The Return of Retief (18 page)

            "I
suggest, Mr. Magnan," Retief replied "that you let this particular
plum go to some older, more deserving fellows. It's likely to be a
once-in-a-lifetime experience. I don't think you're ready for it."

            When
the majestic bulk of the august personage known to his underlings as Deputy
Undersecretary Shortfall, and to his superiors as Tubby, had seated himself
with a ponderous gravity reminiscent of the settling of the foundations of
Boulder Dam, and had cleared his throat like the premonitory rumbling of a
Richter 9 earthquake, the great man spoke:

            "Well,
fellows, I suppose you've all heard the rumors of fantastically desirable
assignments coming up for a few lucky chaps upon whom Fate and the Corps smile.
The rumors, gentlemen are, in a word, true. And this morning it is my grave and
solemn responsibility to designate those to whom this plum will fall.
Proud-foot ..." Shortfall paused to turn a benign and slightly bleary eye
on the assistant Political Officer, who looked bright-eyed and sat erect,
"you, of course, are far too junior to fall within the zone of
consideration."

            His
gaze drifted to Career Ambassador Sidesaddle: "Now, Mr. Ambassador, you,
on the other hand, with your vast field experience, merited serious
consideration. Too bad most of your missions rated a big X in the 'Dismal
Failure' column on your annual rating sheet. So let us pass on to ... hmmm,
where is the fellow? Ah, there you are, Hencrate. Not trying to hide behind
Marvin, are you?"

            "I'm
skinny, sir," Hencrate said unhappily. "I was just trying not to look
obtrusive."

            "I
shall overlook your excessive modesty this time, Hank," the great man said
in a tone of Heavy Indulgence (231-w). "I can tell you now that you are
First Alternate on the Delegation of Honor."

            He
paused for the spontaneous applause and congratulatory cries to subside.

            "Now,
on to matters of more moment. Hencrate, Lackluster, Underthrust, Tumblehome,
Ajax—you gentlemen are our first-line selections. Your team leader will be
Career Minister Homer Sitzfleisch, a Galaxy-class diplomat whom I know you all
revere." Again, faint cries and a spattering of handclaps sounded.

            "Now,
you chaps selected as Special Aides and Attaches—let me see ..."
Short-fall muttered as he peered along the table over the tops of the Ben
Franklin spectacles he affected, "—ah, yes, all present, I see, as well as
a number of excessively optimistic fellows. The following will kindly leave the
room—"

            He
tolled off the names of those eliminated, who dutifully and in silence filed
from the chamber of the elect. The chosen few, relaxing a bit now that they
knew they were
in,
listened almost casually as the rest of the names of
the designated were called out.

            "Now,
gentlemen," the Deputy Undersecretary summed up, "to you has fallen a
proud and perilous honor: yes, perilous, gentlemen; we may as well face it:
perilous because on your success rests the future of Ree-Terran relations for
the next few millennia, at least, and the danger of failure is real. But all of
you, I am persuaded, are of a stature equal to the challenge. You've already
had your GUTS priority pre-orientation, and I now hand you your Cosmic-Category
final briefing kits."

            He
paused to unstrap an unwieldy briefcase of the type in which ambitious junior
executives carry their lunch, and distributed pink-jacketed booklets.

            "What's
this about 'ceremonial leg-irons'?" Underthrust demanded after a glance at
his pamphlet.

            "A
trifling formality," Shortfall explained. "A token nod to Ree custom.
In the code of these primitive, ah, emergent, uh, developing ... inferior, that
is, folk, the wearing of the comfy, lightweight, handsomely damascened shackles
symbolizes acceptance of Ree dominance. A sop to their egos, Underthrust.

            "Now,
as to the section detailing appropriate modes of address to Ree dignitaries, we
must, of - course, as professionals overlook the superficially demeaning
implications of saying: 'This inferior tool of a decadent tyranny abjectly
supplicates his Galactic honor the Intimidator,' et cetera, et cetera. Doesn't
mean a thing: it's like calling someone 'Mister,' that is, 'Master,' with no
actual implications of slavery.

            "Oh,
yes, I meant to add that a fellow named Retief will be going along as a sort of
guide; over my objections, actually; still, he's been there before and may
possibly prove of some use. Gentlemen, if there are no questions—" he
paused to show the assembled honorees an expression which strongly suggested
that there had better not be—

            "The
meeting is concluded. Wear your new laurels lightly, fellows. Those of you who
survive the experience—all of you, I meant to say— will no doubt receive
appropriate notations on your next ER."

            "Lordy,"
a starry-eyed Budget and Fiscal man in from Krako Six murmured. "Just
having the privilege of sitting at his feet is an education in sophisticated
Nullspeak. Over a thousand cogent and syntactically faultless words, and he
commits himself and the Department to absolutely nothing."'

            "He
did
not,"
the portly Political Officer on his left objected in a
whisper. "He distinctly said there'd be promos all around when we get
back!"

            "Hardly,
Cedric," the Undersecretary corrected quietly. "I fear high-level
Nullspeak is wasted on certain individuals."

            "I
didn't mean," Cedric protested. "I only meant—"

            "Now
you're getting the idea," Shortfall encouraged his subordinate.
"Never forget the stirring admonition of AE and MP Slipshod, reveered be
his remains, wherever they may be."

