by Keith Laumer
The Aga Kaga groaned, rolling his eyes.
“Well, I believe we’re ready to get down to diplomatic proceedings now,” Retief said. “Nothing like dealing in an atmosphere of realistic good fellowship. First, of course, there’s the matter of the presence of aliens lacking visas.” He opened his briefcase, withdrew a heavy sheet of parchment. “I have the document here, drawn up and ready for signature. It provides for the prompt deportation of such persons, by Corps Transport, all expenses to be borne by the Aga Kagan government. That’s agreeable, I assume?” Retief looked expectantly at the purple face of the prone potentate. The Aga Kaga grunted a strangled grunt.
“Speak up, Stanley,” Retief said. “Give him plenty of air, Georges.”
“Shall I let some in through the side?”
“Not yet. I’m sure Stanley wants to be agreeable.”
The Aga Kaga snarled.
“Maybe just a little then, Georges,” Retief said judiciously. Georges jabbed the knife in far enough to draw a bead of blood. The Aga Kaga grunted.
“Agreed!” he snorted. “By the beard of the prophet, when I get my hands on you….”
“Second item: certain fields, fishing grounds, et cetera, have suffered damage due to the presence of the aforementioned illegal immigrants. Full compensation will be made by the Aga Kagan government. Agreed?”
* * * *
The Aga Kaga drew a breath, tensed himself; Georges jabbed with the knife point. His prisoner relaxed with a groan. “Agreed!” he grated. “A vile tactic! You enter my tent under the guise of guests, protected by diplomatic immunity—”
“I had the impression we were herded in here at sword point,” said Retief. “Shall we go on? Now there’s the little matter of restitution for violation of sovereignty, reparations for mental anguish, payment for damaged fences, roads, drainage canals, communications, et cetera, et cetera. Shall I read them all?”
“Wait until the news of this outrage is spread abroad!”
“They’d never believe it,” Retief said. “History would prove it impossible. And on mature consideration, I’m sure you won’t want it noised about that you entertained visiting dignitaries flat on your back.”
“What about the pollution of the atmosphere by goats?” Georges put in. “And don’t overlook the muddying of streams, the destruction of timber for camp fires and—”
“I’ve covered all that sort of thing under a miscellaneous heading,” Retief said. “We can fill it in at leisure when we get back.”
“Bandits!” the Aga Kaga hissed. “Thieves! Dogs of unreliable imperialists!”
“It is disillusioning, I know,” Retief said. “Still, of such little surprises is history made. Sign here.” He held the parchment out and offered a pen. “A nice clear signature, please. We wouldn’t want any quibbling about the legality of the treaty, after conducting the negotiation with such scrupulous regard for the niceties.”
“Niceties! Never in history has such an abomination been perpetrated!”
“Oh, treaties are always worked out this way, when it comes right down to it. We’ve just accelerated the process a little. Now, if you’ll just sign like a good fellow, we’ll be on our way. Georges will have his work cut out for him, planning how to use all this reparations money.”
The Aga Kaga gnashed his teeth: Georges prodded. The Aga Kaga seized the pen and scrawled his name. Retief signed with a flourish. He tucked the treaty away in his briefcase, took out another.
“This is just a safe-conduct, to get us out of the door and into the car,” he said. “Probably unnecessary, but it won’t hurt to have it, in case you figure out some way to avoid your obligations as a host.”
The Aga Kaga signed the document after another prod from Georges.
“One more paper, and I’ll be into the jugular,” he said.
* * * *
“We’re all through now,” said Retief. “Stanley, we’re going to have to run now. I’m going to strap up your hands and feet a trifle; it shouldn’t take you more than ten minutes or so to get loose, stick a band-aid on your neck and—”
“My men will cut you down for the rascals you are!”
“By that time, we’ll be over the hill,” Retief continued. “At full throttle; we’ll be at Government House in an hour, and of course I won’t waste any time transmitting the treaty to Sector HQ. And the same concern for face that keeps you from yelling for help will insure that the details of the negotiation remain our secret.”
“Treaty! That scrap of paper!”
“I confess the Corps is a little sluggish about taking action at times,” Retief said, whipping a turn of silken cord around the Aga Kaga’s ankles. “But once it’s got signatures on a legal treaty, it’s extremely stubborn about all parties adhering to the letter. It can’t afford to be otherwise, as I’m sure you’ll understand.” He cinched up the cord, went to work on the hands. The Aga Kaga glared at him balefully.
“To the Pit with the Corps! The ferocity of my revenge—”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Stanley. There are several squadrons of Peace Enforcers cruising in the Sector just now. I’m sure you’re not ready to make any historical errors by taking them on.” Retief finished and stood.
“Georges, just stuff a scarf in Stanley’s mouth. I think he’d prefer to work quietly until he recovers his dignity.” Retief buckled his briefcase, selected a large grape and looked down at the Aga Kaga.
“Actually, you’ll be glad you saw things our way, Stanley,” he said. “You’ll get all the credit for the generous settlement. Of course, it will be a striking precedent for any other negotiations that may become necessary if you get grabby on other worlds in this region. And if your advisors want to know why the sudden change of heart, just tell them you’ve decided to start from scratch on an unoccupied world. Mention the virtues of thrift and hard work. I’m confident you can find plenty of historical examples to support you.”
“Thanks for the drink,” said Georges. “Drop in on me at Government House some time and we’ll crack another bottle.”
