Classic Audiobook Collection - Gambler’s World & The Yillian Way by Keith Laumer ~ Full Audiobook [scifi]

Episode Date: February 7, 2023

Gambler’s World & The Yillian Way by Keith Laumer audiobook. Genre: scifi In Gamblers World & The Yillian Way, Keith Laumer drops you into the sly, hard-hitting universe of Jame Retief, a working diplomat for Terra's sprawling Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne who has little patience for ceremony when lives are on the line. In Gambler's World, Retief arrives on Petreac alongside puffed-up superiors and fragile treaty obligations, only to find a society where status, power, and even politics are settled like wagers. As unrest builds and rival factions circle, Retief must read the room faster than any professional cardsharp, spotting who is bluffing, who is cornered, and who is ready to turn a diplomatic reception into a massacre. In The Yillian Way, a mission to the Yills becomes a minefield of protocol: every greeting, gift, and meal is a test, and every mistake could be fatal. While the official delegation clings to rules and titles, Retief relies on nerve, humor, and a keen understanding of how insults function in alien culture. Part political farce, part adventure, these two tales skewer bureaucracy while celebrating competence under pressure. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 1 (00:18:29) Chapter 2 (00:31:49) Chapter 3 (00:55:06) Chapter 4 (01:15:25) Chapter 5 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

gambler's world by keith lomber part one ratif paused before a tall mirror to check the overlap of the four sets of lapels that ornamented the vermilion cutaway of a first secretary and council come along retief magnin said the ambassador has a word to say to the staff before we go in i hope he isn't going to change the spontaneous speech he plans to make when the potentiate impulsively suggests a trade agreement along the lines they've been discussing for the past two months?" "'Your derisive attitude is uncull for, Reteef,' Magnin said sharply. "'I think you realize it's delayed your promotion in the core.' Retief took a last glance in the mirror. "'I'm not sure I want a promotion,' he said.

It would mean more lapels." Ambassador Crodfoller pursed his lips. waiting until Reteef and Magnan took places in the ring of terrestrial diplomats around him. A word of caution only, gentlemen, he said. Keep always foremost in your minds the necessity for our identification with the Nenny caste. Even a hint of familiarity with lower echelons could mean the failure of the mission. Let us remember that the Neney represent authority here on Petriac. Their traditions must be observed, whatever our personal preferences. Let us go along

now. The potentiate will be making his entrance any moment. Magnan came to Reteef's side as they moved toward the salon. The ambassador's remarks were addressed chiefly to you, Reteef, he said. Your laxness in these matters is notorious. Naturally, I believe firmly in democracy. democratic principles myself. Have you ever had the feeling, Mr. Magnan, that there's a lot going on here that we don't know about?' Magnin nodded. Quite so.

Ambassador Crodfoller's point exactly. Matters which are not of concern to the Nenny or of no concern to us. Another feeling I get is that the Nenny aren't very bright. Now, suppose I'm not given to suppositions. We're here to implement the policies of the chief of mission, and I should dislike to be in the shoes of a member of the staff, whose conduct jeopardized the agreement that will be concluded here tonight. A bearer with trays of drinks rounded a fluted column, shied as he confronted the diplomats,

fumbled the tray, grabbed, and sent a glass crashing to the floor. Magnan leaped back, slapping at the purple cloth of his pants leg. Reteef's hand shot out to steady the tray. The servant rolled terrified eyes. I'll take one of these now that you're here, Reteeth said. He took a glass from the tray, winking at the servant. No harm done, he said. Mr. Magnan's just warming up for the big dance.

A nanny major-domo bustled up, rubbing his head. hands politely. Some trouble here, he said. What happened, Honorables? What? What? The blundering idiot, Magnan spluttered. How dare!

You're quite an actor, Mr. Magnan, Reteef said. If I didn't know about your democratic principles, I'd think you were really mad. The servant ducked his head and scuttled away. Has this fellow— The Major Domo— I, the retreating bearer. I dropped my glass, Reteef said. Mr. Magnin's upset because he hates to see liquor wasted.

