"I see," said Weems thoughtfully. "But how is it that you, the A pilot on a freighter, are their Plenipotentiary without even identification?"
"As a matter of fact," confessed the Jovian with some hesitation, "I was given a note, but it seems to be lost. Do things like that really matter?"
"They do," said Weems solemnly. "But you were saying—?"
"Yes. They chose a freight pilot to avoid taking a man off real work. It's our principle of the Economization of Kinesis. Without its operation we'd have all sorts of superfluous men who did only half a man's work. And do not forget that to a people of only fifty millions that is no small matter. We need every man all the time."
"As to the treaty necessary," said the woman, "would you prefer it to be secret or published?"
"Secret," promptly replied the Jovian. "It'll be more fun that way."
Up dashed a very young sub-attache from the Earth Embassy. "Excuse me," he shrilled, his voice breaking. "But you have to come at once. It's important as—as the very devil, sir, if you will excuse—" He found himself addressing empty air and an amused Jovian. The two Earthpeople had flown to their sand car. They had been waiting for the summons.
The Ambassador was waiting for them, grim and white. He was no fool, this Ambassador; his punishment for that was the dusty job on Mars instead of an office on Terra. He had just removed the ear-phone clamps, they saw; the diplomatic receiver set was on his desk.
Without waiting for a question from them he said: "The good word is—ultimatum."