Before the officer could reply, MacEwan went on quickly, “I understand what the
Monitor Corps is doing, Colonel, and I approve. Everybody does. It is rapidly
becoming accepted as the Federation’s executive and law-enforcement arm. But it
can never become a truly multispecies service. Its officers, of necessity, will
be almost entirely Earth-human. With so much power entrusted to one species—”
“We are aware of the danger,” the Colonel broke in. Defensively he went on,
“Our psychologists are working on the problems and our people are highly trained
in e-t cultural contact procedures. And we have the authority to ensure that
the members of every ship’s crew making other-species contacts are
similarly-gained,. Everyone is aware of the danger of uttering or commiting an
unthinking word or action which could be construed as insulting and of what
might ensue. We lean over backward in our efforts not to give offense. You know
that.”
The Colonel was first and foremost a policeman, MacEwan thought, find like a
good policeman he resented any criticism of his service. What was more, his
irritation with the two aging war veterans was rapidly reaching the point where
the interview would be terminated. Take it easy, he warned himself, this is not
an enemy.
Aloud he said, “The point I’m trying to make is that leaning over backward is an
inherently unstable position, and this hy-perpoliteness where extraterrestrials
are concerned is artificial, even dishonest. The tensions generated must
ultimately lead to trouble, even between the handpicked and highly intelligent
entities who are the only people allowed to make off-planet contacts. This type
of contact is too narrow, too limited. The member species of the Federation are
not really getting to know and trust each other, and they never will until
contact becomes more relaxed and natural. As things are it would be unthinkable
to have even a friendly argument with an extraterrestrial.
“We must get to really know them, Colonel,” MacEwan went on quickly. “Well
enough not to have to be so damnably polite all the time. If a Tralthan jostles
a Nidian or an Earth; human, we must know the being well enough to tell it to
watch where it’s going and to call it any names which seem appropriate to the
occasion. We should expect the same treatment if the fault is ours. Ordinary
people, not a carefully selected and trained star-traveling elite, must get to
know offworlders well enough to be able to argue or even to quarrel nonviolently
with them, without—”
“And that,” the Monitor said coldly, rising to his feet, “is the reason you are
leaving Nidia. For disturbing the peace.”
Hopelessly, MacEwan tried again. “Colonel, we must find some common ground on
which the ordinary citizens of the Federation can meet. Not just because of
scientific and cultural exchanges or interstellar trade treaties. It must be
something basic, something we all feel strongly about, an idea or a project that
we can really get together on. In spite of our much-vaunted Federation and the
vigilance of your Monitor Corps, perhaps because of that vigilance, we are not
getting to know each other properly. Unless we do another war is inevitable. But
nobody worries. You’ve all forgotten how terrible war is.”
He broke off as the Colonel pointed slowly to the solido-graph on his desk, then
brought the hand back to his side again. “We have a constant reminder,” he said.
After that the Colonel would say no more, but remained standing stiffly at
attention until Grawlya-Ki and MacEwan left the office.
The departure lounge was more than half filled with tight, exclusive little
groups of Tralthans, Melfans, Kelgians, and Illensans. There was also a pair of
squat, tentacular, heavy-gravity beings who were apparently engaged in spraying
each other with paint, and which were a new life-form to MacEwan. A
teddybearlike Nidian wearing the blue sash of the nontechnical ground staff
moved from behind them to escape the spray, but otherwise ignored the creatures.
There was some excuse for the chlorine-breathing Illensans to keep to
themselves: the loose, transparent material of their protective envelopes looked
fragile. He did not know anything about the paint-spraying duo, but the others
were all warmblooded, oxygen-breathing life-forms with similar pressure and
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