Retief at Large (55 page)

            "My
stout lads will ride down all opposition," Hoobrik declared with finality.
"I've already made secret arrangements with certain Five-eyed off-worlders
to supply me with all the write-in ballots I need to make everything legal and
proper. Once in office, I can settle down to businesslike looting in an orderly
manner."

            "But
remember," Retief cautioned, "You'll be expected to stand on your
Party Platform—at least for the first few weeks."

            "W-weeks?"
Hoobrik faltered. "What is this platform, Retief?"

            "It's
a pretty shaky structure," Retief confided. "I've never known one to
last past the first Legislative Rebuff."

            "What,
yet another Ordeal?"

            "Don't
worry about it, your Truculence; it seldom goes as far as Impeachment."

            "Well?
Don't keep me in suspense!" Hoobrik roared. "What doth this rite
entail?"

            "This
is where your rival politicians get even with you for winning, by charging you
with High Crimes and Misdemeanors—"

            "Stay!"
Hoobrik yelled. "Is there no end to these torments?"

            "Certainly,"
Retief reassured the aroused leader. "After you retire, you become a
Statesman and are allowed out on alternate All Fools Days to be queried as to
your views on any subject sufficiently trivial to grace the pages of the Sunday
Supplements."

            "Arrrhh!"
Hoobrik growled and drained his mug. "See here, Retief," he said.
"On pondering the matter, methinks 'twould be a gracious gesture on my
part to take second place on the ticket and let a younger Tsugg assume party
leadership; you, for example, Blash," he addressed the sub-chief.

            "Who,
me?" the latter blurted. "Nay, my liege—as I've said before, I am not
now and do not intend to be a candidate."

            "Who,
then?" Hoobrik waved his arms in agitation. "We need a Tsugg who'll
appeal to a broad spectrum of voters. A good scimitarman for beating down
opposition inside the party, a handy club-wielder to bring in the Independents,
a cool hand with a dirk, for committee infighting—" He paused, looking
suddenly thoughtful.

            "Well,
I'll leave you gentlemen to look over the lists," Retief said, rising.
"May I tell the Ambassador to expect you at the post-election victory
reception?"

            "We'll
be there," Hoobrik said. "And I think I have a sure-fire Tsugg
standard-bearer in mind to pull in the vote—"

            In
the varicolored glow of lights strung in the hedges ringing the former
miniature golf course pressed into service as Embassy grounds, the Terran
diplomats stood in conversation clumps across the fairways and greens, glasses
in hand, nervously eyeing the door through which Ambassador Clawhammer's
entrance was expected momentarily.

            Magnan
said to Retief, glancing at his watch, "The first results will be in any
moment."

            "I
think we need have no fear of the outcome," Saddlesore stated. "Guru
Hoobrik's students have been particularly active in these final hours,
zealously applying posters to the polling places."

            "And
applying knots to the heads of reluctant converts," the Political Officer
added. "What I'm wondering is—after Hoobrik's inauguration, what's to
prevent his applying the same techniques to foreign diplomats?"

            "Tradition,
my boy," the colonel said soothingly. "We may be shot as spies or
deported as undesirables—but shaped up by wardheelers, no."

            A
stir crossed the lawn. Ambassador Clawhammer appeared, ornate in the burgundy
cutaway and puce jodpurs specified by CDT Regs for early evening ceremonial
wear.

            "Well?
No word yet?" He stared challengingly at his underlings, accepting one of
the four drinks simultaneously thrust at him by alert junior officers. "My
private polls indicate an early lead for the Tsugg party, increasing to a
commanding majority as the rural counties report."

            "Commanding
is right," Magnan muttered behind his hand. "One of the ruffians had
the audacity to order me to hold his gluepot while he affixed a poster to the
front door of the Embassy."

            "What
cheek," the Political Officer gasped. "You didn't do it?"

            "Of
course not. "He held the gluepot, and I affixed the placard."

            Happy
shouts sounded from the direction of the gate; a party of Tsugg appeared,
flamboyant in pink and yellow, handing out footlong yellow cigars. A throng of
lesser Oberonians followed, all apparently in good spirits.

            "A
landslide victory," one called to the assembly at large. "Break out
the wassail bowl!"

            "Is
this official, Depew?" the Ambassador demanded of his Counselor, who
arrived at that moment at a trot, waving a sheaf of papers.

            "I'm
afraid so—that is, I'm delighted to confirm the people's choice," he
panted. "It's amazing—the Tsugg candidate polled an absolute majority,
even in the oppositions' strongholds. It looks like every voter on the rolls
voted the straight Tsugg ticket."

            "Certes,
Terry," a Grimble confirmed jovially, grabbing two glasses from a passing
tray. "We know a compromise candidate when we see one."

            "
'Tis a clear mandate from the people," a Tsugg declaimed. "Hoobrik
will be along in a trice to help with sorting out the spoils. As for myself,
I'm not greedy; a minor Cabinet post will do nicely."

