Read The Robert Silverberg Science Fiction MEGAPACK® for Free Online Page B

out through the otherwise dense blanket of fur. He was wearing the kilt, girdle, and ceremonial blaster of his warlike race.
    I said, “You’ll have to understand, Freeman Heraal, that it’s not our policy to maintain more than a few members of each species at our Institute. And we’re not currently in need of any Kallerian males, because—”
    “You will hire me or trouble I will make!”
    I opened our inventory chart. I showed him that we were already carrying four Kallerians, and that was more than plenty.
    The beady little eyes flashed like beacons in the fur. “Yes, you have four representatives—of the Clan Verdrokh! None of the Clan Gursdrinn! For three years I have waited for a chance to avenge this insult to the noble Clan Gursdrinn!”
    At the key word avenge, I readied myself to ensnarl the Kallerian in a spume of tanglemesh the instant he went for his blaster, but he didn’t move. He bellowed, “I have vowed a vow, Earthman. Take me to Earth, enroll a Gursdrinn, or the consequences will be terrible!”
    I’m a man of principles, like all straightforward double-dealers, and one of the most important of those principles is that I never let myself be bullied by anyone. “I deeply regret having unintentionally insulted your clan, Freeman Heraal. Will you accept my apologies?”
    He glared at me in silence.
    I went on, “Please be assured that I’ll undo the insult at the earliest possible opportunity. It’s not feasible for us to hire another Kallerian now, but I’ll give preference to the Clan Gursdrinn as soon as a vacancy—”
    “No. You will hire me now.”
    “It can’t be done, Freeman Heraal. We have a budget, and we stick to it.”
    “You will rue! I will take drastic measures!”
    “Threats will get you nowhere, Freeman Heraal. I give you my word I’ll get in touch with you as soon as our organization has room for another Kallerian. And now, please, there are many applicants waiting—”
    You’d think it would be sort of humiliating to become a specimen in a zoo, but most of these races take it as an honor. And there’s always the chance that, by picking a given member of a race, we’re insulting all the others.
    I nudged the trouble button on the side of my desk and Auchinleck and Ludlow appeared simultaneously from the two doors at right and left. They surrounded the towering Kallerian and sweet-talkingly led him away. He wasn’t minded to quarrel physically, or he could have knocked them both into the next city with a backhand swipe of his shaggy paw, but he kept up a growling flow of invective and threats until he was out in the hall.
    I mopped sweat from my forehead and began to buzz Stebbins for the next applicant. But before my finger touched the button, the door popped open and a small being came scooting in, followed by an angry Stebbins.
    “Come here, you!”
    “Stebbins?” I said gently.
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Corrigan. I lost sight of this one for a moment, and he came running in—”
    “Please, please,” squeaked the little alien pitifully. “I must see you, honored sir!”
    “It isn’t his turn in line,” Stebbins protested. “There are at least fifty ahead of him.”
    “All right,” I said tiredly. “As long as he’s in here already, I might as well see him. Be more careful next time, Stebbins.”
    Stebbins nodded dolefully and backed out.
    The alien was a pathetic sight: a Stortulian, a squirrely-looking creature about three feet high. His fur, which should have been a lustrous black, was a dull gray, and his eyes were wet and sad. His tail drooped. His voice was little more than a faint whimper, even at full volume.
    “Begging your most honored pardon most humbly, important sir. I am a being of Stortul XII, having sold my last few possessions to travel to Ghryne for the miserable purpose of obtaining an interview with yourself.”
    I said, “I’d better tell you right at the outset that we’re already carrying our full complement of Stortulians. We