rapidly now.
"Why,
those appear to be hastily lettered pro-Terry slogans," the Political
Officer burst out.
"Have
you lost your wits?" Treadwater rumbled. He peered through the gloom.
"Hmmm. It appears you're right." He straightened his back. "Just
as I expected, of course. I knew that my policies toward these fellows would
bear fruit, given time." He shot Magnan a reproving look. "A pity you
chose to go junketing just at the climactic point of the finesse. You missed a
valuable lesson in diplomatic subtlety."
Magnan
opened his mouth, caught a look from Retief, closed it again.
"I'm
sure we were all fooled by Your Excellency's apparent total inactivity,
sir," he gulped.
"Exactly."
Treadwater beamed around at the others as the front-runners of the North
Skweeman delegation arrived, uttering cries of delight and pledging eternal
friendship. "It appears we'll have a solid electorate behind us,
gentlemen! My job—that is to say, the future of Terran-Skweeman relations seems
secure. Now, if we just had an adequate Project Proposal to offer Sector
Headquarters, our cup would be brimming." He stepped forward, began
shaking members left to right. "Sir!" Secretary Dimplick bounded
forward. "I've a dandy notion! Why not build a new capital for United
Skweem to replace the former city swept away by the flood?"
"Of
course!" Colonel Pluckwyn chimed in. "My idea exactly; just waiting
for an appropriate moment to mention it. I'd also suggest a massive aid program
to rectify the other ravages of the disaster."
"Food!"
the Agricultural Attache shouted. "I think I can justify a schedule of
deliveries under the Chrunchies for Lunchies program that will keep two dozen
Corps bottoms in use for the next fiscal quarter!"
"Superb,
gentlemen!" Treadwater warbled. "I can see promotions all around—to
say nothing of extra staff, monuments to Skweeman independence and democratic
solidarity, larger operational budgets, and a magnificent new Terran Chancery
rising from the ruins!"
"Say,
Mr. Retief." The junior Third Secretary plucked at his sleeve. "I
thought these North Skweemans were little better than dacoits and brigands;
suddenly they're welcomed as bosom friends.
"True,
they're a shifty lot," Retief confided as he accepted a moist Skweeman
handshake. "But who are we to be choosy?"
-
TRUCE OR CONSEQUENCES
1
First Secretary Jame Retief of the Terran Embassy pushed
open the conference room door and ducked as a rain of plaster chips clattered
down from the ceiling. The chandelier, a baroque construction of Yalcan
glasswork, danced on its chain, fell with a crash on the center of the polished
greenwood table. Across the room, drapes fluttered at glassless windows which
rattled in their frames in resonance with the distant crump-crump! of
gunfire.
"Mr. Retief, you're ten minutes late for staff
meeting!" a voice sounded from somewhere. Retief stooped, glanced under
the table. A huddle of eyes stared back.
"Ah, there you are, Mr. Ambassador, gentlemen,"
Retief greeted the Chief of Mission and his staff. "Sorry to be tardy, but
there was a brisk little aerial dogfight going on just over the Zoological
Gardens. The Gloys are putting up a hot resistance to the Blort landings this
time."
"And no doubt you paused to hazard a wager on the
outcome," Ambassador Biteworse snapped. "Your mission, sir, was to
deliver a sharp rebuke to the Foreign Office regarding the latest violations of
the Embassy! What have you to report?"
"The Foreign Minister sends his regrets. He was just
packing up to leave. It looks as though the Blorts will be reoccupying the
capital about dinnertime."
"What, again? Just as I'm on the verge of
re-establishing a working rapport with His Excellency?"
"Oh, but you have a dandy rapport with His Blortian
Excellency, too," the voice of Counsellor of Embassy Magnan sounded from
his position well to the rear. "Remember, you were just about to get him
to
"Why,
those appear to be hastily lettered pro-Terry slogans," the Political
Officer burst out.
"Have
you lost your wits?" Treadwater rumbled. He peered through the gloom.
"Hmmm. It appears you're right." He straightened his back. "Just
as I expected, of course. I knew that my policies toward these fellows would
bear fruit, given time." He shot Magnan a reproving look. "A pity you
chose to go junketing just at the climactic point of the finesse. You missed a
valuable lesson in diplomatic subtlety."
Magnan
opened his mouth, caught a look from Retief, closed it again.
"I'm
sure we were all fooled by Your Excellency's apparent total inactivity,
sir," he gulped.
"Exactly."
Treadwater beamed around at the others as the front-runners of the North
Skweeman delegation arrived, uttering cries of delight and pledging eternal
friendship. "It appears we'll have a solid electorate behind us,
gentlemen! My job—that is to say, the future of Terran-Skweeman relations seems
secure. Now, if we just had an adequate Project Proposal to offer Sector
Headquarters, our cup would be brimming." He stepped forward, began
shaking members left to right. "Sir!" Secretary Dimplick bounded
forward. "I've a dandy notion! Why not build a new capital for United
Skweem to replace the former city swept away by the flood?"
"Of
course!" Colonel Pluckwyn chimed in. "My idea exactly; just waiting
for an appropriate moment to mention it. I'd also suggest a massive aid program
to rectify the other ravages of the disaster."
"Food!"
the Agricultural Attache shouted. "I think I can justify a schedule of
deliveries under the Chrunchies for Lunchies program that will keep two dozen
Corps bottoms in use for the next fiscal quarter!"
"Superb,
gentlemen!" Treadwater warbled. "I can see promotions all around—to
say nothing of extra staff, monuments to Skweeman independence and democratic
solidarity, larger operational budgets, and a magnificent new Terran Chancery
rising from the ruins!"
"Say,
Mr. Retief." The junior Third Secretary plucked at his sleeve. "I
thought these North Skweemans were little better than dacoits and brigands;
suddenly they're welcomed as bosom friends.
"True,
they're a shifty lot," Retief confided as he accepted a moist Skweeman
handshake. "But who are we to be choosy?"
-
TRUCE OR CONSEQUENCES
1
First Secretary Jame Retief of the Terran Embassy pushed
open the conference room door and ducked as a rain of plaster chips clattered
down from the ceiling. The chandelier, a baroque construction of Yalcan
glasswork, danced on its chain, fell with a crash on the center of the polished
greenwood table. Across the room, drapes fluttered at glassless windows which
rattled in their frames in resonance with the distant crump-crump! of
gunfire.
"Mr. Retief, you're ten minutes late for staff
meeting!" a voice sounded from somewhere. Retief stooped, glanced under
the table. A huddle of eyes stared back.
"Ah, there you are, Mr. Ambassador, gentlemen,"
Retief greeted the Chief of Mission and his staff. "Sorry to be tardy, but
there was a brisk little aerial dogfight going on just over the Zoological
Gardens. The Gloys are putting up a hot resistance to the Blort landings this
time."
"And no doubt you paused to hazard a wager on the
outcome," Ambassador Biteworse snapped. "Your mission, sir, was to
deliver a sharp rebuke to the Foreign Office regarding the latest violations of
the Embassy! What have you to report?"
"The Foreign Minister sends his regrets. He was just
packing up to leave. It looks as though the Blorts will be reoccupying the
capital about dinnertime."
"What, again? Just as I'm on the verge of
re-establishing a working rapport with His Excellency?"
"Oh, but you have a dandy rapport with His Blortian
Excellency, too," the voice of Counsellor of Embassy Magnan sounded from
his position well to the rear. "Remember, you were just about to get him
to
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