The Return of Retief (6 page)

            "Sir,
I can't sit here and let the Armed Forces be slurred," the general stated,
rising. "Otherday, do you mean to stand there and tell me your service so
far lacks resilience as to be unable to accommodate to the realities of
inter-Arm relations?"

            "As
for inter-Arm relations," the general came back doggedly. "The less
there is of em the better."

            "Isolationism?"
Crodfoller cried in a tone of Deep Anguish (17-V). "Pardon my use of the
expression, gentlemen—but I was
deeply
shocked."

            "Maybe
we could sort of feint a move to get em to raise their picket lines to about
the galactic ecliptic level," General Otherday improvised, "and sneak
a task force in under them."

            "Underarm
strategy, General?" Crodfoller, overcome by strong emotion, covered his
eyes and moaned. "I see I must reemphasize, gentlemen, that this is a
peace
conference. A unilateral one, to be sure, inasmuch as our overtures through
normal channels have been spurned by the Ree—or worse, ignored. What's an
Acting Assistant Deputy Undersecretary to do?"

            "A
Temporary
Acting Assistant Deputy Undersecretary," someone muttered,
an amendment Crodfoller pretended not to hear, merely jotting the word 'Rot' on
his pad.

            "But
I think we all see the problem, now, boys," he went on more spiritedly,
sitting up with an air of briskness.

            "The
time, gentlemen," he stated in tones of Impending Doom (731-W) not unmixed
with History in the Making (003-a)(*
A nuance not listed in the official
handbook CDT-628B
-1
rev. 6/9/25, but well-known to junior bureaucrats throughout the Corps, said
to have been originated by no less a personage than Career Ambassador Spradley
on the occasion of his announcement of the Yill-Terry Accord in 479 AE.
) "has
arrived: the time for creative diplomacy on a scale undreamed of by our
predecessors."

            "Cool,
boss," Press Officer Felix murmured,
sotto voce,
"but what's
it
mean?"

           
"To those
who pretend not to recognize the immense significance of this moment,"
Crodfoller went on, pointedly ignoring Hy's query, though he circled 'Rot' on
his pad, "I can say only that History has not, heretofore, presented honest
diplomats with such an opportunity to lay the foundation for an unprecedented
era of peaceful coexistence."

           
"What
kind of diplomats did he say?" Hy inquired of Magnan, his neighbor at
the long conference table, nudging Magnan with a shirt-sleeved elbow in
solicitation of acceptance of his good-natured jibe.

            "Quiet,
Hy," Magnan hissed, withdrawing as far as the confines of his chair would
permit from any appearance of cronyhood with the notoriously indelicate Press
man.

            "I
think, Ben," the Undersecretary suggested in an ominously mild tone, his
gaze fixing on Magnan, "that if you and Hy would postpone your lively
exchange until happy hour this evening, I might better be able to convey to the
staff the need for immediate and effective action as regards the alleged
incursions of the Ree into Terran mandated space."

            "
'Alleged,' heck!" Hy said, spoiling the moment of respectful silence the
rest of the staff had spontaneously accorded the great man's pronouncement.

            "Everybody
knows," Hy went on, "the confounded worms have infiltrated Tip space
and dispossessed Terry settlers from their homes,"

            "Hy,"
Crodfoller said sadly, "I've cautioned you before regarding the use of
derogatory epithets directed at alien species!" He eyed Hy without
approval. "After all, Hy," he went on, "after we've succeeded in
our present effort and have entered with a treaty of eternal chumship with
these damned worms, whom I'm sure will settle down to a more halcyon pattern of
coexistence once they've been properly pacified and reoriented, such past
lapses could rise up to haunt your personnel file."

            "Just
like not knocking the old-Moosejaw fatso," Marvin whispered over-loudly.
"Which I might wind up with him as my supervisor someday, right, Mr.
Underthrust?"

            "A
modicum of discretion, Marvin, might well be in order," Crodfoller
suggested. "And I submit that calling Counsellor Lipschitz 'Fatso' is
unlikely to contribute to your career development."

            "I
never meant—" Marvin began, but subsided at a sharp jab in the ribs by his
mentor.

            "You
know, Ben," Ambassador Sidesaddle commented to Magnan behind his hand,
"this one is getting off to an even worse start than usual. Half an hour
we've been at it already, at combined salaries of maybe fifty thou per hour,
and all we've done so far is find out that Space Arm wants more money."

            All
hands swiveled in shock at the sound of a diffident rapping at the door.
Chairman Undersecretary Crodfoller, his wattles a dangerous purplish shade,
assumed an expression of Astonishment at a Gaffe of Unprecedented Proportions
(1231-p) and grated, "See what they want, George."

            The
janitor dutifully went to the door, opened it and was thrust aside by a young
fellow in the blues of a Naval rating, holding a strip of gram paper before him
as if it were about to burst into flames.

            "Par
me, fellows," he blurted, "I got some hot poop here the Chief said
you wanna see." He looked inquiringly at Crodfoller at the head of the
table, then summarized:

            "Seems
like one of your boys is in deep stuff, Mr. Assis—uh, Deputy ..."

            "
'Mr. Undersecretary' will do, my boy," Crodfoller offered kindly.

