Authors: Keith Laumer

Tags: #Science Fiction, #General, #Fiction

The Return of Retief (27 page)

BOOK: The Return of Retief

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"It
certainly
was
stupid, Retief. Our males are only seven inches in
height."

"I
don't think I've ever met a male Grotian socially."

"Oh,
no. They don't mingle. The dear creatures tend to feel inferior, being only
seven inches tall. Sometimes they feel quite low indeed. That's why, when I saw
the creatures in the pudding—"

"You
associated them with Grotian males, and whoofled."

"Yes.
Oh, dear," she sighed, as the reel whirred with a slapping of the film
end. "That was beautiful."

Retief
rose and shut down the projector. "How did you obtain the film
equipment?"

"Well,
Retief, frankly I was bored. Ambassador Shiss was so thoughtful, escorting me
into this lovely room and securing the entry. I had almost made up my mind to
sign the Terran treaty. I felt Terra and Grote had so much in common. The
females wear gorgeous attire and revel at social functions, while the males are
drab and do the menial labor. And then, too, Terra could provide every Grote
household with a tea-bag.

"But
I had to see what Groac had to offer. I waited for the Ambassador to enter and
place his proposals before me. But he only nagged me and kept the entryway
secured. So I got bored. I wondered what the Groaci had done with poor Mr.
Magnan—so I whoofled."

"You—er—whoofled
to the dungeons?"

"I
meant
to whoofle there, but I was uncertain of the Embassy floor plans.
I found myself in a dank stone room where a leather-aproned Groaci was viewing
these precious films. He did not see me in the darkness. After he left, I—well,
it was bad protocol, I know—I twaffled the equipment and the round tins of film
up here.

"I
shouldn't say so, Retief, but I'd about decided to sign the Groaci treaty, if I
could have the Roy Rogers love story. Selfish of me, isn't it?"

"Not
at all, D'Ong," Retief smiled. "But those are Terran films. Sign with
Terra, and you'll get all the Roy Rogers films. And Gene Autry and the lot. Not
to mention Nelson Eddy and the Andrews Sisters. I think I could promise you
Vera Hruba Ralston."

"Oh,
Retief, how sublime! The Terran treaty is as good as signed!"

"I
heard that!" wheezed Ambassador Shiss's hoarse voice from the entry panel.
"Never will Groac accept such humiliation! Minister D'Ong, you and Retief
will stay in that room until you agree to a Groaci treaty!"

He
stepped back. The entire bar slid into place again and sealed with a complex
click.

Retief
commented, "Now well be getting bored together, Madam Minister."

"Goodness,
no. We can whoofle," D'Ong said casually.

"You
can whoofle. I can't," Retief said.

"Yes,
that
is
tiresome. And the Terran metabolism would probably suffer from
being twaffled through a metal door. But cheer up, Retief," D'Ong said.
"I shall whoofle out and twaffle you free. If you can prevail upon
Ambassador Shiss to allow us to exit through his office—"

"My
hand blaster will suffice for that maneuver," Retief said. "But,
Madam D'Ong, the bar panel is a suicide device. One touch—"

"I
can twaffle without touching, and I shall stand well back. You'd better do the
same, Retief."

She
abruptly vanished.

Retief
prudently distanced himself from the entry wall. He drew his hand blaster. When
the wall went up in smoke, he intended to have the drop on Ambassador Shiss.

"Well,
Ben, a bath and a fresh coverall have improved you considerably,"
Ambassador Smallfrog observed, lolling back in his hip-o-matic. "Coming
home in a Yill garbage truck!"

"I
was thankful enough for F'Lin-lin's help in escaping the Groaci, Mr.
Ambassador," Magnan said, stroking his brow. "My head is still
a-whirl after my harrowing experience."

"Urn,
Mustn't brood, Magnan. Pity we can't send a squad of Marines over there to
search the Groaci compound from ridge-pole to refuse-pits and catch the scamps
red-handed with D'Ong and Retief. But, of course, to violate a friendly embassy
would be unthinkable."

"Let's
think about it anyway," Magnan suggested.

"Surely
you're joking," Smallfrog said icily. "As convention-abiding
bureaucrats, we have no choice but to chalk one up for Shiss and his boys,
after which we can rest on our oars until morning, when Shiss proceeds to
express regrets to the Grotian Foreign Office. A pity poor D'Ong was seized and
compelled into durance vile. I suppose he naively revealed the magic tea-bag to
Shiss just as carelessly as he did to us. Magnan, do you believe in
magic?"

