Envoy to New Worlds
To Dr. Leon Wright
a genuine diplomat
PROTOCOL
«… into the chaotic Galactic political scene of the post-Concordiat era, the CDT emerged to carry forward the ancient diplomatic tradition as a great supranational organization dedicated to the contravention of war. [Cf. the original colorful language: ‘maintenance of a state of tension short of actual conflict.’ See CDT File 178/b/491, col. VII, spool 12: 745mm (code 2g).] As mediators of disputes among Terrestrial-settled worlds and advocates of Terrestrial interests in contacts with alien cultures, Corps diplomats, trained in the chanceries of innumerable defunct bureaucracies, displayed an encyclopedic grasp of the nuances of Extra-Terrestrial mores as set against the labyrinthine socio-politico-economic Galactic context. Never was the virtuosity of a senior Corps diplomat more brilliantly displayed than in Ambassador Spradley’s negotiation of the awkward Sirenian Question …»
In the gloom of the squat, mud-colored reception building, the Counselor, two First Secretaries, and the senior Attachés gathered around the plump figure of Ambassador Spradley, their ornate diplomatic uniforms bright in the vast gloomy room. The Ambassador glanced at his finger watch impatiently.
«Ben, are you quite certain our arrival time was made clear?»
Second Secretary Magnan nodded emphatically. «I stressed the point, Mr. Ambassador. I communicated with Mr. T’Cai-Cai just before the lighter broke orbit, and I specifically emphasized—»
«I hope you didn’t appear truculent, Mr. Magnan,» the Ambassador cut in sharply.
«No indeed, Mr. Ambassador. I merely—»
«You’re sure there’s no VIP room here?» The Ambassador glanced around the cavernous room. «Curious that not even chairs have been provided.»
«If you’d care to sit on one of those crates, I’ll use my hanky—»
«Certainly not.» The Ambassador looked at his watch again and cleared his throat.
«I may as well make use of these few moments to outline our approach for the more junior members of the staff. It’s vital that the entire mission work in harmony in the presentation of the image. We Terrestrials are a kindly, peace-loving race.» The Ambassador smiled in a kindly, peace-loving way.
«We seek only reasonable division of spheres of influence with the Yill.» He spread his hands, looking reasonable.
«We are a people of high culture, ethical, sincere.»
The smile was replaced abruptly by pursed lips. «We’ll start by asking for the entire Sirenian System, and settle for half. We’ll establish a foothold on all the choicer worlds and, with shrewd handling, in a decade we’ll be in a position to assert a wider claim.» The Ambassador glanced around. «If there are no questions …»
Jame Retief, Vice-Consul and Third Secretary in the Corps Diplomatique and junior member of the Terrestrial Embassy to Yill, stepped forward.
«Since we hold the prior claim to the system, why don’t we put all our cards on the table to start with? Perhaps if we dealt frankly with the Yill, it would pay us in the long run.»
Ambassador Spradley blinked up at the younger man. Beside him, Magnan cleared his throat in the silence.
«Vice-Consul Retief merely means—»
«I’m capable of interpreting Mr. Retief’s remark,» Spradley snapped. He assumed a fatherly expression.
«Young man, you’re new to the service. You haven’t yet learned the team play, the give-and-take of diplomacy. I shall expect you to observe closely the work of the experienced negotiators of the mission, learn the importance of subtlety. Excessive reliance on direct methods might tend in time to attenuate the role of the professional diplomat. I shudder to contemplate the consequences.»
Spradley turned back to his senior staff members. Retief strolled across to a glass-paneled door and glanced into the room beyond. Several dozen tall grey-skinned Yill lounged in deep couches, sipping lavender drinks from slender glass tubes. Black-tunicked servants moved about inconspicuously, offering trays. Retief watched as a party of brightly-dressed Yill moved toward a wide entrance door. One of the party, a tall male, made to step before another, who raised a hand languidly, fist clenched. The first Yill stepped back and placed his hands on top of his head with a nod. Both Yill continued to smile and chatter as they passed through the door.
Retief rejoined the Terrestrial delegation, grouped around a mound of rough crates stacked on the bare concrete floor, as a small leather-skinned Yill came up.
«I am P’Toi. Come thiss way …» He motioned. The Terrestrials moved off, Ambassador Spradley in the lead. As the portly diplomat reached the door, the Yill guide darted ahead, shouldering him aside, then hesitated, waiting. The Ambassador almost glared, then remembered the image. He smiled, beckoning the Yill ahead. The Yill muttered in the native language, stared about, then passed through the door. The Terran party followed.
«I’d like to know what that fellow was saying,» Magnan said, overtaking the Ambassador. «The way he jostled your Excellency was disgraceful.»
A number of Yill waited on the pavement outside the building. As Spradley approached the luxurious open car waiting at the curb, they closed ranks, blocking his way. He drew himself up, opened his mouth—then closed it with a snap.
«The very idea,» Magnan said, trotting at Spradley’s heels as he stalked back to rejoin the staff, now looking around uncertainly. «One would think these persons weren’t aware of the courtesies due a Chief of Mission.»
«They’re not aware of the courtesies due an apprentice sloat skinner!» Spradley snapped.
Around the Terrestrials, the Yill milled nervously, muttering in the native tongue.
«Where has our confounded interpreter betaken himself?» the Ambassador barked. «I daresay they’re plotting openly …»
«A pity we have to rely on a native interpreter.»
«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,» Magnan said hastily. «Heavens, who would have thought—»
Retief stepped up beside the Ambassador.
«Mr. Ambassador,» he said. «I—»
«Later, young man,» the Ambassador snapped. He beckoned to the Counselor, and the two moved off, heads together.
A bluish sun gleamed in a dark sky. Retief watched his breath form a frosty cloud in the chill air. A broad hard-wheeled vehicle pulled 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 grey-painted van. The legend written on its side in alien symbols seemed to read ‘egg nog’. Unfortunately he hadn’t had time to learn the script too, on the trip out. Perhaps later he would have a chance to tell the Ambassador he could interpret for the mission.
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, amid a litter of paper and a purple and yellow sock designed for a broad Yill foot. 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, and the van moved off.
It was an uncomfortable ride. The unsprung wheels hammered uneven cobblestones. Retief put out an arm as the vehicle rounded a corner, caught 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.