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


"No more so than usual, Gom-Goo. Ambassador Longspoon's been imposing non-union hours on
the staff, I'm afraid. Wouldn't do to let the Groaci steal a march on us and get a Bolshoi-type ballet
theater built before we can get a Yankee-stadium type sports arena off the drawing board."

Gom-Goo worked his dorsal mandibles in the gesture that expressed courteous skepticism. "Frankly,
Retief, we Quoppina aren't much interested in watching Terries hobble around. After all, only two legs
and no wings . . ."

"I know; but it's traditional in these diplomatic competitions to build something conspicuously
inappropriate."

Gom-Goo tilted his oculars toward the door, where a pair of Quoppina with highly polished black
carapaces were rolling past, twirling nightsticks.

"Speaking of Terry programs, Retief, just between you and me, what's behind this business of buffing
up these Voion ne'er-do-wells and setting them to cruising the streets waving clubs at the rest of us?"

"Well, Gom-Goo, it appears that in some quarters the view is held that you Quoppina are a little too
fond of brawling, anarchy, and dueling in the streets to qualify as natural democrats. Ergo, a native police
force."

"Uh-huhЧbut why pick the Voion for the job? Their tribe's made its living by waylaying honest
Quoppina in back alleys ever since the Great Egg first hatchedЧ"

A heavy foot clumped behind Retief. He turned to find the four Terrans ringing him in, ominous
expressions on their weathered features.

"We're just in from the Trading Post at Rum Jungle," the lean, scar-faced member of the quartet said
flatly. "We want to have a little talk with you, Mister." He put his left fist carefully against the palm of his
right hand and twisted it, looking around nervously.

Retief nodded. "Go ahead," he said pleasantly. A large man with thick, protuberant ears and thin
sandy hair eased the scarred man aside.

"Not in this dump," he said in a voice like a cannonball rolling downstairs. "Outside."

"If it's a private matter, maybe you'd better drop by my officeЧ"

"We already been to the Embassy; talked to some bird named Magnan," the big man said. "He acted
like his lace drawers was itching him; no joy there."

"Don't argue with this chump, Big Leon," a squatty fellow with a bluish chin and a steel front tooth
advised. "Bring him along."

The bartender leaned over and buzzed sharply. "My name is Gom-Goo," he started. "IЧ"

"Better get your wiring checked, low-pockets," Scar-face cut him off. "Sounds like you got a short in
your talk box." He jerked his head at Retief. "Let's walk, Mister."