crystal!"
"I
said Sam had mentioned it. He told me his asteroid was made of the stuff."
Magnan
swallowed hard, twice. "By the way," he said dully. "You were
right about the check. Half an hour ago Mr. Leatherwell tried to stop payment.
He was too late."
"All
in all, it's been a big day for Leatherwell," Retief said. "Anything
else?"
"I
hope not," Magnan said. "I sincerely hope not." He leaned close
to the screen. "You'll consider the entire affair as ... confidential?
There's no point in unduly complicating relationships."
"Have
no fear, Mr. Consul," Retief said cheerfully. "You won't find me
identifying with anything as specific as triple-salting an asteroid."
Back
at the table, Sam called for another bottle of rock juice.
"That
Drift's a pretty good game," Retief said. "But let me show you one I
learned out on Yill ..."
-
THE
CASTLE OF LIGHT
I
RETIEF
SCALED his pale burgundy afternoon informal beret across the office, narrowly
missing the clothes tree, and dumped the heavy carton he was carrying on his
desk. A shapely brunette with a turned-up nose appeared at the connecting door
to the next office.
"Miss
Braswell," he said before she could speak. "I have here two handsome
half-liter wine glasses which I'm about to field-test. Will you join me?"
She
made a shushing motion, rolling her eyes toward the inner office. A narrow,
agitated face appeared over her shoulder.
"Retief!"
Consul-General Magnan burst out. "I've been at wit's end! How does it
happen that every time catastrophe strikes you're out of the office?"
"It's
merely a matter of timing," Retief said soothingly, stripping paper from
the package. He pulled out a tulip-shaped goblet which seemed to be made of
coils of jewel-colored glass welded together in an intricate pattern. He held
it up to the light.
"Pretty,
eh? And barely cool from the glass-blower."
"While
you idled about the bazaar," Magnan snapped, his face an angry pink above
a wide, stiff collar of yellow plastiweave, "I've been coping
single-handed with disaster! I suggest you put aside your baubles; I'm calling
a formal Emergency Staff Meeting in two minutes!"
"That
means you, me and Miss Braswell, I take it, since the rest of the staff is off
crater-vie wing—"
"Just
you and I." Magnan mopped at his face with a vast floral-patterned tissue.
"This is a highly classified emergency."
"Oh,
goody. I'll take the rest of the afternoon off and watch the festivities."
Miss Braswell winked at Retief, extended the tip of her tongue in salute to the
Consul-General's back, and was gone.
Retief
plucked a bottle from his desk drawer and followed Magnan into the inner
office. The senior officer yanked at his stiff collar, now wilting with
perspiration.
"Why
this couldn't have waited until Minister Barnshingle's return, I don't
know," he said. "He's already a day overdue. I've tried to contact
him, to no avail. This primitive line-of-sight local telescreen system—"
He broke off. "Retief, kindly defer your tippling until after the
crisis!"
"Oh,
this isn't tippling, Mr. Magnan. I'm doing a commodity analysis for my next
report. You fobbed the detail of Commercial Attache off on me, if you
recall."
"As
Charge d'affaires in the absence of the Minister, I forbid drinking on
duty!" Magnan roared.
"Surely
you jest, Mr. Magnan! It would mean the end of diplomacy as we know it."
"I
said Sam had mentioned it. He told me his asteroid was made of the stuff."
Magnan
swallowed hard, twice. "By the way," he said dully. "You were
right about the check. Half an hour ago Mr. Leatherwell tried to stop payment.
He was too late."
"All
in all, it's been a big day for Leatherwell," Retief said. "Anything
else?"
"I
hope not," Magnan said. "I sincerely hope not." He leaned close
to the screen. "You'll consider the entire affair as ... confidential?
There's no point in unduly complicating relationships."
"Have
no fear, Mr. Consul," Retief said cheerfully. "You won't find me
identifying with anything as specific as triple-salting an asteroid."
Back
at the table, Sam called for another bottle of rock juice.
"That
Drift's a pretty good game," Retief said. "But let me show you one I
learned out on Yill ..."
-
THE
CASTLE OF LIGHT
I
RETIEF
SCALED his pale burgundy afternoon informal beret across the office, narrowly
missing the clothes tree, and dumped the heavy carton he was carrying on his
desk. A shapely brunette with a turned-up nose appeared at the connecting door
to the next office.
"Miss
Braswell," he said before she could speak. "I have here two handsome
half-liter wine glasses which I'm about to field-test. Will you join me?"
She
made a shushing motion, rolling her eyes toward the inner office. A narrow,
agitated face appeared over her shoulder.
"Retief!"
Consul-General Magnan burst out. "I've been at wit's end! How does it
happen that every time catastrophe strikes you're out of the office?"
"It's
merely a matter of timing," Retief said soothingly, stripping paper from
the package. He pulled out a tulip-shaped goblet which seemed to be made of
coils of jewel-colored glass welded together in an intricate pattern. He held
it up to the light.
"Pretty,
eh? And barely cool from the glass-blower."
"While
you idled about the bazaar," Magnan snapped, his face an angry pink above
a wide, stiff collar of yellow plastiweave, "I've been coping
single-handed with disaster! I suggest you put aside your baubles; I'm calling
a formal Emergency Staff Meeting in two minutes!"
"That
means you, me and Miss Braswell, I take it, since the rest of the staff is off
crater-vie wing—"
"Just
you and I." Magnan mopped at his face with a vast floral-patterned tissue.
"This is a highly classified emergency."
"Oh,
goody. I'll take the rest of the afternoon off and watch the festivities."
Miss Braswell winked at Retief, extended the tip of her tongue in salute to the
Consul-General's back, and was gone.
Retief
plucked a bottle from his desk drawer and followed Magnan into the inner
office. The senior officer yanked at his stiff collar, now wilting with
perspiration.
"Why
this couldn't have waited until Minister Barnshingle's return, I don't
know," he said. "He's already a day overdue. I've tried to contact
him, to no avail. This primitive line-of-sight local telescreen system—"
He broke off. "Retief, kindly defer your tippling until after the
crisis!"
"Oh,
this isn't tippling, Mr. Magnan. I'm doing a commodity analysis for my next
report. You fobbed the detail of Commercial Attache off on me, if you
recall."
"As
Charge d'affaires in the absence of the Minister, I forbid drinking on
duty!" Magnan roared.
"Surely
you jest, Mr. Magnan! It would mean the end of diplomacy as we know it."
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