eat? Tell me how to speak to them.”
“It may take a little time. Think at them. Try to listen. It will come to you, but perhaps not right away.”
The Industrialist tried. He grimaced with the effort of it, thinking over and over again, “The youngsters were ignorant of your identity.”
And the thought was suddenly in his mind: “We were quite aware of it and because we knew they meant well by us according to their own view of the matter, we did not attempt to attack them.”
“Attack them?” thought the Industrialist, and said it aloud in his concentration.
“Why, yes,” came the answering thought. “We are armed.”
One of the revolting little creatures in the cage lifted a metal object and there was a sudden hole in the top of the cage and another in the roof of the barn, each hole rimmed with charred wood.
“We hope,” the creatures thought, “it will not be too difficult to make repairs.”
The Industrialist found it impossible to organize himself to the point of directed thought. He turned to the Astronomer. “And with that weapon in their possession they let themselves be handled and caged? I don’t understand it.”
But the calm thought came, “We would not harm the young of an intelligent species.”
XII
It was twilight. The Industrialist had entirely missed the evening meal and remained unaware of the fact.
He said, “Do you really think the ship will fly?”
“If they say so,” said the Astronomer, “I’m sure it will. They’ll be back, I hope, before too long.”
“And when they do,” said the Industrialist, energetically, “I will keep my part of the agreement. What is more I will move sky and earth to have the world accept them. I was entirely wrong, Doctor. Creatures that would refuse to harm children, under such provocation as they received, are admirable. But you know—I almost hate to say this—”
“Say what?”
“The kids. Yours and mine. I’m almost proud of them. Imagine seizing these creatures, feeding them or trying to, and keeping them hidden. The amazing gall of it. Red told me it was his idea to get a job in a circus on the strength of them. Imagine!”
The Astronomer said, “Youth!”
XIII
The Merchant said, “Will we be taking off soon?”
“Half an hour,” said the Explorer.
It was going to be a lonely trip back. All the remaining seventeen of the crew were dead and their ashes were to be left on a strange planet. Back they would go with a limping ship and the burden of the controls entirely on himself.
The Merchant said, “It was a good business stroke, not harming the young ones. We will get very good terms; very good terms.”
The Explorer thought: Business!
The Merchant then said, “They’ve lined up to see us off. All of them. You don’t think they’re too close, do you? It would be bad to burn any of them with the rocket blast at this stage of the game.”
“They’re safe.”
“Horrible-looking things, aren’t they?”
“Pleasant enough, inside. Their thoughts are perfectly friendly.”
“You wouldn’t believe it of them. That immature one, the one that first picked us up—”
“They call him Red,” provided the Explorer.
“That’s a queer name for a monster. Makes me laugh. He actually feels bad that we’re leaving. Only I can’t make out exactly why. The nearest I can come to it is something about a lost opportunity with some organization or other that I can’t quite interpret.”
“A circus,” said the Explorer, briefly.
“What? Why, the impertinent monstrosity.”
“Why not? What would you have done if you had found him wandering on your native world; found him sleeping on a field on Earth, red tentacles, six legs, pseudopods and all?”
XIV
Red watched the ship leave. His red tentacles, which gave him his nickname, quivered their regret at lost opportunity to the very last, and the eyes at their tips filled with drifting yellowish crystals that were the equivalent of Earthly tears.
Let’s Get Together
A kind of peace had endured for a century and people had forgotten what anything else was like. They would scarcely have known how to react had they discovered that a kind of war had finally come.
Certainly, Elias Lynn, Chief of the Bureau of Robotics, wasn’t sure how he ought to react when he finally found out. The Bureau of Robotics was headquartered in Cheyenne, in line with the century-old trend toward decentralization, and Lynn stared dubiously at the young Security officer from Washington who had brought the news.
Elias Lynn was a large man, almost charmingly homely, with pale blue eyes that bulged a bit. Men weren’t usually comfortable under the stare of those eyes, but the Security officer remained calm.
Lynn decided that his first reaction ought to be incredulity. Hell, it was incredulity! He just didn’t believe it!
He eased himself back in his chair and said, “How certain is the information?”
The Security officer, who had introduced himself as Ralph G. Breckenridge and had presented credentials to match, had the softness of youth about him; full lips, plump cheeks that flushed easily, and guileless eyes. His clothing was out of line with Cheyenne but it suited a universally air-conditioned Washington, where Security, despite everything, was still centered.
Breckenridge flushed and said, “There’s no doubt about it.”
“You people know all about Them, I suppose,” said Lynn and was unable to keep a trace of sarcasm out of his tone. He was not particularly aware of his use of a slightly-stressed pronoun in his reference to the enemy, the equivalent of capitalization in print. It was a cultural habit of this generation and the one preceding. No one said the “East,” or the “Reds” or the “Soviets” or the “Russians” any more. That would have been too confusing, since some of Them weren’t of the East, weren’t Reds, Soviets, and especially not Russians. It was much simpler to say We and They, and much more precise.
Travelers had frequently reported that They did the same in reverse. Over there, They were “We” (in the appropriate
