"Ready and willing, doctor. Tell me what to do."
Considering that the art of diplomacy is, ultimately reduced, the system found most practical in actual use when stalling for time to rush ahead with military expansion, it is not very remarkable that the two roving delegates did what they did with such neatness. The machinery was there for them to use.
Use it they did, to the fullest extent. They shot ethers through to most of the crowned heads of the inner planet; radioed Earth confidentially meanwhile to stand by for the answers from Venus; contacted the Martian Protocol Division regarding an alliance for trade purposes alone.
They were so thoroughly efficient in their functioning that after ten hours of this the bureau chiefs back on earth fell to their knees and prayed for a let-up of this lunatic barrage of red-tape that came, unasked and unanswerable, from a minor Embassy on Mars.
Venus was bally well baffled. At first they made some pretense of replying stiffly to the muted threats from the Embassy on Mars, then gave up and hung onto the ropes, trying to decode the weird messages. It must be code, they decided. How could a message like: "Advise your F. O. investigate frog-ponds for specious abnormalities" be anything but an uncrackable cipher? They set their experts to work. The experts decided that the message meant: "All Earthmen on Venus are advised to sabotage production machinery and destroy records." But they were wrong as they could be, for the message meant just what it said. Its value was on its face.
The consulate and the staff were drafted by the Embassy to aid in the good work of confusion; the Ambassador himself sat for ten hours writing out messages to be sent officially which bore absolutely no relation to each other or the world at large. And if you think that sounds easy—try it!
Meanwhile the inseparables, Mr. Weems and Dr. Carewe, had been separated. The woman was gathering data from the Martian libraries and Weems was paying social calls at the Palace, interviewing secretaries without number. Meanwhile, authentic, distressing news-releases kept rushing to him, causing him great pain. First thing after the ultimatum he heard was that Earth had called in all spacers except those related to navigation—fueling stations, etc. Venus retaliated in like, and furthermore towed out the gigantic battle-islands, used to fuel fighting ships. Earth retaliated in like, and furthermore began skirmishing war games around mid-way between Terra and Luna.
By the time the ten hours of lunatic messages were elapsed the two great fleets of Earth and Venus were face to face mid-way between the planets, waiting for orders from the home-planets to fire when ready.
"For the love of Heaven," he pleaded with a secretary to the Karfiness, "they won't even wait for the ultimatum to elapse. There's going to be a space-war in two hours if I don't get to see her Serene Tentaculosity!" The title he bestowed on her was sheer whimsy; he wasn't half as upset as he was supposed to be. It was all for effect. He rushed away, distrait by the information that he couldn't possibly see the Karfiness and aware that the munitions interests of Mars would by now be rubbing their chelae with glee.