Diplomat at Arms Read Online Free PDF Page B

Secretary
said.
    Sternwheeler stared at the paper, lips pursed. His face grew
pink. He slammed the paper on the table.
    “Well, gentlemen! It appears our worst fears have been
realized! This is nothing less than a warning! A threat! We’re advised to
divert course and by-pass Glave entirely. It seems the GFE wants no
interference from meddling foreign exploiters, as they put it!”
    Magnan rose. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Ambassador, I want to
get off a message to Sector HQ to hold my old job for me—”
    “Sit down, you idiot!” Sternwheeler roared. “If you think I’m
consenting to have my career blighted—my first Ambassadorial post whisked out
from under me—the Corps made a fool of—”
    “I’d like to take a look at that message,” Retief said. It
was passed along to him. He read it.
    “I don’t believe this applies to us, Mr. Ambassador.”
    “What are you talking about? It’s addressed to me—by name!”
    “It merely states that ‘meddling foreign exploiters’ are
unwelcome. Meddling foreigners we are, but we don’t qualify as exploiters unless
we show a profit—and this appears to be shaping up as a particularly profitless
venture.”
    “What are you proposing, Mr. Retief?”
    “That we proceed to make planetfall as scheduled, greet our
welcoming committee with wide diplomatic smiles, hint at largesse in the
offing, and settle down to observe the lie of the land.”
    “Just what I was about to suggest,” Magnan said.
    “That might be dangerous,” Sternwheeler said.
    “That’s why I didn’t suggest it,” Magnan said.
    “Still it’s essential that we learn more of the situation
than can be gleaned from official broadcasts,” Sternwheeler mused. “Now, while
I can’t justify risking the entire Mission, it might be advisable to dispatch a
delegation to sound out the new regime—”
    “I’d like to volunteer,” Magnan said, rising.
    “Of course, the delegates may be murdered—”
    “—but unfortunately, I’m under treatment at the moment.”
Magnan sat down.
    “—which will place us in an excellent position, propaganda-wise.”
    “What a pity I can’t go,” the Military Attaché said. “But my
place is with my troops.”
    “The only troops you’ve got are the Assistant Attaché and
your secretary,” Magnan pointed out.
    “Say, I’d like to be down there in the thick of things,” the
Political Officer said. He assumed a grave expression. “But, of course, I’ll be
needed here, to interpret results.”
    “I
appreciate your attitude, gentlemen,” Sternwheeler said, studying the ceiling.
“But I’m afraid I must limit the privilege of volunteering for this hazardous
duty to those officers of more robust physique, under forty years of age—”
    “Tsk. I’m forty-one,” Magnan said.
    “—and with a reputation for adaptability.” His glance moved
along the table.
    “Do you mind if I run along now, Mr. Ambassador?” Retief
said. “It’s time for my insulin shot.”
    Sternwheeler’s mouth dropped open.
    “Just kidding,” Retief said. “I’ll go. But I have one
request, Mr. Ambassador: no further communication with the ground until I give
the all-clear.”
     
    Retief grounded the lighter in the center of Glave spaceport,
cycled the lock, and stepped out. The hot yellow Glavian sun beat down on a
broad expanse of concrete, an abandoned service cart, and a row of tall ships
casting black shadows toward the silent control tower. A wisp of smoke curled
up from the shed area at the rim of the field. There was no other sign of life.
    Retief walked over to the cart, tossed his valise aboard,
climbed into the driver’s seat, and headed for the operations building. Beyond
the port, hills rose, white buildings gleaming against the deep green slopes.
Near the ridge, a vehicle moved ant-like along a winding road, a dust trail
rising behind it. Faintly, the tiny rap! of a distant shot sounded.
    Papers littered the ground before the Operations Building.
Retief