"Laumer, Keith - Retief 3 - Retief's War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

RETIEF'S WAR


One

Jame Retief, Second Secretary and Consul of the Terrestrial Embassy to Quopp, paused in his stroll
along the Twisting Path of Sublime Release to admire the blaze of early morning sunlight on the stained
glass window of a modest grog shop wedged between a stall with a sign in jittery native script announcing
Bargain Prices in Cuticula Inlays, and the cheery facade of the Idle Hour Comfort Station, One Hundred
Stalls, No Waiting. He took out a long cigar of the old-fashioned type still hand-rolled on Jorgensen's
Worlds, glanced back along the steep, narrow street. Among the crowd of brilliantly colored
QuoppinaЧmembers of a hundred related native species mingling freely here in the Great Market of
IxixЧthe four Terrans who had been trailing him for the past half hour stood out drably.

Retief drew on the cigar, savoring the aroma, turned and stepped through the low arch into the
tavern. From a high stool within the raised ring-bar at the center of the gaily lit chamber, the
barkeeperЧa medium-sized, short-abdomened individual of the Herpp tribe, with chipped wing cases of
faded baby blue and four dexterous arms of bristly wine-red on one of which a Terran wristwatch was
strappedЧmanipulated the controls of the dispenser console, exchanged banter with the customers,
made change, and kept a pair of eyes on the free lunch simultaneously. He saw Retief, tilted his anterior
antennae in friendly greeting.

"I am Gom-Goo, and I dance the Dance of Welcome," he susurrated in Quopp trade dialect, his
voice reminiscent of fingernails on a blackboard. "What'll it be, Retief?"

"I'm Retief, and I dance the Dance of Glad Arrival," the diplomat replied in the same tongue. "How
about a shot of Bacchus brandy?"

"Red or black?"

"Black." The other customers made room as Retief moved up, unclipped a carefully charred wooden
bowl from the serving panel, got it under the proper bright-plated nozzle just in time to catch the
tar-colored syrup as it jetted forth.

"That's pretty good stuff," Gom-Goo said; he lowered his voice. "But for a real kick, you ought to try
a shot of HellroseЧcut ten to one, of course. That'll put a charge on your plates."

"I tried it once. Too sweet for a Terry. We like our sugar fermented."

"Sourballs?" The Herpp indicated an assortment of pea-sized lumps of yellow, white, purple, and
green.

Retief shook his head. "I prefer salt peanuts to salt-peter," he confided.

"Well, every tribe to its own poison."

"Here's oil in your crankcase," Retief toasted formally, nibbling the brandy.

"Oil," Gom-Goo responded. "You haven't been in lately, Retief. Been dormant?"