"Doctor, I cannot speak for the people of Earth." Ridgemont frowned, and rubbed his forehead. "Where would these aliens of yours want to live? How would they live? Assimilated among the peoples of Earth? In their own community, a nation reserved for them alone?"
"I can't say. These are questions to be decided by others—"
"Does this Borsu expect us to guarantee this welcome? To assure them that they will be received with open arms? People are strange. Once the initial excitement of their arrival is over, who can say how ordinary citizens will react?"
"You must understand that they come in peace and friendship. They are tired, weary of searching for a home. They need our help—"
"You say they're blue, doctor." Ridgemont's eyes were penetrating. "Do you think the world can withstand still another race problem? Do you?"
"I don't know," Woodward said miserably. "I'm only Borsu's friend, Mr. Ridgemont, his emissary. I can't answer questions like this. I thought that you, a man of science—"
"As a scientist, your Borsu fascinates me, of course. I'd like to interrogate him for years. I'd like to dissect his mind and body until I know everything about him and his people. But you're asking me a different question. You're asking—do I want Borsu as a neighbor?"
Woodward stood up. His face was pale, and the leg that wasn't there throbbed with pain. He was sweating, a gray sweat that coursed down his seamed cheek and soiled the collar of his shirt.
"I don't feel well," he said. "If you'd excuse me—"
"Of course," Ridgemont said solicitously. "We can talk more about this later, when you feel up to it...."