THE STAR BEAST
Copyright © 1954 by Robert A. Heinlein

Some excerpts from this book were first published in The Magazine of Fantasy
and Science Fiction under the title, “Star
Lummox.”

FOR DIANE AND CLARK



CONTENTS

I      L-Day
II     The Department of Spatial Affairs
Ill    “-An Improper Question”
IV     The Prisoner at the Bars
V      A Matter of Viewpoint
VI     “Space Is Deep, Excellency”
VII    “Mother Knows Best”
VIII   The Sensible Thing To Do
IX     Customs and an Ugly Duckling
X      The Cygnus Decision
Xl     “It’s Too Late, Johnnie”
XII    Concerning Pidgie-Widgie
XIII   “No, Mr. Secretary”
XIV    “Destiny? Fiddlesticks!”
XV     Undiplomatic Relations
XVI    “Sorry We Messed Things Up”
XVII   Ninety-Seven Pickle Dishes
I

      LUMMOX was bored and hungry. The latter was a normal state; creatures
of Lummox’s breed were always ready for a little snack, even after a full meal.
Being bored was less usual and derived directly from the fact that Lummox’s
chum and closest associate, John Thomas Stuart, had not been around all day,
having chosen to go off somewhere with his friend Betty.
       One afternoon was a mere nothing; Lummox could hold his breath that
long. But he knew the signs and understood the situation; John Thomas had
reached the size and age when he would spend more and more time with Betty,
or others like her, and less and less time with Lummox. Then there would come
a fairly long period during which John Thomas would spend practiôally no time
with Lummox but at the end of which there would arrive a new John Thomas
which would presently grow large enough to make an interesting playmate.
       From experience Lummox recognized this cycle as necessary and
inevitable; nevertheless the immediate prospect was excruciatingly boring. He
lumbered listlessly around the back yard of the Stuart home, looking for
anything-a grasshopper, a robin, anything at all that might be worth looking at.
He watched a hill of ants for a while. They seemed to be moving house; an
endless chain was dragging little white grubs in one
direction while a countermarching line returned for more grubs. This killed a half
hour.
Growing tired of ants, he moved away toward his own house. His number-seven
foot came down on the ant hill and crushed it, but the fact did not come to his
attention. His own house was just big enough for him to back into it and was the
end building of a row of decreasing size; the one at the far end would have
made a suitable doghouse for a chihuahua.
Piled outside his shed were six bales of hay. Lummox pulled a small amount off
one bale and chewed it lazily. He did not take a second bite because he had
taken as much as he thought he could steal and not have it noticed. There was
nothing to stop him from eating the entire pile-except the knowledge that John
Thomas would bawl him out bitterly and might even refuse for a week or more to
scratch him with the garden rake. The household rules required Lummox not to
touch food other than natural forage until it was placed in his manager; Lummox
usually obeyed as he hated dissension and was humiliated by disapproval.
Besides, he did not want hay. He had had hay for supper last night, he would
have it again tonight, and again tomorrow night. Lummox wanted something
with more body and a more interesting flavor. He ambled over to the low fence
which separated the several acres of back yard from Mrs. Stuart’s formal
garden, stuck his head over and looked longingly at Mrs. Stuart’s roses. The

                                        2
fence was merely a ‘symbol marking the line he must not cross. Lummox had
crossed it once, a few years earlier, and had sampled the rose bushes
• . . just a sample, a mere appetizer, but Mrs. Stuart had made such a fuss that
   he hated to think about it even now. Shuddering at the recollection, he
   backed hastily away from the fence:
But he recalled some rose bushes that did not belong to Mrs. Stuart, and
therefore in Lummox’s opinion,
did not belong to anybody. They were in the garden of the Donahues, next door
west. There was a possible way, which Lummox had been thinking about lately,
to reach these “iwnerless” rose bushes.
The Stuart place was surrounded by a ten-foot concrete wall. Lummox had
never tried to climb over it, although he had nibbled the top of it in places. In the
rear there was one break in it, where the gully draining the land crossed the
property line. The gap in the wall was filled by a massive grating of eight-byeight
timbers, bolted together with extremely heavy bolts. The vertical timbers were
set in the stream bed and the contractor who had erected it had assured Mrs.
Stuart that it would stop Lummox, or a herd of elephants, or anything else too
big-hipped to crawl between the timbers.
Lummox knew that the contractor was mistaken, but his opinion l~ad not been
asked and he had not offered it. John Thomas had not expressed an Opinion
either, but he had seemed to suspect the truth; he had emphatically ordered
Lummox not to tear the grating down.
Lummox had obeyed. He had sampled it for flavor, but the wooden timbers had
been soaked in something which gave them a really unbearable taste; he let
them be.
But Lummox felt no responsibility for natural forces. He had noticed, about three
months back, that spring rains had eroded the gully so that two of the vertical
timbers were no longer imbedded but were merely resting on the dry stream
bed. Lummox had been thinking about this for several weeks and had found that
a gentle nudge tended to spread the timbers at the bottom. A slightly heavier
nudge might open up a space wide enough without actually tearing down the
grating...

Lummox lumbered down to check up. Still more of
the stream bed had washed away in the last rain; one of the vertical timbers
hung a few inches free of the sand. The one next to it was barely resting on the
ground. Lummox smiled like a simple-minded golliwog and carefully, delicately
insinuated his head between the two big posts. He pushed gently.


                                          3
Above his head came a sound of rending wood and the pressure suddenly
relieved. Startled, Lummox pulled his head out and looked up. The upper end of
one eight-by-eight had torn free of its bolts; it pivoted now on a lower horizontal
girder. Lummox clucked to himself. Too bad. . . but it couldn’t be helped.
Lummox was not one to weep over past events; what has been, must be. No
doubt John Thomas would be vexed
but in the meantime here was an opening through the grating. He lowered his
head like a football linesman, set himself in low gear, and pushed’ on through.
There followed several sounds of protesting and rending wood and sharper
ones of broken bolts, but Lummox ignored
it all; he was on the far side now, a free agent.
He paused and raised up like a caterpillar, lifting legs one and three, two and
four, off the ground, and
• looked around. It was certainly nice to be outside; he wondered why he had
   not done it sooner. It had been a long time since John Thomas had taken him
   out, even for a short walk.
He was still looking around, sniffing free air, when an unfriendly character
charged at him, yapping and barking furiously. Lummox recognized him, an
oversized and heavily muscled mastiff that .ran ownerless and free in the
neighborhood; they had often exchanged insults through the grating. Lummox
had nothing against dogs; in the course of his long career with the Stuart family
he had known several socially and had found them pretty fair company in the
absence of John Thomas. But this mastiff was another matter. He fancied
himself boss of the neighborhood, bullied other
dogs, terrorized cats, and repeatedly challenged Lummox to come out and fight
like a dog.
Nevertheless Lummox smiled at him, opened his mouth wide and, in a lisping,
baby-girl voice from somewhere far back inside him, called the mastiff a very
bad name. The dog gasped. it is likely that he did not comprehend what
Lummox had said, but he did know that he had been insulted. He recovered
himself and renewed the attack, barking louder than ever and raising an unholy
ruckus while dashing around Lummox and making swift sorties at his flanks to
nip at Lummox’s legs.
Lummox remained reared up, watching the dog but making no move. He did
add to his earlier remark a truthful statement about the dog’s ancestry and an
untruthful one about his habits; they helped to keep the mastiff berserk. But on
the dog’s seventh round trip he cut fairly close to where Lummox’s first pair of
legs would have been had Lummox had all eight feet on the ground; Lummox


                                          4
ducked his head the way a frog strikes at a fly. His mouth opened like a
wardrobe trunk and gobbled the mastiff.
Not bad, Lummox decided as he chewed and swallowed. Not bad at all.. . and
the collar made a crunchy tidbit. He considered whether or not to go back
through the grating, now that he had had a little snack, and pretend that he had
never been outside at all. However, there were still those ownerless rose
bushes .
and no doubt John Thomas would make it inconvenient for him to get out again
soon. He ambled away parallel to the Stuart’s rear wall, then swung around the
end onto .the Donahue land. -
John Thomas Stuart xi got home shortly before dinner time, having already
dropped Betty Sorensen at her home. He noticed, as he landed, that Lummox
was not in sight, but he assumed that his pet was in his
   shed. His mind was not on Lummox, but on the age-
   old fact that females do not operate by logic, at least
   as logic is understood by males.
He was planning to enter Western Tech; Betty wanted them both to attend the
state university. He had pointed out that he could not get the courses he wanted
at State U.; Betty had insisted that he could and had looked up references to
prove her point. He had rebutted by saying that it was not the name of a course
that mattered, but who taught it. The discussion had fallen to pieces when she
had refused to concede that he was an authority.
He had absent-mindedly unstrapped his harness copter, while dwelling on the
illogic of the feminine mind, and was racking it in the hallway, when his mother
burst into his presence. “John Thomas! Where have you been?”
  He tried to think what he could have slipped on now. It was a bad sign when
  she called him “John

Thomas” . . . “John” or “Johnnie” was okay, or even
“Johnnie Boy.” But “John Thomas” usually meant that he had been accused,
tried, and convicted in absentia.
  “Huh? Why, I told you at lunch, Mum. Out hopping
  with Betty. We flew over to...”
  “Never mind that! Do you know what that beast has done?”
Now he had it. Lummox. He hoped it wasn’t Mum’s garden. Maybe Lum had just
knocked over his own house again. If so, Mum would level off presently. Maybe
he had better build a new one, bigger. “What’s the troubler he asked cautiously.
‘What’s the trouble?’ What isn’t the trouble? John Thomas, this time you simply
will have to get rid of it. This is the last straw.”
                                        5
  “Take it easy, Mum,” he said hastily. “We can’t get rid of Lum. You promised
  Dad.”

She made no direct answer. “With the police call-
ing every ten minutes and that great dangerous beast rampaging around and ..
“Huh? Wait a minute, MunI, Lum isn’t dangerous; he’s gentle as a kitten. What
happened?”
“Everything!”
He gradually drew out of her some of the details. Lummox had gone for a stroll;
that much was clear. John Thomas hoped without conviction that Lummox had
not got any iron or steel while he was out; iron had such an explosive effect on
his metabolism. There was the time Lummox had eaten that second-hand
Buick...
His thoughts were interrupted by his mother’s words. and Mrs. Donahue is
simply furious! And well
she might be. . . her prize roses.”
Oh oh, that was bad. He tried to recall the exact amount in his savings account.
He would have to apologize, too, and think of ways to butter up the old biddy. In
the meantime he would beat Lummox’s ears with an ax; Lummox knew about
roses, there was no excuse. -
“Look, Mum, I’m awfully sorry. I’ll go right out and pound some sense into his
thick head. When I get through with him, he won’t dare sneeze without
permission.” John Thomas started edging around her.
       “Where are you going?” she demanded.
“Huh? Out to talk with Lum, of course. When I get through with him...”
“Don’t be sffly. He isn’t here.”
“Huh? Where is he?” John Thomas swiftly rearranged his prayers to hope that
Lummox hadn’t found very much iron. The Buick hadn’t really been Lummox’s
fault and anyhow it had belonged to John Thomas, but...
“No telling where he is now. Chief Dreiser said. . .” -
“The police are after Lummox?”
“You can just bet they are, young man! The entire
safety patrol is after him. Mr. Drelser wanted me to come downtown and take
him home, but I told him we would have to get you to handle that beast.”
“But Mother, Lummox would have obeyed you. He always does. Why did Mr.
Dreiser take him downtown? He knows Lum belongs here. Being taken
downtown would frighten Lum. The poor baby is timid; he wouldn’t like. .
“Poor baby indeed! He wasn’t taken downtown.”
“But you said he was.”
                                        6
“I said no such thing. If you’ll be quiet, I’ll tell you what happened.”
It appeared that Mrs. Donahue had surprised Lummox when he had eaten only
four or five of her rose bushes. With much courage and little sense she had run
at him with a broom, to scream and belabor him about the head. She had not
followed the mastiff, though he could have managed her with one gulp; Lummox
had a sense of property as nice as that of any house cat. People were not food;
in fact, people were almost invariably friendly.

So his feelings were hurt. He had lumbered away from there, pouting. -
The next action report on Lummox was for a point two miles away and about
thirty minutes later. The Stuarts lived in a suburban area of Westville; open
country separated it from the main part of town. Mr. Ito had a small farm in this
interval, where he handraised vegetables for the tables of gourmets. Mr. Ito
apparently had not known what it was that he had found pulling up his cabbages
and gulping them down. Lummox’s long residence in the vicinity was certainly
no secret, but Mr. Ito had no interest in other people’s business and had never
seen Lummox before.
But he showed no more hesitation than had Mrs. Donahue. He dashed into his
house and came out with a gun that had been handed down to him from his
grandfather-a relic of the Fourth World War of the sort known affectionately as a
“tank killer.”
Mr. Ito steadied the gun on~ a potting bench and let Lummox have it where he
would have sat down had Lummox been constructed for such. The noise scared
Mr. Ito (he had never heard the weapon fired) and the flash momentarily blinded
him. When he blinked his eyes and recovered, the thing had gone.
But it was easy to tell the direction in which it had gone. This encounter had not
humiliated Lummox as had the brush with Mrs. Donahue; this frightened him
almost out of his wits. While busy with his fresh green salad he had been faced
toward a triplet of Mr. Ito’s greenhouses. When the explosion ticked him and the
blast assailed his hearing, Lummox shifted into high gear and got underway in
the direction he was heading. Ordinarily he used a leg firing -order of
1,4,5,8,2,3,6,7 and repeat, good for speeds from a slow crawl to fast as a
trotting horse; he now broke from a standing start into a c?ouble-ended gallop,
moving legs 1 & 2 & 5 & 6 tog€ther, alternated with 3 & 4 & 7 & 8.
Lummox was through the three greenhouses before he had time to notice them,
leaving a tunnel suitable for a medium truck. Straight ahead, three miles away,
lay downtown Westville. It might have been better if he had been headed in the
opposite direction toward the mountains.



                                        7
John Thomas Stuart listened to his mother’s confused account with growing
apprehension. When he heard about Mr. Ito’s greenhouses, he stopped thinking
about his savings account and started wondering what assets he could convert
into cash. His jump harness was almost new . . . but shucks! it wouldn’t pay the
damage. He wondered if there was any kind of a dicker he could work with the
bank? One sure thing: Mum wouldn’t help him out, not the state she was in.

Later reports were spotty. Lummox seemed to have
gone across country until he hit the highway leading into town. A
transcontinental trucker had complained to a traffic officer, over a cup of coffee,
that -he had just seen a robot pedatruck with no license plates and that the
durned thing had been paying no attention to traffic lanes. But the trucker had
used it as an excuse to launch a diatribe about the danger of robot drivers and
how there was no substitute for a human driver, sitting in the cab and keeping
his eyes open for emergencies. The traffic patrolman had not seen Lummox,
being already at his coffee when Lummox passed, and had not - been
impressed since the trucker was obviously prejudiced. Nevertheless he had
phoned in.
Traffic control center in Westville paid no attention to the report; control was fully
occupied with a reign of terror.

John Thomas interrupted his mother. “Has anybody
been hurt?’ -
      “Hurt? I don’t know. Probably. John Thomas, you’ve got to get rid of that
      beast at once.”
      He ignored that statement; it seemed the wrong time to argue it. “What
      else happened?”
Mrs. Stuart did not know in detail. Near the middle of town Lummox came down
a local chute from the overhead freeway. He was moving slowly now and with
hesitation; traffic and large numbers of people confused him. He stepped off the
street onto a slidewalk. The walk ground to a stop, not being designed for six
tons of concentrated load; fuses had blown, circuit breakers had opened, and
pedestrian traffic at the busiest time of day was thrown into confusion for twenty
blocks of the shopping district.

Women had screamed, children and dogs had - added
to the excitement, safety officers had tried to restore order, and poor Lummox,
who had not meant any harm and had not intended to visit the shopping district
anyway, made a perfectly natural mistake. . . the big dis
play windows of the Bon Marché looked like a refuge

                                          8
where he could get away from it all. The duraglass of the windows was
supposed to~ be unbreakable, but the architect had not counted on Lummox
mistaking it for empty air. Lummox went in and tried to hide in a model bedroom
display. He was not very successfuL
John Thomas’s next question was cut short by a thump on the roof; someone
had landed. He looked up. “You expecting anyone, Mum?”
“It’s probably the police. They said they would.. .”
“The police? Oh, my!”
“Don’t go away. . . you’ve got to see them.”
“I wasn’t going anywhere,” he answered miserably and punched a button to
    unlock the roof entrance.
Moments later the lazy lift from the roof creaked to a stop and the door opened;
a safety sergeant and a patrolman stepped out. “Mrs. Stuart?” the sergeant
began formally. “ ‘In your service, ma’am.’ We . . .” He caught sight of John
Thomas, who was trying not to be noticed. “Are you John T. Stuart?”
John gulped. “Yessir.” -
     “Then come along, right away. ‘Scuse us, ma’am. Or do you want to come
     too?”
     “Me? Oh, no, I’d just be in the way.”
The sergeant nodded relieved agreement. “Yes, ma’am. Come along,
youngster. Minutes count.” He took John by the arm.
  John tried to shrug away. “Hey, what is this? You got a warrant or
  something?”
The police officer stopped, seemed to count ten, then said slowly, ‘Son, I do not
have a warrant. But if you are the John T. Stuart I’m looking for. . . and I know
you are . . . then unless you want something drastic and final to happen to that
deep-space what-isit you’ve been harboring, you’d better snap to and come with
us.”
“Oh, I’ll come,” John said hastily. -
“Okay. Don’t give me any more trouble.”
John Thomas Stuart kept quiet and went with him.
In the three minutes it took the patrol car to fly downtown John Thomas tried to
find out the worst. “Uh, Mister Patrol Officer? There hasn’t been anybody hurt?
Has there?”
  “Sergeant Mendoza,” the sergeant answered. “I hope not. I don’t know.”
  John considered this bleak answer. “Well . . . Lummox is still in the Bon
  Marché?”



                                        9
“Is that what you call it?-Lummox? It doesn’t seem strong enough. No, we got it
out of there. It’s under the West Arroyo viaduct.. . I hope.”
  The answer sounded ominous. “What do you mean:
  ‘you hope’?”
“Well, first we blocked off Main and Hamilton, then we chivvied it out of the store
with fire extinguishers. Nothing else seemed to bother it; solid slugs just
bounced off. Say, what’s that beast’s hide made of?
Ten-point steel?”
“Uh, not exactly.” Sergeant Mendoza’s satire was closer to fact than John
Thomas cared to discuss; he still was wondering if Lummox had eaten any iron.
After the mishap of the digested Buick Lummox’s growth had taken an
enormous spurt; in two weeks he had jumped from the size of a- misshapen
hippopotamus to his present unlikely dimensions, more growth than he had
shown in the preceding generation. It had made him extremely gaunt, like a
canvas tarpaulin draped over a scaffolding, his quite unearthly skeleton pushing
through his skin; it had taken three years
of a high-caloric diet to make him chubby again. Since that time John Thomas
had tried to keep-~ metal away from Lummox, most especially iron, even though
his father and his grandfather had always fed him tidbits of scrap metal.

“Urn. Anyhow the fire extinguishers dug him out-
only he sneezed and knocked two men down. After that we used more fire
extinguishers to turn him down Hamilton, meaning to herd shim into open
country where he couldn’t do so much damage . . . seeing as how we couldn’t
find you. We were making out pretty well, with only an occasional lamp post
knocked down, or ground car stepped on, or such, when we came to where we
meant to turn him off on Hillcrest and head him back to your place. But he got
away from us and headed out onto the viaduct, ran into the guard rail and went
off, and . . . well, you’ll see, right now. Here we are.”
Half a dozen police cars were hovering over the end of the viaduct Surrounding
the area were many private air ears and an air bus or two; the patrol cars were
keeping them back from the scene. There were several hundred harness flyers
as well, darting like bats in and out among the vehicles and making the police
problem more difficult On the ground a few regular
• police, supplemented by emergency safety officers wearing arm bands, were
  trying to hold the crowd back and were diverting traffic away from the viaduct
  and from the freight road that ran under it down the arroyo. Sergeant
  Mendoza’s driver threaded his way through the cars in the air, while speaking

                                        10
    intO a hushophone on his chest. Chief Dreiser’s bright red command car
    detached itself from the knot over the end of the viaduct and approached
    them.
Both cars stopped, a few yards apart and a hundred feet above the viaduct.
John Thomas could see the big gap in the railing where Lummox had gone
over, but could not see Lummox himself; the viaduct blocked his view. The door
of the command car opened and Chief Dreiser leaned out; he looked harassed
and his bald head was covered with sweat. “Tell the Stuart boy to stick his head
out.”
  John Thomas ran a window down and did so. “Here, sir.” -
  “Lad, can you control that monster?” “Certainly, sir.”
• “I hope you’re right. Mendoza! Land him. Let him
  try it.”
“Yes, Chief.” Mendoza spoke to the driver, who moved the car past the viaduct
and started letting down beyond it. Lummox could be seen then; he had taken
refuge under the end of the bridge, making himself small. . . for him. John
Thomas leaned out and called to him,
  “Lum! Lummie boy! Come to papa.”
The creature stirred and the end of the viaduct stirred with him. About twelve
feet of his front end emerged from under the structure and he looked around
wildly.
  “Here, Lumi Up here!”
Lummox caught sight of his friend and split his head in an idiot grin. Sergeant
Mendoza snapped, “Put
  her down, Slats. Let’s get this over.”
The driver lowered a bit, then said anxiously, “That’s enough, Sergeant. I saw
that critter rear up earlier.”
“All right, all right.” Mendoza opened the door and kicked out a rope ladder used
in rescue work. “Can you go down that, son?”
“Sure.” With Mendoza to give him a hand John Thomas shinnied out of the door
and got a grip on the ladder. He felt his way down and came to the point where
‘there was no more ladder; he was still six feet above

Lummox’s head. He looked down. “Heads up, baby. Take me down.” -
Lummox lifted another pair of legs from the ground and carefully placed his
broad skull under John Thomas, who stepped onto it, staggering a little and
grabbing for a hand hold. Lummox lowered him gently to the ground.

                                           11
John Thomas jumped off and turned to face him. Well, the fall apparently had
not hurt Lum any; that was a relief. He would get hhp home first and then go
over him inch by inch.
In the meantime Lummox was nuzzling his legs and making a sound remarkably
like a purr. John looked stern. “Bad Lummie! Bad, bad Lununie . . . you’re a
mess, aren’t you?”
Lummox looked embarrassed. He lowered his head to the ground, looked up at
his friend, and opened his mouth wide. “I didn’t mean to,” he protested in his
baby-girl voice.
‘You didn’t mean to. You didn’t mean to! Oh, no, you never do. I’m going to take
your front feet and stuff them down your throat. You know that, don’t you? I’m
going to beat you to a pulp and then use you - for a rug. No supper for you. You
didn’t mean to, indeed!”
  The bright red car came close and hovered. “Okay?” demanded Chief
  Dreiser.
  “Sure.”
“All right. Here’s the plan. I’m going to move that barrier up ahead. You get him-
back up on Hillcrest, going out the upper end of the draw. There will be an
escort waiting; you fall in behind and stay with it all the way home. Get me?”
“Okay.” John Thomas saw that in both directions the arroyo road had been
blocked with riot shields, tractors with heavy armor mounted on their fronts, so
that a temporary barrier could be thrown across a street or square. Such
equipment was standard for any city safety force since the Riots of ‘91, but he
could not iecall that Westville had ever used them; he began to realize that the
day that Lummox went to town would not soon be forgotten.
But he was happy that Lummox had been too timid to munch on those steel
shields. He was beginning tO hope that his pet had been too busy all afternoon
to
eat any ferrous metaL He turned back to him. “All right, get your ugly carcass
out of that hole. We’re going home.”
Lummox complied eagerly; the viaduct again trembled as he brushed against it.
“Make me a saddle.”
Lummox’s midsection slumped down a couple of feet. He thought about it very
hard and his upper surface shaped itself into contours resembling a chair. “Hold
still,” John Thomas ordered. “I don’t want any mashed finge?s.” Lummox did so,
-quivering a little, and the young man scrambled up, grabbing at slip folds in
Lummox’s durable hide. He sat himself like a rajah ready for a tiger hunt. - -

                                        12
  “All right. Slow march now, up the road. No, no! Gee around, you numskull.
  Uphill, not down.”
  Docilely, Lummox turned and ambled away.
Two patrol ground cars led the way, two others brought up the rear. Chief
Dreiser’s tomato-red runabout hung over them at a safe distance. John Thomas
lounged back and spent the time composing first, what he was going to say to
Lummox, and second, what he was going to say to his mother. The first speech
was much easier; he kept going back and embellishing it with fresh adjectives
whenever he found himself running into snags on the second.
They were halfway home when a single flier, hopping free in a copter harness,
approached the little parade. The flier ignored the red warning light stabbing out
from the police chiefs car and slanted straight down at the huge star beast. John
Thomas thought that he recognized Betty’s slapdash style even before
he could make out features; he was not mistaken. He caught her as she cut
power.
Chief Dreiser slammed a window open and stuck his head out. He was in full
flow when Betty interrupted him. “Why, Chief Dreiserl What a terrible way to
talk!”

He stopped and took another look. “Is that Betty Sorenson?” -
“Of course it is. And I must say, Chief, that after all the years you’ve taught
Sunday School I never thought I would live to hear you use such language. If
that is setting a good example, I think I’ll...”
“Young lady, hold your tongue.”
“Me? But you were the one who was using...”
“Quiet! I’ve had all I can take today. You get that suit to buzzing and hop out Of
here. This is Official business. Now get out.”
She glanced at John Thomas and winked, then set her face in cherubic
innocence. ‘But, Chief, I can’t.”
   “Huh? Why not?”
   ‘I’m out of juice. This was an emergency landing.”
   ‘Betty, you quit fibbing to me.”
   ‘Me? Fibbing? Why, Deacon Dreiser!”
   “I’ll deacon you. If your tanks are dry, get down off that beast and walk home.
       He’s dangerous.”
“Lummie dangerous? Lummie wouldn’t hurt a fly. And besides, do you want me
to walk home alone? On a country road? When it’s almost dark? I’m surprised at
you.”

                                        13
Dreiser sputtered and closed the window. Betty wiggled out of her harness and
settled back in the wider seat that Lummox had provided without being told.
John Thomas looked at her. “Hi, Slugger.”
   “Hi, Knothead.”
   ‘I didn’t know you knew the Chief.”
“I know everybody. Now shut up. I’ve gotten here, with all speed and much
inconvenience, as soon as I heard the newscast. You and Lummox between
you could not manage to think your way out of- this, even with Lummox doing
most of the work-so I rallied around. Now give me the grisly details. Don’t hold
anything back from mama.”
“Smart Alec.” -   -
“Don’t waste time on compliments. This will probably be our only chance for a
private word before they start worrying you, so you had better talk fast.”
  “Huh? What do you think you are? A lawyer?”
  “I’m better than a lawyer, my mind is not cluttered with stale precedents. I can
  be creative about It.”
• “Well . . .” Actually he felt better now that Betty was present It was no longer
    just Lummox and himself against an unfriendly wo-rld. He poured out the
    story while she listened soberly.
       “Anybody hurt?” she asked at -last.
“I don’t think so. At least they didn’t mention it.”
       “They would have.” She sat up straight. “Then we’ve got nothing to worry
       about.”
       “What? With hundreds, maybe thousands, in damage? I’d like to know
       what you call trouble?”
“People getting hurt,” she answered. “Anything else can be managed. Maybe
we’ll have Lummox go through bankruptcy.”
“Huh? That’s silly!” -
“i~ you think that is silly, you’ve never been in a law court.”
   “Have you?”
“Don’t change the subject. After all, Lummox was attacked with a deadly
weapon.” “It didn’t hurt him; it just singed him a little.”
“Beside the point. It undoubtedly caused him great mental anguish. I’m not sure
he was responsible for anything that happened afterwards. Be quiet and let me
think.”
  “Do you mind if I think, too?”
  “Not as long as I don’t hear the gears grind. Pipe
  down. -

                                          14
The parade continued to the Stuart home in silence. Betty gave him one piece
of advice as they stopped. “Admit nothing. Nothing. And don’t sign anything.
Holler if you need me.”
Mrs. Stuart did not come out to meet them. Chief
Dreiser inspected the gap in the grating with John
Thomas, with Lummox hanging over their shoulders.
The Chief watched in silence as John Thomas took a
string and tied it across the opening.
“There! No he can’t get out again.” Dreiser pulled at his - lip~ “Son, are you all
   right in
the head?”
“You don’t understand, sir. The grating wouldn’t
   • stop him even if we did repair it . . . not if he wanted to get out. I don’t know
       anything that would. But that string will. Lummox!”
      “Yes, Johnnie?”
      “See that string?”
      “Yes, Johnnie.”
   “You bust that string and I’ll bust your silly head. Understand me?” -
     “Yes, Johnnie.”
     “You won’t go out of the yard again, not ever, unless I take you.” -
     “All right, Johnnie.” -
     “Promise? Cross your heart?”
     ‘Cross my heart.”
“He hasn’t really got a heart,” Johnnie went on. “He has an uncentralized
circulatory system. It’s like...”
  “I don’t care if he has rotary pumps, as long as he stays home.”
  “He will. He’s never broken ‘Cross my heart,’ even if he hasn’t got one.” - -
Dreiser chewed his thumb. ‘All right. I’ll leave a man out here with a portophone
tonight. And tomorrow we’ll put some steel I-beams in there in -place of that
wood.”
John started to say, “Oh, not steel,” but he thought better of it. Dreiser said,
“What’s the matter?”
     “Uh, nothing.”
“You keep an eye on him, too.”      -

“He won’t get out”
“He had better not. You realize that you are both under arrest, don’t you? But
I’ve got no way to lock that monstrosity up.”


                                          15
John Thomas did not answer. He had not realized it; now he saw that it was
inevitable. Dreiser went on in a kindly voice, “Try not to worry about it. You
seem like a good boy and everybody thought well of your father. Now I’ve got to
go in and have a word with your mother. You had better stay here until my man
arrives . . . and then maybe sort of introduce him to, uh, this thing.” He passed a
doubtful eye over Lummox.
John Thomas stayed while the police chief went back to the house. Now was
the time to give Lummox whatfor, but he did not have the heart for it. Not just
then.




II

The Department of Spatial Affairs
• TO John Thomas Stuart xi the troubles of himself and Lummox seemed
    unique and unbearable, yet he was not alone, even around Westville. Little
    Mr. Ito was suffering from an always fatal disease-old age. It would kill him
    soon. Behind uncounted closed doors in Westyule other persons suffered
    silently the countless forms
• of quiet desperation which can close in on a man, or woman, for reasons of
    money, family, health, or face.
Farther away, in the state capital, -the Governor stared hopelessly at a stack of
papers-evidence that would certainly send to prison his oldest and most trusted
friend. Much farther away, on Mars, a prospector abandoned his wrecked
sandmobile and got ready to attempt the long trek back to Outpost. He would
never make it.
Incredibly farther away, twenty-seven light years, the Starship Bolivar was
entering - an interspatial transition. A flaw in a- tiny relay.. would cause that
relay to operate a tenth of a second later than it should. The S,S. Bolivar would
wander between the stars for many years.. . but she would never find her way
home.
Inconceiveably farther from Earth, half way across the local star cloud, a race of
arboreal crustaceans was slowly losing to a younger, more aggressive race of
amphibians. It would be several thousands Earth years before the crustaceans -
were extinct, but the issue was not in doubt. This was regrettable (by human
standards) for the crustacean race had mental and spiritual abilities which
complemented human traits in a fashion which could have permitted a wealth of


                                        16
civilized cooperation with them. But when the first Earth-humans landed there,
some eleven thousand years in the future, the crustaceans would be long dead.
Back on Earth at Federation Capital His Excellency the Right Honorable Henry -
Gladstone Kiku, M. A. (Oxon,) Lift. D. honoris causa (Capetown), O.B.E.,
Permanent Under Secretary for Spatial Affairs, was not worried about the
doomed crustaceans because he would never know of them. He was not yet
worried about S.S. Bolivar but he would be. Aside from the ship, the loss of one
passenger in that ship would cause a chain reaction of headaches for Mr. Kiku
and all his associates for years to come.
Anything and everything outside Earth’s ionosphere was Mr. Kiku’s
responsibility and worry. Anything which concerned the relationships between
Earth and any part of the explored universe was also his responsibility. Even
affairs which were superficially strictly Earthside were also his concern, if they
affected or were in any way affected by anything which was extra-terrestrial,
interplanetary, or interstellar in nature-a very wide range indeed.
His problems included such things as the importation of Martian sand grass,
suitably mutated, for the
Tibetan plateau. Mr. Kiku’s office had not approved that until after a careful
mathematical examination of the possible effect on the Australian sheep
industry-and a dozen other factors. Such things were done cautiously, with the
gruesome example of Madagascar and the Mar.
tian berryroot always before them. Economic decisions did not upset Mr. Kiku,
no matter how many toes
he stepped on; other sorts kept him awake nights-such as his decision not to
give police escorts to Goddard exchange students from Procyon VII despite the
very real danger to them from provincial Earthmen with
prejudices against beings having unearthly arrangements of limbs or eyes or
such-the cephalopods of that planet were a touchy people and something very
like a police escort was their own usual punishment for criminals. -
Mr. Kiku had an extremely large staff to help him, of course, and, also of course,
the help of the Secretary himself. The Secretary made speeches, greeted Very
Important Visitors, gave out interviews, and in many other ways eased for Mr.
Kiku an otherwise unbearable load-Mr. Kiku would be first to admit this. As long
as the current Secretary behaved himself, minded his business, took care of
public appearances, and let the Under Secretary get on with the department’s -
work, he had Mr. Kiku’s approval. Of course, if he failed to pull his load or threw
his weight around, Mr. Kiku was capable of finding ways to get rid of him. But it
had


                                         17
been fifteen years since he had found it necessary to be so drastic; even the
rawest political appointee could
  usually be broken to harness.
Mr. Kiku had not-made up his mind about the current Secretary, but was not
now thinking about him. Instead he was looking over the top-sheet synopsis for
Project Cerberus, a power proposal for the research station on
Pluto. A reminder light on his desk flashed and he looked up to see the door
between his office and that of the Secretary dilate. The Sqcretaiy walked in,
whistling Take Me Out to the Ball Game; Mr. Kiku did not recognize the tune.
  He broke off. “Greetings, Henry. No, don’t get up.”
  Mr. Kiku had not started to get up. “How do you do, Mr. Secretary? What can I
  do for your’
“Nothing much, nothing much.” He paused by Mr. Kiku’s desk and picked up the
project folder. “What are you swotting now? Cerberus, eh? Henry, that’s an
engineering matter. Why should we worry about it?”

~’There are aspects,” Mr. Kiku answered carefully, “that concern us.” -
‘I suppose so. Budget and so forth.” His eye sought the bold-faced line reading:
ESTIMATED COST: 3.5 megabucks and 7.4 lives. “What’s this? I can’t go
before the Council and ask them to approve this. It’s fantastic.”
“The first estimate,” Mr. Kiku said evenly, “was over eight megabucks and more
than a hundred lives.”
“I don’t mind the money, but this other .. . You are in effect asking the Council to
sign death warrants for seven and four-tenths men: You can’t do that, it isn’t
human. Say, what the deuce is four-tenths of a man anyway? How can you kill a
fraction of a man?”
“Mr. Secretary,” his subordinate answered patiently, “any project bigger than a
schoolyard swing involves probable loss of life. But that hazard factor is low; it
means that working on Project Cerberus will be safer, on the average, than
staying Earthside. That’s my rule of thumb.” -
“Eh?” The Secretary looked again at the synopsis. “Then why not say so? Put
the thing in the best light and so forth?”
“This report is for my eyes . . . for our eyes, only. The report- to the Council will
emphasize safety pre
cautions and will not include an estimate of deaths- which, after all, is a guess.”
-


                                          18
      “Mmm, ‘a guess.’ Yes, of course.” The Secretary put the report down,
      seemed to lose interest.
      “Anything else, sir?”
“Oh, yes! Henry, old man, you know that Rargyllian dignitary I am supposed to
receive today? Dr. What’s-
his-name?” -
“Dr. Ftaeml.” Mr. Kiku glanced at his desk control panel. “Your appointment is,
uh, an hour and seven minutes from now.”
“That’s just it. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to substitute. Apologies to him and
so forth. Tell him I’m tied up with affairs of state.”
“Sir? I wouldn’t advise that. He will expect to be received by an official of your
rank - . . and the Rargyllians are extremely meticulous about protocol.”
  “Oh, come now, this native won’t know the difference.”
  “But he will, sir.”
“Well, let him think that you’re me . . . I don’t care. But I won’t be here and that’s
that The Secretary General has invited me lo go to the ball game with him-and
• an invitation from the S. C. is a ‘must,’ y’know.”
Mr. Kiku knew that it was nothing of the sort, had the commitment been
expained. But he shut up. “Very well, sir.”
  ‘Thatiks, old chap.” The Secretary left, again whistling.
When the door closed, Mr. Kiku with an angry gesture slapped a row of switches
on the desk paneL He was locked in now and could not be reached by phone,
video, tube, autowriter, or any other means, save by an alarm button which his
own secretary had used only once in twelve years. He leaned elbows on his
desk, covered his head with his hands and rubbed his fingers through his woolly
pate.
  This trouble, that trouble, the other trouble . . . and
always some moron to jiggle his elbowl Why had he ever left Africa? Where
came this itch for public service? An itch that had long, since turned into mere
habit... -.
He sat up and opened his middle drawer. It was bulging with real estate
prospectuses from Kenya; he took out a handful and soon was comparing
relative merits of farms. Now here was a little honey, if a- man had the price-
better than eight hundred acres, half of it in cultivation, and seven proved wells
on the property. He looked at map and photographs and presently felt better.
After a while he put them away and closed the drawer.



                                          19
He was forced to admit that, while what he had told the chief was true, his own
nervous reaction came mostly from his life-long fear of snakes. If Dr. Ftaeml
were anything but a Rargyllian . . . or if the Rargyllians had not been medusa
humanoids, he wouldn’t have minded. Of course, he knew that those tentacles
growing out of a Rargyllian’s head were not snakes-but his stomach didn’t know
it. He would have to find time for a hypnotic treatment before-no, there wasn’t
time; he’d have to take a pill instead.
Sighing, he flipped the switches back on. His incoming basket started to fill up at
once and all the communication instruments showed lights. But the lights were
amber rather than blinking red; he ignored them and glanced through the stuff
falling into his basket. Most of the items were for his information only: under
doctrine his subordinates or their subordinates had taken action. Occasionally
he would check a name and a suggested action and drop the sheet in the
gaping mouth of the outgoing basket.
A radiotype came in that was not routine, in that it concerned a creature alleged
to be extra-terrestrial but unclassified as to type and origin. The incident
involved seemed unimportant-some nonsense in one of the
native villages in the western part of the continent. But the factor of an extra-
terrestrial creature automatically required the local police to report it to Spatial
Affairs, and the lack of classification of the e.-t prevented action under doctrine
and resulted in the report being kicked upstairs. -
Mr. Kiku had never seen Lummox and would have had no special interest if he
had. But Mr. Kiku knew that each contact with “Out There” was unique. The
universe was limitless in its variety. To assume without knowledge, to- reason
by analogy, to take the unknown for granted, all meant to invite disaster.
Mr. Kiku looked over his list to see whom he could send. Any of his career
officers could act as a court of original and superior -jurisdiction in any case
involving extra-terrestrials, but who was on Earth and free? 11mm...
Sergei Greenberg, that was the man. System Trade Intelligence could get along
without a chief for a day
• or two. He flipped a switch. “Sergei?”
  “Yes,- boss?”
  “Busy?”
“Well, yes and no. I’m paring my nails and trying to figure a reason why the
taxpayers should pay me more money.”
“Should they, now? I’m sending a bluesheet down.” Mr. Kiku checked
Greenberg’s name on the radiotype, dropped it in his outgoing basket, waited a
few seconds until he saw Greenberg pick it out of his own incoming basket.
“Read it.” -
                                          20
  Greenberg did so, then looked up. “Well, boss?”
• “Phone the local justice that we are assuming tentative jurisdiction, then buzz
   out and look into it.”
“Thy wish is my command, 0 King. Even money the critter is terrestrial - after all,
two to one I can identify if it isn’t.”
        “No wager, not at those odds. You’re probal~ly right.
But it might be a ‘special situation’; we can’t take chances.”
“I’ll keep the local yokels in line,- boss. Where is this hamlet? Westville? Or
whatever it is?”
“How would I .know? You have the sheet in front of you.
Greenberg glanced at it. “Hey! What do you know? It’s in the mountains . . - this
may take two or three weeks, boss. Hot enough for you?”
“Take more than three days and I’ll charge it off your annual leave.” Mr. Kiku
switched off and turned to other matters. He disposed of a dozen calls, found
the bottom of his incoming basket and lost it again, then noticed that it was time
for the Rargyllian. Goose flesh crawled over him and he dug hastily into his desk
for one of the special pills his doctor had warned him not to take too frequently.
He had just gulped it when his secretary’s light started blinking. -

“Sir? Dr. Ftaeml is here.” -
“Show him in.” Mr. Kiku muttered in a language his ancestors had used in
making magic-against snakes, for example. As the door dilated he hung on his
face the expression suitable for receiving visitors.



HI
“-An Improper Question”
~im intervention by the Department of Spatial Affairs in the case of Lummox did
not postpone the hear. lug; it speeded it up. Mr. Greenberg phoned the district
judge, asked for the use of his courtroom, and asked him to have all parties and
witnesses in court at ten o’clock the next morning-including, of course, the extra-
terrestrial that was the center of the fuss. Judge O’Fairell questioned the last
point. -
  “This creature. . . you need him, too?”
Greenberg- said that he most decidedly wanted the e.-t. present, since his
connection with the case was the



                                        21
reason for intervention. “Judge, we people in DepSpace don’t like to butt into
your local affairs. After I’ve had a look at the creature and have asked half a
dozen questions, I can probably bow out.. . which will
• suit us both. This alleged e.-t. is my only reason for coming out. So have the
   beastie present, will you?”
  • “Eh, he’s rather too large to bring into the courtroom.I haven’t seen him for
     several years and I understand he has grown a bit . . . but he would have -
     been too large to bring indoors even then. Couldn’t you look at him where
     he is?”
“Possibly, though I admit to a prejudice for having everything pertinent to a
hearing in one spot. Where is he?”
  “Penned up where he lives, with his owner. They have a suburban place a
  few miles out”
Greenberg thought about it. Although a modest man, one who cared not where
he ate or slept, when it came
to DepSpace business he operated on the rule of making the other fellow do the
running around; otherwise the department’s tremendous load of business would
never get done. “I would like to avoid that trip out into the
• country, as I intend to hold my ship and get back to Capital tomorrow
   afternoon, if possible. It’s rather urgent. . . a matter of the Martian treaty.”
   This last was
• Greenberg’s standard fib when he wanted to hurry someone not in the
   department. -
Judge O’Farrell said that he would arrange it. “We’ll rig a temporary pen on the
lawn outside the court
  house.” -
  “Swell! See you tomorrow, Judge. Thanks for everything.
Judge O’Farrell had been on a fishing trip two days earlier when Lummox had
gone for his walk. The
damage had been cleaned up by his return and, as a fixed principle, - he
avoided hearing or reading news reports or chitchat concerning ~cases he
might have to try. When he phoned Chief-of-Safety Dreiser he expected no
difficulty about moving Lummox.
  Chief Dreiser went through the roof. “Judge, are you out of your head?” -
  “Eh? What’s ailing you, Deacon?”



                                         22
Dreiser tried to explain; the judge shrugged off his objections. Whereupon they
both phoned the mayor. But the mayor had been on the same fishing trip; he
threw his weight on O’Farrell’s side. His words were:
“Chief, I’m surprised at you. We can’t have an important Federation official
thinking that our little city is so backwoods that we can’t handle a small thing like
that.” Dreiser groaned and called the Mountain States Steel & Welding Works.
  Chief Dreiser decided to move Lummox before day-
• light, as he wished to get him penned up before the streets were crowded.
   But nobody had thought to notify John Thomas; he was awakened at four in
   the morning with a sickening shock; the wakening had interrupted a
   nightmare, he believed at first that something dreadful had happened to
   Lummox. -
Once the situation was clear he was non-cooperative; he was a “slow starter,”
one of those individuals with a low morning blood-sugar count who is worth
nothing until after a hearty breakfast-which he now insisted on.
Chief Dreiser looked angry. Mrs. Stuart looked mother-knows-best and said,
“Now, dear, don’t you think you had better.. .” -
“I’m going to have my breakfast. And Lummox, too.” Dreiser said, “Young man,
you don’t have -the right attitude. First thing you know you’ll be in eyen worse
trouble; Come along. You can get breakfast downtown.”
John Thomas looked stubborn. His mother said sharply, “John Thomas! I won’t
have it, do you hear? You’re
   • being difficult, just like your father was.”
The reference to his father rubbed him even more the wrong way. He said
bitterly, “Why dOn’t you stand up for me, Mum? They taught me in school that a
citizen can’t be snatched out of his home any time a policeman gets a notion.
But you seem anxious to help him instead of me. Whose side are you on?”
She stared at him, astounded, as he had a long record of docile obedience.
“John Thomas! You can’t speak to your mother that way!”
• “Yes,” agreed Dreiser. “Be polite to your mother, or I’ll give you the back of
   my hand-unofficially, of course.If there is one thing I can’t abide it’s a boy
   who is rude to his elders.” He unbuttoned his tunic, pulled out a folded paper.
   “Sergeant Mendoza told me about
the quibble you pulled the other day . . . so I came prepared, There’s my
warrant. Now, will you come? Or will I drag you?”
He stood there, slapping the paper against his palm, but did not offer it to John
Thomas. But when John Thomas reached for it, he let him have it and waited
while he read it. At last IDreiser said, “Well? Are you satisfied?”
                                         23
“This is a court order,” John Thomas said, “teffing me to appear and requiring
me to bring Lummox.”
  “It certainly is.”
  “But it says ten o’clock. It doesn’t say I can’t eat breakfast first.., as long as
  I’m there by ten.”
The Chief took a deep breath, expanding visibly. His face, already pink, got red,
but he did not answer.
  John Thomas said, “Mum? I’m going to fix my breakfast. Shall I fix some for
  you, too?”

She glanced at Dreiser, then back at her s~n and bit
her lip. “Never mind,” she said grudgingly. “I’ll get breakfast. Mr. Dreiser, will you
have coffee with us?”
  “Eh? That’s kind of you, ma’am. I don’t mind if I do. rye been up all night.”
John Thomas looked at them. “I’ll run out and take a quick look at Lummox.” He
hesitated, then added, “I’m sorry I was rude, Mum.”

