“Why? We settled it.”
“So I thought. Nevertheless. . . well, anyhow. . .” He blurted out his change in the order and waited.
Mr. Kiku nodded again. He considered telling Greenberg that it had saved him thinking up a face-saving way of accomplishing the same end, but decided not to. Instead he leaned to his desk, “Mildred? Heard anything from Dr. Ftaeml?”
“Just arrived, sir.”
“Good. East conference room, please.” He switched off and turned to Greenberg. “Well, son, now for some snake charming. Got your flute with you?”
VI. “Space Is Deep, Excellency”
“Dr. Ftaeml, this is my associate, Mr. Greenberg.”
The Rargyllian bowed low, his double knees and unhuman articulation making it an impressive rite. “I know the distinguished Mr. Greenberg by reputation, through a compatriot who was privileged to work with him. I am honored, sir.”
Greenberg answered with the same sort of polite amphigory the cosmic linguist had selected. “I have long wished for the boon of experiencing in person the scholarly aura of Dr. Ftaeml, but I had never dared let the wish blossom into hope. Your servant and pupil, sir.”
“Hrrump!” Mr. Kiku interrupted. “Doctor, this delicate affair you are negotiating is of such importance that I, with my constant housekeeping chores, have not been able to give it the close attention it demands. Mr. Greenberg is ambassador extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary of the Federation, commanded for this purpose.”
Greenberg’s eyes flicked toward his boss, but showed no surprise. He had noticed that the boss had earlier said “associate” rather than “assistant” and had spotted it as the elementary maneuver of enhancing the prestige of one’s own negotiators for advantage in protocol-but he had not expected this sudden brevet. He was reasonably sure that Mr. Kiku had not bothered to have the rank approved by the Council; nevertheless the boss could make it stick and his credentials would probably show up on his desk. He wondered if his pay check would show it?
He decided that the boss must have a hunch that this silly business had importance not evident. Or was he simply getting the medusoid off his back?
Dr. Ftaeml bowed again. “Most gratifying to work with his excellency.” Greenberg suspected that the Rargyllian was not fooled; nevertheless it probably was really gratifying to him, since it implied that the medusoid was himself of ambassadorial rank.
A female aide brought in refreshments; they stopped for ritual. Ftaeml selected a French wine, while Greenberg and Kiku chose, by Hobson’s choice, the only Rargyllian item available-some stuff called “wine” through failure of language but which looked like bread mushed into milk and tasted as if sulphuric acid had been added. Greenberg went throug the motions of enjoying it while not letting it pass his lips.
He noticed with respect that the boss actually consumed the stuff.
The rite common to seven out of ten civilizations gave Greenberg time to size up Ftaeml. The medusoid was dressed in an expensive parody of terrestrial formal clothes. . . cutaway jacket, lacy jabot, and striped shorts. It helped to hide the fact that, while he was a bifurcate humanoid with two legs, two arms, and head at the top of an elongated trunk, he was not remotely human in any but the legal sense.
But Greenberg had grown up in the presence of the Great Martians and had dealt with many other peoples since; he did not expect “men” to look like men and had no prejudice in favor of human form. Ftaeml was, to his eye, handsome and certainly graceful. His dry chitinous skin, purple with green highlights, was as neat as a leopard’s pelt and as decorative. The absence of a nose was no matter and was made up for by the mobile, sensitive mouth.
Greenberg decided that Ftaeml must have his tail wrapped around him under his clothes in order to carry out the pretense that he looked like a terrestrial as well as being dressed like one-Rargyllians would go to any trouble to conform to the ancient, urbane rule that when in Rome, one should shoot Roman candles. The other Rargyllian Greenberg had worked with had worn no clothes at all (since the people of Vega-VI wore none) and had carried his tail aloft, like a proud cat. Thinking of Vega-VI made Greenberg shiver, be had found it necessary to bundle up to his ears.