Galactic Diplomat Read Online Free

him.”
    Across the cleared floor, Qorn shook off his helpers with a
snort.
    “Enough! Let me at the upstart!”
    Retief moved out to meet him, watching the upraised
backward-jointed arms. Qorn stalked forward, long lean legs bent, long horny
feet clacking against the polished floor. The other aliens—both servitors and bejeweled
Qornt—formed a wide circle, all eyes unwaveringly on the combatants.
    Qorn
struck suddenly, a long arm flashing down in a vicious cut at Retief, who
leaned aside, caught a lean shank below the knee. Qorn bent to haul Retief from
his leg—and staggered back as a haymaker took him just below the beak. A
screech went up from the crowd as Retief leaped clear.
    Qorn hissed and charged. Retief whirled aside, then struck
the alien’s off-leg in a flying tackle. Qorn leaned, arms windmilling, crashed
to the floor. Retief whirled, dived for the left arm, whipped it behind the
narrow back, seized Qorn’s neck in a stranglehold, and threw his weight
backward. Qorn fell on his back, his legs squatted out at an awkward angle. He
squawked, beat his free arm on the floor, reaching in vain for Retief.
    Zubb stepped forward, pistols ready. Magnan stepped before
him.
    “Need I remind you, sir,” he said icily, “that this is an
official diplomatic function? I can brook no interference from disinterested
parties.”
    Zubb hesitated. Magnan held out a hand. “I must ask you to
hand me your weapons, Zubb.”
    “Look here,” Zubb began.
    “I MAY lose my temper,” Magnan hinted. Zubb lowered the guns,
passed them to Magnan. He thrust them into his belt with a sour smile, turned
back to watch the encounter.
    Retief had thrown a turn of violet silk around Qorn’s left
wrist, bound it to the alien’s neck. Another wisp of stuff floated from Qorn’s
shoulder. Retief, still holding Qorn in an awkward sprawl, wrapped it around
one outflung leg, trussed ankle and thigh together. Qorn flopped, hooting. At
each movement, the constricting loop around his neck jerked his head back, the
green crest tossing wildly.
    “If
I were you, I’d relax,” Retief said, rising and releasing his grip. Qorn got a
leg under him. Retief kicked it. Qorn’s chin hit the floor with a hollow clack.
He wilted, an ungainly tangle of over-long limbs and gay silks.
    Retief turned to the watching crowd. “Next?” he called.
    The blue and flame Qornt stepped forward. “Maybe this would
be a good time to elect a new leader,” he said. “Now, my qualifications—”
    “Sit down,” Retief said loudly. He stepped to the head of the
table, seated himself in Qorn’s vacated chair. “A couple of you finish trussing
Qorn up; then stack him in the corner—”
    “But we must select a leader!”
    “That won’t be necessary, boys. I’m your new leader.”
     
    “As I see it,” Retief said, dribbling cigar ashes into an
empty wine glass, “you Qornt like to be warriors, but you don’t particularly
like to fight.”
    “We don’t mind a little fighting—within reason. And, of
course, as Qornt, we’re expected to die in battle. But what I say is—why rush
things?”
    “I have a suggestion,” Magnan said. “Why not turn the reins
of government over to the Verpp? They seem a level-headed group—”
    “What
good would that do? Qornt are Qornt; and it seems there’s always one among us
who’s a slave to instinct—and, naturally, we have to follow him.”
    “Why?”
    “Because that’s the way it’s done.”
    “Why not do it another way?” Magnan offered. “Now, I’d like
to suggest Community singing—”
    “If we gave up fighting, we might live too long; then what
would happen?”
    “Live too long . . .” Magnan looked puzzled.
    “When estivating time comes, there’d be no burrows for us;
and anyway, with the new Qornt stepping in next Awakening—”
    “I’ve lost the thread,” Magnan said. “Who are the new Qornt?”
    “After
estivating, the Verpp moult, and then they’re Qornt, of course. The Gwil