“We’ll say no more about it, then,” she answered coldly. -
He had been intending to say several-‘ things, in selfjustification, but he thought
better of it and left. Lummox was snoring gently, stretched half in and half out of
his house. His sentry eye was raised above his neck, as it always was when he
was asleep; it swiveled around at John Thomas’s approach and looked him
over, but that portion of Lummox that stood guard for the rest recognized the
youth; the star creature did not wake. Satisfied, John Thomas went back inside.
The atmosphere mellowed during breakfast; by the time John Thomas had two
dishes of oatmeal, scrambled eggs and toast, and a pint of cocoa inside him, he
was ready to concede that Chief Dreiser had been doing his duty and probably
didn’t kick dogs for pleasure. In turn, the Chief, under the influence of food, had
de- cided that there was nothing wrong with the boy that a firm hand and an
occasional thrashing would not cure . . . too bad his mother had to raise him
alone; she seemed like a fine woman. He pursued a bit of egg
with toast, captured it, and said, “I feel better, Mrs. Stuart, I really do. It’s a treat
to a widower to taste homecooking. . . but I won’t dare tell my men.”
Mrs. Stuart put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I forgot about them!” She added, “I
can have more coffee in a moment. How many are there?”
“Five. But don’t bother, ma’am; they’ll get breakfast when they go off duty.” He
turned to John Thomas. “Ready to go, young fellow?”

                                            24
“Uh . . .” He turned to his mother. “Why not fix breakfast for them, Mum? I’ve still
got to wake Lummox and feed him.” -
By the time Lummox had been wakened and fed and had had matters explained
to him, by the time five patrolmen had each enjoyed a second cup of coffee after
a hot meal, the feeling was more that of a social event than an arrest. It was
long past -seven before the procession was on the road.
It was nine o’clock before they got Lummox backed into the temporary cage
outside the courthouse. Lummox had been delighted by the smell of steel and
had wanted to stop and nibble it; John Thomas was forced to be firm. He went
inside with Lummox and petted him and talked to him while the door was
welded shut, He had been worried when he saw the massive steel cage, for he
had never got around to telling Chief Dreiser that steel was less than useless
against Lummox.
Now it seemed too late, especially as the Chief was proud of the pen. There had
been no time to pour a foundation, so the Chief had ordered an open-work box
of steel girders, top, bottom, and sides, with one end left open until Lummox
could be shut in.
Well, thought John Thomas, they all knew so much and they didn’t bother to ask
me. He decided simply to warn Lummox not to eat a bite of the cage, under dire
threats of pLxnishment.. . and hope for the best.
Lummox was inclined to argue; from his point of view it was as silly as
attempting to pen a hungry boy by stacking pies around him. One of the
workmen
paused, lowered his welding torch and said, “You know, it sounded just like that
critter was- talking.”
  “He was,” John Thomas answered briefly.
“Oh.” The man looked at Lummox, then went back to work. Human speech on
the part of extra-terrestrials was no novelty, especially on stereo programs; the
man
seemed satisfied. But shortly he paused again. “I don’t hold with animals
talking,” he announced. John Thomas did not answer; it did -not seem to be a
remark to which an answer could be made.
Now that he had time John Thomas was anxious to examine something on
Lummox which had been worrying him. - He had first noticed the symptoms on
the morning following Lummox’s disastrous strolJ~ two swellings located where
Lummox’s shoulders would have been had he been so equipped. Yesterday
they had seemed larger, which disturbed him, for he had hoped that they were
just bruises . . . not that Lummox bruised easily.

                                         25
But they fretted him. It seemed possible that Lummox had hurt himself during
the accidental gymkhana he had taken part in. The shot that Mr. Ito had taken at
him had not damaged him; there had been a slight powder burn where the
explosive charge had struck him but that was all; a charge that would destroy a
tank was to Lummox about like a hearty kick to a mule
  • startling, but not harmfuL
Lummox might have bruised himself in plunging through the greenhouses, but
that seemed unlikely. More probably he had been hurt in falling off the viaduct.
John Thomas knew that such a fall would kill any Earth animal big enough to
have an unfavorable cubesquare ratio, such as an elephant. Of course
Lummox, with his unearthly body chemistry, was not nearly as fragile as an
elephant. . . still, he might have bruised himself badly.
Dog take it! the swellings were bigger than ever, real tumors now, and the hide
over them seemed softer and thinner, not quite the armor that encased Lummox
elsewhere. John Thomas wondered if a person like Lummox could get cancer,
say from a bruise? He did not know and he did not know anyone who woukL
Lummox had never been ill as far back as John Thomas
could remember, nor had his father ever mentioned Lummox having anything
wrong with him. Lummox was the same today, yesterday, and always-except
that he kept getting bigger. -
He would have to look over his grandfather’s diary tonight and his great
grandfather’s notes. Maybe he had missed something...
He-pressed one of the swellings, trying to dig his fingers in; Lummox stirred
restlessly. John Thomas stopped and said anxiously, “Does that hurt?”
  “No,” the childish voice answered, “it tickles.”
The answer did not reassure him. He knew that Lummox was ticklish, but it
usually took something like a pickaxe to - accomplish it. The swellings must be
very sensitive. He was about to investigate farther when ~he was hailed from
behind.
  “John! Johnnie!”
He turned. Betty Sorenson was outside the cage. “Hi, Slugger,” he called to her.
“You got my message?”
  “Yes, but not until after eight o’clock. You know the dorm rules. Hi, Lummox.
  How’s my baby?”
  “Fine,” said Lummox.
• “That’s why I recorded,” John Thomas answered. The idiots rousted me out
  of bed before daylight. Silly.”

                                         26
  “Do you good to see a sunrise. But what is all this rush? I thought the hearing
  was next week?”
“It was supposed to be. But some heavyweight from the Department of Space is
coming out from CapitaL He’s going to try it,” -
“What?”
  “What’s the matter?”
“The matter? Why, everything! I don’t know this man from Capital. I thought I
was going to deal with Judge O’Farrell. . . I know what makes him tick. This new
judge . . . well, I don’t know. In the second place, I’ve got ideas I haven’t had
time to work out yet.” She frowned. “We’ll have to get a postponemer~t.” -
“What for?” asked John Thomas. “Why don’t we just go into court and tell the-
truth?”
“Jolinnie, you’re hopeless. If that was all there was to it, there wouldn’t be any
courts.”
“Maybe that would be an improvement.”
“But . . . Look, Knothead, don’t stand there making silly noises. If we have to
appear in less than an hour...” She glanced - up at the clock tower on the
ancient courthouse. ‘A good deal less. We’ve got to move fast. At the very least,
we’ve got to get that homestead claim recorded.”
“That’s silly. They won’t take it, I tell you. We can’t homestead Lummox. He’s
not a piece of land.”
“A man can homestead a cow, - two horses, a dozen pigs-. A carpenter can
homestead his tools. An actress can homestead her wardrobe.”
“But that’s not ‘homesteading.’ I took the same course in commercial law that
you did. They’ll laugh at you.”
“Don’t quibble. It’s section II - of the same law. If you were exhibiting Lummie in
a carnival, he’d be the ‘tools of your trade,’ wouldn’t he? It’s up to them to prove
he isn’t. The thing is to register Lummox as exempt from lien before somebody
gets a judgment against you.”
  “If they can’t collect from me, they’ll collect from my mother.”
“No, they won’t. I checked that. Since your father put the money in a trust,
legally she hasn’t got a dime.”
  “Is that the law?” he asked doubtfully.
  “Oh, hurry up! The law is whatever you can convince a court it is.”
“Betty, you’ve got a twisted mind.” He slid out between the bars, turned and
said, “Lummie, FU only be gone a minute. You stay right here.”

                                         27
  “Why?” asked Lummox.
  “Never mind ‘why.’ You wait for me here.”
  “All right.” -
There was a crowd on the courthouse lawn, people gawking at Lummox in his
new notoriety. Chief Dreiser had ordered rope barriers erected and a couple of
his men were present to see that they were respected, The two young people
ducked under the ropes and pushed through the crowd to the courthouse steps.
The county clerk’s office was on the second floor; there they found his chief
deputy, an elderly maiden lady.
Miss Schreiber took the same view of registering Lummox as free from
judgment that John Thomas did. But Betty pointed out that it was not up to the
county clerk to decide what was an eligible chattel under the law, and cited an
entirely fictitious case about a man who homesteaded a multiple echo. Miss
Schreiber reluctantly filled out forms, accepted the modest fee, and gave them a
certified copy.
It was almost ten o’clock. John Thomas hurried out and started downstairs. He
stopped when he saw that Betty had paused at a penny weighing machine.
“Come
• on, Betty,” he demanded. “This is no time for that.”
“I’m not weighing myself,” she answered while staring into the mirror attached to
it. “I’m checking my makeup. I’ve got to look my best.”
       “You look all right.”
“Why, Johnnie, a compliment!”
       “It wasn’t a compliment. Hurry up. I’ve got to tell Lummox something.”
“Throttle back and hold at ten thousand. I’ll bring you in.” She wiped off her
eyebrows, painted them back in the smart Madame Satan pattern, and decided
that it made her look older. She considered adding a rolling-dice design on her
right cheek, but skipped it as Johnnie was about to boil over. They hurried down
and outdoors. -
More moments were wasted convincing a policeman that they belonged inside
the barrier. Johnnie saw that two men were standing by Lummox’s ~cage. He
broke into a run. “Hey! You two! Get away from there!”
Judge O’Farrell turned around and blinked. “What is your interest, young man?”
The other man turned but said nothing.
“Me? Why, I’m his owner. He’s not used to strangers. So go back of the rope,
will you?” He turned to Lummox. “It’s all right, baby. Johnnie’s here.”




                                       28
“Howdy, Judge.” -
“Oh. Hello, Betty.” The~- judge looked at her as if trying to decide why she was
present, then turned to John Thomas. ‘You must be the Stuart boy. I’m Judge
O’FarrelL”
“Oh. Excuse me, Judge,” John Thomas answered, his ears turning pink. “I
thought you were a sightseer.”
“A natural error. Mr. Greenberg, this is the Stuart boy . . . John Thomas Stuart.
Young man, this is the Honorable Sergei Greenberg, Special Commissioner for
the Department of Spatial Affairs.” He looked around. “Oh yes - . - this is Miss
Betty Sorenson, Mr. Commissioner. Betty, why have you done those silly things
to your face?”
She ignored him with dignity. ‘Honored to meet you, Mr. Commissioner.”
“Just ‘Mr. Greenberg,’ please, Miss Sorenson.” Greenberg turned to Johnnie.
“Any relation to the John Thomas Stuart?”
“I’m John Thomas Stuart the Eleventh,” Johnnie an.. swered simply. “I suppose
you mean my great-greatgreat grandfather.”
“I guess that would be it. I was born on Mars, almost within sight of his statue. I
had no idea your family was mixed up in this. Perhaps we can have a gab about
Martian history later.”
“I’ve never been to Mars,” Johnnie admitted.
  “No? That’s surprising. But you’re young yet.”

Betty listened, ears almost twitching, and decided
that this judge, if that was what he was, would be an even softer mark than
Judge O’FarrelL It was hard to remember that Johnnie’s name meant anything
special ,,.especially since it didn’t. Not around Westville.
  Greenberg went on, “You’ve made me lose two bets, Mr. Stuart.”
  “Sir?”
“I thought this creature would prove not to be from ‘Out There.’ I was wrong; that
big fellow is certainly not native to Earth. But I was equally sure that, if he was
e.-t., I could attribute him, I’m not an exotic zoologist, but in my business one
has to keep skimming such things . . . look at the pictures at least. But I’m
stumped. What is be and where did he come from?”
“Uh, why, he’s just Lummox. That’s what we call him. My great grandfather
brought him back in the Trail Blazer.. . her second trip.”



                                        29
“That, long ago, eli? Well, that clears up some of the mystery; that was before
DepSpace kept records . . . in
• fact before there was such a department. But I still don’t see how this fellow
   could have missed making a splash in the history books. I’ve read about the
   Trail Blazer and I remember she brought back many exotica. But I don’t
   remember this fellow . . . and, after all,
extra-terrestrials were news in those days.”
“Oh, that.. . Well, sir, the captain didn’t know Lummox was aboard. Great
granddad brought him aboard in his jump bag and sneaked him off the ship the
same way.”
  “In his lump bag?” Greenberg stared at Lummox’s out-sized figure.
  “Yes, sir. Of course Lummie was smaller then.”
  “So I am forced to believe.”
  “I’ve got pictures of him. He was about the size of a collie pup. More legs of
     course.”

“Mmmm, yes. - More legs. And he puts me, more in
mind of a tricératops than a collie. Isn’t he expensive to feed?”
“Oh, no, Lummie eats anythijig. Well, almost anything,” John Thomas amended
hastily, glancing self- consciously at the steel bars. “Or he can go without eating
for a long time. Can’t you, Lummie?”
Lummox had been lying with his legs retracted, exhibiting the timeless patience
which he could muster when necessary. He was listening to his chum and Mr.
Greenberg while keeping an eye on Betty and the judge. He now opened his
enormous mouth. “Yes, but I don’t like it.”
  Mr. Greenberg raised his eyebrows and said, “I hadn’t realized that he was a
  speech-center type.”
“A what? Oh, sure. Lummie’s been talking since my father was a boy; he just
sort of picked it up. I meant to introduce you. Here, - Lummie . ,. I want you to
meet Mr. Commissioner Greenberg.”
Lummox looked at Greenberg without interest and said, “How do you do, Mr.
Commissioner Greenberg,” saying the formula phrase clearly but not doing so
well on the name and title.
“Uh, how do you do, Lummox.” He was staring at Lummox when the courthouse
clock sounded the hour. Judge O’Farrell turned and spoke to him.
  “Ten o’clock, Mr. Commissioner. I suppose we had better get started.”



                                         30
“No hurry,” Greenberg answered absent-miridedly, “since the party can’t start
until we get there. I’m interested in this line of investigation. Mr. Stuart, what is
Lummox’s R.I.Q. on the human scale?”
  “Huh? Oh, his relative intelligence quotient. I don’t know, sir.” - -
  “Good gracious, hasn’t anyone ever tried to find out?”
“Well, no, sir. . . I mean ‘yes, sir.’ Somebody did run some tests on him back in
my grandfather’s time, but granddad got so sore over the way they were treating
Lumniie that he chucked ‘them out. Since then we’vc kept strangers away from
Lummie, mostly. But he’~ real bright. Try him.”
Judge O’Farrell whispered to Greenberg, “The brute isn’t as bright as a good
bird dog, even if he can parrol human speech a little. I know.” -
  John Thomas said indignantly, “I heard that, Judge. You’re just prejudiced!”
The judge started to answer but Betty cut acros~ him. “Johnnie! You know what
I told you . . . fil dc the talking.”

Greenberg ignored the interruption. “Has any attempi
   been made to learn his language?”
   “Sir?”
“Mnim, apparently not. And he may have been brought here before he was old
enough to talk. . - hli own - language I mean. But he must have had one; - it’s a
truism among xenists that speech centers are found only in nervous systems
that use them. That is to say,
he could not have learned human speech as speech even poorly, unless his
own breed used oral communi. cation. Can he write?”
• “How could he, sir? He doesn’t have hands.”
“Mmm, yes. Well, taking a running jump with th aid of -theory, I’ll bet on a
relative score of less than
40, then. Xenologists have found that high types, equiva. lent to humans,
always have three characteristics:
speech centers, manipulation, and from these two, record keeping. So we can
assume that Lummox’s breed was left at the post. Studied any xenology?”
“Not much, sir,” John Thomas admitted shyly, “except books I could find in the
library. But I mean to major in xenology and exotic biology in college.”
“Good for you. It’s a wide open field. You’d be sur. prised how difficult it is to hire
enough xenists just fox ‘DepSpace. But my reason for asking was this: as you
know, the department has intervened in thi’~ case. Be-

                                          31
cause of him.” Greenberg gestured at Lummox. “There was a chance that your
pet might be of a race having treaty rights with us. Once or twice, strange as it
may
• seem, a foreigner visiting this planet has been mistaken for a wild animal,
   with - . - shall we say ‘unfortunate’ results?” Greenberg frowned, recalling the
   terrible hushed-up occasion when a member of the official family of the
   Ambassador from Llador had been found, dead and stuffed - in a curiosity
   shop in the Virgin Islands. “But no such hazard exists here.”
  “Oh. I guess not, sir. Lummox is . . . well, he’s just a member of our family.” -
“Precisely.” The Commissioner spoke to Judge O’Farrell. “May I consult you a
moment, Judge? Privately?”
  “Certainly, sir.” --
The men moved, away; Betty joined John Thomas. “It’s a cinch,” she whispered,
“if you can keep from making more breaks.” -
      “What did I do?” he protested. “And what makes you think it’s going to be
      easy?”
      “It’s obvious. He likes you, he likes Lummox.”
      “I don’t see how that pays for the ground floor of the Bon Marché. Or all
      those lamp posts.”
“Just keep your blood pressure down and follow my lead. Before we are
through, they’ll be paying us. You’ll see.”
A short distance away - Mr. Greenberg was saying to Judge O’Farrell, “Judge,
from what I have learned it seems to me that the Department of Spatial Affairs
should withdraw from this case.”
  “Eh? I don’t follow you, sir.”
“Let me explain. What I would like to do is to postpone the hearing twenty-four
hours while I - have my conclusions checked by the department. Then I can
withdraw and let the local authorities handle it. Meaning you, of course.”
  Judge O’Farrell pursed his lips. “I don’t like last-
minute postponements, Mr. Commissioner. It has always seemed unfair to me
to order busy people to gather together, to their expense and personal
inconvenience, then tell them to come back another day. It doesn’t have the
flavor of justice.”
Greenberg frowned. “True. Let me see if we can arrive at it another way. From
what young Stuart tells me I am certain that this ease is not one calling for
intervention under the Federation’s xenic policies, even though the center of
interest is extra-terrestrial and therefore a legal cause for intervention if needed.
Although the department has the power, that power is exercised only when
                                          32
necessary to avoid trouble with governments of other planets. Earth has
hundreds of’ thousands of e.-t. animals; it has better than thirty thousand non-
human xenians, either residents or - visitors, having legal status under treaties
as ‘human’ even though they are obviously non-human. Xenophobia being what
it is, particularly in our cultural backwaters . . . no, I wasn’t referring to Westville!
Human nature - being what it is, each of those foreigners is a potential source of
trouble in our foreign relations.
“Forgiv~ me for saying what you already know; it is a necessary foundation. The
department can’t go around wiping the noses of all our xenic visitors -
even those that have noses. We haven’t the personnel and certainly not the
inclination. If one of them gets into trouble, it is usually sufficient to advise the
local magistrate of our treaty obligations to the xenian’s home planet. In rare
cases the department intervenes. This, in my opinion, is not such a case. In the
first place it seems that our friend Lummox here is an ‘animal under the law
and...”
“Was there doubt?” the judge asked in astonishment. “’There might have been.
That’s why I am here. But, despite his limited ability to talk, his other limitations
would keep such a breed from rising to a level where
we could accept it as civilized; therefore he is an animal. Therefore he has only
the usual rights of animals under our humane laws. Therefore the department
need not concern itself.” - -
  “I see. Well, no one is going to be cruel to him, not in my court.”
“Certainly. But for another quite sufficient reason the department is not
interested. Let us suppose that this creature is ‘human’ in the sense that law
and custom and treaty have attached to that word since we first made contact
with the Great Race of Mars. He is not, but suppose it.”
  “Stipulated.” agreed Judge O’Farrell.
“We stipulate it. Nevertheless he cannot be a concern of the department
because. . . Judge, do you know the history of the Trail Blazer?”
• “Vaguely, from grammar school days. I’m not a student of spatial exploration.
   Our own Earth is confusing enough.”
  “Isn’t it, though? Well, the Trail Blazer made three
• of the first interspatial transition flights, when such flights were as reckless as
    the voyage Columbus attempted. They did not know where they were going
    and they had only hazy notions about how to get back
in fact the Trail Blazer never came back from her third trip.” - -
“Yes, yes. I remember.”

                                           33
“The point is, young Stuart-I can’t call him by his full name; it doesn’t seem right-
Stuart tells me that this loutish creature with the silly smile is a souvenir of the
Trail Blazer’s second cruise. That’s .all I need to know. W~ have no treaties with
any of the planets she visited, no trade, no intercourse of any sort. Legally they
don’t exist. Therefore the only laws that apply to Lummox are our own domestic
laws; therefore the department should not intervene-and even- if -it did, a
special master such as myself would be obliged to rule entirely
by domestic law. Which you are better qualified to do than I.”
  Judge O’Farrell nodded. “Well, I have no objection to resuming jurisdiction.
  Shall we go in?”
“Just a moment. I suggested a delay because this case has curious features. I
wanted to refer back to the department to make sure that- my theory is correct
and that I have not missed some important precedent or law. But I am willing to
withdraw at once if you can assure me of one thing. This creature . . . I
understand that, despite its mild appearance, it turned out to be destructive,
even dangerous?” -

O’Farrell nodded. ‘So I understand . . . unofficially
• of course.”
  “Well, has there been any demand that it be destroyed?”,
  “Well,” the judge answered slowly, “again unofficially, -
   I know that such a demand will be made. It has come
   to my attention privately that our chief of police in-
• tends to ask the court to order the animal’s destruction as a public safety
    measure. I anticipate prayers from private sources as well.”
Mr. Greenberg looked worried. “As bad as that? Well, Judge, what is your
attitude? If you try the case, are you going to let the animal be destroyed?”
• Judge O’Farrell retorted, “Sir, that is an improper question.”
Greenberg turned red. “I beg your pardon. But I must get at it in some fashion.
You realize that this specimen is unique? Regardless of what it has done, or
how dangerous it may be (though I’m switched if I’m con- vinced of that),
nevertheless its interest to science is such that it should be preserved. Can’t you
assure me that you will not order it destroyed?”
“Young man, you are urging me to prejudge a case, or a portion of a case. Your
attitude is most improper!”
  Chief Dreiser chose this bad time to come Jiurrying
up. “Judge, rye been looking all over for you. Is this hearing going to take place?
I’ve got seven men who...”

                                         34
O’Farrell interrupted him. ‘Chief, this is Mr. Commissioner Greenberg. Mr.
Commissioner, our Chief of Safety.”
“Honored, Chief.”
“Howdy, Mr. Commissioner. Gentlemen, about this hearing. I’d like to know...”
“Chief,” the judge interrupted brusquely, “just tell my bailiff to hold things in
readiness. Now leave us in private, if you please.”
“But.. .” The chief shut up and backed away, while muttering something
excusable in a harassed policeman. O’Farrell turned back to Greenberg.
The Commissioner had had time during the interruption to recall that he was
supposed to be without personal emotions. He said smoothly, “I withdraw the
question, Judge. I had no intention of committing an impropriety.” He grinned.
“Under other circumstances I might have found myself slapped for contempt,
eh?”
O’Farrell grudged a smile. “It is possible.”
“Do you have a nice jail? I have over seven months leave saved up and no
chance to~take it.”
“You shouldn’t overwork, young man. I always find time to fish, no matter how
full the docket. ‘Allah does not subtract from man’s allotted time those hours
spent in fishing.’”
“That’s a - good sentiment. But I still have a problem. You know that I could
insist on postponement while I consult the department?”
“Certainly. Perhaps you should. Your decision should not be affected by my
opinions.”—
“No. But I agree with you; last-minute postponements are vexations.” He was
thinking that to refer to the department, in this odd case, meant to consult Mr.
Kiku
• . and he could hear the Under Secretary making disgusted remarks about
   “initiative” and ‘responsibility”
• and “for heaven’s sake, couldn’t anyone else around this madhouse make a
   simple decision?” Greenberg made up his mind. “I think it is best for the
   depart
• ment to continue intervention. I’ll take it, at least through a preliminary
   hearing.”
O’Farrell smiled broadly. “I had hoped that you would. I’m looking forward to
hearing you. I understand that you gentlemen from the Department of Spatial
Affairs sometimes hand out an unusual brand of law.”
  “Really? I hope not. I mean to be a credit to Harvard Law.”
                                          35
“Harvard? Why, so am I! Do they still shout for
    Reinhardt?”
    “They did when I was there.”
“Well, well, it’s a small world! I hate to wish this case on a schoolmate; I’m afraid
it is going to be a hot potato.”
“Aren’t they all? Well, let’s start the fireworks. Why don’t we sit en banc? You’ll
probably have to finish.” - -
They started back to the courthouse. Chief Dreiser, who had been fuming some
distance away, saw that Judge O’Farrell had forgotten him. He started to follow,
then noted that the Stuart boy and Betty Sorenson were still on the other side of
Lummox’s cage. They
• had their heads together and did not notice that the two - magistrates were
   leaving. Dreiser strode over to them.
  “Hey! Inside with you, Johnnie Stuart! You were supposed to be in court
  twenty minutes ago.”
John Thomas looked startled. “But I thought . . -“ he began, then noticed that the
judge and Mr. Greenberg
had gone. “Oh! Just a minute, Mr. Dreiser . . . I’ve got something to say to
Lummox.” -

“You’ve got nothing to say to that beast now. Come along.” -
  “But, Chief. .7
  Mr. Dreiser grabbed his - arm and started to move
away. Since he outweighed John Thomas by nearly one hundred pounds
Johnnie moved with him. Betty interrupted with, “Deacon Dreiser! What a nasty
way to behave!”
“That’ll be enough out of you, young lady,” Dreiser answered. He continued -
toward the courthouse with John Thomas in tow. Betty shut up and followed.
She considered tripping the police chief, but decided not to.
John Thomas gave in to the inevitable. He had intended to impress on Lummox,
at the very last minute, the necessity of remaining quiet, staying put, and not
eating the steel bars. But Mr. Dreiser would not listen. It seemed to John that
most of the older people in the world spent much of their time not -listening. -
Lummox had not missed their exit. He stood up, filling the enclosed space, and
stared after John Thomas, while wondering what to do. The bars creaked as he
brushed against them. Betty looked back and said, “Lummox! You wait there!
We’ll be back.”


                                         36
Lummox remained standing, staring after them and thinking about it. An order
from Betty wasn’t really an order. Or was - it? There were precedents in the past
to think over.
  Presently he lay down again.




  Iv The Prisoner at the Bars
AS O’Farrell and Greenberg entered the room the bailiff shouted, “Order in the
court!” The babble died down and spectators tried to find seats. A young man
wearing a hat and hung about with paraphernalia
stepped into the path of the two officials. “Hold it!” he said and photographed
them. “One more - . . and give us a smile, Judge, like the Commissioner had
just said something funny.”
“One is enough. And take off that hat.” O’Farrell brushed past him. The man
shrugged but did not take off his hat.
The clerk of the court looked up as they approached. His face was red and
sweaty, and he had his tools spread out on the justice’s bench. “Sorry, Judge,”
he said. “Half a moment.” He bent over a microphone and intoned, “Testing . . .
one, two, three, four . . . Cincinnati - . - sixty-six.” He looked up. “I’ve had more
grief with this recording system today.”
  “You should have checked it earlier.”
• “So help me, Judge, if you can find anybody .
Never mind. I did check it, it was running sweet. Then when I switched it on at
ten minutes to ten, a transistor quit and it’s been an endless job to locate the
trouble7
“All right,” O’Farrell answered testily, annoyed that it should happen in the
presence of a distinguished visitor. “Get my bench clear of your implements, will
you?”
Greenberg said hastily, “If it’s all the same to you, I won’t use the bench. We’ll
gather around a big table,
court-martial style. I find it speeds things up.”
O’Farrell looked unhappy. “I have always maintained the ancient formalities in
this court. I find it worthwhile.”
“Very likely. I suppose that those of us who have to try cases anywhere and
everywhere get into sloppy habits. But we can’t help it. Take Minatare for
example; suppose you attempted, out of politeness, to conform to their customs

                                          37
in trying a case. They don’t think a judge is worth a hoot unless he undergoes a
cleansing fast before he mounts the judge’s sphere .. then he has to stay up
there without foo~d or drink
until he reaches a decision. Frankly, I couldn’t take it. Could you?” -
Judge O’Farrell felt annoyed That this glib young man should imply that there
could be a parallel between the seemly rituals of his court and such heathen
practices. He recalled uneasily the three stacks of wheat cakes, adorned with
sausage and eggs, with which he had started the day. “Well . . . ‘other times,
other customs,’” he said grudgingly. -
“Exactly. And thanks for indulging me.” Greenberg motioned to the bailiff; the
two started shoving attorneys’ tables together to make one big one before
O’Farrell could make clear that he had quoted the old saw for the purpose of
rebutting it. Shortly, about fifteen people were seated around the composite
table and Greenberg had sent the bailiff out to find ash trays. He turned to the
clerk, who was now at his control desk, wearing earphones and crouching over
his instruments in the awkward pose of all electronics technicians. “Is your
equipment working now?” -
  “The clerk pressed a thumb and forefinger together. “Rolling.”
  “Very well. Court’s in session.”
The clerk spoke into his mike, announcing time, date, place, nature and -
jurisdiction of the court, and the name and title of the special master presiding,
reading the last and mispronouncing Sergei Greenberg’s first name; Greenberg
did not correct him. The bailiff came in, his hands full of ash trays, and said
hastily, “Oyez! Oyez! Let all who have business before this court gather nigh
and...”
‘Never mind,” Greenberg interrupted. “Thanks anyhow. This court will now hold
a preliminary - hearing on any and all issues relating to the actions last Monday
of an extra-terrestrial creature locally resident and known as ‘Lummox? I refer to
that big brute in a cage
outside this building. Bailiff, go get a picture of him, please, and insert it in the
record.”
  “Right away, your honor.”
“The court wishes to announce that this hearing may be converted to a final
determination on any or all issues at any time, if the court so announces and
sub-
ject to objection and ruling at the time. In other words, don’t hold your- fire; this
may be your only day in court. Oh yes . . . the court will receive petitions relating
to this extra-terrestrial as well as hear issues.”
                                           38
  “Question, your honor.”
  “Yes?”
“May it please the court: my client and I have no objection if all that we are
engaged in is a preliminary inquiry. But will we return to accepted procedures if
we go on to terminer?” -
“This court, being convened by the Federation and acting in accordance with the
body of law called ‘Customs of Civilizations’ in brief and consisting of agree-
• ments, treaties, precedents, et cetera,, between two or more planets of the
   Federation, or with other civilizations with which member planets of the
   Federation have diplomatic relations, is not bound by local procedures. It is
   the purpose of this court to arrive at the truth and, from there, to reach equity
   . . . equity under the Law. The court will not trample on local law and custom
   except -where they are hopelessly opposed to superior law. But where local
   custom is merely ritualistic, this court will ignore formality and get on with its
   business. Understand me?”
“Er, I believe so, sir. I may take exception later.” The small, middle-aged man
who spoke seemed embarrassed.
“Any one may object at any time for any reason atid be heard. Also you may
appeal from my decisions. However-.. .” Greenberg grinned warmly.”. ... I doubt
if it will do you much good. -So far I have been pretty lucky in having my
decisions upheld.”
  “I did not intend to imply,”’ the man answered stiffly, “that the court ~i’as not
  properly..
“Sure; - sure! Let’s get on with it.” Greenberg picked up a stack of papers. “Here
is a civil action. ‘Bon Marché Merchandising Corporation versus ‘Lummox,’ John
Thomas Stuart XI ...”(“That name still bothers me,” he said in an aside to Judge
O’Farrell.) “. . . Marie Brandley Stuart. et al., and another one like it for the
Western Mutual Assurance Company, insurers of Bon Marché. Here is another,
same defendants, brought by
K. Ito and his insurance company, urn, New World Casualty, Ltd., and one from
the City of Westville, same defendants again . . - and still another brought by
Mrs. Isabelle Donahue. Also some criminal matters
one is for harboring a dangerous animal, one for felonious harboring of same,
another for negligence and another for maintaining a public nuisance.” -
John Thomas had been steadily turning white. Greenberg glanced at him and
said, “They haven’t skipped much, have they, son? Cheer up . . - the
condemned man always eats a hearty breakfast.” John Thomas managed a
sickly grin. - Betty found his knee under the table and patted it.

                                          39
There was another paper in the stack; Greenberg shuffled it in with the others
without reading it into the record. It was a petition signed by the Chief-ofSafety
on behalf of the City of Westvilie praying the court to order the destruction of a
dangerous animal known as “Lummox” and further identified as, etc. Instead
Greenberg looked up and said, “Now whO’s who? You, sir?”
The man addressed was the 1a~ryer who - had questioned the court’s methods;
he identified himself as Alfred Schneider and stated that he was acting both for
Western Mutual and for the Bon Marchd. “This gentleman beside me is Mr.
deGrasse, manager of the store.”
“Good. Now the next man, please.” Greenberg established that all principals
were present, with their attorneys~ the roster included, besides himself, Judge
O’Farrell, John Thomas, Betty, and Chief ‘Dreiser, the following: Mrs. Donahue
and her lawyer Mr. Beanfield, Messrs. Schneider and deCrasse for Bon Marché,
Mr. Lombard, city attorney of Westville, the attorney for Mr. Ito’s insurance
company and Mr. Ito’s son (acting for his father), Officers Karnes and Mendoza
(wit~ nesses), and John Thomas’s mother with the Stuart family lawyer,Mr.
Postle. - -
  Greenberg said to Postle, “I take it you are also acting for Mr. Stuart.”
  Betty interrupted with, “Heavens, no! I’m representing Johnnie.”
Greenberg raised his eyebrows. “I was about to ask what you were doing here.
Uh, you are an attorney?”
“Well.. - I’m his counsel.”
O’Farrell leaned over and whispered, “This is preposterous, Mr. Commissioner.
Of course she is not a lawyer. I know the child. I’m rather fond of her. . - but
frankly, I don’t think she is quite bright.” He added severely, “Betty, you have no
business here. Get out and quit making a fool of yourself.”
  “Now, see here, Judge...”
“One moment, young lady,” Greenberg put in. “Do you have any qualifications to
act as counsel for Mr. Stua-rt?” -

“I certainly do. I’m the counsel he wants~”
“Mmm, a very strong point. Though perhaps not sufficient.” He spoke to John
Thomas. “Is that correct?” -
  “Uh, yes. sir.”
  Judge O’Farrell whispered, “Don’t do it, son! You’ll be reversed.”



                                         40
Greenberg whispered back, “That’s what I “am afraid
• of.” He frowned, then spoke to Mr. Postle. “Are you prepared to act for both
    mother and son?”
   “Yes.”
   “No!” Betty co~itradicted.
“Eh? Wouldn’t Mr. Stuart’s interests be better pro.. tected in the hands of an
attorney than in yours? No, don’t answer; I want Mr. Stuart to answer.”
  John Thomas turned pink and managed to mutter, “I don’t want him.” -
  “Why?”
John Thomas looked stubborn. Betty said scornfully, “Because his mother
doesn’t like Lummox, that’s why. And...”
  ‘That’s not true!” Mrs. Stuart cut in sharply.
“It is true - - -. and that old fossil Postle is stringing along with her. They want to
get rid of Lummie, both of them!”
O’Farrell coughed in his handkerchief. Postle turned red. Greenberg said
gravely, “Young lady, you will stand and apologize to Mr. Postle.”
Betty looked - at the Commissioner, dropped her eyes and stood up. She said
humbly, “Mr. Postle, I’m sorry you’re a fossil. I mean I’m sorry! said you were a
fossil.”
‘Sit down,” Greenberg said soberly. “Mind your manners hereafter. Mr. Stuart,
no one is required to accept counsel not of his choice. But you place me in a
dilemma. Legally you are a minor child; you have chosen as counsel another
minor child. It won’t look well in the record.” He pulled- at his -chin. “Could it be
that you.. or your counsel . . . or both of you . . . are trying to cause a mistrial?”
“Uh, no, sir.” Betty looked smugly virtuous; it was a possibility she had counted
on but had not mentioned to Johnnie.
      ‘Hmm . .
“Your honor...” - -
      “Yes, Mr. Lombard?”
• “This strikes me as ridiculous. This girl has no standing. -She is not a
   member of the bar; obviously she can’t function as an attorney. I dislike
   finding myself in the position of instructing the court but the obvious thing to
   do is to put her outside the bar and appoint counseL May I suggest that the
   Public Defender is present and prepared?”
  “You may so suggest Is that all, Mr. City Attorney?”
“Uh, yes, your honor.” -


                                           41
“May I say that the court also finds it distasteful for you to instruct the court; you
will not do so again.”

“Er. . . yes, your honor.” -
“This court will, make its own mistakes in its own way. Under the customs by
which this court is convened it is not necessary that a counsel be qualified
formally - - . in your idiom, be a ‘member of the bar,’ a licensed lawyer. If you
find that rule unusual, let me assure you that the herditary lawyer-priests of
Deflai find it much more astonishing. But it is the only rule
• which can be applied everywhere. Nevertheless I thank you for your
   suggestion. Will the Public Defender stand up?”
  “Here, your honor. Cyrus Andrews.”
  “Thank you. Are you prepared to act?”
“Yes. I’ll need a recess to consult with my principaL” “Naturally. Well, Mr.
Stuart? Shall the court appoint Mr. Andrews as your counsel? Or associate
counsel?”
        “No!” Again Betty answered.
“I was addressing Mr. Stuart, Miss Sorenson. Well?” John Thomas glanced at
Betty. “No, your honor.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll answer that,” Betty put in. “I talk faster than he does; that’s why I’m counseL
We won’t take Mr. Andrews because the City Attorney is against us on one of
these silly things they’ve got about Lummox. . . - and the City Attorney and Mr.
Andrews are law partners when they are not fighting sham battles in couit!”
  Greenberg turned to Andrews. “Is that correct, sir?”
  “Why, yes, we’re law partners, your honor. You will understand that, in a town
  this size. . .” -
“I quite understand. I also understand Miss Sorenson’s objection. Thank you,
Mr. Andrews. Stand down.”
“Mr. Greenberg?”         --
  ‘What is it now, young lady?”
“I can get you part way off the spot. You see, I had a dirty hunch that some
busybody would try to keep me out of it. So we fixed it up ahead of time. I’m half
owner.”      --
      “Half owner?”
      “Of Lummox. See?” She took a paper from her bag and offered it. “A bill of
sale, all legal and proper. At least it ought to be, I coped it out of the book.”


                                          42
       Greenberg studied it. “The form appears correct. The date is yesterday - .
. which would make you voluntarily liable to the extent of your interest, frOm a
civil standpoint. It would not affect criminal matters of ear
lier date.” -
   “Oh, pooh! There aren’t any criminal matters.”
“That remains to be determined. And don’t say ‘pooh’; it is not a legal term The
question here is whether or not the signer can vend this interest. Who owns
Lummox?”
  ‘Why, Johnnie does! It was in his father’s wilL”
  “So? Is that stipulated, Mr. Postle?” -
Mr. Postle whispered with Mrs. Stuart, then answered, “So stipulated, your
honor. This creature called ‘Lummox’ is a chattel of John Thomas Stuart, a
minor child. Mrs. Stuart’s interest is through her son.”
  “Very well.” Greenberg handed the bill of sale to the clerk. “Read it into the
  record.”
Betty settled back. “All right, your honor - . . appoint anybody you want to. Just
as long as I can have my say.”
  Greenberg sighed. “Would it make any difference if I did?”
  “Not much, I guess.”
“Let the record show that you two, having been duly warned and advised,
persist - in acting as your own counseL The court regretfully assUmes the
burden of protecting your rights and advising you as to the law.”
  “Oh, don’t feel bad, Mr. Greenberg. We trust you.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he said drily. “But let’s move on. -That gentleman down at
the end. . - who are you?”
  “Me, Judge? I’m the Galactic Press stringer around here. Name of Hovey.”
“So? The clerk will supply a transcript for the press. I’ll be available for the usual
interview later, if anyone wants it. No pictures of me with this creature Lummox,
however. Are there any more gentlemen of the press?”
  Two others stood up. “The bailiff will place chairs for you just beyond the raiL”
  -
  “Yes, Judge. But first...”
• “Outside the rail, please.” Greenberg looked around!
  “I think that’s all . . . no, that gentleman down there.
  Your name, sir?”


                                          43
• The man addressed stood up. He was dressed in formal jacket and striped
   gray shorts and held him-
self with self-conscious dignity. “May it please the court, my name, sir, is T.
Omar Esklund, Doctor of Philosophy~”
        “It neither pleases nor displeases the court, Doctor. Are you a party to any
        of these issues?”
        “I am, sir. I appear here as amicus curiae, a friend of the court.’
        Greenberg frowned. “This court insists on choosing its own friends. State
        your business, Doctor.”
“Sir, if you will permit me. I am state executive secretary of the Keep Earth
Human League.” Greenberg suppressed a groan but Eskh.md did not notice as
he had looked down to pick up a large manuscr,ipt. “As is
well known, ever since the inception of the ungodly practice of space travel, our
native Earth, given to us by Divine law, has been increasingly overrun by
creatures . . - ‘beasts~ rather let us say -. . . of dubious origin. The pestilential
consequences of this unholy traffic are
seen on every...” --
   ‘Doctor Esklund!”
   “Sir?”
   “What is your business with this court? Are you a principal to any of the issues
     before it?” -
‘Well, not in so many words, your honor. In a broader sense, I am - advocate for
all mankind. The society of which I have the honor...” -
• “Do you have any business? A petition, perhaps?”
  “Yes,” Esklund answered sullenly, “I have a petition.”
  “Produce it.”
Esklund fumbled among his papers, drew out one; it was passed to Greenberg,
who did not look at it. “Now state briefly, for the record, the - nature of your
petition. Speak clearly and toward the nearest microphone.” -
“Well - . . may it please the court: the society of which I have the honor of being
an officer . . . a league, if I may so say, embracing all mankind, prays - . - nay,
demands that this unearthly beast which has already ravaged this fair
community be destroyed. Such destruction is sanctioned and, yes, commanded
by those sacred-“ -
“Is that your petition? You want this court to order the destruction of the e.-t.
known as Lummox?”
“Yes, but more- than that, I have here a careful documentation - of the
arguments . . . unanswerable arguments I may say, to...”

                                          44
  “Just a moment. That word ‘demands’ which you used; does it appear in the
  petition?”
  “No, your honor, that came from my heart, from the fullness of...” -
  “Your heart has just led -you into contempt. Do - you wish to rephrase it?”
  Esklund stared, then said grudgingly, “I withdraw the word. No contempt was
  intended.”
“Very well. The petition is received; the clerk will record it. Decision later. Now
as to that speech you wished to make: from the size of your manuscript I
surmise that you will require about two hours?”
   “I believe that will be ample, your honor,” Eskiund answered, somewhat
      mollified.
   “Good. Bailiff!”
   “Your honor?”
   “Can you dig up a soap box?”
   “W’hy, I believe so, sir.”
“Excellent. Place it on the lawn outside. Doctor Eskiund, everyone of us enjoys
free speech . . -‘ so en~oy yourself. That soap box is yours for the next two
hours.”
      Dr. Esklund turned the color of eggplant. “You’ll hear from us!”
      “No doubt.”
      “We know your sort! Traitors to mankind. Renegades! Trifling with...” -
“Remove him.” --
The bailiff did so, grinning. One of the reporters followed them out. Greenberg
said gently, “We seem to have trimmed it down to inclispensables now. We
have several issues before us, but they have in common the same sheaf of
facts. Unless there is objection, we will hear testimony for all issues together,
then pass on the issues one at a time. Objection?”
The lawyers looked at each other. Finally Mr. Ito’s attorney said, “Your honor, it
would seem to me to be fairer to try them one at a time.”
“Possibly. But if we do, we’ll be here until Christmas. I dislike to make so many
busy people go over the same ground repeatedly. But a separate trial of the
facts to
a jury is your privilege.. . bearing in mind, if you lose, your principal will have to
bear the added costs alone.”
Mr. Ito’s son tugged at thq sleeve of the lawyer and whispered to him. The
lawyer nodded and said, “We’ll go along with a joint hearing. .. as to facts.”
“Very well. Further objection?” There was none. Greenberg turned to O’Farrell.
“Judge, is this room equipped with truth meters?”
                                           45
  “Eh? Why, yes. I hardly ever use them.”
“I like them.” He turned to the others. “Truth meters will be hooked up. No one is
required to use one, but anyone choosing not to will be sworn. This court, as is
its privilege, will take judicial notice of and will comment on the fact if anyone
refuses the use of a truth meter.” -
John Thomas whispered to Betty, “Watch your step, Slugger.”
She whispered back, “I will, smarty! You watch yours.” Judge O’Farrell said -to
Greenberg, “It will take some time to rig them. Hadn’t we better break for
lunch?”
“Oh yes, lunch. Attention, everyone - . this court does not recess for lunch. I’ll
ask the bailiff to take orders for coffee and sandwiches, or whatever you like
while the clerk is rigging the meters. We will eat here at the table. In the
meantime . . .” Greenberg fumbled for cigarettes, fumbled again. “~ , . has
anybody got a match?”
Out on the lawn, Lummox, having considered the difficult question of Betty’s
right to give orders, had come to the conclusion that she possibly had a special
status. Each of the John Thomases had introduced into his life a person
equivalent to Betty; each had insisted that the person in question must be
humored in every whim. This John Thomas had already begun the process with
Betty; therefore, it was best to go along with what she wanted as long as it was
not too much
trouble. He lay down and went to sleep, leaving his watchman eye on guard.
He slept restlessly, disturbed by the tantalizing odor of steel. After a time he
woke up and stretched, causing the cage to bulge. It seemed to him that John
Thomas had been gone an unnecessarily long time. On second thought, he had
not liked the way that man had taken John Thomas away . . . no, he hadn’t liked
it a bit. He wondered what he should do, if anything? What would John Thomas
say, if he were here?
The problem was too complex. He lay down and tasted the bars of his cage. He
refrained from eating them; he merely tried them for flavor. A bit grucky, he
decided, but good.
Inside, Chief Dreiser had completed his testimony and had been followed by
Karnes and Mendoza. No argument had developed and the truth meters had
stayed steady; Mr. deGrasse had insisted on amplifying parts of the testimony.
Mr. Ito’s lawyer stipulated that Mr. Ito had fired at Lummox; Mr. Ito’s son was
allowed to describe and show photographs of the consequences. Only Mrs.
Donahue’s testimony was needed to complete the story of L-day.


