The Return of Retief by Keith Laumer

scoring a point for anticipating
his colleagues, a coup which the Undersecretary duly noted on his pad:
'Proudfoot—1 up.'
     
                "Why
don't we just send along a few billion GUC as a sort of subsidy or
something?" Hencrate wondered aloud.
     
                "What?"
Colonel Trenchfoot barked. "Pay tribute to these pirates, when they
haven't even demanded any?"
     
                "That's
far the best time, Colonel," Ambassador Sidesaddle pointed out, almost
kindly. "This way we get to set the amount of the
reparations," he finished, pointedly avoiding the word 'tribute.'
     
                "Yeah,"
Marvin Lackluster blurted, "but what are we paying reparations for?"
The young fellow scratched his scalp, miming Honest Confusion (32-b).
     
                "Marvin,"
the Undersecretary said gently, "don't waste that rather unsophisticated
32 on this simple question. After all, when offered ten or twelve billion GUC
in amends, are the Ree likely to query the philosophical basis of the
grant?"
     
                "But
it was Mr. Retief who got shot at," Marvin persisted, at which the
Undersecretary noted, 'Lackluster—stubborn' on his crowded pad.
     
                "Quick
action is essential, gentlemen," the Undersecretary rapped out in his most
authoritative tone, a modified 738-z (Patience Reluctantly Prodded to Stern
Action). "Initially, of course, I must prepare a formal apology to Captain
Fump, for the signature of the Deputy Undersecretary himself.
     
                As
if to refresh himself, Crodfoller took a deep breath and surveyed a
yet-untapped sector of the conference table.
     
                "Manny,"
he prompted, fixing a steely gaze on his Communications Officer, who had been
contentedly resting on his oars, "What's our best mode for a fast contact
with this confounded worm troublemaker, 'Our esteemed colleague,' that is to
say?"
     
                The
officer, who had allowed his eyes to glaze, blinked and offered, "Well,
sir, with all travel out for the duration like you said, I guess we better get
off a quick flash on the hot-line—only it's broken down, I hear."
     
                "If
it's broken down, how the heck are we going to get off any flashes, hot or
otherwise, on it?" Crodfoller demanded.
     
                "You've
definitely got a point there, Mr. Acting, uh, Assistant Deputy, sir,"
Manny conceded forthrightly. "I was just coming to that."
     
                "Maybe,"
a heretofore silent Political Section type from the Consulate at Dobe hazarded,
"maybe we'd better try to get the word through via the Groaci Minister at
Prute. He's handling Terry affairs out there vis-a-vis the Ree."
     
                "
'Maybe' Eustace?" the Undersecretary queried. "Do you intend that to
be a firm proposal?"
     
                Eustace
protested, "I only said—I mean, I was noodling. Why not shove it into the
reactor and see if it melts the rods?"
     
                General
Otherday rose. "Gentlemen, I predict that Fleet orders declaring a Red
Alert Status are even now being issued. Thus I will make every effort to see
that my command is on a war footing. Action must not be delayed."
     
                "Swell,
General," Crodfoller acceded with a sour-sweet smile, his personal
modification of the time-hallowed 29-c (Toleration of the Intolerable in the
Interest of Chumship). "But," he went on, "just what is this
action you contemplate?"
     
                "I
figure to have my Supply Sergeant stock up on smokes and ammo and stuff,"
the general replied. "No telling how bad the rationing will be."
     
                "There
is that," Crodfoller agreed sagely, noting on his pad 'See Mel re
essentials'. "But even before that we must, I say MUST, gentlemen, proffer
appropriate balm to the wounded Ree ego. We—Mr. Retief, that is—have, or