«Who are you afraid of?» Retief said softly.
Zorn glared at him.
«Where do you get that ‘afraid’ routine? I’m top man here. What have I got to be afraid of?»
«Don’t kid around, Zorn. Somebody’s got you under his thumb. I can see you squirming from here.»
«What if I let your boys alone?» Zorn said suddenly. «The Corps won’t have anything to say then, huh?»
«The Corps has plans for Petreac, Zorn. You aren’t part of them. A revolution right now isn’t part of them. Having the Potentate and the whole Nenni caste slaughtered isn’t part of them. Do I make myself clear?»
«Listen,» Zorn said urgently, «I’ll tell you guys a few things. You ever heard of a world they call Rotune?»
«Certainly,» Magnan said. «It’s a near neighbor of yours, another backward—that is, emergent.»
«Okay,» Zorn said. «You guys think I’m a piker, do you? Well, let me wise you up. The Federal Junta on Rotune is backing my play. I’ll be recognized by Rotune, and the Rotune fleet will stand by in case I need any help. I’ll present the CDT with what you call a fait accompli.»
«What does Rotune get out of this? I thought they were your traditional enemies.»
«Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got no use for Rotune; but our interests happen to coincide right now.»
«Do they?» Retief smiled grimly. «You can spot a sucker as soon as he comes through that door out there—but you go for a deal like this.»
«What do you mean?» Zorn looked angrily at Retief. «It’s fool-proof.»
«After you get in power, you’ll be fast friends with Rotune, is that it?»
«Friends, hell. Just give me time to get set, and I’ll square a few things with that—»
«Exactly. And what do you suppose they have in mind for you?»
«What are you getting at?»
«Why is Rotune interested in your take-over?»
Zorn studied Retief’s face. «I’ll tell you why,» he said. «It’s you birds; you and your trade agreement. You’re here to tie Petreac into some kind of trade combine. That cuts Rotune out. They don’t like that. And anyway, we’re doing all right out here; we don’t need any commitments to a lot of fancy-pants on the other side of the galaxy.»
«That’s what Rotune has sold you, eh?» Retief said, smiling.
«Sold, nothing—» Zorn ground out his dope-stick, then lit another. He snorted angrily.
«Okay—what’s your idea?»
«You know what Petreac is getting in the way of imports as a result of the trade agreement?»
«Sure, a lot of junk. Clothes washers, tape projectors, all that kind of stuff.»
«To be specific,» Retief said, «there’ll be 50,000 Tatone B-3 dry washers; 100,000 Glo-float motile lamps; 100,000 Earthworm Minor garden cultivators; 25,000 Veco space heaters; and 75,000 replacement elements for Ford Mono-meg drives.»
«Like I said: a lot of junk,» Zorn said.
Retief leaned back, looking sardonically at Zorn. «Here’s the gimmick, Zorn,» he said. «The Corps is getting a little tired of Petreac and Rotune carrying on their two-penny war out here. Your privateers have a nasty habit of picking on innocent bystanders. After studying both sides, the Corps has decided Petreac would be a little easier to do business with; so this trade agreement was worked out. The Corps can’t openly sponsor an arms shipment to a belligerent; but personal appliances are another story.»
«So what do we do—plow ’em under with back-yard cultivators?» Zorn looked at Retief, puzzled. «What’s the point?»
«You take the sealed monitor unit from the washer, the repeller field generator from the lamp, the converter control from the cultivator, et cetera, et cetera. You fit these together according to some very simple instructions; presto! you have one hundred thousand Standard-class Y hand blasters; just the thing to turn the tide in a stalemated war fought with obsolete arms.»
«Good Lord,» Magnan said. «Retief, are you—»
«I have to tell him. He has to know what he’s putting his neck into.»
«Weapons, hey?» Zorn said. «And Rotune knows about it …?»
«Sure they know about it; it’s not too hard to figure out. And there’s more. They want the CDT delegation included in the massacre for a reason; it will put Petreac out of the picture; the trade agreement will go to Rotune; and you and your new regime will find yourselves looking down the muzzles of your own blasters.»
Zorn threw his dope-stick to the floor with a snarl.
«I should have smelled something when that Rotune agent made his pitch.» Zorn looked at the clock on the wall.
«I’ve got two hundred armed men in the palace. We’ve got about forty minutes to get over there before the rocket goes up.»
In the shadows of the palace terrace, Zorn turned to Retief. «You’d better stay here out of the way until I’ve spread the word. Just in case.»
«Let me caution you against any … ah … slip-ups, Mr. Zorn,» Magnan said. «The Nenni are not to be molested.»
Zorn looked at Retief. «Your friend talks too much. I’ll keep my end of it; he’d better keep his.»
«Nothing’s happened yet, you’re sure?» Magnan said.
«I’m sure,» Zorn said. «Ten minutes to go; plenty of time.»
«I’ll just step into the salon to assure myself that all is well,» Magnan said.
«Suit yourself. Just stay clear of the kitchen, or you’ll get your throat cut.» Zorn sniffed at his dope-stick. «I sent the word for Shoke,» he muttered. «Wonder what’s keeping him?»
Magnan stepped to a tall glass door, eased it open, and poked his head through the heavy draperies. As he moved to draw back, a voice was faintly audible. Magnan paused, his head still through the drapes.
«What’s going on there?» Zorn rasped. He and Retief stepped up behind Magnan.
«… breath of air,» Magnan was saying.
«Well, come along, Magnan!» Ambassador Crodfoller’s voice snapped.
Magnan shifted from one foot to the other, then pushed through the drapes.
«Where’ve you been, Mr. Magnan?» The ambassador’s voice was sharp.
«Oh … ah … a slight accident, Mr. Ambassador.»
«What’s happened to your shoes? Where are your insignia and decorations?»
«I—ah—spilled a drink on them. Maybe I’d better nip up to my room and slip into some fresh medals.»
The ambassador snorted. «A professional diplomat never shows his liquor, Magnan. It’s one of his primary professional skills. I’ll speak to you about this later. I had expected your attendance at the signing ceremony, but under the circumstances I’ll dispense with that. You’d better depart quietly through the kitchen.»
«The kitchen? But it’s crowded … I mean …»
«A little loss of caste won’t hurt at this point, Mr. Magnan. Now kindly move along before you attract attention. The agreement isn’t signed yet.»
«The agreement …» Magnan babbled, sparring for time, «very clever, Mr. Ambassador. A very neat solution.»
The sound of an orchestra came up suddenly, blaring a fanfare.
Zorn shifted restlessly, his ear against the glass. «What’s your friend pulling?» he rasped. «I don’t like this.»
«Keep cool, Zorn. Mr. Magnan is doing a little emergency salvage on his career.»
The music died away with a clatter.
«… my God.» Ambassador Crodfoller’s voice was faint. «Magnan, you’ll be knighted for this. Thank God you reached me. Thank God it’s not too late. I’ll find some excuse. I’ll get off a gram at once.»
«But you—»
«It’s all right, Magnan. You were in time. Another ten minutes and the agreement would have been signed and transmitted. The wheels would have been put in motion. My career would have been ruined …»