                                         46
Greenberg turned to her lawyer. “Mr. Beanfield, will you examine your client, or
shall the court continue?”
   “Go ahead, your honor. I may add a question or two.”
   “Your prvilege. Mrs. Donahue, tell us what happened.”
“I certainly shall. Your honor, friends, distinguished visitors, unaccustomed as I
am to public speaking, nevertheless, in my modest way, I believe I am
  “Never mind that, Mrs. Donahue. Just the facts. Last Monday afternoon.”
  “But I was!”
  “Very well, go ahead. Keep it simple.”
  She sniffed. “Well! I was lying dowrt, frying to
snatch a few minutes rest. . . I have so many responsibilities, clubs and
charitable committees and things . . .”
Greenberg was watching the truth meter over her head. The needle - wobbled
restlessly, but did not kick over into the red enough to set off the warning
buzzer. He decided that it was not worth while to caution her.
  when suddenly I was overcome with a name
less dread.”      -
The needle swung far into the red, a ruby light flashed and the buzzer gave out
a loud rude noise. Somebody started to giggle; Greenberg said hastily, “Order in
the court. The bailiff is instructed to remove any spectator making a
disturbance.”
Mrs. Donahue broke off suddenly when the buzzer sounded. Mr. Beanfield,
looking grim, touched her sleeve and said, “Never mind that, dear lady. Just tell
the court about the noise you heard and what you saw and what you did.” -
  “He’s leading the witness,” objected Betty.
  “Never mind,” said Greenberg. “Somebody has to.”
  “But...”
  “Objection overruled. Witness will continue.”
“Well! Uh . - - well, I heard this noise and I wondered what in the world it was. 1
peeked out and there was this great ravening beast charging back and forth
and. . .”
The buzzer sounded again; a dozen spectators laughed. Mrs. Donahue said
angrily, ‘Will somebody shut that silly thing off? How anyone can be expected to
testify with that going on is more than I can see.”
‘Order!” called Greenberg. “If there is more demonstration, the court will find it
necessary to hold someone in contempt.” He went on to Mrs. Donahue: “Once a
witness has accepted the use of the truth meter the decision cannot be
changed. But the data supplied by -

                                         47
• it is instructive merely; the court is not bound by it. Continue.”-
  “Well, I should hope so. I never told a lie in my life?’ -
  The buzzer remained silent; Greenberg reflected that
• she must believe it. “I mean,” he added, “that the court makes up its own
   mind. It does not allow a machine to do so for it.” -
“My father always said that gadgets like that were spawn of the deviL He said
that an honest business man should not...”
  “Please, Mrs. Donahue”
Mr. Beanfield whispered to her. Mrs. Donahue went on more quietly, “Well,
there was that thing, that enormous beast kept by that boy next door. It was
eating my rose bushes.”
  “And what did you do?”
“I didn’t know what to do. I grabbed the first thing at hand . . . a broom, it was . .
. and rushed out doors. The beast came charging at me and...”
Buzzzzzzz!”
  “Shall we go over that again, Mrs. Donahue?”
“Well - . . anyhow, I rushed at it and began to beat it on the head. It snapped at
me. Those great teeth. . .”
Buzzzzz!
“Then what happened, Mrs. Donahue?”
“Well, it turned away, the cowardly thing, and ran out of my yard. I don’t know
where it went. But there was my lovely garden, just ruined.” The needle
quivered but the buzzer did not sound.
Greenberg turned to the lawyer. “Mr. Beanfield, have you examined the damage
to Mrs. Donahue’s garden?”
  • “Yes, your honor.” -
    “Will you tell us the extent of the damage?”
Mr. Beanfield decided that he would rather lose aclient than be buzzed in open
court by that confounded—
toy. “Five bushes were eaten, your honor, In whole or in part. There was minor
damage to the lawn and a hole made in an ornamental fence.”
“Financial damage?”
     Mr. Beanfield said carefully, “The amount we are suing for is before you,
     your honor.”
     “That is not responsive, Mr. Beanfield.”



                                          48
Mr. Beanfield shrugged mentally and struck Mrs. Donahue off his list of paying
properties. “Oh, around a couple of hundred, your honor, in property damage.
But the court should allow for inconvenience and mental anguish.”
  Mrs. Donahue yelped. “That’s preposterous! My prize roses.”
The needle jumped and fell back too quickly to work the buzzer. Greenberg said
wearily, “What prizes, Mrs. Donahue?”
Her lawyer cut in, “They were right next to Mrs. Donahue’s well-known
champion plants. Her courageous action saved the more valuable bushes, I am
happy to say.”
“Is there more to add?”
“I think not. I have photographs, marked and identified, to offer.”
       “Very well.”
Mrs. Donahue glared at her lawyer. “Well! I have something to add. There is one
thing I insist on, absolutely insist on, and that is that that dangerous, blood- thirty
beast be destroyedr
Greenberg turned to Beanfield~ “Is that a formal prayer, counsellor? Or may we
regard it as rhetoric?”Beanfield looked uncomfortable. “We have such a petition,
your honor.”
“The court will receive it.”
  Betty butted in with, “Hey, wait a minute! All Lummie did was eat a few of her
  measly old...”
“Later, Miss Sorenson.”
But...
“Later, please. You will have your chance. The court Is now of the opinion that it
has all the pertinent facts. Does anyone have any new facts to bring out, or
does anyone wish to question further any witness? Or bring forward another
witness?”
  “We do,” Betty said at once.
  “You do what?”
  “We want to call a new witness.”
  “Very well. Do you have him here?”
  “Yes, your honoT. Just outside. Lummox.”
Greenberg looked thoughtful. “Do I understand that you are proposing to put,
uh, Lummox on the stand in his own defense?” -
  “Why not? He can talk.”
A reporter turned suddenly to a colleague and whispered. to him, then hurried
out of the room. Greenberg chewed his lip’ “I know that,” he admitted. “I
exchanged a few words with him myself. But the ability to talk
                                          49
• does not alone make a competent witness. A child may learn to talk, after a
   fashion, before it is a year old, but only rarely is a child of tender years. .. less
   than five, let us say . . . found competent to give testimony. The court takes
   judicial notice that members of nonhuman races. . . non-human in the
   biological sense .
may give evidence. But nothing has been presented to show that this particular
extra-terrestrial is competent.”
John Thomas whispered worriedly to Betty, “Have you slipped your cams?
There’s no telling what Lummie would say.” -
“Hush!” She went on to Greenberg. “Look, Mr. Com-missioner, you’ve said a
fancy lot of words, but what do they mean? You are about to pass judgment on
Lummox. . . and you won’t even bother to ask him a question. You say he can’t
give competent evidence. Well, I’ve seen others arouncd. - here - who - didn’t
do
so well. I’ll bet if you hook a truth meter to Lummie, it won’t buzz. Sure, he did
things he shouldn’t have done. He ate some scrawny old rose bushes and he
ate Mr. Ito’s cabbages. What’s horrible about that? When you were a kid, did
you ever swipe a cookie when you thought nobody was looking?” - -
She took a deep breath. “Suppose when you swiped that cookie, somebody hit
you in the face with a broom? Or fired a gun at you? Wouldn’t you-be scared?
Wouldn’t you run? Lummie is friendly. Everybody around here knows that.. - or
at least if they don’t they are stupider and more irresponsible than he is. But did
anybody try to reason with him? Oh, no! They bullied him and fired off guns at
him and scared him to death and chased him off bridges. You say Lummie is
incompetent~ Who is incompetent? All these people who were mean to him? Or
Lumniie? Now they want to kill him. If a little boy swiped a cookie, I suppose
they’d chop his head off, just to be sure he wouldn’t do it again. Is somebody
crazy? What kind of a farce is this?”
She stopped, tears running down - her cheeks. It was a talent which had been
useful in school dramatics; to
• her own surprise she found that these tears were real.
   “Are you through?” asked Greenberg.
   “I guess so. For now, anyway?’
“I must say that you put it very movingly. But a court should not be swayed by
emotion. Is it your theory that the major portion of the tlamage . . . - let us say
everything but the rose bushes and the cabbages . . . arose from improper acts
of human beings and therefore cannot be charged to Lummox or his owner?”
“Figure it yourself, your honor. The tail generally follows the dog. Why not ask
Lummie how it looked to him?”

                                           50
“We’ll get to that. On another issue: I cannot grant that your analogy is valid. We
are dealing here, not with a little boy, but with an animal. If this court
should order the destruction of this animal, it would not
be in spirit of vengeance nor of punishment, for an animal is presumed not to
understand such values. The purpose would be preventive, in order that a
potential danger might not be allowed to develop into damage to life or limb or
property. Your little boy can be restrained by the arms of his nurse. . . but we
are dealing with a creature weighing several tons, capable of crushing a man
with a careless step. There is no parallel in your cookie-stealing small boy.”
“There isn’t, huh? That little boy can grow up and wipe out a whole city by
pushing one teeny little but.~
ton. So off with his headi-before he grows up. Don’t ask him why he took the
cookie, don’t ask him anything! He’s a bad boy-chop his head off and save
trouble.”
       Greenberg found himself again biting his lip. He said, -“It is your wish that
       we examine Lummox?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
       “I’m not sure what you said. The court will consider it.”
       Mr. Lombard said quickly, “Objection, your honor. If this extraordinary...”
“Hold your objection, please. Court will recess for ten minutes. All will remain.”
Greenberg got up and walked away. He took -out a cigarette, found again that
he had no light, stuck the pack back in his pocket.
Blast the girl! He had had it figured how to dispose of this case smoothly, with
credit to the department and everybody satisfied.. . except the Stuart boy, but
• that could not be helped . . . the boy and this precocious preposterous young
   mammal who had him under her wing. And under her thumb, too, he added.
He could not allow this unique specimen to be destroyed. But he had meant to
do it suavely . . . deny the petition of that old battle-axe, since it was obviously
from malice, and tell th~ police chief privately
• to forget the other one. The Save-the-World-fuj-the Nean
derthals petition didn’t matter. But- this cocky girl; by talking when she should
have listened, was going to make it appear that a departmental court could be
pushed into risking public welfare over a lot of sentimental, anthropomorphic
bosh!
  Confound her pretty blue eyes!
They would accuse him of being influenced by those pretty blue eyes, too. Too
bad the child wasn’t homely.


                                         51
The animal’s owner was responsible for the damage; there were a thousand
“strayed animal” cases to justify a ruling-since this was not the planet Tencora.
That stuff about it being the fault of the persons who frightened him off was a lot
of prattle. But the e.-t., as a specimen for science, was worth far more than the
damage; the decision would not hurt the boy financially.
He realized that he had allowed himself to fall into a most unjudicial frame of
mind. The - defendant’s ability to pay was not his business.

“Excuse me, your honor. Please don’t monkey with those things.” - -
He looked up, ready to snap somebody’s head off, to find himself looking at the
clerk of the court. He then saw that he had been fiddling with the switches and
controls of the clerk’s console. He snatched his hands away. “Sorry.”
“A person who doesn’t understand these things,” the clerk said apologetically,
“can cause an awful lot of trouble.”
  “True. Unfortunately true.” He turned away sharply. “The court will come to
  order.”
He sat down and turned at once to Miss Sorenson. “The court rules that
Lummox is not a competent witness. -
  Betty gasped. “Your honor, you are being most unfair!” -
  “Possibly.” -
  She thought for a moment. “We want a change of venue.”
“Where did you learn that word? Never mind, you had one when the department
intervened. That ends it. Now keep quiet for a change.”
She turned red. “You ought to disqualify yourself!” Greenberg had intended to
be calm, ~5ositively Olympian, in his manner. He now found it necessary to take
three slow breaths. “Young lady,” he said carefully, “you have been trying to
confuse the issue all day. There is no need for you to speak now; you have said
too much already. Understand me?”
  “I have not, I will too, and I didn’t either!”
  “What? Repeat that, please?” -
  She looked at him. “No, I had better take it back .. . or you will be talking
     about ‘contempt.”
“No, no. I wanted to memorize it. I don’t think I have ever heard quite so
sweeping a statement. Never
  mind. Just hold your tongue. If you know how. You’ll be allowed to talk later.”
  “Yes, sir.”


                                         52
   He turned to the others. “The court announced earlier that there would be due
     notice if we were to continue
to terminer. The court sees no reason not to. Objection?” -

The attorneys shifted uncomfortably and looked at
• each other. Greenberg turned to Betty. “How about you?”

“Me? I thought I wasn’t allowed to vote.” -
  “Shall we conclude these issues today?”
She glanced at John Thomas, then said dully, “No objection,” then leaned to-
him and whispered, “Oh, Johnnie, I tried!”
  He patted her hand under the table. “I know you did, Slugger.”
Greenberg pretended not - to hear. He went on in a cold, official voice. “This
court has before it a petition
asking for the destruction of the extra-terrestrial Lummox on the grounds that it
is dangerous and uncontrollable. The facts have not ~ustained that view; the
petition is denied.?’ -
Betty gasped and squealed. John Thomas looked startled, then grinned for the
first time. “Order, please,” Greenberg said mildly. “We have here another
petition to the same end, but for different reasons.” He held up the one
submitted. by the Keep Earth Human League. “This court finds itself unable to
follow the alleged reasoning. Petition denied. -
“We have four criminal charges, I am dismissing all four. The law requires...”

The city attorney looked startled. “But, your honor-“
“If you have a point, will you save it? No criminal intent can be found here, which
therefore would make it appear that there could be no crime. However,
constructive intent may appear where the law requires a man to exercise due
prudence to protect others and it is on this ground that these issues must be
judged. Prudence is based on experience, personal or vicarious, not on
impossible prescience. In- the judgment of this court, the precautions taken
were prudent in the light of experience . . . experience up to last Monday
afternoon, that is to say.” He turned and addressed John Thomas. “What I
mean, young man, is this: your precautions were ‘prudent’ so far as you knew.
Now you know better. If that beast gets loose again, it will go hard with you.” -
Johnnie swallowed. “Yessir.”
“We have remaining the civil matters of damage, Here the criteria are different.
The guardian of a minor, or the owner of an animal, is responsible for damage

                                        53
committed by that child or that animal, the law holding that it is better that the
owner or guardian suffer than the innocent third party. Except for one point,
which I will reserve for the moment, these civil ac
tions fall under that rule. First, let me note that one or more of these issues ask
for real, punitive, and exemplary damages. Punitive and exemplary damages
are denied; there are no grounds. I believe that we have arrived at real
damages in each case and counsels have so stipulated. As to costs, the
Department of Spatial Affairs has intervened in the public interest; costs will be
borne by the department.”
  Betty whispered, “A good thing we homesteaded him.
Look at those insurance vultures grin.” . Greenberg went on, “I reserved one
point. The - question has been raised indirectly that this Lummox may not be an
animal . . . and therefore not a chattel
but may be a sentient being within the meaning of ‘the Customs of Civilizations’
. . . and therefore his own master.” Greenberg hesitated. He was about to add
his bit to the “Customs of Civilizations”; he was anxious not to be overruled. “We
have long disavowed slavery; no sentient being may be owned. But if Lummox
is
• sentient, what have we? May Lummox be held personally responsible? It
    would not appear that he has sufficient knowledge of our customs, nor does -
    it appear that he is among us by his own choice. Are the putative owners in
    fact his guardians and in that way responsible? All these questions turn on
    this: is Lummox a chattel, or a free being?
‘”This court expressed its opinion when it ruled that Lummox might not testify . .
. at this time. But this court is not equipped to render a final decision, no matter
how strongly it may believe that Lummox is an animal.
“The court will therefore start proceedings on its own motion to determine the
status of Lummox. In the meantime the local authorities will take charge of
Lummox and will be held responsible both for his safety and for public safety
with respect to him.” Greenberg shut up and sat back.
A fly would have had his choice of open mouths. First to recover was the
attorney for Western Mutual, Mr. Schneider. “Your honor? Where does that
leave us?~~
“I don’t know.”
“But . . . see here, your honor, let’s face the facts. Mrs. Stuart hasn’t any
property or funds that can be attached; she’s the beneficiary of a trust. Same for
the boy. We expected -to levy against the beast itself; he will bring a good price
in the proper market. Now you have, if you will permit me, upset the apple cart.

                                          54
If one of those scientific. .. hrrumph! . . . persons starts a long series of tests,
years long perhaps, or throws doubt on the beast’s status as a chattel. . . well,
where should we look for relief? Should we sue the city?”
Lombard was on his feet instantly. “Now, look here, you can’t sue the city! The
city is one of the damaged parties. On that theory...”
“Order,” Greenberg said sternly. “None of those questions can be answered
now. All civil actions will be continued until the status of Lummox is clarified.” He
looked at the ceiling. “There is another possibility. It would seem that this
creature came to Earth in the Trail Blazer. If my memory of history serves, all
specimens brought back by that ship were government property. If Lummox is a
chattel, he may nevertheless not be private property. In that event, the so’urce
of relief may be a matter of more involved litigation.”
Mr. Schneider looked stunned, Mr. Lombard looked angry, John Thomas looked
confused and whispered to Betty, “What’s he trying to say? Lummox belongs to
me.
“Ssh. . .” Betty whispered. “I told you we would get out of it. Oh, Mr. Greenberg
is a honey lamb!” -
   But...
   “Hush up! We’re ahead.”
   Mr. Ito’s son had kept quiet except when testifying. Now he stood up. “Your
     honor?”
   “Yes, Mr. Ito?”
“I don’t understand any of this. I’m just a farmer. But I do want to know one
thing. Who’s going to pay for my father’s greenhouses?”
  John Thomas got to his feet. “I am,” he said simply.
  Betty tugged at his sleeve. “Sit down, you idiot!”
“You hush up, Betty. You’ve - talked enough.” Betty hushed up. “Mr. Greenberg,
everybody else has been talking. Can I say something?”
  “Go ahead.”
“I’ve listened to a lot of stuff all day. People trying to make out that Lummox is
dangerous, when he’s not People trying to have him killed, just for spite
  yes, I mean you, Mrs. Donahue!”
“Address the court, please,” Greenberg said quietly. “I’ve heard you say a lot of
things, too. I didn’t follow all of them but, if you will pardon me, sir, some of them
struck me as pretty silly. Excuse me.”
  “No contempt intended, I’m sure.”



                                          55
“Well. . . take this about whether Lummox is or isn’t a chatteL Or whether he’s
bright enough to vote. Lummox is pretty bright, I guess nobody but me knows
just how bright. But he’s never had any education and he’s never been
anywhere. But that hasn’t anything to do with who he belongs to. He belongs to
me. Just the way I belong to him.. . we grew up together. Now I know I’m
responsible for that damage last Monday... will you keep quiet, Betty! I can’t pay
for it now, but rilpayforit. I...”
“Just a moment, young man. The court will not permit you to admit liability
without counseL If that is your intention, court will appoint counseL”
  “You said I could have my say.”
  “Continue. Noted- for the record that this is not binding.”

“Sure, it’s binding, because I’m going to do it. Pretty
soon my education trust comes due and it would about cover it. I guess I can. ..”
-
“John Thomas!” his -mother called out sharply. “You’ll do no such thing!’.’
“Mother, you had better keep out of this, too. I was just going to say...” -
“You’re not to say anything. Your honor, he is...”
“Order!” Greenberg interrupted. “None of this is binding. Let the lad speak.”
“Thank you, sir. I was through, anyway. But I’ve got something to say to you, sir,
too. Lummie is timid. I can handle him because he trusts me-but if you think I’m
going to let a lot of strangers poke him and prod him and ask him silly questions
and put him through mazes and things, you’d just better think again-because I
won’t stand for it! Lummie is sick right now. He’s had more excitement than is
good for him. The poor thing...”
Lummox had waited for John Thomas longer than he liked because he was not
sure where John Thomas had - gone. He had seen him disappear in the crowd
without being sure whether or not Johnnie had gone into the big house nearby.
He had tried to sleep after he woke up the first time, but people had come
poking around, and he had had to wake himself up repeatedly because his
watchman circuit did not have much judgment. Not that he thought of it that way;
he was merely aware that he had come to with his alarms jangling time after
time. - -
At last he decided that it was time he located John Thomas and went home.
Figuratively, he tore up Betty’s orders; after all, Betty was not Johnnie.




                                         56
So he stepped up his hearing to “search” and tried to locate Johnnie. He
listened for a long time, heard Betty’s voice several times-but he was not
interested in Betty. He continued to listen.

There was Johnnie now! He tuned out everything
else and listened, He was in the bi-g house all right. Hey! Johnnie sounded just
the way he did when he had arguments with his mother. Lummox spread his
hearing a little and tried to find out what was going
on.
They were talking about things he knew nothing about. But one thing was clear:
somebody was being mean to Johnnie. His mother? Yes, be heard her once
• , . and he knew that she had the privilege of being mean to Johnnie, just as
Johnnie could talk mean to him and it didn’t really matter. But there was
somebody else . . . several others, and not a one of them had any such
privilege.
Lummox decided that it was time to act. He heaved to his feet.
John Thomas got no farther in his peroration than “The poor thing . . .” There
were screams and shouts from Outside; everybody in court turned to look. The
noises got rapidly closer and Mr. Greenberg was just going to send the bailiff to
find out about it when suddenly it became unnecessary. The door to the
courtroom bulged, then burst off its hinges. The front end of Lummox came in,
tearing away part of the wall, and ending with him wearing the door frame as a
collar. He opened his mouth. “Johnnie!” he piped.
  “Lummox!” cried his friend. “Stand still. Stay right where you are. Don’t move
  an inch!”
Of all the faces in the room, that of Special Commissioner Greenberg presented
the most interesting mixed expression. -
v-.

A Matter of Viewpoint
~rii~ Right Honorable Mr. Kiku, Under Secretary for Spatial Mfairs, opened a
desk drawer and looked over his collection of pills. There was no longer any
doubt; his stomach ulcer was acting up again. He selected one and turned
wearily back to his tasks.
He read an order from the departmental Bureau of Engineering grounding all
Pelican-class interplanetary ships until certain modifications were accomplished.
Mr. Kiku did not bother to study the attached engineering report, but signed
approval, checked “m~’xcrIvE IMMEDIATELY” and dropped the papers in the
                                        57
outgoing basket. Engineering safety in space was the responsibility of BuEng;
Kiku himself knew nothing of engineering and did not wish to; he would back up
the decisions of his chief engineer, or fire him and get another one.
But he realized glumly that the financial lords who owned the Pelican-class
ships would soon be knocking the ear of the Secretary . . . and, shortly
thereafter, the Secretary, out of his depth and embarrassed by the political
power wielded by those fine gentlemen, would dump them in his lap.
He was beginning to have his doubts about this new Secretary; he was not
shaping up.
The next item was for his information only and had been routed to him because
of standing orders that anything concerning the Secretary must reach his desk,
no matter how routine. This item appeared routine and unimportant: according
to the synopsis an organization calling itself “The Friends of Lummox” and
headed by a Mrs. Beulah Murgatroyd was demanding
• an audience with the Secretary of Spatial Affairs; they were being shunted to
    the Special Assistant Secretary (Public Relations). -
Mr. Kiku read no farther. Wes Robbins would kiss them to death and neither he
nor the Secretary would be disturbed. He amused himself with the idea of
punishing the Secretary by inflicting Mrs. Murgatroyd on him, but it was merely a
passing fantasy; the Secretary’s time must be reserved for really important
cornerstonelayings, not wasted on crackpot societies. Any organization calling
itself “The Friends of This or That” always consisted of someoni~ with an axe to
grind, plus the usual assortment of prominent custard heads and professional
stuffed shirts. But such groups could be a nuisance. . . therefore never grant
them the Danegeld
  they demanded.        --
He sent it to files and picked up a memorandum from BuEcon: a virus had got
into the great yeast plant at St. Louis; the projection showed a possibility of pro-
• tein shortage and more drastic rationing. Even starvation on Earth was no
   direct interest to Mr. Kiku. But he stared thoughtfully while the slide rule in his
   head worked a few figures, then he called as assistant. “Wong, l~ave you
   seen BuEcon Ay0428?”
  “Uh, I believe so, boss. The St. Louis yeast thing?”
  “Yes. What have you don’t about it?”
  “Er, nothing. Not my pidgin, I believe.”
“You believe, eh? Our out-stations are your business, aren’t they? Look over
your shipping schedules for the next eighteen months, correlate with Ay0428,
and project. You may have to buy Australian sheep . . . and actually get them


                                          58
into our possession. We can’t have our people going hungry because some
moron in St Louis dropped his socks in a yeast vat.”
   “Yes, sir.”
   Mr. Kiku turned back to work. He realized unhappily that he had been too
     brusque with Wong. His present
frame of mind, he knew, was not Wong’s fault, but that
of Dr. FtaemL      --
No, not Ftaeml’s fault . . .. his own! He knew that he should not harbor race
prejudice, not in this job. He was aware intellectually that he himself was
relatively safe from persecution that could arise from differences of skin and hair
and facial contour for the one reason that weird creatures such as Dr. Ftaeml
had made the differences between breeds of men seem less important.
Still, there it was . . . he hated Ftaeml’s very shadow. He could not help it.

If the so-and-so would wear a turban, it would help
• . . instead of walking around with those dirty snakes on his head wiggling like
    a can of worms. But oh no! the Rargyllians were proud of them. There was a
    suggestion in their manner that anyone without them was not quite human.
Come now! .. . Ftaeml was a decent chap. He made a note to invite Ftaeml to
dinner, not put it off any longer. After all, he would make certain of deep~hyp..
notic preparation; the dinner need not be difficult. But his ulcer gave a fresh
twinge at the thought.
Kiku did not hold it against the Rargyllian that he had dropped an impossible
problem in the department’s tired lap; impossible problems were routine. It was
just
  well, why didn’t the monster get a haircut?
The vision of the Chesterfieldian Dr. Ftaeml with a shingle cut, his scalp all
lumps and bumps, enabled Mr. Kiku to smile; he resumed work feeling better.
The next item was a brief of a field report . . . oh yes! Sergei Greenberg. Good
boy, Sergei. He was reaching for his pen to approve the recommendation even
before he had finished reading it. -
Instead of signing, he stared for almost half a second, then punched a button.
“Files! Send up the full report
of Mr. Greenberg’s field job, the one he got back from a few days ago.”
  “Do you have the reference number, sir?”
“That intervention matter . . . you find it. Wait it’s, uh, Rt0411, dated Saturday. I
want it right now.”


                                          59
He had only time to dispose of half a dozen items when, seconds later, the
delivery tube went thwong! and a tiny cylinder popped out on his desk. He stuck
it into- his reading machine and relaxed, with his right thumb resting on a
pressure plate to control the speed with which the print fled across the screen.
In less than seven minutes he had zipped through not only a full transcript of the
- trial but also Greenberg’s report of all else that had happened. Mr. Kiku could
read at least two thousand words a minute with the aid of a machine; oral
recordings and personal interviews he regarded as time wasters. But when the
machine clicked off he decided on an oral report, He leaned to his interoffice
communicator and flipped a
• switch. “Greenberg.”
  Greenberg looked up from his desk. “Howdy, boss.”
  “Come here, please.” He switched off without polite-
• nesses. - -
Greenberg decided that the bossman’s stomach must be bothering him again.
But it was too late to find some urgent business outside the departmental
building; he hurried upstairs and reported with his usual
  cheery grin. “Howdy, Chief.”
  “Morning. I’ve been reading your intervention report.” “So?”
  “How old are you, Greenberg?” “Eh? Thirty-seven.”
  “Hmm. What is your present rank?”
“Sir? Diplomatic officer second class-. . . acting first.” What the deuce? Uncle
Henry knew the answers . . . he probably knew what size shoes- he wore.
  “Old enough to - have sense,” Kiku mused. “Rank
enough to be assigned as ambassador. . or executive deputy to a politically-
appointed ambassador. Sergei, how come you are so confounded stupid?”
Greenberg’s jaw muscles clamped but he said nothing.
“Well?”
“Sir,” Greenberg answered icily, “you are older and more experienced than I am.
May I ask why you are so confounded rude?”
Mr. Kiku’s mouth twitched but he did not smile. “A fair question. My psychiatrist
tells me that it is because I am an anarchist in the wrong job. Now sit down and
we’ll discuss why you are so thick-headed. Cigarettes in the chair arm.”
Greenberg sat down, discovered that he did not have a light, and asked for one.
“I don’t smoke,” answered Kiku. “I thought - those were the self-striking kind.
Aren’t they?”
  “Oh. So they are.” Greenberg lit up.


                                         60
“See? You don’t use your eyes and ears. Sergei, once that beast talked, you
should have postponed the hearing until we knew all about him.”
  “Mmmm. . . I-suppose so.”
“You suppose so! Son, your subconscious alarms should have been clanging
like a bed alarm on Monday morning. As it is, you let the implications be sprung
on you when you thought the trial was over. And by a girl, a mere child. I’m glad
I don’t read the papers; I’ll bet they had fun.”
  Greenberg blushed. He did read the papers.
“Then when she had you tangled up like a rangtangtoo trying to~ find its own
feet, instead of facing her challenge and meeting it . . . Meeting it bow? By
adjourning, of course, and ordering the investigation you should have ordered’
to start with, you...”
“But I did order it.”
“Don’t interrupt me; I want you browned on both sides. Then yo~ proceeded to
hand down a decision
~he like of which has not been - seen since Solomon ordered the baby sawed in
half. What mail-order law school did you attend?”

“Harvard,” Greenberg answered sullenly. -
“Hmm . . . Well, I shouldn’t be too harsh on you; you’re handicapped. But by the
seventy-seven sevensided gods of the Saryanchil, what did you do next? First
you - deny a petition from the local government itself to destroy this brute in the
interest of public- safety
• . . then you reverse yourself, grant the prayer and tell them to kill him . . .
   subject only to routine approval of this department. All in ten minutes. Exeunt
   omnes, laughing. Son, I don’t mind - you making a fool of yourself, but must
   you include the department?”
• “Boss,” Greenberg said humbly, - “I made a mistake. When I saw the
   mistake, I did the only thing I could do; I reversed myself. The beast really is
   dangerous and there are no proper facilities for confining it in Westville. If it
   had not been beyond my power, I
• would have ordered it destroyed at once, without referring back for the
   department’s approval.. . for your approval.”
  “Hummph!”
“You weren’t sitting where I was, sir. You didn’t see that solid wall bulge in. You
didn’t see the destruction.”
• “I’m not impressed. Did you ever see a city that

                                         61
had been flattened by a fusion bomb? What does one courthouse wall matter?. .
. probably some thieving
contractor didn’t beef it up.”
“But, boss, you should have seen the cage he broke out of first. Steel I-beams,
welded. He tore them like straw.”
“I recall that you inspected him in that cage. Why didn’t you see to it that he was
confined so that he couldn’t get out?”
  “Huh? Why, it’s no business of the department to
  provide jails.” - -    -
“Son, a factor concerning in any way anything from ‘Out There’ is the very
personal business of this department. You know that. OnGe you know it awake
and asleep, clear down to your toes, you’ll begin to trot through a perfunctory
routine, like an honorary chairman sampling soup in a charity hospitaL You were
supposed to be there with your nose twitching and your ears quivering, on the
lookout for ‘special situations.’ You flubbed. Now tell me about this beast. I read
the report, I saw his picture. But I don’t feel him.”
“Well, it’s a non-balancing multipedal type, eight legs and about seven feet high
at the dorsal, ridge. It’s...”
  Kiku sat up straight. “Eight legs? Hands?”
  “Hands? No.”
  “Manipulative organs of any sort? A modified foot?”
“None, chief . . . if there had been, I would have ordered a full-scale
investigation at once. The feet are about the size of nail kegs, and as dainty.
Why?”
• “Never mind. Another matter. Go on.”
“The impression is something like a rhinoceros, something like a triceratops,
though the articulation is unlike anything native to this planet. ‘Lummox’ his
young master calls him and the name fits. It’s a- rather engaging beast, but
stupid. That’s the danger; it’s so big and powerful that it is likely to hurt people
through clumsiness and stupidity. It does talk, but about as well as a four-year-
old child . . . in fact it sounds as if it had swallowed a baby girl.”
  “Why stupid? I note that its master with the historybook name claims that it is
  bright.”
  Greenberg smiled. “He is prejudiced. I talked with it, boss. It’s ~stupid.” -
“I can’t see that you have established that. Assuming that an e.-t. is stupid
because he can’t speak our Ianguage well is like assuming that an Italian is
illiterate because he speaks broken English. A non-sequitur.”


                                          62
“But look, boss, no hands. Maximum intelligence lower than monkeys. Maybe as
high as a dog. Though not likely.” -
“Well, I’ll concede that you are orthodox in xenological theory, but that is all.
Some day that assumption is going to rise up and slap the classic xenist in the
face. We’ll find a civilization that doesn’t need to pick at things with patty-paws,
evolved beyond it.”
  “Want to bet?”
  “No. Where is this ‘Lummox’ now?”
Greenberg looked flustered. “Boss, this report I am about to make is now in the
microfilm lab. It should be on your desk any minute.”
  “Okay, so you were on the ball-this time. Let’s have it.” -
“I got chummy with the local judge and asked him to keep me advised. Of
course they couldn’t throw this critter into the local Bastille; in fact they did not
have anything strong enough to hold him . . . so they had
• learned, the hard way. And nothing could be built in a hurry that would be
   strong enough . . . believe me, that cage he crushed out of was strong. But
   the local police chief got a brain storm; they had an empty reservoir with
   sides about thirty feet high, reinforced concrete . . . part of the fire system. So
   they built a ramp and herded him down into it, then removed the ramp. It
   looked like a good dodge; the creature
isn’t built for jumping.”
  “Sounds okay.”
“Yes, but that isn’t all. Judge O’Farrell told me that the chief of police was so
jittery that he decided not to wait for departmental okay; he went ahead with the
execution.
“What?”
“Let me finish. He did not tell anybody-but accidentally-on-purpose the intake
valve was opened - that night and the reservoir filled up. In the morning there
was Lummox, on the bottom. So Chief Dreiser assumed that his ‘accident’ had
been successful and that he had drowned the beast.”
  “So?”     -.
“It did not bother Lummox at all. He had been under water several hours, but
when the water drained off, he woke up, stood up, and said, ‘Good morning.’”
  “Amphibious, probably. What steps have you taken to put a stop to this high-
  handedness?” -
  “Just a second, sir. Dreiser knew that firearms and

                                           63
explosives were useless . . . you saw the transcript .
at least - of power safe enough to use inside a town. So
he tried poison. Knowing nothing about the creature,
he used half a dozen sorts in quantities sufficient for a
regiment and concealed in several kinds of food.” “Well?”
“Lummox gobbled them all. They didn’t even make him sleepy; in fact it seemed
to stimulate his appetite, for the next thing he did was to eat the intake valve and
the reservoir started to fill up again. They had to shut it off from the pumping
station.”
Kiku snickered. “I’m beginning to like this Lummox. Did you say he ate the
valve? What was it made of?”
  “I don’t know. The usual alloy, I suppose.”
  “Hmm.. . seems to like a bit of roughage in its diet. Perhaps it has a craw like
     a bird.”
  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
  “What did the Chief do next?”
“Nothing as yet. I asked O’Farrell to impress on Drelser that he was likely to end
up in a penal colony thirty light-years from Westville if he persisted in bucking
the department. So he is waiting and trying to figure out his problem. His latest
notion is to cast- Lummox in concrete and let him die at his own convenience.
But O’Farrell put the nix on that one-inhumane.” -
  “So Lummox is still in the reservoir, waiting for us to act, eh?” -
  “I believe so, sir. He was yesterday.”
“Well, be can wait there, I suppose, until other action can be taken.” Mr. Kiku
picked up Greenberg’s shortforth report and recommendation.
  Greenberg said, “I take it that you are overruling me, sir?”
“No. What gave you that idea?” He signed the order permitting the destruction of
Lummox and let it be swallowed by the outgoing basket. “I don’t reverse a man’s
decision without firing him . . . and I have another job for you.”
“Oh.” Greenberg felt a twinge of compassion; he had been expecting, with relief,
that the chief would reprieve Lummox’s death sentence. Well.. . too bad
   but the beast was dangerous.
   Mr. Kiku went on, “Are you afraid of snakes?”
   “No. I rather like them.”
“Excellent! Though it’s a feeling I can’t imagine. I’ve always been deathly afraid
of them. Once when I was
a boy in Africa. . . never mind. Have you ever worked closely with Rargyllians? I
don’t recall.”

                                           64
Greenberg suddenly understood. “I used a Rargyllian interpreter in the Vega-VI
affair. I get along all right with Rargyllians.”
“I wish I did. Sergei, I have some business -which involves a Rargyllian
interpreter, a Dr. FtaemL You may have heard of him.”
“Yes, of course, sir.”
“I’ll admit that, as Rargyllians go . . .” He made the noun sound like a swear
word. “. . . Ftaeml is all right. But this involvement has the odor of trouble . . .
and I find my own nose for trouble blanked out by this phobia of mine. So I’m
putting you on as my assistant to sniff for me.” -
  “I thought you didn’t trust my nose, boss?”
  “We’ll let the blind lead the blind, if you’ll forgive a
switch in metaphor. Perhaps between us we’ll sniff it out.”
  “Yes, sir. May I ask the nature.of the assignment?”
“Well . . .” Before Mr. Kiku could answer, his secretary’s light flashed and her
voice stated, “Your hypnotherapist is here, sir.”
The Under Secretary glanced at his clock and said, “Where does the time go?” .
. . then to the communicator: “Put him in my dressing room. I’ll be in.” He
continued to Greenberg, “Ftaeml will be here in thirty minutes. I can’t stop to
talk, I’ve got to get braced for
it.   You’ll find what there is . . . little enough! . . . in my ‘pending-urgent’ file.”
Mr. Kiku glanced at his incoming basket, which had filled to overflowing while
they talked. “It won’t take five minutes. Spend -the rest
• of the time clearing up that stack of waste paper. Sign my name and hold
  anything that you think I must see
  but it had better be no more than half a dozen items, or I’ll send you back to
  Harvard!”
• He got up hurriedly, while making a mental note to tell his secretary, from his
    dressing room, to note everything that went through in the next half hour and
    let him see it later . . . he wanted to see how the lad worked. Mr. Kiku was
    aware that he would die someday and he intended to see to it that Greenberg
    replaced him. In the meantime life should be as tough for the boy as
    possible.
The Under Secretary headed for his dressing room, the door ducked aside,
contracted behind him; Greenberg was left alone. He was reaching for the
pendingurgent file when a paper dropped into the incomIng basket just as the
light on it blinked red and a buzzer sounded. -



                                            65
He picked up the paper, ran his eye down the middle and had just realized that
it really was urgent when a similar light-and-buzzer combination showed at the
interoffice communicator and its screen came to life;
Greenberg recognized the chief of the bureau of system liaison. “Boss?” the
image said excitedly.
Greenberg touched the two-way switch. “Greenberg here,” he answered. “I’m
keeping the chief’s chair warm for him. Your memo just came in, Stan. I’m
reading it?
  Ibaflez looked annoyed. “Never mind that. Get me the boss.”
Greenberg hesitated. Ibaflez’s problem was simple, but sticky. Ships from
Venus were regularly granted pratique without delay, each ship’s doctor being a
public health deputy. But the Ariel, already dUe at Port Libya, had suddenly
been placed under quarantine by her doctor and was now waiting in a parking
orbit. The Venerian foreign minister was aboard . . . most unfor
• tunately, as Venus was expected to support Terra’s position against Mars in
   the impending triangular conference.
Greenberg could stall the touchy problem until the boss was free; he could
break in on the boss; he could
go over the boss’s head to the Secretary himself (which meant picking an
answer and presenting it so as to get that answer approved); or.. . he could act,
using Mr.
Kiku’s authority.
Mr. Kiku could not have predicted the emergency
•,. but the boss had -a pesky habit of pushing people
off the deep end.
Greenberg’s summing up had been quick. He answered, “Sorry, Stan, you can’t
talk to the boss. I am acting
for him.”
   “Eh? Since when?”
   “Just temporarily, but I am.”
Ibañez frowned. “Look, chum, you had better find the boss. Maybe you are
signing his name on routine matters . . . but this is not routine. We’ve got to
bring that ship down in a hurry. Your neck would be out a yard if you took it
upon yourself to authorize me to overlook a basic rule like quarantine. Use your
head.”



                                        66
Break quarantine? Greenberg recalled the Great Plague of ‘51, back in the days
when the biologist serenely believed that each pl.anetary life group was immune
to the ills of other planets. “We won’t break quarantine.”
Ibaflez looked pained. “Sergei, we can jeopardize this conference . . .
‘jeopardize?’ What am I saying? We can’t toss away ten years’ work because
some crewman has a slight fever. The quarantine must be broken. But I don’t
expect you to do it.”
Greenberg hesitated. “He’s under hypnosis, for a tough job coming up. It may
be a couple of hours before you can see him.” - -
Ibañez looked blank. “I’ll have to tackle the Secretary. I don’t dare wait two
hours. That sacred cow from Venus is- like as not to order his skipper to head
home
  we can’t risk that.” -
“And we can’t risk bringing in an epidemic, either. Here’s what you do. Call him
and tell him you are coming to get him in person. Use a fast scout. Get him
aboard and leave the Ariel in quarantine orbit. Once you get him aboard the
scout . . . and not before .
tell him that both you and he will attend the conference in isolation suits.” The
isolation suit was a sealed pressure suit; its primary use was to visit planets
whose disease hazards had not yet been learned. “The scout ship and crew will
have to go into quarantine, too, of course.”
“Isolation suit! Oh, he’ll love that. Sergei, it would be less damaging to call off
the conference. An indig
• nity like that would put him against -us for certain. The jerk is poisonously
   proud.” -
“Sure he’ll love it,” Greenberg explained, “once you suggest -how to play it.
‘Great personal self-sacrifice’
‘unwilling to risk the welfare of our beloved sister planet’ . . . ‘the call of duty
takes precedence over any et cetera.’ If you don’t feel sure of it, take one of the
public relations boys along. And look, ~,ll through the conference he must be
attended by a physician . . . in a white suit. . . and a couple of nurses. The
conference must stop every now and then while he rests
put a cot and hospital screens in the Hall of Heroes near the conference table.
The idea is that he’s come down with it himself but is carrying on as his dying
act. Get it? Tell him before you land the scout ship . . . indirectly, of course.”
  Ibaflez looked perturbed. “Do you think that will work?”


                                          67
“It’s up to you to make it work. I’m sending down your memo, ordering
quarantine to continue but telling you to use your initiative to insure his presence
at the conference.” - -
“Well. .. all right.” Ibafiez suddenly grinned. “Never mind the memo. rm on my
way.” He-switched off.
Greenberg turned back to the desk, feeling exhilarated by the sensation - of
playing Cod. He wondered
• what the boss would have done?. . . but did not care. There might be many
   correct solutions, but this was one; it felt right. He reached again for the
   pendingurgent file.
He stopped. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind. The boss had not
wanted to approve that death sentence; he had felt it. Shucks, the boss had told
him that he was wrong; the proper action was a full
investigation. But the boss, as a matter of loyalty to his subordinates, had not
reversed him.
  • But he himself was sitting in the boss’s chair at the moment. Well?
Was that why the boss had placed him there? To let him correct his own
mistake? No, the boss was sub-tie but not omniscient; he could not have
predicted that Greenberg would consider reopening the matter.
        Still ... He called the boss’s private secretary. EMildred?”
“Yes, Mr. Greenberg?”
“That brief-and-rec on that intervention I carried out Rt0411, it was. It went put
   fifteen minutes ago.
I want it back.” . -
“It may have been dispatched,” she said doubtfully.
“The communications desk has been running only about seven minutes behind
   demand today.”
“There is such a thing as too much efficiency. If the order has left the building,
send a cancellation and a more-to-follow, will you? And get the original
document back to me.”
Finally he got to the pending-urgent file. As Mr. Kiku had said, the jacket marked
“Ftaeml” was not large. He found it subtitled: “Beauty & the Beast” - and
wondered why. The boss had a sense of humor . . . but it veered so much that
other people had a hard time following it.
Presently his eyebrows lifted. Those tireless interpreters, brokers, go-betweens,
and expounders, the Rargylhans, were always popping up in negotiations
between diverse races; the presence of Dr. Ftaeml on Earth had tipped
Greenberg that something was up with a nonhumanoid people . . . non-human
in mentality, creatures so different psychologically that communication was
                                         68
difficult. But he had not expected the learned doctor was representing a race
that he had never heard of. . . something termed “the Hroshli.”
It was possible that Greenberg had simply forgotten these people with a name
like a sneeze; they might be some unimportant breed, at a low cultural level, or
economically inconsequential, or not possessing space travel. Or they might
have been brought into the Community of Civilizations while Greenberg had
been up to his ears In Solar System affairs. Once the human race had made
contact with other races having interstellar -travel the additions to the family of
legal “humans” had come so fast that a man could hardly keep
up; the more mankind widened its horizons the harder those horizons were to
see. -
Or perhaps he knew of the Hroshii under another name? Greenberg turned to
Mr. Kiku’s - universal dictionary and keyed in the name.

The machine considered it, then the reading plate
flashed: NO INFORMATION.
Greenberg tried dropping the aspirate on the assumption that the word might
have degenerated in the
mouths of non-Hroshii. . . still the same negative.
He dropped the matter. The. universal dictionary in the British Museum was not
more knowledgeable than the one in the Under Secretary’s office; its working
parts occupied an entire building in another part of Capital, and a staff- of
cyberneticists, semanticians and encyclopedists endlessly fed its hunger for
facts. He could be sure that, whatever the “Hroshii” were, the Federation had
never heard of them before.
Which was astounding.         -
• Having let astonishment persist a full second Greenberg went on reading. He
   learned that the Hroshii
were already here, not landed on Earth but within waving distance. . . in a
parking orbit fifty thousand miles out. He let himself be astonished for two whole
seconds before going on to discover that the reason he had not heard of their
advent was that Dr. Ftaeml had
urgently advised Mr. Kiku to keep patrol ships and
• such from challenging and attempting to board the
  stranger.