Reteeth turned to find himself face to face with Ambassador Crodfeller. I witness that, the ambassador hissed. By the goodness of Providence, the potentiate and his retinue haven't appeared yet. But I can assure you the servants saw it. A more unenny-like distrable. I would find it difficult to imagine." Routif arranged his features in an expression of deep interest. More un-nannylike, sir," he said.

I'm not sure I—Bah! The ambassador glared at Reteeth. Your reputation has preceded you, sir. Your name is associated with a number of the most bizarre incidents in core history. I'm warning you, I'll tolerate nothing." He turned and stalked away. Ambassador baiting is a dangerous sport, Ratif, Magnan said. Reteef took a swallow of his drink.

Still, he said it's better than no sport at all. Your time would be better spent observing than any mannerisms. Frankly, Reteif, you're not fitting into the group at all well. I'll be candid with you, Mr. Magnan. The group gives me the willies. Oh, the nanny are a trifle frivolous, I'll concede, Magnan said. But it's with them that we must deal. And you'd be making a contribution to the overall mission if you merely abandoned that rather

arrogant manner of yours. Magnin looked at Reteaf critically. You can't help your height, of course. But couldn't you curve your back just a bit, and possibly assume a more placating expression, just act a little more girlish? Exactly, Magna nodded, then looked sharply at Retief. Reteef drained his glass and put it on a passing tray. I'm better at acting girlish when I'm well-juiced, he said.

But I can't face another sorghum and soda. I suppose it would be unnanny-like to slip the bearer a credit and ask for a scotch and water. Decidedly, Mangan glanced toward a sound across the room. Ah, here's the potentiate now. He hurried off. Reteef watched the bearers coming and going, bringing trays laden with drinks, carrying off empties. There was a lull in the drinking now, as the diplomats gathered around the periwigs. Chief of State and his courtiers. Bearers lardered near the service door, eyeing the notables. Retief strolled over to the service door, pushed through it into a narrow

white-tiled hall filled with the odors of the kitchen. Silent servants gaped as he passed, watching as he moved along to the kitchen door and stepped inside. A dozen or more low-cast Petriacans gathered around a long table in the center of the room, looked up, startled. A heap of long-bladed bread-knives, French knives, carving knives and cleavers lay in the center of the table. Other knives were thrust into belts or held in the hands of the men. A fat man, in the yellow sarong of a cook, stood frozen in the act of handing a knife to a tall, one-eyed sweeper. Reteef took one glance, then let his last.

eyes wonder to a far corner of the room. Humming a careless little tune, he sauntered across to the open liquor shelves, selected a garish-green bottle, and turned, unhurriedly, back toward the door. The group of servants watched him transfixed. As Reteef reached the door, it swung inward. Magnan, lips pursed, stood in the doorway. I had a premonition, he said. I'll bet it was a dandy, Reteef said. You must tell me about it in the salon. We'll have this out right here, Magnin snapped.

I've warned you. Magnin's voice trailed off as he took in the scene around the table. After you, Reteef said, nudging Magnin toward the door. What's going on here? Magnin barked. He stared at you. at the men, started around, Reteef. A hand stopped him. Let's be going, Reteef said, propelling Magnin toward the hull.

Those knives! Magnon yelped. Take your hands off me, Reteef. What are you men? Reteif glanced back. The fat cook gestured suddenly, and the men faded back. The cook stood, arm-cocked, a knife across his palm. the door and make no sound," he said softly.

Magnin pressed back against Retief. Let's run, he faltered. Retief turned slowly, put his hands up. I don't run very well with a knife in my back. He said, stand very still, Magnan, and do just what he tells you. Take them out through the back, the cook said. What does he mean? Magnin spluttered.

Here, you, silence, the cook said almost casually. Magnin gaped at him, closed his mouth. Two of the men with knives came to Retief's side and gestured grinning broadly. Let's go, Peacocks, one said. Ritif and Magnin silently crossed the kitchen and went out the back door, stopped on command and stood waiting. The sky was brilliant with stars. A gentle breeze stirred the treetops beyond the garden.

