Retief Unbound

. . into the chaotic Galactic
political scene of the post-Concordiat era, the CDT emerged to carry forward
the ancient diplomatic tradition as a great supranational organization
dedicated to the contravention of war.  [footnote:  Cf. the o
riginal colorful language: "maintenance of a state of tension short
of actual conflict." See CDT File 178/b/491, col. VII, spool 12: 745mm
(code 2g).]  As mediators of disputes among Terrestrial-settled worlds and
advocates of Terrestrial interests in contacts with alien cultures, Corps
diplomats, trained in the chanceries of innumerable defunct bureaucracies,
displayed an encyclopedic grasp of the nuances of Extra-Terrestria
l
mores as set against the labyrinthine socio-politico-economic Galactic context.
Never was the virtuosity of a senior Corps diplomat more brilliantly displayed
than in Ambassador Spradley's negotiation of the awkward Sirenian Question. . .
."

—extract from the
Official
History of the Corps Diplomatique,
Vol I, reel 2. Solarian Press,
New New York, 479 A. E. (AD 2940)

In
the gloom
of
the squat, mud-colored reception building, the Counselor, two First
Secretaries, and the senior Attaches gathered around the plump figure of
Ambassador Spradley, their ornate diplomatic uniforms bright in the vast gloomy
room. The Ambassador glanced at his finger watch impatiently.

"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
emphasized—"

"I hope you didn't appear
truculent, Mr. Magnan," the Ambassador cut in 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 those crates, IH use my hanky—"

"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 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 decade we'll be in a position to assert a wider
claim." The Ambassador glanced around. "If there are no questions . .
."

Jame Retief, Vice-Consul and Third
Secretary in the Corps Diplomatique and junior member of the Terrestrial Embassy
to Yill, stepped forward.

"Since we hold the prior claim
to the system, why don't we put all our cards on the table to start with?
Perhaps if we dealt frankly with the Yill, it would pay us in the long
run."

Ambassador Spradley blinked up at
the younger man. Beside him, Magnan cleared his throat in the silence.

"Vice-Consul Retief merely
means—"

"I'm capable of interpreting
Mr. Retief's remark," Spradley 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, learn the importance of subtlety. Excessive reliance on direct
methods might tend in time to attenuate the role of the professional diplomat.
I shudder to contemplate the consequences."

Spradley turned back to his senior
staff members. Retief strolled across to a glass-paneled door and glanced into
the room beyond. Several dozen tall grey-skinned Yill lounged in deep couches,
sipping lavender drinks from slender glass tubes. Black-tunicked servants moved
about inconspicuously, offering trays. Retief watched as a party of
brightly-dressed Yill moved toward a wide entrance door. 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
with a nod. Both Yill continued to smile and chatter as they passed through the
door.

Retief rejoined the Terrestrial
delegation, grouped around a mound of rough crates stacked on the bare concrete
floor, as a small leather-skinned Yill came up.

"I am P'Toi. Come thiss
way ..."
He motioned. The Terrestrials
moved off, Ambassador Spradley in the lead. As the portly diplomat reached the
door, the Yill guide darted ahead, shouldering him aside, then hesitated,
waiting. The Ambassador almost glared, then remembered the image. He smiled,
beckoning the Yill ahead. The Yill muttered in the native language, stared
about, then passed through the door. The Terran party followed.

"I'd like to know what that
fellow was saying," Magnan said, overtaking the Ambassador. "The way
he jostled your Excellency was disgraceful."

A number of Yill waited on the
pavement outside the building. As Spradley approached the luxurious open car
waiting at the curb, they closed ranks, blocking his way. He drew himself up,
opened his mouth—then closed it with a snap.

"The very idea," Magnan
said, trotting at Spradley's heels as he stalked back to rejoin the staff, now
looking around uncertainly. "One would think these persons weren't aware
of the courtesies due a Chief of Mission."

"They're not aware of the
courtesies due an apprentice sloat skinner!" Spradley snapped. Around the
Terrestrials, the Yill milled nervously, muttering in the native tongue.

"Where has our confounded
interpreter betaken himself?" The Ambassador barked. "I daresay
they're plotting open
ly. ..."

"A pity we have to rely on a
native interpreter."

"Had I known we'd meet this
rather uncouth reception," the Ambassador said stiffly, "I would have
audited the language personally, of course, during the voyage out."

"Oh, no criticism intended, of
course, Mr. Ambassador," Magnan said hastily. "Heavens, who would
have thought—"

Retief stepped up beside the
Ambassador.

"Mr. Ambassador," he
said. "I—"

"Later, young man," the
Ambassador snapped. He beckoned to the Counselor, and the two moved off, heads
together.

A bluish sun gleamed in a dark sky.
Retief watched his breath form a frosty cloud in the chill air. A broad hard-
wheeled vehicle pulled up to the platform. The Yill gestured the Terran party
to the gaping door at the rear, then stood back, waiting.

Retief looked curiously at the
grey-painted van. The legend written on its side in alien symbols seemed to
read 'egg nog'. Unfortunately he hadn't had time to learn the script too, on
the trip out. Perhaps later he would have a chance to tell the Ambassador he
could interpret for the mission.

The Ambassador entered the vehicle,
the other Terrestrials following. It was as bare of seats as the Terminal
building. What appeared to be a defunct electronic chassis lay in the center of
the floor, amid a litter of paper and a purple and yellow sock designed for a
broad Yill foot. Retief glanced back. The Yill were talking excitedly. None of
them entered the car. The door was closed, and the Terrans braced themselves
under the low roof as the engine started up with a whine of worn turbos, and
the van moved off.

It was an uncomfortable ride. The
unsprung wheels hammered uneven cobblestones. Retief put out an arm as the
vehicle rounded a corner, caught the Ambassador as he staggered off-balance.
The Ambassador glared at him, settled his heavy tri-corner hat, and stood
stiffly until the car lurched again.

Retief stooped, trying to see out
through the single dusty window. They seemed to be in a wide street lined with
low buildings. They passed through a massive gate, up a ramp, and stopped. The
door opened. Retief looked out at a blank grey facade, broken by tiny windows
at irregular intervals. A scarlet vehicle was drawn up ahead, the Yill
reception committee emerging from it. Through its wide windows Retief saw rich
upholstery and caught a glimpse of glasses clamped to a tiny bar.

P'Toi, the Yill interpreter, came
forward, gesturing to a small door in the grey wall. Magnan scurried ahead to
open it and held it for the Ambassador. As he stepped to it a Yill thrust
himself ahead and hesitated. Ambassador Spradley drew himself up, glaring. Then
he twisted his mouth into a frozen smile and stepped aside. The Yill looked at
each other, then filed through the door.

Retief was the last to enter. As he
stepped inside a black- clad servant slipped past him, pulled the lid from a
large box by the door and dropped in a paper tray heaped with refuse. There
were alien symbols in flaking paint on the box. They seemed, Retief noticed, to
spell 'egg nog'.