(5/15) The Golden Age of Science Fiction Volume V: An Anthology of 50 Short Stories

by Various

  The music cut, and in the startling instantaneous silence, the heavy sabre whipped over and down with an explosive concussion that set dishes dancing on the table-top.

  * * * * *

  The Yill's eyes held on Retief's. In the silence, Magnan tittered drunkenly. Retief pushed back his stool.

  "Steady, my boy," Ambassador Spradley called. Retief stood, the Yill topping his six foot three by an inch. In a motion almost too quick to follow, Retief reached for the sabre, twitched it from the Yill's grip, swung it in a whistling cut. The Yill ducked, sprang back, snatched up a sabre dropped by another dancer.

  "Someone stop the madman!" Spradley howled.

  Retief leaped across the table, sending fragile dishes spinning.

  The other danced back, and only then did the orchestra spring to life with a screech and a mad tattoo of high-pitched drums.

  Making no attempt to following the weaving pattern of the Yill bolero, Retief pressed the other, fending off vicious cuts with the blunt weapon, chopping back relentlessly. Left hand on hip, Retief matched blow for blow, driving the other back.

  Abruptly, the Yill abandoned the double role. Dancing forgotten, he settled down in earnest, cutting, thrusting, parrying; and now the two stood toe to toe, sabres clashing in a lightning exchange. The Yill gave a step, two, then rallied, drove Retief back, back----

  And the Yill stumbled. His sabre clattered, and Retief dropped his point as the other wavered past him and crashed to the floor.

  The orchestra fell silent in a descending wail of reeds. Retief drew a deep breath and wiped his forehead.

  "Come back here, you young fool!" Spradley called hoarsely.

  Retief hefted the sabre, turned, eyed the brocade-draped table. He started across the floor. The Yill sat as if paralyzed.

  "Retief, no!" Spradley yelped.

  Retief walked directly to the Admirable F'Kau-Kau-Kau, stopped, raised the sabre.

  "Not the chief of state," someone in the Terrestrial mission groaned.

  Retief whipped the sabre down. The dull blade split the cloth and clove the hardwood table. There was utter silence.

  The Admirable F'Kau-Kau-Kau rose, seven feet of obese gray Yill. Broad face expressionless to any Terran eyes, he raised a fist like a jewel-studded ham.

  Retief stood rigid for a long moment. Then, gracefully, he inclined his head, placed his finger tips on his temples.

  Behind him, there was a clatter as Ambassador Spradley collapsed. Then the Admirable F'Kau-Kau-Kau cried out and reached across the table to embrace the Terrestrial, and the orchestra went mad.

  Gray hands helped Retief across the table, stools were pushed aside to make room at F'Kau-Kau-Kau's side. Retief sat, took a tall flagon of coal-black brandy pressed on him by his neighbor, clashed glasses with The Admirable and drank.

  IV

  Retief turned at the touch on his shoulder.

  "The Ambassador wants to speak to you, Retief," Magnan said.

  Retief looked across to where Ambassador Spradley sat glowering behind the plain tablecloth.

  "Under the circumstances," Retief said, "you'd better ask him to come over here."

  "The ambassador?" Magnan's voice cracked.

  "Never mind the protocol," Retief said. "The situation is still delicate." Magnan went away.

  "The feast ends," F'Kau-Kau-Kau said. "Now you and I, Retief, must straddle the Council Stool."

  "I'll be honored, Admirable," Retief said. "I must inform my colleagues."

  "Colleagues?" F'Kau-Kau-Kau said. "It is for chiefs to parley. Who shall speak for a king while he yet has tongue for talk?"

  "The Yill way is wise," Retief said.

  F'Kau-Kau-Kau emptied a squat tumbler of pink beer. "I will treat with you, Retief, as viceroy, since as you say your king is old and the space between worlds is far. But there shall be no scheming underlings privy to our dealings." He grinned a Yill grin. "Afterwards we shall carouse, Retief. The Council Stool is hard and the waiting handmaidens delectable. This makes for quick agreement."

  Retief smiled. "The king is wise."

  "Of course, a being prefers wenches of his own kind," F'Kau-Kau-Kau said. He belched. "The Ministry of Culture has imported several Terry--excuse me, Retief--Terrestrial joy-girls, said to be top-notch specimens. At least they have very fat watchamacallits."