Behind them the servants talked in low voices. You go too, Ily, the cook was saying. Do it here, another said. And carry their damn dead bodies down? Pitch them behind the hedge. I said the river. Three of you is plenty for a couple of nanny. We don't know if we want to—

They're foreigners, not nanny. We don't know— So they're foreign. Ninnie. Makes no difference. I've seen them. I need every man here. Now get going. What about the big guy? He looks tough. Him? He waltzed into the room and didn't notice a thing. But watch the other one. At a prod from a knife point, Reteef moved off down the walk. Two of the escort walking behind him and Magnin, another going ahead to scout the way. Magnin moved closer to Ritif. Say—

He sat in a whisper. That fellow in the lead, isn't he the one who spilled a drink, the one you took the blame for? That's him, all right. He doesn't seem nervous any more, I notice. You saved him from serious punishment, Magnin said. He'll be grateful. He'll let us go. Better check with the fellows with the knives before you act on that.

Say something to him, Magnin hissed. Remind him. The lead man fell back in line. with Retief and Magnin. These two are scared of you, he said, grinning and jerking a thumb toward the knife-handlers. They haven't worked around the nanny like me, and they don't know you. Don't you recognize this gentleman, Magnin said. He did me a favor.

The man said I remember. What's it all about? Retif asked. The revolution. We're taking over now. Who's we? The people's anti-fascist freedom. League.

What are all the knives for? For the Nenny and for all you foreigners." What do you mean?" Magnin gasped. We'll slit all the throats at one time, saves a lot of running around. What time will that be? Just at dawn, and dawn comes early this time of year. By full daylight the P.A.F.F.L. will be in charge.

You'll never succeed, Magnin said. A few servants with knives. You'll all be caught and killed. By who? The nanny. The man laughed. You nanny are a caution. But we're not nanny?

We've watched you. You're the same. You're part of the same blood-sucking class. There are better ways to adjust differences, Mankin said. This killing won't help you. I'll personally see. to it that your grievances are heard in the core courts. I can assure you that the plight of the downtrodden workers will be alleviated,

equal rights for all. Those threats won't work, the man said. You don't scare me. Threats? I'm promising relief to the exploited classes of Petriac. You must be nuts, the man said. You try to upset the system or something? Isn't that the purpose of your revolution?

look ninny we're tired of you ninny getting all the graft we want our turn what good would it do us to run petriac if there's no loot you mean you intend to oppress the people but they're your own group group schmoop we're taking all the chances we're doing all the work we deserve the pay-off you think we're throwing up good jobs for the fun of it you're basing a revolt on these cynical premises wise up nanny has never been a revolution for any other reason who's in charge of this riteef said skok the head chef i mean the big boss who tells skok what all to do Oh, that's Zorn. Look out here is where we start down the slope. It's slippery. Look, Magnet said, you. My name's Ily.

Mr. Ily, this man showed you mercy when he could have had you beaten. Keep moving. Yeah, I said I was grateful. Yes, Magnet said, swallowing hard. A noble emotion gratitude, you won't regret it. I always try to pay back a good turn, I'llie said. Watch your step now on this seawall." You'll never regret it, Magnin said.

This is far enough. Illy motioned to one of the knife-men. Give me your knife, Vug. The man passed his knife to Ily. There was an odor of sea-mud and kelp. Small waves slapped against the stones of the seawall. The wind was stronger here. I know a neat stroke, Ily said.

Practically painless. Who's first? What do you? you mean?" Magnin quavered. I said I was grateful. I'll do it myself, give you a nice clean job. You know these amateurs.

Watch it up and have a guy flopping around, yelling and splattering everybody up. I'm first, Reteef said. He pushed past Magnin, stopped suddenly, drove a straight punch at Ily's mouth. The long blade flicked harmlessly over Reteef's shoulder as he was. Ily fell. Retief whirled, leaped past Magnan, took the unarmed servant by the throat and belt, lifted him and slammed him against the third man. Both scrambled, yelped, and fell from the sea wall into the water.

