"It matters to us, believe me, please. It concerns us very much, Arn."
When Jars got to first names, he was emotionally wrought. I looked at him in surprise. And so did Deering. We weren't ever going to warm up to him, but he was our best mind and there wasn't a man in the department who didn't appreciate that.
We stared at him, and he sat down on the high bench near the Maling converters. He looked old and he was tired, we could see. "Evil," he said quietly. "Fear, hate, evil—which of the three is the father and which are the sons? I suppose fear is the father."
"I'd always thought so," Deering said, "though my education was almost completely confined to the technical. I'm rather skimpy on the humanities."
"And I," Jars said, and now looked at me. "But not you, Werig."
"I don't know them, sir," I said. "Surface manifestations, as we've said before today. It would need a closer study. Their huddling is what intrigues me the most."
One of the rare smiles came to Jars' lined face as he looked at Deering. "Huddling, the lad says. If you don't say it, I won't, Arn."
Deering smiled in return. "We'll change the routine, this time; you say 'love' and I'll say 'fear'. But seriously, Jars, you fear these—people?"
"I fear them," Jars said. "Scientifically, perhaps, they are tyros, but mechanically they are not. They have discovered forces and developed machines which they do not understand, and yet, have achieved efficiency with them. I fear any monster that powerful even though it is blind."
"And you think there is a possibility of their becoming—aware of us within any determinable time?"