The Last Theorem

46 DEAL-MAKING

Since important decisions were to be made, some eighteen or twenty of the visitors from space were crowded together—Nine-Limbeds and One Point Fives alike, even including a couple of the Machine-Stored who were the armada’s pilots. The place they were in had once been the equivalent of an admiral’s bridge for the One Point Fives’ invading armada. Now it was the approximate equivalent of a Kremlin or an Oval Office. The crowding was distasteful to the One Point Fives, since most of them were wearing only the minimal protective garb and thus were more exposed than ever before to the sounds, sights, and smells of all these others.

Of all the One Point Fives, the one least happy with all those unwanted sensory inputs was the one charged with keeping them out of trouble. Her official title was “Identifier of Undesirable Outcomes,” but she was usually called just “Worrier.” Actually, what Worrier disliked most of all was being compelled to sit through a lecture on antique human technology as delivered by the chief arbitrator of the Nine-Limbeds. When you came right down to it, Worrier didn’t really care for Nine-Limbeds in any relationship, especially one that might involve touching their nasty little ninth limbs. But sometimes she had no choice.

The bit of human gadget-building they were now being taught was quite important to the humans. Actually, it was not uningenious, Worrier admitted to herself. Water would come from the sea, drop to the floor of Qattara, and there turn turbines to generate electricity. “And this electricity,” Worrier said to the speaker for the Nine-Limbeds, “is what these creatures want?”

The Nine-Limbed said, “It is what you promised them. I have a copy of the agreement if you wish to see it.”

The creature was actually holding out a data rod in its manipulating limb. Worrier shuddered and moved a bit away. Since she did not want these negotiations to fail, she offered a more constructive comment: “When you first proposed this,” she said, “I thought you were considering teaching them the harvesting of vacuum energy as we do it. I am glad we aren’t doing that. When the Grand Galactics come back, it might anger them.”

The Nine-Limbed did not respond. Worrier pressed. “And this matter of what they call the categorical imperative?”

The Nine-Limbed covered a yawn. “It is how these creatures wish to run their planet. They want us to do the same. And actually”—it leveled its ninth limb at one of the Machine-Stored pilots, who was following the conversation with his own Nine-Limbed translator—“some technology transfer has already begun.”

Worrier, who knew that quite well, sighed. “And when the Grand Galactics come back, what will we tell them?”

The Nine-Limbed gave her an impatient hiss. “They will return one second from now, perhaps, or in ten thousand years. Time is not the same for them. You know the Grand Galactics.”

Worrier gazed at the Nine-Limbed in silence for a moment. Then, shivering inside her light armor, she said, “Actually, we don’t know them at all. However, having no better alternative, we accept the proposal. And, if we are lucky, by the time the Grand Galactics come back, we may all be dead.”

Before Worrier would come back into the command center, she insisted that it be flushed with ionized gases. Even so she paused in the doorway to sniff before entering.

This caused the other occupants to do the One Point Five equivalent of exchanging amused smiles. The one called Manager, however, was the only one who spoke up. “They are gone, Worrier,” he called to her. “Even their smells are gone. There is no longer anything to be afraid of.”

Worrier gave him a reproving look as she took her seat. But he was, after all, not only her superior in the One Point Five hierarchy but, when possible, her mate. “You know I am not afraid of the Nine-Limbeds,” she informed him and, even more, the others in the room. “Would you like me to tell you why I dislike them?”

Manager said meekly, “Please do, Worrier.”

“It is not because of their offensive odor,” she said, “and not because their ninth limb, which is their organ for manipulating things, is also their sexual organ. These things are unpleasant. Sometimes they even use that limb to touch me, which is offensive. But they cannot help their biology, can they?”

“No, Worrier, they cannot,” Manager confirmed, and there were shrill hisses of agreement from the others in the room.

“What they can help, however, is the way in which we can teach and mentor the aborigines of this planet as they grow to be as civilized as we are. We can no longer accept that all our dealings with them must be through the Nine-Limbeds, since only they can speak their languages.”

The hisses abruptly dried up. Even Manager was silent for a moment before venturing, “Our superiors do not want us to be able to talk to other races directly. That is why only the Nine-Limbeds have been authorized language skills.”

Worrier was steadfast. “But our superiors are not here now. We have only one proper course for the future. We must begin at once to learn human languages…. Or would you prefer that when these human beings grow up they take after the Nine-Limbeds instead of us?”