Retief turned back to Ily. He pulled off the man's belt and strapped his hands together. Magnin found his voice. You, we, they—I know, Reteve said. We've got to get back. Magnet said, Warned them. We'd never get through the rebel cordon around the palace,

and if we did, trying to give an alarm, would only set the assassinations off early. We can't just— We've got to go to the source, this fellow, Zorn. Get him to call it off. We'd be killed. At least we're safe here.

Ily groaned and opened his eyes. He sat up. On your feet, Ely, Reteef said. Ily looked around. I'm sick, he said. The damp air is bad for you. Let's be going. Reteef pulled a man to his feet.

Where does Zorn stay when he's in town? He demanded. What happened? Where's Vogue? And they had an accident, fell in the pond. Illy gazed down at the restless black water. I guess I had you Neni figured wrong. Us Nenny have hidden quality.

Let's get moving before Vug and Slug, make it to the shore and start it all over again." "'No hurry,' Ily said. "'They can't swim.' He spat into the water. "'So long, Vug, so long, Toskin. Take a pull at the hell-horn for me.' He started off along the sea-wall toward the sound of the surf. "'You want to see Zorn?

I'll take you to see Zorn,' he said. "'I can't swim either.' end of part one part two of gambler's world this lebervox recording is in the public domain i take it ratif said that the casino is a front for his political activities he makes plenty off it this p a f f f l is a new kick i never heard about it until maybe a couple months ago Retif motioned toward a dark shed with an open door. We'll stop here, he said, long enough to strip the gadgets off these uniforms. Ily, hands strapped behind its back, stood by and watched as Retief and magnan removed metals, ribbons, orders, and insignia from the formal diplomatic garments.

This may help some, Retief said, if the word is out that two diplomats are loose. It's a breeze, Illy said. We see cats in purple and orange tailcoats all the time. I hope you're right, Reteef said. But if we're called, you'll be the first to go, Ily. You're a funny kind of nanny, Ily said, eyeing Reteeth. Toskin and Vug must be wondering what happened to him. If you think I'm good at drowning people, you ought to see me with a knife.

Let's get going. It's only a little way now, Ily said, but you better untie me. somebody's liable to stick their nose in and get me killed. I'll take the chance. How do we get to the casino? We follow this street. It twists around and goes under a couple of tunnels. When we get to the drunkard's stairs, we go up and it's right in front of us, a pink front

with a sign like a big luck wheel. Give me your belt, Magnan, Retief said. Magnin handed it over. Lie down, Ily, Retive said. The servant looked. at Retif. Vogue and Toskin will be glad to see me, he said, but they'll never believe me. He lay down.

Retief strapped his feet together and stuffed the handkerchief in his mouth. Why are you doing that? Magnin asked, we need him. We know the way and we don't need anyone to announce our arrival. It's only on 3D that you can march a man through a gang of his pals with a finger in his back. magnin looked at the man maybe you'd better cut his throat he said illy rolled his eyes that's a very unnannylike suggestion mr magnin retive said if we do have any trouble finding the casino i'll give it serious thought there were few people in the narrow street shops were shuttered windows dark maybe they heard about the coup magnan said they're lying low

more likely they're at the palace picking up their knives they rounded a corner stepped over a man curled in the gutter snoring heavily and found themselves at the foot of a long flight of littered stone steps the drunkard stairs are plainly marked magnins sniffed i hear sounds up there riteef said sounds of merry-making maybe we'd better go back mary-making doesn't scare me retief said To think of it, I don't know what the word means. He started up. Magnin behind him. At the top of the long stair a dense throng milled in the alley-like street. A giant illuminated roulette wheel revolved slowly above them. A loudspeaker blared the chant of the croupiers from the tables inside.

Magnin and Retif moved through the crowd toward the wide-open doors. Magnin plucked at Retief's sleeve. Are you sure we ought to push right in like this? Maybe we ought to wait a bit. Look around. When you're where you have no business being, Reteif said. Always stride along purposefully. If you loiter, people begin to get curious.

