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noticed him dancing with three girls wearing a bunch of grapes apiece. He’s very agile for a man of his bulk.”

      “You mustn’t discount the Potentate! Remember, beneath that mask of frivolity, he had absorbed a bitter blow.”

      “He had me fooled,” Retief said.

      “Don’t feel badly; I confess at first I failed to sense his shrewdness.” The Ambassador nodded and moved off along the corridor.

      Retief turned and went into an office. Magnan looked up from his desk.

      “Ah,” he said. “Retief. I’ve been meaning to ask you. About the…ah…blasters. Are you—?”

      Retief leaned on Magnan’s desk, looked at him.

      “I thought that was to be our little secret.”

      “Well, naturally I—” Magnan closed his mouth, swallowed. “How is it, Retief,” he said sharply, “that you were aware of this blaster business, when the Ambassador himself wasn’t?”

      “Easy,” Retief said. “I made it up.”

      “You what!” Magnan looked wild. “But the agreement—it’s been revised! Ambassador Crodfoller has gone on record….”

      “Too bad. Glad I didn’t tell him about it.”

      Magnan leaned back and closed his eyes.

      “It was big of you to take all the…blame,” Retief said, “when the Ambassador was talking about knighting people.”

      Magnan opened his eyes.

      “What about that gambler, Zorn? Won’t he be upset?”

      “It’s all right,” Retief said, “I made another arrangement. The business about making blasters out of common components wasn’t completely imaginary. You can actually do it, using parts from an old-fashioned disposal unit.”

      “What good will that do him?” Magnan whispered, looking nervous. “We’re not shipping in any old-fashioned disposal units.”

      “We don’t need to,” Retief said. “They’re already installed in the palace kitchen—and in a few thousand other places, Zorn tells me.”

      “If this ever leaks….” Magnan put a hand to his forehead.

      “I have his word on it that the Nenni slaughter is out. This place is ripe for a change. Maybe Zorn is what it needs.”

      “But how can we know?” Magnan yelped. “How can we be sure?”

      “We can’t,” Retief said. “But it’s not up to the Corps to meddle in Petreacs’ internal affairs.” He leaned over, picked up Magnan’s desk lighter and lit a cigar. He blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “Right?”

      Magnan looked at him, nodded weakly. “Right.”

      “I’d better be getting along to my desk,” Retief said. “Now that the Ambassador feels that I’m settling down at last—”

      “Retief,” Magnan said, “tonight, I implore you. Stay out of the kitchen—no matter what.”

      Retief raised his eyebrows.

      “I know,” Magnan said. “If you hadn’t interfered, we’d all have had our throats cut. But at least,” he added, “we’d have died in accordance with regulations!”

THE YILLIAN WAY

      Originally published in If, January 1962.

      I

      Jame Retief, vice-consul and third secretary in the Diplomatic Corps, followed the senior members of the terrestrial mission across the tarmac and into the gloom of the reception building. The gray-skinned Yill guide who had met the arriving embassy at the foot of the ramp hurried away. The councillor, two first secretaries and the senior attaches gathered around the ambassador, their ornate uniforms bright in the vast dun-colored room.

      Ten minutes passed. Retief strolled across to the nearest door and looked through the glass panel at the room beyond. Several dozen Yill lounged in deep couches, sipping lavender drinks from slender glass tubes. Black-tunicked servants moved about inconspicuously, offering trays. A party of brightly-dressed Yill moved toward the entrance doors. One of the party, a tall male, made to step before another, who raised a hand languidly, fist clenched. The first Yill stepped back and placed his hands on top of his head. Both Yill were smiling and chatting as they passed through the doors.

      Retief turned away to rejoin the Terrestrial delegation waiting beside a mound of crates made of rough greenish wood stacked on the bare concrete floor.

      As Retief came up, Ambassador Spradley glanced at his finger watch and spoke to the man beside him.

      “Ben, are you quite certain our arrival time was made clear?”

      Second Secretary Magnan nodded emphatically. “I stressed the point, Mr. Ambassador. I communicated with Mr. T’Cai-Cai just before the lighter broke orbit, and I specifically——”

      “I hope you didn’t appear truculent, Mr. Magnan,” the ambassador said sharply.

      “No indeed, Mr. Ambassador. I merely——”

      “You’re sure there’s no VIP room here?” The ambassador glanced around the cavernous room. “Curious that not even chairs have been provided.”

      “If you’d care to sit on one of these crates——”

      “Certainly not.” The ambassador looked at his watch again and cleared his throat.

      “I may as well make use of these few moments to outline our approach for the more junior members of the staff; it’s vital that the entire mission work in harmony in the presentation of the image. We Terrestrials are a kindly, peace-loving race.” The ambassador smiled in a kindly, peace-loving way.

      “We seek only a reasonable division of spheres of influence with the Yill.” He spread his hands, looking reasonable.

      “We are a people of high culture, ethical, sincere.” The smile was replaced abruptly by pursed lips.

      “We’ll start by asking for the entire Sirenian System, and settle for half. We’ll establish a foothold on all the choicer worlds. And, with shrewd handling, in a century we’ll be in a position to assert a wider claim.”

      The ambassador glanced around. “If there are no questions——”

      * * * *

      Retief stepped forward. “It’s my understanding, Mr. Ambassador, that we hold the prior claim to the Sirenian System. Did I understand your Excellency to say that we’re ready to concede half of it to the Yill without a struggle?”

      Ambassador Spradley looked up at Retief, blinking. The younger man loomed over him. Beside him, Magnan cleared his throat in the silence.

      “Vice-Consul Retief merely means——”

      “I can interpret Mr. Retief’s remark,” the ambassador snapped. He assumed a fatherly expression.

      “Young man, you’re new to the Service. You haven’t yet learned the team play, the give-and-take of diplomacy. I shall expect you to observe closely the work of the experienced negotiators of the mission. You must learn the importance of subtlety.”

      “Mr. Ambassador,” Magnan said, “I think the reception committee is arriving.” He pointed. Half a dozen tall, short-necked Yill were entering through a side door. The leading Yill hesitated as another stepped in his path. He raised a fist, and the other moved aside, touching the top of his head perfunctorily with both hands. The group started across the room toward the Terrestrials. Retief watched as a slender alien came forward and spoke passable Terran in a reedy voice.

      “I am P’Toi. Come this way….” He turned, and the

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