The Most Honorable Mr. Roy MacClure, Secretary for Spatial Affairs for the Federated Community of Civilizations, was entering. His eye seemed to light only on Mr. Kiku. “There you are, Henry! Been looking all over. That stupid girl didn’t know where you had gone, but I found that you had not left the building. You must. . .”
Mr. Kiku took him firmly by the elbow and said loudly, “Mr. Secretary, allow me to present Dr. Ftaeml, Ambassador de facto of the mighty Hroshii.”
Mr. MacClure met the occasion. “How do you do, Doctor? Or should I say ‘Excellency’?” He had the grace not to stare.
‘Doctor’ will do nicely, Mr. Secretary. I am well, thank you. May I enquire as to your health?”
“Oh, good enough, good enough. . . if everything didn’t pop at once. Which reminds me. . . can you spare me my chief assistant? I’m awfully sorry but something urgent has come up.
“Certainly, Mr. Secretary. Your pleasure is my greatest wish.”
Mr. MacClure looked sharply at the medusoid but found himself unable to read his expression. . . if the thing had expressions, he amended. “Uh, I trust you are being well taken care of, Doctor?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good. I really am sorry, but.. . Henry, if you please?”
Mr. Kiku bowed to the Rargyllian, then left the table while wearing an expression so masklike that Greenberg shivered. Kiku spoke in a whisper to MacClure as soon as they were away from the table.
MacClure glanced back at the other two, then answered in a whisper that Greenberg could catch. “Yes, yes! But this is crucially important, I tell you. Henry, what in the world possessed you to ground those ships without consulting me first?”
Mr. Kiku’s reply was inaudible. MacClure went on, “Nonsense! Well, you will just have to come out and face them. You can’t. . .”
Mr. Kiku turned back abruptly. “Dr. Ftaeml, was it your intention to return to the Hroshii ship tonight?”
“There is no hurry. I am at your service, sir.”
“You are most gracious. May I leave you in Mr. Greenberg’s care? We speak as one.”
The Rargyllian bowed. “I shall count it an honor.”
“I look forward to the pleasure of your company tomorrow.”
Dr. Ftaeml bowed again. “Until tomorrow. Mr. Secretary, Mr. Under Secretary. . . your servant.”
The two left. Greenberg did not know whether to laugh or cry; he felt embarrassed for his whole race. The medusoid was watching him silently.
Greenberg grinned with half his mouth and said, “Doctor, does the Rargyllian tongue include swear words?”
“Sir, I can use profanity in more than a thousand tongues. . . some having curses that will addle an egg at a thousand paces. May I teach you some of them?”
Greenberg sat back and laughed heartily. “Doctor, I like you. I really like you. . . quite aside from our mutual professional duty to be civil.”
Ftaeml shaped his lips in a good imitation of a human smile. “Thank you, sir. The feeling is mutual. . . and gratifying. May I say without offense that the reception given my sort on your great planet is sometimes something that one must be philosophical about?”
“I know. I’m sorry. My own people, most of them, are honestly convinced that the prejudices of their native village were ordained by the Almighty. I wish it were different.”
“You need not be ashamed. Believe me, sir, that is the one conviction which is shared by all races everywhere. . . the only thing we all have in common. I do not except my own race. If you knew languages. . . All languages carry in them a portrait of their users and the idioms of every language say over and over again, ‘He is a stranger and therefore a barbarian.'”
Greenberg grinned wryly. “Discouraging, isn’t it?”
“Discouraging? Why, sir? It is sidesplitting. It is the only joke that God ever repeats, because its humor never grows stale.” The medusoid added, “What is your wish, sir? Are we to continue to explore this matter? Or is your purpose merely to stetch the palaver until the return of your. . . associate?”