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  “Officers’ country,” Mulvihill muttered.

  Retief pointed toward a door marked with Krultch lettering. “Anybody read that?” he whispered.

  There were shakes of the head and whispered negatives. “We’ll have to take a chance.” Retief went to the door, gripped the latch, and yanked it suddenly wide. An obese Krultch in uniform belt but without his tunic looked up from a brightly colored magazine on the pages of which Retief glimpsed glossy photos of slender-built Krultch mares flirting saucy derrieres at the camera.

  The alien stuffed the magazine in a desk slot, came to his feet, gaping, then whirled and dived for a control panel across the narrow passage in which he was posted. He reached a heavy lever and hauled it down just as Retief caught him with a flying tackle. Man and Krultch hit the deck together; Retief’s hand chopped; the Krultch kicked twice and lay still.

  “That lever—you suppose—” Wee Willie started.

  “Probably an alarm,” Retief said, coming to his feet. “Come on I” He ran along the corridor; it turned sharply to the right. A heavy door was sliding shut before him. He leaped to it, wedged himself in the narrowing opening, braced against the thrust of the steel panel. It slowed, with a groaning of machinery. Mulvihill charged up, grasped the edge of the door and heaved. Somewhere, metal creaked. There was a loud clunkl and a clatter of broken mechanism.

  The door slid freely back.

  “Close,” Mulvihill grunted. “For a minute there—” He broke off at a sound from behind him. Ten feet back along the passage a second panel had slid noiselessly out, sealing off the corridor. Mulvihill jumped to it, heaved against it.

  Ahead, Retief saw a third panel, this one standing wide open. He plunged through it; skidded to a halt. A braided Krultch officer was waiting, a foot-long purple cigar in his mouth, a power gun in each hand. He kicked a lever near his foot. The door whooshed shut behind Retief.

  “Ah, welcome aboard, Terran,” the captain grated. “You can be the first of your kind to enjoy Krultch hospitality.

  “I have been observing your progress on my inspection screen here.” The captain nodded toward a small panel which showed a view of the four Terrans pushing fruitlessly against the doors that had closed to entrap them.

  “Interesting,” Retief commented.

  “You are surprised at the sophistication of the equipment we Krultch can command?” the captain puffed out smoke, showed horny gums in a smile-like grimace.

  “No, anybody who can steal the price can buy a Groad spy-eye system,” Retief said blandly. “But I find it interesting that you had to spend all that cash just to keep an eye on your crew. Not too trustworthy, eh?”

  “What? Any of my crew would die at my command!”

  “They’ll probably get the chance, too,” Retief nodded agreement. “How about putting one of the guns down—unless you’re afraid of a misfire.”

  “Krultch guns never misfire.” The captain tossed one pistol aside. “But I agree: I am overprotected against the paltry threat of a single Terran.”

  “You’re forgetting—I have friends.”

  The Krultch made a sound like fingernails on a blackboard. “They are effectively immobilized,” he said. “Now, tell me, what did you hope to accomplish. by intruding here?”

  “I intend to place you under arrest,” Retief said. “Mind if I sit down?”

  The Krultch captain made laughing noises resembling a flawed drive bearing; he waved a two fingered claw-hand.

  “Make yourself comfortable—while you can,” he said. “Now, tell me, how did you manage to get your equipment up to my ship without being seen? I shall impale the slackers responsible, of course.”

  “Oh, we have no equipment,” Retief said breezily. He sniffed. “That’s not a Lovenbroy cigar, is it?”

  “Never smoke anything else,” the Krultch said. “Care for one?”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Retief admitted. He accepted an eighteen-inch stogie, lit up.

  “Now, about the equipment,” the captain persisted. “I assume you used fifty-foot scaling ladders, though I confess I don’t see how you got them onto the port—”

  “Ladders?” Retief smiled comfortably. “We Terrans don’t need ladders; we just sprouted wings.”

  “Wings?”

  “Oh, we’re versatile, we Terries.”

