“Pardon me, sir. ‘Diplomatic relations’ is a concept difficult to translate. I have been working on it for days.”
“Tell him that what he sees now is an example of diplomatic relations. Free peoples, negotiating as equals, with peaceful intentions, to their mutual benefit.”
The Ragyllian simulated a sigh. “Each of those concepts is almost equally difficult. I will try.”
Presently he answered, “The hereditary marshal says that if what we are doing constitutes diplomatic relations you have them now. Where is the Stuart boy?”
“Not so fast. The agenda must be taken up point by point. They must accept an embassy and a mixed mission for cultural, scientific, and trade purposes. They must leave with us a similar embassy and mission. Regular travel between our two sovereignties must be planned. Not until these are disposed of can there be any mention of the Stuart boy.”
“I will try again.” Ftaeml spoke to the ‘Boss’ Hroshiu at length; the reply was short. “He tells me to tell you that all those points are rejected as not worthy of consideration. Where is the Stuart boy?”
“In that case,” Mr. Kiku answered quietly, “tell them that we do not bargain with barbarians. Tell them to pick up the trash-be sure of forceful translation!-with which they have littered our home, and get. quickly back to their ship. They are required to take off at once. They must bundle their precious Hroshia aboard, by force if need be, if they ever expect to see her again-they will never again be allowed to land.”
Ftaeml looked as if he were about to burst into tears he was incapable of shedding. “Please! I beg you not to antagonize them. I tell tales out of school. . . I go beyond my professional duties. . . but they could now destroy this city without recourse to their ship.”
“Deliver the message. The conference is ended.” Mr. Kiku stood up, picked up the others with his eyes, and headed for the retiring room.
The double went ahead. MacClure caught Kiku by the arm and fell into step. “Henry. . . you’re running this, granted. But shouldn’t you talk it over? They’re savage beasts. It could. . .”
“Mr. MacClure,” Kiku said softly, “as a distinguished predecessor once said, in dealing with certain types you must step on their toes until they apologize.” He urged the Secretary toward the door.
“But suppose they won’t?”
“That is the hazard. Please. . . let us not argue in their presence.” They went into the retiring room; the door closed behind them.
Greenberg turned to Kiku. “Nice try, boss. . . but what do we do now?”
“We wait.”
“Okay.” Greenberg went nervously to a wall relay, picked up the scene inside the auditorium. The Hroshii had not left. He could just make out Ftaeml, surrounded by creatures much larger than the medusoid.
The double said to Kiku, ‘Through with me, sir?”
“Yes, Arthur. A good job.”
“Thanks. I’ve got time to get this make-up off and catch the second game of the doubleheader.”
“Good. Perhaps you had better change your appearance here.”
“Shucks, the photographers know. They play along.” He left, whistling. MacClure sat down, lit a cigar, took a puff, put it down. “Henry, you ought to notify the Chief of Staff.”
“He knows. We wait.”
They waited. Greenberg said suddenly, “Here comes Ftaeml.” He hurried to the door and let the Rargyllian in.
Dr. Ftaeml seemed very tense. “My dear Mr. Kiku-the Hroshij commander states that they will agree to your strange wishes for sake of prompt settlement. He insists that you now deliver the Stuart boy.”
“Please tell him that he misunderstands entirely the nature of friendly relations between civilized people. We do not barter the freedom of one of our citizens against their worthless favors, even as they would not barter the freedom of their Hroshia Lummox. Then tell him that I order them to leave at once.”
Ftaeml said earnestly, “I reluctantly deliver your message.”
He was back quickly. “They agree to your terms.”
“Good. Come, Sergei. . . Mr. MacClure, there is no need for you to appear unless it suits you.” He went out into the hall, followed by Greenberg and Ftaeml.