“I am pleased to say,” began the native known as Alexis Jones, “that the committee . . . government . . .
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With Friends Like These . . .
ruling body? I forget the relevant term. Anyway, we have agreed to do what we can to aid your Federation. These Yops . . .” and he paused momentarily, “do not sound like very nice people—”
“They’re not!” interrupted Zinin fervently.
“And even if we only add a bit of manpower to your gallant effort, we will ‘be happy to be of assistance. We are a bit,” he added apologetically, “out of practice.”
“That’s all right,” beamed the commander. At first he had regarded these disgustingly peaceful and soft-seeming bipeds more of a liability than an asset. Then it occurred to him that the Yops, too, were familiar with the Terran legends. Could be the materialization of a real legend might disconcert them a bit. Of course these peaceful mammals would have to be thoroughly instructed, or their appearance would merely make the Yops go into fits of laughter, but … “We appreciate your desire to aid in this great crusade. I am certain this historic arrangement will go down in history as one of exceptional benefit to all the races concerned. As a prelude to further discussion, I have ordered …”
He paused, open-mouthed, concentration broken. The Terran was staring upward. His face had . . . changed. It was brightening, expanding, opening hitherto unsuspecting vistas to their startled gaze, like a night-blooming flower. Within those two small oculars, previously so gray and limpid, there now glowed a deep-down fire that seemed to pierce upward and spread over all present like a nerve-deadening drug. It made the commander draw back and Zinin hiss involuntarily.