"Fair to middling."
"Good. I'm glad to hear it. Will you have refreshment?"
"A cigarette, perhaps."
Gerd opened an ornate box on the table and offered Andrew a cigarette. Andrew puffed it into illumination and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Busy?" he asked.
"Yes," drawled Gerd. "I'm always busy, more or less. But being busy or un-busy is my own desire. Being without something to do would drive me crazy, I'm sure." Gerd laughed at the thought. "At the present time I'm busy seeing you. Is this a business visit or a personal visit?"
"Partly pleasure, partly business. There's something been bothering me for some time."
"Glad to help—That's what I'm here for, you know."
"Now that I'm here," admitted Andrew with some abashment, "I have a feeling that the same question has been asked and answered before. But I want to hear, firsthand, why your race denies us the secret of interstellar travel."
"Because you have not developed it yet," said Gerd. "Yes, we could give it to you. You couldn't use it."
"You're looking down at us again."