Inside a mob packed the wide, low-ceilinged room, clustered around gambling devices in the farm of towers, tables, and basins. What do we do now, magnin asked. We gamble. How much money do you have in your pockets? Why, a few credits. Magnin handed the money to Retief, but what about the man Zorn? A purple cutaway is conspicuous enough without ignoring the tables, Reteef said.

We've got a hundred credits between us. We'll get to Zorn in due course, I hope. Yeah, pleasure, jents. A bullet-headed man said, eyeing the colorful evening clothes of the diplomats. We'll be wanting to try your luck at the Zoop Tower, I guess. A game for real sporting gents. Why, uh, Magnet said. What's a Zoop Tower? Reteef asked.

Out of towners, eh? The bullet-headed man shifted his dope stick to the other corner of his mouth. Zoop is a great little game. Two teams of players buy into the pot. Each player takes a lever. The object is to make the ball drop from the top of the tower, into your net, okay? What's the ante?

I got a hundred-credit pot working now, gents. Retief nodded. We'll try it. The shill led the way to an eight-foot tower mounted on gimbals. Two perspiring men in trade-class pullovers gripped two of the levers that controlled the tilt of the tower. A white ball lay in a hollow in the thick glass platform at the top. From the center, an intricate pattern of grooves led.

out to the edge of the glass. Retief and Magnan took chairs before the two free levers. When the light goes on, gents work the levers to jack the tower. You got three gears. Takes a good arm to work top gear. That's this button here. A little knob controls what way you're going. May the best team win.

I'll take the hundred credits now. Reteeth handed over the money. A red light flashed on. And Reteeth tried the lever. It moved easily with a ratcheting sound. The tower trembled, slowly tilted toward the two perspiring workmen pumping frantically at their levers. Magnin started slowly, accelerating as he saw the direction the tower was taking. Faster, Reteef, he said, they're winning.

Biss is against the clock, gents, the bullet-headed man said. If nobody wins when the light goes off, the house takes all. Crank it over to the left, Reteef said. I'm getting tired. Shift to a lower gear. The tower leaned. The ball stirred, rolled into a concentric channel. Retief shifted to middle gear, worked the lever.

The tower creaked to a stop, started back upright. There isn't any lower gear. Magnin gasped. One of the two on the other side of the tower shifted to middle gear. The other followed suit. They worked harder now, heaving against the stiff. levers. The tower quivered, moving slowly toward their side. I'm exhausted, Magnin gasped. He dropped the lever, lulled back in the chair, gulping air.

Retief shifted position, took Magnin's lever with his left hand. Shifted to middle gear, Retif said. Magnan gulped, punched the button, and slumped back, panting. My arm, he said, I've injured myself. The two men in pull. overs conferred hurriedly as they cranked their levers, then one punched a button and the other reached across, using his left arm to help. They've shifted to high, Magnet said, Give up, it's hopeless. Shift me to high, Retif said, both buttons. Magnin complied. Reteif's shoulders bulged. He brought one lever down, then the other. Alternately, slowly at first, then faster. The tower jerked tilted toward him. Farther, the ball rolled in the channel,

found an outlet. abruptly. Both Retief's levers froze. The tower trembled, wavered, and moved back. Retief heaved. One lever folded at the base, bent down, and snapped off short. Retief braced his feet, took the other lever with both hands, and pulled. There was a rasp of metal friction and a loud twang. The lever came free, a length of broken cable flopping into view. The tower fell over as the two on the other side scrambled aside. Hey, Bullethead yelled. You wrecked my equipment. Reteef got up and faced him.

Does Zorn know you've got your tower rigged for suckers? You trying to call me a cheat or something? The crowd had fallen back, ringing the two men. Bullitt head glanced around. With a lightning motion, he plucked a knife from somewhere. That'll be five hundred credits for the equipment, he said. Nobody calls Kippy a cheat. Reteef picked up the broken lever.

Don't make me hit you with this, you cheap chisler. Kippy looked at the bar. Coming in here, he said, indignantly, looking to the crowd for support, busting up my rig, calling names. I want a hundred credits, Reteef said. Now. Highway robbery, Kippy yelled. Better pay up, somebody called.

