«Suppose…» Larson spoke very slowly. «Just suppose we had not been… approved—what then? Would you have reformed us?»
«Reformed? Huh? What d’you mean? We’d have sent a police ship and blown every planet in this system to smithereens. Can’t have people running loose who might start a war.»
Sweat formed under Larson’s arms and trickled down his ribs. His mouth felt dry. Whole planets—
But in a million years you would learn to think sub specie aeternitatis. Five billion warlike Earthlings could annihilate fifty billion peaceful Galactics before they were overcome. It was not for him to judge a superman.
«Hello, there!»
Husting had to yell to be heard above the racket. But the nearest of the spacemen looked at him and smiled.
«Hi,» he said.
Incredible! He had greeted little Joe Husting as a friend. Why—? Wait a minute! Perhaps the sheer brass of it had pleased him. Perhaps no one else had dared speak first to the strangers. And when you only said, «Yes, sir,» to a man, even to a Galactic, you removed him—you might actually make him feel lonely.
«Uh, like it here?» Husting cursed his tongue, that its glibness should have failed him at this moment of all moments.
«Sure, sure. Biggest city I ever seen. And draxna, look at what I got!» The spaceman lifted a necklace of red glass sparklers. «Won’t their eyes just bug out when I get home!»
Someone shoved Husting against the barrier so the wind went from him. He gasped and tried to squirm free.
«Say, cut that out. You’re hurting the poor guy.» One of the Galactics touched a stud on his belt. Gently but inexorably, the field widened, pushing the crowd back… and somehow, somehow Husting was inside it with the seven from the stars.
«You OK, pal?» Anxious hands lifted him to his feet.
«I, yeah, sure. Sure, I’m fine!» Husting stood up and grinned at the envious faces ringing him in. «Thanks a lot.»
«Glad to help you. My name’s Gilgrath. Call me Gil.» Strong fingers squeezed Husting’s shoulder. «And this here is Bronni, and here’s Col, and Jordo, and—»
«Pleased to meet you,» whispered Husting inadequately. «I’m Joe.»
«Say, this is all right!» said Gil enthusiastically. «I was wondering what was wrong with you folks.»
«Wrong?» Husting shook a dazed head, wondering if They were peering into his mind and reading thoughts of which he himself was unaware. Vague memories came back, grave-eyed Anubis weighing the heart of a man.
«You know,» said Gil. «Stand-offish, like.»
«Yeh,» added Bronni. «Every other new planet we been to, everybody was coming up and saying hello and buying us drinks and—»
«Parties,» reminded Jordo.
«Yeh. Man, remember that wing-ding on Alphaz? Remember those girls?» Col rolled his eyes lickerishly.
«You got a lot of good-looking girls here in New York,» complained Gil. «But we got orders not to offend nobody. Say, do you think one of those girls would mind if I said hello to her?»
Husting was scarcely able to think; it was the reflex of many years which now spoke for him, rapidly: «You have us all wrong. We’re just scared to talk to you. We thought maybe you didn’t want to be bothered.»
«And we thought you— Say!» Gil slapped his thigh and broke into a guffaw. «Now ain’t that something? They don’t want to bother us and we don’t want to bother them!»
«I’ll be rixt!» bellowed Col. «Well, what do you know about that?»
«Hey, in that case—» began Jordo.
«Wait, wait!» Husting waved his hands. It was still habit which guided him; his mind was only slowly getting back into gear. «Let me get this straight. You want to do the town, right?»
«We sure do,» said Col. «It’s mighty lonesome out in space.»
«Well, look,» chattered Husting, «you’ll never be free of all these crowds, reporters—» (A flashbulb, the tenth or twelfth in these few minutes, dazzled his eyes.) «You won’t be able to let yourselves go while everybody knows you’re Galactics.»
«On Alphaz—» protested Bronni.
«This isn’t Alphaz. Now I’ve got an idea. Listen.» Seven dark heads bent down to hear an urgent whisper. «Can you get us away from here? Fly off invisible or something?»
«Sure,» said Gil. «Hey, how’d you know we can do that?»
«Never mind. OK, we’ll sneak off to my apartment and send out for some Earth-style clothes for you, and then—»
John Joseph O’Reilly, Cardinal Archbishop of New York, had friends in high places as well as in low. He thought it no shame to pull wires and arrange an interview with the chaplain of the spaceship. What he could learn might be of vital importance to the Faith. The priest from the stars arrived, light-screened to evade the curious, and was received in the living room.
Visible again, Thyrkna proved to be a stocky white-haired man in the usual blue-kirtled uniform. He smiled and shook hands in quite an ordinary manner. At least, thought O’Reilly, these Galactics had during a million years conquered overweening Pride.
«It is an honor to meet you,» he said.
«Thanks,» nodded Thyrkna. He looked around the room. «Nice place you got.»
«Please be seated. May I offer you a drink?»
«Don’t mind if I do.»
O’Reilly set forth glasses and a bottle. In a modest way, the Cardinal was a connoisseur, and had chosen the Chambertin-Clos carefully. He tasted the ritual few drops. Whatever minor saint, if any, was concerned with these things had been gracious; the wine was superb. He filled his guest’s glass and then his own.
«Welcome to Earth,» he smiled.
«Thanks.» The Galactic tossed his drink off at one gulp. «Aaah! That goes good.»
The Cardinal winced, but poured again. You couldn’t expect another civilization to have the same tastes. Chinese liked aged eggs while despising cheese…
He sat down and crossed his legs. «I’m not sure what title to use,» he said diffidently.
«Title? What’s that?»
«I mean, what does your flock call you?»
«My flock? Oh, you mean the boys on board? Plain Thyrkna. That’s good enough for me.» The visitor finished his second glass and belched. Well, so would a cultivated Eskimo.
«I understand there was some difficulty in conveying my request,» said O’Reilly. «Apparently you did not know what our word chaplain means.»
«We don’t know every word in your lingo,» admitted Thyrkna. «It works like this. When we come in toward a new planet, we pick up its radio, see?»
«Oh, yes. Such of it as gets through the ionosphere.»
Thyrkna blinked. «Huh? I don’t know all the de-tails. You’ll have to talk to one of our tech… technicians. Anyway, we got a machine that analyzes the different languages, figures ’em out. Does it in just a few hours, too. Then it puts us all to sleep and teaches us the languages. When we wake up, we’re ready to come down and talk.»
The Cardinal laughed. «Pardon me, sir. Frankly, I was wondering why the people of your incredibly high civilization should use our worst street dialects. Now I see the reason. I am afraid our programs are not on a very high level. They aim at mass taste, the lowest common denominator—and please excuse my metaphors. Naturally you— But I assure you, we aren’t all that bad. We have hopes for the future. This electronic educator of yours, for instance… what it could do to raise the cultural level of the average man surpasses imagination.»