                                         69
He was interrupted by the return of his report of the Lummox matter,- bearing on
it Mr. Kiku’s confirmation of the sentence. He thought for a moment, then added
to the endorsement so that it read: “Recommendation
approved . . . but this action is not to be carried out until after a complete
scientific analysis of this creature has been made. Local authorities will
surrender custody when required to the Bureau of Xenie Sd
ence, which will arrange transportation and select the agency to pursue the
evaluation.” -
Greenberg signed Kiku’s namç to the change and put it back into the. system.
He admitted sheepishly that the order was now weasel-worded . . . for it was a
sure thing that once the xenobiologists got their hands on Lummox they would
never let him go. Nevertheless his heart felt suddenly lighter. The other action
was wrong; this one was right.
He turned his attention back to the Hroshii . . . and again his eyebrows went up.
The Hroshii were not here to establish relations with Earth; they were here to
rescue one of their own. According to Dr. Ftaeml, they were convinced that
Terra was holding this Hroshia and were demanding that she be surrendered.
Greenberg felt as - if he had blundered - into a bad melodrama. These people
with the asthmatic name had
picked the wrong planet for cops-and-robbers nonsense. A non-human on Earth
without a passport, without a dossier in the hands of the department, without an
approved reason for visiting Earth, would be as helpless as a bride without a
ration book. She would be picked up in no time . . . idiot’s delight! she could not
even get through quarantine.
  Why didn’t the boss simply tell them to take their wagon and go home?
Besides, how did they figure she had reached the surface of Earth? Walked? Or
taken a swan dive? Star ships did not land; they were served by shuttles. He
could just see her tackling the purser of one of those shuttles: “Excuse me, sir,
but I am fleeing from my husband hi a distant part of the Galaxy. Do you mind if
I hide under this seat and sneak down to your planet?” -
“No tickee, no washee” . . . that’s what the purser would say. Those shuttle
companies hated deadheads;Greenberg could feel it every time he presented
his own diplomatic pass.
Something was niggling at him . . . - then he remembered the boss’s inquiry; did
Lummox have hands? He realized that the boss must have been wondering
whether Lummox could be the missing Hroshia, since Hroshii,



                                          70
according to Ftaeml, had eight legs. Greenberg chuckled. Lummox was not the
boy to build and operate star ships, not he nor any of his cousins. Of course the
boss had not seen Lummox and did not know how preposterous it was.
And besides that, Lummox had been here more than a hundred years. That
would make him very late for
supper.
The real question was what to do with the Hroshii now that we were in contact
with them. Anything from “Out There” was interesting, educational, and
profitable to mankind, once it was analyzed . . . and a race that had its own
interstellar drive was sure to be all of that, squared and cubed. No doubt the
boss was kidding them along while developing permanent relations.
Very well, it was up to Greenberg to foster that angle and help the boss get past
his emotional handicap in dealing through a Rargyllian. -
He skimmed the rest of the report. What he had learned so far he had gotten
frcsm the synopsis; the rest was a transcript of Ftaeml’s flowery circumlocutions.
Then he handed the jacket back to the file and tackled the boss’s work.
Mr. Kilcu announced himself by looking over his shoulder and saying, “That
basket is as full as ever.”
“Oh. Howdy, boss. Yes, but think of the shape it would have been in if I hadn’t
torn up every second item without reading it.” Greenberg moved from the chair.
      Mr. Kiku nodded. “I know. Sometimes I just check ‘disapproved’ on all the
      odd-numbered ones.”
“Feeling better?”
      “Ready to spit in his face. What’s a snake got that I haven’t got more -of?”
      “That’s the spirit.”
“Dr. Morgan is very adept. Try him sometime if your nerves ever act up.”
Greenberg grinned. “Boss, the only thing that bothers me is insomnia during
working hours. 1 can’t sleep at my desk the way I used to.”
“That’s the earliest symptom. The mind mechanics will get you yet.” Mr. Kiku
glanced at the clock. “No word from our friend with the animated hair?”
“Not yet.” Greenberg told about the quarantine for the Arid and what he had
done. Mr. Kiku nodded, which was equivalent to a citation in front of the
regiment in some circles; Greenberg felt a warm glow and went on to tell about
the revision in the order for Lummox. He sidled up to it self-consciously.
“Boss, sitting in ‘that chair puts a different slant on things.”
“So I discovered, years ago.”
  • “Urn, yes. While I was there I got to thinking about that intervention matter.”
     “Why? We settled it.”
                                        71
“So I thought. Nevertheless. . . well, anyhow. . .” He blurted out his change in
the order and waited. -
Mr. Kiku nodded again. He considered telling Greenberg that it had saved him
thinking up a face-saving way of accomplishing the same end, but decided not
to. Instead he leaned to his desk, “Mildred? Heard anything from Dr. Ftaeml?”
  “Just arrived, sir.”
“Good. East conference room, please.” He switched off and turned to
Greenberg. “Well, son, now for some snake charming. Got your flute with you?”
  • VI
    “Space Is Deep, Excellency”
  “DR. TrAEML, this is my associate, Mr. Greenberg.”
The Rargyllian bowed low, his double knees and unhuman articulation making it
an impressive rite. “I know the distinguished Mr. Greenberg by reputation,
through a compatriot who was privileged to work with him. I am honored, sir.”
Greenberg answered with the same sort of polite amphigory the cosmic linguist
had selected. “I have long wished for the boon of experiencing in person the
scholarly aura of Dr. Ftaeml, but I had never dared let the wish blossom into
hope. Your servant and pupil, sir.”
“Hrrumpl” Mr. Kiku interrupted. “Doctor, this delicate affair you are negotiating is
of such importance
that I, with my constant housekeeping chores, have not been able to give it the
close attention it demands. Mr. Greenberg is ambassador extraordinary and
minister plenipotentiary of the Federation, commanded for this purpose.”
Greenberg’s eyes flicked toward his boss, but showed no surprise. He had
noticed that the boss had earlier
said “associate” rather than “assistant” and had spotted it as the elementary
maneuver of enhancing the prestige of one’s own negotiators for advantage in
protocol-but he had not expected this sudden brevet. He was reasonably sure
that Mr. Kiku had not bothered to have the rank approved by the Council;
nevertheless the boss could make it stick and his credentials would probably
show up on his desk. He wondered if his pay check
   would show it?
   He decided that the boss must have a hunch that this
silly business had importance not evident Or was he simply getting the
medusoid off his back?
Dr. Ftaeml bowed again. “Most gratifying to work with his excellenc~’.”
Greenberg suspected that the Rargyllian was not fooled; nevertheless it

                                         72
probably was really gratifying to him, since it implied that the medusoid was
himself of ambassadorial rank.
A female aide brought in refreshments; they stopped for ritual. Ftaeml selected
a French wine, while Greenberg and Kiku chose, by Hobson’s choice, the only
Rargyllian item available-some stuff called “wine” through failure of language but
which looked like bread mushed into milk and tasted as if sulphuric acid had
been added. Greenberg went throug the motions of enjoying it while not letting it
pass his lips.

He noticed with respect that the boss actually consumed the stuff. -
The rite common to seven out of ten civilizations gave Greenberg time to size
up FtaemL The medusoid was dressed in an expensive parody of terrestrial
formal clothes . . . cutaway jacket, lacy jabot, and striped shorts. It helped to
hide the fact that, while he was a bifurcate humanoid with two legs, two arms,
and head at the top of an elongated trunk, he was not remotely human in any
but the legal sense.
But Greenberg had grown up in the presence of the Great Martians and had
dealt with many other peoples since; he did not expect “men” to look like men
and had no prejudice in favor of human form. Ftaeml was, to his eye, handsome
and certainly graceful. His dry chitinous skin, purple with green highlights, was
as neat as a leopard’s pelt and as decorative. The absence of a nose was no
matter and was made up for by the mobile, sensitive mouth.
Greenberg decided that Ftaeml must have his tail
wrapped around him under his clothes in order to car- ry out the pretense that
he looked like a terrestrial
as well as being dressed like one-Rargyllians would go to any trouble to
conform to the ancient, urbane rule that when in Rome, one should shoot
Roman candles. The other Rargyllian Greenberg had worked with had worn no -
clothes at all (since the people of Vega-VI wore none) and had carried his tail
aloft, like a proud cat. Thinking of Vega-VI made Greenberg shiver, be had
found it necessary to bundle up to his ears. -
• He glanced at the medusoid’s tendrils. Pshaw! they weren’t snakelike. The
   boss - must have a neurosis as big as a house. Sure, they were about a foot
   long and as thick as his thumb, but they didn’t have eyes, they
didn’t have mouths or teeth-they were just tendrils. Most races had tendrils of
some sort. What were fingers but short tendrils?
Mr. Kiku put down his cup when Dr. Ftaeml set down his glass. “Doctor, you
have consulted with your principals?” -


                                         73
  “Sir, I have had that honor. And may I take this opportunity to thank you for
  the scout ship you so
graciously placed at my disposal for the unavoidable trips back and forth from
the surface of your lovely planet to the vessel of the people I have the privilege
of assisting? It is, I may say without casting any reflections on the great people I
now serve, more suited to the purpose and more comfortable to one of my build
than are the auxiliary craft of their vessel.”
      “Not at all, Glad to do a favor to a friend.” “You are gracious, Mr. Under
      Secretary.”
“Well, what did they say?” -
Dr. Ftaeml shrugged his whole body. “It pains m,e to inform you that they are
unmoved. They insist that their she child be returned to them without delay.”
Mr. Kiku frowned. “No doubt you explained that we don’t have their missing
child, have never heard of it, have no reason to think that she has ever been on
this
planet and strong reason to believe that she never could have been?”
“I did. You will pardon my inurbanity if I translate their answer in -terms crude
but unmistakable.” He shrugged apologetically. “They say you are lying.”
Mr. Kiku took no offense, being aware that a Rargyl- -
han when acting as go-between was as impersonal as
a telephone. “It would be better if I were lying. Then
I could hand over their brat and the matter would be
finished.”
   “I believe you,” Dr. Ftaeml said suddenly.
   “Thank you. Why?”
   “You used the subjunctive.”
“Oh. Did you tell them that there were over seven thousand varieties of non-
terrestrial creatures on Earth, represented by some hundreds of thousands - of
individuals? That of these individuals some thirty thousand are sentient beings?
But of these sentient beings only a very few have anything like the physical
characteristics of your Hroshii? And that all those few we can account for as to
race and planet of origin?”
“I am Rargyllian, sir. I told them all that and more, in their own language, putting
it .more clearly than you could explain it to another Earthmen. I made it live.”
  “I believe you.” Mr. Kiku tapped the table top. “Do you have a suggestion?”
  “Just a moment,” put in Greenberg. “Don’t you have a picture of a typical
  Hroshii? It might help.”


                                         74
“ ‘Hroshiu,’ “ corrected Ftaeml. “Or, in this ease, ‘Hroshia? I am sorry. They do
not use symbology of the picture type. Unfortunately I am not equipped to take
one of your pictures.”
  “An eyeless race?” --
“No, Excellency. Their sight is quite good, quite subtle. But their eyes and
nervous systems abstract somewhat differently from yours. Their analog of
‘pieture’ would be meaningless to you. Even I find it dif
ficult and my race is admitted to be the most subtle of all in the interpretation of
symbolic abstraction. If a Rargyllian.. .” He stopped and preened himself.

“Well. . describe one to us. Use your justly famed semantic talents.” -
       “A pleasure. The Hroshii manning this vessel are all about of a size, being
       of the military class.. .”
       Mr. Kiku interrupted. “Military class? Doctor, is this a war vessel? You did
       not tell me this.”
       Dr. Ftaeml looked pained. “I considered the fact both obvious and
       distasteful.”
“I suppose so.” Mr. - Kiku wondered if he should alert the Federation General
Staff. Not now, he decided. Mr. Kiku was strongly prejudiced against the
introduction of military might into negotiations, since he believed that a show of
force not only was an admission of failure on the part of diplomats but also
poisoned the chances of accomplishing anything more by negotiation. He could
rationalize this opinion but he held it as
an emotion. “Go on, please.” -
“The military class are of three sexes, the differences in the types being not
readily apparent and need not concern us. My shipmates and hosts are perhaps
six inches higher than this table and half again your height in length. Each has
four pairs of legs and two arms. Their hands are small and supple and
extremely dexterous. In my opinion the Hroshii are unusually beau-
tiful, form serving function with rare grace. They are remarkably adroit with
machines, instruments, and delicate manipulations of every sort.”
Greenberg relaxed a little as Ftaeml - talked. Despite everything, the vagrant
notion had still been bothering him that this creature “Lummox” might be of the
Hroshii. . . but he saw now that the thought came from
nothing more than accidental similarity in leg number . . . as if an ostrich were a
man because of two legs! His mind wanted to file Lummox into a category
and no doubt would keep on trying, but this category did not fit.


                                         75
Dr. Ftaeml was continuing: ‘~. . . -but the outstanding characteristic of the
Hroshii, not covered by these mere facts of size, shape, body structure, and
mechanical function, is an overwhelming impression of great mental power. So
overwhelming, in fact . .” The medusoid chuckled in embarrassment.”. . . that I
was almost persuaded to waive my professional fee and serve them as a
privilege.”
Greenberg was impressed. These Hroshti really must have something; the
Rargyllians, honest brokers though they were, would let a man die of thirst
rather than tell him the local word for water, unless cash was in band. Their
mercenary attitude had the quality of devoutness.
• “The only thing,” Ftaeml added, “that saved me from this excess was the
  knowledge that in one thing I excelled them. They are not linguists. Rich and
  powerful as their own speech is, it is the only language they ever learn well.
  They are even less talented linguistically than is your own race.” Ftaeml
  spread his grotesque hands in a gesture that was-purely Gallic (or a perfect,
  studied imitation) and added, “So I repaired my selfesteem and charged
  twice my usual fee.”
He ceased talking. Mr. Kiku stared glumly at the table and Greenberg merely
waited. Finally Kiku said, “What do you suggest?”
“My esteemed friend, there is only one course that is of any use. The Hroshia
they seek must be delivered up.”
  “But we do not have this Hroshia.”
Ftaeml simulated a human sigh. “That is regrettable.” Greenberg looked at him
sharply; the sigh did not carry conviction. He felt that Ftaeml regarded the
impasse as somehow tremendously exciting . . . which was ridiculous; a
Rargyllian, having accepted the role of go-between, was invariably anxious that
the negotia
tion be successful; anything less than success caused. them to lose face in their
own eyes.
So he spoke up. “Dr. Ftaeml, when you undertook this commission for the
Hroshii, did you expect that we would be able to produce this, uh, Hroshia?”
• The creature’s tendrils suddenly slumped; Greçnberg cocked an eyebrow
   and said drily, “No, I see that you did not. May I ask why, then, you accepted
   this cornmission?”
Ftaeml answered slowly and without his usual confidence: “Sir, one does not
refuse a commission of the Hroshii. Believe me, one does not.”
“11mm . . . these Hroshii. Doctor, will you pardon me if I say that you have not
yet conveyed to me a full understanding of these people? You tell us that they

                                        76
are mentally very powerful, so much so that a leading mind of a highly-
advanced race . . . yourself is almost ‘overwhelmed’ by them. You imply that
they are powerful in other ways .. . that you, a member of a proud, free race,
must obey their wishes. Now here they are in a single ship, facing an entire
planet, a planet so powerful that it has been able to create hegemony more
extensive than any before in this portion of space . . . yet you say that it would
be ‘regrettable’ if we were not to satisfy their impossible demand.”
  “All that is true,” Ftaeml answered carefully.
“When a Rargyllian speaks professionally I cannot disbelieve him. Yet this I
have trouble believing. These superbeings. . . why have we never heard of
them?”
  “Space is deep, Excellency.”
“Yes, yes. No doubt there are thousands of great races that we of Earth have
never - met, will never meet. Am I to infer that this is also the first contact of your
race with the Hroshff?”
  “No. We have long known of them . .. longer than~ we have known of you,”
“Eh?” Greenberg glanced sharply at Mr, Kiku. He went on, “What are the
relations of Rargyll with the Hroshii? And why has not this been reported to the
Federation?”
“Excellency, is that last question a rebuke? If so, I must answer that I am not
acting for my government.”
“No,” Greenberg assured him, “it was a simple inquiry. The Federation always
seeks to extend -its diplo.. matic linkage as far as possible. I was surprised to
learn that your race, which claims friendship with ours, could know of a mighty
civilization and not make that fact known to the Federation.”
“May I say, Excellency, that I am surprised at your surprise? Space is
deep...and my race have long been great travelers. Perhaps the Federation has
not asked the right questions? As for the other, my people have no diplomatic
relations, rio relations of any sort, with the mighty Hroshii. They are a people
who, as you say, mind their own business, and we are very happy to (as you
would phrase it)...to stay out of their yard. It has been years, more than five of
your centuries, since the last time a Hroshij ship appeared- in our skies and
demanded service from us. it is better so.”
Greenberg said, “I seem to be getting more confused the more I know. They
stopped at Rargyll to pick -up an interpreter instead of coming straight here?”
“Not precisely. They appeared in our skies and asked if we had ever heard of
you people. We answered that we knew you...for when the Hroshii ask, they are
answered! We identified your star and I had the unsought honor to be chosen to
                                          77
represent them.” He shrugged. “Here I am. Let me add that it was not until we
were deep in space that I learned the object of their search.”
Greenberg had made note earlier of a loose end. “Just a moment. They retained
you, they started for
Earth, then told you that they were searching for a
missing Hroshia. It must have been then that you decided that this mission
would fail. Why?” -
“Is it not evident? We Rargyllians, in your lovely and precise idiom, are the
greatest gossips in space. Perhaps you would say ‘historians’ but I mean
something more lively than that. Gossips. We go everywhere, we know
everyone, we speak all languages. I did not need to ‘check the files’ to know that
men of Earth had never been to the capital planet of the Hroshii. Had you made
such contact you would have forced your attentions on them and started a war.
It would have been a
• ‘scandal to the jaybirds’. . . a lovely phrase, that; I must see a jaybird while I
   am here. It would have been discussed with many a fine anecdote wherever
   two Rargyllians - got together. So I knew that they must be mistaken; they
   would not find what they sought.”
“In other words,” Greenberg answered, “you people identified the wrong planet..
. and wished this problem on us.”
“Please,” protested Dr. Ftaeml. “Our identification was perfect, I assure you-not
of your planet, for -the Hroshii did not know where you came from-but of you
yourself. The creatures - they wished to locate were men of Earth, in every
possible detail-down to your fingernails, your internal organs.”
“Yet you knew they were mistaken. Doctor, I am not the semantician you are. I
seem to see a contradiction .. . or a paradox.”
“Permit me to explain. - We who deal professionally in words know how cheap
words are. A paradox can exist only in words, never in the facts behind the
words. Since the Hroshii described exactly the men of Earth and since I knew
that the men of Earth knew not the Hroshii, I concluded what I must conclude-
that there is another race in this galaxy as like to your race as twin Sornia in
their shell-as two peas in the pod. Peas? You like beans better?”
  “’Peas’ is the correct idiom,” Mr. Kiku answered soberly.
“Thank you. Your language is rich; I must refresh myself of it while I am here.
Would you believe it?
the man from whom I first learned it intentionally taught me idioms unacceptable
in your polite society. For example ‘as cold as...’”

                                         78
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Kiku said hastily. “I can believe it. Some of our compatriots have
an odd sense of humor. You concluded that there is somewhere in this star
cloud a race so like ours as to be our twin brothers? I find that notion statistically
unlikely to the point of impossibility.”
“The entire universe, Mr. Under Secretary, is wildly unlikely to the point of
ridiculousness. Therefore, we of Rargyll know that God is a humorist.” The
medusoid made a gesture peculiar to his breed, then politely repeated it in idiom
by making one of the most common Earthly gestures of reverence.
      “You explained this conclusion to your clients?”
      “I did . . . and I repeated it most carefully in my lastest -consultation. ‘I’he
      result was foreseeable.”
      “Yes?”
“Each race has its talent, each its weakness. The Hroshii, once having with
mighty intellect arrived at an opinion, are not easily swayed. ‘Pig-headed’ is your
precise term.” - -
  “Pig-headedness breeds pig-headedness, Dr. Ftaeml.”
“Please, my dear sir! I hope that you will not be so tempted. Let me report, if I
must, that you have been unable to find their treasured one, but that you are
instituting new and more thorough searches. I am your friend . . . do not admit
that this negotiation has failed.”
  “I never broke off a negotiation in my life,” Mr. Kiku
answered sourly. “If you can’t outargue the other fellow, sometimes you can
outlive him. But I do not see what more we have to offer them. Except for that
one possibility we spoke of last time . . . did you bring the coordinates of their
planet? Or did they refuse?”
“I have them. I told you that they would not refuse; the Hroshii are not in the
least afraid of having other races know where to find them * . . they are merely
indifferent” Dr. Ftaeml opened a brief case which was either an imitation of a
terrestrial one, or might have been purchased on Earth. “Nevertheless it was not
easy. The where-and-when had to be translated from their concepts to those
using Rargyll as the true center of the universe, for which purpose it required
that I first convince them of the necessity, then explain to them spacetime units
as used on RargylL Now, since I must shame myself by admitting that I am not
skilled in your methods of reckoning the shape of the universe, it is necessary
that I have help in translating our figures into yours.”
“No need to feel shamefaced,” Mr. Kiku answered, “for I don’t know anything
about our astrogation methods myself. We use specialists for that sort of thing.
Just a moment.” He touched an ornamental knob on the conference table. “Get
me BuAstro.”
                                          79
“They’ve all gone home for the day,” a disembodied female voice answered,
“except the astrogation duty officer.
   “Then that’s who I want. Hurry it up.”
   Very shortly a male voice said, “Dr. Warner, night duty officer.”
   “Kiku here. Doctor, you solve space-time correlations?”
   Of course, sir.”
   “Can you do it from Rargylliari data?”
“Rargyuian?” The duty officer whistled softly. “That’s a tough one, sir. Dr. Singh
is the man for that”
  “Get him up here, right away.”
  “Uh, why, he’s gone home, sir. He’ll be here in the morning.”

“I didn’t ask where he was; I said, ‘Get him up here
*      * * right away.’ ~se police a1a~rm and general call, if necessary. I want
him now.”
       “Er . . . yes, sir.”
       Mr. Kiku turned back to Dr. Ftaeml. “I expect to be able to show that no
terrestrial starship ever visited the Hroshii. Fortunately we do have astrogation
records for every interstellar trip. My thought is this: it is time that the principals
met face to face in this negotiation. With your skillful interpretation we can show
them that we have nothing to hide, that the facilities of our civilization are at their
disposal, and that we would like to help them find their missing sibling
• . . but that she is not here. Then, if they have any thing to suggest, we will . .
   .” Mr. Kiku broke off as a door at the end of the room opened. He said
   tonelessly, “How do you do, Mr. Secretary?”
The Most Honorable Mr. Roy MacClure, Secretary for Spatial Affairs for the
Federated Community of Civilizations, was entering. His eye seemed to light
only on Mr. Kiku. “There you are, Henry! Been looking all over. That stupid girl
didn’t know where you had gone, but I found that you had not left the building.
You must...”
Mr. Kiku took him firmly by the elbow and said loudly, “Mr. Secretary, allow me
to present Dr. Ftaeml, Ambassador de facto of the mighty Hroshii.”
Mr. MacClure met the occasion. “How do you do, Doctor? Or should I say
‘Excellency’?” He had the grace not to stare.
  ‘Doctor’ will do nicely, Mr. Secretary. I am well, thank you. May I enquire as to
  your health?”
“Oh, good enough, good enough . . . if everything didn’t pop at once. Which
reminds me . . . can you


                                          80
spare me my chief assistant? I’m awfully sorry but something urgent has come
up.
  “Certainly, Mr. Secretary. Your pleasure is my greatest
Mr. MacClure looked sharply at the medusoid but found himself unable to read
his expression . . . if the thing had expressions, he amended. “Uh, I trust you are
being well taken care of, Doctor?”
  “Yes, thank you.”
  “Good. I really am sorry, but.. . Henry, if you please?”
    • Mr. Kiku bowed to the Rargyllian, then left the table while wearing an
        expression so maskllke that Greenberg shivered. Kiku spoke in a
        whisper to MacClure as soon as they were away from the table.
MacClure glanced back at the other two, then answered in a whisper that
Greenberg could catch. “Yes, yes! But this is crucially important, I tell you.
Henry, what in the world possessed you to ground those ships without
consulting me first?”
Mr. Kiku’s reply was inaudible. MacClure went on, “Nonsense! Well, you will just
have to come out and face them. You can’t...”
Mr. Kiku turned back abruptly. “Dr. Ftaeml, was it your intention to return to the
Hroshii ship tonight?”
     “There is no hurry. I am at your service, sir.”
     “You are most gracious. May I leave you in Mr. Greenberg’s care? We
     speak as one.”
     The Rargyllian bowed. “I shall count it an honor.”
     “I look forward to the pleasure of your company tomorrow.”
     Dr. Ftaeml bowed again. “Until tomorrow. Mr. Secretary, Mr. Under
     Secretary. * . your servant.”
The two left. Greenberg cUd not know whether to laugh or cry; he felt
embarrassed for his whole race. The medusoid was watching him silently.
  Greenberg grinned with half his mouth and said,
“Doctor, does the Rargyllian tongue include swear words?”
“Sir, I can use profanity in more than a thousand tongues . . . some having
curses that will addle an egg at a thousand paces. May I teach you some of
them?”
Greenberg sat back and laughed heartily. “Doctor, I like you. I really like you . . .
quite aside from our mutual professional duty to be civil.”
Ftaeml shaped his lips in a good imitation of a human smile. “Thank you, sir.
The feeling is mutual * * * and gratifying. May I say without offense that the

                                          81
reception given my sort on your great planet is sometimes something that one
must be philosophical about?”
“I know. I’m sorry. My own people, most of them, are honestly convinced that
the prejudices of their native village were ordained by the Almighty. I wish it
were different.”
“You need not be ashamed. Believe me, sir, that is the one conviction which is
shared by all races everywhere. . * the only thing we all have in common. I do
not except my own race. If you knew languages
All languages carry in them a portrait of their users and the idioms of every
language say over and over again, ‘He is a stranger and therefore a barbarian.’”
  Greenberg grinned wryly. “Discouraging, isn’t it?”
“Discouraging? Why, sir? It is sidesplitting. It is the only joke that God ever
repeats, because its humor never grows stale.” The medusoid added, “What is
your wish, sir? Are we to continue to explore this matter? Or is your purpose
merely to stetch the palaver until the return of your. . * associate?”
Greenberg knew that the Rargyllian was saying as politely as possible that
Greenberg could not act without Kiku. Greenberg decided that there was no
sense in pretending otherwise * . . and besides, he was hungry. “Haven’t we
worked enough today, Doctor? Would you do me the honor of having dinner
with me?”
  “I would be delighted! But * . . you know our peculiarities of diet?”
“Certainly. Remember, I spent some weeks with one of your compatriots. We
~can go to the Hotel Universal.”
  “Yes, of course.” Dr. Ftaeml seemed unenthusiastic.
  “Unless there is something you would like better?”
  “I have heard of your restaurants with entertainment
     • would it be possible? Or is it...?”
• “A night club?” Greenberg thought. “Yes! The Club Cosmic. Their kitchen can
   do anything the Universal can.
They were about to leave when a door dilated and a slender, swarthy man stuck
his head in. “Oh. Excuse me. I thought Mr. Kiku was here.”
Greenberg remembered suddenly that the boss had summoned a relativity
mathematician. “Just a moment You must be Dr. Singh.”
  “Yes.”
  “Sony. Mr. Kiku had to leave, I am here for him.”
He introduced the two and explained the problem. Dr. Singh looked over the
Rargyllian’s scroll and nodded. “This will take a while.”

                                         82
  “May I help you, Doctor?” asked Ftaeml.
“It won’t be necessary. Your notes are quite complete.” Thus assured,
Greenberg and Ftaeml went out on the town.
The floor show at the Club Cosmic included a juggler, which delighted Ftaeml,
and girls, which delighted Greenberg. It was late by the time Greenberg left
Ftaeml in one of the special suites reserved for non-human guests of DepSpace
at Hotel Universal. Greenberg was yawning as he came down the lift, but
decided that the evening had been worth while in the interest of good foreign
relations.
Tired though he was, he stopped by the department. Dr. Ftaeml had spilled one
item during the evening that he thought the boss should know. . . tonight if he
could reach him, or leave It on his desk if not. The Rargyllian, in an excess of
pleasure over the juggler, had expressed regret that si.~ch things must so soon
cease to be.
      “What do you mean?” Greenberg had asked.
      “When mighty Earth is volatilized. * .” the medusoid had begun, then
      stopped.
      Greenberg had pressed him about it. But the Rargylhan insisted that he
      had been joking.
Greenberg doubted if it meant anything. But Rargylhan humor was usually much
more subtle; he decided to tell the boss about it as quickly as possible. Maybe
that strange ship needed a shot of paralysis frequencies, a “nutcracker” bomb,
and a dose of vacuum.
The night guard at the door stopped him. “Mr. Greenberg . . . the Under
Secretary has been looking for you for the past half hour.”
He thanked the guard and hurried upstairs. Mr. ICiku he found bent over his
desk; the incoming basket was clogged as always but the Under Secretary was
paying no attention. He glanced up and said quietly, “Good evening, Sergei.
Look at this.” He passed over a report.
It was Dr. Singh’s rework of Dr. Ftaeml’s notes. Greenberg picked out at the
bottom the geocentric coordinates and did a quick sum. “Over nine hundred
light-years!” he commented. “And out in that direction, too. No wonder we’ve
never encountered them. Not exactly next door neighbors, eh?”
“Never mind that,” Mr. Kiku admonished. “Not the date. This computation is the
Hroshii’s claim as to when and where they were visited by one of our ships.”
Greenberg looked and felt his eyebrows crawl up toward his scalp. He turned to
the answer machine and started to code an inquiry. “Don’t bother,” Kiku told
him. “Your recollection is correct. The Trail Blazer. Second trip.” •

                                       83
  “The Trail Blazer,” Greenberg repeated foolishly.
“Yes. We never knew where she went, so we couldn’t have guessed. But we
know exactly when she went. It matches. Much simpler hypothesis than Dr.
Ftaeml’s twin races.”
      “Of course.” He looked at his boss. “Then it is-Lummox.”
      “Yes, it’s Lummox.”
      “But it can’t be Lummox. No hands. Stupid as a rabbit.”
      “No, it can’t be. But it is.”




VII

“Mother Knows Best”

LUMMOX was not in the reservoir. He had got tired and had gone home. It had
been necessary to tear a notch in the reservoir to get out comfortably, but he
had damaged it no more than was needful. He did not care to have any
arguments with John Thomas over such silly matters-not any more arguments,
that is.
Several people made a fuss over his leaving, but he ignored them. He was
careful not to step on anybody and their actions he treated with dignified
reserve. Even when they turned loose hated spray things on him he did not let
them herd him thereby, the way they had herded him out of that big building the
day he had gone for a walk; he simply closed his eyes and his rows of nostrils,
put his head down and slogged for home. •
  John Thomas met him on the way, having been fetched by the somewhat
  hysterical chief of safety.
Lummox stopped and made a saddle for John Thomas, after mutual greetings
and reassurances, then resumed his steady march homeward.
  Chief Dreiserwas almost incoherent. “Turn that brute around and head him
      back!” he screamed.
  “You do it,” Johnnie advised grimly.
  “I’ll have your hide for this! I’ll-I’ll-“
  “What have I done?”
  “You- It’s what you haven’t done. That beast broke out and-“
  “I wasn’t even there,” John Thomas pointed out while Lummox continued
      plodding.

                                       84
“Yes, but . . . That’s got nothing to do with it! He’s out now; it’s up to you to
assist the law and get him penned up again. John Stuart, you’re getting in
serious trouble.”
“I don’t see how you figure. You took him away from me. You got him
condemned and you say he doesn’t belong to me anylonger. You tried to kill him
• . . you know you did, without waiting to see if the government would okay it. If
   he belongs to me, I ought to sue you. If he doesn’t belong to me, it’s no skin
   off my nose if Lummox climbs out .of that silly tank.” John Thomas leaned
   over and looked down. “Why don’t you climb into your car, Chief, instead of
   running along beside us and getting yourself winded?”
Chief Dreiser ungraciously accepted the advice and let his driver pick him up.
By the time this was done he had somewhat recovered his balance. He leaned
out and said, “John Stuart, I won’t bandy words with you. What I have or have
not done hasn’t anything to do with the case. Citizens are required to assist
peace officers when necessary. I am demanding officially-and I’ve got this car’s
recorder going while I ask it-that you assist me in returning that beast to the
reservoir.”
  John Thomas looked innocent. “Then can I go home?”
“Huh? Of course.”        •
“Thanks, Chief. Uh, how long do you figure he will stay in the reservoir after I put
him in it and go home? Or were you planning on hiring me in as a permanent
member of your police force?”
  Chief Dreiser gave up; Lummox went home.
Nevertheless Dreiser regarded it as only a temporary setback; the stubbornness
that made him a good police officer did not desert him. He admitted to himself
that the public was probably safer with the beast penned up at home while he
figured out a surefire way to kill him. The order from the Under Secretary for
Spatial Affairs, permitting him to destroy Lummox arrived and that made Dreiser
feel better.. . old Judge O’Farrell had been pretty sarcastic about his jumping the
gun.
The cancellation of that order and the amended order postponing Lummox’s
death indefinitely never reached him. A new clerk in the communications office
of DepSpace made a slight error, simply a transposition of two symbols; the
cancellation went to Pluto . . . and the amended order, being keyed to the
cancellation, followed it.
So Dreiser sat in his office with the death order clutched in his hand and thought
about ways to kill the beast Electrocution? Maybe . . . but he could not even
guess at how much of a jolt it would take to do it. Cut his throat like butchering a

                                          85
hog? The Chief had serious doubts about what sort of knife to use and what the
brute would be doing in the meantime.
Firearms and explosives were no good. Wait a minute! Get the monster to open
its mouth, wide, then shoot straight down its throat, using an explosive charge
that would blow his innards to bits. Kill him instantly- yes, sir! Lots of animals
had armor-turtles, rhinos, armadillos, and things-but always outside, not inside.
This brute was no exception; Chief Dreiser had had several looks down inside
that big mouth the time he had tried poison. The beast might be armor plate out-
side; inside he was pink and moist and soft like everybody else.
Not let’s see; he’d have the Stuart boy tell the brute to hold its mouth open and .
. . no, that wouldn’t do. The boy would see what was up and like as not would
order the beast to charge * . . and then some cops’ widows would draw
pensions. That boy was going bad, no doubt of it.. . funny how a good boy could
take a wrong turn and wind up in prison.
No, the thing to do was to get the kid downtown on some excuse and carry out
the order while he wasn’t around. They could entice the brute into saying “ah!”
by offering him food . . . “tossing it to him,” Dreiser amended.
He glanced at his clock. Today? No, he wanted to choose the weapon and then
rehearse everybody so that it would go like clockwork. Tomorrow early . *
better have the boy picked up right after breakfast.
Lummox seemed contented to be home, ready to let bygones be bygones. He
never said a word about Chief Dreiser and, if he realized that anyone had tried
to harm him, he did not mention .it. His naturally sunny disposition displayed
itself by wanting to put his head in Johnnie’s lap for cuddling. It had been a long
time since his head was small enough for this; he merely placed the end of his
muzzle on the boy’s thigh, carrying the weight himself, while Johnnie stroked his
nose with a brickbat.
Johnnie was happy only on one side. With the return of Lummox he felt much
better, but he knew that nothing had been settled; presently Chief Dreiser would
again try to kill Lummox. What to do about it was an endless ache in his middle.
His mother had added to his unhappiness by raising a loud squawk when she
saw “that beast!” returned to the Stuart home. John Thomas had ignored her de
rnands, threats, and orders and had gone ahead stabling his friend and feeding
and watering him; after a while she had stormed back into the house, saying
that she was going to phone Chief Dreiser. Johnnie bad expected that and was
fairly sure that nothing would come of it . * . and nothing did; his mother
remained in the house. But Jobnnie brooded about it; he had a life-long habit of
getting along with his mother, deferring to her, obeying her. Bucking her was

                                        86
even more distressing to him than it was to her. Every time his father had left
(including the time his ship had not come back) he had told Johnnie, “Take care
of your mother, son. Don’t cause her any trouble.”
Well, he had tried . * . he really had! But it was sure that Dad had never
expected Mum to try to get rid of Lummox. Mum ought to know better; she had
married Dad. knowing that Lummox was part of the package. Well, hadn’t she?
Betty would never switch sides like that. Or would she?
‘Women were very strange creatures. Maybe he and Lum ought to bach it
together and not take chances. He continued to brood until evening, spending
his time with the star beast and petting him. Lummie’s tumors were another
worry. One of them seemed very tender and about to burst; John Thomas
wondered if it ought to be lanced? But no one knew any more about it than he
did and he did not know.
  On top of everything else, here Lummie was ill . it was just too much!
He did not go in to dinner. Presently his mother came out with a tray. “I thought
you might like to picnic out here with Lummox,” she said blandly.
   Johnnie looked at her sharply. “Why, thanks, Mum
   uh, thanks.”
   “How is Lummie?”
   “Uh, he’s all right, I guess.”
   “That’s good.”
He stared after her as she went in. Mum angry was bad enough, but Mum with
‘that secret, catlike look, all sweetness and light, he was even more wary of.
Nevertheless he polished off the excellent dinner, not having eaten since
breakfast. She came out again a half hour later and said, “Finished, dear?”
  “Uh, yes. . . thanks, it was good.”
“Thank you, dear. Will you bring the tray in? And come in yourself; there is a Mr.
Perkins coming to see you at eight.”
  “Mr. Perkins? Who’s he?” But the door was closing behind her.
He found his mother downstairs, resting and knitting socks. She smiled and
said, “Well? How are we now?”
  “All right. Say, Mum, who is this Perkins? Why does he want to see meP’
  “He phoned this afternoon for an appointment. I told him to come at eight.”
  “But didn’t he say what he wanted?”
“Well . . . perhaps he did, but mother thinks it is better for Mr. Perkins to explain
his errand himself.”

                                          87
      “Is it about Lummox?”
      “Don’t cross-examine Mum. You’ll know quickly enough.”
      “But, look here, I...”
“We’ll say no more about it, do you mind? Take off your shoe, dear. I want to
measure for the foot.”
Baffled, he started to remove his shoe. Suddenly he stopped. “Mum, I wish you
wouldn’t knit socks for me.
  “What, dear? But mother enjoys doing it for you.”
“Yes, but.. . Look, I don’t like hand-knit socks. They make creases on the soles
of my feet . . * I’ve showed you often enough!”

“Don’t be silly! How could soft wool do your feet
any harm? And think what you would have to pay for real wool, real handwork, if
you bought it. Most boys would be grateful.”
  “But I don’t like it, I tell you!”
She sighed. “Sometimes, dear, I don’t know what to do with you, I really don’t.”
She rolled up her knitting and put it aside. “Go wash your hands * * . yes, and
your face, too .. . and comb your hair. Mr. Perkins will be here any moment.”
  “Say, about this Mr. Perkins...”
“Hurry, dear. Don’t make things difficult for mother.” Mr. Perkins turned out to be
pleasant; John Thomas liked him despite his supiscions. After a few polite
inanities, with coffee served for ritual hospitality, he came to the point.
He repesented the Exotic Life Laboratory of the Museum -of Natural History. As
a result of the news picture of Lummox in connection with the story of the trial
the beast had come to the attention of the Museum .. . which now wanted to buy
him.
‘To my surprise,” he added, “in searching the files I discovered that on another
occasion the Museum attempted to buy this specimen.. . from your grandfather,
I believe. The name was the same as yours and the date fitted. Are you any
relation to. .
“My great great great grandfather . . . sure,” John Thomas interrupted. “And it
was probably my grandfather they tried to buy Lummox from. But he was not for
sale then-and he’s not for sale now!”
His mother looked up from knitting and said, “Be reasonable, dear. You are in
no position to take that attitude.”
John Thomas looked stubborn. Mr. Perkins went on with a warm smile, “I
sympathize with your feelings, Mr. Stuart. But our legal department looked into

                                        88
the matter before I came out here and I am familiar with your present problems.
Believe me, I’m not here to
make them worse; we have a solution that will protect your pet and clear up
your troubles.”

“I’m not going to sell Lummox,” John Thomas per
sisted.       *
       “Why not? If it turns out to be the only solution?”
       “Well . . . because I can’t. Even if I wanted to. He wasn’t left to me to sell,
he was left to me to keep and take care of. He was in this family before I was . .
. be.. fore my mother was, for that matter.” He looked sternly at his mother.
“Mum, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”
       She answered quietly, “That will be enough of that, dear. Mother does
what is best for you.”
       Mr. Perkins changed the subject smoothly as John Thomas began to
cloud up. “In any case, now that I’ve come all this way, may I see the creature?
I’m terribly interested.”
       “Uh, I suppose so.” Johnnie got up slowly and led the stranger outside.
       Mr. Perkins looked up at Lummox, took a deep breath and let it out.
“Marvelous!” He walked around him, admiring. “Absolutely marvelous! Unique . *
. and the biggest e.-t. specimen I’ve - ever seen. How in the world was he
shipped?”
       “Why, he’s grown some,” John Thomas admitted. “I understand he parrots
human speech a bit. Can you coax him to do it?”
       “Huh? He doesn’t ‘parrot’. . . he talks.”
       “Really?”
       “Of course. Hey, Lummie, how are you, boy?” “I’m all right,” Lummox
piped. “What does he want?” “Oh, nothing, nothing. He just wanted to see you.”
Mr. Perkins stared. “He talks! Mr. Stuart, the laboratory must have this
specimen.”
       “That’s out, I told you.”
       “I’m prepared to go much higher, now that I’ve seen him.. . and heard
him.”
       John Thomas started to say something rude, checked himself and said
instead, “Look, Mr. Perkins, are you married?”
       “Why, yes. Why?”
       “Any kids?”
       “One, a little girL She’s just five.” His face softened. “I’ll make you a deal.
We’ll swap even. No questions asked and each of us does as he likes with his
‘specimen.’”


                                          89
       Perkins started to flare up, then suddenly grinned. “Touché! I’ll shut up.
But,” he went on, “you were taking a chance. One or two of my colleagues
would have taken you up. You can’t understand what a temp. tation a specimen
like this is to a man of science. Really.” He looked longingly at Lummox and
added, “Shall we go in?”
       Mrs. Stuart looked up as they came in; Mr. Perkins shook his head briefly.
They sat down and Mr. Perkins fitted his finger tips together. “Mr.. Stuart, you
have forbidden me to discuss a possible sale, but if I tell the director of the Lab
that I didn’t even put the proposition, I will look foolish. Would you let me state
what the museum has in mind. . . just for the record?”
       “Well . . .” John Thomas frowned. “I guess there’s no harm in that.”
       “Thanks. I must do something to justify my travel expenses. Let me
analyze the situation. That creature
       your friend Lummox . . . or let’s say ‘our friend Lummox’ for I liked him as
soon as I saw him. Our friend Lummox is under sentence of death, isn’t he? A
court order.” -
       “Yes,” John Thomas admitted. “But it hasn’t been confirmed by the Space
Department yet.”
       “I know. But the police have already made attempts to kill him, without
waiting for final approval. Right?”
       John started to use bad language, then glanced at
his mother and refrained. “The stupid idiots! Anyhow, they can’t kill Lummox;
they’re too dumb.”
“I agree with your sentimelits . . . privately. That buffoon chief of. police ought to
have his commission taken away. Why, he might have destroyed an absolutely
unique specimen. Imagine!”
  Mrs. Stuart said crisply, “Chief Dreiser is a fine gentleman.”
Mr. Perkins turned to her and said, “Mrs. Stuart, I did not mean to cast slurs on
a friend of yours. But I stick by my guns; the Chief had no right to take things
into his own hands. Such behavior is worse on the part of a public official than it
is when done by a lay citizen.”
  “He had public safety to think about,”. she insisted.
“True. Perhaps that is an extenuating circumstance. I take back my remarks.
They are off the subject and I did not intend to start an argument.”
  “I’m glad to hear you did not, Mr. Perkins. Shall we get back to the subject?”
John Thomas felt himself warming a little to the scientist-Mum had slapped
Perkins down just the way she did him-and, besides, he liked Lummox. Mr.
Perkins continued, “Any time now, tomorrow, or even today, the Department of
Spatial Affairs will approve the destruction of Lummox and...”

                                          90
  “Maybe they’ll turn it down.”
“Can you risk Lummox’s life on that unjustified hope? The Chief of Police will
show up again-and this time he’ll kill Lummox.”
  “No, he won’t! He doesn’t know how. We’ll laugh at him!”
Mr. Perkins shook his head slowly. “That’s not your head talking, that’s your
heart. The Chief will make sure this time. He’s been made to look silly; he won’t
let it happen again. If he can’t figure out a sure way himself, he’ll get expert
advice. Mr. Stuart, any biolo
gist could run a rough analysis on Lummox and tell almost offhand two or three
certain ways to kill him
• ... kill him quickly and safely. I’ve already thought of one, just from seeing
   him.”
  John Thomas looked at him in alarm. “You won’t tell Chief Dreiser?”
“Of course not! I’d be strung up by the thumbs first But there are thousands of
others who can advise him. Or he may hit on a method himself. Be sure of this:
if you wait until that death sentence is approved, it will be too late. They’ll kill
Lummox. And that would be a great pity.”
John Thomas did not answer. Mr. Perkins added quietly, “You can’t oppose the
forces of society singlehanded. If you are stubborn you yourself will make
certain that Lummox will be killed.”
John Thomas pushed his fist hard against his mouth. Then he said almost
inaudibly, “What can I doE”
“Much, if you let me help you. First, ret me make this clear. If you entrust your
pet to us, he will never be harmed in any way. You hear talk about vivisection
and such. . . well, forget it. Our object is to put specimens into environments as
much like their home planets as possible, then study them. We want them to be
healthy and happy, and we go to a lot of trouble to accomplish those ends.
Eventually Lummox will die a natural death. . then we’ll mount the hide and
skeleton, as a permanent exhibit.”
  “How would you like to be stuffed and exhibited?” Johnnie asked bitterly.
“Eh?” Perkins looked surprised, then laughed. “It wouldn’t bother me at all; I’m
leaving my carcass to the medical school of my alma mater. And it won’t bother
Lummox. The point is to get him out of the clutches of the police . . . so that he
can live to a ripe old age.”
  “Wait a minute. If you buy him, that doesn’t get him~ off. They’ll still kill him.
  Won’t they?”


                                           91
“Yes and no. Mostly no. Selling him to the Museum doesn’t cancel the order to
destroy him, but, believe me, it will never be carried out. I’ve been coached by
our legal department as to what to do. First, we agree on terms and you give me
a bill of sale; that gives the Museum legal standing. At once, tonight, I get hold
of your local judge and get a temporary order postponing ~he execution for a
few days; it is definitely within his discretion to postpone it while this new factor
of a change in ownership is considered. That’s all we need. We can get straight
to the Secretary for Spatial Affairs if we need to . . . and I promise you that, once
the Museum holds title, Lummox will never be destroyed.”

“You’re surer
“Sure enough to risk the Museum’s money. If I’m wrong, I might be out of a job.”
Perkins grinned. “But I’m not wrong. Once I have the temporary order and have
phoned the Museum to get busy on a permanent order my next step is to settle
all the damage. I’ll carry cash, enough to do it. . * cash has a convincing effect.
That done, we’ll have only the Chief of Safety against us,. * . and, while he may
seem an obstacle to you, he will never be able to stand up against the weight
that the Museum can bring to bear, when needed. And everybody lives happily
ever after!” Perkins smiled. “Anything wrong with it?”
John Thomas traced out a pattern on the rug with his toe, then looked up. “Look,
Mr. Perkins, I know I have to do something to save Lummox. But up to now I
haven’t seen any way .. . and I guess I haven’t had the courage to look the facts
in the face.”
  “Then you’ll do it?”
  “Just a minute, please! This isn’t any good either. Lummie would be miserable
  with loneliness. He’d
never get used to it. It would just be swapping death for life imprisonment. I’m
not sure but what he’d rather be~ dead. . . than to be all alone, with ‘a lot of
strangers and them poking him and bothering him and making tests of him. But I
can’t even ask him what he wants because I’m not sure Lummie understands
about death. But he does understand about strangers.”
Mr. Perkins chewed his lip and reflected that it was very hard to do this young
man a favor. “Mr. Stuart? If you were to go with Lummox, would it make a
difference?”
  “Huh? How?”
“I think I can promise you a job as an animal handler . , . In fact I have a
vacancy in my own department; I could hire you tonight and we could sort the
red tape later. After all, there is a real advantage in having an exotic animal
cared for by someone who knows his ways.”

