LITMIR.BIZ

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“And when I get him, Shluh, you’ll do everything exactly as I’ve told you—or have terrestrial monitors dictating in Groac City.”

      * * * *

      “Quite candidly, Retief,” Counsellor Pardy said, “I’m rather nonplussed. Mr. Fith of the foreign office seemed almost painfully lavish in your praise. He seems most eager to please you. In the light of some of the evidence I’ve turned up of highly irregular behavior on your part, it’s difficult to understand.”

      “Fith and I have been through a lot together,” Retief said. “We understand each other.”

      “You have no cause for complacency, Retief,” Pardy said. “Miss Meuhl was quite justified in reporting your case. Of course, had she known that you were assisting Mr. Fith in his marvelous work, she would have modified her report somewhat, no doubt. You should have confided in her.”

      “Fith wanted to keep it secret, in case it didn’t work out,” Retief said. “You know how it is.”

      “Of course. And as soon as Miss Meuhl recovers from her nervous breakdown, there’ll be a nice promotion awaiting her. The girl more than deserves it for her years of unswerving devotion to Corps policy.”

      “Unswerving,” Retief said. “I’ll sure go along with that.”

      “As well you may, Retief. You’ve not acquitted yourself well in this assignment. I’m arranging for a transfer. You’ve alienated too many of the local people….”

      “But as you said, Fith speaks highly of me….”

      “Oh, true. It’s the cultural intelligentsia I’m referring to. Miss Meuhl’s records show that you deliberately affronted a number of influential groups by boycotting—”

      “Tone deaf,” Retief said. “To me a Groacian blowing a nose-whistle sounds like a Groacian blowing a nose-whistle.”

      “You have to come to terms with local aesthetic values,” Pardy explained. “Learn to know the people as they really are. It’s apparent from some of the remarks Miss Meuhl quoted in her report that you held the Groaci in rather low esteem. But how wrong you were! All the while, they were working unceasingly to rescue those brave lads marooned aboard our cruiser. They pressed on even after we ourselves had abandoned the search. And when they discovered that it had been a collision with their satellite which disabled the craft, they made that magnificent gesture—unprecedented. One hundred thousand credits in gold to each crew member, as a token of Groacian sympathy.”

      “A handsome gesture,” Retief murmured.

      * * * *

      “I hope, Retief, that you’ve learned from this incident. In view of the helpful part you played in advising Mr. Fith in matters of procedure to assist in his search, I’m not recommending a reduction in grade. We’ll overlook the affair, give you a clean slate. But in future, I’ll be watching you closely.”

      “You can’t win ’em all,” Retief said.

      “You’d better pack up. You’ll be coming along with us in the morning.” Pardy shuffled his papers together.

      “I’m sorry,” he said, “that I can’t file a more flattering report on you. I would have liked to recommend your promotion, along with Miss Meuhl’s.”

      “That’s okay,” Retief said. “I have my memories.”

RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN

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

      “It’s true,” Consul Passwyn said, “I requested assignment as principal officer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resort worlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressed spaceman or two a year. Instead, I’m zoo-keeper to these confounded settlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight!” He stared glumly at Vice-Consul Retief.

      “Still,” Retief said, “it gives an opportunity to travel—”

      “Travel!” the consul barked. “I hate travel. Here in this backwater system particularly—” He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared his throat. “Not that a bit of travel isn’t an excellent thing for a junior officer. Marvelous experience.”

      He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagram appeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger disk representing the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating the innermost planet.

      “The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—a mere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble with an intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can’t think why they bother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However I have, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters to take certain action.” He swung back to face Retief. “I’m sending you in to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders.” He picked up a fat buff envelope. “A pity they didn’t see fit to order the Terrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late. I’m expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrial and Adoban and a division of territory. It’s idiotic. However, failure would look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results.”

      He passed the buff envelope across to Retief.

      “I understood that Adobe was uninhabited,” Retief said, “until the Terrestrial settlers arrived.”

      “Apparently, that was an erroneous impression.” Passwyn fixed Retief with a watery eye. “You’ll follow your instructions to the letter. In a delicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptu element introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail at Sector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear?”

      “Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe?”

      “Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions, you’d best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less than an hour.”

      “What’s this native life form like?” Retief asked, getting to his feet.

      “When you get back,” said Passwyn, “you tell me.”

      * * * *

      The mail pilot, a leathery veteran with quarter-inch whiskers, spat toward a stained corner of the compartment, leaned close to the screen.

      “They’s shootin’ goin’ on down there,” he said. “See them white puffs over the edge of the desert?”

      “I’m supposed to be preventing the war,” said Retief. “It looks like I’m a little late.”

      The pilot’s head snapped around. “War?” he yelped. “Nobody told me they was a war goin’ on on ’Dobe. If that’s what that is, I’m gettin’ out of here.”

      “Hold on,” said Retief. “I’ve got to get down. They won’t shoot at you.”

      “They shore won’t, sonny. I ain’t givin’ ’em the chance.” He started punching keys on the console. Retief reached out, caught his wrist.

      “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said I’ve got to get down.”

      The pilot plunged against the restraint, swung a punch that Retief blocked casually. “Are you nuts?” the pilot screeched. “They’s plenty shootin’ goin’ on fer me to see it fifty miles out.”

      “The mail must go through, you know.”

      “Okay! You’re so dead set on gettin’ killed, you take the skiff. I’ll tell ’em to pick up the remains next trip.”

      “You’re a pal. I’ll take your offer.”

      The pilot jumped to the lifeboat hatch and cycled it open. “Get in. We’re closin’ fast. Them birds might take it into their heads to lob one this way….”

      Retief

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