Free The Return of Retief by Keith Laumer

waltzing into his legation
compound, armed to the mandibular serrations."
     
                "Flexible
animosity is an old Groaci technique," Retief pointed out. "Thanks
for the briefing, Big. How soon do we hit atmosphere?"
     
                "About
an hour, I guess," Big supplied crisply. "Better get your stuff
aboard the drop-boat— if you're sure you want to go down there. Remember, aside
from your pal Snith, you got the Pruties to deal with. Ever met one?"
     
                Retief
nodded. "At a cocktail party back at Flamme. Enormously fat fellow,
Assistant Grimacer as I recall, bucking for promotion to field grade. Not too
different from us single-skulled, bipedal Terries, except for large teeth and a
number of muscular arms. Nearly beat me at Drift."
     
                "Bet
he cheated, Retief," Big suggested. "I happen to know you're Drift
champ for the whole Arm."
     
                "Yes,
maybe he cheated a little," Retief acknowledged. "He used three arms.
A point for the philosophers. But he was a sore winner; wanted a rematch to
prove he could do it with two."
     
                "And
you using only one," Big commiserated. "It don't pay to try and play
fair with all these here Eeties. They got no conscience. Oops," the mate
interrupted himself as a sudden impact shook the vessel.
     
                "That's
atmosphere, Retief," he explained unnecessarily as the vessel settled down
to a steady buffeting. "Drop boat away in four minutes," he added and
hurried off.
     
     
3
     
                The
Prute Customs and Immigration shed was a squat structure assembled from scraps
of corrugated styrene, dim-lit by a hanging jar of Slovian juice-bugs which
shed a wan, greenish glow on the deeply-creased olive-hued visage of the Excise
Officer who leaned on Retief's  locker, foot, junior officers, for the use of,
and said; "I don't care what the treaty says, Bub, it's what I say
that counts. And I say you pay up in cash or the luggage don't clear Customs
this year."
     
                "I
suggest you get several of your elbows off my box, Mister," Retief said,
and jerked the support from beneath the joints to which he had referred,
causing the functionary to collapse like the empty barracks-bag he resembled.
     
                "Hey!"
he yelled from the floor, "Grab that Terry! He assaulted me in the
performance of my duties!"
     
                "I
wouldn't," Retief suggested as a second tax-collector moved in
confidently. The Prutian paused and arranged his puckered features in a
passable version of the classic What's This, Impertinence? (17-g).
     
                "Precisely,"
Retief confirmed the query inherent in the alien's features, which resembled
the mouth of a sack secured by a drawstring.
     
                "You
can't get away with the rough stuff," the newcomer pointed out mildly as
he leaned to assist his colleague to his large, flat feet.
     
                "See,
we not only got the regs on our side, we also got you outnumbered, wise
guy," the latter pointed out as he resumed his position behind the Customs
table, this time keeping his elbows out of play.
     
                "Wrong,"
Retief said. "According to treaty, the personal effects of diplomatic
personnel are to be accorded duty-free entry. As for having me outnumbered, how
many more boys have you got on call? I only see ten." He picked up the locker
and proceeded past the Customs sign to Health and Immigration, where he was
confronted by a larger and plumper-than-average Prutian in a heavily braided
uniform.
     
                "I'm
Chief Inspector Thise," the official stated firmly as Retief paused before
him. "Health OK? No fallen arches or ruptures? Got to watch these
infectious maladies. An alien microbe could sweep through Prute like wildfire.
Caught a Groaci last year with crossed eyes, and considering the little