“And don’t feel bad about your project’s going awry,” Retief said. “In the words of the prophet, ‘Stolen goods are never sold at a loss.’”
* * * *
“A remarkable about-face, Retief,” Magnan said. “Let this be a lesson to you. A stern Note of Protest can work wonders.”
“A lot depends on the method of delivery,” Retief said.
“Nonsense. I knew all along the Aga Kagans were a reasonable and peace-loving people. One of the advantages of senior rank, of course, is the opportunity to see the big picture. Why, I was saying only this morning—”
The desk screen broke into life. The mottled jowls of Under-Secretary Sternwheeler appeared.
“Magnan! I’ve just learned of the Flamme affair. Who’s responsible?”
“Why, ah…I suppose that I might be said—”
“This is your work, is it?”
“Well…Mr. Retief did play the role of messenger.”
“Don’t pass the buck, Magnan!” the Under-Secretary barked. “What the devil went on out there?”
“Just a routine Protest Note. Everything is quite in order.”
“Bah! Your over-zealousness has cost me dear. I was feeding Flamme to the Aga Kagans to consolidate our position of moral superiority for use as a lever in a number of important negotiations. Now they’ve backed out! Aga Kaga emerges from the affair wreathed in virtue. You’ve destroyed a very pretty finesse in power politics, Mr. Magnan! A year’s work down the drain!”
“But I thought—”
“I doubt that, Mr. Magnan, I doubt that very much!” The Under-Secretary rang off.
“This is a fine turn of events,” Magnan groaned. “Retief, you know very well Protest Notes are merely intended for the historical record! No one ever takes them seriously.”
“You and the Aga Kaga ought to get together,” said Retief. “He’s a great one for citing historical parallels. He’s not a bad fellow, a
s a matter of fact. I have an invitation from him to visit Kaga and go mud-pig hunting. He was so impressed by Corps methods that he wants to be sure we’re on his side next time. Why don’t you come along?”
“Hmmm. Perhaps I should cultivate him. A few high-level contacts never do any harm. On the other hand, I understand he lives in a very loose way, feasting and merrymaking. Frivolous in the extreme. No wife, you understand, but hordes of lightly clad women about. And in that connection, the Aga Kagans have some very curious notions as to what constitutes proper hospitality to a guest.”
Retief rose, pulled on the powder blue cloak and black velvet gauntlets of a Career Minister.
“Don’t let it worry you,” he said. “You’ll have a great time. And as the Aga Kaga would say, ‘Ugliness is the best safeguard of virginity.’”
SALINE SOLUTION
Originally published in Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1963.
I
Consul-General Magnan gingerly fingered the 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, Passwyn, Spradley, Nitworth, Sternwheeler, Rumpwhistle. 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 their true worth.”
“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. 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 and 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, 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, 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 leaned forward to open the briefcase, glancing over Magnan’s littered desktop. He extracted a bundle of papers, dropped them on the desk, then drew out a heavy document and 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 quickly. “The claim hasn’t yet been processed.”
“Then there’s no difficulty,” Leatherwell boomed. He glanced at his finger watch. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait and take the grant along with me. I assume it will only take a minute or two to sign it and affix seals and so on?”
“The other claim was filed a full week ago—” Retief started.
“Bah!” Leatherwell waved a hand impatiently. “These details can be arranged.” He fixed an eye on Magnan. “I’m sure all of us here understand that it’s in the public interest that minerals properties go to responsible firms, with adequate capital for proper development.”
“Why, ah,” Magnan said.
“The Sam’s Last Chance Number Nine Mining Company is a duly chartered firm. Their claim is valid.”
“I
know that hole-in-corner concern,” Leatherwell snapped. “Mere irresponsible opportunists. General Minerals has spent millions—millions, I say—of the stockholders’ funds in minerals explorations. Are they to be balked in realizing a fair return on their investment because these…these…adventures have stumbled on a deposit? Not that the property is of any real value, of course,” he added. “Quite an ordinary bit of rock. But General Minerals would find it convenient to consolidate its holdings.”
“There are plenty of other rocks floating around in the Belt. Why not—”
“One moment, Retief,” Magnan cut in. He looked across the desk at his junior with a severe expression. “As Consul-General, I’m quite capable of determining the relative merits of claims. As Mr. Leatherwell has pointed out, it’s in the public interest to consider the question in depth.”
Leatherwell cleared his throat. “I might state at this time that General Minerals is prepared to be generous in dealing with these interlopers. I believe we would be prepared to go so far as to offer them free title to certain GM holdings in exchange for their release of any alleged rights to the property in question—merely to simplify matters, of course.”
“That seems more than fair to me,” Magnan glowed.
“The Sam’s people have a clear priority,” Retief said. “I logged the claim in last Friday.”
“They have far from a clear title.” Leatherwell snapped. “And I can assure you GM will contest their claim, if need be, to the Supreme Court!”
“Just what holdings did you have in mind offering them, Mr. Leatherwell?” Magnan asked nervously.
Leatherwell reached into his briefcase and drew out a paper.
“2645-P,” he read. “A quite massive body. Crustal material, I imagine. It should satisfy these squatters’ desire to own real estate in the Belt.”
“I’ll make a note of that,” Magnan said, reaching for a pad.
“That’s a Bona Fide offer, Mr. Leatherwell?” Retief asked.
“Certainly!”
“I’ll record it as such,” Magnan said, scribbling.