Free Retief and the Rascals by Keith Laumer Page A

resume this
discussion in my office at seven A.M. tomorrow morning!"
     
                " 'Seven A.M. tomorrow' or 'seven tomorrow
morning' would obviate the redundancy, Mr. Ambassador," Magnan pointed
out, then, in flawless Groaci, "to receive your counselor in my office
at nine A.M. tomorrow morning."
     
                "Ben!" Shinth expostulated. "To
try to make points at a moment like this, when I'm about to see, pardon the
pun, permanent darkness close in on twenty percent of my visual field, is
ghastly bad form!"
     
                "Make that forty," Retief corrected,
as he gathered in a second twitching eyestalk.
     
                "I hadn't realized, Jim, that you are so
unfeeling!" Shinth protested. "Release my optical members at once!
Ben, I call upon you to effect the release of my visual organs from the grasp
of your barbaric colleague!"
     
                "First, tell your hirelings to cease their caterwaulings,"
Magnan directed crisply. "Then they're to stop threshing about. Tell Smad
to put the bracelets on the others and line them all up for inspection, and I may, just possibly, see my way clear to succor you from the situation in which
your greed and impudence have placed you."
     
                " 'Greed'?' Shinth echoed in a tone of
Shocked Disbelief (16-b). " 'Impudence'? I can scarce credit my auditory
members, Ben: that you, a fellow career diplomat, would so characterize my
valiant efforts in aid of the unfoldment of Groacian manifest destiny!"
     
                "Don't waste that sixteen on me,
Shinth," Magnan advised in a tone from which cynicism was not altogether
absent.
     
                "Hey!" Shinth yelled, as loudly as his
feeble vocal membranes could manage. "That was a crack from which cynicism
was not altogether absent! Ben, must it come to this, after our years of
professional association?—years, I might point out, in which I have risen, step
by step, to the lofty rank of Career Ambassador, albeit to a trashy world,
whilst you remain stranded in the DSO-1 slot! Show a trifle of respect for
protocol and tell Jim to help me up, without recourse to my eyestalks as
handholds!" The Groacian slumped exhaustedly, uttering one final
"Hush!" to Jum Derk, directly below him.
     
                In the momentary silence, Wim Dit spoke up
indignantly. "Mr. Ambluster, you tol' us poor unsophisticated patriots
about when duh Terry handouts would go up soon's we kidnapped a couple of em
and robbed duh store, and all!"
     
                "It is traditional," Shinth's
voice came weakly to Magnan's ear. "Cryptic Terra always rewards most
bountifully those nations which prove their contempt by acts of violence
directed against her! Look in your history books! Best of all, of course, is to
wage open warfare against her, thereby qualifying for gigantic handouts. Shinth
was haranguing Magnan now: "The Terry taxpayer is a curious beast:
cheerfully electing legislators who tax him to poverty in order to provide
luxuries for those at home who prove they will never upset the social order by
doing something useful, and, abroad, those who demonstrate their implacable
hostility! It doesn't scan, Ben; but then I suppose such perversity bathes your
gonads in a warm glow of self-abnegation. Now, let's get back to business and
let me and my associates out of this trap; the formal apologies can wait until
later, but make them good, Ben! Especially considering the fact that the
projected heist came to naught! Act now, Ben, and I may yet be able to put in a
word on your behalf at the hearing!"
     
                You speak of hearings!" Magnan yelled
indignantly. "Do you suggest—?"
     
                "Naw, just the one hearing, Ben," Wim
corrected. "When duh Inspectors hit dun Mission nex' mont'. I'll hafta
have you had up on a atrocities rap, an all. But don't sweat it. Just you and
Jim east outa here and let I and my