"No,
of course not. But the whoofling and twaffling happened all the same."

"It
would be injudicious of me, as a senior officer, to say whether those things
are possible or impossible. These trivia are outside our interest cluster. I
merely assigned to you the task of ferreting out the secret of the four-cup tea
bag. That does not imply an interest in parlor tricks."

"But
where's Retief?" Magnan queried his chief. "We can't just forget the
whole matter and abandon him to his fate in a Groaci dungeon."

"I
suppose you're right, Ben. In spite of the fact that the fellow clearly
exceeded instructions in going so far as to attempt something actually
constructive, certain small-minded critics of the corps might adopt a negative,
or even antagonistic, attitude, were it known he disappeared forever under
unconventional circumstances."

"Quite.
And all for naught. We still don't have the secret of the magic tea bag,"
Magnan mourned.

"Harrumph.
We must avoid the use of the word 'magic,' Ben. Once again, you risk laying
this Mission—and even myself—or yourself—open to criticism. I think 'miraculous
tea-bag' communicates the essentials without the undignified connotations of
the other term."

"Gosh,
yes, Your Excellency. I was just thinking how you go right to the heart of a
matter, side-stepping the pitfalls that trap lesser bureaucrats."

"To
be sure, Ben. Still, one can't help wondering what Shiss is doing with
Retief."

The
French windows swung open.

Magnan
yelped and grabbed for suddenly flying papers as Retief and Foreign Minister
D'Ong stepped into the room.

"Retief!
And Mr. Minister!" Magnan cried. "Goodness knows you've had His
Excellency and myself on tenterhooks, wondering what happened to you. And here
you are, safe and sound. Heavens, you could at least give a person warning
before appearing out of nowhere like that!"

"Not
out of nowhere, precisely, Ben," Ambassador Smallfrog corrected gently.
"They came through the windows, quite obviously. Excellency, pray take a
chair. Retief, there'll be an entry in your file regarding your rather
excessive zeal in invading a friendly embassy."

"I
thought the signing of the Grote-Terra trade treaty was worth the bending of a
few rules," Retief said.

"Why,
Mr. Minister—" Smallfrog began.

"Its
Madam Minister," Retief interposed.

"Madam!"
The Ambassador and his First Consul exclaimed at once.

D'Ong
shook her green satin robe impatiently. "Yes, Freddy, you'll find it quite
natural when you get used to it. While Retief is explaining the treaty to you,
dear Ben can take me to the projection room, where the film stacks might have a
Hopalong Cassidy."

"Of
course, Ben, escort Her Excellency immediately," Smallfrog ordered.

When
the pair had left the room, Smallfrog turned to Retief. "So D'Ong is a
female! I never realized! How are we to avoid such a horrible blunder in
future?"

"Easily.
Grotian males are seven inches tall. Really, Mr. Ambassador, we mustn't serve
shrimp cocktail again."

"Retief,
my head is positively spinning," the Ambassador declared. "All the
regulations you've broken are passing in review in front of my eyes."

"May
I interrupt the long tailback to discuss the treaty?"

"Yes,
first things first. What do the Grotians want?"

"A
tea-bag in every pot, and Nelson Eddy on every video. In return," Retief
explained, "we are permitted to call upon the Grotians for whoofling, twaffling,
and quaffling."

"I
have seen the whoofling and twaffling. But what is quaffling?"

Retief
took D'Ong's scarf from his pocket.

Smallfrog
blurted, "Why, I saw D'Ong wrap the tea-bag in that scarf at lunch!"

"Yes,"
Retief said, unwrapping the inexhaustible bag. "D'Ong apparently carries
it everywhere, renewing it by quaffling."

"And
quaffling is—?"

"The
indefinite replacement of used atoms. Quaffling is why the Grotians live for
hundreds of years. And why the tea-bag is ever fresh. Of course, as D'Ong says,
one can't quaffle forever. Then the only recourse is to furfle."

"And
what is furfling?"

"I
fear it would be counter-productive, Mr. Ambassador," Retief said
seriously. "Furfling is done only by the deceased. I don't think we really
want to know how to furfle."

"Oh,
quite right, Retief. Quite right."

The End

*
* * * * *

Book information

THE

RETURN

RETIEF

A BAEN BOOK

THE
RETURN OF RETIEF

This
is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are
fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely
coincidental.