  "The king is most considerate," Retief said.

  "Let us to it then, Retief. I may hazard a fling with one of your Terries, myself. I fancy an occasional perversion." F'Kau-Kau-Kau dug an elbow into Retief's side and bellowed with laughter.

  Ambassador Spradley hurried to intercept Retief as he crossed to the door at F'Kau-Kau-Kau's side.

  "Retief, kindly excuse yourself, I wish a word with you." His voice was icy. Magnan stood behind him, goggling.

  "Mr. Ambassador, forgive my apparent rudeness," Retief said. "I don't have time to explain now----"

  "Rudeness!" Spradley barked. "Don't have time, eh? Let me tell you----"

  "Lower your voice, Mr. Ambassador," Retief said.

  Spradley quivered, mouth open, speechless.

  "If you'll sit down and wait quietly," Retief said, "I think----"

  "You think!" Spradley spluttered.

  * * * * *

  "Silence!" Retief said. Spradley looked up at Retief's face. He stared for a moment into Retief's gray eyes, closed his mouth and swallowed.

  "The Yill seem to have gotten the impression I'm in charge," Retief said, "We'll have to keep it up."

  "But--but--" Spradley stuttered. Then he straightened. "That is the last straw," he whispered hoarsely. "I am the Terrestrial Ambassador Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary. Magnan has told me that we've been studiedly insulted, repeatedly, since the moment of our arrival. Kept waiting in baggage rooms, transported in refuse lorries, herded about with servants, offered swill at table. Now I and my senior staff, are left cooling our heels, without so much as an audience while this--this multiple Kau person hobnobs with--with--"

  Spradley's voice broke. "I may have been a trifle hasty, Retief, in attempting to restrain you. Blaspheming the native gods and dumping the banquet table are rather extreme measures, but your resentment was perhaps partially justified. I am prepared to be lenient with you." He fixed a choleric eye on Retief.

  "I am walking out of this meeting, Mr. Retief. I'll take no more of these deliberate personal----"

  "That's enough," Retief snapped. "You're keeping the king waiting. Get back to your chair and sit there until I come back."

  Magnan found his voice. "What are you going to do, Retief?"

  "I'm going to handle the negotiation," Retief said. He handed Magnan his empty glass. "Now go sit down and work on the Image."

  * * * * *

  At his desk in the VIP suite aboard the orbiting Corps vessel, Ambassador Spradley pursed his lips and looked severely at Vice-Consul Retief.

  "Further," he said, "you have displayed a complete lack of understanding of Corps discipline, the respect due a senior agent, even the basic courtesies. Your aggravated displays of temper, ill-timed outbursts of violence and almost incredible arrogance in the assumption of authority make your further retention as an officer-agent of the Diplomatic Corps impossible. It will therefore be my unhappy duty to recommend your immediate----"

  There was a muted buzz from the communicator. The ambassador cleared his throat.

  "Well?"

  "A signal from Sector HQ, Mr. Ambassador," a voice said.

  "Well, read it," Spradley snapped. "Skip the preliminaries."

  "Congratulations on the unprecedented success of your mission. The articles of agreement transmitted by you embody a most favorable resolution of the difficult Sirenian situation, and will form the basis of continued amicable relations between the Terrestrial States and the Yill Empire. To you and your staff, full credit is due for a job well done. Signed, Deputy Assistant Secretary----"

  Spradley cut off the voice impatiently.

  He shuffled papers, eye
d Retief sharply.

  "Superficially, of course, an uninitiated observer might leap to the conclusion that the--ah--results that were produced in spite of these ... ah ... irregularities justify the latter." The Ambassador smiled a sad, wise smile. "This is far from the case," he said. "I----"

  The communicator burped softly.

  "Confound it!" Spradley muttered. "Yes?"

  "Mr. T'Cai-Cai has arrived," the voice said. "Shall I----"

  "Send him in at once." Spradley glanced at Retief. "Only a two-syllable man, but I shall attempt to correct these false impressions, make some amends...."

  The two Terrestrials waited silently until the Yill Protocol chief tapped at the door.

  "I hope," the ambassador said, "that you will resist the impulse to take advantage of your unusual position." He looked at the door. "Come in."