  The captain was wearing an expression of black disapproval now. “If you had no ladders, I must conclude that you breached my hull at ground level,” he snapped. “What did you use? It would require at least a fifty K-T-Second power input to penetrate two inches of flint-steel—”

  Retief shook his head, puffing out scented smoke. “Nice,” he said. “No, we just peeled back a panel bare-handed. We Terrans—”

  “Blast you Terrans! Nobody could.” The captain clamped his jaws, puffed furiously. “Just outside, in the access-control chamber you sabotaged the closure mechanism. Where is the hydraulic jack you used for this?”

  “As I said, we Terrans—”

  “You entered the secret access passage almost as soon as you boarded my vessel!” the captain screeched. “My men are inoculated against every talk-drug known! What did you use on the traitor who informed you!”

  Retief held up a hand. “We Terrans can be very persuasive, Captain. At this very moment, you yourself, for example, are about to be persuaded of the futility of trying to out-maneuver us.”

  The Krultch commander’s mouth opened and closed. “Mel” he burst out. “You think that you can divert a Krultch officer from the performance of his duty?”

  “Sure,” a high voice piped from above and behind the captain. “Nothing to it.”

  The Krultch’s hooves clattered as he whirled, froze at the sight of Wee Willie’s small, round face smiling down at him from the ventilator register above the control panel. In a smooth motion, Retief cracked the alien across the wrist, and twitched the gun from his nerveless hand.

  “You see?” he said as the officer stared from him to the midget and back. “Never underestimate us Terrans.”

  The captain drooped in his chair, mopping at his face with a polka-dotted hanky provided by Wee Willie.

  “This interrogation is a gross illegality!” he groaned. “I was assured that all your kind did was talk—”

  “Were a tricky lot,” Retief conceded. “But surely a little innocent deception can be excused, once you understand our natures. We love strife, and this seemed to be the easiest way to stir up some action.”

  “Stir up action?” the Krultch croaked.

  “There’s something about an apparently defenseless nincompoop that brings out the opportunist in people,” Retief said. “It’s a simple way for us to identify troublemakers, so they can be dealt with expeditiously. I think you Krultch qualify handsomely. It’s convenient timing, because we have a number of new planet-wrecking devices we’ve been wanting to field-test.”

  “You’re bluffing!” the Krultch bleated.

  Retief nodded vigorously. “I have to warn you, but you don’t have to believe me. So if you still want to try conclusions—”

  There was a sharp buzz from the panel; a piercing yellow light blinked rapidly. The captain’s hand twitched as he eyed the phone.

  “Go ahead, answer it,” Retief said. “But don’t say anything that might annoy me. We Terrans have quick tempers.”

  The Krultch flipped a key.

  “Exalted one,” a rapid Krultch voice babbled from the panel. “We have been assassinated by captives! I mean, captivated by assassins! There were twelve of them—or perhaps twenty! Some were as high as a hundred-year Fufu tree, and others smaller than hoof-nits! One had eyes of live coals, and flames ten feet long shot from his hands, melting all they touched, and another—”

  “Silence!” the captain roared. ““Who are you? Where are you? What in the name of the Twelve Devils is going on here!” He whirled on Retief. “Where are the rest of your commandos? How did they evade my surveillance system? What-”

  “Ah-ah,”
Retief clucked. “I’m asking the questions now. First, I’ll have the names of all Gaspierre officials who accepted your bribes.”

  “You think I would betray my compatriots to death at your hands?”

  “Nothing like that; I just need to know who the cooperative ones are so I can make them better offers.”

  A low brackk! sounded; this time a baleful blue light winked. The Krultch officer eyed it warily.

  “That’s my outside hot line to the Foreign Office,” he said. “When word reaches the Gaspierre government of the piratical behavior you allegedly peaceful Terries indulged in behind the facade of diplomacy—”

  “Go ahead, tell them,” Retief said. “It’s time they discovered they aren’t the only ones who understand the fine art of the triple-cross.”

  The Krultch lifted the phone. “Yes?” he snapped. His expression stiffened. He rolled an eye at Retief, then at Wee Willie.

