The Star Beast (12 page)

“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 Rargyllians, 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 non-humanoid people…non-human in mentality, creatures so different psychologically that communication was difficult. But he had not expected the learned doctor was representing a race that he had never heard of…something termed “the
Hroshii
.”

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.

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 Xenic Science, which will arrange transportation and select the agency to pursue the evaluation.”

Greenberg signed Kiku’s name 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, 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 from 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. Kiku 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. I 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
Ariel
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.”

“Um, yes. While I was there I got to thinking about that intervention matter.”

“Why? We settled it.”

“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?”

CHAPTER VI

“Space Is Deep, Excellency”

“
DR
.
FTAEML
, 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.”

“Hrrump!” 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 excellency.” Greenberg suspected that the Rargyllian was not fooled; nevertheless it 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 through 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 carry 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?”

“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 me 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 Rargyllian 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?”