LITMIR.BIZ

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and sit there until I come back.”

      Magnan found his voice. “What are you going to do, Retief?”

      “I’m going to handle the negotiation,” Retief said. He handed Magnan his empty glass. “Now go sit down and work on the Image.”

      * * * *

      At his desk in the VIP suite aboard the orbiting Corps vessel, Ambassador Spradley pursed his lips and looked severely at Vice-Consul Retief.

      “Further,” he said, “you have displayed a complete lack of understanding of Corps discipline, the respect due a senior agent, even the basic courtesies. Your aggravated displays of temper, ill-timed outbursts of violence and almost incredible arrogance in the assumption of authority make your further retention as an officer-agent of the Diplomatic Corps impossible. It will therefore be my unhappy duty to recommend your immediate——”

      There was a muted buzz from the communicator. The ambassador cleared his throat.

      “Well?”

      “A signal from Sector HQ, Mr. Ambassador,” a voice said.

      “Well, read it,” Spradley snapped. “Skip the preliminaries.”

      “Congratulations on the unprecedented success of your mission. The articles of agreement transmitted by you embody a most favorable resolution of the difficult Sirenian situation, and will form the basis of continued amicable relations between the Terrestrial States and the Yill Empire. To you and your staff, full credit is due for a job well done. Signed, Deputy Assistant Secretary——”

      Spradley cut off the voice impatiently.

      He shuffled papers, eyed Retief sharply.

      “Superficially, of course, an uninitiated observer might leap to the conclusion that the—ah—results that were produced in spite of these…ah…irregularities justify the latter.” The Ambassador smiled a sad, wise smile. “This is far from the case,” he said. “I——”

      The communicator burped softly.

      “Confound it!” Spradley muttered. “Yes?”

      “Mr. T’Cai-Cai has arrived,” the voice said. “Shall I——”

      “Send him in at once.” Spradley glanced at Retief. “Only a two-syllable man, but I shall attempt to correct these false impressions, make some amends….”

      The two Terrestrials waited silently until the Yill Protocol chief tapped at the door.

      “I hope,” the ambassador said, “that you will resist the impulse to take advantage of your unusual position.” He looked at the door. “Come in.”

      T’Cai-Cai stepped into the room, glanced at Spradley, turned to greet Retief in voluble Yill. He rounded the desk to the ambassador’s chair, motioned him from it and sat down.

      * * * *

      “I have a surprise for you, Retief,” he said, in Terran. “I myself have made use of the teaching machine you so kindly lent us.”

      “That’s fine. T’Cai-Cai,” Retief said. “I’m sure Mr. Spradley will be interested in hearing what we have to say.”

      “Never mind,” the Yill said. “I am here only socially.” He looked around the room.

      “So plainly you decorate your chamber. But it has a certain austere charm.” He laughed a Yill laugh.

      “Oh, you are a strange breed, you Terrestrials. You surprised us all. You know, one hears such outlandish stories. I tell you in confidence, we had expected you to be overpushes.”

      “Pushovers,” Spradley said, tonelessly.

      “Such restraint! What pleasure you gave to those of us, like myself of course, who appreciated your grasp of protocol. Such finesse! How subtly you appeared to ignore each overture, while neatly avoiding actual contamination. I can tell you, there were those who thought—poor fools—that you had no grasp of etiquette. How gratified we were, we professionals, who could appreciate your virtuosity—when you placed matters on a comfortable basis by spurning the cats’-meat. It was sheer pleasure then, waiting, to see what form your compliment would take.”

      The Yill offered orange cigars, stuffed one in his nostril.

      “I confess even I had not hoped that you would honor our Admirable so signally. Oh, it is a pleasure to deal with fellow professionals, who understand the meaning of protocol!”

      Ambassador Spradley made a choking sound.

      “This fellow has caught a chill,” T’Cai-Cai said. He eyed Spradley dubiously. “Step back, my man. I am highly susceptible.

      “There is one bit of business I shall take pleasure in attending to, my dear Retief,” T’Cai-Cai went on. He drew a large paper from his reticule. “The Admirable is determined than none other than yourself shall be accredited here. I have here my government’s exequatur confirming you as Terrestrial consul-general to Yill. We shall look forward to your prompt return.”

      Retief looked at Spradley.

      “I’m sure the Corps will agree,” he said.

      “Then I shall be going,” T’Cai-Cai said. He stood up. “Hurry back to us, Retief. There is much that I would show you of Yill.”

      “I’ll hurry,” Retief said and, with a Yill wink: “Together we shall see many high and splendid things!”

THE MADMAN FROM EARTH

      Originally published in Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1962.

      I

      “The Consul for the Terrestrial States,” Retief said, “presents his compliments, et cetera, to the Ministry of Culture of the Groacian Autonomy, and with reference to the Ministry’s invitation to attend a recital of interpretive grimacing, has the honor to express regret that he will be unable—”

      “You can’t turn this invitation down,” Administrative Assistant Meuhl said flatly. “I’ll make that ‘accepts with pleasure’.”

      Retief exhaled a plume of cigar smoke.

      “Miss Meuhl,” he said, “in the past couple of weeks I’ve sat through six light-concerts, four attempts at chamber music, and god knows how many assorted folk-art festivals. I’ve been tied up every off-duty hour since I got here—”

      “You can’t offend the Groaci,” Miss Meuhl said sharply. “Consul Whaffle would never have been so rude.”

      “Whaffle left here three months ago,” Retief said, “leaving me in charge.”

      “Well,” Miss Meuhl said, snapping off the dictyper. “I’m sure I don’t know what excuse I can give the Minister.”

      “Never mind the excuses,” Retief said. “Just tell him I won’t be there.” He stood up.

      “Are you leaving the office?” Miss Meuhl adjusted her glasses. “I have some important letters here for your signature.”

      “I don’t recall dictating any letters today, Miss Meuhl,” Retief said, pulling on a light cape.

      * * * *

      “I wrote them for you. They’re just as Consul Whaffle would have wanted them.”

      “Did you write all Whaffle’s letters for him, Miss Meuhl?”

      “Consul Whaffle was an extremely busy man,” Miss Meuhl said stiffly. “He had complete confidence in me.”

      “Since I’m cutting out the culture from now on,” Retief said, “I won’t be so busy.”

      “Well!” Miss Meuhl said. “May I ask where you’ll be if something comes up?”

      “I’m

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