—extract from the Official History of the Corps Diplomatique, Vol I, Reel 2. Solarian Press, New York, 479 A. E. (AD 2940)
Ambassador Nitworth glowered across his mirror-polished, nine-foot platinum desk at his assembled staff.
“Gentlemen, are any of your familiar with a race known as the Qornt?”
There was a moment of profound silence. Nitworth nodded portentously.
“They were a warlike race, known in this sector back in Corcordiat times—perhaps two hundred years ago. They vanished as suddenly as they had appeared. There was no record of where they went.” He paused for effect.
“They have now reappeared—occupying the inner planet of this system!”
“But, sir,” Second Secretary Magnan offered. “That’s uninhabited Terrestrial territory . . .”
“Indeed, Mr. Magnan . . .” Nitworth smiled icily. “It appears the Qornt do not share that opinion.” He plucked a heavy parchment from a folder before him, harrumphed and read aloud:
HIS SUPREME EXCELLENCY THE QORNT, REGENT OF QORNT, OVERLORD OF THE GALACTIC DESTINY, GREETS THE TERRESTRIALS AND WITH REFERENCE TO THE PRESENCE IN QORNT MANDATED TERRITORY OF TERRESTRIAL SQUATTERS, HAS THE HONOR TO ADVISE THAT HE WILL REQUIRE THE USE OF HIS OUTER WORLD ON THE THIRTIETH DAY: THEN WILL THE QUORT COME WITH STEEL AND FIRE, RECEIVE, TERRESTRIALS, RENEWED ASSURANCES OF MY AWARENESS OF YOUR EXISTENCE, AND LET THOSE WHO DARE GIRD FOR THE CONTEST.
“Frankly, I wouldn’t call it conciliatory,” Magnan said.
Nitworth tapped the paper with a finger.
“We have been served, gentlemen, with nothing less than an ultimatum!”
“Well, we’ll soon straighten these fellows out—” the Military Attaché began.
“There happens to be more to this piece of truculence than appears on the surface,” the Ambassador cut in. He paused, waiting for interested frowns to settle into place.
“Note, gentlemen, that these invaders have appeared in force on Terrestrial-controlled soil—and without so much as a flicker from the instruments of the Navigational Monitor Service!”
The Military Attaché blinked. “That’s absurd,” he said flatly. Nitworth slapped the table.
“We’re up against something new, gentlemen! I’ve considered every hypothesis from cloaks of invisibility to time travel! The fact is—the Qornt fleets are indetectible!”
The Military Attaché pulled at his lower lip. “In that case, we can’t try conclusions with these fellows until we have an indetectible drive of our own. I recommend a crash project; in the meantime—”
“I’ll have my boys start in to crack this thing,” Chief of the Confidential Terrestrial Source Section spoke up. “I’ll fit out a couple of volunteers with plastic beaks—”
“No cloak and dagger work, gentlemen! Long range policy will be worked out by Deep-Think teams back at the Department. Our role will be a holding action. Now, I want suggestions for a comprehensive, well-rounded, and decisive course for meeting this threat. Any recommendations?”
The Political Officer placed his fingertips together. “What about a stiff Note demanding an extra week’s time?”
“No! No begging,” the Economic Officer objected. “I’d say a calm, dignified, aggressive withdrawal—as soon as possible.”
“We don’t want to give them the idea we spook easily,” the Military Attaché said. “Let’s delay the withdrawal—say, until tomorrow.”
“Early tomorrow,” Magnan said. “Or maybe later today.”
“Well, I see you’re of a mind with me,” Nitworth commented, nodding. “Our plan of action is clear, but it remains to be implemented. We have a population of over fifteen million individuals to relocate.” He eyed the Political Officer. “I want five proposals for resettlement on my desk by oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow . . .” Nitworth rapped out instructions; harried-looking staff members arose and hurried from the room. Magnan eased toward the door.
“Where are you going, Magnan?” Nitworth snapped.
“Since you’re so busy, I thought I’d just slip back down to Com Inq. It was a most interesting orientation lecture, Mr. Secretary. Be sure to let us know how it works out—”
“Kindly return to your chair,” Nitworth said coldly. “A number of chores remain to be assigned. I think you need a little field experience. I want you to get over to Roolit I and take a look at these Qornt personally.”
Magnan’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly.
“Not afraid of a few Qornt, are you, Magnan?”
“Afraid? Good lord, no, ha ha. It’s just that I’m afraid I may lose my head and do something rash.”
