“Oh, well, Theseus.” Hebster spread his manicured hands. “I’m a businessman.”
“You’re a businessman,” S.S. Lusitania agreed, getting to her feet stealthily and taking a great swipe with both hands at something invisible in front of her face. “And here, in this spot, at this moment, so are we. You can have what we’ve brought, but you’ll pay for it. And don’t think you can cheat us.”
Her hands, cupped over each other, came down to her waist. She pulled them apart suddenly and a tiny eagle fluttered out. It flapped toward the fluorescent panels glowing in the ceiling. Its flight was hampered by the heavy, striped shield upon its breast, by the bunch of arrows it held in one claw, by the olive branch it grasped with the other. It turned its miniature bald head and gasped at Algernon Hebster, then began to drift rapidly down to the rug. Just before it hit the floor, it disappeared.
Hebster shut his eyes, remembering the strip of bunting that had fallen from the eagle’s beak when it had turned to gasp. There had been words printed on the bunting, words too small to see at the distance, but he was sure the words would have read “E Pluribus Unum.” He was as certain of that as he was of the necessity of acting unconcerned over the whole incident, as unconcerned as the Primeys. Professor Kleimbocher said Primeys were mental drunkards. But why did they give everyone else the D.T.s?
He opened his eyes. “Well,” he said, “what have you to sell?”
Silence for a moment. Theseus seemed to forget the point he was trying to make; S.S. Lusitania stared at Larry.
Larry scratched his right side through heavy, stinking cloth.
“Oh, an infallible method for defeating anyone who attempts to apply the reductio ad absurdum to a reasonable proposition you advance.” He yawned smugly and began scratching his left side.
Hebster grinned because he was feeling so good. “No. Can’t use it.”
“Can’t use it?” The old man was trying hard to look amazed. He shook his head. He stole a sideways glance at S.S. Lusitania.
She smiled again and wriggled to the floor. “Larry still isn’t talking a language you can understand, Mr. Hebster,” she cooed, very much like a fertilizer factory being friendly. “We came here with something we know you need badly. Very badly.”
“Yes?” They’re like those two Primeys last month, Hebster exulted: they don’t know what’s good and what isn’t. Wonder if their masters would know. Well, and if they did —who does business with Aliens?
“We… have,” she spaced the words carefully, trying pathetically for a dramatic effect, “a new shade of red, but not merely that. Oh, no! A new shade of red, and a full set of color values derived from it! A complete set of color values derived from this one shade of red, Mr. Hebster! Think what a non-objectivist painter can do with such a—”
“Don’t sell me, lady. Theseus, do you want to have a go now?”
Theseus had been frowning at the green foundation of the desk. He leaned back, looking satisfied. Hebster realized abruptly that the tension under his right foot had disappeared. Somehow, Theseus had become cognizant of the signal-spring set in the floor; and, somehow, he had removed it.
He had disintegrated it without setting off the alarm to which it was wired.
Giggles from three Primey throats and a rapid exchange of “gabble-honk.” Then they all knew what Theseus had done and how Hebster had tried to protect himself. They weren’t angry, though—and they didn’t sound triumphant. Try to understand Primey behavior!
No need to get unduly alarmed—the price of dealing with these characters was a nervous stomach. The rewards, on the other hand—
Abruptly, they were businesslike again.
Theseus snapped out his suggestion with all the finality of a bazaar merchant making his last, absolutely the last offer. “A set of population indices which can be correlated with—”
“No, Theseus,” Hebster told him gently.
Then, while Hebster sat back and enjoyed, temporarily forgetting the missing coil under his foot, they poured out more, desperately, feverishly, weaving in and out of each other’s sentences.
“A portable neutron stabilizer for high altit—”
“More than fifty ways of saying ‘however’ without—”
“… So that every housewife can do an entrechat while cook—”
“… Synthetic fabric with the drape of silk and manufactura—”
“… Decorative pattern for bald heads using the follicles as—”
“… Complete and utter refutation of all pyramidologists from—”
“All right!” Hebster roared, “All right! That’s enough!”
