Essa conversa entre um ser de tipo ascendido (o Pollisand) e uma mulher mais ou menos "normal" (Oar) vem de um verso ficcional diferente (de James Alan Gardner Ascendente , livro 5 do seu Liga dos Povos , mas dá uma resposta possível:
“Ah,” the Pollisand said, “but perhaps my facade is an act. A truly advanced being might realize it’s best to approach lesser species in a non-threatening way—as a ridiculous-looking creature who comes across as a pompous jerk barely able to keep his foot out of his mouth. It puts you at ease, doesn’t it, when you say, This Pollisand guy isn’t so scary; he’s not the swaggering staggering super-genius the rest of the universe thinks he is. You catch me making a few goofs, you throw my words back in my face, and after a while, you relax cuz you think I’m not smart enough to pull the wool over your eyes.”
If this was an attempt to disconcert me, it nearly worked. A vastly intelligent beast who controlled what I saw and heard might indeed present himself as a silly buffoon so as not to be taken too seriously, On the other hand, a silly buffoon might boast of himself as a vastly intelligent beast who was merely play-acting. Which was more likely?
“The most important point,” I said, “is that I wish to know the direction of your plan. What is your goal? What is your purpose?”
The Pollisand shuffled his feet, “All right. The part of the plan that concerns you—the immediate part of the plan—is related to the race you call the Shaddill.”
“Are you for them or against them?” I asked.
“I fervently want,” the Pollisand said, “to wipe them off the face of this galaxy. And your part in the plan will help accomplish that.”
“Why did you not say so?” I reached out and laid my arm across the alien’s back in a comradely manner. “Of course I shall help you defeat the Shaddill… especially if you fix my Tired Brain too. You should have known I would say yes if you put it like that.”
“I did know,” the Pollisand said in a soft voice totally unlike his previous obnoxious tone.
Mais tarde, no mesmo livro:
“Hey,” he [the Pollisand] said, “I keep telling you: I’m a fucking alien mastermind.”
“Or,” said Festina, “a complete fraud who takes credit for being a lot more omniscient than he really is. You took damned good care to keep your leathery white ass out of sight till the Shaddill were gone. Could it be you were afraid to tangle with them directly?”
“Ah, yes,” said the Pollisand in an even more nasal voice than usual. “A god or a fraud? Am I or ain’t I?” He lifted his forefoot and patted Festina fondly on the cheek. “You don’t know, my little chickadee, how hard I work to keep the answer ambiguous.”