Free Retief at Large by Keith Laumer Page B

fitting?"
     
                "Your
concept of propriety confounds me. There are fifty thousand of these
fellows—and I have the distinct impression they're planning an extended
stay!"
     
                "Very
likely," Rilikuk agreed, twitching in time to the music in the background.
"And now, if you'll excuse me ..." The screen blanked.
     
                Magnan
threw up his hands. "I don't like it, Retief. There's an aspect of this
we're missing."
     
                A
chime sounded. The door opened and the Groaci Fiss bustled in, breathing
noisily under the weight of a heavy briefcase.
     
                "Ah,
Mr. Magnan! So good of you to await me. I have the papers here." He
hoisted the case onto the desk and undid stout straps. "I'm sure you'll
find all in order: Territorial claims, governmental charter, application for
League membership—"
     
                "What's
this?" Magnan scanned the heavy documents. "What are you saying sir?
That Yale—that the Groaci—that you—"
     
                "Quite
right," Fiss nodded. "This world is now Groaci property."
     
                There
was a loud crash from the direction of the now deserted street. Magnan
swiveled, stared out at a band of businesslike Groaci, hard at work on a shuttered
shop with pry-bars.
     
                "What
are they doing?" he yelped. "Mr. Fiss, order those vandals away at
once! The situation is getting out of hand!"
     
                "Not
at all. Those chaps are merely following my instructions. And now if you have
any belongings you wish to take along—"
     
                "Eh?
Belongings? I'm not going anywhere."
     
                "Permit
me to contradict you," Fiss hissed softly, prodding a paper with a
damp-looking finger. "This is the eviction order. I find that this humble
structure will adequately fulfill my requirement for a field-office here in the
village."
     
                "F-field
office?"
     
                "I
expect we shall be busy here for a few days," Fiss said.
"Transferring useful items to our quarters," He waved airily toward
the sparkling towers beyond the swamp.
     
                "You're
violating the Legation?" Magnan's eyes bulged.
     
                "There
has been a change of status quo since my arrival," Fiss pointed out.
"No formal relations exist between my government and the CDT. Therefore
this is merely an office, and you are unregistered aliens."
     
                "This
is an outrage!" Magnan sputtered. "I'm not leaving!"
     
                "So?"
Fiss murmured. He stepped to the door, opened it, waved in a quartet of
bigger-than-average Groaci.
     
                "To
intimidate the soft ones," he hissed in Groaci. "To make threatening
gestures."
     
                Two
of the newcomers stepped to Retief. He took them casually by their thin necks,
escorted them to the window and tumbled them out. The second pair jumped at him
in time to meet a stiff-arm which slammed both of them onto their backs. Fiss
emitted a weak but impassioned bleat.
     
                "Unhand
them, brute! These are lawfully appointed bailiffs!"
     
                Retief
helped the stunned Groaci after their fellows and took a step toward Fiss. The
Tour Director squeaked and darted through the door.
     
                "Retief!"
Magnan yelped. "Stop! After all, these papers—"
     
                Retief
gathered in the parchments, tossed them after the intruders. The outraged face
of Tour Director Fiss appeared at the opening.
     
                "Ruffians!
Bandits! Our legal and just claim—"
     
                "—isn't
worth the plastic it's printed on," Retief stated. "And if any more
tourists wander into the Legation I won't be so polite with them."
     
                Fiss
turned and made frantic