squawk-box and ordered the Groacian
Marine Guard on duty to send in the duty sweeper. All the while, Flinsh was at
his heels, whining.
Retief watched Shish go to the big safe, which
partially blocked his view. Shish poked buttons, opened the heavy door, and rummaged,
while Flinsh hovered nervously. Shish brought out a sheaf of heavy parchment,
folded like a road map and secured by a bright red ribbon and a big gob of
sealing wax. Without hesitation, the Groaci Number Two broke away the seal and
unfolded the document.
" 'The Ambassador of Terra presents his
compliments to the Ambassador of Groac', " he read in flawlessly accented
Terran. "... and with reference to a certain nominally contraband shipment
of office supplies—' Ha!" Shish scoffed. "Get that 'nominally'!
Weasel words, Flinsh, and I have to admit Sam is an expert with them. Still,
one mustn't be decoyed from the path of duty by such nefarious attempts at
subtlety! '—contraband merchandise'," he went on, " 'I have the honor
to request Your Excellency's assistance in exporting the aforesaid items
without troubling the Bloorian Office of Customs and Excise.' Hah! wants us to
help him smuggle flink-hides, the hypocrite! Listen to this: 'I expect you
will, in accordance with our previous mutual agreement, create a disturbance
which will distract attention from the godown in question in timely fashion, to
permit selected'—meaning 'bribed'," Shish interjected, " 'local
officials to relabel and transport the aforesaid goods to the Sealed Customs
Annex before the scheduled departure time of the Three-Planet liner Lugubrious, this date. Please accept, Mr. Ambassador, renewed assurances of my highest
consideration.'"
To confess, Mr. Shish, I'm shocked!" young
Flinsh gasped.
"To get over it, lad," the Counselor
said kindly. "To have had to discover the truth eventually: ours is a
devious calling. 'The end justifies the means,' as the revered Foreign Minister
Fishfilth said at the time of his capture. I had to delude poor Sammy;
it was the only way!"
"But I thought you and that wretched Terry
were bosom buddies!" Flinsh wailed. "All the times he's saved your
mummified blurb-jowl by honestly lying on your behalf! Actually, I'd conceived
a sort of secret admiration for Ambassador Swinepearl, Terry though he is. I'm
devastated!" Poor young Flinsh flicked a drop of lachrymal exudant from
his middle eye-stalk. Shish patted his carapace comfortingly. "I know, my
boy; I, too was shocked in the beginning. On my very first tour, in the Goober
Cluster, I had the unhappy duty to 'accidentally' lose a certain document which
would have suggested less than total lack of culpability on the part of my
revered Chief of Mission in regard to the premature release of certain Terran
detainees being held on behalf of Incompetent Fumbler Swive, a poor fool who
had been so naive as to trust us. He paid for his folly when his Mission was
incontinently ejected from the Western Arm, where he had secured a toehold
unknown to the CDT. A band of bucolic dacoits set upon him in his very chancery
and evicted him into the low street. For a while, I felt shamed, but in the
end, well, we shall yet see who prevails in Tip Space!"
"Sure, sir," Flinsh replied brokenly,
"but this isn't just playing His Terran Ex for a fool, it's condemning all
those cute little flinks to extermination! I can't bear it! Something must be
done!"
"Something to keep my name out of it, you
mean," Shish supplied. "Good thinking, lad. Suppose you just take
this potentially compromising document, which I signed tongue-in-cheek and with
both outer pairs of oculars crossed, solely to give poor Sam a sense of
security. He feared that if the trade agreement became generally known, GFU
shipments would cease at once, endangering the success of his
Marine Guard on duty to send in the duty sweeper. All the while, Flinsh was at
his heels, whining.
Retief watched Shish go to the big safe, which
partially blocked his view. Shish poked buttons, opened the heavy door, and rummaged,
while Flinsh hovered nervously. Shish brought out a sheaf of heavy parchment,
folded like a road map and secured by a bright red ribbon and a big gob of
sealing wax. Without hesitation, the Groaci Number Two broke away the seal and
unfolded the document.
" 'The Ambassador of Terra presents his
compliments to the Ambassador of Groac', " he read in flawlessly accented
Terran. "... and with reference to a certain nominally contraband shipment
of office supplies—' Ha!" Shish scoffed. "Get that 'nominally'!
Weasel words, Flinsh, and I have to admit Sam is an expert with them. Still,
one mustn't be decoyed from the path of duty by such nefarious attempts at
subtlety! '—contraband merchandise'," he went on, " 'I have the honor
to request Your Excellency's assistance in exporting the aforesaid items
without troubling the Bloorian Office of Customs and Excise.' Hah! wants us to
help him smuggle flink-hides, the hypocrite! Listen to this: 'I expect you
will, in accordance with our previous mutual agreement, create a disturbance
which will distract attention from the godown in question in timely fashion, to
permit selected'—meaning 'bribed'," Shish interjected, " 'local
officials to relabel and transport the aforesaid goods to the Sealed Customs
Annex before the scheduled departure time of the Three-Planet liner Lugubrious, this date. Please accept, Mr. Ambassador, renewed assurances of my highest
consideration.'"
To confess, Mr. Shish, I'm shocked!" young
Flinsh gasped.
"To get over it, lad," the Counselor
said kindly. "To have had to discover the truth eventually: ours is a
devious calling. 'The end justifies the means,' as the revered Foreign Minister
Fishfilth said at the time of his capture. I had to delude poor Sammy;
it was the only way!"
"But I thought you and that wretched Terry
were bosom buddies!" Flinsh wailed. "All the times he's saved your
mummified blurb-jowl by honestly lying on your behalf! Actually, I'd conceived
a sort of secret admiration for Ambassador Swinepearl, Terry though he is. I'm
devastated!" Poor young Flinsh flicked a drop of lachrymal exudant from
his middle eye-stalk. Shish patted his carapace comfortingly. "I know, my
boy; I, too was shocked in the beginning. On my very first tour, in the Goober
Cluster, I had the unhappy duty to 'accidentally' lose a certain document which
would have suggested less than total lack of culpability on the part of my
revered Chief of Mission in regard to the premature release of certain Terran
detainees being held on behalf of Incompetent Fumbler Swive, a poor fool who
had been so naive as to trust us. He paid for his folly when his Mission was
incontinently ejected from the Western Arm, where he had secured a toehold
unknown to the CDT. A band of bucolic dacoits set upon him in his very chancery
and evicted him into the low street. For a while, I felt shamed, but in the
end, well, we shall yet see who prevails in Tip Space!"
"Sure, sir," Flinsh replied brokenly,
"but this isn't just playing His Terran Ex for a fool, it's condemning all
those cute little flinks to extermination! I can't bear it! Something must be
done!"
"Something to keep my name out of it, you
mean," Shish supplied. "Good thinking, lad. Suppose you just take
this potentially compromising document, which I signed tongue-in-cheek and with
both outer pairs of oculars crossed, solely to give poor Sam a sense of
security. He feared that if the trade agreement became generally known, GFU
shipments would cease at once, endangering the success of his
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