  T'Cai-Cai stepped into the room, glanced at Spradley, turned to greet Retief in voluble Yill. He rounded the desk to the ambassador's chair, motioned him from it and sat down.

  * * * * *

  "I have a surprise for you, Retief," he said, in Terran. "I myself have made use of the teaching machine you so kindly lent us."

  "That's fine. T'Cai-Cai," Retief said. "I'm sure Mr. Spradley will be interested in hearing what we have to say."

  "Never mind," the Yill said. "I am here only socially." He looked around the room.

  "So plainly you decorate your chamber. But it has a certain austere charm." He laughed a Yill laugh.

  "Oh, you are a strange breed, you Terrestrials. You surprised us all. You know, one hears such outlandish stories. I tell you in confidence, we had expected you to be overpushes."

  "Pushovers," Spradley said, tonelessly.

  "Such restraint! What pleasure you gave to those of us, like myself of course, who appreciated your grasp of protocol. Such finesse! How subtly you appeared to ignore each overture, while neatly avoiding actual contamination. I can tell you, there were those who thought--poor fools--that you had no grasp of etiquette. How gratified we were, we professionals, who could appreciate your virtuosity--when you placed matters on a comfortable basis by spurning the cats'-meat. It was sheer pleasure then, waiting, to see what form your compliment would take."

  The Yill offered orange cigars, stuffed one in his nostril.

  "I confess even I had not hoped that you would honor our Admirable so signally. Oh, it is a pleasure to deal with fellow professionals, who understand the meaning of protocol!"

  Ambassador Spradley made a choking sound.

  "This fellow has caught a chill," T'Cai-Cai said. He eyed Spradley dubiously. "Step back, my man. I am highly susceptible.

  "There is one bit of business I shall take pleasure in attending to, my dear Retief," T'Cai-Cai went on. He drew a large paper from his reticule. "The Admirable is determined than none other than yourself shall be accredited here. I have here my government's exequatur confirming you as Terrestrial consul-general to Yill. We shall look forward to your prompt return."

  Retief looked at Spradley.

  "I'm sure the Corps will agree," he said.

  "Then I shall be going," T'Cai-Cai said. He stood up. "Hurry back to us, Retief. There is much that I would show you of Yill."

  "I'll hurry," Retief said and, with a Yill wink: "Together we shall see many high and splendid things!"

  END

  * * *

  Contents

  ONE MARTIAN AFTERNOON

  By Tom Leahy

  She was sweet, gentle, kind--a sort of Martian Old Mother Hubbard. But when she went to her cupboard ...

  The clod burst in a cloud of red sand and the little Martian sand dog ducked quickly into his burrow. Marilou threw another at the aperture in the ground and then ran over and with the inside of her foot she scraped sand into it until it was filled to the surface. She started to leave, but stopped.

  The little fellow might choke to death, she thought, it wasn't his fault she had to live on Mars. Satisfied that the future of something was dependent on her whim, she dug the sand from the hole. His little yellow eyes peered out at her.

  "Go on an' live," she said magnanimously.

  She got up and brushed the sand from her knees and dress, and walked slowly down the red road.

  The noon sun was relentless; nowhere was there relief from it. Marilou squinted and shaded her eyes with her hand. She looked in the sky for one of those infrequent Martian rain clouds, but the deep blue was only occasionally spotted by fragile white puffs. Like the sun, they had no regard for her, either. They were too concerned with moving toward the distant mountains, there to cling momentarily to the peaks and then continue on their endless route.

  Marilou dabbed the moisture from her forehead with the hem of her dress. "I know one thing," she mumbled. "When I grow up, I'll get to Earth an' never come back to Mars, no matter what!"

  She broke into a defiant, cadenced step.

  "An' I won't care whether you an' Mommy like it or not!" she declared aloud, sticking out her chin at an imaginary father before her.

  Before she realized it, a tiny, lime-washed stone house appeared not a hundred yards ahead of her. That was the odd thing about the Martian midday; something small and miles away would suddenly become large and very near as you approached it.

  The heat waves did it, her father had told her. "Really?" she had replied, and--you think you know so doggone much, she had thought.

