Free Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude by Keith Laumer

ready to move in on signal. So I wonder if perhaps you could round up a
few friends to take up position around their detachments and discourage them a
little."
                "You
bet, Retief," Yong agreed enthusiastically. "I'm adjutant of a
reserve outfit, and I can have the boys in place in half an hour." With
that, the huge carnivore turned and dashed off along the passage.
                Magnan
emerged from his office, an anxious expression on his narrow features.
                "I
trust we've done the correct thing, Retief," he muttered behind his hand
as General Mub came up. "I'd best advise His Excellency of the status quo
at once. General, if you'd be so kind as to accompany me ...?" He turned
to the morose Glorb who was examining the carpeted deck closely.
                "Looks
like snarf-weed, cropped close by a tud," he commented. "But it
ain't. How'd you get it to grow inside? I could use some of the same strain to
plush up my field HQ. By the way," he went on, "it looks like
everything's just about set, down below. The old pageant ought to be starting
any second now."
                "No
doubt, General," Magnan agreed, "but I'd be most appreciative if
you'd stay by me until after we've informed the Ambassador of our
arrangements."
                "Don't
worry, Mr. Magnan. I don't figger to sneak off and give the signal; now I know
the score, I wouldn't say 'Yivshish' if you was to offer me a medal."
                "Careful,
General," Magnan cautioned. "Don't even whisper the word. Someone
might overhear." Mub nodded agreement, and the little party went off in
search of Ambassador Grossblunder, finding him surrounded as usual by eager
staff members, on the ramp in the shade of the towering vessel.
                "Oh,
there you are, Ben," the great man greeted his Counselor. "The time
has come for you to work your miracle. You may now produce your solution to the
contretemps in which I have found myself, due of course to no lack of
perspicacity on my part. Who could have imagined such barbaric rules
would be in effect here? To parade in the nude, indeed! Preposterous. Though it
is a bit sticky in regulation full early late afternoon ceremonial
attire." Grossblunder plucked at his sodden dicky and mopped his low,
grayish forehead with a large floral patterned tissue. "Speak up,
Ben," he urged as no response was apparent to his dictum.
                "Ah,
oh yes, the miracle," Magnan gobbled. "I was just coming to that, Mr.
Ambassador. But as I was saying—you may expect the arrival of a squadron of
Peace Enforcers at any moment."
                "Magnan!"
Grossblunder barked. "Have you gone mad? One hint of Terran militarism at
this halcyon celebration of friendly inter-being rivalry would shatter the
Corps image beyond salvaging." He broke off, muttering to himself. Just
then a stir in the crowd which had withdrawn to the vicinity of the judges'
stand turned all heads as one.
                "La
cucaracha! Or possibly caramba!" Gross-blunder blurted. "Or whatever
it is the Mexicans say to express astonishment."
                "Why,
I declare," a fragile-looking Second Secretary murmured. "It's a
Groaci VIP car! And, why, I shouldn't wonder if that were the Groaci Top
Advisor, General Hish himself, alighting!"
                "Hish,
eh," Grossblunder muttered. "This could be disaster with a capital D, gentlemen." He fixed Magnan with a choleric eye. "No more talk of
Terran battle fleets, now, Ben," he commanded sternly. "If Hish
should catch the merest hint—I leave to your imagination the entry I should be
forced to make in the Egregious Blunder column on your next ER."
                "But,
sir," Magnan said mechanically, turning to Retief for a cue, then
subsiding at the latter's headshake.
                "See
here," General Mub spoke up. "I'm going over and have a word with
that