Free Galactic Diplomat by Keith Laumer Page B

potency? It’s getting where it’s not safe
to take a stroll after sundown—”
    “Hold on, Jackspurt. Maybe you’d better fill me in one some
background. Who are you? Why are the Hoogans after you? And where did you learn
to speak Terran with that flawless enunciation of consonants?”
    “I used to be a mascot on a Terry trader; I stowed away when
she landed here for emergency repairs. It was a good life; but after a while I
got homesick for good old Hoog—you know how it is—”
    “You’re a native of this charming world?”
    “Sure—us Spisms have been around longer than the Hoogs. And
we got along for thousands of years with no trouble: the Hoogs took the
surface, and we settled in nice and comfy underground. Then they got religion
and it’s been Hell ever since . . .”
    “Hold on, Jackspurt: I always heard that religion exercised a
beneficent influence on those fortunate enough to possess it.”
    “That depends on which side you’re on.”
    “That’s a point.”
    “But I haven’t given you the big picture yet. These Hoogan
priests launched a full-scale propaganda campaign: painted up a lot of
religious art with pictures of Spisms poking pitchforks at Hoogs, and pretty
soon it got so even the average Hoog in the street started jumping and making
X’s in the air and mumbling spells everytime one of us came up for a breath of
fresh air. The next thing we knew, it was full-scale war! I’m telling you, Retief,
us Spisms are in bad shape—and it’s gonna get worse!”
    A guard was working his way toward the ogre fountain.
    “Jiggers, the gendarmes,” Retief said. “You’d better get out
of sight, Jackspurt. They’re beating the bushes for you. Why don’t we continue
this later—”
    The Spism whisked back under cover. “But this is important,
Retief!” Jackspurt’s voice emanated from the brush. “The boys are counting on
me—”
    “Shhh! Watch me and take your cue . . .”
Magnan had turned and was eyeing Retief suspiciously. He stepped to his
junior’s side.
    “Retief, if you’re mixed up in this
mix-up . . .”
    “Me, Mr. Magnan? Why, I just arrived this afternoon the same
time you did—”
    “Magnan!” Straphanger’s voice cut through the hubbub. “The
Pope informs me that some sort of demonic creature was seen here on the Embassy
grounds this evening! Of course we know nothing about it, but His Arrogance has
drawn the unfortunate implication that we’re consorting with denizens of the
netherworld!” He lowered his voice as Magnan drew close. “Superstitious
poppycock, but we’ve got to play along; you and the others spread out and go
through a show of looking for this mythical imp. I’ll pacify His Arrogance.”
    “Certainly, Mr. Ambassador.
But . . . ah . . . what if we find it?”
    “Then you’re an even greater idiot than I suspect!”
Straphanger twisted his working smile into position and turned back to the
Pope.
    “Retief, you start along there,” Magnan indicated the front
of the house. “I’ll go poke about in the bushes. And whatever you do, don’t
turn up anything—like that ghastly creature we encountered upstairs—” A
startled look spread across his face. “Good lord, Retief! Do you suppose—?”
    “Not a chance. I picture something more like a medium-sized
dragon.”
    “Still . . . perhaps I’d better mention
it to the Ambassador . . .”
    “And confirm the Pope’s opinion? Very courageous of you. Mind
if I stick around and watch?”
    “On the other hand, he’s a busy man,” Magnan said hurriedly.
“After all, why bother him with trivia?” He hurried off to take up a position
near the Pope and make a show of stooping and peering among the conifer-like
hedges. Retief sauntered back to the table, deserted now except for a lone
Hoogan bearer at the far end gathering empties onto a wide tray and tossing
damp paper napkins into a capacious waste paper receptacle. Retief picked up an
empty sandwich plate said hsst!;