"No. But someday you will need to know how it is done."
"Mmmm... Boss... did you 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."
"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 brush 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. MacClure can short me out through Ftaeml... and there I am, nine hundred light-years from help.
"Sorry," Kiku answered, "but I can't spare 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."
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-know-who... 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 society 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 dangers, 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'll 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."
"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 Rargyllian 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."
"'Hostage'," Mr. Kiku said primly, "is a word that no diplomat should ever use." He turned back to his desk.
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 hall 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.