            "Sure,
Mr. Undersecretary, sir," the yeoman agreed, nodding vigorously.
"Anyways, we got word here the worms have now took over Region Thirteen.
Not a whole lot out there, but according to the records, you got some kinda
dog-catcher out on Icebox Nine, which it's in that area, taking a icicle census
or like that." The lad guffawed comfortably to indicate that he was
essaying a jest.

            "To
be sure," Crodfoller conceded, nodding in agreement with himself.
"Dismissed, my boy."

            The
yeoman saluted and left.

            Crodfoller
addressed Magnan, "I seem to recall something of the matter, a sort of
semi-disciplinary thing, wasn't it Ben? Some sort of insubordination charge. I
recall you testified in the fellow's favor at the hearings."

            Magnan
nodded. "Yes sir: not exactly in his favor, sir; just the truth. There
were
extenuating circumstances. Although he
did
leave a Career Ambassador
to languish in a Crawlie dungeon for a week or two, he
was
the one who
rescued him, otherwise he'd still be in stir or worse."

            "Doubtless,"
the chairman said doubtfully. "In any case, Ben, it's not wise to allow
oneself to be drawn into such matters; tendency to acquire guilt by
association, you know."

            "Oh,
but I
was
associated with him—Retief was his name, Mr.
Undersecretary," Magnan pointed out. "Through no fault of my own, we
served together at Furtheron and a number of other stations—you remember, he
was a third secretary in your mission to Petreac—and actually, I sort of miss
him. How long was he supposed to be on detached duty?"

            "Oh,
a normal hardship post tour, I suppose, perhaps thirteen months standard,"
Crodfoller replied. "But as I seem to recall, the fellow was something of
a chronic trouble-maker, so it's just as well he's out of the way for a
time."

            "Oh,
I was just thinking, Mr. Undersecretary," Magnan said almost wistfully.
"Retief used to have a kind of knack for cutting through the formalities
and getting down to cases. Unorthodox, of course, but with blank surrender
forms under discussion, perhaps we need his unique approach."

            "Perish
the thought, Ben," the Chairman grunted. "An idea like that is enough
to make blank surrender forms seem almost reasonable."

            "I
suppose so," Magnan agreed, wagging his narrow head in resignation.
"Still, we can't very well let one of our own perish miserably at the
hands of the aggressors, while we do nothing ... I hope."

            "Certainly
not, Magnan. In fact, you yourself may draft a stiff Note, requesting his
return in a reasonable time. Nothing truculent, of course. A 'We beings of the
world quite understand this Retief got himself in this fix on his own, he'll
have to get out the same way."

            "Precisely
my point, Hy," Crodfoller said quickly. "And don't you worry about
the old retirement."

            "Marvin,"
Underthrust whispered urgently to the neophyte, "did you see how quickly
his Ex checked over his possible response spectrum, and selected a winner?
Hardly paused. Magnificent!"

            "Yessir,"
Lackluster confirmed enthusiastically, "I noticed his face writhing a
little, when he tried on a 602 Indignation, then a 431 Reluctant Satisfaction
with a Subordinate's Performance."

            "Still,"
Magnan persisted, with a slight quaver, "I think perhaps we have a sort of
obligation, almost, in a sense, to attempt—to state an intention to try to
attempt, that is—some kind of affirmative action to show these worms they can't
just invade Terry-mandated space and capture harmless Terry bureaucrats."
He sat down abruptly.

            "I
hope I didn't express myself too vigorously, Your Excellency," he added.
"Perhaps I got a little carried away."

            "By
no means, Ben," Crodfoller said kindly. "Actually, I admire your
spirited efforts in support of a colleague—a junior, at that— no matter how he
himself may have contributed to the present contretemps."

           
"He
contributed to it, sir?" Magnan echoed. "How? All he did was go
where he was assigned."

            "Indeed,
Ben? Are you quite sure he voiced no resentment when he found himself
overwhelmed by an unauthorized invasion of aliens?"

            "Why,
no, sir," Magnan quavered. "As to that, why, I suppose perhaps he
might well have expressed some objection."

            "So
you see?" Crodfoller beamed along the board. "No need overly to
excite ourselves, gentlemen, though I
shall
look into the matter one day
soon, when other, more substantive matters have been dealt with. For example,
just how we can best indicate to the Ree, without giving offense, that our
plans for development of the region do not include the settlement of hordes of
displaced persons from the Western Arm?"

            "I
still say let's show 'em a little muscle," Colonel Trenchfoot muttered
doggedly. "Not an actual attack, if that's too rich for your blood, but
just show the flag, like, with a goodwill tour of Tip space by the Second
Fleet, maybe."

            "Threats
of force, Trenchfoot, I repeat," Crodfoller intoned stonily, "are
hardly the finest expression of enlightened diplomacy."

            "To
heck with 'threats of force'." Hy grumped. "How's about going
directly to force, and no threats to tip 'em off."

            "These
reactionary comments, Mr. Felix," the Undersecretary stated formally,
"reflect little credit on the Information Agency you represent in these
councils."

            "I'm
speaking for myself," Hy said bluntly. "The Agency's just as chicken
as the Corps— maybe more so."

            "In
that case, Hy, give me a break," Crodfoller demanded. "Don't file a
story on the negotiation until after the apparent conflict of interest has been
resolved. Why, I imagine that when tempers have cooled, and counsels of
restraint have prevailed, you'll be very glad indeed that you didn't go on
record with any premature pronouncements possibly critical of Corps
policy."