IV

"You have the gall," Qorn stormed, "to stand here in the center of

Qornt Hall--uninvited, at that--and in chains--"

"Oh, these," Retief said. He tensed his arms. The soft aluminum links

stretched and broke. He shook the light metal free. "We diplomats like

to go along with colorful local customs, but I wouldn't want to mislead

you. Now, as to the evacuation of Roolit I--"

Zubb screeched, waved the guns. The Qornt were jabbering.

"I told you they were brutes," Zubb shrilled.

Qorn slammed his fist down on the table. "I don't care what they are!"

he honked. "Evacuate, hell! I can field eighty-five combat-ready ships!"

"And we can englobe every one of them with a thousand Peace Enforcers

with a hundred megatons/second firepower each."

"Retief." Magnan tugged at his sleeve. "Don't forget their superdrive."

"That's all right. They don't have one."

"But--"

"We'll take you on!" Qorn French-horned. "We're the Qorn! We glory in

battle! We live in fame or go down in--"

"Hogwash," the flame-and-blue Qorn cut in. "If it wasn't for you, Qorn,

we could sit around and feast and brag and enjoy life without having to

prove anything."

"Qorn, you seem to be the fire-brand here," Retief said. "I think the

rest of the boys would listen to reason--"

"Over my dead body!"

"My idea exactly," Retief said. "You claim you can lick any man in

the house. Unwind yourself from your ribbons and step out here on the

floor, and we'll see how good you are at backing up your conversation."

* * * * *

Magnan hovered at Retief's side. "Twelve feet tall," he moaned. "And

did you notice the size of those hands?"

Retief watched as Qorn's aides helped him out of his formal trappings.

"I wouldn't worry too much, Mr. Magnan. This is a light-Gee world. I

doubt if old Qorn would weigh up at more than two-fifty standard pounds

here."

"But that phenomenal reach--"

"I'll peck away at him at knee level. When he bends over to swat me,

I'll get a crack at 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 one 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 and 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 for me."

"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. 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. Anyway, with

the new Qornt stepping on our heels--"

"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 become Boog, the Boog become Rheuk, the Rheuk metamorphosize

into Verpp--"

"You mean Slun and Zubb--the mild-natured naturalists--will become

warmongers like Qorn?"

"Very likely. 'The milder the Verpp, the wilder the Qorn,' as the old

saying goes."

"What do Qornt turn into?" Retief asked.

"Hmmmm. That's a good question. So far, none have survived Qornthood."

"Have you thought of forsaking your warlike ways?" Magnan asked. "What

about taking up sheepherding and regular church attendance?"

"Don't mistake me. We Qornt like a military life. It's great sport to

sit around roaring fires and drink and tell lies and then go dashing

off to enjoy a brisk affray and some leisurely looting afterward. But

we prefer a nice numerical advantage. Not this business of tackling you

Terrestrials over on Guzzum--that was a mad notion. We had no idea what

your strength was."

"But now that's all off, of course," Magnan chirped. "Now that we've

had diplomatic relations and all--"

"Oh, by no means. The fleet lifts in thirty days. After all, we're

Qornt; we have to satisfy our drive to action."

"But Mr. Retief is your leader now. He won't let you!"

"Only a dead Qornt stays home when Attack day comes. And even if

he orders us all to cut our own throats, there are still the other

Centers--all with their own leaders. No, gentlemen, the Invasion is

definitely on."

"Why don't you go invade somebody else?" Magnan suggested. "I could

name some very attractive prospects--outside my sector, of course."

"Hold everything," Retief said. "I think we've got the basis of a deal

here...."

V

At the head of a double column of gaudily caparisoned Qornt, Retief

and Magnan strolled across the ramp toward the bright tower of the CDT

Sector HQ. Ahead, gates opened, and a black Corps limousine emerged,

flying an Ambassadorial flag under a plain square of white.

"Curious," Magnan commented. "I wonder what the significance of the

white ensign might be?"

Retief raised a hand. The column halted with a clash of accoutrements

and a rasp of Qornt boots. Retief looked back along the line. The high

white sun flashed on bright silks, polished buckles, deep-dyed plumes,

butts of pistols, the soft gleam of leather.

"A brave show indeed," Magnan commented approvingly. "I confess the

idea has merit."

The limousine pulled up with a squeal of brakes, stood on two fat-tired

wheels, gyros humming softly. The hatch popped up. A portly diplomat

stepped out.

"Why, Ambassador Nitworth," Magnan glowed. "This is very kind of you."

"Keep cool, Magnan," Nitworth said in a strained voice. "We'll attempt

to get you out of this."

He stepped past Magnan's out-stretched hand and looked hesitantly at

the ramrod-straight line of Qornt, eighty-five strong--and beyond, at

the eighty-five tall Qornt dreadnaughts.

"Good afternoon, sir ... ah, Your Excellency," Nitworth said, blinking

up at the leading Qornt. "You are Commander of the Strike Force, I

assume?"

"Nope," the Qornt said shortly.

"I ... ah ... wish to request seventy-two hours in which to evacuate

Headquarters," Nitworth plowed on.

