Galactic Diplomat Read Online Free PDF Page A

Well?”
    “There isn’t any. The Qornt were there all the while.
Underground.”
    “Underground? Doing what?”
    “Hibernating—for two hundred years at a stretch.”
    Outside in the corridor, Magnan came up to Retief, who stood
talking to a tall man in a pilot’s coverall.
    “I’ll be tied up, sending through full details on my—our—your
recruiting scheme, Retief,” Magnan said. “Suppose you run into the city to
assist the new Verpp Consul in settling in.”
    “I’ll do that, Mr. Magnan. Anything else?”
    Magnan raised his eyebrows. “You’re remarkably compliant
today, Retief. I’ll arrange transportation—”
    “Don’t bother, Mr. Magnan. Cy here will run me over. He was
the pilot who ferried us over to Roolit I, you recall.”
    Magnan nodded curtly.
    “I’ll
be with you as soon as I pack a few phone numbers, Retief,” the pilot said. He
moved off. Magnan followed him with a disapproving eye. “An uncouth sort, I
fancied. I trust you’re not consorting with his kind
socially . . .”
    “I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” Retief said. “We just want to
go over a few figures together.”
     

SALINE SOLUTION
    “Oft
has the Corps, in its steadfast championing of minority rights, run foul of the
massive influence of entrenched pressure groups. Consul General (later
Secretary) Magnan stirringly reaffirmed hallowed Corps principles of fair play
in his deft apportionment of minerals properties in the
Belt . . .”
     
    —Vol. III, Reel 21, 481 AE (AD 2942)
     
    Consul-General
Magnan gingerly fingered a heavily rubber-banded sheaf of dog-eared documents.
“I haven’t rushed into precipitate action on this claim, Retief,” he said. “The
consulate has grave responsibilities here in the Belt. One must weigh all
aspects of the situation, consider the ramifications; what consequences would
arise from a grant of minerals rights on the planetoid to this claimant?”
    “The claim looked all right to me,” Retief said. “Seventeen
copies with attachments. Why not process it? You’ve had it on your desk for a
week.”
    Magnan’s eyebrows went up. “You’ve a personal interest in
this claim, Retief?”
    “Every day you wait is costing them money; that hulk they
use for an ore-carrier is in a parking orbit piling up demurrage.”
    “I see you’ve become emotionally involved in the affairs of a
group of obscure miners; you haven’t yet learned the true diplomat’s happy
faculty of non-identification with specifics—or should I say identification
with non-specifics?”
    “They’re not a wealthy outfit, you know. In fact, I
understand this claim is their sole asset—unless you want to count the
ore-carrier.”
    “The consulate is not concerned with the internal financial
problems of the Sam’s Last Chance Number Nine Mining Company.”
    “Careful,” Retief said. “You almost identified yourself with
a specific that time.”
    “Hardly, my dear Retief,” Magnan said blandly. “The
implication is mightier than the affidavit. You should study the records of the
giants of Galactic diplomacy: Crodfoller, Wormwell, Spradley, Nitworth,
Sternwheeler, Barnshingle; the roll-call of those names rings like the majestic
tread of . . . of . . .”
    “Dinosaurs?” Retief suggested.
    “An apt simile,” Magnan nodded. “Those mighty figures, those
armored hides—”
    “Those tiny brains . . .”
    Magnan smiled sadly. “I see you’re indulging your penchant
for distorted facetiae. Perhaps one day you’ll learn the true worth of their
contributions.”
    “I already have my suspicions.”
    The intercom chimed. Miss Gumble’s features appeared on the
desk screen.
    “Mr. Leatherwell to see you, Mr. Magnan. He has no
appointment—”
    Magnan’s eyebrows went up. “Send Mr. Leatherwell right in.”
He looked at Retief. “I had no idea Leatherwell was planning a call. I wonder
what he’s after?” Magnan looked anxious. “He’s an important figure in Belt
minerals circles.