The party emerged from the undergrowth at the edge of a great
brush-grown mound. Slun took the lead, rounded the flank of the
hillock, halted at a rectangular opening cut into the slope.
"You can find your way easily enough from here," he said. "You'll
excuse us, I hope--"
"Nonsense, Slun!" Zubb pushed forward. "I'll escort our guests to Qornt
Hall." He twittered briefly to his fellow Verpp. Slun twittered back.
"I don't like it, Retief," Magnan whispered. "Those fellows are
plotting mischief."
"Threaten them with violence, Mr Magnan. They're scared of you."
"That's true. And the drubbing they received was well-deserved. I'm a
patient man, but there are occasions--"
"Come along, please," Zubb called. "Another ten minutes' walk--"
"See here, we have no interest in investigating this barrow," Magnan
announced. "We wish you to take us direct to Tarroon to interview your
military leaders regarding the ultimatum!"
"Yes, yes, of course. Qornt Hall lies here inside the village."
"This is Tarroon?"
"A modest civic center, sir, but there are those who love it."
"No wonder we didn't observe their works from the air," Magnan
muttered. "Camouflaged." He moved hesitantly through the opening.
The party moved along a wide, deserted tunnel which sloped down
steeply, then leveled off and branched. Zubb took the center branch,
ducking slightly under the nine-foot ceiling lit at intervals with what
appeared to be primitive incandescent panels.
"Few signs of an advanced technology here," Magnan whispered. "These
creatures must devote all their talents to warlike enterprise."
Ahead, Zubb slowed. A distant susurration was audible, a sustained
high-pitched screeching. "Softly, now. We approach Qornt Hall. They
can be an irascible lot when disturbed at their feasting."
"When will the feast be over?" Magnan called hoarsely.
"In another few weeks, I should imagine, if, as you say, they've
scheduled an invasion for next month."
"Look here, Zubb." Magnan shook a finger at the tall alien. "How is it
that these Qornt are allowed to embark on piratical ventures of this
sort without reference to the wishes of the majority?"
"Oh, the majority of the Qornt favor the move, I imagine."
"These few hotheads are permitted to embroil the planet in war?"
"Oh, they don't embroil the planet in war. They merely--"
"Retief, this is fantastic! I've heard of iron-fisted military cliques
before, but this is madness!"
"Come softly, now." Zubb beckoned, moving toward a bend in the
yellow-lit corridor. Retief and Magnan moved forward.
* * * * *
The corridor debouched through a high double door into a vast oval
chamber, high-domed, gloomy, paneled in dark wood and hung with
tattered banners, scarred halberds, pikes, rusted longswords, crossed
spears over patinaed hauberks, pitted radiation armor, corroded power
rifles, the immense mummified heads of horned and fanged animals. Great
guttering torches in wall brackets and in stands along the length
of the long table shed a smoky light that reflected from the mirror
polish of the red granite floor, gleamed on polished silver bowls and
paper-thin glass, shone jewel-red and gold through dark bottles--and
cast long flickering shadows behind the fifteen trolls at the board.
Lesser trolls--beaked, bush-haired, great-eyed--trotted briskly,
bird-kneed, bearing steaming platters, stood in groups of
three strumming slender bottle-shaped lutes, or pranced an
intricate-patterned dance, unnoticed in the shrill uproar as each of
the magnificently draped, belted, feathered and jeweled Qornt carried
on a shouted conversation with an equally noisy fellow.
"A most interesting display of barbaric splendor," Magnan breathed.
"Now we'd better be getting back."
"Ah, a moment," Zubb said. "Observe the Qornt--the tallest of the
feasters--he with the head-dress of crimson, purple, silver and pink."
"Twelve feet if he's an inch," Magnan estimated. "And now we really
must hurry along--"
"That one is chief among these rowdies. I'm sure you'll want a word
with him. He controls not only the Tarroonian vessels but those from
the other Centers as well."
"What kind of vessels? Warships?"
"Certainly. What other kind would the Qornt bother with?"
"I don't suppose," Magnan said casually, "that you'd know the type,
tonnage, armament and manning of these vessels? And how many units
comprise the fleet? And where they're based at present?"
"They're fully automated twenty-thousand-ton all-purpose dreadnaughts.
They mount a variety of weapons. The Qornt are fond of that sort of
thing. Each of the Qornt has his own, of course. They're virtually
identical, except for the personal touches each individual has given
his ship."
"Great heavens, Retief!" Magnan exclaimed in a whisper. "It sounds as
though these brutes employ a battle armada as simpler souls might a set
of toy sailboats!"
Retief stepped past Magnan and Zubb to study the feasting hall. "I can
see that their votes would carry all the necessary weight."
"And now an interview with the Qorn himself," Zubb shrilled. "If you'll
kindly step along, gentlemen...."
"That won't be necessary," Magnan said hastily, "I've decided to refer
the matter to committee."
"After having come so far," Zubb said, "it would be a pity to miss
having a cosy chat."
There was a pause.
"Ah ... Retief," Magnan said. "Zubb has just presented a most
compelling argument...."
* * * * *
Retief turned. Zubb stood gripping an ornately decorated power pistol
in one bony hand, a slim needler in the other. Both were pointed at
Magnan's chest.
"I suspected you had hidden qualities, Zubb," Retief commented.
"See here, Zubb! We're diplomats!" Magnan started.
"Careful, Mr. Magnan; you may goad him to a frenzy."