  “What’s that?” he barked into the communicator. “Flew through the air? Climbed where? What do you mean, giant white birds I”

  “Boy,” Wee Willie exclaimed. “Them Gaspers sure exaggerate!”

  The captain eyed the tiny man in horror, comparing his height with Retief’s six-three.

  He shuddered.

  “I know,” he said into the phone.

  “They’re already here . . .” He dropped the instrument back on its hook, glanced at his panel, idly reached—

  “That reminds me,” Retief said. He pointed the gun at the center of the captain’s chest. “Order all hands to assemble amidships,” he said.

  “They—they’re already there,” the Krultch said unsteadily, his eyes fixed on the gun.

  “Just make sure.”

  The captain depressed a key, cleared his throat.

  “All hands to the central feeding area, on the double,” he said.

  There was a moment’s pause. Then a Krultch voice came back: “All except the stand-by crews in power section and armaments, I guess you mean, Exalted One.”

  “I said all hands, damn you!” the officer snarled. He flipped off the communicator. “I don’t know what you think you’ll accomplish with this,” he barked. “I have three hundred fearless warriors aboard this vessel; you’ll never get off this ship alive!”

  Two minutes passed. The communicator crackled. “All hands assembled, sir.”

  “Willie, you see that big white lever?” Retief said mildly. “Just pull it down, and the next one to it.”

  The captain made as if to move. The gun jumped at him. Willie went past the Krultch, wrestled the controls down. Far away, machinery rumbled. A distinct shock ran through the massive hull, then a second.

  “What was that?” Willie asked.

  “The disaster bulkheads, sliding shut,” Retief said. “The three hundred fearless warriors are nicely locked in between them.”

  The captain slumped, looking stricken. “How do you know so much about the operation of my vessel?” he demanded. “It’s classified . . .”

  “That’s the result of stealing someone else’s plans; the wrong people may have been studying them. Now, Willie, go let Julius and the rest of the group in; then I think we’ll be ready to discuss surrender terms.”

  “This is a day that will five in the annals of treachery,” the captain grated hollowly.

  “Oh, I don’t think it needs to get into the annals,” Retief said. “Not if we can come to a private understanding, just between gentlemen.”

  VI

  It was an hour past sunrise when the emergency meeting of the Gaspierre Cabinet broke up. Ambassador Sheepshorn, emerging from the chamber deep in amiable conversation with an uncomfortable-looking Krultch officer in elaborate full dress uniform, halted as he spied Retief.

  “Ah, there, my boy! I was a trifle concerned when you failed to return last evening; but, as I was just pointing out to the Captain here, it was really all just a dreadful misunderstanding. Once the Krultch position was made clear—that they really preferred animal husbandry and folk dancing to any sort of war-like adventure—the Cabinet was able to come to a rapid and favorable decision on the Peace-and-Friendship Treaty, giving Terrans full Most Favored Nation status.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Ambassador,” Retief said, nodding to the stony-faced Krultch commander. “I’m sure we’d all rather engage in friendly competition than have to demonstrate our negotiating ability any further.”

  There was a stir at the end of the corridor; a harried-looking Krultch officer with a grimy Krultch yeoman in tow appeared, came up to the captain, and saluted.

  “Exalted One, this fellow has just escaped from some sort of magical paralysis.”

  “It was that one,” the sailor indicated Retief. “Him and the others.” He looked reproachfully at Retief. “That was a dirty trick, telling us that was a bomb you were planting; we spent a rough night before we found out it was just a dope-stick.”

  “Sorry,” Retief said.

  “Look, Exalted One,” the sailor went on in a stage whisper. “What I wanted to warn you about, that Terry—the long one, with the pointed tail and the fiery breath; he’s a warlock; he waves his hands and giant white flying creatures appear—”

  “Silence, idiot!” the captain bellowed. “Have you no powers of observation? They don’t merely produce birds; any fool could do that! They transform themselves! Now get out of my sight! I plan to enter a monastery as soon as we return home, and I want to get started on my meditating!” He nodded curtly and clattered away.