                                         92
  Before Johnnie could answer his mother said, “No!”
  “Eh? What, Mrs. Stuart?”
“Out of the question. Mr. Perkins, I had hoped that you would provide a rational
way out of this silly unpleasantness. But I cannot agree to that last suggestion.
My son is to go to college. I will not have him waste his life sweeping out that
beast’s cage. * . like a roustabout! No indeed!”
   “Now look here, Mother. ..”
   “John Thomas! If you please! The subject is closed.”
Mr. Perkins looked from the boy’s smoldering face to his mother’s set
expression. “After all,” he said, “that is no business of the Museum. Let me put it
this way, Mrs. Stuart. I’ll keep that job open for, oh, say six months.. . no,
please, Mrs. Stuart! Whether or not your son takes it is your problem . . . and I
.am sure you don t need my advice. I just want to assure your son that the
Museum won’t keep him away from his pet. Is that fair?”
  Her needles were clicking like machinery. “I suppose so,” she admitted.
  “Mr. Stuart?”
  “Wait a minule. Mother, you don’t think I’d...”
“Please, Mr. Stuart! The Museum of Natural History has no place in a family
discussion. You know our offer. Will you accept?”
      Mrs. Stuart interrupted. “I don’t believe you mentioned the price, Mr.
      Perkins.”
      “Why, so I didn’t! Shall we say twenty thousand?”
“Net?”
   “Net? Oh, no . . . subject to the claims we’ll have to settle, of course.”
   “’Net,’ Mr. Perkins,” she said firmly.
   He shrugged. “Net.”
   “We accept.”
   “Good.”
“Hey, wait a minute!” protested John Thomas. “We don’t either. Not if this other
thing isn’t settled. I’m not going to turn Lummox over to...”
“Quiet! Dear, I’ve been patient but we’ll have no more of this nonsense. Mr.
Perkins, he accepts. Do you have the papers with you?”
  “We don’t either accept!”
“Just a moment,” Mr. Perkins appealed. “Ma’am, am I correct in thinking that I
must have your son’s signature for a valid bill of sale?”
  “You’ll get it.”
  “Hmm. Mr. Stuart?”
  “I’m not going to sign unless it’s settled that Lummox and I stay together.”
  “Mrs. Stuart?”

                                        93
   “This is ridiculous.”
“I think so, too. But there is nothing I can do.” Perkins stood up. “Good night, Mr.
Stuart. Thanks for letting me speak my piece-and for letting me see Lummox.
No, don’t get up; I can find the door.”
He started to leave, while the Stuarts were busy not looking at each other. He
paused at the door. “Mr.
• Stuart?”
  “Huh? Yes, Mr. Perkins?”
“Would you do me a favor? Get as many pictures of Lummox as possible?
Color-stereo-motion-sound if you can: I would have a professional crew flown
here .
but there may not be time. You know. It would be a shame indeed if there were
not some scientific record left of him. So do wha.t you can.” He turned away
again.
  John Thomas gulped and was up out of his chair. “Mr. Perkins! Hey! Come
  back.”
A few minutes later he found himself, signing a bill of sale. His signature was
shaky but legible. “Now Mrs. Stuart,” Mr. Perkins said smoothly, “if you will sign
Underneath, where it say~ ‘Guardian’ . . . thanks! Oh yes! I must scratch out that
part about ‘subject to settlement of claim.’ I don’t have the cash with me; I got
here after the banks had closed, so I’ll pass over a nominal sum to bind it and
we’ll settle the rest before we move the specimen.”
   “No,” said John Thomas.
   “Eh?”
“I forgot to tell you. The Museum can settle the claims, since I can’t and after all
Lummox did it. But I’m not going to take any money. I’d feel like Judas.”
  His mother said sharply, “John Thomas! I won’t let you...”
  “Better not say it, Mum,” he said dangerously. “You know what Dad would
  have thought.”
“Hrrumph!” Mr. Perkins cleared his t-hroat loudly. “I’m going to fill in the usual
legal fiction of a nominal sum. I won t stay longer; Judge O’Farrell told me that
he goes to bed at ten. Mrs. Stuart, I consider the Museum bound by my offer.
Mr. Stuart, I’ll leave you to settle with your mother in your own way. Good night
all!” He shoved the bill of sale in his pocket and left quickly.
An hour later they were still facing each other wearily and angrily aci’oss the
living room. John Thomas had let himself be bullied into conceding that his
mother could take the money, as long as he was not required to touch it. He had

                                          94
given this in exchange, he thought, for permission to accept the job with
Lummox.
But she shook her head. “Quite out of the question. After all, you are about to go
to college. You couldn’t take that beast along. So you had no reason to expect
to keep him with you anyhow.”
“Huh? But I thought you had meant to take care of him.. . the way you promised
Dad. . .and I would have seen him on week ends.”
“Keep your father out of this! I might as well tell you right now that I made up my
mind long ago that the day you went away to school this household would cease
to be a zoo. This present mix-up has simply moved up the date a few days.”
     He stared at her, unable to answer.
     Presently she came over and put a hand on his shoulder. “Johnnie?
     Johnnie dear;..”
     “Huh?”
“Look at me, darling. We’ve had some bitter words and I’m sorry they were ever
spoken . . . I’m sure you did not mean them. But Mum has only been thinldng of
your welfare, you know that? Don’t you?”
  “Uh, I suppose so.”
“That’s all Mum ever thinks about.~ . what’s best for her big boy. You’re young,
and when a person is young, things seem important that aren’t. But as you grow
older, you will find that Mum knew best. Don’t you see that?”
   “Well ... Mum, about that job. If I could only....”
   “Please, dear. Mother has a splitting headache. We’ll say no more about it
     now. Get a good night’s sleep
and tomorrow you’ll see things differently.” She patted his cheek, bent down and
kissed him. “Good night, dear.”
  “G’night.”
  He sat there long after she had gone up, trying to figure things out. He knew
    that he should feel good
    • . he’d saved Lummie; hadn’t he?
But he did not feel good; he felt like an animal that has chewed a leg off to
escape a trap . . . shock and misery, not relief.
  At last he got up and went outside to see Lummox.



VIII
  • The Sensible Thing To Do

                                        95
JOHN THOMAS stayed with Lummox a short time only, as he could not bear to
tell him the truth and there was nothing else to talk about. Lummox sensed his
distress and asked questions; at last John Thomas pulled himself together and
said, “There’s nothing wrong I tell you! Shut up and go to sleep. And be darn
sure you stay in the yard, or I’ll beat you bow-legged.”
   “Yes, Johnnie. I don’t like it outside anyway. People did funny things.”
   “Just remember that and don’t do it again.”
   “I won’t Johnnie. Cross my heart.”
John Thomas went in and up to bed. But he did not go to sleep. After a while he
got up, dressed in part, and went up to the attic. The house was very old and.
had a real garret, reached by a ladder and scuttle hole in an upper hallway
closet. Once there had been a proper staircase but it had been squeezed out
when the landing flat was built on the roof, as the space had been needed for
the lazy lift.
But the attic was still there and it was John Thomas’s only private place. His
room his mother “tidied” sometimes, even though it was has duty (and wish) to
do it himself. Anything might happen when Mum tidied. Papers might be lost,
destroyed, or even read, for Mum believed that there should be no secrets
between parents and children.
So anything he wanted to keep to himself he kept in the attic; Mum never went
there-ladders made her dizzy. He had a small, almost airless and very dirty
room there which he was supposed to use only for “storage.” Its actual uses
were varied: he had raised snakes there some years before; there he kept the
small collection of books which every boy comes by but does not discuss with
parents; he even had a telephone there, an audio extension run from the usual
sound & sight instrument in his bedroom. This last was a practical result of his
high-school course in physics and it had been real work to wire it, as it not only
had to be rigged when Mum was out of the house and in such a way that she
would not notice it but also it had to be done so as not to advertise its presence
to the phone company’s technicians.
But it worked, jury-rigged though it was, and he had added a “servant” circuit
which flashed a warning light if anyone was listening from any other instrument
in the house.
Tonight he had no wish to call anyone and it was past the hour when direct
messages were permitted at the dormitory where Betty lived. He simply wanted
to be alone . * . and to look over some papers he had not looked at in a long
time. He fumbled under his work table, flipped a toggle; a panel opened in what
appeared to. be blank wall. In the cupboard thus exposed were books and
papers. He took them out.

                                        96
One item was a thin-paper notebook, his great grandfather’s diary of the Trail
Blazer’s second voyage of
exploration. It was more than a hundred years old and showed the wear of
many hands. John Thomas had read it a dozen times; he supposed that his
father and his grandfather had done the same. All the pages were fragile, many
had been repaired.
He thumbed through it, turned the pages carefully, but browsing rather than
reading. His eye lit on one remembered item:
“Some of the lads are panicky, especially the married men. But they should of
thought of it before they signed up. Everybody knows the score now; we burst
through and came out somewhere not close to home. Who cares? We meant to
travel, didn’t we?”
John Thomas turned a few more pages. He had always known the story of the
Trail Blazer; it produced in him neither awe nor wonder. One of the first
interstellar ships, her crew had plied the profession of discovery with the same
acceptance of the unknown that bad marked the golden days of -the fifteenth
century, when men had braved uncharted seas in wooden vessels. The Trail
Blazer and her sisters had gone out the same way, burst through. the Einstein
barrier, taken their chances on getting back. John Thomas Stuart viii had been
aboard her that second voyage, had come home in one piece, married, begat a
male child, and settled down. . . it was he who had built the landing flat on the
roof.
  Then one night he had heard the call of the wild goose, signed up again. He
  had not come back.
  John Thomas located the first mention of Lummox:
“This planet is a fair imitation of good old Terra, which is a relief after the last
three, since we can hit dirt without suiting up. But evolution must
have been playing double-or-nothing here, instead of the four-limbed
arrangement considered stylish at home practically everything here has at least
eight legs . ~. * ‘mice’ that look like centipedes, rabb’itlike creatures with aix
short legs and one pair of tremendous jumping legs, all sorts up to things as big
as giraffes. I caught one little fel.. low (if you can call it that . . . fact is, he came
up and crawled into my lap) and I Was so taken with him that I am going to try to
keep him as a mascot. He puts me in mind of a dachshund puppy, only better
engineered. Cristy had the airlock watch, so I was able to get him aboard
without turning him over to Biology.”
  The next day’s entry did not mention Lummox, being concerned with a more
  serious matter:

                                            97
“We hit the jackpot this time . . * Civilization. The officers are, so excited they
are almost off their heads. I’ve seen one of the dominant race at a distance. The
same multi-legged pattern, but otherwise making you wonder what would have
happened to Earth if the dinosaurs had made good.”
  Still further on...
“I’ve been wondering what to feed Cuddle pup. 1 needn’t have worried. He likes
everything I’ve sneaked out of the mess for him . * * but he will eat anything that
is not riveted down. Today he ate my Everlasting stylus and it has me worried. I
don’t suppose the ink cartridge will poison him but how about the metal and
plastic? He’s just like a baby; everything he can reach goes in his mouth.

“Cuddlepuppy gets cuter every day. The little
tyke seems to be trying to talk; he whines at me and I whine back at him. Then
he crawls into my lap and tells me that he loves me, plain as anything. I’ll be
switched if I’ll let Biology have him, even if they catch me. Those birds would
likely as not cut him up just to see what makes him tick. He trusts me and i’m
not going to let him down.”
John Thomas, Junior, had not gone to sea. Instead he had killed himself flying a
boxkite affair termed an “aeroplane.” That had been before the first of the World
Wars; for several years thereafter the house had. received “paying guests.”
J. T. Stuart m had died to greater purpose; the submarine of which he was
gunnery officer had penetrated Tsushima Straits to the Sea of Japan, but had
failed to returns
  John Thomas Stuart iv was killed on the first trip to the Moon.
John Thomas v had emigrated to Mars; his son, the famous name in the family,
Johnnie skipped over quickly; he had long since grown tired of being reminded
that he bore the same name as General Stuart, first governor of the Martian
Commonwealth after the revolution. Johnnie wondered what would have
happehed to his great great great grandfather if the revolution had failed? Would
they have hanged him?. . . instead of putting up statues of him?
Much of the book was devoted to - an attempt by Johnnie’s grandfather to clear
the name of his own grandfather-for the son of General Stuart was no public
hero; instead he had sweated out his last fifteen years of life in the Triton penal
colony. His wife had returned to her family on Earth and taken back her maiden
name, for herself and her son. -
But her son had gone proudly into court the day he was of age and had had his
name changed from “Carl-


                                         98
ton Gimxnidge” to “John Thomas Stuart viii.” It was he who had fetched
Lummox back and he had used his bonus money from the second trip of the
Trail Blazer to buy back the old homestead. He had apparently impressed on his
own son that his son’s grandfather had gotten a dirty deal; the son had made a
great point of it in this record.
Johnnie’s grandfather could himself have used an ad-, vocate to defend his
name. The record stated simply that John Thomas Stuart ix had resigned from
the service and had never gone into space again, but Johnnie knew that it had
been a choice of that or a court martial; his own father had told him . * . but he
had told him also that his grandfather could have got off scotfree had he been
willing to testify. His father had added, “Johnme, I’d rather see you loyal to your
friends than with your chest decked out in medals.”
The old man had still been living at the time Johnnie’s father told him this. On a
later occasion, while Johnnie’s father was out on patrol, Johmüe had tried to let
him know that he knew. -
  Granddad had been furious. “Poppycock!” he had shouted. “They had me
  dead to rights.”
  “But Dad said your skipper was actually the one who...”
“Your Dad wasn’t there. Captain Dominic was the finest skipper that ever trod
steel . . . may his soul rest in peace.. Set up the checkers, son. I’m going to beat
you.” -
Johnnie had tried to get the straight of it after his grandfather died, but his
father’s answer was not direct. “Your grandfather was a romantic sentimentalist,
Johnme. It’s the flaw in our make-up. Hardly sense enough in the whole line to
balance a check book.” He had puffed his pipe and added, “But we do have
fun.”
Johnnie put the books and papers away, feeling dully that it had not done him
much good to read about his
forebears; Lummox was still on his mind. He guessed he ought to go down and
try to get some sleep.
He was turning away as the phone flashed; he grabbed it before the light could
change to sound signal; he did not want his mother to wake. “Yes?”
   “That you, Johnnie?”
   “Yeah. I can’t see you, Betty; I’m up in the attic.”
“That isn’t the only reason you can’t. I haven’t got my face on, so I’ve got the
video switched off. Besides it’s pitch dark in this hallway, since I’m not allowed
to phone this time o’ night. Uh, the Duchess isn’t listening, is she?”
     Johnnie glanced at his warning signal. “No.”
                                         99
        “I’ll make this brief. My spies report that Deacon Dreiser got the okay to go
        ahead.”
“No!”
      “Yes. Point is, what do we do about it? We can’t sit still and let him.”
      “Uh, I’ve done something.”
      “What? Nothing silly, I hope. I shouldn’t have been away today.”
      “Well, a Mr. Perkins...”
      “Perkins? The chap who went to see Judge O’Farrell tonight?”
      “Yes. How did you know?”
      “Look, don’t waste time. I always know. Tell me your end.”
“Well . * .” John Thomas gave a confused report. Betty listened without
comment, which made him defensive; he found himself expounding the
viewpoints of his mother and of Mr. Perkins, rather than his own. “So that s how
it was,” he finished lamely.
“So you told them to go climb - a tree? Good, Now here is our next move. If the
Museum. can do it, we can do it. It’s just a case of getting Grandpa O’Fairell to.
      “Betty, you don’t understand. I sold Lummox.”
“What? You sold Lummox?” “Yes. I had to. If I didn’t.,.” “You sold Lummox.”
      “Betty, I couldn’t help my...”
But she had switched off on him.
He tried to call back, got a recorded voice that said, “This instrument is out of
direct service until tomorrow morning at eight. If you wish to record a message
stand by for. . .” He switched off.
He sat holding his head and wishing he were dead. The worst of it was, Betty
was right. He had let himself be badgered into doing something he knew was
wrong, just because it had seemed that there was nothing else he could do.
Betty had not been fooled. Maybe what she wanted to try wasn’t any good
either. . . but she had known a wrong answer when she heard it.
He sat there, flailing himself but not knowing what to do. The more he thought,
the angrier he got. He had let himself be talked into something that wasn’t right
  just because it was reasonable . . . just because it was logical. . . just because
  it was common sense,
The deuce with common sense! His ancestors hadn’t used common sense, any
of ‘eml ‘Who was he to start such a practice?
None of them had ever done the sensible thing. Why, take his great great great
grandfather . * . he’d found a situation he hadn’t liked and he had turned a whole
planet upside down through seven bloody years. Sure, they called him a hero . .
. but ‘does starting a revolution come under the head of common sense?


                                          100
Or take . . . Oh, shucks, take any of ‘em! There hadn’t been a “good” boy in the
bunch. Would granddad have sold Lummox? Why, granddad would have torn
down the courthouse with his bare hands. If granddad was here, he’d be
standing guard over Lum
inox with a gun and daring the world to touch one spine.
      He certainly wasn’t going to take any of Perkins’
dirty money; he knew that. -
      But what could he do?
He could go to Mars. Under the Lafayette Law he was a citizen and could claim
land. But how could he get there? Worse, how could he get Lummox there?
The trouble with that, he told himself savagely, is that it almost makes sense.
And sense is no use to me.
At last he hit on a plan. It had the one virtue of having no sense to it at all; it was
compounded of equal parts of folly and of risk. He felt that granddad would have
liked it.




Ix
Customs and an Ugly Duckling

nn went down to the upper hallway and listened at his mother’s door. He did not
expect to hear anything as her bedroom was sound-proofed; the action was
instinctive. Then he returned to his own room and made rapid preparations,
starting by dressing in camping clothes and mountain boots. His sleeping bag
he kept in a drawer of his desk; he got it out, tucked it in a side pocket of his
coat and shoved its power pack in a breast pocket. Other items of hiking and
camping gear he distributed among other pockets and he was almost ready to
go.
He counted his cash and swore softly; his other assets were in a savings
account and now he would have no chance to draw from it. Well, it couldn’t be
helped
  he started downstairs, then remembered an important matter. He went back
  to his desk,
“Dear Mum,” he wrote. “Please tell Mr. Perkins that the deal is off. You can use
my college money to pay back the insurance people. Lu~n and 1 are going
away and it won’t do any good to try to find us. I’m sorry but we have to.” He
looked at the note, decided that there was no more to be said, added “love,” and
signed

                                          101
it.
He started a note to Betty, tore it up, tried again, and finally told himself that he
would send her a letter when he had more to say. He went downstairs, left the
note on the dining table, then went to the pantry and picked out supplies. A few
minutes later, carrying a large sack crammed with tins and packages, he went
out to Lummox’s hou’se.
His friend was asleep. The watchman eye accepted him; Lummox did not stir.
John Thomas hauled back and kicked him as hard as possible. “Hey, Lum!
Wake up.
     The beast opened his other eyes, yawned daintily, and piped, “Hello,
     Johnnie.”
     “Pull yourself together. We’re going for a hike.”
     Lummox extended his legs and stood up, letting a ripple run from head to
     stern. “All right.”
“Make me a seat-and leave room for this.” Johnnie held up the bag of groceries.
Lummox complied without comment; John Thomas chucked the sack up on the
beast, then scrambled up himself. Soon they were’ on the road in front of the
Stuart home.
Almost irrational as he was, John Thomas nevertheless knew that running away
and hiding Lummox was a project almost impossible; Lummox anywhere would
be about as conspicuous as a bass drum in a bathtub. However there was a
modicum of method in his madness; concealing Lummox near Westville was not
quite the impossibility it would have been some places.

Westville lay in an open mountain valley; immediate-
ly west the backbone of the continent shoved its gaunt ridges into the sky. A few
miles beyond the city commenced one of the great primitive areas, thousands of
square miles of up-and-down country almost the same as it had been when the
Indians greeted Columbus. During a short season each year it swarmed with
redcoated sportsmen, blazing away at deer and elk and each other; most of the
year it was ciesertea.
If he could get Lummox there without being seen, it was barely possible that
they could avoid being caught-until his food supplies ran out. When that time
came-well, he might live off the country just as Lummox would . . . eat venison,
maybe. Or maybe go back to town without Lummox and argue it out again from
the strong position of being able to refuse to tell where Lummox was until they
listened to reason. Th@ possibilities were not thought out; he simply intended to
get Lummox under cover and then think about it. . * get him somewhere where
that old scoundrel Dreiser

                                         102
• couldn’t try out ways to hurt him!
John Thomas could have turned Lummox to the west and set off across country
toward the mountains, Lummox being no more dependent on pavement than is
a tank. . . but Lummox left a track in soft earth as conspicuous as that of a tank.
It was necessary to. stay on paved road. -
Johnnie had a solution in mind. In an earlier century a transcontinental highway
had crossed the mountains here, passing south of Westville and winding ever
higher toward the Great Divide. It had long since been replaced by a modern
powered road which tunneled through the wall of rock instead of climbing it. But
the old road remained, abandoned, overgrown in many places, its concrete
slabs heaved and tilted from frost and summer heat. . . but still a paved road
that would show little sign of Lummox’s ponderous progress,
  He led Lummox by back ways, avoiding houses and
working toward a spot three miles west where the expressway entered the first
of its tunnels and the old highway started to climb. Ht did not go quite to the fork,
but stopped a hundred yards short, parked Lummox in front of a vacant lot,
warned him not to move, and scouted the lay of the land. He did not dare take
Lummox onto the expressway to reach the old road; not only might they. be
seen but also it would be dan-
• gerous to Lummox.
But John Thomas found what he thought he - remembered: a construction road
looping around the junction. It was not paved but was hard-packed granite
gravel and he judged that even Lummox’s heavy steps would not leave prints.
He went back and found Lummox placidly eating a “For Sale” sign. He scolded
him and took it away, then decided that he might as well get rid of the evidence
and gave it back. They continued while Lummox munched the sign.
Once on the old highway John Thomas relaxed. For the first few miles it was in
good repair, for it served homes farther up the canyon. But there was no
through traffic, it being a dead end, and no local traffic at this hour. Once or
twice an air car passed overhead, party or theater goers returning home, but if
the passengers noticed the great beast plodding on the road below they gave
no sign.
The road meandered up the canyon and came out on a tableland; here was a
barrier across the pavement:

BOAD CLOSED . . . VEHICULAR PASSAGE FORBIDDEN BEYOND
THIS POINT. Johnnie got down and looked it over. It was a single heavy timber
supported at the chest height. “Lunimie, can you walk over that without~
touching it?”

                                         103
  “Sure, Johnnie.”
  “All right Take it slowly. You mustn’t knock it down. Don’t even brush against
  it.”
“I won’t, Johnnie.” Nor did he. Instead of stepping over it as a horse might step
over a lower barrier Lwn
mox retracted pairs of legs in succession and flowed over it.
      Johnnie crawled under the barrier and joined him. “I didn’t know you cOuld
      do that.”
      “Neither did I.”
The road was rough ahead. Jobnnie stopped to lash down the groceries with a
line under Lummox’s keel, then added a bight across his own thighs. “All right,
Lummie. Let’s have some speed. But don’t gallop; I don’t want to fall off.”
“Hang on, Johnnie!” Lummox picked up speed, retaining. his normal foot
pattern. He rumbled along at a. fast trot, his gait smoothed out by his many legs.
JohnDie found that he was very tired, both in body and spirit. He felt safe, now
that they were away from houses and traveled roads, and fatigue hit him. He
leaned back and Lummox adjusted his contours to him. The swaying motion
and steady pounding of massive feet had soothing effect. Presently he slept.
Lummox went on surefootedily over the broken slabs, He was using his night
sight and there was no danger of stumbling in the dark. He knew that Johnnie
was asleep and kept his gait as smooth as possible. But in time he got bored
and decided on a nap, too. He had not slept well the nights he had spent away
from home . . . always some silliness going on and it had fretted him not to know
where Johnnie was. So now he rigged out his guardian eye, closed his others
and shifted control over to the secondary brain back in his rump. Lummox
proper went to sleep, leaving that minor fraction that never slept to perform the
simple tasks of watching for road hazards and of supervising the tireless
pounding of his eight great legs.
John Thomas woke as the stars were fading in the morning sky. He stretched
his sore muscles and shivered, There were high mountains all around and the
road
crawled along the side of one, with a sheer drop to a stream far below. He sat
up. “Hey, Lummiel”
  No answer. He shouted agá~n. This time Lummox answered sleepily, “What’s
    the matter, Johnnier’
  “You’ve been asleep,” he accused.
  “You didn’t say not to, Johnnie.”
  “Well.. . all right. Are we on the same road?”


                                        104
  Lummox consulted his alter ego and answered. “Sure. Did you want another
    road?”
  “No. But we’ve got to get off this one. It’s getting light.”
  “Why?”
John Thomas did not know how to answer that question; trying to explain to
Lummox that he was under sentence of death and must hide did not appeal to
him. “We have to, that’s why. But just keep going now. I’ll let you know.”
The stream climbed up to meet them; in a mile or so the road lay only a few feet
above it. They came to a place where the stream bed widened out into a
boulder field, with water only in a central channeL “Whoa!” called out Johnnie.
  “Breakfast?” inquired Lummox.
  “Not yet. See those rocks down there?”

“I want you to step wide onto those rocks. Don’t put ySur big feet on that soft
shoulder dirt. Step from the pavement to the rocks. Get me?
  “Don’t leave tracks?” Lummox asked doubtfully.
“That’s right. If anybody comes along and sees tracks, you’ll have to go back
downtown again-because they’ll follow the tracks and find us. See?” .
  “I won’t leave any tracks, Johnnie.”
Lummox went down onto the dry stream bed like a gargantuan inchworm. The
maneuver caused John Thomas to grab for his safety line with one hand and for
his supplies with the other. He yelped.
  Lummox stopped and said, “You all right, Johnnie?”
“Yes. You just surprised me. Upstream now and stay on the rocks.” They
followed the stream, found a place to cross, then followed it on the other side. It
swung away from the road and soon they were several hundred yards from it. It
was now almost broad daylight and John Thomas was beginning to worry about
air reconnaissance, even though it was unlikely that the alarm would be out so
soon.
Up ahead a grove of lodgepole pines came down to the bank. It seemed dense
enough; even if Lummox were not invisible in it, nevertheless holding still he
would look like a big, mountain-country boulder. It would have to do; there was
no time to pick a better’ place. “Up the bank and into those trees, Luni, and
don’t, break the bank down. Step easy.”
They entered the grove and stopped; Johnnie dismounted. Lummox tore down a
branch of pine and started to eat. It reminded John Thomas that he himself had
,not eaten lately but he was so dead tired that he was not hungry. He wanted to
sleep, really sleep .

                                         105
not half awake and clutching a safety line.
But he was afraid that if he let Lummox graze while he slept the big stupid lunk
would wander into the open and be spotted. “Lummie? Let’s take a nap before
we have breakfast.”
  “Why?”
“Well, Johnnie’s awful tired. You just lie down here and I’ll put my sleeping bag
beside you. Then when we wake up, we’ll eat.”
  “Not eat until you wake up?”
  “That’s it.”
  “Well. .. all right,” Lummox said regretfully.
John Thomas took his sleeping bag out of his picket, flipped the light membrane
open, and plugged in the power pack. He set the thermostat and switched it on,
then while it heated he inflated the mattress sidt. The
thin mountain air made it heavy work; he stopped with it only partly blown up
and peeled off all his clothes. Shivering in the frosty dir he slid inside, closed it
to a nose hole. “G’night, Lunimie.”
  “G’night, Johnme.”
Mr. Kiku slept badly and was up early. He breakfasted without disturbing his
wife and went to the Spatial Affairs hail, arriving while the great building was
quiet except for the handful on night duty. Seated at his desk, he tried to think.
His subconscious had been nagging him all night, telling him that he had missed
something important. Mr. Kiku had high respect for his subconscious, holding a
theory that real thinldng was never ~done at the top of the mind, which he
regarded merely as a display window for results arrived at elsewhere, like the
“answer” windows in a calculator.
Something young Greenberg had said . . . something about the Rargyllian
believing that the Hroshii, with only one ship, were a serious menace to Earth.
Mr. Kiku had discounted it as a clumsy attempt by the snake boy to bluff from
weakness. Not that it mattered; the negotiation was about over . . . the one
remaining detail being to set up permanent relations with the Hroshii.
  His subconscious had not thought so.
He leaned to his desk and spoke to the night communications supervisor. “Kiku.
Call the Hotel UniversaL There’s a Dr. Ftaeml there, a Rargyllian. As soon as he
orders breakfast I want to talk a him. No, don’t wake him, a man is entitled to his
rest.”
Having done what could be done, he turned to the mind-soothing routine of
clearing up accumulated work.

                                          106
His incoming basket was empty for the first time in some days and the building
was beginning to stir when his desk communicator showed a blinking red light.
  “Kiku here.”
  “Sir,” the face said anxiously, “on that call to Hotel UniversaL Dr. Ftaeml did
  not order breakfast”
  “Sleepinglate perhaps. His privilege.”
  “No, sir. I mean he skipped breakfast. He’s on his way to space port.”
  “How long ago?”
  “Five to ten minutes. I just found out.”
“Very well.’ Call space port, tell them not to clear his ship. Make certain that they
understand that it has diplomatic clearance and that they must actually do
something . . . not just scratch its clearance on the board and go back to sleep.
Then reach Dr. Ftaeml himself-my compliments to the Doctor and will he do me
the honor of waiting a few minutes to see me? I am on my way to theport”
  “Yes, sir!”
“That done, there is a matter of a special efficiency report for you. . . uh,
Znedov, is it? Make out the form and grade yourself; I want to see your opinion
of yourself.”
  “Yes, sir.”
Mr. Kiku switched off and called Transportation. “Kiku. I am leaving for the
space port as quickly as I can reach the roof. Providt~ a dart and a police
escort.”
  “Yes, sir!”
  Mr. Kiku stopped only to tell his secretary where he was going, then stepped
     into his private lift to the
  roof.      -
At the space port Dr. Ftaeml was waiting out on the passengers’ promenade,
watching the ships and pretending to smoke a cigar. Mr.’ Kiku came up and
bowed. “Good morning, Doctor. It was most gentle of you to wait for me.”
The Rargyllian tossed the cigar aside. “The honor is mine, sir. To be attended at
the port by a person of
your rank and pressing duties .’. .” He finished with a shrug which expressed
both surprise and pleasure.
“I will not keep you long. But I had promised myself the pleasure’ of seeing you
today and I had not known that you intended to leave.”
“My fault, Mr. Under Secretary I had intended to pop up and pop back and then
to wait your pleasure this afternoon.”

                                         107
“Good. Well, perhaps by tomorrow I shall be able to present an acceptable
solution of this problem.”
       Ftaeml was plainly surprised. “Successful?”
       “I hope so. The data you provided yesterday has given us a new clue.”
       “Do I understand that you have found the missing Hroshia?”
       “Possibly. Do you know the fable of the Ugly Duckling?”
       ‘Ugly Duckling’?” The Rargyllian seemed to be searching his files. “Yes, I
       know the idiom.”
“Mr. Greenberg, following the clue you provided, has gone to fetch the Ugly
Duckling. If by wild chance it turns out to be the swan that we are seeking, then..
.” Mr. Kiku gave a shrug-unconsciously like that of Ftaeml.
      The Rargyllian seemed tq, have trouble believing it. “And is it the. . .
      ‘swan,’ Mr. Under Secretary?”
      “We will see. Logic says that it must be; probability says that it cannot be.”
      “Mmmm . .. and may I report this to my clients?”’
“Suppose we wait until I hear from Mr. Greenberg. He has left Capital, to
investigate. Can I reach you through the scout ship?”
  “Certainly, sir.”
  “Uh, Doctor.. . there was one more thing.”
  “Yes, sir?”
  “You made an odd remark to. Mr. Greenberg last night
  supposedly a joke. . . or perhaps an accident. You said something about
    Earth being ‘volatilized’.”
For a moment the Rargyllian said nothing. When he did speak he changed the
subject “Tell me, sir, in what way does logic state that your ‘Ugly Duckling’ is a
swan?”
Mr. Kiku spoke carefully. “A Terran ship visited a strange planet at the time
defined by your data. The dominant race could have been Hroshii; the
identification is not exact except as to time. A life form was removed and
brought here. This being is still alive after more than one hundred twenty years;
Mr. Greenberg has gone to fetch it for identification by your principals.”
Dr. Ftaeml said softly, “It must be. I did not believe. it but it must be.” He went
on, louder and quite cheerfully,’ “Sir, you have made me happy.”
  “Indeed?”
  “Very. You have also made it possible for me to speak freely.”
“You have always been free to speak, Doctor, so far as we were concerned. I do
not know what instructions you have from your clients.”
      “They have ~lacecl no check on my tongue. But .

                                         108
You are aware, sir, that the customs of a race are implicit in its speech?”
     “I have sometimes had cause to suspect so,” Mr. Kiku answered drily.
“To be sure. If you visited a friend in a hospital, knowing him to be dying,
knowing that you could not help him, would you speak to him of his doom?”
  “No. Not-unless he brought up the subject.”
  “Precisely! Speaking to you and to Mr. Greenberg I was perforce bound by
  your customs.”
“Dr. Ftaeml,” Mr. Kiku said slowly, “let us be blunt. Am I to believe that you are
convinced that this single
foreign ship could do a serious damage to this planet, with its not inconsiderable
defenses?”
“I will be blunt, sir. Should ‘the Hroshui eventually conclude that, through the
actions of this planet or some member of its culture, their Hroshia had died or
was forever lost, Earth would not be damaged; Earth would be destroyed.”
  “By this one ship?”
  “Unassisted.”
Mr. Kiku shook his head. “Doctor, I am sure that you are convinced of what you
say. I am not. The extent and thoroughness of the defenses of this, the leading
planet of the Federation, cannot possibly be known to you. But should they be
so foolish they will learn that we have teeth.”
Ftaeml looked sorrowful. “In all the many tongues of civilization I find no words
to convince you. But belive me . . . anything that you could do against them
would be as futile as throwing stones at one of your modern warships.”
“We shall see. Or, fortunately, we shall not see. I do not like weapons, Doctor;
they are the last resort of faulty diplomacy. Have you spoken to them of the
willingness of the Federation to accept them into the Community of
Civilizations?”
  “I have had grave difficulty in explaining to them the nature of your offer.”
  “Are they, then, so hopelessly warlike?”
“They are not warlike at all. How can I put it? Are you warlike when you smash .
. . strike . . . swat . .
yes, swat a fly? The Hroshii are practically immortal by your standards, and
even by mine. They are s.o nearly invulnerable to all ordinary hazards that they
tend to look down. . . how is your idiom? .. . ‘Olympian’.
they look down on us from Olympian heights. They cannot see any purpose in
relations with lesser races;


                                        109
      therefore your proposal was not taken seriously, though, believe me, I put
      it.”
      “They sound stupid,” Kiku answered sourly.
“Not true, sir. They evaluate your race and mine most exactly. They know that
any culture possessing star travel has at least some minor skill in the physical
arts. They know th~refore that you will regard yourselves as powerful. For that
reason they are even now contemplating a display of force, to convince you that
you must forthwith deliver up their Hroshia.. . they think of this as being like a
goad to a draft animal, a sign which he will be able to understand.”
  “Hmm. . . You know the nature of this demonstration?”
“I do. My trip this morning to their ship is to persuade them to wait They intend
to touch lightly the face of your satellite, leave on it an incandescent mark
perhaps a thousand miles long, to convince you that they
  uh.. . ‘ain’t I oolin’.”
“I am not impressed. We could order a force of ships and make such a sign
ourselves. Not that we would.”
“Could you do it with one ship, in a matter of seconds, without fuss, from a
distance of a quarter million miles?”
  “You think they could?”
“I am sure of it, A minor demonstration. Mr. Under Secretary, there are novae in
their part of the sky which were not accidents of nature.”
Mr. Kiku hesitated. If it all were true, then such a demonstration might serve his
own needs by causing the Hroshul to show their hand. The loss of a few
worthless lunar mountains would not matter. . . but it would be difficult to
evacuate such an area of even the few who might be in it. “Have you told them
that our Moon is inhabited?”
  It Is not mhabited by their Hroshia, which is all that matters to them.”
“Hmm . . . I suppose so. Doctor, could you suggest to them, first, ‘that you may
be about to find their Hroshia, and second, that their JJroshia may be
somewhere on our satellite, which is why the searCh has taken so long?”
The Rargyllian simulated a wide human grin. “Sir, I salute you. I shall be happy
to convey such a suggestion. I am sure there will be no demonstration of force.”
  “Good health, Doctor. I’ll be in touch with you.”
  “Your good health, sir.”
  On his way back Mr. Kiku realized that he had felt not a single twinge in the
    presence of the medusoid


                                        110
why, the blighter was rather likable, in a horrid way. Dr. Morgan was certainly an
adroit hypnotherapist.
His work basket was choked as usual; he put the Hroshii out of mind and
worked happily. Late that afternoon communications informed him that they
were hoding a circuit for Mr. Greenberg. “Put him on,” Mr. Kiku said, feeling that
at last the pieces were falling into place.
  “Boss?” Greenberg began.
  “Eh? Yes, Sergei. What the deuce are you, looking upset about?”
  “Because I’m wondering how I’m going to like it as a private in the Outer
     Legion.”
  “Quit trying to break it gently. What happened?”
  “The bird has flown.”
  “Flown? Where?”
  “I wish I knew. The most likely place is a forest preserve west of here.”
  “Then why are you wasting time telling me? Get in there and find it.”
Greenberg sighed. “I knew you would say that. Look, boss, this haystack has
over ten million acres in it, tall trees, -tall mountains, and no roads. And the local
police chief is there ahead of me, with all his own men and half the sheriffs
deputies in the state. He’s ordered
them to kill on sight and has posted a reward for the ship making the kill.”
  “What?”
“Just what I said. Your authorization to carry out the judgment of the court came
through; the cancellation of it got lost . . . how, I don’t know. But the acting chief
is an old relic with the soul of a file clerk; he points to the order and won’t budge
. . . he won’t even let me call them on police frequency. With our intervention
withdrawn I haven’t an ounce of authority to force him.”
“You are accepting that, I suppose?” Mr. Kiku said bitterly. “Just waiting for it to
blow up in your face?”
“Just about. I’ve got a call in for the mayor-he’s out of town. Another for the
governor-he’s in a closed grand jury session. And another for the chief forest
ranger
  • . I think h&s out after the reward. As soon as I, switch off I’m going to twist
     the arm of the acting chief until he sees the light and...”
    “You should be doing that now.”
    “I won’t daily. I called to suggest that you turn on heat from back there. 1
    need help.”



                                          111
“You’ll get it”
“Not just to reach the governor, not just to start a fresh intervention. Even after
we reach this wild police; chief and persuade him to call off his dogs I’ll still need
help. Ten million acres of mountains, boss . . . it means men and ships, lots of
men, lots of ships. It’s no job for one man with a brief case. Besides, I’m going
to join the Outer Legion.”
  “We’ll both join,” Kiku said glumly. “All right, get on it. Move.”
  “It’s been nice knowing you.”
Mr. Kiku switched off, then moved very fast, initiating a fresh departmental
intervention, sending an emergency-priority message to the state governor,
another to the mayor of Westville, another to the Westville dis
trict court. Formal action completed, he sat for a few seconds, bracing himself
for what he must do next
then went in to tell the Secretary that they must ask for help from the ‘military
authorities of the Federation.
  x   --



The Cygnus Deckion
wrix~ John Thomas woke up he had trouble remembering where he was. The
sleeping bag was toasty warm, he felt good, rested but lazy. Gradually the
picture of where he was and why he was there built up and he poked his head
out. The sun was high and it was pleasantly warm. Lummox was nearby. “Hi,
Lummie.
  “Hi, Johnnie. You slept a long time. You were noisy, too.”
“Was I?” He crawled out and pulled his clothes on, switched off the sleeping
bag. He folded it and turned to Lummox-and started. “What’s that?”
Near Lummox’s head, lying squashed out as if it had been stepped on, was a
very dead grizzly bear .
about a six-hundred-pound male. Blood had gushed from mouth and nostrils,
then dried. Lummox glanced at it. “Breakfast,” he explained.
  John Thomas looked at it with distaste. “Not for me, it’s not. Where did you
     get it?”
  “I catched it,” Lummox answered and simpered.
  “Not ‘catched it’. . . ‘caught it.’”
  “But I did catch it. It tried to get in with you and I catched it.”

                                          112
“Well, all right Thanks.” John Thomas looked at the bear again, turned away and
opened his food bag. He
selected a can of ham and eggs, twisted off the top, and waited for it to heat. -
Lummox took this as a signal that it was now all right for him to breakfast, too,
which he did-first the bear, then a couple of small pine trees, a peck or so of
gravel for crunchiness, and the empty container of John Thomas’s breakfast.
They went down to the stream afterwards, with Johnnie going first to search the
sky; Lummox washed down his meal with a few hogsheads of clear mountain
water. Johnnie knelt and drank, then washed his face and hands and wiped
them on his shirt. Lummox asked, “What do we do now, Johnnie? Go for a
walk? Catch things, maybe?”
“No,” Johnnie denied. “We go back up in those trees and lie low until dark.
You’ve got to pretend you’re a rock.” He went up the bank, Lummox followed.
“Settle down,” John Thomas ordered. “I want to look at those bumps.”
Lummox did so; it brought the tumors down where his master could inspect
them without stretching. John- nie looked them over with increasing worry. They
were larger and seemed to have lumps and bumps inside; Johnnie tried to
remember whether such a de- velopment was a sign of malignancy. The skin
over them had stretched and thinned until it was hardly more than thick leather,
not in the least like the rest of Lummox’s armor. It was dry and hot to his touch.
Johnme kneaded the left one gently; Lummox pulled away.
  “Is it that tender?” Johnnie asked anxiously.
“I can’t stand it,” Lummox protested. He extended his legs and walked over to a
large pine tree, started rubbing the tumor against it.
  “Hey!” said Johnmé. “Don’t do that! You’ll hurt yourself.”
  “But it itches.” Lummox went on scratching.
  John Thomas ran to him, intending to be firm. But
just as he reached him the tumor split open. He watched in horror.
Something dark and wet and writhing ei~ierged, caught on the rujtured skin,
held there inchoate, then burst free to dangle and flop like a jungle snake from a
branch. For an agonized moment all that Johnnie could think was that it was
indeed something like that
some giant, parasitic worm eating its way out of its unlucky host. He thought
with dumb self-blame that he had forced Lummie to climb over the mountains
when he was sick to death with that.
  Lummox sighed and wiggled. “Gee!” he said with satisfaction. “That feels
    better!”
  “Lummox! Are you all right?”
                                        113
  “Huh? Why shouldn’t I be, Johnnie?”
  “Why? Why, that!”
“What?” Lummox looked around; the strange growth bent forward and he
glanced at it. “Oh, that. . .” he answered, dismissing the matter. -
The end of- the thing opened out like a blossoming flower. . . and Johnnie
realized at last what it was.
  Lummox had grown an arm.
The arm dried rapidly, lightened in color and seemed to firm. Lummox did not
have much control over it yet, but John Thomas could begin to see its final form.
It had two elbows, a distinct hand with thumbs on each side. There were five
fingers, seven digits in all, and the middle finger was longer and fully flexible,
like an elephant’s trunk. The hand did not resemble a human hand much but
there was no doubt that it was at least as useful-or would become so; at the
moment the digits wiggled aimlessly.
Lummox let him examine it, but did not himself seem especially interested in the
development; Lummox acted as if it were something he always did right after
breakfast. -
Jobnnie said, “Let me have a look at the other bump,” and walked around
Lummox. The rightside tumor was still more bloated. When John Thomas
touched it Lummox shrugged away and turned as if to rub it against the tree.
“Hold it!’ Johnnie called out. “Stand stilL”
  “I’ve got to scratch.”
“You might lame yourself for life. Hold still, I want to try something.” Lummox
sulkily complied; Johnnie took out his belt knife and gently nicked the center of
the swelling.
      The nick spread and Lummox’s right arm came out almost in Johnnie’s
      face. He jumped back.
      “Thanks, Johnnie!”
      “Any time, any time.” He sheathed the knife and stared at the newborn
      arms, his face thoughtfuL
He could not figure all the implications of Lummox’s unexpected acquisition of
hands. But he did realize that it was going to change things a lot. In what way,
he did not know. Perhaps Lummie would not need so much care after this. On
the other hand he might have to be watched or he would be forever getting into
things he shouldn’t. He remembered uneasily someone saying what a blessing
it was cats did not have hands
  well, Lummie had more curiosity than any cat.


                                        114
  But he felt without knowing why that such thing~ were side issues; this was
  important.
In any case, he decided fiercely, this doesn’t change one thing: Chief Dreiser
isn’t going to get another crack at him!
  He searched the sky through the branches and wondered if they could be
     spotted. “Lum...” -
  “Ye~, Johnnie?”
  “Haul in your legs. It’s time to play like a rock.”
  “Aw, let’s go for a walk, Johnnie.”
  “We’ll go for a walk tonight. But until it gets dark I want you to stay put and
     hold still.”
  “Aw, Johnnie!”
  “Look, you don’t want to go downtown again, do you? All right, then, quit
     arguing.”
“Well, if you f~el that way dbout it.” Lummox settled to the ground. John Thomas
sat down, leaned against him, and thought.
Maybe there was a way in this for Lummie and him to make a living . . . in a
carnival or something. E.-t.s were big stuff in carnivals; they couldn’t run without
them-even though half of them were fakes-and Lummie wasn’t a fake. Probably
he could learn to do tricks with his hands, play something or something. Maybe
a circus was still better.
No, that wasn’t the thing for Lummie; crowds made him nervous. Uh, what could
the two of them do to make a living? . . . after this, mess with the authorities was
straightened out, of course. A farm, maybe? Lummie would be better than a
tractor and with hands he would be a farm hand, too. Maybe that was the ticket,
even though he had never thought about farming.
In his mind’s eye he saw himself and Lummox growing great fields of grain . . .
and hay . . . and vegetables and.. . unaware that he had fallen asleep.
He was awakened by a crackingnoise and knew vaguely that he had h,eard
several of them. He opened his eyes, looked around and found that he was
lying beside Lummox. The creature had not left the spot .
but he was moving his arms. One arm flailed past Lummox’s head, there was a
blur and another crack .
and a small aspen some distance away suddenly came down. Several others
were down near it.
  John Thomas scrambled to his feet. “Hey, stop that!”
Lummox stopped. “What’s the matter, Johnriie?” he asked in a hurt voice. There
was a pile of rocks in front of him; he was just reaching for one.

