The Secretary's chair creaked.
"And they want to settle here? Among us?"
"They feel sure that our races will be compatible, sharing as we do our evolutionary heritage, that—"
"One moment," Ridgemont said sharply. "When you say compatible—are you implying that these creatures can interbreed with us?"
The doctor winced at the word "creatures." But his reply was soft.
"No," he said. "That coincidence would be too great. But they have no such desires; they will be happy to produce their own future generations of citizens. They have deliberately controlled their birthrate until they could find a home. Earth can be that home, Mr. Ridgemont, but they wish to be sure of a welcome."
The Secretary stood up, and came to the front of the desk to face the doctor.
"Dr. Woodward," he said, "your story is an incredible one, but for the moment I'll assume that everything you've said is true. Naturally, visitors from another planet—who mean us no harm, and who can impart knowledge to us—would be more than welcome on Earth. They would be celebrated by every man of Science on this planet."
"Borsu understands that. But it's not the scientists whose welcome they seek. It's the people of Earth."