The Star Beast by Robert A. Heinlein

“Why should you care, boss? That wasn’t a tune.”

“You’re jealous. What do you want, son? See them off okay?”

“Unh, boss, there’s a slight hitch. I’ve got Dr. Ftaeml with me. Can we see you?”

“What is it?”

“Let’s wait until we are alone. One of the conference rooms?”

“Come into the office,” Mr. Kiku said grimly. He switched off, opened a drawer, selected a pill and took it.

Greenberg and the medusoid came in at once: Greenberg flopped down in a chair as if exhausted, pulled out a cigarette, felt in his pockets, then put it away. Mr. Kiku greeted Dr. Ftaeml formally, then said to Greenberg, “Well?”

“Lummox didn’t leave.”

“Lummox refused to leave. The other Hroshii are boiling like ants. I’ve kept the barricades up and that part of the space port around their landing craft blocked off. We’ve got to do something.”

“Why? This development is startling, but I fail to see that it’s our responsibility. Why the refusal to embark?”

“Well. . .” Greenberg looked helplessly at Ftaeml.

The Rargyllian said smoothly, “Permit me to explain, sir. The Hroshia refuses to go aboard without her pet.”

“Pet?”

“The kid, boss. John Thomas Stuart.”

“Exactly,” agreed Ftaeml. “The Hroshia states that she has been raising ‘John Thomases’ for a long time; she refuses to go home unless she can take her John Thomas with her. She was quite imperious about it.”

“I see,” agreed Kiku. “To put it in more usual language the boy and the Hroshia are attached to each other. That’s not surprising; they grew up together. But Luxnmox will have to put up with the separation, just as John Thomas Stuart had to. As I recall, he made a bit of fuss; we told him to shut up and shipped him home. That’s what the Hroshia must do: tell her to shut up, force her, if necessary, into their landing craft and take her along. That’s what they came here for,”

The Rargyllian answered, “Permit me to say, sir, that by putting it into ‘more usual language’ you have missed the meaning. I have been discussing it with her in her own tongue.”

“Eh? Has she learned so quickly?”

“She has long known it. The Hroshii, Mr. Under Secretary, know their own language almost from the shell. One may speculate that this use of language almost on the instinctive level is one reason, perhaps the reason, why they find other languages difficult and never learn to use them well. The Hroshia speaks your language hardly as well as one of your four-year-old children, though I understand that she began acquiring it one of your generations ago. But in her own language she is scathingly fluent. . . so I learned, much to my sorrow.”

“So? Well, let her talk. Words can’t hurt us.”

“She has talked. . . she has given orders to the commander of the expedition to recover her pet at once. Otherwise, she states, she will remain here and continue raising ‘John Thomases.'”

“And,” Greenberg added, “the commander has handed us an ultimatum to produce John Thomas Stuart at once. . . or else.”

“‘Or else’ meaning what I think it means?” Kiku answered slowly.

“The works,” Greenberg said simply. “Now that I’ve seen their ground craft I’m not sure but what they can.”

“You must understand, sir,” Ftaeml added earnestly, “that the commander is as distressed as you are. But he must attempt to carry out the wishes of the Hroshia. This mating was planned more than two thousand of your years ago; they will not give it up lightly. He cannot allow her to remain. . . nor can he force her to leave. He is very much upset.”

“Aren’t we all?” Mr. Kiku took out two more pills. “Dr. Ftaeml, I have a message for your principals. Please convey it exactly.”

“I shall, sir.”

“Please tell them that their ultimatum is rejected with contempt. Please. . .”

“Sir! I beg of you!”

“Attend me. Tell them that and do not soften it. Tell them that we tried in every way to help them, that we succeeded, and that they have answered kindness with threats. Tell them that their behavior is unworthy of civilized people and that the invitation to join the Community of Civilizations is withdrawn. Tell them that we spit in their faces. . . find an idiom of equal strength.. Tell them that free men may die, but they are never bullied.”