                                         115
   “Don’t throw rocks at trees.”
   “But you do, Johnnie.”
   “Yes, but I don’t ruin them. It’s all right to eat trees, b~t don’t just spoil them.”
   “I’ll eat them. I was going to.”
“All right.” Johnnie looked around. It was dusk, they could start again in a few
minutes. “Go ahead and have them for supper. Here, wait a minute.” He
examined Lummox’s arms. They were the same color as the rest of him, and
beginning to get armor hard. But the most striking change was that -they were
twice as thick as they had been at first-as big around as Johnnie’s thighs. Most
of the loose hide had sloughed off; Jobnnie found that he could tear off the rest.
“Okay. Chow time.”
Lummox finished the aspens in the time it took John Thomas to prepare and eat
his simple meal, and was ready to eat the empty container as a sweet. It was
dark by then; they took to the road.
The second night was even less eventful than the first. It grew steadily colder as
they wound even higher; presently Johnnie plugged the power pack of his
sleeping bag into his suit. Shortly he was warm and drowsy. “Lum-if I go to
sleep, call me when it starts to get light.”
“Okay, Johnnie.” Lummox stored the order in his after brain, just in case. Cold
did not bother him, he was not conscious of it, as his body thermostat was more
efficient than was Johnnie’s-even more efficient than the one controlling the
power pack.
John Thomas dozed and woke up and dozed. He was dozing when Lummox
called him, just as the first rays brushed distant peaks. Johnnie sat up and
began watching for a place to pull out and hide. Luck was against him; it was
straight up on one side and the other side swung over a deep, dismal drop. As
minutes wore- away and it turned broad daylight he began to get panicky.
  But there was nothing to do but plod ahead.
  A stratoship passed in the distance. He could hear the thunderclap, but he
    could not see it; he could only
hope that it was not scanning for him. A few minutes later, while searching all
around, he spotted behind them a dot that he hoped was dn eagle.
Very soon he was forced to admit that it was a single human in a flight harness.
“Stop, Lummox! Pull over to the wall. You’re a landslide.”

“A landslide, Johnnie?” -
“Shut up and do it!” Lummox shut up and did it. John Thomas slid down and hid
behind Lummox’s head, making himself small. He waited for the flier to pass
over.

                                           116
The flier did not pass, but swooped in a familiar shootthe-works style and came
in for a landing. Johnnie sighed with relief as Betty Sorenson landed on the spot
he had just vacated. She called out, “Howdy, Lummie,” then turned to Johnnie,
put her hands on her hips and said, “Well! Aren’t you a pretty sight! Running off
without telling me!”
  “Uh, I meant to, Slugger, I really did. But I didn’t have a chance to.. . I’m
  sorry.”
She dropped her fierce expression and smiled. “Never mind. I think better of you
than I have in some time. At least you did something. Johnnie, I was afraid you
were just a big lummox yourself-pushed around by anybody.”
John Thomas ‘decided not to argue, being too pleased to see her to take
offense. “Uh . . . well, anyway, how did you manage to spot us?”
“Huh? Knothead, you’ve been gone two nights and you are still only a short
flight from town . . . how could you expect not to be spotted?”
  “Yes, but how did you know where to look?”
She shrugged. “The old rule: I thought like a mule and went where the mule
would. I knew you would be along this road, so I started out at barely ‘can-see’
and swooped along it. And if you don’t want to be caught in the next few
minutes we had better boost out of
here and get under cover. Come on! Lummie old boy, start your engines.” -
She put down a hand and Johnnie swung aboard; the procession started up.
“I’ve been trying to get off the road,” Johnnie explained nervously, “but we
haven’t come to a spot.” -
“I see. Well, hold your breath, ‘cause around this bend is Adam-and-Eve Falls
and we can get off the road just above them.”
“Oh, is that where we are?” “Yes.” Betty leaned forward in a futile attempt to
see around a rock shoulder ahead. So doing, she caught her first glimpse of
Lummox’s arms. She grabbed John Thomas. -“Johnnie! There’s a boa
constrictor on Lummiel”
  “What? Don’t be silly. That’s just his right arm.” -
  “His what? Johnnie, you’re ill.”
  “Level off and quit grabbing me. I said ‘arms’-those tumor things were arms.”
“The tumors . . . were arms?” She sighed. “I got up too early and I haven’t had
breakfast. I can’t take shocks like that. All right, tell him to stop. I got to see this.”
  “How about getting under cover?”
  “Oh. Yes, you’re right You’re usually right, Johnnie
• two or three weeks late.”

                                           117
“Don’t strain yourself. There are the falls.” They passed the falls; the floor of the
canyon thereby came up to meet them. John Thomas took the first chance to
get off the road, a spot like their bivouac of the day before. He felt much better
to have Lummox back under thick trees again. While he prepared breakfast,
Betty examined Lummox’s brand-new arms.
  “Lummox,” she said reprovingly, “you- didn’t tell mama about this.” -
  “You didn’t ask me,” he objected.
      “Excuses, always excuses. Well, what can you do with them?”
      “I can throw rocks. Johnnie, is it all right?”
      “No!” John Thomas said hastily. “Betty, how do you want your coffee?”
“Just bare-footed,” she answered absently and went on inspecting the limbs.
There was a notion hovering in her mind about them, but it would not light .
which annoyed her, as she - expected her mind to work for her with the
humming precision of a calculator and no nonsense, please! Oh, well.. .
breakfast first.
After they had fed the dirty dishes to Lummox, Betty lounged back and said to
John Thomas, “Problem child, have you any idea what a storm you have stirred
up?”
  “Uh, I guess I’ve got Chief Dreiser’s goat.”
  “No doubt and correct. But you might as well turn it loose; there won’t be room
     in the pen.”
  “Mr. Perldns?”
  “Right. Keep trying.”
  “Mum, of course.”
“Of course. She alternates between weeping for her lost baby and announcin.g
that you are no son of hers?’
“Yeah. I know Mum,” he admitted uneasily. “Well, I don’t care. .1 knew they’d all
be sore at me. But I had to.”
“Of course you had to, Knothead darling, even though you did it with the eager
grace of a hippopotamus. But I don’t mean them.”
  “Huh?”
“Johnnie, there is a little town in Georgia named Adrian. It’s too small to have - a
regular safety force, just a constable. Do you happen to know that constable’s
name?”
  “Huh? ‘Of course not.”
“Too bad. For as near as I was able to find out, that constable is the only cop
who isn’t looking for you, which is why I - rallied around-even though you, you
dirty name, ran off without bothering to alert me.”
                                         118
• “I told you I was sorry!”
  “And I forgave you. I’ll let you forget it in ten years or so.”
“What’s this nonsense about this constable? And why should everybody be out
after me? Aside from Chief Dreiser, I mean?”
“Because he has put out a general alarm and offered a reward for Lurnmie, alive
or dead . . . preferably dead. They are serious about it, Johnnie . . . terribly
serious. So whatever plan you had we now junk and shift to -a good one. What
did you have in mind? Or
did you?”   -

John Thomas turned pale and answered slowly, “Well
• . . I meant to keep on like this for a night or two, until we reached a place to
   hide.”
She shook her head. “No good. In their stumbling official way they will have
concluded by now that this is where you would head . . . since it is the only
place near Westville where a creature the size of Lummox could possibly hide.
And...”
  “Oh, we’d get off the road!”
  “Of course. And they will search this forest tree by tree. They really mean it,
  chum.”
“You didn’t let me finish. You know that old uranium mine? The Power and
Glory? You go over Dead Wolf Pass and then take off north on a gravel road.
That’s where we’re heading. I can put—Lummox completely out of sight there;
the main tunnel is big enough.”
  “Flashes of sense in that. But not good enough- for what you are up against”
  She was silent. Johnnie stirred uneasily and said, “Well? If that’s no good,
  what do we do?”
“Pipe down. I’m thinking.” She lay still, staring up at the deep blue mountain sky.
At last she said, “You didn’t solve anything by running away.”
  “No. . . but I sure mixed it up.”
  “Yes, and so far so good. Everything ought to be turned
upside down occasionally; it lets in air and light. But now we’ve got to see that
the pieces fall back where we want them. To do that we’ve got to gain time.
Your notion of the Power and Glory Mine isn’t too bad; it will do until I can make
better arrangements.”
  “I don’t see why they would ever find him there. It’s about as lonely as you
  can get.”
                                          119
“Which is why it is sure to be searched. Oh, it might fool Deacon Dreiser; I doubt
he could find his own hat without a search warrant. But he’s dug up an air posse
the size of a small army; they are certain to find you. You took your sleeping bag
and food; therefore you are camping out. I found you, they will find you. I did it
by knowing what makes you tick, whereas they have to work by logic, which is
slower. But just as certain. They’ll find you . . . and that’s the end of Lummox.
They won’t take chances. . . bomb him, probably.”
   John Thomas considered the dismal prospect. “Then what’s the sense of
      hiding him in the mine?”
   “Just to gain a day or so, because I’m not ready to take him out yet.”
   “Huh?”
   “Of course. We’ll hide him in town.”
   “What? Slugger, the altitude has got you.”
“In town and under cover . . . because it is the only place in the wide, wide world
they won’t look for him.” She added, “Maybe in Mr. Ito’s greenhouses.”

“Huh? Now I know you’re crazy.” -
“Can you think of a safer place? Mr. Ito’s son is not hard to reason with; I had a
nice talk with him just yesterday. I stood short and looked up at him and let him
explain things. One of his greenhouses would be perfect . . . snug, maybe, but
this is an emergency. You can’t see through that milky glass they are built out of
and nobody would dream that Lummie might be inside.”
   “I don’t see how you can do it.~.
   “You let me handle it. - If I don’t get the greenhouse
• . . but I will! . . . then I’ll get an empty warehouse or something. We’ll put
    Lümmie in the - mine tonight, then I’ll fly back and arrange things. Tomorrow
    night Lummie and I will go back to town and...”
“Huh? It took us two nights to get this far-and it will take us most of tonight to get
to the mine. You can’t ride him back in one night.”
  “How fast can he go when he tries?”
  “But nobody can ride him when he gallops. Not even me.
“I won’t ride him; I’ll fly over him, pacing him and making him slow down for
curves. Three hours, maybe? . . . and another hour to sneak him into the
greenhouse.” -
  “Well. . . maybe it would work.”
  “It will because it’s got to. Then you get caught”
  “Huh? Why don’t I just go home?”
“No, that would be a giveaway. They catch you, you’ve been doing amateur
uranium prospecting . I’ll fetch out a radiation counter. You don’t know where

                                         120
Lummox is; you kissed him goodbye and turned him loose, then came up here
to forget your sorrows. You’ll have to be convincing .. . and don’t let them use a
truth meter.”
  “Yes, but. . . Look, Slugger, what’s the good? Lummie can’t stay in a
  greenhouse forever.”
“We’re simply buying time. They are ready to kill him on sight. . . and they will.
So we keep him out of sight until we can change that.”
“I suppose I should have gone through with the sale to the Museum,” John
Thomas answered miserably.
“No! Your instincts are sound, Johnnie, even though you’ve got less brains than
a door knob. Look . . . do you remember the Cygnus Decision?” -
  The Cygnus Decision? We had it in elementary Customs of Civilization?” -
• “Yes. Quote it.”
“What is this? A mid-semester quiz?” John Thomas frowned and dug into his
memory. “ ‘Beings possessed of speech ~nd manipulation must be presumed to
be sentient and therefore to have innate human rights, unless conclusively
proved otherwise.’ “ He sat up. “Hey! They can’t kill Lummox-he’s got hands!”
  XI -

“It’s Too Late, Johnnie”
“MIND your air speed,” she cautioned. “Do you know the old one about the man
whose lawyer assured him that they could not put him in jail for that?”
  “What was ‘that’?”
“Never mind. His client answered, ‘But, counsellor, I’m speaking from the jail.’
Point is, the Cygnus Decision is just theory; we’ve got to keep Lummox out of
sight until we can get the court to change its mind.”
  “Unh, I see. I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” Betty admitted with dignity. “Johnnie, I’m dying of thirst;
thinking is dry work. Did you bring any water up from the creek?”
   “No, I didn’t.”
   “Got a bucket?”
“Yeah, somewhere.” He felt in his pockets, found it and pulled it out. He stopped
to blow it up to semirigidity, then said, “I’ll fetch it.”
   “No, give it to me. I want to stretch my legs.”
   “’Ware fliers!”
“Don’t teach your grandmother.” She took it and went down hill, keeping to the
trees until she reached the bank. Johnnie watched her slim figure catching
                                         121
shafts of cathedral light among the pines and thought how pretty she was -. . .
very nearly as - good a head on her as a man and pretty to boot. Aside from
being bossy the way females always were, Slugger was all right.
  She came back carrying the plastic bucket carefully.
“Help yourself,” she offered. -
“Go ahead.”       -
  “I drank from the creek.”
“All right” He drank deeply. “You know, Betty, if you weren’t knock-kneed, you’d
be pretty good-looking.”
  “Who’s knock-kneed?”
“And there’s - always your face, -of course,” he went on pleasantly. “Aside from
those two shortcomings you’re not-“
He did not finish-she dived and hit him low. The water went all down his front
and partly on her. The scuffle continued until he got her right arm locked up
behind her, holding her helpless. “Say Pretty please,’
he advised.
   “Darn you, Johnnie Stuart! ‘Pretty please.’”
   “With sugar on it?”
   “With sugar on it-and spit, too. Let me up.”
   “All right.”
He got to his feet. She rolled to a sitting position, looked up at him and laughed.
They were both dirty, scratched, and somewhat bruised and they both felt very
fine indeed. Lummox had watched the mock fight with interest but - no alarm,
since Johnnie and Betty could never really be mad at each other. He
commented, “Johrinie’s all wet.”
“He certainly is, Lummie-more ways than one.” She looked him over. “If I had
two clothes pins, I’d hang you on a tree. By your ears, of course.”
  We’ll be dry in five minutes, a day like this.”
  “I’m not wet, not through a flying suit. But you look like a dunked cat.”
“I don’t mind.” He lay down, found a pine needle and bit it. “Slugger, this is a
swell place. I wish I didn’t have to go on up to the mine.”
“Tell you what-after we get this mess straightened out and before we start
school, we’ll come back up here and camp a few days. We’ll bring Lummox, too-
won’t we, Lummie?”
• “Sure,” agreed Lummox. “Catch things. Throw rocks. Fun.”
  John Thomas looked at her reprovingly. “And get me talked about all over
    town? No, thanks.”
                                         122
  “Don’t be prissy. -We’re here now, aren’t we?” -
  “This is an emergency.”
  “You and your nibe-nice reputation!”
“Well, somebody ought to watch such things. Mum says that boys had to start
worrying when girls quit. She says things used to be different”-
“Of course they were-and they will be again. They run the whole program over
and over again.” She looked thoughtful. “But, Johnnie, you pay too much
attention to what your mother says.”
      “I suppose so,” he admitted.
      “You had better break yourself of it. Otherwise no girl is going to take a
      chance on marrying you.”
      He grinned. “That’s my insurance policy.”
She dropped her eyes and blushed. “I wasn’t speaking for myself! I don~t want
you-I’m just taking care of you for practice.”
He decided not to pursue that angle. “Honestly,” he said, “a person gets in the
habit -of behaving a certain way and it’s hard to stop. For instance, I’ve got an
aunt-my Aunt Tessie, remember her?-who believes in astrology.”
  “No! She doesn’t!”
“Surest thing. She doesn’t look nutty, does she? But she is and it’s
embarrassing because she just ‘wi-il talk about it and mother insists that I have
to be polite.
If I could just tell her she has holes in her head, it wouldn’t matter. But oh no! I
have to listen to her rave and pretend that she’s a sane, responsible adult-when
she can’t count above ten without an abacus.”
  “An ‘abacus’?”
“You know-a slipstick with beads. I said ‘abacus’ because there isn’t a prayer
that she could ever learn to read a slipstick. She likes being a lame brain-and I
have to cater to it.”
       “Don’t do it,” Betty said suddenly. “Pay no attention to what your mother
       says.”
       “Slugger, you are a subversive influ.ence.”
       “Sorry, Johnnie,” she answered mildly. She added, “Did I ever tell you why
       I divorced my parents?”
       “No, you never did. That’s your business.”
“So it is. But I think I’ll tell you, you might understand me better. Bend down.”
She grabbed him by an ear, whispered into it.
      As John Thomas listened he took on an expression of extreme surprise.
      “Not really?”

                                         123
        “Fact. They didn’t contest it so I never had to tell anyone. But that’s why.”
        “I don’t see how you put up with it.”
“I didn’t I stood up in court and divorced them and got a professional guardian
who doesn’t have nutty ideas. But look, Johnnie, I didn’t bare my soul just to
make your chin drop. Heredity isn’t everything; I’m myself, an individual. You
aren’t your parents. You’re not your father, you are not your mother. But you are
a little late realizing it.” She sat up straight. “So be yourself, Knothead, and have
the courage to make your own mess of your life. Don’t imitate somebody else’s
mess.”
        “Slugger, when you talk that stuff, you make it sound rational.”
        “That’s because I’m always rational. How well fixed are you for groceries?
        I’m hungry.”
        “You’re as bad as Lummox. The grub sack is over there.”
        “Lunch?” inquired Lummox~ hearing his name.
“Umm . . . Betty, I don’t want him tearing down trees, not in daylight. How long
will it take them to track me down?”
  “I wouldn’t count on over three days, big as this place Is.”
“Well . . . I’ll hold back food for five, just in case.” He selected a dozen canned
rations and gave them to Lummox. He did not open them as Lummox rather
liked having the packages suddenly become hot when he bit into them. He
finished them off before Betty had their own lunches opened.
After they ate Johnriie started to bring up the subject again. “Betty, do you really
think that-“ He broke off suddenly. “Hear anything?”
  She listened, then nodded solemnly.
  “How fast?”
  “Not over two hundred.”
  He nodded. “Then they are scanning. Lummox! Don’t more a muscle!”
  “I won’t, Johnnie. Why not move a muscle?”
  “Do it!”
“Don’t get excited,” Betty advised. “They are probably just laying out their search
pattern. Chances are they couldn’t identify us either in the scope or visually with
these trees to break up the image.” But she looked worried. “I wish Lummie
were already in the mine tunnel, though. If anyone is smart enough to run a
selective scan straight down that road while we’re on it tonight.. . wel?, we’ve
had it.”
John Thomas was not really listening. He was lean.. ing forward, cupping his
ears with both hands. “Hush!” he whisppered, “Betty-they’re coming back!”
  “Don’t panic. It’s probably the other leg of the search pattern.”


                                         124
But even as she said it she knew that she was wrong. The sound came over
them, hovered and dropped in pitch. They looked up, but the denseness of the
forest and the altitude of the craft kept them from seeing it.
Suddenly there was a light so bright that it mad~ the sharp sunlight seem dusky
when it passed. Betty gulped. “What was thatr
  “Ultraf lash photo,” he answered soberly. “They’re checking what they picked
  up on the scope.”
The sound above them squealed higher, then dropped; the eyeburning flash
occurred again. “Stereoed it,” Johnnie announced solemnly. “They’ll really see
us now, if they only suspected before.”
  “Johnnie, we’ve got to get Lummox out of here!”
“How? Take him up on the road and let them pinpoint him with bomb? No, kid,
our only hope now is that they decide he is a big boulder-I’m glad I made him
stay tucked in.” He added, “We niustri’t move, either. They may go away.”
Even that outside hope passed. One after another, four more ships were heard.
Johnnie ticked them off. “That one has taken station to the south. The third one
was north, I think. Now they’ll cover to the west
• .. a pinwheel guard. They’ve got us boxed, Slugger.” She looked at him, her
   face dead white. “What do we do, JohnnIe?”
“Huh? Why, noth- No, Betty look. You duck down through the trees to the creek.
Take your flight harness with you. Then follow the stream a good distance and
take to the air. Keep low until you get out from uwier their umbrella. They’ll let
you go-they don’t want you.”
   “And what will you be doing?”
   I stay here.”
       Andsodol,
Johnnie said fretfully, “Don’t make me any trouble, Slugger. You’d just be in the
way.”
       “What do you think you can do? You don’t even have a gun.”
“I have this,” John Thomas answered grimly, touching his sheath knife, “-and
Lummox can throw rocks.”

She stared at him, then laughed wildly. “What? Rocks indeed! Oh,
Johnnie-“
“They’re not going to take us without a fight. Now will you get out of here-fasti-
and quit being a nuisance?”
  “No!”


                                         125
“Look, Slugger, there isn’t time to argue. You get clear and fast. I stay with
Lummox; that’s my privilege. He’s mine.”
  She burst into tears. “And you’re mine, you big stupid oaf.”
He tried to answer her and could not. His face began to break in the spasmodic
movements of a man trying to control tears. Lummox stirred uneasily. “What’s
the matter, Johnnie?” he piped.
“Huh?” John Thomas replied in a choked voice. “Nothing.” He reached up and
patted his friend. “Nothing at all, old fellow. Johnnie’s here. It’s all right.”
  “All right, Johnnie.”
“Yes,” agreed Betty faintly. “It’s all right, Lummie.” She added in a low voice to
John Thomas. “It’ll be quick, won’t it, Johnnie? We won’t feel it?”
“Uh, I guess so! Hey! None of that-in just one half second I’m going to punch
you right on the button . and then dump you off the bank. That ought to protect
you from the blast.”
She shook her head slowly, without anger nor fear. “It’s too late, Johnnie. You
know it is. Don’t scold me- just hold my hand.”
  “But-“ He stopped. “Hear that?”
  “More of them.”
  “Yeah. They’re probably building an octagon . . . to make sure we don’t get
    out.”
A sudden thunderclap spared her the need to answer. It was followed by the
squeal of a hovering ship; this time they could see it, less than a thousand feet
over their heads. Then an iron voice rumbled out of the sky. “Stuart! John
Stuart! Come out in the open!”
  Jobnnie took out his sheath knife, threw back his head and shouted, “Come
  and get me!”
Betty looked up at him, her face shining, and patted his sleeve. “Tell ‘em,
Johnnie!” she whispered. “That’s my Johnnie.”
The man behind the giant voice seemed to have a directional mike trained on
him; he was answered: “We don’t want you and we don’t want to hurt anybody~
Give up and come out.”
  He threw back a one-word defiance and added, “We aren’t coming out!”
The thundering voice went on, “Final warning, John Stuart. Come out with your
hands empty. We’ll send a ship down for you.”
John Thomas shouted back, “Send it down and we’ll wreck it!” He added
hoarsely to Lummox, “Got some rocks, Lummie?”

                                         126
  “Huh? Sure! Now, Johnnie?”
  “Not yet. I’ll tell you.”
The voice remained silent; no ship came down to them. Instead a ship other
than the command ship dropped swiftly, squatted a hundred feet above the
pines and about the same distance Liom them laterally. It started a slow circle
around them, almost a crawl.
Immediately there was a rending sound, then a crash as a forest giant toppled
to the ground. Another followed at once. Like a great invisible hand a drag field
from the ship knocked over trees and swept them aside. Slowly it cut a wide
firebreak around them. “Why axe they doing that?” Betty whispered.
  “It’s a forestry service ship. They’re cutting us off.”
“But why? Why don’t they just do it and get it over with?” She began to shake,
he put an arm around her.
  “I don’t know, .Slugger. They’te driving.”
The ship closed the circle, then faced them’ and seemed to settle back on its
haunches. With the delicate care of a dentist pulling a tooth the operator
reached in, selected one tree, plucked it out of the ground, and tossed it aside.
He picked another-and still another. Gradually a wide path was being cut
through the timber to the spot where they waited.
And there was nothing to do but wait. The ranger’s ship removed the last tree
that shielded them; the tractor field brushed them as he claimed it, making them
stagger and causing Lummox to squeal with terror. John Thomas recovered
himself and slapped the beast’s side. “Steady, boy. Johnnie is here.”
He thought about having them retreat back from the clearing now in front of
them, but there seemed no use in it.
The logging ship lay off; an attack ship moved in. It dropped suddenly and
touched ground at the ‘end of the corridor. Johnnie gulped and said, “Now,
Lummox. Anything that comes out of that ship-see if you can hit it.”
  “You bet, Johnnie!” Lummox reached with both hands for ammunition.
But he never picked up the rocks. John Thomas felt as if he had been dumped
into wet concrete up to his chest; Betty gasped and Lummox squealed. Then he
piped, “Johnnie! The rocks are stuck!”
John Thomas labored to speak. “It’s all right, boy, Don’t struggle. Just hold still.
Betty, you all right?”
  “Can’t breathe!” she gasped.
  “Don’t fight it. They’ve got us.”


                                          127
Eight figures poured out of the door of the ship. They looked not human, being
covered head to foot with
heavy metal mesh. Each wore a helmet resembling a fencer’s mask and carried
as a back pack a field antigenerator. They trotted confidently in open double file
toward the passage through the trees; as they struck the field they slowed
slightly, sparks flew, and a violet nimbus formed around each. But on they
came.
The second four were carrying a large metal-net cylinder, high as a man and of
equal width. They balanced it easily up in the air. The man in the lead called out,
“Swing wide of the beast. We’ll get the kids out first, then dispose of him.” He
sounded quite cheerful.
The squad came up to the odd group of three, cutting around without passing
close to Lummox. “Easy! Catch them both,” the leader called out. The barrellike
cage was lowered over Betty and John Thomas, setting slowly until the man
giving orders reached inside and flipped a switch-whereupon it struck sparks
and dropped to the ground.
  He gave them a red-faced grin. “Feels good to get the molasses off you,
  doesn’t it?”
Johnnie glared at him with his chin quivering, and replied insultingly while he
tried to rub cramps out of his leg muscles. “Now, nos~!” the officer answered
mildly. “No good to feel that way. You made us do it.” He glanced up at
Lummox. “Good grief! He is a big beast, isn’t he? I’d hate to meet him in a dark
alley, without weapons.”
Johnnie found that tears were streaming down his face and that he could not
stop them. “Go ahead!” he cried, his voice misbehaving. “Get it over with!”
“He never meant any’ harm! So kill him quickly . . don’t play cat-and-mouse with
him.” He broke down and sobbed, covering his face with his hands. Betty put
her hands on his shoulders and sobbed with him.
The officer looked distressed. “What are you talking about, son? We aren’t here
to hurt him. We have orders
to bring him in without a scratch on him-even if we lost men in the process.
Craziest orders I ever had to carry out.




                                        128
XI’

Concerning Pidgie-Widgie
~rn. KIKV was feeling good. Breakfast was not a burning lump in his middle; he
felt no need to shop in his pill drawer, nor even a temptation to get out his real
estate folders. The Triangular Conference was going well and the Martian
delegates were beginning to talk sense. Ignoring the various amber lights on his
desk he began singing: “Frankie and Johnnie were lovers.
and oh boy how they could love . . . swore to be true to each other . .
  He had a fair baritone voice and no sense of pitch.
Best of all that silly, confused Hroshian affair was almost over . . . and no bones
broken. Good old Doc Ftaeml seemed to think that there was an outside chance
of establishing diplomatic relations, so delighted the Hroshii had been at
recovering their missing Hroshia.
With a race as powerful as the Hroshii diplomatic relations were essential . . .
they must be allies, though that might take a while. Perhaps not too long, he
decided; they certainly did nip-ups at the sight of Lummox.. . almost idolatrous.
Looking back, the things that had confused them were obvious. Who would
have guessed that a creature half as big as a house and over a century old was
a baby? Or that this race attained hands only when old enough to use them?
For that matter, why was this Hroshia so much bigger than its co-racials? Its
size had misled
Greenberg and himself as much as anything. Interesting point.. . he’d have the
xenologists look into it.
No matter. By now Lummox was on his . . . her way to the Hroshian ship. No
fuss, no ceremony, no publicity, and the danger was over. Could they actually
have volatilized Terra? Just as well not to have found ouj. All’s well that ends
well. He went back to singing.
He was still singing when the “urgent” light began jiftering and he delivered the
last few bars into Greenberg’s face: “. . . just as true as the stars above!” He
added. “Sergei, can you sing tenor?”
      “Why should you care, boss? That wasn’t a tune.”
      “You’re jealous. What do you want, son? See them off okay?”
      “Unh, boss, there’s a slight hitch. I’ve got Dr. Ftaeml with me. Can we see
      you?”
      “What is it?”
      “Let’s wait until we are alone. One of the conference rooms?”


                                        129
“Come~into the office,” Mr. Kiku said grimly. He switched off, opened a drawer,
selected a pill and took it.
Greenberg and the medusoid came in at once: Greenberg flopped down in a
chair as if exhausted, pulled out a cigarette, felt in his pockets, then put it away.
Mr. Kiku greeted Dr. Ftaeml formally, then said to Greenberg, “Well?”
  “Lummox didn’t leave.”
“Lummox refused to leave. The other Hrosbii are boiling like ants. I’ve kept the
barricades up and that part of the space port around their landing craft blocked
off. We’ve got to do something.” ‘
“Why? This development is startling, but I fail to’ see that it’s our responsibility.
Why the refusal to embark?”
  “Well. . .” Greenberg looked helplessly at Ftaeml.
The Rargyllian said smoothly, “Permit me to explain, sir. The Hroshia refuses to
go aboard without her pet.”
  “Pet?”
  “The kid, boss. John Thomas Stuart.”
“Exactly,” agreed Ftaeml. “The Hroshia states that she has been raising ‘John
Thomases’ for a long time; she refuses to go home unless she can take her
John Thomas with her. She was quite imperious about it.”
“I see,” agreed Kiku. “To put it in more usual language the boy and the Hroshia
are attached to each other. That’s not surprising; they grew up together. But
Luxnmox will have to put up with the separation, just as John Thomas Stuart
had to. As I recall, he made a bit of fuss; we told him to shut up and shipped him
home. That’s what the Hroshia must do: tell her to shut up, force her, if
necessary, into their landing craft and take her along. That’s what they came
here for,”
The Rargyllian answered, “Permit me to say, sir, that by putting it into ‘more
usual language’ you have missed the meaning. I have been discussing it with
her in her own tongue.”
  “Eh? Has she learned so quickly?”
“She has long known it. The Hroshii, Mr. Under Secretary, know their own
language almost from the shell. One may speculate that this use of language
almost on the instinctive level is one reason, perhaps the reason, why they find
other languages difficult and never learn to use them well. The Rroshia speaks
your language hardly as well as one of your four-year-old children, though I
understand that she began acquiring it one of your generations ago. But in her
own language she is scathingly fluent.. . so I learned, much to my sorrow.”

                                          130
  “So? Well, let her talk. Words can’t hurt us.”
“She has talked . . . she has given orders to the corn-, mander of the expedition
to recover her pet at once. Otherwise, she states, she will remain here and
continue raising ‘John Thomases.’”
“And,” Greenberg added, “the commander has handed us an ultimatum to
produce John Thomas Stuart at once. . . or else.”
  “’Or else’ meaning what I think it means?” Kiku answered slowly.
“The works,” Greenberg said simply. “Now that I’ve seen their ground craft I’m
not sure but what they can.”
“You must understand, sir,” Ftaeml added earnestly, “that the commander is as
distressed as you are. But he must attempt to carry out the wishes of the
Hroshia. This mating was planned more than two thousand of your years ago;
they will not give it up lightly. He can-, not allow her to remain . . . nor can he
force her to leave. He is very much upset.”
“Aren’t we all?” Mr. Kiku took out two more pills. “Dr. Ftaeml, I have a message
for your principals. Please convey it exactly.”
       “I shall, sir.”
       “Please tell them that their ultimatum is rejected’ with contempt. Please...”
       “Sir! I beg of you!”
“Attend me. Tell them that and do not soften it. Tell them that we tried in every
way to help them, that we ~ succeeded, and that they have answered kindness
with~ threats. Tell them that their behavior is unworthy °~1 civilized people and
that the invitation to join the Corn-I munity of Civilizations is withdrawn. Tell
them that
spit in their faces . . . find an idiom of equal strength.,~ Tell them that free men
may die, but they are neve~ buffied.”
Greenberg was grinning widely and clasping both~ hands in the ancient sign of
approval Dr. Ftaemi~ seemed to grow pale under his outer chitin.
       “Sir,” he said, “I greatly regret being required to de~ liver this message.”
       Kiku smiled icily. “Deliver it as given. But before ye,
do, find opportunity to speak to the Hroshia LununoL You can do so?”
       “Most assuredly, sir.”
“Tell her that’ the commander of the expedition, in his zeal, ‘seems bent on
killing the human, John Thomas Stuart. See that she understands what is
threatened.”
The Rargyllian arranged his mouth in a broad smile. “Forgive me, sir; I
underestimated you. Both messages will be delivered, in the proper order.”

                                         131
  “That is all.”
“Your good health, sir.” The Rargyllian turned to Greenberg, put a loose-jointed
arm around his shoulders. “My brother Sergei, we have already found our way
together out of one tight maze. Now, with the help of your spiritual’ father, we
shall find our way out of another. Eh?”
  “Right, Dec.”
Ftaeml left. Kiku turned to Greenberg and said, “Get the Stuart boy’ here. Get
him at once, yourself, personally. Umm . . . bring his mother,,too. He’s under
age, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Boss, what’s the plan? You aren’t going to turn him over to them? . . . after
that wonderful kick in the teeth you handed them?”
“Of course I am. But on my own terms. I don’t intend to let those animated pool
tables think they can push us around, We’ll use this to get what we want. Now
get going!”
  “I’m gone.”
Mr. Kiku stayed at his desk, checking papers with part of his mind while letting
his subconscious feel out the problem of Lummox. He had a strong hunch that
tide was at flood . , for humans. It was necessary to judge how to ride it. He was
in this revery when the door opened and the Most Honorable Mr. Roy MacClure
walked in. “There you are, Henry! Pull yourself together, man.. . Beulah
Murgatroyd is coming to call.”
  “Beulah who?”
“Beaulah Murgatroyd. The Beulah Murgatroyd.”
  “Should I know?”
  “What? Man, don’t you ever watch stereovision?”
  “Not if I can possibly avoid it.”
MacClure shook his head indulgently. “Henry, you don’t get around enough. You
bury yourself in here and push your little buttons and don’t even know what is
going on in the world.”
       “Possibly.”
       “Positively. You’re out of touch, man . . . it’s a good thing you don’t have to
       deal with people.”
       Mr. Kiku permitted himself a wintry smile, “I sup~ ‘pose so.”
       “I’ll bet you three to one you don’t know who is ahead in the World Series.”
“The World Series? That’s baseball, isn’t it? rm sorry but I haven’t even had time
to follow the cricket matches of late years.”



                                         132
“See what I mean? Though how you can mention cricket in the same breath
with baseball . . . Never mind. Since you don’t know who the famous Beulah
Murgatroyd is, I’ll tell you. She’s Pidgie-Widgie’s mother, so to speak.”
  “Pidgie-Widgie’?” Mr. Kiku echoed.
“You’re pulling my leg. The creator of the PidgieWidgie stories for children. You
know-Pidgie-Widgie on the Moon, Pidgie-Widgie Goes to Mars, Pidgie-Widgie
and the Space Pirates.”
      “I’m afraid I don’t.”
      “That’s hard to believe. But you don’t have any kids, do you?”
      “Three.”
But Mr. MacClure was still talking. “Now she’s taken Pidgie-Widgie on the air
and it’s really something. For the kids of course but so comical that the grown-
ups follow it, too. You see, Pidgie-Widgie is a puppet
about a foot high. He goes zooming through space, rescuing people and
blasting pirates and having a grand ole time . . . the kids love him~. And at the
end of each installment Mrs. Murgatroyd comes on and they have a bowl of
Hunkies together and talk. You like Hunkies?”
  Mr. Kiku shuddered. “No.”
“Well, you can just pretend to eat them, I suppose. But it is the biggest
breakfast-food show on the air, reaches everybody.”
      “And this is important?”
      “Important? Man, do you know how many people eat breakfast every
      morning?”
      “No. Not too many, I hope. I wish I had not.”
Mr. MacClure glanced at his watch. “We’ll have to hurry. The technicians are
setting up the gear now. She’ll be here any moment.”
  “Technicians?”
“Didn’t I say? Mrs. Murgatroyd will interview us, with Pidgie-Widgie in her lap
and taking part. Then they’ll patch it into the show. A wonderful boost for the
department.”
“No!”
     “Eh? Mr. Kiku, did I understand you correctly?”
     “Mr. Secretary,” Mr. Kiku said tensely, “I couldn’t possibly do that. I.. . I’m
     subject to stage fright.”
“What? Why, that’s absurd! You helped me open the Triangular Conference.
You spoke without notes for thirty minutes.”
  “That’s different. That’s shop talk, with other professionals.”

                                         133
The Secretary frowned. “I hate to insist, if it really makes you nervous. But Mrs.
Murgatroyd asked for you especially. You see . . .” MacClure looked mildly
embarra.ssed. ‘~. . . Pidgie-Widgie preaches racial tolerance and sO forth.
Brothers under the skin . . . the sort of thing we all want to encourage. So?”
  Mr. Kiku said fimly, “I’m sorry.”
  “Come now! Surely you’re not going to force me to insist?”
“Mr. Secretary,” Kiku answered quietly, “you will find that my job description
does not require me to be a stereovision actor. If you will give me a written
order, I will submit it to our legal bureau for opinion, tI~en answer you officially.”
Mr. MacClure frowned. “Henry, you can be a stubborn little beast, can’t you? I
wonder how you got so high in the heap?”
Mr. Kiku did not answer; MacClure went on, “I won’t let you pull the rule book on
me; I’m too old a fox. Though I must say I didn’t think you would do that tome.”
  “Sorry, sir. I really am.”
“So am I. I’ll try to. convince you that it is important to the department, whether a
civil servant can be ordered to do it or not. You see, Beulah Murgatroyd is the
power behind ‘The Friends of Lummox.’ So...”
  “’The Friends of Lummox’?”
“I knew you would see it differently. After all, you’ve been handling that whoop-
te-do. Therefore...”
  “What in heaven’s name are ‘The Friends of Lummox’?”
“Why, you set up the original interview with them yourself. But if I hadn’t
happened to lunch with Wes Robbins, we might have missed the boat on it.”
  “I seem to recall a memorandum. A routine matter.”
“Mrs. Murgatroyd is not routine, I’ve been trying to tell you. You precedent-and-
protocol boys lose touch with the people. If you don’t mind my saying so, that’s
why you never quite get to the top.”
  “I don’t mind in the least,” Mr. Kiku said gently.
“Eh?” The Secretary looked slightly embarrassed. “I mean, there’s a place for a
grass-roots politician, like me, with his finger on the pulse.. . though I admit I
don’t have your special training. You see?”
“There is work for both our talents, sir. But go on. Perhaps I did ‘miss the boat’
in this instance. The ‘Friends of Lummox’ memora~~dum must have come
through before the name meant anything to me.”



                                          134
“Probably. I wasn’t criticizing your attention to duty, Henry. Fact is, you work too
hard. . . the universe won’t run down if you don’t wind it. But about this F. of L.
deal-we intervened in some silly case out west; you know about it, you sent one
of our people-the case turned out to be about his Hoorussian Lummox, The
court’s verdict . . . our verdict, you might say, was to destroy the beast. By the
way, Henry, have you disciplined the man responsible?”
  “No, sir.”
  “Why the delay?”
  “He won’t be disciplined, sir. He was perfectly right, on the evidence.”
  “I don’t see it that way. Better send his file jacket to my office. I want to
      consider it myself.”
“Sir,” Mr. Kiku said softly, “were you thinking of reversing me on a matter of
administrative discipline?”
  “Eh? I intend to review the matter.”
  “Because if you are, sir, you• can have my resignation now. My usefulness
  will be at an end.”
“What? Henry, don’t be nasty.” The Secretary drummed on Mr. Kiku’s desk.
“Confound it, mann, let’s be frank with each other. I know that you career men
can make it hard for an appointee if you try.. .1 didn’t get into politics yesterday.
But as long as I am holding the sack, I intend to have discipline around here. My
privilege?”
  “Yes .. . your privilege.”
“And my responsibility. Probably you are right about this man, whoever he is . . .
you’re usually right,~ or we couldn’t keep things going. But it is my responsibility
to review things whenever I think it necessary. However, there is no call for you
to talk about resigning
until I actully do reverse you. Since you have forced the issue, if I do find it
necessary to reverse you on this, I’ll ask for your resignation. But until I do, keep
your shirt on. Fair enough?”
      “Fair enough. ~I was hasty, Mr. Secretary. The file jacket will be on your
      desk.”
      “On second thought, don’t bother. If you are carrying one of your
      favorites...”
      “I have no favorites, Mr. MacClure. I dislike them all, impersonally.”
“Sometimes I think you hate yourself. Now where were we? Oh yes! Well, when
we made that terrible bust about the Hoorussian, Mrs. Murgatroyd saw a chance
to do a good deed. Oh, I suppose she was out to pep up her program, but that’s
beside the point. Right away, Pidgie-Widgie started telling all his little friends
about this. terrible thing and asked them all to write in and join the Friends of
                                         135
Lummox. She got over three million replies in the first twenty-four hours. By now
half the kids on this continent and nobody knows how many elsewhere are
‘Friends of Lummox,’ pledged to protect him from persecution.”
   “Her,” corrected Mr. Kiku.
   “Eh?”
“I beg your pardon. I suppose neither term is correct. The Hroshii come in six
assorted sexes. You can call Lummox either ‘him’ or ‘her’ . . . we really need
new, words. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Well, it certainly doesn’t to me,” agreed MacClure~. “But if we had actually put
the quietus on this Lum-~. mox, I believe the kids would have started a
revolution. I really do. Not to mention the adults who are PidgieWidgie fans.
Even so, the department got a black eye~ Out of it. But Beulah Murgatroyd is
willing to go along with a deal to help us out She interviews us and I answer the
general questions and you back me
on the details-all about how the department is CaIe~
ful to protect the rights of our non-human friends and how everybody ought to
be tolerant-the usual line. Then pidgie-Widgie asks what hap jened to Lummox
and you tell the kiddies how Lummox was really sort of a fairy prince in disguise
. . . or princess . . . and how Lummox has gone away to his home in the sky. It
will be terrific.”
MacClure added, “That’s all you have to do. They patch in a shot of Lummox
getting into the Hoorussian ship and waving goodbye. Then we all eat a bowl of
HunkiesTdon’t worry, I’ll see that your bowl is empty!
• and Pidgie-Widgie sings his ‘Skylarker’ song. End. It won’t take twenty
   minutes and it will be a big thing for the department. Okay?”
      “No.”
      “Now, Henry. . . All right, you won’t even have to pretend to eat Hunkies.”
      “No.”
“Henry, you’re impossible. Don’t you agree that it is our business to help train up
the kids to understand their responsibilities and have right attitudes in this
modern age-the age of the Community of Civilizations?”
“No, sir, I do not. That is the business of parents and educators, not of
government. This department has more than it can do just to try to hold things
together in the face of ever-increasing xenic problems.” Mr. Kiku added to
himself: even if I did agree, I wouldn’t do it by eating Hunkies!
“Hmm . . . A narrow attitude, Henry. A bureaucratic one, if I may say so. You
know perfectly well that we are in hot water about this Hoorussian thing from
other directions, too, with The Society for the Preservation of the Status Quo
screaming for isolation and the Keep Earth Human League jumping on us. It
                                        136
gets the Council uneasy. Along comes a chance to build up public opinion
against such crackpots and you won’t even help. You don’t have the Status Quo
people and
the Human-Earth jokers bothering you-because I keep them off your neck.”
“I’m sorry, sir. But you shouldn’t waste time on them either. No doubt you know
that there is a money motive back of every one of those apparently crackpot
organizations. Let the people with opposing economic interests fight them-the
shipping lines and the importers and the scientists. Our business is foreign
relations. When we are bothered by pressure groups, we should let our public
relations people handle them; that Is what they are for.”
“What am I but a glorified public relations man?” MacClure answered angrily. “I
haven’t any illusions about this confounded job.”
“Not true, sir. You have the prime policy responsibility. I carry out policy-within
the limits of my job.”
  “Hummph! You set policy. You drive me like a horse. I’m beginning to realize
  it.”
“Sorry, sir. I suppose everyone makes policy. . . even the doorman . . . to some
extent It’s unavoidable. But I try to do my job.”
Mr. Kiku’s private secretary called in by voice. “Mr. Kiku, is the Secretary with
you? Mrs. Beulah Murgatroyd is waiting.”
  “Be right in,” called out MacClure.
  Kiku added quietly, “Mildred, see that she is entertained. There will be a slight
    delay.”
  “Yes, sir. The Secretary’s aide is taking care of her.”
  “Good.”
“There will be no delay,” MacClure said to Mr. Kiku. “If you won’t, you won’t . . .
though I’m disappointed in you. But I can’t keep her waiting.”
  “Sit down, Mr. Secretary.”
“Sit down, sir. Even the mighty Mrs. Murgatroyd must wait on some things. A
major emergency has come
up; you will certainly have to face the Council about it. . . possibly a special
session this evening.”

“What? Why didn’t you say soW’
“I was organizing my thoughts preparatory to briefing you, sir, when you came
in. For the past several minutes I have been trying to tell you that this
department has really important things to do-besides selling Hunkies.”

                                         137
The Secretary stared at him, then reached across IUku’s desk. “Uh, Mildred?
This is the Secretary. Tell Commodore Murthi that I am unavoidably detained
and that he is to do his best to keep Mrs. Murgatroyd happy.”
  “Yes. Mr. Secretary.”
  MacClure turned back. “Now, Henry, quit lecturing me and spill it.”
Mr. Kiku began a full report of the new Hroshui crisis. Mr. MacClure listened
without comment. Just as Mr. Kiku concluded his account of the rejection of the
ulti.. matum the sound communicator again came to life. “Chief? Murthi here.
Mrs. Murgatroyd has another appointment.”
  Mr. MacClure turned toward the voice. “Hush circuit?”
  “Of course, sir.”
  “Listen, Jack, I’ll be a few minutes yet. Keep her happy.”

