Diplomat at Arms (28 page)

            "We've
been goofing around long enough, Yish," Retief said. "You know why
I'm here. Where is he?"

            "You
are here, my dear Retief, because, in spite of your crude animal physique, I
finessed you here as delicately as King Kroog enticed the fip-maiden into the
sauna."

            "Oh.
I thought the Ambassador's orders were to keep me out of the building on pain
of beheading."

            "I
suppose something of the sort was said, but this is different."

            "Just
take me to Mr. Magnan and I'll forget to mention the matter to His
Excellency."

            "I'm
taking you as fast as I can, ain't I?" Yish said sullenly. Retief followed
him along the low-ceilinged passage past barred cell doors, where what looked
like large fish bones lay heaped on the stone-slab floors, among rusted chains.
Ahead a dim light burned. By its glow Retief saw Fith emerge from a doorway and
stride jauntily away. He brushed past Yish and hurried to the door Fith had
used. It stood ajar; he stepped through as Magnan, tight-trussed in a
form-fitting wicker cage, muttered;

            "This
is a matter for publication in the Galactic Review of Interplanetary Excesses.
'Gentlemen, it is with regret that I forward the enclosed MS. detailing my
abuse by a power whose name begins with Groaci, in gross violation of
diplomatic immunity. Now, if you yourselves were out in the great arena of
Galactic diplomacy, instead of sitting behind a desk in the GRIPE editorial
suite, you'd not be so critical of my having let slip a few trivial GUTS
classified items.' So there!

            "Oh,
it's you, Retief; I was just dreaming of giving a piece of my mind to those
ivory-tower critics of mine."

            "Don't
worry, I won't tell anybody."

            "You
mean about the GUTS security violation?"

            "No,
I mean about talking to yourself. By the way, just what Galactic Utter Top
Secret info did you divulge?"

            "I
... I told him where to find the magic tea bag— but it was just to save poor
D'ong from being put to torment."

            "Commendable,
Mr. Magnan." Retief picked up a reel of film from beside the projector.
"Are you a fan of Roy's?" he asked.

            "I've
never considered myself such, but candidly, I was on the verge of participating
in an impromptu Rogers festival."

            "Curious.
Where's D'ong?"

            "Closeted
with His Excellency, Ambassador Shiss, I shouldn't wonder. He
did
have
an appointment, you know."

            Retief
examined the harness restraining Magnan, then jerked the straps loose. The
wickerwork fell away. Magnan stepped down from the conversation frame with a
sigh of relief.

            "Vera
Hruba Ralston," he muttered. "Nelson Eddy, Eugene Autry."

            "Planning
a show?" Retief inquired. "Sounds like rather unlikely casting."

            "By
no means. They're all on the same bill, Fith assures me. Free admission, too,
though the seats seem rather confining. And no popcorn, just gribble grubs; and
you know how it is once you've had too much of a good thing."

            "Or
even of a bad thing. Speaking of which, I'll excuse myself from the Rogers
revival. Ta."

            "Retief!
Wait! Where are you going? That nasty little five-eyed sneak, Fith, may come
back at any moment."

            "I'm
going to drop in on His Excellency, the Groacian AE and MP."

            "Now,
Retief," Magnan said severely. "As your immediate supervisor, I must
caution you to do nothing rash."

            "Actually,
Mr. Magnan, I haven't yet thought up anything rash to do."

            "Excellent.
Perhaps you're learning restraint at last."

            "I
guess it had to happen. But why should we be any more restrained than we have
to? After an hour in a Groaci conversation frame, I should think you'd like
being unrestrained."

            "Ah,
yes. To be sure, Retief. General Fith stepped a bit over the line
restraint-wise in trussing a Terry First Secretary and Consul in that fashion.
Still, he merely hinted at the other torments he had planned— he stopped short
of actually screening them."

            "So—inasmuch
as you have the general well in hand, it seems logical for me to tackle his
boss."

            "Ummm.
I trust you employ the term 'tackle' figuratively."

            "I
don't expect to have too much trouble with the old boy. After all, he's a
career bureaucrat, too."

            "Retief,
need I caution you not to rely on any fellow-feeling from that sneaky,
five-eyed little devil? Though of course he knows the rules."

            "Nope."

            "I
thought not. Just employ standard diplomatic techniques; Shiss is enough of an
old campaigner to yield gracefully to a proper approach."

            "I
assume from that you'd be against my braiding his eyes together, or pinching
his air bladder shut."

            "Correct.
Go in there like a true bureaucrat, Retief: let him know we've got the dirt on
him, though of course we wouldn't dream of being so uncouth as to give it to
the media—as long as he confides in us just what his object in kidnapping D'ong
might be."

            "Where
is poor old D'ong?"

            "I
haven't seen him. Fith adamantly refused to confide in me."

            "I'll
snoop around and find him."

            Retief
left the cell, encountering Sergeant Yish waiting rather furtively, just
outside.

            "This
is hardly equitable treatment, Retief," the Groaci hissed. "General
Fith may be along at any moment, asking embarrassing questions—especially if he
sees a Terry loose in the off-limits area."

            "Just
tell him we're on our way to call on the Ambassador," Retief said.
"Which way?"

            "Just
down this way," Yish replied sullenly, pointing to a lightless entry.

            "His
Excellency maintains an office in the dungeon wing?" Retief asked.

            "Naw.
This is just the short-cut to the elevators."

            Retief
entered the dark and narrow passage behind the Groaci non-com. "Just in
case anybody gets in our way," he told Yish, "Keep in mind that I'm
holding a blast pistol."

