Loo said, "No. Merely stunned."
"He needs no assistance?"
"Nothing could help him for half an hour or more. Then he'll probably have a severe headache."
The extraterrestrial had even the ability to achieve a dry quality in his voice. "I am surprised at your forebearance." He took a chair before a baroque desk. "Undoubtedly you have gone through a great deal to penetrate to this point. I am a member of the interplanetary delegation. What is it that you want?"
Hank looked at Loo, received a slight nod, and went into his speech. The space alien made no attempt to interrupt.
When Hank had finished, the extraterrestrial turned his eyes to Loo. "And you?"
Loo said, "I represent the British Commonwealth rather than the United States, but my purpose in contacting you was identical. Her Majesty's government is anxious to consult with you before you make any binding agreements with the Soviet complex."
The alien turned his eyes from one to the other. His face, Hank decided, had a Lincolnesque quality, so ugly as to be beautiful in its infinite sadness.
"You must think us incredibly naive," he said.
Hank scowled. He had adjusted quickly to the space ambassador's otherness, both of dress and physical qualities, but there was an irritating something—He put his finger on it. He felt as he had, some decades ago, when brought before his grammar school principal for an infraction of school discipline.