            "Sure,
but what was the stirring admonition and all?" someone wondered aloud,
then went on: "Oh, I remember: that was the one about 'The implication is
mightier than the affidavit.' Right, boss?"

            "Pack
carefully, gentlemen," Shortfall admonished his flock as he rose and moved
to the door. "No need to burden yourselves with excessive reserves of
denture-cleaner and rug-adhesive, since within the month you shall be either on
your way home, triumphant, or entered on the roll of Those Who Gave Their All
in the line of duty. Gentlemen, I salute you." With a final flip of his
hand, the Deputy Undersecretary departed.

            As
if a conversational dam had burst, a babble of conversation broke out at once,
quickly diminishing in effusiveness as the proximity of the great man, and the
likelihood of being overheard diminished.

            "—laying
it on the line!"

            "—the
privilege of participating in the briefing, alone!"

            "—did
he mean by that last crack, 'Gave Their All', huh?"

            "—a
mere figure of speech. Can't say he didn't warn us."

            "What
about this tourist guide wallah he mentioned?"

            "—ask
him a few questions."

            "Now,
gentlemen," Homer Sitzfleisch, as Team Leader designee, spoke up in mild
reproof. "Every assignment has both its positive and its negative aspects.
I suggest, indeed direct, that we concentrate our attention on the former. You
noted that when Cedric mentioned that we'd all been promised promotions, the
Undersecretary didn't actually
deny
it."

            "He
said 'hardly'." Underthrust countered bleakly.

            "You're
just not used to the subtleties of Nullspeak," Sitzfleisch reproved his
junior. "After all, why does the language possess such expressions as
'maybe,' 'in a sense,' 'perhaps,' 'about,' 'more than,' 'almost,' and so on? To
enable us to communicate at a more delicate level, commitment-wise," he
answered his own rhetorical query. "Now, chaps, let's get over to Supply
and draw our special issue, as it says here in the folder."

            "I
still got my doubts," Underthrust muttered. "If it's such a choice
trip, how come old Shortfall's not going himself?"

            "What's
all the hassle?" the chinless lad assigned as assistant to the HQ Chief
Clerk, Message Center, inquired of his boss, a paunchy little man with an
offensively silky manner, and mustache to match.

            "Not
to worry, Cricket, my boy," the chief urged his minion. "Just another
tempest in a chamber pot, I'm sure. Routine personnel action, nothing
more."

            "OK,
boss," Cricket replied. "I guess I got no call to put in for overtime
to try to get this stuff off to Central Record Control ahead of the semiannual
requisitions. I already got about a carload of them, and more still coming
in."

            "No
item for overtime pay was included in my last budget estimate, dear boy,"
the chief clerk pointed out stiffly. "Thus, clearly, the proposal is out
of order. Get the Requisition collated and dispatched at once. You know how fussy
General Services is about timely submission. Never mind about the queries that
have been coming in from Preliminary Review. It's none of our business if
certain posts are calling for hand-guns instead of hand-lotion, and
flamethrowers in place of flame retardants."

            "Yeah,
but," Cricket objected feebly. "And I was meaning to ask you: Is it
OK if I let a CDTO-2 help me out? Fella was in the office looking up some stuff
when the fecal matter encountered the air-distribution system, and he gave rne
a hand sorting out stuff like these here personnel actions, transfers and like
that; routine, like you said."

            "I
myself cleared Mr. Retief to enter the vaults," the pot-bellied chief
clerk replied grandly. "Has a right to, you know. CDTM-1-23A sub-paragraph
two b, on Review of Records, covers it."

-

            After
leaving the prison-like confines of the Message Center, Retief reported to the
Transportation Officer, who provided him with documentation covering the
requisition of the unregistered de-commissioned Class III vessel
Phoenix
for
official use "on a non-compensatory basis, reassignment of the vessel to
Retief as Administrative Assistant assigned to Special Mission Number One,
handed over a heavy volume of Intelligence data regarding Ree Field
Headquarters at Barter Nine, and added his advice:

            "Better
keep a low profile, Retief; you're nursemaiding a load of top brass such as
I've never seen since the last time the Secretary threw a birthday party, back
at the Department on Terra."

            "I'll
try to keep them headed in the right direction, Fred," Retief assured the
admin chief.

           
Arriving at the
port a few hours later, Retief was met, not to say confronted, by no less a
personage than Special Envoy Sitzfleisch.

            "Here,
you're that fellow Retief," the Team Leader charged.

            "Guilty,"
Retief replied.

            "Time
to get this show on the road," Sitzfleisch stated. "Now, you're
supposed to know how to find this confounded fellow Slive, His Excellency the
Chief Intimidator, I mean, and by the way, no crew has yet reported for duty,
I'm informed."

            "That's
in order, sir," Retief reassured the TL. "I'm checked out on this
type. She's a Z-type, designed for operation by minimal crew. So we can load at
once. I've filed the flight plan with Ops."

            "The
members of my Special Team are already aboard," the AE and MP replied
shortly. "I was merely awaiting your own arrival to order lift-off."

            "We're
tight-scheduled for oh-nineteen hundred, half an hour yet," Retief pointed
out. "Ops would take a dim view of anyone trying to jump the launch order,
especially without the authorization of the rated deep space pilot."