  * * * * *

  "Aunt Twylee!" She broke into a run. By the Joshua trees, through the stone gateway she ran, and with a leap she lit like a young frog on the porch. "Hi, Aunt Twylee!" she said breathlessly.

  An ancient Martian woman sat in a rocking chair in the shade of the porch. She held a bowl of purple river apples in her lap. Her papyrus-like hands moved quickly as she shaved the skin from one. In a matter of seconds it was peeled. She looked up over her bifocals at the panting Marilou.

  "Gracious, child, you shouldn't run like that this time of day," she said. "You Earth children aren't used to our Martian heat. It'll make you sick if you run too much."

  "I don't care! I hate Mars! Sometimes I wish I could just get good an' sick, so's I'd get to go home!"

  "Marilou, you are a little tyrant!" Aunt Twylee laughed.

  "Watcha' doin', Aunt Twylee?" Marilou asked, getting up from her frog posture and coming near the old Martian lady's chair.

  "Oh, peeling apples, dear. I'm going to make a cobbler this afternoon." She dropped the last apple, peeled, into the bowl. "There, done. Would you like a little cool apple juice, Marilou?"

  "Sure--you betcha! Hey, could I watch you make the cobbler, Aunt Twylee, could I? Mommy can't make it for anything--it tastes like glue. Maybe, if I could see how you do it, maybe I could show her. Do you think?"

  "Now, Marilou, your mother must be a wonderful cook to have raised such a healthy little girl. I'm sure there's nothing she could learn from me," Aunt Twylee said as she arose. "Let's go inside and have that apple juice."

  The kitchen was dark and cool, and filled with the odors of the wonderful edibles the old Martian had created on and in the Earth-made stove. She opened the Earth-made refrigerator that stood in the corner and withdrew an Earth-made bottle filled with Martian apple juice.

  Marilou jumped up on the table and sat cross-legged.

  "Here, dear." Aunt Twylee handed her a glass of the icy liquid.

  "Ummm, thanks," Marilou said, and gulped down half the contents. "That tastes dreamy, Aunt Twylee."

  The little girl watched the old Martian as she lit the oven and gathered the necessary ingredients for the cobbler. As she bent over to get a bowl from the shelf beneath Marilou's perch, her hair brushed against the child's knee. Her hair was soft, soft and white as a puppy's, soft and white like the down from a dandelion. She smiled at Marilou. She always smiled; her pencil-thin mouth was a perpetual arc.

  Marilou drained the glass. "Aunt Twylee--is it true what my daddy says about the Martians?"

  "True? How can I say, dear? I don't kno
w what he said."

  "Well, I mean, that when us Earth people came, you Martians did inf ... infan ..."

  "Infanticide?" Aunt Twylee interrupted, rolling the dough on the board a little flatter, a little faster.

  "Yes, that's it--killed babies," Marilou said, and took an apple from the bowl. "My daddy says you were real primitive, an' killed your babies for some silly religious reason. I think that's awful! How could it be religious? God couldn't like to have little babies killed!" She took a big bite of the apple; the juice ran from the corners of her mouth.

  "Your daddy is a very intelligent man, Marilou, but he's partially wrong. It is true--but not for religious reasons. It was a necessity. You must remember, dear, Mars is very arid--sterile--unable to sustain many living things. It was awful, but it was the only way we knew to control the population."

  * * * * *

  Marilou looked down her button nose as she picked a brown spot from the apple. "Hmmph, I'll tell 'im he's wrong," she said. "He thinks he knows so damn much!"

  "Marilou!" Aunt Twylee exclaimed as she looked over her glasses. "A sweet child like you shouldn't use such language!"

  Marilou giggled and popped the remaining portion of the apple in her mouth.

  "Do your parents know where you are, child?" Aunt Twylee asked, as she took the bowl from Marilou's hands. She began dicing the apples into a dough-lined casserole.

  "No, they don't," Marilou replied. She sprayed the air with little particles of apple as she talked. "Everybody's gone to the hills to look for the boys."

  "The boys?" Aunt Twylee stopped her work and looked at the little girl.

  "Yes--Jimmy an' Eddie an' some of the others disappeared from the settlement this morning. The men're afraid they've run off to th' hills an' the renegades got 'em."

  "Gracious," Aunt Twylee said; her brow knitted into a criss-cross of wrinkles.