The Rargyllian answered, "Permit me to say, sir, that by putting it into 'more usual language' you have missed the meaning. I have been discussing it with her in her own tongue."
"Eh? Has she learned so quickly?"
"She has long known it. The Hroshii, Mr. Under Secretary, know their own language almost from the shell. One may speculate that this use of language almost on the instinctive level is one reason, perhaps the reason, why they find other languages difficult and never learn to use them well. The Hroshia speaks your language hardly as well as one of your four-year-old children, though I understand that she began acquiring it one of your generations ago. But in her own language she is scathingly fluent... so I learned, much to my sorrow."
"So? Well, let her talk. Words can't hurt us."
"She has talked... she has given orders to the commander of the expedition to recover her pet at once. Otherwise, she states, she will remain here and continue raising 'John Thomases.'"
"And," Greenberg added, "the commander has handed us an ultimatum to produce John Thomas Stuart at once... or else."
"'Or else' meaning what I think it means?" Kiku answered slowly.
"The works," Greenberg said simply. "Now that I've seen their ground craft I'm not sure but what they can."
"You must understand, sir," Ftaeml added earnestly, "that the commander is as distressed as you are. But he must attempt to carry out the wishes of the Hroshia. This mating was planned more than two thousand of your years ago; they will not give it up lightly. He cannot allow her to remain... nor can he force her to leave. He is very much upset."
"Aren't we all?" Mr. Kiku took out two more pills. "Dr. Ftaeml, I have a message for your principals. Please convey it exactly."
"I shall, sir."
"Please tell them that their ultimatum is rejected with contempt. Please..."
"Sir! I beg of you!"
"Attend me. Tell them that and do not soften it. Tell them that we tried in every way to help them, that we succeeded, and that they have answered kindness with threats. Tell them that their behavior is unworthy of civilized people and that the invitation to join the Community of Civilizations is withdrawn. Tell them that we spit in their faces... find an idiom of equal strength.. Tell them that free men may die, but they are never bullied."
Greenberg was grinning widely and clasping both hands in the ancient sign of approval. Dr. Ftaeml seemed to grow pale under his outer chitin.
"Sir," he said, "I greatly regret being required to deliver this message."
Kiku smiled icily. "Deliver it as given. But before you do, find opportunity to speak to the Hroshia Lummox. You can do so?"
"Most assuredly, sir."
"Tell her that the commander of the expedition, in his zeal, seems bent on killing the human, John Thomas Stuart. See that she understands what is threatened."
The Rargyllian arranged his mouth in a broad smile. "Forgive me, sir; I underestimated you. Both messages will be delivered, in the proper order."
"That is all."
"Your good health, sir." The Rargyllian turned to Greenberg, put a loose-jointed arm around his shoulders. "My brother Sergei, we have already found our way together out of one tight maze. Now, with the help of your spiritual father, we shall find our way out of another. Eh?"
"Right, Doc."
Ftaeml left. Kiku turned to Greenberg and said, "Get the Stuart boy here. Get him at once, yourself, personally. Umm... bring his mother, too. He's under age, isn't he?"
"Yes. Boss, what's the plan? You aren't going to turn him over to them?... after that wonderful kick in the teeth you handed them?"
"Of course I am. But on my own terms. I don't intend to let those animated pool tables think they can push us around, We'll use this to get what we want. Now get going!"
"I'm gone."
Mr. Kiku stayed at his desk, checking papers with part of his mind while letting his subconscious feel out the problem of Lummox. He had a strong hunch that tide was at flood... for humans. It was necessary to judge how to ride it. He was in this revery when the door opened and the Most Honorable Mr. Roy MacClure walked in. "There you are, Henry! Pull yourself together, man... Beulah Murgatroyd is coming to call."
"Beulah who?"
"Beaulah Murgatroyd. The Beulah Murgatroyd."
"Should I know?"
"What? Man, don't you ever watch stereovision?"
"Not if I can possibly avoid it."
MacClure shook his head indulgently. "Henry, you don't get around enough. You bury yourself in here and push your little buttons and don't even know what is going on in the world."
"Possibly."
"Positively. You're out of touch, man... it's a good thing you don't have to deal with people."
Mr. Kiku permitted himself a wintry smile, "I suppose so."
"I'll bet you three to one you don't know who is ahead in the World Series."
"The World Series? That's baseball, isn't it? I'm sorry but I haven't even had time to follow the cricket matches of late years."
"See what I mean? Though how you can mention cricket in the same breath with baseball... Never mind. Since you don't know who the famous Beulah Murgatroyd is, I'll tell you. She's Pidgie-Widgie's mother, so to speak."
"'Pidgie-Widgie'?" Mr. Kiku echoed.
"You're pulling my leg. The creator of the PidgieWidgie stories for children. You know-Pidgie-Widgie on the Moon, Pidgie-Widgie Goes to Mars, Pidgie-Widgie and the Space Pirates."
"I'm afraid I don't."
"That's hard to believe. But you don't have any kids, do you?"
"Three."
But Mr. MacClure was still talking. "Now she's taken Pidgie-Widgie on the air and it's really something. For the kids of course but so comical that the grown-ups follow it, too. You see, Pidgie-Widgie is a puppet about a foot high. He goes zooming through space, rescuing people and blasting pirates and having a grand ole time... the kids love him. And at the end of each installment Mrs. Murgatroyd comes on and they have a bowl of Hunkies together and talk. You like Hunkies?"
Mr. Kiku shuddered. "No."
"Well, you can just pretend to eat them, I suppose. But it is the biggest breakfast-food show on the air, reaches everybody."
"And this is important?"
"Important? Man, do you know how many people eat breakfast every morning?"
"No. Not too many, I hope. I wish I had not."
Mr. MacClure glanced at his watch. "We'll have to hurry. The technicians are setting up the gear now. She'll be here any moment."
"Technicians?"
"Didn't I say? Mrs. Murgatroyd will interview us, with Pidgie-Widgie in her lap and taking part. Then they'll patch it into the show. A wonderful boost for the department."
"No!"
"Eh? Mr. Kiku, did I understand you correctly?"
"Mr. Secretary," Mr. Kiku said tensely, "I couldn't possibly do that. I... I'm subject to stage fright."
"What? Why, that's absurd! You helped me open the Triangular Conference. You spoke without notes for thirty minutes."
"That's different. That's shop talk, with other professionals."
The Secretary frowned. "I hate to insist, if it really makes you nervous. But Mrs. Murgatroyd asked for you especially. You see..." MacClure looked mildly embarrassed. '... Pidgie-Widgie preaches racial tolerance and so forth. Brothers under the skin... the sort of thing we all want to encourage. So?"
Mr. Kiku said fimly, "I'm sorry."
"Come now! Surely you're not going to force me to insist?"
"Mr. Secretary," Kiku answered quietly, "you will find that my job description does not require me to be a stereovision actor. If you will give me a written order, I will submit it to our legal bureau for opinion, then answer you officially."
Mr. MacClure frowned. "Henry, you can be a stubborn little beast, can't you? I wonder how you got so high in the heap?"