  “Odd sort of chap,” Sheepshorn commented. “I wonder what he was talking about?”

  “Just some sort of in-group joke, I imagine,” Retief said. “By the way, about that group of distressed Terrans I mentioned to you—”

  “Yes. I may have been a bit abrupt with them, Retief; but of course I was busy planning my strategy for today’s meeting. Perhaps I was hasty. I hereby authorize you to put in a good word for them.”

  “I took the liberty of going a little farther than that,” Retief said. “Since the new treaty calls for Terran cultural missions, I signed a six months contract with them to put on shows here on Gaspierre.”

  Sheepshorn frowned. “You went a bit beyond your authority, Retief,” he snapped. “I’d thought we might bring in a nice group or two to read classic passages from the Congressional Record, or perform some of the new silent music; and I had half-way promised the Garoci Minister I’d have one of his nose-flute troupes—”

  “I thought it might be a good idea to show Terran solidarity, just at this juncture,” Retief pointed out. “Then, too, a demonstration of sword-swallowing, prestidigitation, fire-eating, juggling, tight-rope walking, acrobatics and thaumaturgics might be just the ticket for dramatizing versatility” Sheepshorn considered with pursed lips, then nodded. “You may have a valuable point there, my boy; we Terrans are a versatile breed. Speaking of which, I wish you’d been there to see my handling of the negotiation this morning! One moment I was all fire and truculence; the next, as smooth as Yill silk.”

  “A brilliant performance, I daresay, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Sheepshorn rubbed his hands together, chuckling. “In a sense, Retief, diplomacy itself might be thought of as a branch of show business, eh? Thus, these performers might be considered colleagues of a sort.”

  “True, but I wouldn’t mention it when they’re within earshot.”

  “Yes, it might go to their heads. Well, I’m off, Retief. My report on this morning’s work will become a classic study of Terran diplomatic subtlety.”

  He hurried away. A Gaspierre with heavy bifocal lenses came up to Retief.

  “I’m with the Gaspierre Morning Exhalation,” he wheezed. “Is it true, sire, that you Terries can turn into fire-breathing dragons at will?”

  A second reporter closed in. “I heard you read minds,” he said. “And about this ability to walk through walls—”

  “Just a minute, boys.” Retief held up a hand. “I wouldn’t want to be quot
ed on this, of course, but just between you and me, here’s what actually happened: As soon as the Ambassador had looked into his crystal ball . . .”

  Silently, so as not to shock anyone with illusions about well-dressed young women, Sandra Lea Grayling cursed the day she had persuaded the Chicago Space Mirror that there would be all sorts of human interest stories to be picked up at the first international grandmaster chess tournament in which an electronic computing machine was entered.

  Not that there weren’t enough humans around; it was the interest that was in doubt. The large hall was crammed with energetic dark-suited men of whom a disproportionately large number were bald, wore glasses, were faintly untidy and indefinably shabby, had Slavic or Scandinavian features, and talked foreign languages.

  They yakked interminably. The only ones who didn’t were scurrying individuals with the eager-zombie look of officials.

  Chess sets were everywhere—big ones on tables, still bigger diagram-type electric ones on walls, small peg-in sets dragged from side pockets and manipulated rapidly as part of the conversational ritual and still smaller folding sets in which the pieces were the tiny magnetized disks used for playing in free-fall.

  There were signs featuring largely mysterious combinations of letters: FIDE, WBM, USCF, USSF, USSR and UNESCO. Sandra felt fairly sure about the last three.

  The many clocks, bedside table size, would have struck a familiar note except that they had little red flags and wheels sprinkled over their faces and they were all in pairs, two clocks to a case. That Siamese-twin clocks should be essential to a chess tournament struck Sandra as a particularly maddening circumstance.

  Her last assignment had been to interview the pilot pair riding the first American manned circum-lunar satellite—and the five alternate pairs who hadn’t made the flight. This tournament hall seemed to Sandra much further out of the world.

  Overheard scraps of conversation in reasonably intelligible English were not particularly helpful. Samples: