The Return of Retief (4 page)
"Your
37 requires work, Trenchfoot," His Excellency rebuked mildly. "I
suggest you supplement your other professional reading with a re-perusal of the
handbook
Alien Organ Clusters and How to Read Them,
I believe it's
titled."
"Unless
the rot runs even deeper than the rumors have it," the military man
responded doggedly, "there's no aliens in HQ for me to read their organ
clusters."
"Wait'll
you meet some of these headquarters types, Stan," Information Attache
Felix put in. "Maybe the rumors ain't so far off after all," a remark
which netted him a frigid stare from the Ambassador. Before the situation could
deteriorate further, the eerie silence was broken by a distant whining as of a
giant and ill-tempered hornet, followed a moment later by a
boom!
which
dislodged a number of tiles from the facades along the avenue to fall and
shatter on the paving below. Immediately thereafter, a grotesque atmosphere
craft of clearly alien design darted into view from behind the clustered towers
and braked sharply to overfly the street on a strafing run.
"Gentlemen,"
Ambassador Sidesaddle intoned, over the chatter of bore-guns, "it appears
we are witness to a breach of diplomatic etiquette of the grossest
description." His pronouncement fell on empty air, however, since his
colleagues were by this time halfway to the shadowy entry; noting which,
Sidesaddle himself broke into a heavy trot toward shelter.
"Gracious,
Mr. Ambassador!" Magnan burbled, as his chief arrived to take shelter
between the two Marines, now standing at rigid attention. "That was a near
thing! I
do
admire the way your Excellency stood your ground until the
bullets were practically ripping up the pavement at your feet—but wasn't it
just the teensiest bit foolhardy?"
"Perhaps,
Magnan," His Excellency conceded modestly, "I was overbold. Still,
perhaps the attack was only an expression of boyish exuberance on the part of a
Ree pilot, without official sanction, and thus not an interplanetary incident
worthy of response as such."
"The
bullets still could have smarted," Hy Felix grunted, gazing after the
receding craft as it finished its run and disappeared beyond the park at the
south end of the avenue.
"Too
right, Hy," Colonel Trenchfoot seconded. "The beggar was hosing us
down with 50mm soft explosives, probably dum-dums at that. I'd better dig one
or two out of the street."
He
peered upward to be sure the coast was clear, and hurried off on his errand,
returning the Marines' snappy rifle salute with a casual wave of his hand.
"I'm
sure," the plump Political Officer commented, speaking for the first time,
and still breathing hard from his sprint for safety, "that no hostile
intent should be read into the matter. The more especially as we are here to
assist in drafting the proposed accord with these confounded Ree!"
"Indeed,
Hencrate?" his supervisor queried in a tone of Icy Neutrality (179-C).
"It was my impression that the scoundrel deliberately chewed up the
antique tilework at my very feet."
"Yeah,
but a minute ago you said—" Hencrate blithered.
"I
am well aware of what I said, Hencrate!" the Ambassador cut him off
curtly. "It would be well for your own career development if you would
give appropriate attention to my example of idealogical flexibility. A foolish
consistency, Henry, is the hobgoblin of little minds," the great man
concluded solemnly.
"Hey,
you got that last part from whats-his-name, uh, Emerson ... or Thoreau or
somebody," Hencrate blurted, with a distinct undertone of one who exposes
sham. "Uh, most apropose, too, sir," he added belatedly.
"Apro-po
e
,
Hencrate," the Ambassador corrected. "And I suggest you learn to
distinguish between litarary allusion and plagiarism, the better to apreciate
the
bon mot."
"Bomo?"
Hencrate repeated dully.
"He
means 'bonn mott', Henry," Felix interpreted behind his hand. "Means
something like 'wisecrack'."
"By
no means, Hy," Magnan demurred. "The translation is more like 'clever
saying,' with no connotation of unseemly levity."
Colonel
Trenchfoot now returned from his projectile recovery errand.
"Did
any of you fellows get the scoundrel's ID number?" he asked dubiously.
"I
was
quite
fully occupied, Trenchfoot, in seeking to prevent a fatality
in the person of myself," the Political Officer pointed out.
"Selfless,
Hencrate," Magnan congratulated his fellow staff member.
"Talking
about selfless," Hy Felix said loudly. "How come we're standing
around here waiting for the rascal to come back and finish the job? Personally,
I say let's get on up to the twelfth floor and leave the body-count to the
military boys. Right, Colonel?"
"I
see no impropriety in an orderly withdrawal at this juncture, from a military
standpoint," Trenchfoot agreed, edging closer to the great glass-slab
doors. "In fact," he added, warming to his thesis, "it might
legitimately be argued that having drawn enemy fire, thus forcing them to betray
their position, it is incumbent upon us to survive so as to report our
findings." He opened his hand to reveal two flattened copper-jacketed
slugs. "Caliber .082," he stated. "A nonstandard load, thus
clearly of alien manufacture; Ree manufacture, to be specific."
"We
already know that, Colonel," Felix jeered. "Any kid of about seven
who builds model aircraft knows a Ree day-fighter when he sees one. What else
is new?" Hy snickered, casting a sidelong glance Ambassadorward to assess
the effect of his remark.
"Cleverly
reasoned, I'm sure, Colonel," Sidesaddle conceded, ignoring Felix.
"And at considerable personal risk," he added. "I'll see a
mention is made in my next dispatch to the Department."
"Could
of got us all killed," Hencrate amplified sullenly. "It's OK
for
you,
Trenchfoot; you're in the Armed Forces, where they give you medals and
stuff. But what would Sector say if they found five Terry diplomatic corpses
blocking the walk when they went out for lunch break, hah?"
"Gentlemen!"
Ambassador Sidesaddle cut in. "Let me remind you that ours is a mission of
peace, not war! Let others expose their reactionary tendencies by
over-responsiveness to trivial provocation! As for us, as diplomatic officers
charged with maintaining a state of unalloyed chumship with our fellow
sentients in the Arm, surely we can refuse to allow ourselves to be distracted
by every trifling incident which happens to occur in our vicinity!"
"Oh,
well put, sir," Magnan gushed. "And after they shot up your personal
spinner, Chief of Mission, For The Use Of, too."
"As
to that, Ben," Sidesaddle replied stiffly, "I've a notion a stiff
note to the Ree Charge at Dobe will soon show that scoundrel the error of his
ways."
"Ahem,
I say, Mr. Ambassador," Hencrate ventured. "Wouldn't that proposal be
likely to be misconstrued by some as sheer jingoism?"
"Jingoism,
Hencrate?" the Ambassador echoed. "Me? You charge your very own chief
with irresponsible sabre-rattling?"
"Not
me, Your Excellency," Hencrate protested. "Remember I said
'misconstrued'."
The
further deterioration of Hencrate's career was forestalled for the moment by
the abrupt arrival amid a miniature dust cyclone whirled up by its
air-cushions, of a fast, black-enamel-with-chrome-inlays dispatch car, Chief,
Security Services, For The Use Of, which skidded to a halt athwart the carved
curbstone, nearly colliding with the angel fountain.
A
pair of CDT security men stepped briskly from the vehicle almost before it came
to rest, and advanced purposefully, briefcases in hand, their expression grim.
"Find
out what this is all about, Ben," the Ambassador directed his Econ
Officer, stepping back to allow his subordinate to edge forward to intercept
the newcomers, who first tried to skirt him, then halted reluctantly and closed
ranks to carry on a whispered conference, which Magnan tried vainly to
overhear.
"Magnan,
CDTO-1, First Secretary of Embassy of Terra at Flamme," the latter
introduced himself hastily.
"Cruthers,
Foreign Service Inspector," the nearer of the two newcomers said over his
shoulder, terminating his conference with obvious reluctance.
"Could
I just ask you gentlemen what it is which occasions such haste this fine
morning?" Magnan bored on as Cruthers turned his back to snap at his
partner. The inspector turned a pained look on Magnan.
"No
time for gossip, Mr. Magnan," he said curtly. "I and Sid are already
running late; I hear Ambassador Sidesaddle that's supposed to be sitting in on
the conference this AM is as temperamental as a Minority Spokesman about being
kept waiting. C'mon, Sid." Cruthers brushed past Magnan to find himself
confronted by the short, pigeon-shaped physique of Ambassador Sidesaddle
himself.
"One
moment, Cruthers," he said, holding up an imperious hand. "No need to
keep the Ambassador waiting at all.
I
am he."
Sid,
peering from behind his colleague's shoulder, stage-whispered, "Ha! He
don't look so tough. Charlie. Show him your badge."
Shushing
his helper with a curt motion of his hand, Cruthers assumed a confidential
tone:
"Actually,
Mr. Ambassador, as you yourself well know, sir, it would be a gross breach of
security, as well as of the letter of the Manual, sir, were I to divulge the
nature of the information I and Sid are delivering to the Undersecretary."
"No
big deal, Charlie," said Sidesaddle smoothly, "just tip me as to what
I'm going to run into up there."
"Well,
sir, since you've given me a direct order, I must of course defer to your
Excellency's exalted rank. Word just came in from Fringe HQ that Space Arm
reports no luck all across the board. They've been running a covert search and
destroy, and the only Ree units they've seen fired first. So—well, you can see,
sir, that leaves the ball in
our
park."
"Our
chaps surrendered without a fight?" Colonel Trenchfoot butted in loudly,
netting a triple
shussh!
from the Ambassador plus the two inspectors.
"Quiet,
Trenchfoot," the Ambassador added curtly. "Inasmuch as we know
nothing, officially, of the matter, it would be well if we refrained from
leaping to any conclusions pertaining thereto."
"See?"
Sid said. "He did it again."
Sidesaddle
stepped back, made Alphonse and Gaston motions.
"Don't
let me delay you in performance of your duties, gentlemen," he said as if
for a Galactic teleview audience. "Magnan, gentlemen, don't block the
way."
"Gee,
sir," Magnan blurted, "you don't think they've got the entry bugged,
do you?"
"Not
unless security considerations render such a precaution advisable, in the
opinion of those gallant bureaucrats entrusted with responsibility for such
measures," Sidesaddle reassured his subordinate, plus anyone who might be
monitoring the bug.
"Golly,
Ben," Hy Felix put in sympathetically, "His Excellency has got the
knack of not saying nothing down to a science, hey?" He wilted at a sharp
glance of rebuke from His Excellency.
"Not
'nothing,' Hy," the great man pointed out glacially. "Just the
absolute minimum—so as to reduce the likelihood of leaking hot dope to enemy
spies, of course."