“Nonsense! A diplomat is immune to heroic impulses. Take Retief along. No dawdling now! I want you on the way in two hours. Notify the transport pool at once.”
Magnan nodded unhappily and went out into the hall.
“Oh, Retief,” Nitworth said. Retief turned.
“Try to restrain Mr. Magnan from any impulsive moves—in any direction.”
* * *
Retief and Magnan topped a ridge and looked down across a slope of towering tree-shrubs and glossy violet-stemmed palms set among flamboyant blossoms of yellow and red, reaching down to a strip of white beach with the blue sea beyond.
“A delightful vista,” Magnan said, mopping at his face. “A pity we couldn’t locate the Qornt. We’ll go back now and report—”
“I’m pretty sure the settlement is off to the right,” Retief said. “Why don’t you head back for the boat, while I ease over and see what I can observe.”
“Retief, we’re engaged in a serious mission. This is not a time to think of sight-seeing.”
“I’d like to take a good look at what we’re giving away.”
“See here, Retief! One might almost receive the impression that you’re questioning Corps policy.”
“One might, at that. The Qornt have made their play—but I think it might be valuable to take a look at their cards before we fold. If I’m not back at the boat in an hour, lift without me.”
“You expect me to make my way back alone?”
“It’s directly down-slope—” Retief broke off, listening. Magnan clutched at his arm. There was a sound of crackling foliage. Twenty feet ahead, a leafy branch swung aside. An eight-foot biped stepped into view; long, thin green-clad legs and back-bending knees moved in quick, bird-like steps. A pair of immense black-lensed goggles covered staring eyes set among bushy green hair above a great bone-white beak. The crest bobbed as the creature cocked its head, listening.
Magnan gulped audibly. The Qornt froze, head tilted, beak aimed directly at the spot where the Terrestrials stood in the deep shade of a giant trunk.
“I’ll go for help,” Magnan squeaked. He whirled and took three leaps into the brush; a second great green-clad figure rose up to block his way. He spun, darted to the left. The first Qornt pounced, grappled Magnan to its narrow chest. Magnan yelled, threshing and kicking, broke free, turned—and collided with the nine-foot alien, coming in fast from the right. All three went down in a tangle of limbs.
Retief jumped forward, hauled Magnan free, thrust him aside, and stopped, right fist cocked. The two Qornt lay groaning, moving feebly.
“Nice piece of work, Mr. Magnan,” Retief said. “You nailed both of them.”
“Those, undoubtedly, are the most blood-thirsty, aggressive, merciless countenances it has ever been my misfortune to encounter,” Magnan said. “It hardly seems fair; eight feet tall AND faces like that . . .”
The smaller of the two captive Qornt ran long, slender fingers over a bony shin from which he had turned back the tight-fitting green trousers.
“It’s not broken,” he whistled nasally in passable Terrestrial, eyeing Magnan through the heavy goggles, now badly cracked. “Small thanks to you.”
Magnan smiled loftily. “I daresay you’ll think twice before interfering with peaceable diplomats in future.”
“Diplomats? Surely you jest.”
“Never mind us,” Retief said. “It’s you fellows we’d like to talk about. How many of you are there?”
“Only Zubb and myself—”
“I mean altogether. How many Qornt?”
The alien whistled shrilly.
“Here, no signaling!” Magnan snapped, looking around.
“That was merely an expression of amusement—”
“You find the situation amusing? I assure you, sir, you are in perilous straits at the moment. I MAY fly into another rage, you know.”
“Please, restrain yourself. I was merely somewhat astonished—” a small whistle escaped—”at being taken for a Qornt.”
“Aren’t you a Qornt?”
“I? Great snail trails, no!” More stifled whistles of amusement escaped the beaked face. “Both Zubb and I are Verpp. Naturalists, as it happens.”
“You certainly LOOK like Qornt.”
“Oh, not at all—except perhaps to a Terrestrial. The Qornt are sturdily-built rascals, all over ten feet in height. And, of course, they do nothing but quarrel. A drone caste, actually.”
“A caste? You mean they’re biologically the same as you—”
“Not at all! A Verpp wouldn’t think of fertilizing a Qornt.”
“I mean to say, you’re of the same basic stock—descended from a common ancestor, perhaps.”
“We are all Pud’s creatures.”
“What are the differences between you and them?”
“Why, the Qornt are argumentative, boastful, lacking in appreciation for the finer things of life. One dreads to contemplate descending to their level.”
“Do you know anything about a Note passed to the Terrestrial Ambassador at Smørbrød?”
The beak twitched. “Smørbrød? I know of no place called Smørbrød.”