I said, “I’ll do my best. Tell me, are you—uh—ambassadors, sort of? Or maybe just explorers?”

“Our small worth justifies no titles,” said the creature, “yet we are both; for all communication is ambassadorship of a kind, and any seeker after knowledge is an explorer.”

I was suddenly reminded of an old story with the punchline, “Ask a foolish question and you get a foolish answer.” I also wondered suddenly what snails eat.

The second alien glided over and eyed me. “You may depend upon our utmost obedience,” it said humbly. “We understand your awesome function and we wish to be liked to whatever extent it is possible for your admirable race to like such miserable creatures as ourselves.”

“Stick to that attitude and we’ll get along,” I said.

By and large, they were a pleasure to work with. I mean there was no temperament, no upstaging, no insistence on this camera angle or that mention of a previously published book or the other wishful biographical apocrypha about being raised in a convent, like with most of my other clients.

On the other hand, they weren’t easy to talk to. They’d take orders, sure. But ask them a question. Any question:

“How long did the trip take you?”

“ ‘How long’ in your eloquent tongue indicates a frame of reference dealing with duration. I hesitate to discuss so complex a problem with one as learned as yourself. The velocities involved make it necessary to answer in relative terms. Our lowly and undesirable planet recedes from this beauteous system during part of its orbital period, advances toward it during part. Also, we must take into consideration the direction and velocity of our star in reference to the cosmic expansion of this portion of the continuum. Had we come from Cygnus, say, or Bootes, the question could be answered somewhat more directly; for those bodies travel in a contiguous arc skewed from the ecliptic plane in such a way that—”