“Can I tell them that?”
“You may tell them anything we tell you,” said Vess, indifferently. “We’re very careful about what we tell you. We don’t want to put you in the position of lying to your people, or withholding information.”
She demanded, “I really need names I can use all the time. And please warn me if you’re going to be people I know are dead!”
“Very well,” said Lara, with a smile that appeared perfectly genuine. “I am always Vess, that is, the shorter or smaller one of whatever we are. The taller or larger will always be Chiddy.”
The other said, “As we told you, these are childhood names, from our undifferentiated years. Your people are very undifferentiated, and for that reason, these names are probably suitable. A Chiddy is a small plant that makes people itch, you would say ‘nettle,’ and a Vess is an insectlike creature with beautiful wings, like a butterfly. You are now wondering whether we are really male or female, and the answer is no, we aren’t.”
“Chiddy, why did you scatter those people all over Israel?”
“Well, that’s rather an overstatement, don’t you think? None of them were farther than ten miles from the place they were taken. None of them were injured. No small children were separated from parents. People of one ethnic group were separated from other ethnic groups that might have been inimical. If we’d put them all in one place, there would have been injuries, violence.” As he spoke, Chiddy gradually morphed back into the man he had appeared to be before. Tyrone Power. It came back to her. Mami, sighing over old movies of Tyrone Power.
“By the way,” said Vess, also re-morphed, as he got up to look at himself in the mirror on the far wall. “When you speak to the president, tell him not to worry about Afghanistan. The effects are reversible.”
She opened her mouth to ask what about Afghanistan, but Chiddy was already speaking.
“I have been eager to tell you how much we admire your race’s artistic achievements! While we were looking over the problems in the Middle East, we stopped in Italy to view some of your famous artworks.”
Vess enthused, “The Sistine Chapel. There are simply no words!”
Benita nodded, understandingly. She had coveted a book of Michelangelo reproductions done shortly after the ceiling was cleaned, and Goose had given it to her for a birthday present. A huge, lovely thing. She’d never taken it home, afraid it would be ruined by Bert in one of his rages.
She said, “Most people agree that the cleaning was very well done. They were able to eliminate a number of changes that other artists had made in succeeding times. In fact they discovered that one figure they’d always thought was male was, in fact, female.”
Chiddy turned away from her, his face turning a curious shade of sick green, his body slightly curved, as though he had been taken by sudden nausea. He trembled. “I didn’t know it had been cleaned,” he murmured.
Benita reached out to him, but he gestured her away. After a moment’s silence, he turned to face her, saying brightly, “Ah, Benita, ah, yes, we have an errand for you.” He took several deep breaths. “We need you to deliver a message to the president.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just…”
Chiddy glanced at Vess with what Benita understood to be impatience.
Vess said firmly, “Benita, please. We’ve already said. Please concentrate your attention. Once we’ve made contact and proved that we exist by allowing recordings to be made, once we’ve proved that we have power, as I imagine we have now done, we prefer not to talk to those in authority. Those in authority always want to argue. Or complain. We have never approached any planet where those in power did not want to do one or both. If we speak to any person directly, or give any reason to think we might speak to people directly, everyone in the world will want an individual audience to complain about what we’ve done or suggest we do something else! You, on the other hand, have nothing to argue about, and they can’t argue with you because you merely deliver the message. You won’t know anything except what we tell you, so bothering you is pointless.”