The first rule to remember, you youngsters – a rule even more important than the Choice Imperative – is to let demmies have it their way.

But you came down here to patronize an old man, pretending to learn from his experience. So. Keep my glass full. And don’t snicker when I slip into present-tense. The memories are that strong.

Let me tell you about the time our good ship – Clever Gamble – entered orbit above a planet of the system, Oxytoxin 41.

I was at my science station, performing routine scans, when Captain Ohm inquired about signs of intelligent life.

“There is a technic civilization,” I explained…

2.

“There is a technic civilization, Captain. Scanners reveal a sophisticated network of roads, moderate electromagnetic activity, indicative of…”

“Never mind the details, Doctor Montessori,” our commander interrupted, leaping out of his slouch-chair and bounding over to my station. At five and a half feet, he was tall for a demmie. Still I made certain to stoop a little, giving him the best light.

“Are they over sixteen on the Turgenev Scale?” he asked urgently. “Can we make contact?”

“Contact. Hm.” I rubbed my chin, a human mannerism that our crew expected from their Earthling advisor. “I would say so, Captain, though to be precise…”

“Great! Let’s go on down then.”

I tried entreating. “What’s the hurry? Why not spend a day or two collecting data? It never hurts to know what we’re stepping into.”

The captain grinned, belying his humanoid likeness by exposing twin rows of brilliant, pointy teeth.

“That’s all right, Advisor, I’ve had slippery boots before. Never stopped me yet!”

The crude witticism triggered laughter from other demmies in the command center. They often find my expressions of caution amusing, even when I later prove to be right. Fortunately, they are also fair-minded, and never confuse caution with cowardice.

Remember students, around demmies feel free to act “prudently wise.” Go ahead and urge restraint, since this is true to the image they have of us.

But never display outright fear. They find it upsetting. And we don’t want them upset.

“Break out the hose!” Captain Ohm commanded, rubbing his hands. “Tell Guts and Nuts to meet us at the spigot. Come on, Doc. We’re going down!”

Alliance spacecraft look strange to the uninitiated.

Till recently, most starfaring races voyaged in efficient, globelike vessels, with small struts symmetrically arranged for the hyperdrive anchors. Transport to and from a planetary surface took place via orbital elevator at advanced worlds, or else by sensible little shuttles.

Like any prudent person, I’d be far happier traveling that way, but I try to hide the fact, and you students should too. Demmies cannot imagine why everyone doesn’t love slurry transport as much as they do. So you can expect it to become the principal short-range system near all Alliance worlds.