The head of the design staff was a lean young black woman who had limited her breakfast to orange juice and black coffee and was already through with it. “Catch up at what, Captain Menninger?” she asked.
Margie took her measure and refused combat. “For openers, Dr. Ravenel, I’d like to see your people create some trade goods. For all three races. They’re all going to be our customers one of these days.”
The economist took his eyes off the holo of a Krinpit coracle to challenge Margie. “ ‘Customers’ implies two-way trade. What do you think these, ah, Klongans are going to have to sell us that’s worth the trouble of shipping it all those light-years?”
Margie grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.” She pulled an attachй case off the floor and opened it on the table in front of her, pushing the plate of eggs out of the way. “So far,” she said, “we don’t exactly have any manufactured objects. But take a look at this.” She passed around several ten-centimeter squares of a filmy, resilient substance. “That’s the stuff the balloonists’ hydrogen sacs are made out of. It’s really pretty special stuff — I mean, it holds gaseous H2 with less than one percent leakage in a twenty-four-hour period. We could supply quite a lot of that if there was a specialty market for it.”
“Don’t you have to kill a balloonist to get it?”
“Good question.” Margie nodded to the economist with a lying smile. “Actually, no. That is, there are other, nonsentient races with the same body structure, although this one is, I believe, from one of the sentients. How about a market? If I remember correctly, the Germans had to use the second stomach of the ox when they were building the Hindenburg. ”
“I see,” said the economist gravely. “All we need to do is contact a few Zeppelin manufacturers.” There was a general titter.
“I’m sure,” said Margie steadily, “that you will have some better idea than that. Oh, and I ought to mention one thing. I brought my checkbook. There’s a National Science Foundation grant for research and development that’s waiting for someone to apply for it.” And for that gift too, I thank you, poppa, she thought.
The economist had not become the head of a major department of the faculty without learning when to retreat. “I didn’t mean to brush you off, Captain Menninger. This is actually a pretty exciting challenge. What else have you got for us?”
“Well, we have a number of samples that haven’t been studied very carefully. Frankly, they aren’t really supposed to be here. Camp Detrick doesn’t know they’re gone yet.”
The group stirred. The dean said quickly, “Margie, I think we all get the same picture when you mention Camp Detrick. Is there anything connected with biological warfare in this?”
“Certainly not! No, believe me, that doesn’t come into it at all. I sometimes go out of channels, I admit, but what do you guess they’d do to me if I broke security on something like that?”
“Then why Camp Detrick?”
“Because these are alien organisms,” Margie explained. “Except for the sample of balloonist tissue, you’ll notice that every item I’ve got here is in a double-wrapped, heat-sealed container. The outside has been acid-washed and UV-sterilized. No, wait—” she added, grinning. Everybody at the table had begun looking at their fingertips, and there was a perceptible movement away from the samples of tissue on the table. “Those balloonist samples are okay. The rest, maybe not so okay. They’ve been pretty carefully gone over. There don’t seem to be any pathogens or allergens. But naturally you’ll want to use care in handling them.”
“Thanks a lot, captain,” said the designer stiffly. “How can you be so sure about the tissue?”
“I ate some three days ago,” she said. She had their full attention now and swept on. “I should point out that the grant naturally includes whatever you need to insure safe handling. Now, this group contains plant samples. They’re photosynthetic, and their principal response is in the infrared range. Interesting for you agronomists? Right. And these over here are supposed to be art objects. They come from the Krinpit, the ones that look like squashed cockroaches. The things are supposed to ‘sing.’ That is, if you’re a Krinpit and you rub them on your shell, they make some interesting sounds. If you don’t have a chitinous shell, you can use a credit card.”
The woman from design picked up one of them gingerly, peering at it through the transparent plastic. “You said you wanted us to develop some kind of trading goods?”
“I sure do.” The last thing Margie pulled out of her dispatch case was a red-covered mimeographed document. The words MOST SECRET were dazzle-printed on the jacket. “As you can see, this is classified, but that’s just military hang-ups. It will be turned over to the UN in about ten days anyway, or most of it will. It’s the most comprehensive report we’ve been able to prepare on the three principal races of Klong.”
All six of the faculty members at the table reached for it at once, but the design woman was fastest. “Um,” she said, flipping through it. “I’ve got a graduate student who would eat this up. Can I show it to him?”
“Better than that. Let’s leave this copy and the samples with our friends, and let’s you and I go talk to him.”
Fifteen minutes later Margie had succeeded in getting rid of the department head, and she and a slim, excitable young man named Walter Pinson were head to head. “Think you can handle it?” asked Margie.
“Yes! I mean, well, it’s a big job—”
Margie put her hand on his arm. “I’m sure you can. I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell me how you plan to go about it, though.”
Pinson thought for a moment. “Well, the first thing is to figure out what their needs are,” he offered.
“That’s fascinating! It must be pretty difficult. I would hardly know where to start. Offhand, I’d say their biggest need, all of them, is just staying alive. As you’ll see, everything on the planet spends a lot of its time trying to eat everything else, including the other intelligent races.”
“Cannibalism?”
“Well, I don’t think you can call it that. They’re different species. And there are a lot of other species that are trying to eat the intelligent ones.”
“Predators,” said Pinson, nodding. “Well, there’s a starting point right there. Let’s see. For the predators like the balloonists, for instance, anything that would set them on fire would help protect the sentients. Of course,” he added, frowning, “we’d have to make sure that these were used only to defend the sentients against lower forms of life.”
“Of course!” said Margie, shocked. “We wouldn’t want to give them weapons to start a war with!” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got an idea, Walter. I didn’t have much of a breakfast, and it’s getting on toward lunch. Why don’t you and I get something to eat? There’s a place I used to know when I was a graduate student. In a pretty frowsty old motel, but the food was good — if you have the time, I mean?”
“Oh, I have the time,” said Pinson, looking at her appreciatively.
“It’s up past Harvard Square, but we ought to be able to get a cab. And please let me — I have an expense account, and it’s all your tax money anyway.” As they walked toward the elevator, a mob of undergraduates flocked toward a lecture hall. Looking toward them, Margie asked, “Do you by any chance know a student named Lloyd Wensley? I think he’s a freshman.”
“No, I don’t think so. Friend of yours?”
“Not really — or anyway, not since he was a little kid. I used to know his family. Now, about these, ah, implements for self-protection—”