            "Out
upon thee!" a jovial voice boomed as the Tsugg chieftain swept through the
gate, flanked by an honor guard of grinning scimitar-bearers. "No
undignified rooting at the trough, lads—there's plenty to go around."

            "Congratulations,
your Truculence," Ambassador Clawhammer cried, advancing with outstretched
hand. "I'm sure that at this moment you're feeling both proud and humble
as you point with pride—"

            "Humble?"
Hoobrik roared. "That's for losers, Terry."

            "To
be sure." Clawhammer conceded the point. "Now, your Truculence, I
don't want to delay the victory celebration—but why don't we first just sign
this little Treaty of Eternal Peace and Friendship, set up to run for five
years with a renewal option—"

            "You'll
have to speak to the new Planetary President about that, Terry," the chieftain
waved the proffered document away. "As for myself, I have some important
drinking to catch up on."

            "But—I
was informed by a usually reliable source—" Clawhammer turned to glare at
the Counsellor—"that the Tsugg party had carried off all honors."

            "True
enough. By the way, where is he?"

            "Where
is who?"

            "Our
new Chief Executive, of course—" Hoobrik broke off, pushed past
Clawhammer, rushed forward with outstretched arms, narrowly missing a small
water hazard, to embrace Retief, who had just appeared on the scene.

            "Stand
aside, Retief," Clawhammer snapped. "I'm in the midst of a delicate
negotiation—"

            "Employ
a more respectful tone, Terry," Hoobrik admonished the Ambassador sternly.
"Consider to whom you're speaking."

            "To
whom I'm speak?" Clawhammer said in bewilderment. "Whom am I speaking
to?"

            "Meet
Planetary President Dir Tief," Hoobrik said proudly, waving a hand at
Retief. "The winner—and new champion."

            "Good
lord, Retief," Magnan was the first to recover his speech. "When?
How?"

            "What's
the meaning of this?" Clawhammer burst out. "Am I being made sport
of?"

            "Apparently
not, Mr. Ambassador," Retief said. "It seems they put me on the
ballot as a dark horse—"

            "You'll
be a horse of a darker color before I'm through with you—" Clawhammer went
rigid as twin scimitars flashed, ended with their points pressed against his
neck.

            "But
how can a Terran be elected as head of the Tsugg party?" the Political
Officer asked.

            "President
Tief is no Terry," Hoobrik corrected. "He's a Tsugg after my own
heart!"

            "But—doesn't
the president have to be a natural-born citizen?"

            "Art
suggesting our President is unnatural-born?" Hoobrik grated.

            "Why,
no—"

            "
'Tis well. In that case, best you present your credentials at once and we can
get down to business."

            Clawhammer
hesitated. A prod of the blade at his jugular assisted him in finding his
tongue.

            "Why,
ah, Mr. President—will your Excellency kindly tell your thugs to put those
horrible-looking knives away?"

            "Certainly,
Mr. Ambassador," Retief said easily. "Just as soon as we've cleared
up a few points in the treaty. I think it would be a good idea if the new
planetary government has a solemn CDT guarantee of noninterference in elections
from now on—"

            "Retief—you
wouldn't dare—I mean, of course, my boy, whatever you say."

            "Also,
it would be a good idea to strike out those paragraphs dealing with CDT
military advisors, technical experts and fifty-credit-a-day economists. We
Oberonians would prefer to work out our own fate."

            "Yes—yes—of
course, Mr. President. And now—"

            "And
as to the matter of the one-sided trade agreement—why don't we just scrap that
whole section and substitute a free commerce clause?"

            "Why—if
I agree to that they'll have my scalp, back in the Department!"

            "That's
better than having it tied to a pole outside my tent," Hoobrik pointed out
succinctly.

            "On
the other hand," Retief said, "I think we Tsuggs can see our way
clear to supply a modest security force to ensure that nothing violent happens
to foreign diplomats among us as long as they stick to diplomacy and leave all
ordinary crime to us Oberonians."

            "Agreed,"
Clawhammer squawked. "Where's the pen?"

            It
took a quarter of an hour to delete the offending paragraphs, substitute new
wording and affix signatures to the imposing document establishing formal
relations between the
Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne
and the Republic
of Oberon. When the last length of red tape had been affixed and the last blob
of sealing wax applied, Retief called for attention.

            "Now
that Terran-Oberonian relations are off on a sound footing," he said,
"I feel it's only appropriate that I step down, leaving the field clear
for a new election. Accordingly, gentlemen, I hereby resign the office of
President in favor of my vice president, Hoobrik."

            Amid
the clamor that broke out, Clawhammer made his way to confront Retief.

            "You
blundered at last, sir," he murmured in a voice aquiver with rage.
"You should have clung to your spurious position long enough to have
gotten a head start for the Galactic periphery! I'll see you thrown into a
dungeon so deep that your food will have to be lowered to you in pressurized
containers! I'll—"

            "You'lt
be on hand to dedicate the statue to our first Ex-President, I ween?"
President Hoobrik addressed the Terran envoy. "I think a hundred-foot
monument will be appropriate to express the esteem in which we hold our Tsugg
emeritus, Dir Tief, eh?"