The Keith Laumer MEGAPACK®: 21 Classic Stories. Keith Laumer
then remembered the image. He smiled and beckoned the Yill ahead. They milled uncertainly, muttering in the native tongue, then passed through the door.
The Terran party followed.
“—— give a great deal to know what they’re saying,” Retief overheard as he came up.
“Our interpreter has forged to the van,” the ambassador said. “I can only assume he’ll appear when needed.”
“A pity we have to rely on a native interpreter,” someone said.
“Had I known we’d meet this rather uncouth reception,” the ambassador said stiffly, “I would have audited the language personally, of course, during the voyage out.”
“Oh, no criticism intended, of course, Mr. Ambassador.”
“Heavens,” Magnan put in. “Who would have thought——”
Retief moved up behind the ambassador.
“Mr. Ambassador,” he said, “I——”
“Later, young man,” the ambassador snapped. He beckoned to the first councillor, and the two moved off, heads together.
Outside, a bluish sun gleamed in a dark sky. Retief watched his breath form a frosty cloud in the chill air. A broad doughnut-wheeled vehicle was drawn up to the platform. The Yill gestured the Terran party to the gaping door at the rear, then stood back, waiting.
Retief looked curiously at the gray-painted van. The legend written on its side in alien symbols seemed to read “egg nog.”
* * * *
The ambassador entered the vehicle, the other Terrestrials following. It was as bare of seats as the Terminal building. What appeared to be a defunct electronic chassis lay in the center of the floor.
Retief glanced back. The Yill were talking excitedly. None of them entered the car. The door was closed, and the Terrans braced themselves under the low roof as the engine started up with a whine of worn turbos.
The van moved off.
It was an uncomfortable ride. Retief put out an arm as the vehicle rounded a corner, just catching the ambassador as he staggered, off-balance. The ambassador glared at him, settled his heavy tri-corner hat and stood stiffly until the car lurched again.
Retief stooped, attempting to see out through the single dusty window. They seemed to be in a wide street lined with low buildings.
They passed through a massive gate, up a ramp, and stopped. The door opened. Retief looked out at a blank gray facade, broken by tiny windows at irregular intervals. A scarlet vehicle was drawn up ahead, the Yill reception committee emerging from it. Through its wide windows Retief saw rich upholstery and caught a glimpse of glasses clamped to a tiny bar.
P’Toi, the Yill interpreter, came forward, gestured to a small door. Magnan opened it, waiting for the ambassador.
As he stepped to it, a Yill thrust himself ahead and hesitated. Ambassador Spradley drew himself up, glaring. Then he twisted his mouth into a frozen smile and stepped aside.
The Yill looked at each other then filed through the door.
Retief was the last to enter. As he stepped inside, a black-clad servant slipped past him, pulled the lid from a large box by the door and dropped in a paper tray heaped with refuse. There were alien symbols in flaking paint on the box. They seemed, Retief noticed, to spell “egg nog.”
II
The shrill pipes and whining reeds had been warming up for an hour when Retief emerged from his cubicle and descended the stairs to the banquet hall.
Standing by the open doors, he lit a slender cigar and watched through narrowed eyes as obsequious servants in black flitted along the low wide corridor, carrying laden trays into the broad room, arranging settings on a great four-sided table forming a hollow square that almost filled the room. Rich brocades were spread across the center of the side nearest the door, flanked by heavily decorated white cloths. Beyond, plain white extended to the far side, where metal dishes were arranged on the bare table top.
A richly dressed Yill approached, stepped aside to allow a servant to pass and entered the room.
Retief turned at the sound of Terran voices behind him. The ambassador came up, trailed by two diplomats. He glanced at Retief, adjusted his ruff and looked into the banquet hall.
”Apparently we’re to be kept waiting again,” he muttered. “After having been informed at the outset that the Yill have no intention of yielding an inch, one almost wonders….”
“Mr. Ambassador,” Retief said. “Have you noticed——”
“However,” Ambassador Spradley said, eyeing Retief, “a seasoned diplomatist must take these little snubs in stride. In the end—— Ah, there, Magnan.” He turned away, talking.
Somewhere a gong clanged.
In a moment, the corridor was filled with chattering Yill who moved past the group of Terrestrials into the banquet hall. P’Toi, the Yill interpreter, came up and raised a hand.
“Waitt heere….”
More Yill filed into the dining room to take their places. A pair of helmeted guards approached, waving the Terrestrials back. An immense gray-jowled Yill waddled to the doors and passed through, followed by more guards.
“The Chief of State,” Retief heard Magnan say. “The Admirable F’Kau-Kau-Kau.”
“I have yet to present my credentials,” Ambassador Spradley said. “One expects some latitude in the observances of protocol, but I confess….” He wagged his head.
The Yill interpreter spoke up.
“You now whill lhie on yourr intesstinss, and creep to fesstive board there.” He pointed across the room.
“Intestines?” Ambassador Spradley looked about wildly.
“Mr. P’Toi means our stomachs, I wouldn’t wonder,” Magnan said. “He just wants us to lie down and crawl to our seats, Mr. Ambassador.”
“What the devil are you grinning at, you idiot?” the ambassador snapped.
* * * *
Magnan’s face fell.
Spradley glanced down at the medals across his paunch.
“This is…. I’ve never….”
“Homage to godss,” the interpreter said.
“Oh. Oh, religion,” someone said.
“Well, if it’s a matter of religious beliefs….” The ambassador looked dubiously around.
“Golly, it’s only a couple of hundred feet,” Magnan offered.
Retief stepped up to P’Toi.
“His Excellency the Terrestrial Ambassador will not crawl,” he said clearly.
“Here, young man! I said nothing——”
“Not to crawl?” The interpreter wore an unreadable Yill expression.
“It is against our religion,” Retief said.
“Againsst?”
“We are votaries of the Snake Goddess,” Retief said. “It is a sacrilege to crawl.” He brushed past the interpreter and marched toward the distant table.
The others followed.
Puffing, the ambassador came to Retief’s side as they approached the dozen empty stools on the far side of the square opposite the brocaded position of the Admirable F’Kau-Kau-Kau.
“Mr. Retief, kindly see me after this affair,” he hissed. “In the meantime, I hope you will restrain any further rash impulses. Let me remind you I am chief of mission here.”
Magnan