“These little guys,” said a crewman to Baird, admiringly, “they got something. They can handle a ship! I bet they could almost make that ship of theirs play checkers!”
“Close to it,” agreed Baird. He realized something. He pulled the communicator from his pocket. “Diane! Contact the skipper. He wanted observations. Here’s one. This Plumie acts like soldiers used to act in ancient days—when they wore armor. And we have the same reaction! They will fight like the devil, but during a truce they’ll be friendly, admiring each other as scrappers, but ready to fight as hard as ever when the truce is over. We have the same reaction! Tell the skipper I’ve an idea that it’s a part of their civilization—maybe it’s a necessary part of any civilization! Tell him I guess that there may be necessarily parallel evolution of attitudes, among rational races, as there are parallel evolutions of eyes and legs and wings and fins among all animals everywhere! If I’m right, somebody from this ship will be invited to tour the Plumie! It’s only a guess, but tell him!”
“Immediately,” said Diane.
The Plumie followed gallantly as Baird made a steep climb up what once was the floor of a corridor. Then Taine stepped out before them. His eyes burned.
“Giving him a clear picture, eh?” he rasped. “Letting him spy out everything?”
Baird pressed the communicator call for the radar room and said coldly:
“I’m obeying orders. Look, Taine! You were picked for your job because you were a xenophobe. It helps in your proper functioning. But this Plumie is here under a flag of truce—”
“Flag of truce!” snarled Taine. “It’s vermin! It’s not human! I’ll—”
“If you move one inch nearer him,” said Baird gently, “just one inch—”