[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction
January 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the
U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: _"Nuts to you!" was what Narli knew Earthmen would tell
him ... only it was frismil nuts!_]
"The Perzils are giving a vilbar party tomorrow night," Professor Slood
said cajolingly. "You _will_ come this time, won't you, Narli?"
Narli Gzann rubbed his forehead fretfully. "You know how I feel about
parties, Karn." He took a frismil nut out of the tray on his desk and
nibbled it in annoyance.
"But this is in your honor, Narli--a farewell party. You must go. It
would be--it would be unthinkable if you didn't." Karn Slood's eyes were
pleading. He could not possibly be held responsible for his friend's
anti-social behavior and yet, Narli knew, he would somehow feel at
fault.
Narli sighed. He supposed he would have to conform to public sentiment
in this particular instance, but he was damned if he would give in
gracefully. "After all, what's so special about the occasion? I'm just
leaving to take another teaching job, that's all." He took another nut.
"That's _all_!" Slood's face swelled with emotion. "You can't really be
that indifferent."
"Another job, that's all it is to me," Narli persisted. "At an
exceptionally high salary, of course, or I wouldn't dream of accepting a
position so inconveniently located."
Slood was baffled and hurt and outraged. "You have been honored by being
the first of our people to be offered an exchange professorship on
another planet," he said stiffly, "and you call it 'just another job.'
Why, I would have given my right antenna to get it!"
Narli realized that he had again overstepped the invisible boundary
between candor and tactlessness. He poked at the nuts with a stylus.
"Honored by being the first of our species to be offered a
guinea-pigship," he murmured.
He had not considered this aspect of the matter before, but now that it
occurred to him, he was probably right.
"Oh, I don't mind, really." He waved away the other's sudden
commiseration. "You know I like being alone most of the time, so I won't
find that uncomfortable. Students are students, whether they're
Terrestrials or Saturnians. I suppose they'll laugh at me behind my
back, but then even here, my students always did that."
He gave a hollow laugh and unobtrusively put out one of his hands for a
nut. "At least on Earth I'll know why they're laughing."
There was pain on Slood's expressive face as he firmly removed the nut
tray from his friend's reach. "I didn't think of it from that angle,
Narli. Of course you're right. Human beings, from what I've read of
them, are not noted for tolerance. It will be difficult, but I'm sure
you'll be able to--" he choked on the kindly lie--"win them over."
Narli repressed a bitter laugh. Anyone less likely than he to win over a
hostile alien species through sheer personal charm could hardly be found
on Saturn. Narli Gzann had been chosen as first exchange professor
between Saturn and Earth because of his academic reputation, not his
personality. But although the choosers had probably not had that aspect
of the matter in mind, the choice, he thought, was a wise one.
As an individual of solitary habits, he was not apt to be much lonelier
on one planet than another.
And he had accepted the post largely because he felt that, as an alien
being, he would be left strictly alone. This would give him the chance
to put in a lot of work on his definitive history of the Solar System, a
monumental project from which he begrudged all the time he had to spend
in fulfilling even the minimum obligations expected of a professor on
sociable Saturn.
The salary was a weighty factor, too--not only was it more than twice
what he had been getting, but since there would be no necessity for
spending more than enough for bare subsistence he would be able to save
up a considerable amount and retire while still comparatively young. It
was pleasant to imagine a scholarly life unafflicted by students.
He could put up with a good deal for that goal.
But how could he alleviate the distress he saw on Karn's face? He did
not consciously want to hurt the only person who, for some strange
reason, seemed to be fond of him, so he said the only thing he could
think of to please: "All right, Karn, I'll go to the Perzils tomorrow
night."
It would be a deadly bore--parties always were--and he would eat too
much, but, after all, the thought that it would be a long time before
he'd ever see any of his own kind again would make the affair almost
endurable. And just this once it would be all right for him to eat as
much as he wanted. When he was on Earth out of reach of decent food, he
would probably trim down considerably.
* * * * *
"I just _know_ you're going to love Earth, Professor Gzann," the hostess
on the interplanetary liner gushed.
"I'm sure I shall," he lied politely. She smiled at him too much,
over-doing her professional cordiality; underneath the effusiveness, he
sensed the repulsion. Of course he couldn't blame her for trying not to
show her distaste for the strange creature--the effort at concealment
was, as a matter of fact, more than he had expected from a Terrestrial.
But he wished she would leave him alone to meditate. He had planned to
get a lot of meditation done on the journey.
"You speak awfully good English," she told him.
He looked at her. "I am said to have some scholarly aptitude. I
understand that's why I was chosen as an exchange professor. It does
seem reasonable, doesn't it?"
She turned pink--a sign of embarrassment with these creatures, he had
learned. "I didn't mean to--to question your ability, Professor. It's
just that--well, you don't look like a professor."
"Indeed?" he said frostily. "And what do I look like, then?"
She turned even rosier. "Oh--I--I don't know exactly. It's just
that--well...." And she fled.
He couldn't resist flicking his antennae forward to catch her _sotto
voce_ conversation with the co-pilot; it was so seldom you got the
chance to learn what others were saying about you behind your back. "But
I could hardly tell him he looks like a teddy bear, could I?"
"He probably doesn't even know what a teddy bear is."
"Perhaps I don't," Narli thought resentfully, "but I can guess."
With low cunning, the Terrestrials seemed to have ferreted out the
identity of all his favorite dishes and kept serving them to him
incessantly. By the time the ship made planetfall on Earth, he had
gained ten grisbuts.
"Oh, well," he thought, "I suppose it's all just part of the regular
diplomatic service. On Earth, I'll have to eat crude native foods, so
I'll lose all the weight again."
President Purrington of North America came himself to meet Narli at the
airfield because Narli was the first interplanetary exchange professor
in history.
"Welcome to our planet, Professor Gzann," he said with warm diplomatic
cordiality, wringing Narli's upper right hand after a moment of
indecision. "We shall do everything in our power to make your stay here
a happy and memorable one."
"I wish you would begin by doing something about the climate," Narli
thought. It was stupid of him not to have realized how hot it would be
on Earth. He was really going to suffer in this torrid climate;
especially in the tight Terrestrial costume he wore over his fur for the
sake of conformity. Of course, justice compelled him to admit to
himself, the clothes wouldn't have become so snug if he hadn't eaten
quite so much on board ship.