Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude (33 page)

"I hope
you didn't throw them completely away," Retief said. "Once they get
their feet on the ground, I have an idea they'll take a realistic view of the
proper role of diplomacy in the development of Lumbaga."

"They're
sorting themselves from among the tubers in the subbasement," His Majesty
said. "And now ... I declare Parliament dissolved . . . until . . . the
next time . . ." He slumped on the throne and snored. Retief turned
quickly to Lucael.

"Well
done, Luke. I was wondering how long you could hold out."

"If
anybody asks," the super-Lumbagan said in a failing voice, "tell them
. . . their emperor . . . will return . . . whenever the situation demands. And
now . . . farewell, Retief. . ."

There was a
final sharp implosion, and Retief was alone in the throne room.

"Heavens,
Retief," First Secretary Magnan said, "now that the excitement is
over, one wonders if the entire affair wasn't merely the product of group
hysteria." They were sitting at a long plank table in the Imperial Feast
Hall, dining somewhat meagerly on CDT emergency banquet rations in company with
a cosmopolitan crowd of Terrans, Groaci, and Lumbagans.

"Frankly,
I'd be tempted to dismiss the incident involving the rutabagas as sheer
delirium," Colonel Warbutton put in glumly, spooning in caviar, "if
it weren't for the fact that I've suffered a virulent recurrence of an old potato
blight." His expression brightened. "Of course, the condition will
necessitate my being invalided out home for a few months' convalescent leave,
which time I might spend quite profitably penning a memoir of recent events,
possibly titled:
The Importance of Mass Hallucination in Military Affairs.
"

"How
about
The Hallucinatory Importance of the Military in Mass Affairs?
"
Magnan proposed tartly.

"Gosh,
Retief," Gloot said as the men of war and peace sparred verbally. "So
you were really a Terry all along. Makes me feel kind of dumb, to of been
chumming around with the enemy. Lucky I changed sides."

"You
claim there's two kinds of Terries, male and female," Ignarp said.
"Frankly, you all look alike to me."

"Oh,
there's a
vas deferens
between us," Retief assured his guest.

"And I
never got my ransom dough," Gloot said glumly. "On the other hand, I
found out running things ain't all a bowl of cherries."

"One
taste of government was enough for me," Ignarp agreed. "I'll settle
for good old anarchy any time."

"Umm."
Magnan smiled loftily. "But of course you chaps know nothing of the
intricacies of politics. Now," he indicated the head of the table, where
Jith and Pouncetrifle huddled, tête-à-tête. "Notice the resilience with
which the ambassadors are coming to grips with the new realities, or whatever
they are, of the situation, working out the rather complex protocols of
establishing formal relations with a nonexistent government."

"As
long as they stick to shooting dispatches back to headquarters and putting on
charades for visiting politicos, OK," Gloot said. "But the first time
they step out o' line—whammo! The Legendary Magical Emperor will be back on the
job—and next time they're liable to wind up digging their way into the root
cellar from below."

"I
hardly think the Lumbagan in the street is in a position to criticize matters
of Imperial policy, Mr. Gloot," Magnan said coolly. "I hope your
association with Mr. Retief on his expedition up-country hasn't given you a
false sense of involvement in matters over your head."

"You
must be kidding, Terry," Ignarp said. "Gloot here is Minister of
Imaginary Affairs in the Lumbagan government-in-exile."

"Government-in-exile?"
Magnan frowned.

"The
only place for a government to be," Ignarp confirmed. "And I just
accepted a post with the Department of Education as Commissioner of
Superstitions."

"You're
stamping them out?" Magnan queried confusedly.

"Heck
no. I'm starting new ones, in keeping with a fine old tradition dating back
almost twenty-four hours."

"Speaking
of superstitions," Warbutton said behind his hand to Magnan, "I think
we'd do well to initiate a few of our own devising. For example, a carefully
tailored myth to the effect that Terrans can work miracles—like turning water
into vintage Pepsi, for example. . . ." He broke off, staring in horror at
the glass before him which rose gracefully into the air, its contents darkening
to deep purplish red. The colonel followed it with his eyes as it took up a
position directly over his head and inverted itself, discharging a cooling
stream of effervescent fluid over the officer's startled features.

After the
colonel had left the table—a departure noted by all present, accompanied as it
was by a well-directed jet of liquid emanating apparently from thin air—Magnan
dipped a trembling finger in the puddle on the table and tasted it.

"Pepsi?"
Retief inquired.

"Burgundy."
Magnan choked. "Romanee-Conti, '24, I believe." He rose hastily.
"I think I'd best add a number of emendations to my preliminary
report," he muttered, "lest it appear that I was so shortsighted as
to doubt the existence of magic." He hurried away.

"I
thought you fellows had gone out of the miracle business pending the next
crisis," Retief addressed Gloot and Ignarp as the two locals gripped hands
across the table. "But since you haven't, try that last one again. Only
this time don't spill any."

A moment
later, they raised three paper-thin goblets of purple wine, touched them
together with a musical clink. At the far end of the table, Ambassador Jith
caught the gesture, raised his glass in response.

"To a
new era in interplanetary relations," he whispered cheerfully. "To
peace and plenty for almost all, within reasonable limits!"

"That
reminds me," Ignarp said. "The boys in GRAB are going to be wondering
why I didn't redivide the loot along more practical lines while I was
emperor."

"While
you were emperor," Gloot retorted. "While I was letting you go along
for the ride, you mean—"

"You
big slob, I was the brains of the outfit!"

"You
little creep, I handled all the tricky parts—"

"Gentlemen,"
Retief interjected, "we were about to propose a toast, remember?"

Gloot lifted
his glass. "To our friends, the good guys," he said.

"And to
our enemies, the bad guys," Ignarp added.

"And to
the hope," Retief said, "that someday we'll be able to tell which are
which."

V1.2: Add
italics
from the version in
Retief and the Pangalactic Pageant of Pulchritude.
Remove blank line between paragraphs to match book. (
ebookman
)

V1.1: Add my
stylesheet, correct some minor OCR errors and broken paragraphs. No italics,
need dead tree version (rubl)

V1.0: This
was proofed by the scanner and called (v1.0). The OCR program that I use
interfaces with MS Word. My scans are done so I can read the books on my smart
phone and or REB-1100 eBook reader. I use WordMagus to convert .DOC files to
.RB and HTML. I use Mobipocket Creator to convert to .PRC.