spoils, together they assisted
the semi-conscious Foor to his large, flat feet. He pushed them away.
"Lemme be," he growled. "I never seen dem udder tree guys!"
He turned to peer suspiciously into the shadows.
"Where're dey at?" he demanded.
"Jess feed 'em to me one at a time, where I can get a good swing!"
Retief tapped him on the shoulder. "Did I
hear your fellow genetic deficiency say he'd be chatting with the Terran AE and
MP?" he inquired.
"Retief!" Magnan protested. "I'm
sure it was a mere figure of speech! You can't imagine that His Excellency is
in league with these—" He paused as all mob-members still functioning
turned to glare at him.
"Yes, Ben?" Foor prompted. "Youse
was about to characterize I and my boys as ... what?"
"Misguided entrepreneurs," Magnan
supplied. "Led astray by bad companions, poor fellows. See here, we're all
reasonable beings, so what say we just let bygones be bygones: you leave here
now, quietly, and promise not to violate the Embassy stores again soon, and
I'll tell His Ex security is as tight as a belly-button tick!"
"Dat ain't what His Ex said, when we made
duh deal—I mean arrangements—fer duh like informal distribution of duh loot—I
mean duh relief supplies an' all," one of the only slightly cowed thieves
complained without enthusiasm. "He tole us—"
"One moment!" Magnan interrupted.
"Are you alleging that Career Ambassador Samson Swinepearl entered into
some sort of agreement with you fellows to loot the warehouse with
impunity?"
"Naw, Old Impunity's out," Foor
corrected. "Got likkered up and fell and broke his mooby-bone. An' he
never alleged it, he just said it."
"Retief," Magnan said in an aside to
his colleague, "something must be done about these bootleg translators
that are flooding the market and imparting grossly fallacious concepts of
grammar, syntax, and diction to these poor, unenlightened scholars, yearning as
they are for higher education. Why, this fellow doesn't even know the meaning
of the simple verb 'allege'."
"Do, too," the lanky illiterate
snapped. "Lissen: 'n. l. a horizontal, shelflike projection on a
building or a cliff.' Dat's right outa duh Webber Dickanary, Ben."
"I didn't say 'a
ledge', you ninny, I said 'allege'!"
"Sure. Dats a, like, horizontal, shelflike
projection on a cliff or a building, jess like I said, Ben," the stubborn
fellow persisted.
"No," Magnan came back stubbornly.
" 'Al-lege', not 'a ledge'! Can't you grasp the distinction?"
"Ain't none," the scholar dismissed
the matter. "Anyways, last time I was chinning wid old Swiney, he says:
'now, Pool, my boy'—he calls me his 'boy'—"
"I must protest!" Magnan cut him off,
" 'Old Swiney' is hardly a proper mode of reference to the Terran
Ambluster by a mere ... mere—"
" 'Thief',"
Retief suggested.
Magnan recoiled, "Jim! Not where they can hear you!" He showed the crestfallen thief an improvised We Must Make
Allowances for Gaffes Committed By the Young (1075-w), which the ungrateful
fellow dismissed with a shrug—a passable 27-1, Magnan noted en passant —at
the same time wondering briefly who had tutored the scamp in the subtleties of
Nullspeak.
"I insist," Magnan resumed haranguing
Foor Pool, "on knowing just what it is you allege His Ex said to
you!"
"I'm tryna tell you, Ben," the saucy
fellow protested. "Every time I get to duh pernt, youse butt in wit some
irrelevant crack about us high-class Nasties or like that!"
"Whom, I?" Magnan squeaked. "I'm
quite
the semi-conscious Foor to his large, flat feet. He pushed them away.
"Lemme be," he growled. "I never seen dem udder tree guys!"
He turned to peer suspiciously into the shadows.
"Where're dey at?" he demanded.
"Jess feed 'em to me one at a time, where I can get a good swing!"
Retief tapped him on the shoulder. "Did I
hear your fellow genetic deficiency say he'd be chatting with the Terran AE and
MP?" he inquired.
"Retief!" Magnan protested. "I'm
sure it was a mere figure of speech! You can't imagine that His Excellency is
in league with these—" He paused as all mob-members still functioning
turned to glare at him.
"Yes, Ben?" Foor prompted. "Youse
was about to characterize I and my boys as ... what?"
"Misguided entrepreneurs," Magnan
supplied. "Led astray by bad companions, poor fellows. See here, we're all
reasonable beings, so what say we just let bygones be bygones: you leave here
now, quietly, and promise not to violate the Embassy stores again soon, and
I'll tell His Ex security is as tight as a belly-button tick!"
"Dat ain't what His Ex said, when we made
duh deal—I mean arrangements—fer duh like informal distribution of duh loot—I
mean duh relief supplies an' all," one of the only slightly cowed thieves
complained without enthusiasm. "He tole us—"
"One moment!" Magnan interrupted.
"Are you alleging that Career Ambassador Samson Swinepearl entered into
some sort of agreement with you fellows to loot the warehouse with
impunity?"
"Naw, Old Impunity's out," Foor
corrected. "Got likkered up and fell and broke his mooby-bone. An' he
never alleged it, he just said it."
"Retief," Magnan said in an aside to
his colleague, "something must be done about these bootleg translators
that are flooding the market and imparting grossly fallacious concepts of
grammar, syntax, and diction to these poor, unenlightened scholars, yearning as
they are for higher education. Why, this fellow doesn't even know the meaning
of the simple verb 'allege'."
"Do, too," the lanky illiterate
snapped. "Lissen: 'n. l. a horizontal, shelflike projection on a
building or a cliff.' Dat's right outa duh Webber Dickanary, Ben."
"I didn't say 'a
ledge', you ninny, I said 'allege'!"
"Sure. Dats a, like, horizontal, shelflike
projection on a cliff or a building, jess like I said, Ben," the stubborn
fellow persisted.
"No," Magnan came back stubbornly.
" 'Al-lege', not 'a ledge'! Can't you grasp the distinction?"
"Ain't none," the scholar dismissed
the matter. "Anyways, last time I was chinning wid old Swiney, he says:
'now, Pool, my boy'—he calls me his 'boy'—"
"I must protest!" Magnan cut him off,
" 'Old Swiney' is hardly a proper mode of reference to the Terran
Ambluster by a mere ... mere—"
" 'Thief',"
Retief suggested.
Magnan recoiled, "Jim! Not where they can hear you!" He showed the crestfallen thief an improvised We Must Make
Allowances for Gaffes Committed By the Young (1075-w), which the ungrateful
fellow dismissed with a shrug—a passable 27-1, Magnan noted en passant —at
the same time wondering briefly who had tutored the scamp in the subtleties of
Nullspeak.
"I insist," Magnan resumed haranguing
Foor Pool, "on knowing just what it is you allege His Ex said to
you!"
"I'm tryna tell you, Ben," the saucy
fellow protested. "Every time I get to duh pernt, youse butt in wit some
irrelevant crack about us high-class Nasties or like that!"
"Whom, I?" Magnan squeaked. "I'm
quite
Similar Books
