be interested to know that I happen to be theauthor of all that 'spiritual gup.' I wrote the handbook--as a serviceto Fizbus, I might point out. I wasn't paid for it."
"Oh, dear!" Tarb said. "Oh, _dear_! I really and truly am sorry, Stet."
He brushed her apologies aside. "Answer that letter. Ignore the questionabout deportation entirely." He ran a foot through his crest. "Just tellthe fellow to see our personnel manager. We could use a chef in thecompany dining room. Haven't tasted a decent celestial ragout--at aprice I could afford--since I left Fizbus."
"Would you want me to print that reply in the column?" she asked. "'Ifyou lose your job because you're unfamiliar with Terrestrial customs,come to the _Times_. We'll give you another job at a much lowersalary.'"
"Of course not! Send your answer directly to him. You don't think we putany of those letters you've been answering in the column, do you? Or anythat come in at all, for that matter. I have to write all the lettersthat are printed--and answer them myself."
"I should have recognized the style," Tarb said. "So this is the servicethe _Times_ offers to its subscribers. Nothing that would be of help.Nothing that could prevent other Fizbians from making the same mistake.Nothing that could be controversial. Nothing that would helpTerrestrials to understand us. Nothing, in short, but a lot ofbirdseed!"
"Impertinence!" Miss Snow remarked. "You shouldn't let her talk to youlike that, Mr. Zarnon."
"Tarb!" Stet roared, casting an impatient glance at Miss Snow. "How dareyou talk to me in that way? And all this is none of your business,anyway."
"I'm a Fizbian," she stated, "and it certainly is my business. I'm notashamed of having wings. I'm proud of them and sorry for people whodon't have them. And, by the stars, I'm going to fly. If skirts areimproper to wear for flying, then I can wear slacks. I saw them in aTerrestrial fashion magazine and they're perfectly respectable."
"Not for working hours," Miss Snow sniffed.
"I have no intention of flying during working hours," Tarb snapped back."Even you should be able to see that the ceiling's much too low."
Stet ran a foot through his crest again. "I hate to say this, Tarb, butI don't feel you're the right person for this job. You mean well, I'msure, but you're too--too inflexible."
"You mean I have principles," she retorted, "and you don't." Whichwasn't entirely true; he had principles--it was just that they wereunprincipled.
"That will be enough, Tarb," he said sternly. "You'd better go now whileI think this over. I'd hate to send you back to Fizbus, becauseI'd--well, I'd miss you. On the other hand...."
Tarb went back to her office and drafted a long interstel to a cousin onFizbus, explaining what she would like for a birthday present. "Andsend it special delivery," she concluded, "because I am having an urgentand early birthday."
* * * * *
"Tarb Morfatch!" Stet howled, a few months later. "What on Earth are youdoing?"
"Dictating into my scripto," Tarb said cheerfully. "Some of the boysfrom the print shop helped fix it up for me. They were very nice aboutit, too, considering that the superscriptos will probably throw them outof work. You know, Stet, Terrestrials can be quite decent people."
"Where did you get that scripto?"
"Cousin Mylfis sent it to me for my birthday. I must have complainedabout wearing out my claws on a typewriter and he didn't understand thatscriptos won't work on Earth. Only they do." She beamed at her employer."All it needed was a transformer. I guess you're just not mechanicallyminded, Stet."
He clenched his feet. "Tarb, Terrestrials aren't ready for ourtechnology. You've done a very unwise thing in having that scripto sentto you. And I've done a very unwise thing in keeping you here against mybetter judgment."
"Maybe the Terrestrials aren't ready," she said, ignoring his lastremark, "but I'm not going to wear my feet to the bone if I can get agadget that'll do the same thing with no expenditure of physicalenergy." She placed a foot on his. "I don't see how a thing like thiscould possibly corrupt the Terrestrials, Stet. It's made a better,brighter girl out of me already."
"Hear, hear!" said Drosmig hoarsely from his perch.
"Shut up, Senbot. You just don't understand, Tarb. If you'll only--"
"But I'm afraid I do understand, Stet. And I won't send my scriptoback."
"May I come in?" Miss Snow tapped lightly on the door frame. "Is what Ihear true?"
"About the scripto?" Tarb asked. "It certainly is. All you have to do istalk into it and the words appear on the paper. Guess that makes youobsolete, doesn't it, Miss Snow?"
"And high time, too," commented Drosmig. "Never liked the old biddy."
"Senbot...." Stet began, and stopped. "Oh, what's the use trying to talkreasonably to either of you! Tarb, come back to my office with me."
She could not refuse and so she followed. Miss Snow, torn betweencuriosity and the scripto, hesitated and then made after them.
"I've decided to take you off the column--for this morning, anyway--andsend you on an outside assignment," Stet told Tarb. "The consul's wifeis coming to Earth today. Once she heard there was another woman onTerra, nothing could stop her. Consul seems to think it's my fault,too," he added moodily. "Won't believe I had nothing to do with hiringyou. I told the Home Office not to send a woman, that she'd disrupt theoffice, and you sure as hell have."
"But I thought you said in your letters that you were doing everythingin your power to bring Fizbian womenfolk to their men on Terra!" Tarbpointed out malevolently.
"Yes," he confessed. "We must please our readers. You know that. Anyway,all that's irrelevant right now. What I want you to do is go meet theconsul's wife. Nice touch, having the only other Fizbian woman here bethe one to interview her. Human interest angle for the Terrestrialpapers. Shouldn't be surprised if Solar Press picked it up--they likeitems of that kind for fillers. Take Griblo along with you and make surehe has film in his camera this time."
"Yes, sir," Tarb said. "Anything you say, sir."
He pretended not to notice her sarcasm. "I have a list of the questionsyou should ask her." He fixed her with his eye. "You stick to them, doyou hear me? I don't want anything controversial." He rummaged among thepapers on his desk. "I know I had it half an hour ago. Sit down, willyou, Tarb? Stop hopping around."
"If I can't have a perch, I want a stool," Tarb said. "This is a privateoffice and I think it's a gross affectation for you to have those silly,uncomfortable chairs in it."
"If you would have your wings clipped like Mr. Zarnon's--" Miss Snowbegan before Stet could stop her.
"Stet, you _didn't_!"
His crest thrashed back and forth. "They'll grow back again and it's somuch more convenient this way. After all, I can't use them here and I dohave to associate with Terrestrials and use their equipment. The consulhas had his wings clipped also and so have several of our more prominentindustrialists--"
"Oh, _Stet_!" Tarb wailed. "I was beginning to think some pretty hardthings about you, but I wouldn't ever have dreamed you'd do anything asawful as that!"
"Why should I have to apologize to you?" he raged. "Who do you think youare, anyway? You're an incompetent little fool. I should have fired youthat first day. I've let you get away with so much only because you havea pretty face. You've only been on Earth a couple of months; how can youpresume to think you know what's good and what's bad for the Fizbianshere?"
"I may not know what's good," she retorted, "but I certainly do knowwhat's bad. And that's you, Stet--you and everything you stand for. Younot only don't have the courage of your convictions, you don't even haveany convictions. You're ashamed of being a Fizbian, ashamed of anythingthat makes Fizbians different from Terrestrials, even if it's somethingbetter, something that most Terrans would like to have. You're a damnedhypocrite, Stet Zarnon, that's what you are--professing to help ourpeople when actually you're hurting them by trying to force them intothe mold of an alien species."
She brushed back her crest. "I take it I'm fired," she said morequietl
y. "Do you want me to interview the consul's wife first or leaveright away?"
It took Stet a moment to bring his voice under