74
Space Opera
“Disregarding, for the moment, an infinitude of possibilities of alien reactions ranging from spirit-stealing, to unimaginable phobias, let’s say that they perceive exactly what you and your crew are doing.”
“If they’re half as clever as you seem to think they are, they ought to,” said Hinkel.
“So,” said Cleve, leaning back and in his chair, “consider this. Telecasting or otherwise recording or broadcasting such a meeting could violate any number of formal taboos, rules of protocol, ambassadorial dignity. Need I go on? It’s happened on Earth, before. Why couldn’t it happen here, worse?”
“You mean,” said Hinkel, “our broadcasting the meeting might insult them somehow?”
“I don’t know, Hinkel. I don’t know. Look, for the last time, please try to understand my position—our position.” Vandermeer noticed that long grooves had appeared in the soft wood of the pencil the commander was holding.
“This is the first meeting between mankind and another intelligent race. From what my improvised linguist and philologist and part-time amateur xenologist tell me, that’s not the case with the Murrin. Apparently they have encountered at least two other space-going races prior to finding us. You see? They have an established procedure for this! We don’t. We’ll be judged not only according to how we act, but how we act in comparison to at least two other intelligent species. We haven’t the same basis for establishing common ground that they have. If we only had one thing completely in common, everything else could proceed in logical sequence. But we don’t. So we must take care to do the right thing at every second, until that first commonality is established. The most crucial moment in the human race’s history, sir!”