"You
are
Moral, aren't you?" demanded the newcomer, as he came up to them. His English was impeccable. He bowed to the humans—or at least he inclined the top half of his body toward them. Mike, a little uncertainly, nodded back. "I'm Arrjhanik."
"Oh, yes . . . yes," said Moral. "The Greeter. These are the humans, Mike Wellsbauer and Peony Matsu. May I . . . how do you put it . . . present Arrjhanik a Bin. He is a Siniloid, one of the Confederation's older races."
"So honored," said Arrjhanik.
"We're both very pleased to meet you," said Mike, feeling on firmer ground. There were rules for
this
kind of alien contact.
"Would you . . . could you come right now?" Arrjhanik appealed to the humans. "I'm sorry to prevent you from seeing the rest of the museum at this time"—Mike frowned; and his eyes narrowed a little—"but a rather unhappy situation has come up. One of our Confederate heads—the leader of one of the races that make up our Confederation—is dying. And he would like to see you before . . . you understand."
"Of course," said Mike.
"If we had known in advance—But it comes rather suddenly on the Adrii—" Arrjhanik led them off toward the entrance of the building and they stepped out into sunlight again. He led them back to the transporter from which they had just emerged.
"Wait a minute," said Mike, stopping. "We aren't going back to Tolfi, are we?"
"Oh, no. No," put in Moral from close behind him. "We're going to the Chamber of Deputies." He gave Mike a gentle push; and a moment later they had stepped through into a small and pleasant room half-filled with a dozen or so beings each so different one from the other that Mike had no chance to sort them out and recognize individual characteristics.
Arrjhanik led them directly to the one piece of furniture in the room which appeared to be a sort of small table incredibly supported by a single wire-thin leg at one of the four corners. On the surface of this lay a creature or being not much bigger than a seven-year-old human child and vaguely catlike in form. It lay on its side, its head supported a little above the table's surface by a cube of something transparent but apparently not particularly soft, and large colorless eyes in its head focused on Mike and Penny as they approached.
Mike looked down at the small body. It showed no signs of age, unless the yellowish-white of the thin hair covering its body was a revealing shade. Certainly the hair itself seemed brittle and sparse.
The Adri—or whatever the proper singular was—stirred its head upon its transparent pillow and its pale eyes focused on Mike and Penny. A faint, drawn out rattle of noise came from it.
"He says," said Arrjhanik, at Mike's elbow, "'You cannot refuse. It is not in you.'"
"Refuse what?" demanded Mike, sharply. But the head of the Adri lolled back suddenly on its pillow and the eyes filmed and glazed. There was a little murmur that could have been something reverential from all the beings standing about; and without further explanation the body of the being that had just died thinned suddenly to a ghostly image of itself, and was gone.
"It was the Confederation," said Arrjhanik, "that he knew you could not refuse."
"Now wait a minute," said Mike. He swung about so that he faced them all, his stocky legs truculently apart. "Now, listen—you people are acting under a misapprehension. I can't accept or refuse anything. I haven't the authority. I'm just an explorer, nothing more."
"No, no," said Arrjhanik, "there's no need for you to say that you accept or not, and speak for your whole race. That is a formality. Besides, we know you will not refuse, you humans. How could you?"
"You might be surprised," said Mike. Penny hastily jogged his elbow.
"Temper!" she whispered. Mike swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded more reasonable.
"You'll have to bear with me," he said. "As I say, I'm an explorer, not a diplomat. Now, what did you all want to see me about?"
"We wanted to see you only for our own pleasure," said Arrjhanik. "Was that wrong of us? Oh, and yes—to tell you that if there is anything you want, anything the Confederation can supply you, of course you need only give the necessary orders—"
"It is so good to have you here," said one of the other beings.
A chorus of voices broke out in English all at once, and the aliens crowded around. One large, rather walruslike alien offered to shake hands with Mike, and actually did so in a clumsy manner.
"Now, wait. Wait!" roared Mike. The room fell silent. The assembled aliens waited, looking at him in an inquiring manner.
"Now, listen to me!" snapped Mike. "And answer one simple question. What is all this you're trying to give to us humans?"