"By no means," Zubb whistled. "I much prefer to observe the frenzy
of the Qornt when presented with the news that two peaceful Verpp
have been assaulted and kidnapped by bullying interlopers. If there's
anything that annoys the Qornt, it's Qornt-like behavior in others. Now
step along, please."
"Rest assured, this will be reported!"
"I doubt it."
"You'll face the wrath of Enlightened Galactic Opinion!"
"Oh? How big a navy does Enlightened Galactic Opinion have?"
"Stop scaring him, Mr. Magnan. He may get nervous and shoot." Retief
stepped into the banquet hall, headed for the resplendent figure at
the head of the table. A trio of flute-players broke off in mid-bleat,
staring. An inverted pyramid of tumblers blinked as Retief swung past,
followed by Magnan and the tall Verpp. The shrill chatter at the table
faded.
Qorn turned as Retief came up, blinking three-inch eyes. Zubb stepped
forward, gibbered, waving his arms excitedly. Qorn pushed back his
chair--a low, heavily padded stool--and stared unwinking at Retief,
moving his head to bring first one great round eye, then the other, to
bear. There were small blue veins in the immense fleshy beak. The bushy
hair, springing out in a giant halo around the grayish, porous-skinned
face, was wiry, stiff, moss-green, with tufts of chartreuse fuzz
surrounding what appeared to be tympanic membranes. The tall head-dress
of scarlet silk and purple feathers was slightly askew, and a loop of
pink pearls had slipped down above one eye.
Zubb finished his speech and fell silent, breathing hard.
Qorn looked Retief over in silence, then belched.
"Not bad," Retief said admiringly. "Maybe we could get up a match
between you and Ambassador Sternwheeler. You've got the volume on him,
but he's got timbre."
"So," Qorn hooted in a resonant tenor. "You come from Guzzum, eh? Or
Smorbrod, as I think you call it. What is it you're after? More time?
A compromise? Negotiations? Peace?" He slammed a bony hand against the
table. "The answer is _no_!"
Zubb twittered. Qorn cocked an eye, motioned to a servant. "Chain that
one." He indicated Magnan. His eyes went to Retief. "This one's bigger;
you'd best chain him, too."
"Why, your Excellency--" Magnan started, stepping forward.
"Stay back!" Qorn hooted. "Stand over there where I can keep an eye on
you."
"Your Excellency, I'm empowered--"
"Not here, you're not!" Qorn trumpeted. "Want peace, do you? Well, I
don't want peace! I've had a surfeit of peace these last two centuries!
I want action! Loot! Adventure! Glory!" He turned to look down the
table. "How about it, fellows? It's war to the knife, eh?"
* * * * *
There was a momentary silence from all sides.
"I guess so," grunted a giant Qornt in iridescent blue with
flame-colored plumes.
Qorn's eyes bulged. He half rose. "We've been all over this," he
bassooned. He clamped bony fingers on the hilt of a light rapier. "I
thought I'd made my point!"
"Oh, sure, Qorn."
"You bet."
"I'm convinced."
Qorn rumbled and resumed his seat. "All for one and one for all, that's
us."
"And you're the one, eh, Qorn?" Retief commented.
Magnan cleared his throat. "I sense that some of you gentlemen are not
convinced of the wisdom of this move," he piped, looking along the
table at the silks, jewels, beaks, feather-decked crests and staring
eyes.
"Silence!" Qorn hooted. "No use your talking to my loyal lieutenants
anyway," he added. "They do whatever I convince them they ought to do."
"But I'm sure that on more mature consideration--"
"I can lick any Qornt in the house." Qorn said. "That's why I'm Qorn."
He belched again.
A servant came up staggering under a weight of chain, dropped it with a
crash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the guns while the servant wrapped
three loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a lock in place.
"You next!" The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms.
Four loops of silvery-gray chain in half-inch links dropped around
them. The servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through the
ends and closed it.
"Now," Qorn said, lolling back in his chair, glass in hand. "There's a
bit of sport to be had here, lads. What shall we do with them?"
"Let them go," the blue and flame Qornt said glumly.
"You can do better than that," Qorn hooted. "Now here's a suggestion:
we carve them up a little--lop off the external labiae and pinnae,
say--and ship them back."
"Good lord! Retief, he's talking about cutting off our ears and sending
us home mutilated! What a barbaric proposal!"
"It wouldn't be the first time a Terrestrial diplomat got a trimming,"
Retief commented.
"It should have the effect of stimulating the Terries to put up a
reasonable scrap," Qorn said judiciously. "I have a feeling that
they're thinking of giving up without a struggle."
"Oh, I doubt that," the blue-and-flame Qornt said. "Why should they?"
Qorn rolled an eye at Retief and another at Magnan. "Take these two,"
he hooted. "I'll wager they came here to negotiate a surrender!"
"Well," Magnan started.
"Hold it, Mr. Magnan," Retief said. "I'll tell him."
"What's your proposal?" Qorn whistled, taking a gulp from his goblet.
"A fifty-fifty split? Monetary reparations? Alternate territory? I can
assure you, it's useless. We Qornt _like_ to fight."
"I'm afraid you've gotten the wrong impression, your Excellency,"
Retief said blandly. "We didn't come to negotiate. We came to deliver
an Ultimatum."
"What?" Qorn trumpeted. Behind Retief, Magnan spluttered.
"We plan to use this planet for target practice," Retief said. "A new
type hell bomb we've worked out. Have all your people off of it in
seventy-two hours, or suffer the consequences."