Greta Seidenheim almost forgot herself and sighed with relief. Her stenographic machine had been sounding like a centrifuge.
“Now,” said the executive. “What do you want in exchange?”
“One of those we said is the one you want, eh?” Larry muttered. “Which one—the pyramidology refutation? That’s it, I betcha.”
S.S. Lusitania waved her hands contemptuously. “Bishop’s miters, you fool! The new red color values excited him. The new—”
Ruth’s voice came over the communicator. “Mr. Hebster, Yost and Funatti are back. I stalled them, but I just received word from the lobby receptionist that they’re back and on their way upstairs. You have two minutes, maybe three. And they’re so mad they almost look like Firsters themselves!”
“Thanks. When they climb out of the elevator, do what you can without getting too illegal.” He turned to his guests. “Listen—”
They had gone off again.
“Gabble, gabble, honk, honk, honk? Gabble, honk, gabble, gabble! Gabble, honk, gabble, honk, gabble, honk, honk.”
Could they honestly make sense out of these throat-clearings and half-sneezes? Was it really a language as superior to all previous languages of man as… as the Aliens were supposed to be to man himself? Well, at least they could communicate with the Aliens by means of it. And the Aliens, the Aliens—
He recollected abruptly the two angry representatives of the world state who were hurtling towards his office.
“Listen, friends. You came here to sell. You’ve shown me your stock, and I’ve seen something I’d like to buy. What exactly is immaterial. The only question now is what you want for it. And let’s make it fast. I have some other business to transact.”
The woman with the dental nightmare stamped her foot. A cloud no larger than a man’s hand formed near the ceiling, burst and deposited a pail full of water on Hebster’s fine custom-made rug.
He ran a manicured forefinger around the inside of his collar so that his bulging neck veins would not burst. Not right now, anyway. He looked at Greta and regained confidence from the serenity with which she waited for more conversation to transcribe. There was a model of business precision for you. The Primeys might pull what one of them had in London two years ago, before they were barred from all metropolitan areas—increased a housefly’s size to that of an elephant—and Greta Seidenheim would go on separating fragments of conversation into the appropriate short-hand symbols.
With all their power, why didn’t they take what they wanted? Why trudge wearisome miles to cities and attempt to smuggle themselves into illegal audiences with operators like Hebster, when most of them were caught easily and sent back to the reservation and those that weren’t were cheated unmercifully by the “straight” humans they encountered? Why didn’t they just blast their way in, take their weird and pathetic prizes and toddle back to their masters? For that matter, why didn’t their masters—But Primey psych was Primey psych—not for this world, nor of it.
“We’ll tell you what we want in exchange,” Larry began in the middle of a honk. He held up a hand on which the length of the fingernails was indicated graphically by the grime beneath them and began to tot up the items, bending a digit for each item. “First, a hundred paper-bound copies of Melville’s Moby Dick. Then, twenty-five crystal radio sets, with earphones; two earphones for each set. Then, two Empire State Buildings or three Radio Cities, whichever is more convenient. We want those with foundations intact. A reasonably good copy of the Hermes statue by Praxiteles. And an electric toaster, circa 1941. That’s about all, isn’t it, Theseus?”
Theseus bent over until his nose rested against his knees.
Hebster groaned. The list wasn’t as bad as he’d expected—remarkable the way their masters always yearned for the electric gadgets and artistic achievements of Earth—but he had so little time to bargain with them. Two Empire State Buildings!
“Mr. Hebster,” his receptionist chattered over the communicator. “Those SIC men—I managed to get a crowd out in the corridor to push toward their elevator when it came to this floor, and I’ve locked the… I mean I’m trying to… but I don’t think—Can you—”
“Good girl! You’re doing fine!”
“Is that all we want, Theseus?” Larry asked again. “Gabble?”