"Why, everything," said Arrjhanik. "Our worlds, our people, are yours. Merely ask for what you want. In fact—please ask. It would make us feel so good to serve you, few though you are at the moment here."
"Yes," said the voice of Moral, from the background. "If you'll forgive me speaking up in this assemblage—they asked for nothing back on Tolfi, and I was forced to exercise my wits for things to supply them with. I'm afraid I may have botched the job."
"I sincerely hope not," said Arrjhanik, turning to look at the Tolfian. Moral ducked his head, embarrassedly.
"Mike," said Arrjhanik, turning back to the human, "something about all this seems to bother you. If you would just tell us what it is—"
"All right," said Mike. "I will." He looked around at all of them. "You people are all being very generous. In fact, you're being so generous it's hard to believe. Now, I accept the fact that you may have had contact with other groups of humans before us. There's been speculation back on our home world that our race might have originated elsewhere in the galaxy, and that would mean there might well be other human groups in existence we don't even know of. But even assuming that you may have reached all possible limits of love and admiration for the humans you once knew, it still doesn't make sense that you would be willing to just make us a gift of all you possess, to bow down to a people who—we're not blind, you know—possess only a science that is childlike compared with your own."
To Mike's surprise, the reaction to this little speech was a murmur of admiration from the group.
"So analytical. So very human!" said the walruslike alien warmly in tones clearly pitched to carry to Mike's ear.
"Indeed," said Arrjhanik, "we understand your doubts. You are concerned about what, in our offer, is . . . you have a term for it—"
"The catch," said Mike grimly and bluntly. "What's the catch?"
"The catch. Yes," said Arrjhanik. "You have to excuse me. I've only been speaking this language of yours for—"
"Just the last day or so, I know," said Mike, sourly.
"Well, no. Just for the last few hours, actually. But—" went on Arrjhanik, "while there's no actual way of putting your doubts to rest, it really doesn't matter. More of your people are bound to come. They will find our Confederation open and free to all of them. In time they will come to believe. It would be presumptuous of us to try to convince you by argument."
"Well, just suppose you try it anyway," said Mike, unaware that his jaw was jutting out in a manner which could not be otherwise than belligerent
"But we'd be only too happy to!" cried Arrjhanik, enthusiastically. "You see"—he placed a hand or paw, depending on how you looked at it, gently on Mike's arm—"all that we have nowadays, we owe to our former humans. This science you make such a point of—they developed it in a few short thousand years. The Confederation was organized by them. Since they've been gone—"
"Oh, yes," interrupted Mike. "Just how did they go? Mind telling me that?"
"The strain—the effort of invention and all, was too much for them," said Arrjhanik, sadly. He shook his head. "Ah," he said, "they were a great people—you
are
a great people, you humans. Always striving, always pushing, never giving up. We others are but pale shadows of your kind. I am afraid, Mike, that your cousins worked themselves to death, and for our sake. So you see, when you think we are giving you something that is ours, we are really just returning what belongs to you, after all."
"Very pretty," said Mike. "I don't believe it. No race could survive who just gave everything away for nothing. And somewhere behind all this is the catch I spoke of. That's what you're not telling me—what all of you will be getting out of it, by turning your Confederation over to us."
"But . . . now I understand!" cried Arrjhanik. "You
didn't
understand.
We
are the ones who will be getting. You humans will be doing all the giving. Surely you should know that! It's your very nature that ensures that, as our friend who just died, said. You humans can't help yourselves, you can't keep from it!"
"Keep from what?" yelled Mike, throwing up his hands in exasperation."
"Why," said Arrjhanik, "I was sure you understood. Why from assuming all authority and responsibility, from taking over the hard and dirty job of running our Confederation and making it a happy, healthy place for us all to live, safe and protected from any enemies.
That
is what all the rest of us have been saddled with these thousands of years since that other group of your people died; and I can't tell you"—Arrjhanik, his eyes shining, repeated his last words strongly and emphatically—"I can't tell you how badly things have gone to pot, and how very, very glad we are to turn it all over to you humans, once again!"