Retief at Large (5 page)

            "I
had a special assignment."

            "Too
bad. You should have had a chance at the prize."

            Delinda
took Retief's hand. "I wouldn't have anyway," she said. "I'm the
prize."

-

            CONSUL-GENERAL
MAGNAN gingerly fingered the heavily rubberbanded sheaf of dog-eared documents.
"I haven't rushed into precipitate action on this claim. Retief," he
said. "The Consulate has grave responsibilities here in the Belt. One must
weigh all aspects of the situation, consider the ramifications. What
consequences would arise from a grant of minerals rights on the planetoid to
this claimant?"

            "The
claim looked all right to me," Retief said. "Seventeen copies with
attachments. Why not process it? You've had it on your desk for a week."

            Magnan's
eyebrows went up. "You've a personal interest in this claim, Retief?"

            "Every
day you wait is costing them money. That hulk they use for an ore-carrier is in
a parking orbit piling up demurrage."

            "I
see you've become emotionally involved in the affairs of a group of obscure
miners. You haven't yet learned the true diplomat's happy faculty of
non-identification with specifics—or should I say identification with
non-specifics?"

            "They're
not a wealthy outfit, you know. In fact, I understand this claim is their sole
asset—unless you want to count the ore-carrier."

            "The
Consulate is not concerned with the internal financial problems of the Sam's
Last Chance Number Nine Mining Company."

            "Careful,"
Retief said. "You almost identified yourself with a specific that
time."

            "Hardly,
my dear Retief," Magnan said blandly. "The implication is mightier
than the affidavit. You should study the records of the giants of galactic
diplomacy: Crodfoller, Passwyn, Spradley, Nitworth, Stern wheeler, Rumpwhistle.
The roll-call of those names rings like the majestic tread of ... of ..."

            "Dinosaurs?"
Retief suggested.

            "An
apt simile," Magnan nodded. "Those mighty figures, those armored
hides—"

            "Those
tiny brains—"

            Magnan
smiled sadly. "I see you're indulging your penchant for distorted
facetiae. Perhaps one day you'll learn their true worth."

            "I
already have my suspicions."

            The
intercom chimed. Miss Gumble's features appeared on the desk screen..

            "Mr.
Leatherwell to see you, Mr. Magnan. He has no appointment—"

            Magnan's
eyebrows went up. "Send Mr. Leather-well right in." He looked at
Retief. "I had no idea Leatherwell was planning a call. I wonder what he's
after?" Magnan looked anxious. "He's an important figure in Belt
minerals circles. It's important to avoid arousing antagonism, while
maintaining non-commitment. You may as well stay. You might pick up some
valuable pointers technique-wise."

            The
door swung wide. Leatherwell strode into the room, his massive paunch buckled into
fashionable vests of turquoise velvet and hung with the latest in fluorescent
watch charms. He extended a large palm and pumped Magnan's flaccid arm
vigorously.

            "Ah,
there, Mr. Consul-General. Good of you to receive me." He wiped his hand
absently on his thigh, eyeing Retief questioningly.

            "Mr.
Retief, my Vice-Consul and Minerals Officer," Magnan said. "Do take a
chair, Mr. Leather-well. In what capacity can I serve today?"

            "I
am here, gentlemen," Leatherwell said, putting an immense yellow briefcase
on Magnan's desk and settling himself in a power rocker, "on behalf of my
company, General Minerals. General Minerals has long been aware, gentlemen, of
the austere conditions obtaining here in the Belt, to which public servants
like yourselves are subjected." Leatherwell bobbed with the pitch of the
rocker, smiling complacently at Magnan. "General Minerals is more than a
great industrial combine. It is an organization with a heart."
Leather-well reached for his breast pocket, missed, tried again. "How do
you turn this damned thing off?" he growled.

            Magnan
half-rose, peering over Leatherwell's briefcase. "The switch just there—on
the arm."

            The
executive fumbled. There was a
click,
and the chair subsided with a sigh
of compressed air.

            "That's
better." Leatherwell drew out a long slip of blue paper.

            "To
alleviate the boredom and brighten the lives of that hardy group of
Terrestrials laboring here on Ceres to bring free enterprise to the Belt,
General Minerals is presenting to the Consulate—on their behalf—one hundred
thousand credits for the construction of a Joy Center, to be quipped with the
latest and finest in recreational equipment, including a Gourmet Model C
banquet synthesizer, a forty-foot sublimation chamber, a five thousand tape
library—with a number of choice items unobtainable in Boston—a twenty-foot
Tri-D tank and other amenities too numerous to mention." Leatherwell
leaned back, beaming expectantly.

            "Why,
Mr. Leatherwell. We're overwhelmed, of course." Magnan smiled dazedly past
the briefcase. "But I wonder if it's quite proper ..."

            "The
gift is to the people, Mr. Consul. You merely accept on their behalf."

            "I
wonder if General Minerals realizes that the hardy Terrestrials laboring on
Ceres are limited to the Consular staff?" Retief said. "And the staff
consists of Mr. Magnan, Miss Gumble and myself."

