The biped nodded understandingly. “We guessed as much. When so much time passed and nothing happened, one way or the other, friendly or hostile . . . we assumed that we’d been forgotten and filed away somewhere.”
“Not forgotten,” said the Professor. “Legends persist longer than their creators, sometimes. There was a period of … confusion … at the end of the Veen-Terran wars.” Was that a twitch of reaction in the native’s face? Yes? No? “When the bureaucracy set up by the Veen was submerged by a wave of would-be empire-builders, interstellar government pretty well collapsed. It took a while for things to straighten themselves out. Which is why we have not contacted you till now.” Could he read the lie? “Another problem has arisen.”
The biped sighed again. “I was afraid this mightn’t be a social call. What is your problem, Professor?”
Backed at certain intervals by succinct comments from Rappan, he began to outline the present desperate situation with respect to the Yops, ending with a plea to forget any past differences and come to the aid of the Federation.
The Terran had listened quietly to their arguments, unmoving. Now he sat hi an attitude of intense concentration, seeming to listen to voices and* thoughts
15
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . ..
outside their ken. When he at last raised his face to them again he wore a serious smile.
“I must, of course, consult with and deliver your message to my … ‘superiors.’ Such a decision would be difficult for us to make. As you can see for yourselves”—he made an all-encompassing gesture—”we have changed our mode of existence somewhat since we fought the Veen. We are no longer geared to the production of war materiel. Incidentally, we bold no grudge against any of you. I have no idea if my ancestors and yours ever met, let alone battled with one another. We never even really held animosity toward the Veen. In fact, I’d give a lot to know exactly why they went to war with us in the first place.”