Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [12]
“Only informally,” Harris-Ferrolk admitted. “Remember that they were as surprised to encounter us at Argus as we were to see them. They no more had diplomats on board their vessel than we did on board the Chagos. Both our ship and theirs were on journeys of exploration. But it was felt by them that contact would be expedited if some of their people returned with us to present themselves to the rest of humankind.”
“Expedited isn’t the word.” Al-Namqiz gestured in the direction of the door, against which the representatives of the media continued to throw themselves like seals heaving themselves up onto a beach. “As soon as they are presented on the tridee, there’s going to be a frenzy of volunteers to go and ‘visit’ Pitar. Or accommodate their representatives here.”
“We know.” Pranchavit smiled thinly. “Most of our waking hours may be devoted to our research and the rest of our work, but my colleagues and I are not strangers to the human condition. We have been just as affected by their appearance as you all were when they stepped down from the shuttle. They are forthright and accommodating, but somewhat shy. They are willing to cooperate in mutual studies and learning, but only via formal, academic, accredited channels. They have no desire to stroll casually among us, or to allow us to do so among them. At least, that is the situation as it was explained to us. Whether it will change in the future or whether that is a firm and unalterable expression of the Pitarian social ethos it is much too early to say.”
“When can you introduce us to them?” The face of the youngest member of the diplomatic team was alert and anxious.
In lieu of Pranchavit’s sigh, Harris-Ferrolk responded. “We understand your eagerness. Following the usual final medical checks they must be officially welcomed and then queried. All this they have readily agreed to.” He eyed the junior staff member sternly. “We must insist that they be treated no differently than the representatives of any other sapient species, such as the Quillp or the thranx.”
“The thranx!” Someone in the back hooted in a reflexively derisive manner.
“Sure,” another staff member murmured. “I’ll treat them just like I would a thranx. Especially the one with the turquoise hair and the—”
“Quiet, all of you!” Turning in his seat, al-Namqiz glared at his clustered staff. “Difficult as it may be, we will do exactly as Mr. Harris-Ferrolk says. You are all of you professionals. Or at least, I have been given to believe that is the case. A position in a different service can readily be found for anyone who prefers to demonstrate otherwise.” For the first time since the visiting scientist-explorers had arrived, there was complete silence in the conference room.
“That’s better.” The ambassador turned back to the grateful researchers. “If there is anything we need to know before commencing official interaction, however disagreeable or difficult it might be, I will rely on you to inform us and we will deal with it accordingly. Your work must be the foundation upon which we build our relations with these people. Thranx or Pitar, Quillp or anything else, the government of Earth and its colonies treats equally with all other intelligences.” For the second time he glared at his staff. “Anyone here have a problem with that?” A single strained, uneasy cough was the only response. “Thank you.”
Rising from his seat, he smiled at the three scientists and gestured toward the door. “Gentlemen and lady, if you will lead the way, we will make an attempt to deal with what I expect is by now a rapidly swelling and frenziedly impatient clutch of representatives of the world and off-world media. Meanwhile the immigration and medical people will have a chance to complete their work, and then you may introduce me to our newest interstellar friends. I would appreciate any additional information you can give me that might aid in my dealing with the media, not to mention the government, and that might facilitate the subsequent exchanges between myself, my staff, and our visitors.”
It was not