Retief at Large Read Free Page B

Miss
Furkle was waiting at the office. "I have the information you
wanted," she said. "I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under the
impression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths—"
     
                "Sure,"
Retief said. "Shoot. How many tractors?"
     
                "Five
hundred."
     
                "Are
you sure?"
     
                Miss
Furkle's chins quivered. "Well! If you feel I'm incompetent—"
     
                "Just
questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss Furkle. Five hundred tractors is
a lot of equipment."
     
                "Was
there anything further?" Miss Furkle inquired frigidly.
     
                "I
sincerely hope not," Retief said.
     
     
III
     
                Leaning
back in Magnan's padded chair with power swivel and hip-u-matic contour, Retief
leafed through a folder labelled "CERP 7-602-Ba; CROANIE (general)."
He paused at a page headed "Industry."
     
                Still
reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the two bottles of Bacchus wine
and two glasses. He poured an inch of wine into each and sipped the black wine
meditatively.
     
                It
would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with the production
of such vintages ...
     
                Half
an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the phone and put through a call
to the Croanie Legation. He asked for the Commercial Attache.
     
                "Retief
here, Corps HQ," he said airily. "About the MEDDLE shipment, the
tractors. I'm wondering if there's been a slip up. My records show we're
shipping five hundred units ..."
     
                "That's
correct. Five hundred."
     
                Retief
waited.
     
                "Ah
... are you there, Retief?"
     
                "I'm
still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundred tractors."
     
                "It's
perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled. Mr. Whaffle—"
     
                "One
unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output," Retief said.
"Now Croanie subsists on her fisheries. She has perhaps half a dozen
pint-sized processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, they could handle the ore ten
WV's could scrape up ... if Croanie had any ore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't
a WV a poor choice as a mining outfit? I should think—"
     
                "See
here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few surplus tractors? And in any
event, what business is it of yours how we plan to use the equipment? That's an
internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle—"
     
                "I'm
not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other four hundred and
ninety tractors?"
     
                "I
understood the grant was to be with no strings attached!"
     
                "I
know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old diplomatic tradition that
any time you can get anybody to accept anything as a gift, you've scored points
in the game. But if Croanie has some scheme cooking—"
     
                "Nothing
like that, Retief. It's a mere business transaction."
     
                "What
kind of business do you do with a Bolo WV? With or without a blade attached,
it's what's known as a continental siege unit."
     
                "Great
Heavens, Retief! Don't jump to conclusions! Would you have us branded as
warmongers? Frankly—is this a closed line?"
     
                "Certainly.
You may speak freely."
     
                "The
tractors are for transshipment. We've gotten ourselves into a difficult
situation, balance-of-payments-wise. This is an accommodation to a group with
which we have rather strong business ties."
     
                "I
understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy," Retief
said. "Any