Galactic Diplomat Read Online Free PDF

It’s important to avoid arousing antagonism, while
maintaining non-commitment. You may as well stay. You might pick up some
valuable pointers technique-wise.”
    The door swung wide; Leatherwell strode into the room, his
massive paunch buckled into fashionable vests of turquoise velvet and hung with
the latest in fluorescent watch charms. He extended a large palm, pumped
Magnan’s flaccid arm vigorously.
    “Ah, there, Mr. Consul-General. Good of you to receive me.”
He wiped his hand absently on his thigh, eyeing Retief questioningly.
    “Mr. Retief, my Vice-Consul and Minerals Officer,” Magnan
said. “Do take a chair, Mr. Leatherwell. In what capacity can I serve today?”
    “I am here, gentlemen,” Leatherwell said, putting an immense
yellow briefcase on Magnan’s desk and settling himself in a power rocker, “on
behalf of my company, General Minerals. General Minerals has long been aware,
gentlemen, of the austere conditions obtaining here in the Belt, to which
public servants like yourselves are subjected.” Leatherwell bobbed with the
pitch of the rocker, smiling complacently at Magnan. “General Minerals is more
than a great industrial combine; it is an organization with a heart.”
Leatherwell reached for his breast pocket, missed as the chair pitched, tried
again.
    “How do you turn this damned thing off?” he growled.
    Magnan half-rose, peering over Leatherwell’s briefcase. “The
switch just there—on the arm . . .”
    The executive fumbled. There was a click, and the chair
subsided with a sigh of compressed air.
    “That’s better.” Leatherwell drew out a long slip of blue
paper.
    “To alleviate the boredom and brighten the lives of that
hardy group of Terrestrials laboring here on Ceres to bring free enterprise to
the Belt,” he intoned, “General Minerals is presenting to the consulate—on
their behalf—one hundred thousand credits for the construction of a Joy Center,
to be equipped with the latest and finest in recreational equipment, including
a Gourmet Model C banquet synthesizer, a forty-foot sublimation chamber, a
five-thousand-tape library—with a number of choice items unobtainable in
Boston—a twenty-foot Tri-D tank, and other amenities too numerous to mention.”
Leatherwell leaned back, beaming expectantly.
    “Why, Mr. Leatherwell—we’re overwhelmed, of
course . . .” Magnan smiled dazedly past the briefcase.
“But, I wonder if it’s quite proper . . .”
    “The gift is to the people, Mr. Consul. You merely accept on
their behalf.”
    “I wonder if General Minerals realizes that the hardy
Terrestrials laboring on Ceres are limited to the consular staff?” Retief said.
“And the staff consists of Mr. Magnan, Miss Gumble, and myself—”
    “Mr. Leatherwell is hardly interested in these details,
Retief,” Magnan cut in. “A public-spirited offer indeed, sir. As Terrestrial
Consul—and on behalf of all Terrestrials here in the Belt—I accept with a
humble awareness of—”
    “Now, there was one other little matter,” Leatherwell said.
He leaned forward to open the briefcase, glancing over Magnan’s littered
desk-top. He extracted a bundle of papers, dropped them on the desk, then drew
out a heavy document, passed it across to Magnan.
    “Just a routine claim. I’d like to see it rushed through, as
we have in mind some loading operations in the vicinity next
week . . .”
    “Certainly, Mr. Leatherwell.” Magnan glanced at the papers,
paused to read. He looked up. “Ah . . .”
    “Something the matter, Mr. Consul?”
Leatherwell demanded.
    “It’s just that—ah—I seem to recall—as a matter of
fact . . .” Magnan looked at Retief. Retief took the papers,
looked over the top sheet.
    “95739-A. Sorry, Mr. Leatherwell. General Minerals has been
anticipated. We’re processing a prior claim—”
    “Prior claim?” Leatherwell barked. “You’ve issued the grant?”
    “Oh, no indeed, Mr. Leatherwell,” Magnan replied