            "Mr.
Leatherwell is hardly interested in these details, Retief," Magnan cut in.
"A public-spirited offer indeed, sir. As Terrestrial Consul—and on behalf
of all Terrestrials here in the Belt—I accept with a humble awareness of—"

            "Now,
there was one other little matter." Leather-well leaned forward to open
the briefcase, glancing over Magnan's littered desktop. He extracted a bundle
of papers, dropped them on the desk, then drew out a heavy document and passed
it across to Magnan.

            "Just
a routine claim. I'd like to see it rushed through, as we have in mind some
loading operations in the vicinity next week."

            "Certainly
Mr. Leatherwell."

            Magnan
glanced at the papers, paused to read. He looked up. "Ah—"

            "Something
the matter, Mr. Consul?" Leatherwell demanded.

            "It's
just that—ah—I seem to recall—as a matter of fact ..." Magnan looked at
Retief. Retief took the papers, looked over the top sheet.

            "95739-A.
Sorry, Mr. Leatherwell. General Minerals has been anticipated. We're processing
a prior claim."

            "Prior
claim?" Leatherwell barked. "You've issued the grant?"

            "Oh,
no indeed, Mr. Leatherwell," Magnan replied quickly. "The claim
hasn't yet been processed."

            "Then
there's no difficulty," Leatherwell boomed. He glanced at his finger
watch. "If you don't mind, I'll wait and take the grant along with me. I
assume it will only take a minute or two to sign it and affix seals and so
on?"

            "The
other claim was filed a full week ago—" Retief started.

            "Bah!"
Leatherwell waved a hand impatiently. "These details can be
arranged." He fixed an eye on Magnan. "I'm sure all of us here
understand that it's in the public interest that minerals properties go to
responsible firms, with adequate capital for proper development."

            "Why,
ah," Magnan said.

            "The
Sam's Last Chance Number Nine Mining Company is a duly chartered firm. Their
claim is valid."

            "I
know that hole-in-corner concern," Leatherwell snapped. "Mere
irresponsible opportunists. General Minerals has spent millions—millions, I
say—of the stockholders' funds in minerals explorations. Are they to be balked
in realizing a fair return on their investment because these ... these ...
adventurers have stumbled on a deposit? Not that the property is of any real
value, of course," he added. "Quite an ordinary bit of rock. But
General Minerals would find it convenient to consolidate its holdings."

            "There
are plenty of other rocks floating around in the Belt. Why not—"

            "One
moment, Retief," Magnan cut in. He looked across the desk at his junior
with a severe expression. "As Consul-General, I'm quite capable of
determining the relative merits of claims. As Mr. Leatherwell has pointed out,
it's in the public interest to consider the question in depth."

            Leatherwell
cleared his throat. "I might state at this time that General Minerals is
prepared to be generous in dealing with these interlopers. I believe we would
be prepared to go so far as to offer them free title to certain GM holdings in exchange
for their release of any alleged rights to the property in question—merely to
simplify matters, of course."

            "That
seems more than fair to me," Magnan glowed.

            "The
Sam's people have a clear priority," Retief said. "I logged the claim
in last Friday."

            "They
have far from a clear title." Leatherwell snapped. "And I can assure
you GM will contest their claim, if need be, to the Supreme Court!"

            "Just
what holdings did you have in mind offering them, Mr. Leatherwell?" Magnan
asked nervously.

            Leatherwell
reached into his briefcase and drew out a paper.

            "2645-P,"
he read. "A quite massive body. Crustal material, I imagine. It should
satisfy these squatters' desire to own real estate in the Belt."

            "I'll
make a note of that," Magnan said, reaching for a pad.

            "That's
a Bona Fide offer, Mr. Leatherwell?" Retief asked. "Certainly!"

            "I'll
record it as such," Magnan said, scribbling.

            "And
who knows?" Leatherwell said. "It may turn out to contain some
surprisingly rich finds."

            "And
if they won't accept it?" Retief asked.

            "Then
I daresay General Minerals will find a remedy in the courts, sir!"

            "Oh,
I hardly think that will be necessary," Magnan said.

            "Then
there's another routine matter," Leatherwell said. He passed a second
document across to Magnan. "GM is requesting an injunction to restrain
these same parties from aggravated trespass. I'd appreciate it if you'd push it
through at once. There's a matter of a load of illegally obtained ore involved,
as well."

            "Certainly
Mr. Leatherwell. I'll see to it myself."

            "No
need for that. The papers are all drawn up. Our legal department will vouch for
their correctness. Just sign here." Leatherwell spread out the paper and
handed Magnan a pen.

            "Wouldn't
it be a good idea to read that over first?" Retief said.

            Leatherwell
frowned impatiently. "You'll have adequate time to familiarize yourself
with the details later, Retief," Magnan snapped, taking the pen. "No
need to waste Mr. Leatherwell's valuable time." He scratched a signature
on the paper.