Retief passed a bundle of documents across the desk. «Here’s the Treaty. And a Mutual Assistance Pact and a Trade Agreement.»
«Eh?» Passwyn picked up the papers and riffled through them. He leaned back in his chair, beaming.
«Well, Retief, expeditiously handled.» He stopped and blinked at the Vice-Consul. «You seem to have a bruise on your jaw. I hope you’ve been conducting yourself as befits a member of the Consulate staff.»
«I attended a sporting event. One of the players got a little excited.»
«Well … it’s one of the hazards of the profession. One must pretend an interest in such matters.» Passwyn rose and extended a hand. «You’ve done well, my boy. Let this teach you the value of following instructions to the letter.»
Outside, by the hall incinerator drop, Retief paused long enough to take from his briefcase a large buff envelope, still sealed, and drop it in the slot.
CULTURAL EXCHANGE
… Highly effective ancillary programs, developed early in Corps history, played a vital role in promoting harmony among the peace-loving people of the Galactic community. The notable success of Assistant Attaché (later Ambassador) Magnan in the cosmopolitization of reactionary elements in the Nicodeman Cluster was achieved through the agency of these enlightened programs …
First Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-feathered beret from the clothes tree. «I’m off now, Retief,» he said. «I hope you’ll manage the administrative routine during my absence without any unfortunate incidents.»
«That seems a modest enough hope,» said Second Secretary Retief. «I’ll try to live up to it.»
«I don’t appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division,» Magnan said testily. «When I first came here, the Manpower Utilization Directorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. I fancy I’ve made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question the wisdom of placing you in charge of such a sensitive desk, even for two weeks; but remember, yours is a purely rubber-stamp function.»
«In that case, let’s leave it to Miss Furkle, and I’ll take a couple of weeks off myself. With her poundage, she could bring plenty of pressure to bear.»
«I assume you jest, Retief,» Magnan said sadly. «I should expect even you to appreciate that Bogan participation in the Exchange Program may be the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into more cultivated channels.»
«I see they’re sending two thousand students to d’Land,» Retief said, glancing at the Memo for Record. «That’s a sizable sublimation.»
Magnan nodded. «The Bogans have launched no less than four military campaigns in the last two decades. They’re known as the Hoodlums of the Nicodeman Cluster. Now, perhaps, we shall see them breaking that precedent and entering into the cultural life of the Galaxy.»
«Breaking and entering,» Retief said. «You may have something there. But I’m wondering what they’ll study on d’Land. That’s an industrial world of the poor-but-honest variety.»
«Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,» Magnan said. «Our function is merely to bring them together. See that you don’t antagonize the Bogan representative. This will be an excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplomatic restraint—not your strong point, I’m sure you’ll agree—»
A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. «What is it, Miss Furkle?»
«That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here again.» On the small desk screen, Miss Furkle’s meaty features were compressed in disapproval.
«This fellow’s a confounded pest; I’ll leave him to you, Retief,» Magnan said. «Tell him something; get rid of him. And remember: here at Corps HQ, all eyes are upon you.»
«If I’d thought of that, I’d have worn my other suit,» Retief said.
Magnan snorted and passed from view. Retief punched Miss Furkle’s button.
«Send the bucolic person in.»
A tall broad man with bronze skin and grey hair, wearing tight trousers of heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck, and a short jacket, stepped into the room, a bundle under his arm. He paused at sight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and held out his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the two big men stood, face to face. The newcomer’s jaw muscles knotted. Then he winced. Retief dropped his hand, motioned to a chair.
«That’s nice knuckle work, mister,» the stranger said, massaging his hand. «First time anybody ever did that to me. My fault, though, I started it, I guess.» He grinned and sat down.
«What can I do for you?» the Second Secretary said. «My name’s Retief. I’m taking Mr. Magnan’s place for a couple of weeks.»
«You work for this culture bunch, do you? Funny, I thought they were all ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I’m Hank Arapoulous. I’m a farmer. What I wanted to see you about was—» He shifted in his chair. «Well, out on Lovenbroy we’ve got a serious problem. The wine crop is just about ready. We start picking in another two, three months. Now I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow?»
«No,» Retief said. «Have a cigar?» He pushed a box across the desk.
Arapoulous took one. «Bacchus vines are an unusual crop,» he said, puffing life into the cigar. «Only mature every twelve years. In between, the vines don’t need a lot of attention; our time’s mostly our own. We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms. Apples the size of a melon—and sweet.»
«Sounds very pleasant,» Retief said. «Where does the Libraries and Education Division come in?»
Arapoulous leaned forward. «We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folks can’t spend all their time hybridizing plants. We’ve turned all the land area we’ve got into parks and farms; course, we left some sizable forest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy’s a nice place, Mr. Retief.»
«It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what—»
«Call me Hank. We’ve got long seasons back home. Five of ’em. Our year’s about eighteen Terry months. Cold as hell in winter—eccentric orbit, you know. Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. We do mostly painting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring—still plenty cold. Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating—and it’s the season for woodworkers. Our furniture—»
«I’ve seen some of your furniture, I believe,» said Retief. «Beautiful work.»
Arapoulous nodded. «All local timbers, too. Lots of metals in our soil; those sulphates give the woods some color, I’ll tell you. Then comes the Monsoon. Rain—it comes down in sheets—but the sun’s gettin’ closer; shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in the sunshine? That’s the music-writing season. Then summer. Summer’s hot. We stay inside in the daytime, and have beach parties all night. Lots of beach on Lovenbroy, we’re mostly islands. That’s the drama and symphony time. The theatres are set up on the sand, or anchored on barges off-shore. You have the music and the surf and the bonfires and stars—we’re close to the center of a globular cluster, you know …»
«You say it’s time now for the wine crop?»
«That’s right. Autumn’s our harvest season. Most years we have just the ordinary crops: fruit, grain, that kind of thing. Getting it in doesn’t take long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting new places ready for the winter, or remodeling the older ones. We spend a lot of time in our houses; we like to have them comfortable. But this year’s different. This is Wine Year.»
Arapoulous puffed on his cigar and looked worriedly at Retief. «Our wine crop is our big money crop,» he said. «We make enough to keep us going. But this year …»