exacted by Enlightened Galactic Opinion for the traffic
from which we reap the profits!"
"I say, sir," Flinsh offered
hesitantly. "Is it entirely wise to state the case so candidly, especially
while so close to the actual environs of the Terran Mission, just beyond the
partition there?"
"You, a mere third secretary and
vice-consul," Shish retorted contemptuously, "have the effrontery to
question the wisdom of your very own counselor?"
"Well, sir," the impudent fellow
attempted. "I only meant—"
"To understand very well, Flinsh,"
Shish said coldly in the Formal dialect: "To make a marginal note in your
ER to the effect that you spoke without thinking."
"Gosh, sir," the hapless vice-consul
tried again, an example, Shish reflected, of the persistence which had been
instrumental in the boy's glacial rate of promotion.
"After all, you're not totally infallible,
sir," he plunged to his doom.
"Am I to understand, Flinsh," Shish
said in an incredulous tone, "that you take it upon yourself not only to
dispute the decision of your Big Boss, but place his very wisdom in
question?"
While the occupants of the strong-room were thus
contentedly engaged in Pecking-order Ritual, Retief wedged off another wide
chunk of the tough wood. He could now see part of the room, including two pairs
of jeweled greaves above flat, bunioned feet in trump-hide sandals. The Groaci
diplomats were at the far end of the room, fully intent on their verbal
ping-pong. Retief eased his left hand through the inch-wide gap he had made,
and was able to put his fingertips on a silken throw-rug on which rested one
leg of a small end-table. He inched the silk toward him; it slid silently,
bringing the table along. Retief could see the top of a cheap Groaci copy of a
Yalcan glass pot on the table; it tottered as the table swung around minutely.
Retief paused, watching closely, but the breathy
Groaci voices went on, poor Flinsh losing ground with each ill-advised
utterance. Shish was shifting impatiently, saying: "Yes, yes, no matter,
my boy. You're young: to learn in time." Then he turned and walked
directly toward Retief's spy-hole, Flinsh trotting at his side, the side nearer
to Retief. Timing it carefully, Retief waited until Flinsh was passing directly
by the table, then he jerked the rug. The pot rocked, leaned, and fell with a smash! Bits of iridescent glass scattered in every direction.
"Fool!" Shish yelled. "Clumsy
idiot! Look where you're blundering! Do you realize that lamp was of museum
quality—a gift from the Yalcan Minister of Culture to my departed colleague
Ambassador Schluh!"
"Gee, sir, I didn't even touch that
table!" Flinsh protested.
"Stubborn!" Shish yelled, a dry
wheeze. "As we stand here actually looking at the shards of a
precious vase destroyed by your clumsiness, you attempt to deny the evidence
your own senses as well as mine perceive! Folly, Flinsh! No—don't aggravate the
offense—"
"But, sir, I carefully avoided any contact
whatever with the table whereon the lamp rested!"
"Don't imagine, Flinsh," Shish grated,
"that I fail to notice the implied rebuke in your editing my use of the
word Vase to 'lamp'! As if this petty distinction in any degree lessened the
gravity of the offense!"
"Gee, sir," Flinsh offered. "To
hate it that the lamp, I mean vase broke and all, but I didn't do
it!"
"To be quite enough, Flinsh!" his boss
declared. "Never mind! To sweep that up—no, I didn't mean that! To be
beneath your rank, after all, incompetent though you are! I go to summon a
sweeper!" Shish stamped off to his
from which we reap the profits!"
"I say, sir," Flinsh offered
hesitantly. "Is it entirely wise to state the case so candidly, especially
while so close to the actual environs of the Terran Mission, just beyond the
partition there?"
"You, a mere third secretary and
vice-consul," Shish retorted contemptuously, "have the effrontery to
question the wisdom of your very own counselor?"
"Well, sir," the impudent fellow
attempted. "I only meant—"
"To understand very well, Flinsh,"
Shish said coldly in the Formal dialect: "To make a marginal note in your
ER to the effect that you spoke without thinking."
"Gosh, sir," the hapless vice-consul
tried again, an example, Shish reflected, of the persistence which had been
instrumental in the boy's glacial rate of promotion.
"After all, you're not totally infallible,
sir," he plunged to his doom.
"Am I to understand, Flinsh," Shish
said in an incredulous tone, "that you take it upon yourself not only to
dispute the decision of your Big Boss, but place his very wisdom in
question?"
While the occupants of the strong-room were thus
contentedly engaged in Pecking-order Ritual, Retief wedged off another wide
chunk of the tough wood. He could now see part of the room, including two pairs
of jeweled greaves above flat, bunioned feet in trump-hide sandals. The Groaci
diplomats were at the far end of the room, fully intent on their verbal
ping-pong. Retief eased his left hand through the inch-wide gap he had made,
and was able to put his fingertips on a silken throw-rug on which rested one
leg of a small end-table. He inched the silk toward him; it slid silently,
bringing the table along. Retief could see the top of a cheap Groaci copy of a
Yalcan glass pot on the table; it tottered as the table swung around minutely.
Retief paused, watching closely, but the breathy
Groaci voices went on, poor Flinsh losing ground with each ill-advised
utterance. Shish was shifting impatiently, saying: "Yes, yes, no matter,
my boy. You're young: to learn in time." Then he turned and walked
directly toward Retief's spy-hole, Flinsh trotting at his side, the side nearer
to Retief. Timing it carefully, Retief waited until Flinsh was passing directly
by the table, then he jerked the rug. The pot rocked, leaned, and fell with a smash! Bits of iridescent glass scattered in every direction.
"Fool!" Shish yelled. "Clumsy
idiot! Look where you're blundering! Do you realize that lamp was of museum
quality—a gift from the Yalcan Minister of Culture to my departed colleague
Ambassador Schluh!"
"Gee, sir, I didn't even touch that
table!" Flinsh protested.
"Stubborn!" Shish yelled, a dry
wheeze. "As we stand here actually looking at the shards of a
precious vase destroyed by your clumsiness, you attempt to deny the evidence
your own senses as well as mine perceive! Folly, Flinsh! No—don't aggravate the
offense—"
"But, sir, I carefully avoided any contact
whatever with the table whereon the lamp rested!"
"Don't imagine, Flinsh," Shish grated,
"that I fail to notice the implied rebuke in your editing my use of the
word Vase to 'lamp'! As if this petty distinction in any degree lessened the
gravity of the offense!"
"Gee, sir," Flinsh offered. "To
hate it that the lamp, I mean vase broke and all, but I didn't do
it!"
"To be quite enough, Flinsh!" his boss
declared. "Never mind! To sweep that up—no, I didn't mean that! To be
beneath your rank, after all, incompetent though you are! I go to summon a
sweeper!" Shish stamped off to his
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