But- “Make love to her, if necessary. Now switch off. I’m
busy!” He turned back to Mr. Kiku and scowled. “Henry, you’ve shoved me out
on a limb again. You’ve left me nothing to do but back your play.”
  “May I ask what the Secretary would have done?”
“Huh?” MacClure frowned. “Why, I would have said exactly what you said, I
suppose . .. but in nastier language. I admit that I probably wouldn’t have
thought
of cutting inside them through this Lummox creature. That was cute.”
“I see, sir. It being a rejection of a formal ultimatum, what precautionary action
would the Secretary have taken? I should add that I wanted to avoid having the
department advise the Council to order battle stat~ons for the entire planet.”
“What are you saying? Nothing like that would have been necessary. I would
have ordered the Inner Guard to close and blast them out of the sky, on my own
responsibility. After all, they are at our inner defense zone and breathing threats
. . . a simple emergency police action.”.
Mr. Kiku thought, that is what I guessed you would do . . . but what he said was,
“Suppose it turned out that their ship failed to blast out of the sky . . . an4
blasted back?”
  “What? Preposterous!”
“Mr. Secretary, the only thing I have learned in forty years at this trade is that
when you are dealing with ‘Out There’ nothing is preposterous.”
“Well, I’ll be . . . Henry, you actually believed they could hurt us. You were
frightened.” He searched Mr. Kiku’s face. “Are you holding something back? Do


                                         138
you have evidence that they might be able to carry out this preposterous
threat?”
   “No, sir.”
   “Well?”
“Mr. MacClure, in my country hardly more than three hundred years ago there
lived a very valiant tribe. A small force of Europeans made certain demands on
them . . . taxes, they called it. The chief was a brave man and his warriors were
numerous and well trained. They knew the strangers had guns, but they even
had some guns of their own. But mostly they relied on. numbers and courage.
They planned cleverly and caught the enemy in a box canyon. So they thought.”
  “Yes?”
“They had never heard of machine guns. They learned about them in a very
final way-for they were very brave and kept cbming on. That tribe is no more, no
survivors.”
“If you are trying to scare me, well . . . never mind. But you still haven’t given me
evidence. After all, we are not an ignorant tribe of savages. No parallel.”
“Perhaps. Yet, after all, the niachine gun of that era was only a minor
improvement over the ordinary gun of the time. We have weapons which make
a machine gun seem like a boy’s knife. And yet. .
“You are suggesting that these Hoorussians have weapons that would make our
latest developments as useless as clubs. Frankly, I don’t want to believe it and I
don’t. The power in the nucleus of the atom is the ultimate possible power in the
universe. You know that, I know that. We’ve got it. No doubt they’ve got it, too,
but we outnumber them millions to one and we are on our home grounds.”
  “So the tribal chief reasoned.”
  “Eh? Not the same thing.”
“Nothing ever is,” Mr. Kiku answered wearily. “I was not speculating about magic
weapons beyond the concepts of our physicists; I was merely wondering what
some refinement might do to a known weapon .
some piece of tinkering already implicit in the theories. I don’t know, of course. I
know nothing of such things.”
     “Well, neither do I but I’ve been assured that .
See here, Henry; I’m going to order that police action, right away.”
     “Yes, sir.”
“Well? Don’t sit there frozen-faced saying ‘Yes, sir.~ You don’t know, do you?
So why shouldn’t I do it?”
“I did not object, sir. Do you want a sealed circuit? Or do you want the base
commander to report here?”

                                         139
“Henry, you are without question the most irritating
man in seventeen planets. I asked you why I should not do it?”
      “I know of no reason, sir. I can only tell you why I did not recommend it to
      you.”
      “Well?”
“Because I did not know. Because I had only the fears of a non-human who
might be even more timid than myself, or badly misled by what appears to be
almost superstitious awe. Since I did not know, I did not choose to play Russian
roulette with our planet at stake. I chose to fight with words as long as possible.
Do you want to give the order, sir? Or shall I take care of the details?”
“Quit badgering me.” He glared at his Under Secretary, his face red. “I suppose
your next move is to threaten to resign.”
Mr. Kiku grudged a small smile. “Mr. MacClure, I never offer to resign twice in
the same day.” He added, “No, I will wait until after the police action. Then, if we
are both alive, I will have been proved wrong on a major matter; my resignation
will be necessary. May I add, sir, that I hope you are right? I would much rather
enjoy a quiet old age than to have my judgment vindicated posthumously.”
MacClure worked his mouth but did not speak. Mr. Kiku went on quetly, “May I
offer a suggestion to the Secretary in my official capacity?”
  “What? Of course. You are required to by law. Speak up.
“May I urge that the attack commence in the next few minutes? We may achieve
by haste what might fail by delay. BuAstro can supply us with the orbit elements
of the enemy ship.” Kiku leaned toward his communicator.
   It came to life before he could touch it. “Chief? Murthi here. I’ve done my best,
      but she . .
   “Tell her I can’t see her!”
   “Sir?”
   “Uh. . . butter it on. You know how. Now shut up and don’t call me again.”
   “Aye aye, sir.”
Mr. Kiku called BuAstro. “The chief ballistician, please at once. Ah, Carrier . . .
seal your end; this end
is sealed. And put a hush on it~ All right, I want the tactical elements of the. ..”
MacClure reached out and broke the connection. “All right,” he said savagely,
“you’ve outbluffed me.”
  “I was not bluffing, sir.”
“All right, all right, you’ve convinced me that you have a wise head on you. I.
can’t take a blind chance with the lives of five billion people any more than you
can. Want me to crawl?”

                                         140
  “No, sir. But I am much relieved. Thank you.”
  “You’re relieved? How about me? Now tell me how you intend to play this. I’m
    still In the dark.”
  “Very well, Mr. Secretary. In the first place I have sent for the Stuart boy’..”
  “The Stuart boy? Why?”
  “To persuade him to go. I want his consent.”
The Secretary looked as if he could not believe his ears. “Do I understand, Mr.
Kiku, that after rejecting their ultimatum your only plan is to capitulate?”
  “That is not how I would describe it.”
“I don’t care what diplomatese you phrase it in. We will not surrender the boy. I
was not willing to take a risk blindly, but this is another matter. I will not
surrender one human being no matter what the pressure is... and I can assure
you that the Council will agree. There is such a thing as human dignity. I must
add that I am astonished. . . and disgusted.”
  “May I continue, sir?”
  “Well.. . go ahead. Speak your piece.”
“No thought of surrendering the boy was ever in my mind. In the science of
diplomacy appeasement has
long been an exploded theory. Had I even considered sacrificing the boy, I
would applaud your disgust. As it is, it missed me.”
  “But you said . . .”
“Please, sir. I know what I said. I sent for the boy to explore his own wishes.
From what I know of him it is possible that he will be willing, even eager.”
MacClure shook his head. “It’s not something we could permit, even if the lad
were crazy enough to do it. Nine hundred light-years from other . human
beings? I would as soon offer poison to a baby.”
“That’s not the picture at all, sir.. If I have his consent, I can keep the fact to
myself during negotiations
  play from a concealed ace. There is much to negotiate.”
  “Such as?”
“Their science. Their trade. A whole new volume of space. The possibilities can
be only dimly seen.”
MacClure stirred restlessly. “I’m not sure but what that attack is still the thing to
do. If men are men, some risks must be taken. Snuggling up to vermin who
threaten us.. . I. don’t like it.”
“Mr. Secretary, if my plans do not work . . . or fail to meet your approval, then I
will join you in shouting defiance at the sky. We should bargain . . . but bargain
as men.”
                                           141
  “Well.. . go on. Tell me the rest.”



XIII

“No, Mr. Secretary”
~n. icucu’s wife let him sleep late the next morning. She did this occasionally,
reasoning that no crisis was important enough to wake him when he needed
rest When he got to his office he found Wesley Rolibins, Special Assistant
Secretary for public relations, asleep in his chair. Robbins was not a diplomat,
did not want to be one, and made a point of showing it.
  “Good morning, Wes,” Mr. Kiku said mildly.
“What’s good about it?” Robbins chucked a copy of the CAPiTAL TiMES at the
Under Secretary. “Seen this?”
  “No.” Mr. Kiku unfolded it.
  “Twenty-three years in the newspaper business . . to be scooped on my own
  beat.”
  Mr. Kiku read:


ALIEN INVADERS
THREATEN WAR! I I
Demand Hostages
Capital Enclave, Sep. 12 (GP) . . . Space Secretary MacClure revealed today
that the xenic visitors dubbed “Hroshii” now landed at Capital port have
demanded, under threats of war, that the Federation...

Kiku scanned down, saw that a distortion of his answer to the Hroshii had been
credited to Secretary MacClure, with no mention of the possibility of peaceful
settlement. A trailer story reported the Chief of ‘the General Staff as assuring
Earth and all the federated planets that there was nothing to fear from the inso..
lent aliens. A South Asian senator demanded to know what steps were being
taken. . . Kiku glanced at it all but discarded the meaningless 90%, including a
blast from the Keep Earth Human League and a “We Stand at the Crossroads”
editorial. There was an interview with Mrs. Murgatroyci but he did not take time
to find out which side Pidgie-Widgie was on.


                                        142
      “Ain’t that a mess?” Robbins demanded. “Where do you hide your
      cigarettes?”
      “It does seem a rather lavish waste of paper,” Kiku agreed. “In the arm of
      the visitor’s chair.”
      “Well, how do we handle it? I was caught flat-footed. Why doesn’t
      somebody tell me these things?”
“Just a moment.” Mr. Kiku leaned to his desk. “Security? Ah, O’Neill . . . place
more special police around the Hroshii landing craft. .
  “You’ve got ‘em, boss. But why doesn’t somebody tell us these things?”
“A fair question. Whatever guard you are using, use more. There must not only
be no riot; there must be no incidents. Station as many trained tension-dispersal
technicians in the crowd as you can scrape up, then borrow more from other
agencies. Then give special attention to lunatic-fringe organizations . . .
xenophobie ones, I mean. Any trouble yet?”
“Nothing we couldn’t snuff out. But I’m making no promises. I still think
somebody ought to tell. . .”
“No doubt. Keep in touch with me.” Kiku turned to Robbins. “Do you know how
the interview happened to be granted?”
“Do I act like it? He was going to the ‘Tn Con’ citation dinner, safe as houses. I
got his approval on his speech, gave him his copy and passed the others
around to the boys, with suggestions on how to play it. Every-‘ body happy. I get
up this morning feeling ninety and before I’ve had my coffee I feel a hundred
and fifty. Know anybody wants my job? I’m going to study how to be a
beachcomber.”
“A reasonable thought. Wes, let me bring you up to date. Nothing was to be
released about this matter until it was concluded, but now. . .” He quickly
outlined the latest Hroshij crisis.
        Robbins nodded, “I see. And Number One jerked the rug out from under
        you. A fine playmate.”
        “Well, we had better see him. Is he here?”
        “Yes. I was waiting for you, pal. Will you hold him while I hit him? Or the
        other w~y around?”
        “Whichever you wish. Shall we get it over with?”
The Secretary was in; they were admitted and MacClure got up to seat them.
After which they just sat. Robbins waited for Mn. Kiku to speak, but Kiku held
still, face expressionless, a statue carved of ebony.
MacClure began to fidget. “Well, Henry? This is a busy morning . . . I’ve already
been tied up with the


                                         143
S.      C.”
        “I had thought that you would want to instruct us, Mr. Secretary.”
        “’What for?”
        “Have you seen the morning papers, sir?”
        “Well. . . yes.”
        “There has been a change in policy. Assistant Secretary Robbins and I
would like to be briefed on the new policy.”
        “What new policy?”
        “Your new policy concening the Hroshii, Mr. Secretary. Or are the
newspapers in error?”
        “Eh? Well, no, not precisely. Exaggerated of course. But no change in
policy. I simply told the people what they were entitled to know.”
        “The people are entitled to know.” Mr. Kiku fitted his fingers together. “Ah,
yes. In a government based on free consent of free men the people are always
entitled to know. An old bureaucrat, such as myself, sometimes loses track of
that fundamental. Thank you for reminding me.” He seemed lost in cosmic
thought for a moment, then added, “I suppose the thing now is to repair my
failure and tell the people everything.”
        “Eh? What do you mean?” .
        “Why, the whole story, Mr. Secretary. How through our own ignorance and
disregard for the rights of others, both now and in the past, we kidnapped a
member of
a cIvilized race. How blind luck alone kept that xenian alive. How as a result of
this we now find our own planet threatened with destruction-and how a highly
intelligent citizen of a friendly power (I refer to Dr. Fta~ml) assures us that these
Hroshii can indeed destroy us. It would be necessary to tell them also that
yesterday we were within minutes of ordering an attack on these xenians-but
that we lost our nerve and decided to negotiate, since we had no knowledge of
our strength relative to theirs, but only the very sobering opinion of Dr. Ftaeml to
guide us. Yes, we must tell them that”
Secretary MacClure’s mouth was as wide as his eyes. “Heavenly days, Henry!
Are you trying to set off riots?”

“Sir?. I have taken countermeasures to prevent riots
• . . xenophobia is always ready to flare up and that .” He gestured at the
    newspaper. “. . . will have an
inflammatory effect on some. But you must not be deterred. We bureaucrats
become paternalistic; it is so much simpler to do what seems best and let the
people’ know it afterwards . . . negotiate, or blast a ship out of the sky, or
whatever. Mr. Secretary, you have kept in mind, of course, that this Secretariat
of which you are a member is responsible not to the North American ‘Union, nor

                                         144
even to the peoples of Earth, but to all sovereignties &f the Federation, both on
Terra and eJse~. where?”
  “What’s that got to do with it? We’re the leading power.”
“Whom do you mean by ‘we’? Not my little country certainly. No, I was thinking
that this will now be settled by vote of the Council and I was wondering whether
the Council might possibly vote to surrender one unimportant citizen of North
America rather than risk an interstellar war? I wonder how Mars will vote?”
The Secretary got up and strode up and down his office. It was a large room,
much larger than Mr. Kiku’s. He stopped at the far end and stared ‘out at the
Tow-
en of Three Planets and the Hall of Civilizations, while Kiku sat quietly. Wes
Robbins slumped in a chair,’ his bony legs stretched in front 9f him. He was
trimming his nails with a. pocket knife; they were long and black and needed the
attention.
MacClure turned suddenly to Kiku. “See here, Henry, you confounded word
splitter, I won’t be bullied.”
  “Bullied, Mr. Secretary?”
“Yes, bullied. Oh, you dressed it up in your usual double-talk, but I wasn’t born
yesterday. You know perfectly well that if we give the press these unnecessary
details . . . that nonsense this Dr. Fatima or whatever his name is, this
Rargyllian monster, filled you with. . . yes, and you threatening to tell the press
that I got cold feet about an attack . . . that’s a threat if I ever heard one! . . . you
give ‘em all that junk and we’d have a row in the Council that would be heard
from here to Pluto! With the home governments sending special instructions to
their delegates and may.. be the Terran bloc getting outvoted. Bight on top of
this ticklish Triangular Conference it could be disastrous. Yes, that’s the word . .
. disastrous.” MacClure stopped and struggled for breath. “Well, you won’t get
away with it. You’re fired! . . . understand me? Fired! I’ll take care of having you
removed for cause, or transferring you to the retired list, or whatever the red
tape calls for, but you are done, right now. I’m relieving you. You can go home.”
  “Very well, Mr. Secretary,” Mr. Kiku said evenly and started for the door to his
  office.
  In the silence Wes Robbins’ knife clicked shut loudly. He stood up. “Hold it,
  Henry! Mac. ..”
Mr. MacClure looked around. “Huh? What’s the matter with you? And don’t call
me ‘Mac’; this is official business. I’m still Secretary around here, as I just told
Kiku.”
  “Yes, you are still Secretary-for about two hours, maybe.”
                                           145
“What? Don’t be ridiculous! Wes, you will force me to fire you too if you talk that
way. Mr. Kiku,, you are excused.”
“Don’t go away, Henry. And ~quit shoving that stuff, Mac. You can’t fire me, I
quit ten minutes ago. Mac, are you a complete stuffed shirt? Remember, I knew
you when you were a shorthorned Senator, anxious to get a two-inch squib in a
gossip column. I liked you then. You seemed to have horse sense, which is
scarce in this business. Now you are ready to dump me and I don’t like you
either. But tell me, for old times’ sake: why are you anxious to cut your own
throat?”
“What? Not my throat. I’m not the Charlie to let a subordinate cut my throat. I’ve
seen it done . . . but Kiku picked the wrong man.”
Robbins shook his head slowly. “Mac, you are dead set on scuttling yourself.
Hadn’t you better cut Henry’s tongue out before the newsboys reach him? Here,
you can borrow my knife.”
“What?” MacClure looked stunned. He swung around and snapped, “Mr. Kiku!
You are not to speak to the press. That’s an order.”
Robbins bit off some cuticle, spat it out, and said, “Mac, for Pete’s sake! You
can’t both fire him and keep him from talking.”
  “Departmental secrets...”
“ ‘Departmental secrets’ my bald spot! Maybe you could fine him severance pay
under the official-secrets rule but do you think that will stop him? Henry is a man
with no fears, no hopes, and no illusions; you can’t scare him. What he can tell
the reporters will do you more harm if you classify it ‘secret’ than it would if you
didn’t try to gag him.”
  “May I say something?” asked the center of the storm.
  “Eh? Go ahead, Mr. Kiku.”
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. 1 had no intention of telling the press about the
messier aspects of this affair. I was simply trying to show, by reductio ad
absurdum, that the~rule of. keeping the public informed can
like any rule . . . lead to disaster if applied blindly. I felt that you had been
indiscreet, sir. I hoped to keep you from further indiscretions while we sought
means to repair the damage.”
   MacClure studied him. “You mean that, Henry?”
   “I always mean what I say, sir. It saves time.”
MacClure turned to Robbins. “You see, Wes? You were barking up the wrong
tree. Henry is an honorable man, even if we do have our differences.’ See here,
Henry, I was too hasty. I honestly thought you were threatening me. Let’s forget
what I said about asking for your resignation and get on with our jobs. Eh?”

                                         146
  “No, sir.”
“What? Come, man, don’t be small. I was angry, I was hurt, I made a mistake. I
apologize. After all, we have public welfare to consider.”
Robbins made a rude noise; Mr. Kiku answered gently, “No, Mr. Secretary, it
wot4dn’t work. Once having been fired by you, I would not again be ab}e to act
with confidence under your delegated authority. A diplomat must always act with
confidence; it is often his only weapon.”
       “Urn. . . Well, all I can say is I’m sorry. I really am.”
       “I believe you, sir. May I make a last and quite unofficial suggestion?”
       “Why, certainly, Henry.”
       “Kampf would be a good man to keep routine moving until you work out
       your new team.”
“Why, surely. If you say he is the man for it, rm sure he must be. But Henry . . .
we’ll keep him there on a temporary basis and you think it over. We’ll call it sick
leave or something.”
  “No,” Mr. Kiku answered coldly and turned again toward his own office.
Before he could reach it Robbins spoke up loudly. “Take it easy, you two. We
aren’t through.” B~e spoke to MacClure: “You said that Henry was an honorable
man. But you forgot something.”
   “Eh? What?”
   “I ain’t.”
Robbins went on, “Henry wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t cricket. Me, I was
raised in a river ward. and I’m not bothered by niceties. I’m going to gather the
boys together and give ‘em the word. I’m going to tell them where the body is
buried, how the apple cart was upset, and who put the overalls in the chowder.”
MacClure said angrily, “You hand out an unauthorized interview and you’ll never
hold another job with the administration!”
“Don’t threaten me, you over-ripe melon. I’m not . a career man; I’m an
appointee. After I sing my song I’ll get a job on the Capital Upside Down column
and let the public in on the facts about life among the supermen.”
  MacClure stared at him. “You don’t have any sense of loyalty at all.”
  “From you, Mac, that sounds real sweet. What are you loyal to? Aside from
  your political skin?”
Mr. Kiku interposed mildly, “That’s not exactly fair, Wes. The Secretary has
been quite firm that the Stuart boy must not be sacrificed to expediency.”
Robbins nodded. “Okay, Mac, we’ll give you that. But you were willing to
sacrifice Henry’s forty years of service to save your own ugly face. Not to

                                        147
mention shooting off that face without checking with me, just to grab a front-
page story. Mae, there is nothing a newspaper man despises more than
headline hunger. There is something lascivious and disgusting about a man
overanxious to see his name in headlines. I can’t reform
you and don’t want to, but be sure that you are going to see your name in
headlines, big ones.. . but for the last time. Unless . .
  “What do you mean? . . . ‘unless’?”
  “Unless we put Humpty-Dumpty together again.”
  “Uh, how? Now look, Wes, I’ll do anything within reason.”
“You sure wilL” Robbinr frowned. “There’s the obvious way. We can serve
Henry’s head up on a platter. Blame that interview yesterday on him. He gave
you bad advice. He’s been fired and all is sweetness and
light.” -
        Mr. Kiku nodded. “That’s how I had envisioned it. I’d be happy to
cooperate . . . provided my advice is taken on how to conclude the Hroshij
affair.”
        “Don’t look relieved, Mac!” Robbins growled. “That’s the obvious solution
and it would work . . . because Henry is loyal to something bigger than he is. But
that is not what we are going to do.”
        “But, if Henry is willing, then in the best interests-“
        “Stow it. It won’t be Henry’s head on the platter; it will be yours.”
        Their eyes locked. At last MacClure said, “If that is your scheme, Robbins,
forget it and get out. If you are looking for a fight, you’ll get one. The first story to
break will be about how I had to fire you two for disloyalty and incompetence.”
        Robbins grinned savagely. “I hope you play it that way. I’ll have fun. But
do you want to hear how it could be worked?”
        “Well. . . go ahead.”
        “You can make it easy or hard. Either way, you are through. Now . keep
quiet and let me tell it! You’re done, Mac. I don’t claim to be a scholar~ of xenic
affairs, but even I can see that civilization can’t afford your county-courthouse
approach to delicate relations with non-human races. . So you’re through. The
ques
tion is: do you do it the hard way? Or do you go easy on yourself and get a nice
puff in the history books?”
MacClure glowered but did not interrupt. “Force me to spill what I know, and one
of two things happens. Either the Secretary General throws you to the wolves,
or he decides to back you up and risk a vote of ‘no confidence’ from the Council.
Which is what he would get. The Martian Commonwealth would gleefully lead
the stampede, Venus would follow, the outer colonies and the associated xenic
cultures would join in. At the end you would have most of the Terran nations

                                           148
demanding that the North American Union surrender this one individual to avert
a bust-up of the Federation.
“All you have to do is to shov6 the first domino; all the others would fall . . . and
you would be buried under the pile. You couldn’t be elected dogcatcher. But the-
easy way runs like this. You resign.. . but we don’t publish the fact, not for a
couple of weeks . . . Henry, do you think two weeks will be long enough?”
  “It should be ample,” Mr. Kiku agreed gravely.
“During that time you don’t wipe your nose without Henry’s permission. You
don’t say a word unless I okay
  it. Then you resign in a blaze of glory, with the con
clusion of the Hroshian Affair to crown your career. Possibly some way can be
found to kick you upstairs to a gaudier job.. . if you are a good boy. Eh, Henry?”
  Mr. Kiku nodded.      -
MacClure looked around from Kiku’s expressionless face to Robbins’
contemptuous one. “You two have it neatly plotted,” he said bitterly. ‘Suppose I
told you both to go to the devil?”
Robbins yawned. ‘It won’t matter in the long run, believe me. After the
administration falls, the new Secretary General will call Henry out of retirement,
a safe man will be stuck in your place, and Henry will get on with
outmaneuvering the Hroshii. Probably lose three
days maybe less. Whitewashing you is harder, but we meant to give you a
break. Right, Henry?”
       “It would be better so. Dirty linen is best kept in a cupboard.”
       MacClure chewed his lip. “I’ll think it over.”
“Good! And I’ll wait while you do. Henry, why don’t you get back to work? I’ll bet
that trick desk is lighted up like a Christmas tree.”
  “Very well.” Mr. Kiku left the room.
His desk did look like a fireworks celebration, with three blinking red lights and a
dozen amber ones. He disposed of urgent matters, brushed off lesser ones, and
began to reduce the stack in his basket, signing without bothering to consider
whether his signature continued to carry authority.
He was just sustaining a veto on a passport for a very prominent lecturer-the
last time the idiot had been off Earth, he had broken into a temple and taken
pictures
• when Robbins walked in and chucked a paper on his desk. “Here’s his
  resignation. Better see the Secretary General at once.”
  Mr. Kiku took it. “I shall.”

                                         149
“I didn’t want you there when I twisted his arm. It’s harder for a man to say
‘Uncle’ with a witness. You understood?”
      “Yes.”       -
      “I had to bring up the time we covered up for him about the convention
      with Kondor.”
      “Regrettable.”
“Don’t waste tears. Enough is enough. Now I am going to write the speech he
will make before the Council. After that I’ll look up the boys he talked to last
night and beg them, for the sake of their dear old home planet, to take the
proper line on the follow-up story. They won’t like it.”
   “I suppose not.”
   “But they’ll go along. Us humans have got to stick together; we are badly
      outnumbered.”
   “So I have always felt. Thanks, Wes.”
   “A pleasure. Just one thing I didn’t mention to him...”
   “So?”
“I didn’t remind him that the boy’s name was John Thomas Stuart. I’m not sure
the Martian Commonwealth would have bolted, in view of that one fact, The
Council might have sustained Mac, after all
and we might have found out whether the Hroshian laddies can do what they
say they can.”
      Kiku nodded. ‘I thought of that, too. It didn’t seem time to mention it.”
      “No. There are so many swell places for a man to keep his mouth shut.
      What are you smiling at?” -
“I was thinking,” Mr. Kiku explained, “that it is a good thing that the Hroshii do
not read our newspapers.”




xlv

“Destiny? Fiddlesticks!”
MRS. STUART did read newspapers. Greenberg had had great trouble
persuading her to come to Capital and to bring her son, because he was not
free to tell her why. But he did persuade her and she had agreedto go the
following morning.
When Greenberg arrived the next morning to pick them up he found himself
persona non grata. She was in a white fury and simply shoved the newspaper
into his hand. He glanced at it. “Yes? I saw a copy at the hoteL Nonsense, of
course.”
                                         150
  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell mother,” John Thomas said sullenly, “but
  she won’t listen,”
  “John Thomas, you keep quiet. Well, Mr. Greenberg? What have you to say
  for yourself?”
Greenberg did not have a good answer. He had tried to call Mr. Kiku as soon as
he saw the news story and had been told by Mildred that the boss and Mr.
Robbins were witi!, the Secretary and could not be disturbed. He told her that he
would call later, realizing uneasily that trouble was not all at his end.
“Mrs. Stuart, surely you know that news reports are often distorted. There has
been no talk of hostages and...”
“How can you say that when it says so right there! That’s an interview with the
Secretary of Space. Who knows more about it? You? Or the Secretary?”
Greenberg had his own opinion but did not dare express it. “Please, Mrs. Stuart.
Newspaper stories should not be accepted at face value. This wild report has
nothing to do with the case. I am simply asking you to come to Capital for a
quiet talk with the Under Secretary.”
  “Not likely! If the Under Secretary wants to see me, let him come here.”
“Madam, he will, if necessary. Mr. ICiku is an oldfashioned gentleman who
would not ask a lady to come to him were it not for the press of public affairs.
You know that there is an interplanetary conference in progress?”
  She answered smugly, “I make it a rule never to pay attention to politics.”
He sighed. “Some of us must. Mr. Kiku Is unable to come here today because of
that conference. We had hoped that you, as a private citizen, would come to
him.”
“Mr. Greenberg, I reluctantly consented. Now I find that you have deceived me.
How do I know but what this is a trick? A plot to turn my - son over to those
monsters?” -
      “Ma’am, on my honor as an officer of the Federation I assure you...”
      “Spare yourself, Mr. Greenberg. Now, if you will excuse me.. .”
      “Mrs. Stuart, I beg you. If you will only...”
      “Mr. Greenberg, do not force me to be rude to a guest. But I have nothing
      more to say.”
Greenberg left. He looked around, intending to bring the boy into the argument,
but John Thomas had quietly left. Greenberg went back to his hotel, with no
intention of returning to Capital with mission incomplete but judging it useless to
argue until she had time to simmer down.



                                        151
He had his taxi driver drop him on the hotel roof in order to avoid reporters, but
a man was waiting there~ armed with an interview phone. “Half a mo’, Mr.
Commissioner. My name’s Hovey. How about a few words on Secretary
MacClure’s announcement?”
  “No comment.”
  “In other words you agree with it?”
  “No comment.”
  “Then you disagree?”
“No comment. I’m in a hurry.” This was true; he was anxious to call in and find
out what in the name of blue blazing galaxies had happened.
‘Just a second, please. Westville has a big local angle. ra like to get a story
before the main office sends heavyweights here to push me aside.”
Greenberg relaxed a little . . . no sense in antagonizing the press and the fellow
had a point; he knew how it felt to have someone senior sent to cope with a
problem that had started as his. “Okay. But keep it brief; I really am in a hurry.”
He took out cigarettes. Got a light on you?” -
‘Sure.” They lighted up, Hovey continued, “People are saying that this blast of
the Secretary’s is just a smoke screen and that you have come here to get the
Stuart boy and turn him over to the Hroshii people. How about it?”
“No corn . . . No, don’t say that; say this and quote me. No citizen of the
Federation ever has been or ever will be surrendered as a hostage to any power
whatsoever.”
   “That’s official?”
   “That’s official,” Greenberg said firmly.
“Then what are you doing here? I understand you are trying to take the Stuart
kid and his mother back to Capital. Capital Enclave isn’t legally part of the North
American Union, is it? If you got him there, our local and national officials
couldn’t protect him.”
Greenberg shook his head angrily. “Any citizen of the Federation is on his home
grounds in the Enclave. He has all rights there that he has at home.” -
  “Why do you want him there?”
Greenberg lied fast and fluently. “John Thomas Stuart has knowledge of the
psychology of the Hroshii held by no other human being. We want his help in
dealing with them.”
  “That’s more like it. ‘Westville Boy Recruited as Diplomatic Aide.’ How’s that
  for n lead?”
  “Sounds good,” Greenberg agreed. “Got enough? I’m in a rush.”

                                         152
“Sure,” agreed Hovey. ‘I can pad this to a couple of thousand words. Thanks,
Commissioner. See you later.”
Greenberg went down and locked himself in, then turned to the phone, intending
to call the department, but it came~to life first. Chief Dreiser looked out at him.
‘Mr. Commissioner Greenberg..
     “How do you do, Chief?”
     ‘Well enough, thank you. But Mr. Greenberg-I’ve just had a call from Mrs.
     Stuart.”
     “Yes?” Greenberg had a sudden wish for one of those pills the boss ate.
     “Mr. Greenberg, we always try to cooperate with you gentlemen.”
Greenberg attempted a stop thrust. “So? Wete you cooperating when you
attempted to kill the Hroshia without waiting for authority?”
  Dreiser turned red. ‘That was a mistake. It has nothing to do with what I must
     say now.”
  ‘Which is?”
  “Mrs. Stuart’s son is missing. She thinks he might be with you.”
  “So? She’s mistaken. I don’t know where he is.”
  “Is that true, Mr. Commissioner?”
  ‘Chief, I do not tolerate being called a liar.”
Dreiser went doggedly ahead. “Sorry. But I must add this. Mrs. Stuart does not
want her son to leave town. The police department backs her up a hundred per
cent.”
   “Naturally.”
“Don’t mistake me, Mr. Commissioner. You are a very important. official-but you
are just another citizen if you get out of line. I read that news story and I didn’t
like
it.”
     ‘Chief, if you find that I am doing anything illegal, I urge you to do your
     duty.”
     “I shall, sir. I certainly shall.”
Greenberg switched off, started again to call in, and thought better of it. If the
boss had new instructions, he would send them . . . and Kiku despied field
agents who chased back to mama whenever there was a slight shift in the wind.
He must change Mrs. Stuart’s mind-or hole up here for the winter.
While he was thinking the phone again signaled; be answered and found
himself looking at Betty Sorenson. S-he smiled and said, “This is Miss Smith
speaking.”
   “Umm.. . how do you do, Miss Smith.”


                                         153
   ‘Well, thank you. But busy. I have a client, a Mr. Brown. He is being urged to
      take a trip. What he wants
to know is this: he has a friend at the city of his destination; if he makes this trip,
will he be allowed to see his friend?”
Greenberg thought rapidly. The other Hroshii would be around Lummox as thick
as flies; it might be dangerous to let the boy go where they were and he was
sure Mr. Kiku had not so intended.
Oh, the police could throw a tanglefoot field over the whole space port if
necessary! The Hroshii weren’t superhuman. “Tell Mr. Brown that he will see his
friend.”
  “Thank you. Uh, Mr. Jones, where could your pilot pick us up?”
Greenberg hesitated. “It would be better for Mr. Brown to make the trip by the
commercial lines. Just a moment.” He found the flight schedule folder provided
in most hotel rooms. ‘There is a ship leaving Stateport in about an hour. Could
he catch it?”
       “Oh, yes. But . . . well, there is a matter of money.”
       “Oh. Suppose I make you a personal loan? You, not Mr. Brown.”
       She broke into a grin. “That would be lovely!”
“Have you any suggestion as to how to get it to you?” Betty did have-a snack
shop’ called The Chocolate Bar across from Central High School. A few minutes
later he was waiting in it, sipping a chocolate-and-milk mess. Betty showed up,
he passed her an envelope and she left. He stayed there until he could no
longer~ face the contents of his glass, then went back to the hotel.
He waited two hours, then called Mrs. Stuart. “I have just heard that your son
left for Capital on his own.”
He waited for her to quiet down, then added, “Mrs. Stuart, I’m still in Westville
but am about to fly back to Capital. Would you care to come with me? My ship is
faster than the commercial liners.”

Half an hour later they left for CapitaL
Mr. Kiku saw John Thomas Stuart first. Old enough to be John Thomas’s
grandfather, he treated John Thomas as an equal, thanking him for coming,
offering refreshment. He explained briefly that Lummox was unwilling to return
home unless John Thomas went along. “It is extremely important to the Hroshii
that Lummox return. To us it is important for other reasons.”
“You mcan,” John Thomas said bluntly, “that they are going to fight us if I don’t?
That’s what the papers say.”


                                          154
Mr. Kiku hesitated briefly. “They may. But that is not the reason I have consulted
you. I doubt if the Hroshii would attempt anything if your friend Lummox
opposed it-which I think Lummox would if it was something dangerous to you,
such as an attack on this planet.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that, if Lummie has anything to say about it. But why should
they listen to him? Uh, is he royal, or something?”
“Perhaps ‘royal’ will do, since we don’t understand their customs. But Lummox’s
wishes are important.”
  John Thomas shook his head in wonder. “Seems funny. The way I used to
  boss him around.”
“In any case I am not asking you to save us from a possible war. I am thinking of
positive benefits, not negative ones; we want to establish friendly relations with
these people. I asked you here to find out your own wishes. If I make it possible
for you to go with Lummox to their planet-Hroshijud it is called-what would your
answer be? Think it over, you need not answer’ now.”
  John Thomas gulped. “I don’t need to think it over. I’d go, of course.”
  “Don’t be hasty.”
“I’m not being hasty. Lummie will need me. He’s never happy with strangers.
Anyhow, he wants me to. You don’t think I’d let him down, do you?”
  ‘No. But this is a serious decision. You’ll be going almost a thousand light-
  years from home.”
  John Thomas shrugged. ‘My great grandfather went there. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Mmm. . . yes. I keep forgetting your ancestry. But aren’t you intert~sted in
knowing what other human beings are going with you? Or even if there are to be
any?”
“Huh?” John Thomas thought about it. “Oh, those details will work themselves
out. It’s not my business.”
  ‘They will be worked out,” Mr. . Kiku answered. He stood up. “Thank you for
  coming.”
  ‘Not at all, sir. Uh . . . when do I get to see Lummox?”
Mr. ICiku pursed his lips. “Not right away; I have matters to settle first. In the
meantime, enjoy yourself. I’m assigning a man to guide you around and pay
your expenses. He will act as bodyguard, too.”
  ‘A bodyguard? What for? I’m grown up.”
‘So you are. But, if for no other reason, I don’t want you talking to reporters. Do
you mind? I have no authority to tell you not to.”
                                          155
   “Oh no, Mr. Kiku. . . if it will help.”
   “It will help.”
Mr. Kiku had received John Thomas at his desk, Mrs. Stuart he received in a
lavish room, one without a conference table and which had been designed by
subtle psychologists to impress visitors. Mr. Kiku knew that he was in for a bad
time.
He fended her off with tea and formality, forced the talk to trivia. “So good of you
to come, madame. Sugar? Lemon?”
     “Uh, neither, thank you. Mr. Kiku, I must make clear firstoff that...” .
     “Try these little puffs. Did Mr. Greenberg make you comfortable?” .
     “What? Oh, yes, a nice suite, overlooking the Gardens of Heaven. But Mr.
     Kiku ...”

‘I was sony to ask you to come to me. But I am the
prisoner of my job. You understand?” He spread his hands helplessly. “I can’t
leave Capital at certain times.”
  “That’s understandable, I suppose. Now...”
‘Your kindness is appreciated. You must remain, as an official guest, as long as
you see fit. Capital is worth seeing, even if one has seen it often . . . which no
doubt you have. I understand that’ the shopping is excellent, too.”
  “Well, as a matter of fact I haven’t seen it before. Some of the shops do look
  intriguing.”
“Then enjoy it, dear lady. No reason not to mix pleasure with business. ‘Which
brings us to business, I suppose. I have been talldng with your son.”
  ‘Mr. Kiku. .
“Indulge me, I will be brief. We are sending an extensive cultural and scientific
mission to the home planet of the Hroshii. I want to send your son as a special
aide. He has agreed to go.” He waited for the explosion.
  “Utterly unthinkable! Out of the question!”
  “Why, Mrs. Stuart?”
“Mr. Kiku, what sort of inhuman beast are you? I know what you mean. . . you
plan to turn my son, my only son, over to those monstrosities as a hostage~
Unspeakable!”
He shook his head. “Ma’am, you have been misled by a wild newspaper story.
Have you seen the later story? The Secretary’s speech before the Council?”
  “No, but...”



                                        156
“I will supply a copy. It explains how that nonsense got into print. It also affirms
the ancient policy of the Federation, ‘All for One’ . . . against the Galaxy if
necessary. In this case your son is that ‘one’; he has many planets behind him.
But rio such issues arises; your son will join a peaceful mission to a friendly
people. He wifi help build a cultural bridge between two’ civilized but very
different races.”

‘Hmmph! The paper said that these Hroshii de
manded that you turn my son over to them. Explain that if you can!”
“Difficulties of translation. They asked for your son by name, but on~ behalf of
that Hroshia which was for years part of your own household, Lummox.
Because Lummox is deeply ~ittached to your son. This friendship between
these two, transcending form and kind and source and mind, is one of the
greatest fortunes which has happened to our race since our people first
discovered that we were not sole heirs of the Almighty. This unlikely
circumstance will let us bridge in one leap a chasm of misunderstanding
ordinarily spanned by years of trial and tragic error.” ‘He paused. ‘One is
tempted to think of them as children of destiny.”
   Mrs. Stuart snorted. “’Destiny’! Fiddlesticks!”
   “Can you be sure, ma’am?”
“I can be sure of this: my son is not going to the~ other side of nowhere. In
another week he is entering college, which is where he belongs.”
  “Is it his education which worries you, ma’am?”
“What? Why, of course. I want him to get a good education. His father set up a
trust fund for it; I intend to carry out his wishes.”
“I can put your mind at rest. In addition to an embassy, we will send a cultural
mission, a scientific mission, an economics and trade mission, and many
specialists, all topflight minds. No single college could hire such an aggregation
of talent; even the largest institutions of learning would be hard put to match it.
Your sor’r will be taught,’ not casually but systematically. If he earns a degree, it
will be awarded by, uh . . . by the Institute of Outer Sciences.” He smiled. “Does
that suit you?”
  “Why, I never heard of such a silly arrangement. Anyway, the Institute isn’t a
  college.”
“It can bestow a degree. Or, if not, we will have its charter amended. But
degrees are unimportant, ma’am,
the point his that your son will have an unparalleled higher education. I
understand that he wishes to study zenic science. Well, not only will his
teachers be the finest possible, but also he will live in a new field laboratory of
                                         157
xenology~ and take part in the research. We know little of the Hroshii; he will
labor on the frontiers of science.”
  “He’s not going to study xenology.”
  “Eh? He told Mr. Greenberg thai he meant to.”
“Oh, he has that silly idea but I have no intention of indulging him. He will study
some sound profession- the law, probably.”
Mr. Kiku’s brows went up. “Please, Mrs. Stuart,” he said plaintively. “Not that. I
am a lawyer-he might wind up where I am.”
  She looked at him sharply. He went on, “Wifi you tell me why you plan to
  thwart him?”
  “But I won’t be., . No, I see no reason why I should~ Mr. Kiku, this discussion
  is useless.”
“I hope not, ma’am. May I tell a story?” He assumed consent and went on,’
“These Hroshii are most unlike us. What is commonplace to us is strange to
them, and vice versa. All we seem to have in common is that both races are
intelligent
“To us they seem unfriendly, so remote that I would despair, were it not for one
thing. Can you guess what that is?”

“What? No, I can’t”
‘Your son and Lummox. They prove that the potential is there if we will only dig
for it. But I digress. More than a hundred years ago a young Hroshia
encountered a friendly stranger, went off with him. You know our - half of that
story. Let me tell you their side, as I have learned it with the help of an
interpreter and our xenologists. This little Hroshia was important to them; they
wanted her back very badly. Their patterns are
not ours; they interweave six distinct sorts of a genetic scheme we will be a long
time understanding.
“This little Hroshia had a role to play, a part planned more than two thousand
years ago, around the time of Christ. And her part was a necessary link in a
larger planning, a shaping of the race that has been going on, I am told, for
thirty-eight thousand of our years. Can you grasp that, Mrs. Stuart? I find it
difficult. A plan running back to when Cro-Magnon man was disputing with
Neanderthals for the prize of a planet. . . but perhaps my trouble lies in the fact
that we are ourselves the shortest-lived intelligent race we have yet found.
“What would we do if a child was missing for more than a century? No need to
discuss it; it in no way resembles what the Hroshii did. They were not too
worried about her welfare; they did not think of her as dead . . . but merely

                                         158
misplaced. They do not die easily. They do not even starve to death. Uh,
perhaps you have heard of flatworrns? Euplanaria?”
  ‘I have never taken any interest in xenobiology, Mr. Kiku.”
‘I made the same error, ma’am; I asked, ‘What planet is it from?’ Euplanaria are
relatives of ours; there are many more flatworms on Earth than there are men.
But they have a characteristic in common with Hroshil; both breeds grow when
fed, shrink when starved
and seem to be immortal, barring accidents. I had wondered why Lummox was
so much larger than the other Hroshil. No mystery . . . you fed Lummox too
much.” -
  “I told John Thomas that repeatedly!”
“No harm -done. They are already shrinking her down. The Hroshii were not
angry, it seems, over the theft or kidnapping or luring away of their youngster.
They knew her-a lively, adventuresome disposition was part of what had been
bred into her. But they did want her back and they searched for her year after
year,
following the single clue that she must have gone off with a certain group of
visitors from space; they knew what those visitors looked like but not from what
part of the sky they came.
“It would have discouraged us . . but not them. I have a misty impression that
the century they spent chasing rumors, asking questions, and checking strange
planets was-to them-about what a few months would be to us. In time they
found her. Again, they were’ neither grateful nor angry; we simply did not count.
“That might have been our only contact with the noble Hroshii had not a hitch
developed; the Hroshia, now grown big but still young, refused to leave with~’
out her monstrous friend-I speak from the Hroshian’. viewpoint This was terrible
to them, but they had no way to force her. How bitter a disappointment it was I
ask you to imagine.. . a mating planned when Caesar fought the Gauls all now
in readiness, with the other’ strains matured and ready. . . and Lummox refuses
to go home. She shows no interest in her destiny . . . remember, she is very
young; our ‘ own children do not,, develop social responsibility very early. In any
case she won’t budge without John Thomas Stuart.” He.; spread his hands.
‘You see the predicament they are in?”
  Mrs. Stuart set her mouth. “I’m sorry but it is no business of mine.”
“True. I suppose that the simplest thing to do is tol let Lummox go home . , . to
your home, I mean . .
and...”

                                        159
     “What? Oh, no!” ‘
     “Ma’am?”          I
  “You can’t send that beast back! I won’t stand for it,”~
Mr. Kiku stroked his chin. “I don’t understand you,’ ma am. It’s Lummox’s home;
it has been the Hroshia’s:
home much longer than it has been yours, about five
times as long I believe. If I remember correctly, it isn’t your property, but your
son’s. Am I right?”
  “That has nothing to do with sit! You can’t load me down with that beast.”
“A court might decide that it was up to your son. But why cross that bridge? I am
trying to find out why you oppose something so clearly to your son’s advantage.”
She sat silent, breathing hard, and Mr. Kiku let her sit. At last she’ said, “Mr.
Kiku, I lost my husband to space; I won’t let my son go the same way. I intend to
see to it that he stays and lives on Earth.”

He shook his head sadly. “Mrs. Stuart, sons are lost
from the beginning.” -
She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I can’t let him go off into
the sky . . . he’s only a little boy!”
   “He’s a man, Mrs. Stuart. Younger men have died in battle.”
   “Is that what you think makes a man?”
   “I know of no better gauge.”
He went on, “I call my assistants ‘boys’ because I am an old man. You think of
your son as a~ boy because you are, by comparison, an old woman. Forgive
me. But the notion that a boy becomes a man only on a certain birthday is a
mere legal fiction. Your son is a man; you have no moral right to keep him an
infant.”
  “What a wicked thing to say! It’s not true; I am merely trying to help him and
  guide him.”
Mr. Kiku smiled grimly. “Madam, the commonest weakness of our race is our
ability to rationalize our most selfish purposes. I repeat, you have no right to
force him into your mold.”
  “I have more right than you have! I’m his mother.”
“Is ‘parent’ the same as ‘owner’? No matter, we are poles apart; you are trying
to thwart him, I am helping him to do what he wants to do.” ‘
  “From the basest motives!”

                                         160
“My motives are not an issue and neither are yours.” He stood up. “As you have
already said, it seems fnintless to continue. I am sorry.”
   “I won’t let him! He’s still a minor. . . I have rights.”
   “Limited rights, ma’am. He could divorce you.”
   She gasped. ‘He wouldn’t do that to me! His own mother!”
“Perhaps. Our children’s courts have long taken a dim view of the arbitrary use
of parental authority; coercion in choice of career is usually open-and-shut. Mrs.
Stuart, it is best to give into the inevitable gracefully.
Don’t oppose him too far, or you will lose him completely. He is going.”




xv

Undiplomatic Relations
~ xixu returned to his office with his stomach jumping but he did not stop to cater
to it. Instead he leaned across his desk and said, “Sergei. Come in now.”
     Greenberg entered and laid down two spools of sound tape. “I’m glad to get
     rid of these. Whoo!”
     “Wipe them, please. Then forget you ever heard them.”
“Delighted.” Greenberg dipped them in a cavity. “Cripes, boss, couldn’t you have
given him an anesthetic?”
     ‘Unfortunately, no.”
“Wes Robbins was pretty rough on him. I felt like a wmdow peeper. Why did you
want me to hear them? I don’thave to deal with the mess. Or do I?”
  “No. But someday you will need to know how it is done.”
  “Mmmm . . . Boss . . . did ~ou have any intention of letting it stick when he
     fired you?”
  “Don’t ask silly questions.”
  ‘Sorry. How did you make out with the hard case?”
  “She won’t let him go.”
  “So?”
  “So he is going.”
  “She’ll scream her head off to the papers.”
  “So she will.” Mr. Kiku leaned toward his desk. “Wes?”
“Mr. Robbins is at the funeral of the Venerian foreign minister,” a female voice
answered, ‘with the Secretary.”

