Read Online The Return of Retief by Keith Laumer - Free Book Online Page B

sculptured,
sound-absorbent ceiling, diplomatically refraining from throwing too much
light.
     
                He
found an empty booth, sank onto the cushions, and swirled the Bacchus potion.
     
                "Oh,
Retief, there you are," the voice of Mr. Magnan cut across the murmur of well-bred
conversation in the lounge. Retief looked up and saluted his immediate
supervisor with raised glass.
     
                "Mr.
Magnan, here I am indeed," Retief greeted the slightly-built senior
diplomat. "But according to Jerry, not for long."'
     
                "Ah,
yes, Retief," Magnan muttered, as he sat in the booth, "I might have
known the bartenders would get the news first. I'm afraid you're being sent as
Special Envoy to the Ree Legation at Goldblatt's world. Slive is Chief of
Mission there, you know. You're to convince him of our peaceful
intentions."
     
                "I'm
not the best man for the job," Retief said.
     
                "I
know. I mean, none of us deserves Slive. I'm really sorry. But after the
fashion in which you aroused the Undersecretarial ire by the indignities you
imposed on that nasty little worm, Captain Fump, or whatever, I can hardly say
I'm surprised. Still," he went on, "I wish you the best of luck. Do
keep in touch. And now I must be off to a mummy-viewing at the Hoogan Legation.
Ta."
     
                Magnan
got up abruptly and hurried away.
     
                Retief
savored his bumper to the last drop, rose, and carried the empty mug to the
bar.
     
                "Geeze,"
Jerry offered, discarding the mug, "you're taking it good, Mr. Retief.
Most of the boys would be crying into their beer at an assignment to
Goldblatt's. They're really trying to put it to you, Retief. Hang in there. If
you let them run you out of the Corps, I'll have to start learning
Wormspeak."
     
     
2
     
                It
had been a spartan three standard day trip out, aboard the rusting tramp
freighter which had been the only transport available for the final leg of the
long crossing from Aldo to Prute, where Retief was scheduled for initial
contact with Ree officialdom via Snith, the Groacian Consul.
     
                "Say,
Mr. Retief," the whiskery First Officer said to his lone passenger at
dinner on the last night out, "do you or any of them CDT big shots back at
Sector meet this Snith, before they go making plans?"
     
                "Only
via screen, Big," Retief replied as he sampled the baked Alaska.
     
                "Not
too bad, considering, hey, Mr. Retief?" Big suggested, eyeing the desert.
At Retief's querying glance, he elucidated:
     
                "Considerin
it's been froze, and then scorched," the old spacehand explained
apologetically. "Autochef must be on the blink."
     
                "That's
all right, Big; it's supposed to be frozen and then scorched," Retief
pointed out. "The trick is to brown the meringue without melting the
ice-cream inside; and I see the chef almost managed it," he added, as a
stream of murky fluid drained out through a hole in the stiff sponge-cake outer
layer. "But tell me about Mr. Snith. Do you know him well?"
     
                "About
as good as you can get to know a guy who keeps a couple Haterakan meat-hawks
chained to their perch beside the legation door, I hafta go up there every trip
to hand over the invoices atid pick up the bills of lading, and all I ever got
was a quick look at the little mother inside his limousine his chauffeur was
practically running me down with. But I heard plenty. The boys say he hates
Terries worser'n he does the Pruties, which he peppers with buckshot on
sight."
     
                "Is
he on good terms with the Ree?" Retief asked.
     
                "Better'n
with us Terries, I guess," Big offered. "Haven't heard of him
shooting at none of them yet, even when they came