            "Oh,
sure, Retief. Shucks, you don't think I'd try to pull a swifty, do you?"
Yish scurried ahead, stopped before a bank of unlighted gray-painted elevator
doors. In the adjacent wall was another, elaborately decorated in scarlet and
gold.

            "Let's
take that one," Retief suggested.

            "Perish
forbid!" Yish exclaimed. "That one's for the exclusive use of His
Excellency!"

            "He
won't mind if we go up in it, as long as we don't meet him coming down."

            "True.
But one never knows—on the other hand, he never comes down here, and that's an
express car, Chancery Tower to sub-dungeon, non-stop. So I suppose we're
safe."

            They
rode up uneventfully. Mirrors on two walls reflected the tall, powerfully built
Terran dressed in a late mid-afternoon sub-informal coverall with the CDT crest
on the pocket, and beside him the spindle-legged Groaci NCO in the drab
hip-cloak and dun eye-shields. The third wall was occupied by an array of
control buttons of many colors and shapes beneath a placard reading (in
translation): Peril! Only one control switch is not booby-trapped. The Officer
of the Day has the code. The safe button will open the doors at the Chancery
level. All others will detonate an explosive charge. Authorized personnel only.
S/the Ambassador.

            The car
stopped. A faint humming sound was audible.

            "Seen
the O.D. lately?" Retief inquired.

            "To
have trapped you neatly, impetuous Soft One!" Yish hissed. "To be no
way out for you now. As for myself, I expire with enthusiasm. My only regret is
that I can only experience hara-kiri once in line of duty, so to get on with
it."

            "Very
dramatic." Retief said. "But pretty silly. Just get busy and open up,
Yish. No one will ever know you skipped your big chance to do your
number."

            "Wild
Goroonian Glump-beasts could not wring the secret from me, vile Terry!"

            "Probably
they wouldn't even try," Retief agreed. "But I'll bet a valuable
collector's item against a plain set of Hong Kong-made eye-shields you'll be
eating lunch in half an hour with your appetite intact."

            "Never,
crass violator of hallowed Groacian tradition!" Yish shifted position,
folded his arms, and leaned back against the wall. At once colored lights
flashed, buzzers buzzed, beepers beeped, and a faint odor of. Celestial Queen
incense was wafted on the air. Also, the doors slid smoothly open.

            "Drat!
I blew it!" Yish said casually, moving away from the treacherous control
panel.

            "Sure
you did. It was the thought of lunch that confused you," Retief said
soothingly. "Anybody could have made the same mistake. You can go play in
the sand now, Yish. If I need you I'll call."

            "You're
a regular guy, Retief," Yish said in his badly accented Terran, and wedged
himself into a corner of the car in an attempt to disappear.

            The room
on which the doors had opened was a spacious chamber with wide windows
overlooking the Embassy fungus gardens. The walls were paneled in pale yellow
blinwood, and hung with richly brocaded tapestries that Retief recognized as of
Fufian manufacture. Behind a wide desk upholstered in violet-dyed tump leather
at the far side of the room, sat Ambassador Shiss, an individual unusually
scrawny even by Groacian standards, but richly arrayed in a pink velvet tunic
of Terran cut adorned with scarlet aiguillettes, purple shoulder-boards with
major generals' insigniae and gold Austrian knots. His platinum eye-shields
were jewel-encrusted.

            "What's
this?" he barked in perfect Terran. "Yish, I see you skulking there
in my personal VIP lift. What's the meaning of conducting this interloper into
the Presence—and unannounced at that?"

            "Why,
hi there, sir." Yish chirped. "I hope you don't mind our popping in
this way, but under the circumstances one had no time to phone ahead for an
appointment."

            "Skip
all that jazz, Private Yish. You'd better hang up your jock when you report in
for confinement to quarters. Your career is at an end." The irate diplomat
turned a pair of eyes on Retief, keeping three on Yish. "Now, as for you,
Retief," he began. "Wait a minute," he interrupted himself. "Where's
Magnan? My alert troops spotted the pair of you as you were scaling the wall. I
do hope you're not so naive as to be trying to pull some kind of swifty on me,
splitting up like this."

            "By
no means, Mr. Ambassador. My colleague was detained on a cultural exchange
matter with General Fith."

            "Is
that damn fool playing with his Roy Rogers films again? I've told him once if
I've told him a thousand times—Roy's not a spot on Gene. But no matter—I didn't
summon you here to natter of these trivia."

            "That's
right, Your Excellency."

            "Eh?
What's right? Never expected to hear you agree so easily."

            "You
didn't summon me here," Retief said.

            "And
you'll have a heck of a time leaving without an invitation. To you this
gracious structure may appear no more than an ordinary masterpiece of Groacian
institutional architecture, but beneath its homey exterior lies the framework
of a Groaci Number Nine fortress, of the type we normally use on these crude
outpost worlds. You've intruded here, Terry—and you'll rue the day you thought
to violate my Embassy and live to tell the tale!"

            "Consider
me deeply impressed," Retief said. "Where's Foreign Minister D'ong?"

            "Your
insolence is exceeded only by your naiveté!" Shiss said chillingly.
"Yish! Get Fith up here at once. But be polite; after all he's a brevet
general and you're only a private last class, so be
very
polite about
it, or he'll have you court-martialed. Retief, you may be seated, there."
He pointed to a padded bench by the elevator. Retief pulled out the deep easy
chair beside the desk and seated himself, then lit up a dope-stick and puffed
smoke at the Groaci, causing the latter to snap his nostrils shut after a
single snort of irritation.

            "Now,
just what's
your
interest in matters of state passing between HQs
Excellency the Foreign Minister? And you know I hate those stinky dope-sticks,
which doubtless is why you lit it. But I'm determined not to permit you to
distract me by these petty tactics."