uh, raising of John Thomases.”
“Want to put it to a test? Do you think you can get John Thomas Stuart one half inch off this planet if I set myself against it?”
“Hmm… I wonder.”
“So do I. But I’ve got nerve enough to put it to a trial. If I win, where are you? Out on a windy field, trying to talk your way out of a mess again…without Johnnie to help you.”
Mr. Kiku went over to a window and looked out. Presently he turned. “More tea?” Betty asked politely.
“Thank you, no. Miss, do you have any idea what an ambassador extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary is?”
“I’ve heard the term.”
“It is the same rank and pay as an ambassador, except that it is a special case. This is a special case. Mr. Greenberg will be the ambassador and carry the authority; the special, and purely nominal, rank will be created for John Thomas.”
“Rank and pay,” she answered. “I’m acquiring a taste for shopping.”
“And pay,” he agreed. “Young lady, you have the morals of a snapping turtle and the crust of a bakery pie. Very well, it’s a deal…if you can get your young man to agree to it.”
She giggled. “I won’t have any trouble.”
“I didn’t mean that. I’m betting on his horse sense and natural modesty against your avarice. I think he’ll settle for assistant embassy secretary. We’ll see.”
“Oh, Yes, we’ll see. By the way, where is he?”
“Eh?”
“He’s not at the hotel. You have him here, don’t you?”
“He is here, as a matter of fact.”
“Good.” She walked up and patted him on the cheek. “I like you, Mr. Kiku. Now trot Johnnie in here and leave us alone. It will take me about twenty minutes. You don’t have a thing to worry about.”
“Miss Sorenson,” Mr. Kiku asked wonderingly, “how does it happen that you do not ask to be ambassador yourself?”
Lummox was the only non-human to attend the wedding. Mr. Kiku stood up for the bride. He noticed that she was wearing no make-up, which made him wonder if possibly the embassy’s junior secretary might not be master in his own home after all.
They received the usual ninety-seven pickle dishes, mostly from strangers, and other assorted costly junk that they would not take with them, including an all-expense trip to Hawaii for which they had no possible use. Mrs. Stuart wept and had her picture taken and greatly enjoyed herself; all in all it was a very successful wedding. Mr. Kiku leaked a few tears during the responses, but Mr. Kiku was a very sentimental man.
He was sitting at his desk the next morning, ignoring lights, with his Kenya-farm brochures spread out before him, but he was not looking at them. Dr. Ftaeml and he had gone out together and done the town after they got the kids safely married—and Mr. Kiku was feeling it somewhat, in a pleasant, relaxed manner. Even though his head buzzed and his coordination was poor, his stomach was not troubling him. He felt fine.
He was trying fuzzily to sum up the affair in his mind. All this fuss, all this grief, because some fool spaceman more than a century ago didn’t have sense enough not to tamper with native life until protocol had been worked out. Oh my people, my people!
On second thought, he told himself not to point the finger of scorn; he might be looking in a mirror.
There was something that good old Ftaeml had said last night…something…now what was it he had said? Something which, at the time, convinced Kiku that the Hroshii never had had any weapons capable of seriously damaging Earth. Of course a Rargyllian would not lie, not professionally…but would one skate around the truth in order to conclude successfully a negotiation which seemed about to fail?
Well, since it had all been settled without violence he could only wonder. Just as well, perhaps.
Besides, the next heathens to show up might not be bluffing. That would not be good.
Mildred’s voice came to him. “Mr. Kiku, the Randavian delegation is waiting.”
“Tell them I’m molting!”
“Sir?”
“Never mind. Tell them I’ll be right in. East conference room.”
He sighed, decided to treat himself to just one pill, then got up and headed for the door, ready to stick his finger in another hole in the dike. Chinese obligation, be thought; once you take it on you can’t drop it.
But he still felt cheerful and sang a snatch of the only song he knew all the way through: “…this story has no moral, this story has no end. This story only goes to show that there ain’t no good in men.”
In the meantime, out at the space port, the new Secretary for Spatial Affairs was seeing off the noble Hroshii. Her Imperial Highness, the Infanta of that race, 213th of her line, heiress to the matriarchy of the Seven Suns, future ruler over nine billion of her own kind, and lately nicknamed “The Lummox” contentedly took her pair of pets aboard the imperial yacht.
The Star Beast Page 24
