“I think he wants to know how to build a spacedrive,” Druit said as he turned to his two companions. “Think we ought to tell him what we know?”
“I imagine you’re right about the spacedrive part,” Drul put his candied pear down as he spoke, “but I also think we should keep our big mouths shut till we can get together with the others—or at least until we can find out if the others are still alive.”
He approached the blackboard, which one of the Russians quickly erased, and picked up a piece of chalk. First he drew the symbol that represented his group near one corner of the board; then he scattered four other similar symbols over the face of the blackboard. From each isolated symbol he drew an arrow to the center of the board. At the junction of all five arrows he put down the symbol that stood for the rendezvous point on the aliens’ map. He then sketched the spaceship around the rendezvous symbol.
“There,” he sighed with relief as he put down the chalk and returned to his companions, “I hope they understand from that that we have to join the rest of our crew at rendezvous point before we can give them the information they want for a spacedrive.”
Actually the Russians had inferred from Drul’s message that the aliens’ spaceship had actually landed at rendezvous point. At any event the aliens got the desired result. The Russians became very grave as they reached the conclusion that the Americans had the master share of the loot, as they had feared. One of them flipped a switch on an intercom and growled into the instrument.
“Instruct Ambassador Vladimir to start negotiations at once. Also alert the Ninth, Tenth, and Eleventh Bomber Wings as per plan G—in case the negotiations fail. We must get to those other aliens before it’s too late!”
The President sat back comfortably in his tall leather chair. He smiled, his first smile in several days, as he examined the paper in his hand.
“We’ve won!” he chuckled triumphantly. “We bluffed them, Halwit. We bluffed them out!”
The secretary of state’s mouth curled a little at the corners in a tired imitation of the President’s grin.
“I truly hope so. They’re so sly I sometimes wonder who wins when we cross diplomatic foils with them.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic, Halwit. We’ve had a couple of dark days lately, and now the sun is finally coming up. They’re willing to negotiate about getting these alien groups together. That can only mean that they couldn’t get the information they wanted from the aliens they had. Once we get all the groups together we’ll see to it that they don’t get that information.”
“Are you sure we can do it,” Halwit asked a bit cynically, “and still get the information we want?”
“Oh, I admit it will be tricky,” the President understated with a laugh, “but it’s worth a try. At least if we both get the same information, it will be a race to see who produces what first.”
“And then?”
The President shrugged. “I’m very much afraid that my sense of prophecy doesn’t stretch quite that far.”
He put the paper down, studied it again for a moment, and then he asked Halwit:
“When is the first meeting set for?”
“They called me just before I came here.” Halwit looked at his watch as he spoke. “Their aliens are being flown here now. We’re to get together with them tonight at the U.N. Center as soon as they arrive. Our aliens are at the U.N. now. They have been questioned steadily by our scientists. As you know, they show a marked reluctance to release any real information until they’re all together. Of course, the Russians don’t know that, which is a definite point in our favor. The situation is critical all right, but I think we can handle it. At least if we can’t, we’ll find out soon enough.”
The heavy Russian bomber dove with a roar at La Guardia field. The pilot gunned his engines and made an initial pass at the main runway, barely thirty feet off the ground, in a grand attempt to show off his prowess as a pilot. He lifted it into an almost vertical climb at the end of the buzzing run, twisted into a tight left bank, and fish tailed down onto the runway against the wind.
The airport officials sighed in audible relief when he finally came to a halt at the far end of the runway and cut his engines. Even as the bomber’s belly hatch swung open, a bulky army van quickly backed up to the plane with its rear doors open. Under cover of the dark night, and a cordon of M.P.’s, the aliens were swung out of the plane and into the truck in specially-built slings.
“Take it easy, knucklehead!” Cakna winced as he was bumped against the truck by an overanxious soldier.
“Relax, Cakna,” Druit stretched his tentacles in relief after his confinement in the plane, “they don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“It seems to me they don’t understand much of anything!” Cakna observed sourly. “Did you see the way that dim wit flew us in here? I could fly an engine crate better than that!” “I’d venture to say that machine worship plays a large part in their religious make-up,” Drul said. “They obviously believe that the machine will protect them no matter what they do. As a result, they show a marked disregard for their own safety whenever they operate a machine.”
“It’s beyond me how these characters ever developed any kind of culture!” Cakna said as he rubbed at his bruise. “I’m no psychologist, but for my money they’re all screwballs!”
The doors of the van were slammed shut and the truck started off with a squeal of tires. So quickly had the whole operation been performed that no one outside of those present were even aware that anything of importance had occurred. Less than ten minutes after the bomber had landed, the van was bouncing off over the field—giving the three aliens a few more reasons to find fault with the crudities of the civilization—behind its motorcycle escort.
The van threaded its way through the back streets of New York with its escort, in order to avoid the public gaze as much as possible. After an hour’s travel it drove up an underground ramp in the U.N. Center at 49th Street, and pulled up to an unloading dock deep in the heart of the structure. The van doors opened and a squad of heavily armed soldiers stalked out, with rifles at port arms, to form an armed corridor down which the three aliens were wheeled in custom-built carts to the elevators. They were whisked upwards for several seconds, and then they were rolled out into a vast chamber. There were seats, vacant at the moment, built against the walls in the manner of a hospital observation hall for students. In the center of the room, like six medicine balls, sat the two “American” teams.
“There’s the skipper!” Cakna shouted; his waving tentacles caused his military escort to point their rifles nervously at his middle.
The reunion of the nine aliens left the Earthmen openmouthed and staring. Their staccato chatter and entwining of tentacles suggested mutual suicide rather than greeting; but the soldiers had been warned to leave them alone as much as possible—unless they made an aggressive move towards one of the interviewing scientists.
“Jumping Jeleval! I never expected to see you boys again!” The captain whipped his tentacles around the heads of Drul and Druit in his joy.
The three newcomers leaped off their carts and ran about the room throwing their tentacles around the heads of the other six, shouting greetings at the same time. After the first wild jubilation of their reunion died down, Cakna asked: “What about the others, the other two teams. Any word?”