"You are of course—correct," he said after a moment's pause. "And it will perhaps be best for all that we understand each other clearly from the beginning. We come to you in some embarrassment, we come to you asking a favor." The last word the leader uttered with a distaste that the best of his self-discipline could not control, and Angelo chuckled inwardly. A favor, was it? Embarrassed, were they? He could quite imagine!
"Perhaps," Angelo said, "it would be more comfortable to discuss your mission in my studio. Will you gentlemen follow me, please?"
He turned and began walking back to where the others waited, and the three men from Earth followed him. At first they balked for the briefest moment, but they followed him.
The studio of Angelo, Dean of Masters, was open to the sky like his court-yard, for this was the fair season on Ste. Catherine in this latitude, and not yet time to draw the transparent tarpaulin skylight across the tops of the studio walls. Angelo had seated himself near the center of the superbly-muraled room, on one of the low, colorful cushions so widely preferred in the colony to the more formal furniture that was still to be found, to some extent, in the shops and homes of the artisans. Artists in their own way, of course—and some practical work had to be put up with to satisfy the more mundane requirements of existence. As long as they took true pride in the beauty of their work, the artisans would always be very welcome members of the colony—as well, to be sure, as necessary.
And seated in a semi-circle behind Angelo were the other Elders, and two or three advanced Students to cater to whatever needs might arise during the conference. There would be no apprentices here! Before Angelo, taking to their cushions rather awkwardly (his beard, fortunately, was of sufficient luxuriance to cloak the tiny smile of satisfaction at his lips!) were the three Earthmen; their leader, of course, in the center and facing Angelo directly.
"We may begin at any time," Angelo said in his most courtly fashion. Those behind him nodded—Tharn for once a little absently, because he had become involved in a rather difficult line-sketch on the tablet supplied him for note-taking. He didn't approve of these strangers, but there were more important things than interstellar visitors, especially since they were only Earthmen, and Angelo was insisting on taking full charge. He, Tharn, was through arguing. Walking multiplication-tables! Pah! Angelo could have them, then!
"It is possible you are not aware, here on Ste. Catherine," the leader began with the slightest tinge of sarcasm, "that on Earth there is, at present, a rather regrettable difference of thinking on policy."
"Another political slaughter, that is," Angelo countered not too lightly for the obvious allusion to Ste. Catherine's complete lack of any kind of electrical or electronic communications. "A major war, in other words."
The leader flushed slightly. "Well, yes. As a matter of fact, it has gotten somewhat out of control." His teeth were almost clenched as he made the admission, and Angelo easily sensed the pain in the man at having to make it to the Artists of Ste. Catherine, of all people in the universe. "Out of control," the leader was continuing, "to the point where, in fact, and according to the unimpeachable findings of our actuarial computers, human life on Earth is threatened with complete extinction." The leader hesitated, interpreted the looks in the eyes of the men whom he faced, and found himself not quite able to meet them with his own. But he continued; best to get it said once and for all.