                                        161
  ‘Oh, yes. Ask him to see me when he returns, please.”
  ‘Yes, Mr. Kiku.”     -
“Thank you, Shizuko.” The Under Secretary turned to Greenberg. “Sergei, your
acting appointment as diplomatic officer first class was made permanent when
you were assigned to this affair.”
  “Was it?”
“Yes. The papers will no doubt reach you. You are now being promoted to chief
diplomatic officer, acting. I will hold up the permanent appointment for ninety
days to let some noses get back in joint.”
Greenberg’s face showed no expression. ‘Nice,” he said. “But why? Because I
bnish my teeth regularly? Or the way I keep my brief case polished?”
“You are going to Hroshijud as deputy and chief of mission. Mr. MacClure will be
ambassador, but I doubt that he will learn the tongue . . . which will of course
place the burden of dealing with them on .you. So you must acquire a working
knowledge of their language at once. Follow me?”
Greenberg translated it to read: MacClure will have to talk to them through you,
which keeps him in line.
“Yes,” he answered thoughtfully, ‘but how about Dr. Ftaeml? The Ambassador
will probably use him as interpreter rather than myself.” To himself he added:
boss, you can’t do this to me. MacChine can short me out through Ftaeml . . .
and there I am, nine hundred light-years from help.
‘Sorry,” Kiku answered, ‘but I can’t spaEe Ftaeml. I shall retain him to interpret
for the Hroshij mission they will leave behind. He accepted the job.”
Greenberg frowned. “I’ll start picking his brain in earnest, then, I’ve soaked up
some Hroshija already .
makes your throat raw. But when did they agree to all this? Have I slept through
something? While I was in Westville?”
  “They haven’t agreed. They will.”
‘I admire your confidence, boss. They strike me as being as stubborn as Mrs.
Stuart. Speaking of such, Ftaeml spoke to me while you were bickering with her.
He says they are getting insistent about the Stuart kid. Now that you know he’s
going shouldn’t we quiet them down? Ftaeml is jittery. He says the only thing
that restrains them from giving us the worlth is that it would displease our old pal
Lummox.”
“No,” answered Kiku, “we do not tell them. Nor do we tell Ftaeml. I want him to
remain apprehensive.”


                                        162
Greenberg chewed a knuckle. “Boss,” he said slowly, “isn’t that asking for
trouble? Or do you have a hunch that they aren’t the heavyweights they claim to
be? If it comes to a slugging match, can we outslug them?”

“I doubt it extremely. But the Stuart boy is my hole
card. ‘      ‘‘
       “I suppose so. Far be it from me to quote you-knowwho . . . but if the risk
is that great, aren’t the people entitled to know?”
       “Yes. But we can’t tell them.”
       “How’s that again?”
       Mr. Kiku frowned. “Sergei,” he said slowly, “this so-
ciety has been in crisis ever since the first rocket reached our Moon. For three
centuries scientists and engineers and explorers have repeatedly broken
through to new areas, new dangets, new situations; each time the political
managers have had to scramble to hold things together, like a juggler with too
much in the air. It’s unavoidable.
“But we have managed to keep a jury~.rigged republican form of government
and to maintain democratic customs. We can be proud of that. But it is not now
a real democracy and it can’t be. I conceive it to be our duty to hold this society
together while it adjusts to a strange and terrifying world. It would be pleasant to
discuss each problem, take a vote, then repeal it later if the collective judgment
proved faulty. But it’s rarely that easy. We find ourselves oftener like pilots of a
ship in a life-and-death emergency. Is it the pilot’s duty to hold powwows with
passengers? Or is it his job to use his skill and experience to by to bring them
home safely?”
  “You make it sound convincing, boss. I wonder if you are right?”
“I wonder also.” Mr. Kiku went.on, ‘I intended to hold the conference with the
Hroshii tomorrow morning.”
  “Okay. I’li tell Ftaeml. They ought to stay quiet overnight.”
“But, since they are anxious, we will postpone until the following day and let
them grow still more anxious.” Kiku thought. “Have Ftaeml tell them this. Our
customs require that a party wishing to negotiate send presents ahead;
therefore they must send us presents. Tell them that the lavishness of the gifts
gauge the seriousness of the matter to be discussed; too poor a gift will
prejudice their petition.”
Greenberg frowned. “You have some swindle in mind, but I miss the point.
Ftaeml knows that our customs don’t call for it.”



                                         163
“Can you convince him that this is a custom which he has not encountered? Or
can you take him into your confidence? I see conflict in him; his loyalty is to his
clients but his sympathies appear to be with us.”
“I had better not try to kid him. But getting a Bargyllian to lie when he is
interpreting professionally... I doubt if he can.”
“Then phrase it so that it is not a lie. Tell him that it is a very old custom . . .
which is true’. . . and that we resort to it only on sufficiently important occasions
  which this is. Give him an out, let him see your purpose, gain a sympathetic
  translation.”
  “Can do. But why, boss? Just for bulge?”
“Precisely. We are negotiating from weakness; it Is imperative that we start with
the upper hand. I have hopes that the symbolism of the petitioner bearing
presents is as universal as we have found it to be up to now.”
  “Suppose they won’t kick through with the loot?”
“Then we sit tight until they change their minds.” Kiku added, “Start selecting
your team. Let me see a list tomorrow.”
  Greenberg groaned. “I was going to turn in early.”
  “Never count on it in this business. Oh yes . . . as soon as the conference is
  over, send a good man .
Peters, perhaps . . . up to their ship to see what changes are needed for human
passengers. Then we’ll ~tell the Hroshii what we require.”
  ‘Wait a minute, boss. I prefer one of our own ships. How do you know they’ve
  got room for us?”
“Our ships will follow. But the Hroshia Lummox goes with them and young Stuart
goes with Lummox, therefore our mission goes in their ship in order that the boy
will be accompanied by humans.”
  “I see. Sorry.”
“There will be room. They will leave their own mission behind at this same time .
. . or no one will go.
One hundred Hroshii, to pluck a figure, will certainly vacate living space for one
hundred of our sort.”
  “In other words, boss,” Greenberg said softly, “you are insisting on ‘hostages.”
“Hostages,’ “ Mr. Kiku said primly, “is a word that no diplomat should ever use.”
He turned back to his desk.


                                         164
The ground floor auditorium of the Spatial Affairs building was selected for the
conference because its doors were large enough and its floors strong enough. It
might have been safer to hold it at the space port, as Dr. Ftaeml urged, but Mr.
Kiku insisted on the Hroshii coming to him for reasons of protocol.
  Their presents preceded them.
The gifts were stacked on both sides .of the great hail and were lavish in
quantity; their values and qualities were still unknown. The departmental
xenologists were as eager as a child faced with birthday presents, but Mr. Kiku
had ordered them to hold off until the conference was over.
Sergei Greenberg joined Mr. Kiku in the retiring room behind the rostrum as the
Hroshii delegation entered the halL He looked worried. ‘I don’t like this, boss.”
  Kiku looked up. “Why not?”
Greenberg glanced at the others present-Mr. MacClure and a double for the
Secretary General. The double, a skilled actor, nodded and went back to
studying the speech he was about to deliver, but MacClure said sharply, “What’s
the trouble, Greenberg? Those devils up to something?”
“I hope not.” Greenberg addressed Kiku, “I checked arrangements from the air
and they look good.. We’ve got the Boulevard of the Suns barricaded from here
to the port and enough reserves on each side for a small war. Then I picked up
the head of their column as it left the port and flew above it. They dropped
off reserves of their own about every quarter of a mile and set up gear of some
sort at each strong point. It might just be communication links back to their ship.
I doubt it. I think it must be weapons.”
  “So do I,” agreed Kiku.
  The Secretary said worniedly, “Now look here, Mr.

“If you please, Mr. MacClure. Sergei, the Chief of Staff reported this earlier. I
advised the Secretary General that we should make no move unless they try to
pass our barricades.”

“We could lose a lot of men.” -
“So we could. But what will you do, Sergei, when you are required to enter a
stranger’s camp to• palaver? Trust him completely? Or try to cover your
retreat?”
  “Mmm.. . yes.”
“I consider this the most hopeful sign we have had yet. If those are weapons, as
I hope they are, it means that they do not regard us as negligible opponents.


                                        165
One does not set up artillery against mice.” He looked around. “Shall we go? I
think we have let them stew long enough. Ready, Arthur?”
‘Sure.” The Secretary-General’s double chucked his script aside. “That boy
Bobbins knows how to write a speech. He doesn’t load up a sentence with
sibilants and make me spray the first five rows.”
“Good.” They went in, the actor first, then the Secretary, then the Permanent
Under Secretary followed by his assistant.
Of the long procession of Hroshii that had left the space port only a dozen had
entered the auditorium, but even that number made the hail seem filled. Mr.
Kiku looked down at them with interest, it being the first time that he had laid
eyes on a Hroshiu. It was true, he saw, that these people did not present the
golliwog friendliness shown in the pictures of the Hroshia Lummox. These were
adults, even though smaller
than Lummox. The one just in front of the platform and flanked by two others
was staring back at him. The stare was cold and confident. Mr. Kiku found that
the Creature’s gaze made him uneasy; he wanted to shift his eyes. Instead he
stared back and reminded himself that his own hypnotherapist could do it as
well or better than the Hroshiu.
Greenberg touched his elbow. “They’ve set up weapons in here, too,” he
whispered. “See that? In the back?”
Mr. ICiku answered, “We are not supposed to know that it is a weapon. Assume
that it is apparatus for their own record of the conference.” Dr. Ftaeml was
standing beside the foremost Hroshiu; the Under Secretary said to him, “Tell
them what our Secretary General is. Describe him as chief of seventeen
powerful planets.”
‘The Rargyllian hesitated. “What about the President of your Council?”
  “The Secretary General embodies both of them for this occasion.”
“Very well, my friend.” The Rargyillan spoke in highpitched speech which
reminded Kiku of puppies whining. The Hroshiu answered him briefly in the
same tongue, and suddenly Mr. Kiku no longer felt the dread that had been
inspired by the creature’s stare. It was not possible to feel awe for a person who
sounded like a lonesome puppy. But he reminded himself that deadly orders
could be given in any speech.
Ftaeml was speaking. “Here beside me is . .” He broke into a multiple squeal of
the strange tongue. “. . . who is commander of the ship and the expedition. She.
. . no, perhaps ‘he’ would be better.. . he is hereditary marshal and . . .” The
Rargyllian broke off and fretted. “You have no equivalent rank. Perhaps I should
say ‘mayor of the palace.’”

                                        166
   Greenberg suddenly said, “How about ‘boss,’ Doc?”~
   “A happy suggestion! Yes, this is the Boss. Her . .
his social position is not highest but his practical authority is almost without
limit.”
        Kiku asked, “Is his authority such that he may conduct plenipotentiary
        bargaining?”
        “Ah, yes, certainly!’
‘Then we will get on with it.” He turned to the actor and nodded. Then he spoke
to the desk in front of him, using a hush circuit: “Getting all this?”
       A voice answered his ears alone. ‘Yes, sir. The picture pick-up faded once
       but it’s all right now.”
       “Are the Secretary General and the Chief of Staff listening?”
       ‘I believe so, sir. Their offices are monitoring.”
“Very well” Mr. KkU listened to the Secretary General’s speech. It was short but
delivered with great dignity and the actor paced it so that Ftaeml might~
translate. The Secretary General welcomed the Hroshii to Earth, assured them
that the peoples of the Fed’eration were happy that the Hroshii had at long last
found their lost sibling, and added that this happy accident should be the
occasion for the Hroshii to take their rightful place in the Community of
Civilizations.
He sat down and promptly went to sleep for all practical purposes, eyes open
and face fixed in kindly dignity. The double could hold this Roman-Emperor
pose for hours without really noticing the review, or ceremony, or whatever he
might be chaperoning.
Mr. Macclure spoke briefly, seconding the Secretary General and adding that
the Federation was now prepared to discuss any matters of business between
the Federation and the noble Hroshii.
Greenberg leaned to Kiku and whispered, “Should we clap, boss? Somebody
ought to and I don’t think they know how.”
“Shut up,” Kiku said amiably. “Dr. Ftaeml, does the commander have a speech
of formality to deliver?”
  “I think not.” Ftaeml spoke to the leading Hroshiu,
then answered, “The reply is a serious comment on the two speeches made,
rather than an answer of formality. He states that the Hrosliii have no need of
other
  lesser . . . breeds and says we should not get to business without further, ah. .
  . trivia.”



                                        167
“If it is true that they have no need for other peoples, please ask him why they
have come to us and why they have offered us presents?”
  “But you insisted on it, my friend,” Ftaeml answered in surprise.
“Thank you, Doctor, but I do not want your comment. Require him to answer.
Please do not coach him.”
“I will try.” Ftaeml exchanged several sentences of the high’ whining with the
Hroshij commander, then turned back to Kiku. “Forgive me. He says that he
acceded to your childishness as the simplest means of accomplishing his
purpose. He wishes to discuss now the surrender of John Thomas Stuart.”
‘Please tell him that the matter is not open to discussion. The agenda requires
that we first settle the question of diplomatic relations.”
“Pardon me, sir. ‘Diplomatic relations’ is a concept difficult to translate. I have
b.een 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 translalion!-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.”

                                         168
“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 re’tiring 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.”

                                         169
  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
The Hroshij “boss,” it seemed to Kiku was more baleful than ever. But the
details went promptly forward
• an equal number of Hroshii and of humans to con-
stitute the, missions, passage to be provided in the Hroshij ship, one of the
Hroshii there present to~ be ambassador to the Federation. Ftaeml assured
them that this Hroshiu was of practical rank second only to the expedition
commander.
And now, said the Hroshij commander, it is time to turn over to us John Thomas
Stuart. Ftaeml added anxiously, ‘I trust you have made arrangements, my
friend? I dislike the tenor of this. It has been too easy.”
With a feeling of satisfaction soothing his troubled stomach Mr. Kiku answered,
“I see no difficulty. The Stuart boy is willing to go, now that we are assured of
civilized relations. Please make sure that they understand that he goes as a free
being, not a slave, not a pet. The Hroshii must guarantee his status and his
return passage, in one of their own ships, whenever he so wlshes.”
Ftaeml translated. Presently he answered. “All of’ that is satisfactory except for
something which I will translate as a ‘minor detaiL’ The Stuart boy will be a
member of the household of the Hroshia Lummox. Naturally-I translate here
most carefully-naturally the question of the boy returning, if ever, is a personal
prerogative of the Hroshia Lummox. Should she grow tired of him and wish to
return him, a ship would be made available.”
  “No.”
  ‘No what, sir?”
  “A simple negative. The subject of the Stuart boy is finished.”
  Ftaeml turned back to his clients.

“They say,” he answered presently, “that there is no treaty.~’
  ‘I know that. Treaties are not signed with . . they have a word meaning
  ‘servant’?”
  “They have servants of several sorts, some higher, some lower.”
‘Use the word for the lowest sort. Tell them that there is no treaty because
servants have no power to treat. Tell them to go and be quick about it.”
Ftaeml looked, at- Kiku saicily. “I admire you, my friend, but I do not envy you.”
He turned to the expedition commander and whined for several moments.


                                        170
The Hroshiu opened his mouth wide, looked at Kiku, and squealed like a kicked
puppy. Ftaeml gave a start and moved away. “Very bad profanity, untranslatable
. . .”The monster continued to make noises; Ftaeml tried frantically to translate:
“Contempt . . . lower animal . . . eat you with relish. . . follow back your
ancestors and eat them as well . . . your despicable race must be taught
manners . . . kidnappers . . . child stealers. . .” He stopped in great agitation.
The Hroshiu lumbered toward the platform, ~reared up until he was eye to eye
with Mr. Kiku. Greenberg slid a hand under his desk and located a control that
would throw a tanglefoot field over the lower’ floor .
a permanent installation; the hail had seen other disturbances.
But Mr. Kiku sat like stone. They eyed each other, the massive thing from “Out
There” and the little elderly human. Nothing moved in the great hall, nothing was
said.
Then from the back of the hall broke out a whining as if a whole basket of
puppies had been disturbed at once. The Hroshij commander whirled around,
making the floor shake, and shrilled to his retainers. He was answered and he
whined back sharp command. All twelve Hroshii swarmed out the door moving
with speed incredible for beings so ungainly.
Kiku stood up and watched them. Greenberg grabbed his arm. “Boss! The Chief
of Staff is trying to reach you.
Kiku shook him off. “Tell him not to be hasty. It is most important that he not be
hasty. Is our car waiting?”
xv’
“Sorry We Messed Things Up”


JOHN THOMAS STUART xx had wanted to attend the conference; it required a
flat refusal to keep him away. He was in the Hotel Universal in the suite
provided for him and his mother, playing checkers with his bodyguard, when
Betty Sorenson showed up with Miss Holtz. Myra Holtz was an operative for
BuSec of DepSpace, and concealed her policewoman profession under a-
pleasant façade. Mr. Kiku’s instructions to her concerning Betty had been:
“Keep a sharp eye on her. She has a taste for excitement.”
The two guards greeted each other; Betty said, “Hi, Johnnie. Why aren’t you
over at the heap big smoke?”
  “They wouldn’t let me.”
  “Me, too.” She glanced around. “Where’s the Duchess?”


                                        171
“Cone shopping. I’m still getting the silent treatment. Seventeen hats she’s
bought. What have you done to your face?”
  Betty turned to a mirror. ‘Like it? It’s called ‘Cosmic Contouring’ and it’s the
    latest thing.”
  “Makes you look like a zebra with the pip.”
  “Why, you country oaf. Ed, you like it. Don’t you?”
Ed Cowen looked up from the checker board and said hastily, “I wouldn’t know.
My wife says I have no taste.”
‘Most men haven’t. Jøbnnie, Myra and I liave come to invite you two to go out
on the town~ How about it?”
  Cowen answered, “I don’t favor that, Myra.”
  “It was her idea,” Miss Holz answered.
  John Thomas said to Cowen, “Why not? I’m sick of checkers.”
  “Well . . . r~ supposed to keep in touch with the office. They might want you
     any time now.”
  ‘Pooh!” put in Betty. “You carry a bodyphone. Anyhow Myra does.”
  Cowen shook his head. “Let’s play it safe.”
  “Am I under arrest?” Betty persisted. “Is Johnnie?”
  ‘Mmm. . . no. It’s more protective custody.”
‘Then you can protectively cuss him wherever be is. Or stay here and play
checkers with yourself. Come on, Johnnie.”
Cowen ~looked at Miss Holtz; she answered slowly, “I suppose it’s all right, Ed.
We’ll be with them.”
Cowen shrugged and stood up. Johnnie said to Betty, “I’m not going out in
public with you looking like that. Wash your face.”
   “But Johnnie! It took two hours to put it on.”
   “The taxpayers paid for it, didn’t they?”
   “’Well, yes, but. . .”
   ‘Wash your face. Or we go nowhere. Don’t you agree, Miss Holtz?”
Special Operative Holtz had only a flower pattern adorning her left cheek, aside
from the usual tinting. She said thoughtfully, “Betty doesn’t need it. Not at her
age.
“Oh, you’re a couple of Puritans!” Betty said bitterly, stuck her tongue at Johnnie
and slouched into the bath. She came out with her face glowing pink from
scrubbing. “Now I’m stark naked. Let’s go.”
There was another tussle at the lift, which Ed Cowen won. They went to the roof
to take an air taxi for sightseeing, instead of going down to the streets. “Both
you kids have had your faces spread around the papers the past few days. And


                                        172
this town has more crackpots than a second-hand shop. I don’t want any
incidents.”
  “If you hadn’t let them bully me, my face wouldn’t be recognizable.”
  “But his would.”
“We could paint him, too. Any male face would be improved with make-up.” But
she entered the lift and they took an air taxi.
  “Where to, Chief?”
  “Oh,” said Cowen, ‘cruise around and show us sights. Put it on the hourly
     rate.”
  “You’re the doctor. I can’t fly across the Boulevard of Suns. Some parade, or
     something.”
  “I know.”
  “Look,” put in Johrmie, “take us to the space port.”
  “No,” Cowen corrected. “Not out there.”
  “Why not, Ed? I haven’t seen Lummox yet. I want to look at him. He may not
  be welL”
  “That’s one thing you can’t do,” Cowen told him. ‘”The Hroshii ship is out of
    bounds.”
  “Well, I can see him from the air, can’t I?”
  “No!”
  “But...”
  “Never mind him,” Betty advised. “We’ll get another taxi. I’ve got money,
    Johnnie. So long, Ed.”
“Look,” complained the driver. “I’ll take you to Timbuctu. But I can’t hang around
over a landing flat. The cops get rude about it.”
“Head for the space port,” Cowen said resignedly. There was a barricade
around the many acres assigned to the Hroshii except where it had been broken
to let their delegation enter the Boulevard of Suns, and even then the barricade
joined others carrying on down the avenue toward the administrative group.
Inside the enclosure the landing craft of the Hroshii sat squat and ugly, almost
as large as a terrestrial star ship. Johnnie looked at it and wondered what it was
going to be like to be on Hroshijud. He was uncomfortable at the thought, not
because he was fearful but be-
cause he had not yet told Betty that he was going. He had started a couple of
times but it had not worked out right.
  Since she had not raised the subject he assumed that she did not know.
There were other sightseers in the air, and a crowd, not very thick, outside the
barricade. No single wonder lasted long in Capital; its residents prided

                                        173
themselves on being blasé and in fact, the Hroshii were not fantastic compared
with a dozen other friendly races, some of them members of the Federation.
The Hroshii swarmed around the base of their ship, doing unexplained things
with artifacts they had erected. Jo’hnnie tried to estimate their number, found it
like guessing beans in a bottle. Dozens, surely. . . how many more?
The taxi cruised just outside the point patrol of police air cars. Johnnie suddenly
called out, “Hey! There’s Lummie!”
  Betty craned her neck. “Where, Johnnie?”
“Corning into sight on the far side of their ship. There!” He turned to the driver.
“Say, mister, could you put us around on the far side as close in as they’ll let
you?”
The driver glanced at Cowen, who nodded. They swung around, the police
sentries and came in toward the Hroshij craft from the far side. The driver picked
a point between two police cars and back a little. Lummox could be seen clearly
now, closely attended by a group of Hroshii and towering over them.

“I wish I had bh~ox,” Johnnie complained. “I can’t really see.” ‘
“Pair in the glove compartment,” offered the driver. Johnnie got them out. They
were a simple optical type, without electronic magnification, but they brought
Lummox up much closer. He stared into his friend’s face. ~
  “How does Lummie look, Johnnie?”
  “Okay. Kind of skinny, though. I wonder if they are feeding him right?”
  “Mr. Greenberg tells me they aren’t feeding Lummie at all. I thought you
     knew?”
  “What? They can’t do that to Lummie!”
  “I don’t see what we can do about it.”
“Well . . .” John Thomas lowered the window and tried to get a better look. “Say,
can’t you take it in closer? And lower maybe? I want to give him a good
checking over.”
Cowen shook his head. The driver grumbled, “I don’t want no words with the
cops.” But he did move in a little closer until he was lined up with’ the police
cars.
Almost at once the speaker in the car’s overhead blared, “Hey, you! Number
four eighty-four! Where do you think you’re going with that can? Drag it out of
there!”
The driver muttered and started to obey. John Thomas, still with the glasses to
his eyes, said, ‘Aw!” . . . then added, “I wonder if he can hear me? Lummie!” he
shouted into the wind. “Oh Lummox!”

                                         174
  The Hroshia raised her head and looked wildly around.
Cowen grabbed John Thomas and reached for the window closure; But Johnnie
shook free. “Oh, you go fry eggs!” he said angrily. “I’ve been pushed around
long enough. Lummox! It’s Johnnie, boy! Over here! Come over this way...”
Cowen dragged him inside and slammed the window shut. “I knew we shouldn’t
have come out. Driver, let’s get out of here.”
      “Only too happy!”
      “But hold it just back of the police lines. I want to check on this.”
      ‘Make up your mind.”
It needed no binoculars to see what was happening. Lummox headed straight
for the barrier, on a bee line
with the taxi, scattering other Hroshii right and left. On reaching the barrier no
attempt was made to flow over it; Lummox went through it.
  “Jumping jeepers!” Cowen said softly. “But the tanglefoot will stop her.”
It did not. Lummox slowed down, but one mighty foot followed another, as if the
charged air had been deep mud. With the persistence of a glacier the Hro’shia
was seeking the point most closely under the taxi.
And more Hroshii were pouring out the gap. They made still heavier weather of
the immobilizing field, but still they came. As Cowen watched, Lummox broke
free of the’ zone and came on at a gallop, with people scattering’ ahead of her.
        Cowen snapped, “Myra, get through on another circuit to the military! I’ll
        call the office.”
        Betty grabbed his sleeve. “No!”
        ‘Huh? YOu again! Shut up or you’ll get the back of my hand.”
“Mr. Cowen, will you listen.” She went on hastily, “Its no good calling for help.
There isn’t anybody who can make Lummox listen but Johnnie-and they won’t
listen to anybody but Lummox. .You know that. So put him down where he can
talk to Lummie-or you’re going to have a lot of people hurt and it will be all your
fault.”
Security Operative First Class Edwin Cowen stared at her and reviewed in his
mind his past career and future hopes. Then he made a brave decision almost
instantly. “Take her down,” he snapped. “Land her and
let the kid and me out.” -
The driver groaned. “I’m charging extra for this.” But he landed the car so fast
that it jarred them. Cowen snatched the door open and he and John Thomas
burst out; Myra Holtz tried to grab Betty, was unsuccessful. She herself jumped
out as the driver was already raising.

                                         175
  “Jobnnie!” squealed Lummox and held Out mighty arms in a universal gesture
      of welcome.
  John Thomas ran to the star beast. “Lummie! Are you all right?”
  “Sure,” agreed Lummox. “Why not? Hi, Betty.”
  “Hi, Lummie.”
  “Hungry, though,” Lummox added thoughtfully.
  “We’ll change that.”
  “It’s all right. Fm not supposed to eat now.”
John Thomas started to answer this amazing statement when he noticed Miss
Holtz ducking away from one of the Hroshii. Others were milling around as if
uncertain how to treat this development. When Johnnie saw Ed Cowen draw his
gun and place himself between the Hroshiu and Myra he said suddenly,
“Lummox! These are my friends. Tell your friends to leave thein alone-and get
back inside. Quickly!”
“Whatever you’ say, Johnme.” The Hroshia spoke in the whining speech to her
kin; at once she was obyed.
  “And make us a saddle. We’ll go with you and have a long talk.”
  “Sure, Johnnie.”
They got aboard, Johnnie giving Betty a hand up, and started in through the
break in the barrier. When Lummox struck the tanglefoot field again they
stopped and Lummox spoke sharply to one of the others.
That Hroshiu called out to’ one inside; the tanglefoot’ field disappeared. They
moved on in without difficulty.
When Mr. Kiku, Sergei Greenberg, and Dr Ftaeml arrived they found an armed
truce, tense on both sides. All the Hroshii were back inside the broken barrier;
military craft in quantity had replaced the police patrol and far overhead, out of
sight, bombers were ready in final extremity to turn the area into a radioactive
desert.

The Secretary General and the Chief of Staff met
them at the barricade. The Secretary General looked grave. “Ah, Henry. It
seems we have failed. Not your fault.”
Mr. Kiku looked out at the massed Hroshii. “Perhaps.” The Chief of Staff added,
“We are evacuating the blast radius as rapidly as possible. But if we have to do
it, I don’t know what we can do for those two youngsters in there.”
  “Then let’s not do anything, shall we? Not yet.”




                                        176
“I don’t think you understand the seriousness of the situation, Mr. Under
Secreaty. For example, we placed an immobilizing locus entirely around this
area. It’s gone. They cancelled it out. Not just here. Everywhere.”
‘So. Perhaps you do not understand the seriousness of the situation, General. In
any case, a few words can do no harm. Come, Sergei. Coming, Doctor?” Mr.
Kiku left the group around the Secretary General and headed for the break in
the barricade. Wind sweeping across the miles-wide field forced him to clutch
his hat. ‘I do not like wind,” he complained to Dr. FtaemL “It is disorderly.”
“There is a stronger wind ahead,” the Rargyllian answered soberly. “My friend, is
this wise? They will not hurt me; I am their employee. But you...”
  ‘What else can I do?”
  “I do not know. But there are situations in which courage is useless.”
  “Possibly. I’ve never found one yet.”
  ‘One finds such a situation but once.”
They were approaching the solid mass of Hroshti around Lummox. They could
make Out the two humans on the back of the Hroshia a good hundred yards
beyond. Kiku stopped. “Tell them to get out of my way. I wish to approach the
Hroshia Lummox.”
Ftaeml translated. Nothing happened, though the Hroshii stirred uneasily.
Greenberg said, “Boss, how
about asking Lummox and the kids to come out here?’ That crowd doesn’t smell
friendly.”
“No. I dislike shouting into this wind. Please call out to the Stuart lad and tell him
to have them make way.”

“Okay, boss. It will be fun to tell my grandchildren
• if I have grandchildren.” He cupped his mouth and shouted, “Johnnie! John
   Stuart! Tell Lummox to have them clear a path.”
  “Sure!”
A path wide enough for a column of troops opened as if swept with a broom.
The little procession moved down the ranks of Hroshii. Greenberg felt goose
flesh crawl up and down his back.
Mr. Kiku’s only worry seemed to be keeping his hat on in the wind. He swore
primly while clutching at his head. They stopped in front of Lummox. “Howdy,
Mr. Kiku,” John Thomas called out. “Shall we come down?”
      “Perhaps it would be best.”
      Johnnie slid off, then caught Betty. “Sorry we messed things up.”
      “So am I. If you did. Will you introduce me to your friend, please?”

                                         177
     “Oh, sure. Lummox, this is Mr. Kiku. He’s a nice fellow, a friend of mine.”
     “How do you do, Mr. Kiku.”
“How do you do, Lummox.” Mr. Kiku looked, thoughtfuL “Doctor, is not that the
commander, there by the Hroshia? The one with the ugly glint in his eye?”
      The Rargyllian looked. “Yes, it is he.”
      “Urn. Ask him if he has reported the conference to his mistress.”
      “Very well.” The medusoid spoke to the Hroshij commander, was
      answered. “He says not.”
“Urn. John Thomas, we concluded a treaty with the Hroshii to permit, all that I
discussed with you. Suddenly they repudiated the agreement when they
cliscovered that we would not surrender your person with-
out guarantees. Will you help me find out if such were the wishes of your
friend?”
  ‘You mean Lummox? Sure.”
“Very well. Wait a moment. Dr. Ftaeml, will you report the essentials of our
agreement to the Hroshia Lummox-in the presence of the commander? Or are
the concepts beyond her?”
“Eh? Why should they be? She was perhaps two hundred of your years old
when she was brought here.”
  “So much? Well, speak ahead.”
The Rargyllian commenced the curious whines’of the Hroshij tongue,
addressing Lummox. Once or twice Lummox interrupted, then allowed him to
continue. When Dr. Ftaeml had finished she spoke to the expedition
commander. Ftaeml said to the humans, “She asks, SCan ..his be tue?’”
The commander made as wide a circle as space permitted, crept up in front of
her, with the little group representing the Federation giving way. His legs were
retracted so that he crawled like a caterpillar. Without lifting his head from the
ground he whined his answer.
  “He is admitting the truth but pleading necessity.”
  “I wish he would hurry with it,” Kiku fretted. “I’m getting chilly.” His thin knees
  trembled.
“She is not accepting the explanation. I will spare you the exact tenor of her
language-but her rhetoric is superb.”
Suddenly Lummox spat out one squeal, then reared up with four legs clear of
the ground. With arms retracted the great beast swung down her head and
struck the unfortunate commander a smashing sidewise blow,


                                         178
It lifted him off the ground, bowled him into the crowd. Slowly he regained his
feet, slunk back to the spot in front of Lummox.

Lummox began to speak. “She is saying. . . I wish
you could hear this in her language!.. . that so long as the Galaxy shall last the
friends of Johnnie are her friends. She adds that those who are not friends of
her friends are nothing, less than nothing, never to be suffered in her sight. She
commands this in the names of
it is a recitation of her ancestry with all its complicated branches and is
somewhat tedious. Shall I attempt to translate?”
  “Don’t bother,” Mr. Kiku told him. “ ‘Yes’ is ‘yes’ in any language.”
“But she tells it with great beauty,” Ftaeml said. “She is recalling to them things
dreadful and wonderful, reaching far into the past.”
  “I am interested only in how it affects the future .
and in getting out of this pesky wind.” Mr. Kiku sneezed.
“Oh dear!”
Dr. Ftaeml took his cape off and hung it around Mr. Kiku’s narrow shoulders.
“My friend.. . my brother. I am sorry.”
   No, no, you will be cold.
   “Not I.”
   “Let us share it, then.”
“I am honored,” the medusoid answered softly, his tendrils twitching with
emotion. He spread it around them and they huddled together while Lummox
finished her peroration. Betty turned to Johnnie.
  “That’s more than you ever did for me.”
  “Now, Slugger, you know you’re never cold.”
  “Well, put your arm around me at least.”
  “Huh? In front of everybody? Go snuggle up to Lummox.”
While speaking Lummox had stayed reared up. As the oration progressed the
assembled Hroshii sank down, retracting their legs until they were all in the
humble position of the commander. At last it was over and Lummox added one
sharp remark. The Hroshii stirred
and began to move. ‘She says,” translated Ftaeml, “that she now wishes to be
alone with her friends.”
‘Ask her;” directed Kiku, “please to assure her friend John Thomas that all she
has said is true and binding.”
  “Very well.” As the other Hroshii hurried away Ftaeml spoke briefly to
  Lummox.
                                         179
Lummox listened, then turned to John Thomas. Out of the great mouth came
the piping, little-girl voice. “That’s right, Johnnie. Cross my heart.”
  John Thomas nodded solemn agreement. “Don’t worry, Mr. Kiku. You can
  depend on it.”




XVII

Ninely-Seven Pickle Dishes

  “sxivn her in.”
Mr. Kiku composed himself nervously, giving the tea tray one last glance,
making sure that the intimate little conference room was all that he wished of it.
While he was thus fussing a door dilated and Betty Sorenson walked in, said
sweetly, ‘Hello, Mr. Kiku,” and seated herself with composure.
   He said, “How do you do, Miss Sorenson?”
   “Call me Betty. My friends all do.”
“Thank you. I would wish to be one.” He looked her over and shuddered. Betty
had been experimenting with a new design of bars; it made her face somewhat
like a checker board. Besides that she had evidently been shopping and was
dressed in styles far too old for her. Mr. Kilcu was forced to remind himself that
customs varied. “Urn. . . my dear young lady, the
purpose of this consultation is somewhat difficult to explain.”
  “Make it easy on yourself. I’m in no hurry.”
  “Will you have tea?”
“Let me pour for us. It’s chummier.” He allowed her to, then sat back with his
cup in a relaxed attitude he did not feeL
  ‘I trust you have been enjoying your stay?”
“Oh my, yesi I’ve never been able to shop before without counting pennies.
Everybody should have an expense account.”
“Enjoy it I assure you it will never show in the annual budget . . . literally. Our
discretionary fund. Uh, you are an orphan, are you not?”
  ‘A legal orphan. I’m a Free Child. My guardian is the Westville Home for Free
  Children. Why?”

                                          180
  “Then you are not of age?”
“Depends on how you look at it. I think I am, the court says I’m not. But it won’t
be long now, thank goodness.”
  “Urn, yes. Perhaps I should say that I knew all this,”
  “I figured you did. What’s it all about?”
  “Urn. Perhaps I should tell a little story. Did you ever raise rabbits? Or cats?”
  “I’ve had cats.”
“We have run into a difficulty with the Hroshia we know as Lummox. Nothing
disastrous; our treaty with them is not affected, since she has given her word.
But, uh, shall we say that if we could oblige Lummox in a certain matter, it woqld
make for better feelings, better future relations?”
  “I suppose we shall say so, if you say so. What is it, Mr. Kiku?”
  ‘Urn. We are both aware that this Hroshia Lummox has long been a pet of
     John Thomas Stuart.”
  “Why, certainly. It worked out funny, didn’t it?”
  “Urn, yes. And that Lummox was the pet of John
Thomas’s father before him, and so on for four generations.”
  “Yes, of course. Nobody could ~want a sweeter pet.”
“Now, that ‘is just the point, Miss Sorenson. . . Betty. That is the point of view of
John Thomas and his forebears. But there are always at least two points of
view. From the viewpoint of Lummox she . . . he . . . was not a pet. Quite the
contrary. John Thomas was hi.s pet. Lummox was engaged in raising John
Thomases.”
  Betty’s eyes widened, then she started to laugh and choked. “Mr. Kiku! Oh
  nor
“I am quite serious. It is a matter of viewpoint and made more reasonable by
considering relative lifetimes. Lummox had raised several generations of John
Thomases. It was Lummox’s only hobby and principal interest. Childish, but
Lummox was, and still is, a child.”
Betty got herself under control to the point where she could talk through giggles.
“Raising John Thomases.’ Does Johnnie know about this?”
  “Well, yes, but I explained it to him somewhat differently.”
  “Does Mrs. Stuart know about this?”
  “Ah. . . I haven’t found it necessary to tell her.”
  “May I tell her? I want to see her face. ‘John Thomases’. . . oh my!”
  “I think that would be cruel,” Mr. Kiku answered stiffly.
  “I suppose so. All right, I won’t do it. But I can dream about it, can’t I?”


                                          181
“We all can dream. But to continue: Lummox appears to have been perfectly
happy with this innocent hobby. It was the Hroshia’s intention to continue it
indefinitely. That was the reason that we found ourselves faced with this
curious..dilemma of being unable to get the Hroshii to leave after their sibling
had been restored. Lummox wished to continue, uh, raising John Thomases.”
He hesitated.
      Finally Betty said, “Well, Mr. Kiku? Go on.”
      “Uh, what are your own plans, Betty . . . Miss Sorenson?”
      “Mine? I haven’t discussed them with anyone.”
“Urn. Pardon me if 1 was unduly personaL You see, there are requirements in
any endeavor and Lummox, it appears, is aware of one of the requirements
uh, let’s put it this way. If we have here a rabbit . or a cat.. .” He stopped dead,
unable to go on.
She searched his unhappy face. “Mr. Kiku, are you trying to say that it takes two
rabbits to have more rabbits?”
  ‘Well, yes. That was part of it.”
“Now, really! Why make such a fuss about it? Everybody knows it. I suppose the
rest is that Lummox knows that the same rule applies to John Thomases?”
  He could only nod dumbly.
“You poor dear, you should have written me a note about it. It would have been
less of a strain on you. I suppose I’ll have to help you with the rest, too. You
thought I might figure in this plan?”
  “I had no wish to intrude , . but I did want to sound out your intentions.”
  “Am I going to marry John Thomas? I’ve never had any other intention. Of
     course.”
  Mr. Kiku sighed. “Thank you.”
  “Oh, I won’t be doing it to please you.”
  “Oh no! I was thanking you for assisting me.”
  “Thank Lummie. Good old Lummiel You can’t fool Lummox.”
  “I take it that this is all settled?”
  “Huh? I haven’t proposed to him yet. But 1 will
• . . I was waiting until it was a little nearer time for the ship to leave. You know
   how men are-nervous and skittery. I didn’t want to leave him time to worry.
   Did your wife propose to you right off? Or did she wait until you were ripe for
   the kill?”
“Uh, well, the customs of my people are somewhat different. Her father
arranged it with my father.”
  Betty looked shocked. “Slavery,” she stated baldly.

                                         182
“No doubt. However I haves not been unhappy under it.” He stood up. “I’m glad
that we have concluded our talk so amiably.”
“Just a moment, Mr. Kiku. There are one or two other matter. Just what are you
doing for John Thomas?”

“What’s the contract?”
“Oh. Financially we mean to be liberal. He will devote most of his time to his
education, but I had thought of giving him a nominal title in the embassy-special
attaché, or assistant secretary, or some such.”
Betty remained silent. “Of course, since you are going along, it might be well to
give you a semi-official status, too. Say special aide, with the same salary? It
would give you two a nice nest egg if you return
when you return.”
  She shook her head. “Johnnie isn’t ambitious. I am.”
  “Yes?”
  “Johnnie is to be ambassador to the Hroshii.”
Mr. Kiku had grave trouble talking. At last he managed to say, “My dear young
ladyl Quite impossible.”
“That’s what you think. Look, Mr. MacClure got cold feet and welched on you,
didn’t he? Don’t beat around the bush; by now I have my connections inside
your department. He did. Therefore the job is open. It’s for Johnnie.”
“But, my dear,” he said weakly, “it is not a job for an untrained boy.. . much as I
think of Mr. Stuart.”
“MacClure was going to be dead wood, wasn’t he? Everybody knows that.
Johnnie would not be dead wood. Who knows the most about Hroshii?
Johnnie.”
  “My dear, I admit his special knowledge; I grant that we will make use of it.
  But ambassador? No.”
  “Yes.”
“Chargé d’Affaires? That’s an awfully high rank, b~~t I’m willing to stretch a
point But Mr. Greenberg must bethe ambassador. We require a diplomat.”
“What’s so hard about being a diplomat? Or to put it another way, what could
Mr. MacClure do that my Johnnie can’t do better?”
He sighed deeply. “You have me there. All I can say is that there are situations
which I am forced to accept, knowing them to be wrong, and others that I need
not accept. If you were my own daughter I would paddle you. No.”


                                         183
She grinned at him. “I’ll bet I outweigh you. But that’s not the point. I don’t think
you understand the situation.”
      “No?”
      “No. Johnnie and I are important to you in this dicker, aren’t we?
      Especially Johnnie.”
      “Yes. Especially Johnnie. You are not essential . . even in the, uh, raising
      of John Thomases.”
“Want to put it to a test? Do you think you can get John Thomas Stuart one half
inch off this planet if I set myself against it?”
  ‘Hmm.. . I wonder.”
‘So do I. But I’ve got nerve enough to put it to a triaL If I win, where are you?
Out on a windy field, trying to talk your way out of a mess again. . . without
Johnnie to help you.”
Mr. Kiku went over t~ a window and looked out. Presently he turned. “More
tea?” Betty asked politely.
“Thank you, no. Miss, do you have any idea what an ambassador extraordinary
and minister plenipotentiary is?”
  “I’ve heard the term.”
“It is the same rank and pay as an ambassador, except that it is a special case.
This is a special case. Mr. Greenberg will be the ambassador and carry the
authority; the special, and purely nominal, rank will be created for John
Thomas.”

“Rank and pay,” she answçred. “I’m acquiring a taste for shopping~”
“And pay,” he agreed. “Young lady, you have the morals of a snapping turtle
and the crust of a bakery pie. Very well, it’s a deal. . . if you can get your young
man to agree to it.”
  She giggled. “I. won’t have any trouble.”’
“I didn’t mean that. I’m betting on his horse sense and natural modesty against
your avarice. I think he’ll settle for assistant embassy secretary. We’ll see.”
   ‘Oh, Yes, we’ll see. By the way, where is he?”
   “Eh?”
   “He’s not at the hoteL You have him here, don’t you?”
   “He is here, as a matter of fact.”
“Good.” She walked up and patted him on the cheek. “I like you, Mr. Kiku. Now
trot Johnnie in here and leave us alone. It will take me about twenty minutes.
You don’t have a thing to worry about.”

                                          184
“Miss Sorenson,” Mr. Kiku asked wonderingly, “how does it happen that you do
not ask to be ambassador yourself?”
Lummox was the only non-human to attend the wedding. Mr. Kiku stood up for
the bride. He noticed that she was wearing no make-up, which made him
wonder if possibly the embassy’s junior secretary might not be master in his
own home after all.
They received the usual ninety-seven pickle dishes, mostly from strangers, and
other assorted costly junk that they would not take with them, including an
allexpense trip to Hawaii for which they had no possible use. Mrs. Stuart wept
and had her picture taken and greatly enjoyed herself; all in all it was a very
successful wedding. Mr. Kiku leaked a few tears during the responses, but Mr.
Kiku was a very sentimental man.
He was sitting at his desk the next morning, ignoring lights, with his Kenya-farm
brochures spread out before him, but he was not looking at them. Dr. Ftaemi
and he had gone out together and done the town after they got the kids safely
married-and Mr. Kiku was feeling it somewhat, in a pleasant, relaxed manner.
Even though his head buzzed and his coordination was poor, his stomach was
not troubling him. He felt fine.
He was trying fuzzily to sum up the affair in his mind. All this fuss, all this grief,
because some fool spaceman more than a century ago didn’t have sense
enough not to tamper with native life until protocol had been worked out. Oh my
people, my people!
  On second thought, he told himself not to point the finger of scorn; he might
  be looking in a mirror.
There was something that good old Ftaeml had said last night... something. . .
now what was it he had said? Something which, at the time, convinced Kiku that
the Hroshli never had had any weapons capable of seriously damaging Earth.
Of course a Rargyllian would not lie, not professionally . . . but would one skate
around the truth in order to conclude successfully a negotiation which seemed
about to fail?
  Well, since it had all been settled without violence he could only wonder. Just
    as well, perhaps.
  Besides, the next heathens to show up might not be bluffing. That would not
    be good.
  Mildred’s voice came to him. “Mr. Kiku, the Randavian delegation is waiting.”
  “Tell them I’m molting!”
  “Sir?”
  “Never mind. Tell them I’ll be right in. East conference room.”


                                          185
He sighed, decided to treat himself to just one pill, then got up and headed for
the door, ready to stick his finger in another hole in the dike. Chinese obligation,
be thought; once you take it on you can’t drop it.
But he still felt cheerful and sang a snatch of the only song he knew all the way
through: “. . . this story has no moral, this story has no end. This StOry only
goes to show that there ain’t iw good in men.”
• In the meantime, out at the space port, the new Secretary for Spatial Affairs
  was seeing off the noble Hroshii. Her Imperial Highness, the Infanta of that
  race, 213th of her line, heiress to the matriarchy of the Seven Suns, future
  ruler over nine billion of her own kind, and lately nicknamed “The Lummox”
  contentedly took her pair of pets aboard the imperial yacht.




                                         186