Randall Garrett - The Best Policy

“I am but a very humble member of my race,” Magruder said as a prelude—mostly to gain time. But wait! He was an extraterrestrial biologist, wasn’t he? “However,” he continued with dignity, “my profession is that of meeting alien beings. I was, I must admit, appointed to the job.”

Thagobar seemed to grow tenser. “That, in turn, suggests that you knew we were coming.”

Magruder thought for a second. It had been predicted for centuries that mankind would eventually meet an intelligent alien race.

“We have known you were coming for a long time,” he said quite calmly.

Thagobar was visibly agitated now. “In that case, you must know where our race is located in the galaxy; you must know where our home base is.”

Another tough one. Magruder looked through the wall at. Thagobar and his men standing nervously on the other side of it. “I know where you are,” he said, “and I know exactly where every one of your fellows is.”

There was sudden consternation on the other side of the wall, but Thagobar held his ground.

“What is our location then?”

For a second, Magruder thought they’d pulled the rug out from under him at last. And then he saw that there was a per feet explanation. He’d been thinking of dodging so long that he almost hadn’t seen the honest answer.

He looked at Thagobar pityingly. “Communication by voice is so inadequate. Our coordinate system would be completely unintelligible to you, and you did not teach me yours if you will recall.” Which was perfectly true; the Dal would have been foolish to teach their coordinate system to a specimen—the clues might have led to their home base. Besides, General Orders forbade it.

More conversation on the other side.

Thagobar again: “If you are in telepathic communication with your fellows, can you read our minds?”

Magruder looked at him superciliously. “I have principles, as does my race; we do not enter any mind uninvited.”

“Do the rest of your people know the location of our bases, then?” Thagobar asked plaintively.

Magruder’s voice was placid. “I assure you, Thagobar Verf, that every one of my people, on every planet belonging to our race, knows as much about your home base and its location as I do.”

Magruder was beginning to get tired of the on-and-off sound system, but he resigned himself to wait while the aliens argued among themselves.

“It has been pointed out,” Thagobar said, after a few minutes, “that it is very odd that your race has never contacted us before. Ours is a very old and powerful race, and we have taken planets throughout a full half of the galaxy, and yet, your race has never been seen nor heard of before.”

“We have a policy,” said Magruder, “of not disclosing our presence to another race until it is to our advantage to do so. Besides, we have no quarrel with your race, and we have never had any desire to take your homes away from you. Only if a race becomes foolishly and insanely belligerent do we trouble ourselves to show them our power.”

It was a long speech—maybe too long. Had he stuck strictly to the truth? A glance at Zandoplith told him; the chief psychologist had kept his beady black eyes on the needle all through the long proceedings, and kept looking more and more worried as the instrument indicated a steady flow of truth.

Thagobar looked positively apprehensive. As Magruder had become accustomed to the aliens, it had become more and more automatic to read their expressions. After all, he held one great advantage: they had made the mistake of teaching him their language. He knew them, and they didn’t know him.

Thagobar said: “Other races, then, have been… uh… punished by yours?”

“Not in my lifetime,” Magruder told him. He thought of Homo neanderthalensis and said: “There was a race, before my time, which defied us. It no longer exists.”

“Not in your lifetime? How old are you?”

“Look into your magniscreen at the planet below,” said the Earthman in a solemn tone. “When I was born, not a single one of the plants you see existed on Earth. The continents of Earth were nothing like that; the seas were entirely different.

“The Earth on which I was born had extensive ice caps; look below you, and you will see none. And yet, we have done nothing to change the planet you see; any changes that have taken place have come by the long process of geologic evolution.”

“ Gleek !” It was a queer sound that came from Thagobar’s throat just before a switch cut off the wall and the sound again.

Just like watching a movie on an old film , Magruder thought. No sound half the time, and it breaks every so often .

The wall never became transparent again. Instead, after about half an hour, it slid up silently to disclose the entire officer’s corp of the Verf standing at rigid attention.

Only Thagobar Larnimisculus Verf, Borgax of Fenigwisnok, stood at ease, and even so, his face seemed less purple than usual.

“Edwin Peter St. John Magruder,” he intoned, “as commander of this vessel, Noble of the Grand Empire, and representative of the Emperor himself, we wish to extend to you our most cordial hospitality.

“Laboring under the delusion that you represented a lower form of life, we have treated you ignominiously, and for that we offer our deepest apologies.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Magruder coolly. “The only thing that remains is for you to land your ship on our planet so that your race and mine can arrange things to our mutual happiness.” He looked at all of them. “You may relax,” he added imperiously. “And bring’ me my clothes.”

The human race wasn’t out of the hole yet; Magruder was perfectly well aware of that. Just what should be done with the ship and the aliens when they landed, he wasn’t quite sure; it would have to be left up to the decision of the President of New Hawaii and the Government of Earth. But he didn’t foresee any great difficulties.

As the Verf dropped toward the surface of New Hawaii, its commander sidled over to Magruder and said, in a troubled voice: “Do you think your people will like us?”

Magruder glanced at the lie detector. It was off.

“ Like you? Why, they’ll love you,” he said.

He was sick and tired of being honest.