"Mr. Ambassador." Retief said. "This--"

"Don't panic, Retief. I'll attempt to secure your release," Nitworth

hissed over his shoulder. "Now--"

"You will address our leader with more respect!" the tall Qornt hooted,

eyeing Nitworth ominously from eleven feet up.

"Oh, yes indeed, sir ... your Excellency ... Commander. Now, about the

invasion--"

"Mr. Secretary," Magnan tugged at Nitworth's sleeve.

"In heaven's name, permit me to negotiate in peace!" Nitworth snapped.

He rearranged his features. "Now your Excellency, we've arranged to

evacuate Smorbrod, of course, just as you requested--"

"Requested?" the Qornt honked.

"Ah ... demanded, that is. Quite rightly of course. Ordered.

Instructed. And, of course, we'll be only too pleased to follow any

other instructions you might have."

"You don't quite get the big picture, Mr. Secretary," Retief said.

"This isn't--"

"Silence, confound you!" Nitworth barked. The leading Qornt looked at

Retief. He nodded. Two bony hands shot out, seized Nitworth and stuffed

a length of bright pink silk into his mouth, then spun him around and

held him facing Retief.

"If you don't mind my taking this opportunity to brief you, Mr.

Ambassador," Retief said blandly. "I think I should mention that this

isn't an invasion fleet. These are the new recruits for the Peace

Enforcement Corps."

Magnan stepped forward, glanced at the gag in Ambassador Nitworth's

mouth, hesitated, then cleared his throat. "We felt," he said, "that

the establishment of a Foreign Brigade within the P. E. Corps structure

would provide the element of novelty the Department has requested

in our recruiting, and at the same time would remove the stigma of

Terrestrial chauvinism from future punitive operations."

Nitworth stared, eyes bulging. He grunted, reaching for the gag, caught

the Qornt's eye on him, dropped his hands to his sides.

"I suggest we get the troops in out of the hot sun," Retief said.

Magnan edged close. "What about the gag?" he whispered.

"Let's leave it where it is for a while," Retief murmured. "It may save

us a few concessions."

* * * * *

An hour later, Nitworth, breathing freely again, glowered across his

desk at Retief and Magnan.

"This entire affair," he rumbled, "has made me appear to be a fool!"

"But we who are privileged to serve on your staff already know just how

clever you are," Magnan burbled.

Nitworth purpled. "You're skirting insolence, Magnan," he roared. "Why

was I not informed of the arrangements? What was I to assume at the

sight of eighty-five war vessels over my headquarters, unannounced?"

"We tried to get through, but our wavelengths--"

"Bah! Sterner souls than I would have quailed at the spectacle!"

"Oh, you were perfectly justified in panicking--"

"I did _not_ panic!" Nitworth bellowed. "I merely adjusted to the

apparent circumstances. Now, I'm of two minds as to the advisability of

this foreign legion idea of yours. Still, it may have merit. I believe

the wisest course would be to dispatch them on a long training cruise

in an uninhabited sector of space--"

The office windows rattled. "What the devil!" Nitworth turned, stared

out at the ramp where a Qornt ship rose slowly on a column of pale blue

light. The vibration increased as a second ship lifted, then a third.

Nitworth whirled on Magnan. "What's this! Who ordered these recruits to

embark without my permission?"

"I took the liberty of giving them an errand to run, Mr. Secretary,"

Retief said. "There was that little matter of the Groaci infiltrating

the Sirenian System. I sent the boys off to handle it."

"Call them back at once!"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. They're under orders to maintain

total communications silence until completion of the mission."

Nitworth drummed his fingers on the desk top. Slowly, a thoughtful

expression dawned. He nodded.

"This may work out," he said. "I _should_ call them back, but since

the fleet is out of contact, I'm unable to do so, correct? Thus I can

hardly be held responsible for any over-enthusiasm in chastising the

Groaci."

He closed one eye in a broad wink at Magnan. "Very well, gentlemen,

I'll overlook the irregularity this time. Magnan, see to it the

Smorbrodian public are notified they can remain where they are. And

by the way, did you by any chance discover the technique of the

indetectable drive the Qornt use?"

"No, sir. That is, yes, sir."

"Well? Well?"

"There isn't any. The Qornt were there all the while. Underground."

"Underground? Doing what?"

"Hibernating--for two hundred years at a stretch."

* * * * *

Outside in the corridor, Magnan came up to Retief, who stood talking to

a tall man in a pilot's coverall.

"I'll be tied up, sending through full details on my--our--your

recruiting theme, Retief," Magnan said. "Suppose you run into the city

to assist the new Verpp Consul in settling in."

"I'll do that, Mr. Magnan. Anything else?"

Magnan raised his eyebrows. "You're remarkably compliant today, Retief.

I'll arrange transportation."

"Don't bother, Mr. Magnan. Cy here will run me over. He was the pilot

who ferried us over to Roolit I, you recall."

"I'll be with you as soon as I pack a few phone numbers, Retief," the

pilot said. He moved off. Magnan followed him with a disapproving eye.

"An uncouth sort, I fancied. I trust you're not consorting with his

kind socially."

"I wouldn't say that, exactly," Retief said. "We just want to go over a

few figures together."