Hit him, mister, somebody else said. A broad-shouldered man with graying hair pushed through the crowd and looked around. You heard him, Kippy. Give, he said. The shill growled and tucked his knife away. Reluctantly, he peeled a bill from a fat roll and handed it over. The newcomer looked from Reteenth. to Magnan.

Pick another game, strangers. He said Kippie made a little mistake. This is small-time stuff, Reteef said. I'm interested in something big. The broad-shouldered man lit a perfumed dopedick. What would you call big? He said softly. What's the biggest you've got?

The man narrowed his eyes, smiling, Maybe you'd like to try slam. Tell me about it. Over here. The crowd opened up, made a path. Reteef and Magnin followed across the room to a brightly lit glass-walled box. There was an arm-sized opening at waist height. Inside was a hand-grip.

A two-foot plastic globe, a quarterful of chips, hung in the center. Apparadus was mounted at the top of the box. Slam pays good odds, the man said. You can go as high as you like. Chips cost you 100 credits. You started up by dropping a chip in here, he indicated the slot. You take the hand grip. When you squeeze, it unlocks.

The globe starts to turn. You can see it's full of chips. There's a hole at the top. As long as you hold the grip, the bowl turns. The harder you squeeze, the faster it turns. Eventually it'll turn over to where the hole is down and chips fall out. On the other hand, there's a little. contact plates spotted around the bowl. When one of them lines up with a live contact,

you get quite a jolt, guaranteed non-lethal. All you've got to do is hold on long enough, and you'll get the payoff. How often does this random pattern put the hole down? Anywhere from three minutes to fifteen, with the average run of players—oh, by the way, one more thing. That lead block up there—the man motioned with his arm. his head toward a one-foot cube suspended by a thick cable. It's rigged to drop every now and again, averages five minutes. A warning light flashes first. You can take a chance sometimes the lights a bluff.

You can set the clock back on it by dropping another chip, or you can let go the grip. Reteef looked at the massive block of metal. That would mess up a man's dealing hand, wouldn't it? The last two jokers who were too cheap to feed the machine had to have them off. Their arms, I mean. That leads heavy stuff. I don't suppose your machine has a habit of getting stuck like kippies? The broad-shouldered man frowned.

You're a stranger. He said you don't know any better. It's a fair game, mister, somebody called. Where do I buy the chips? The man smiled. I'll fix you up. How many? One.

A big spender, eh? The man snickered, but handed over a large plastic chip. End of Part two. Part three of Gambler's World. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Part three of Gambler's World. Reteif stepped to the machine, dropped the coin. If you want to change your mind, the man said,

you can back out now. All it'll cost you is the chip you dropped. Reteef reached through the hole, took the grip. It was leather-padded hand-filling. He squeezed it. There was a click and bright lights sprang up. The crowd awed. The globe began to twirl lazily. A four-inch hole at its top was plainly visible. If ever the hole gets in position it will empty very quickly, Magnin said hopefully. Suddenly a brilliant white light flooded the glass cage. A sound went up from the spectators. "'Bet drop a chip,' someone called.

"'You've only got ten seconds. Let go!' Magnin yelped. Reteef sat silent, holding the grip, frowning up at the wait. The globe twirl faster now. Then the bright white light winked off. A bluff, Magnin gasped. "'That's risky, stranger!' the gray-templed man said.

The globe was turning rapidly now, oscillating from side to side. The hole seemed to travel in a wavering loop, dipping lower, swinging up high, then down again. It has to move to the bottom soon, Magnin said, slow it down. The slower it goes the longer it takes to get to the bottom, someone said. There was a crackle, and Reteeth stiffened. Magnin heard a sharp intake of breath. The globe slowed and Reteef shook his head, blinking. The broad-shouldered man glanced at a meter.

You took pretty near a full joke that time, he said. The hole in the globe was tracing an oblique course now, swinging to the center, then below. A little longer, Magnin said. That's the best speed I ever seen on the slam ball. Someone said. How much longer can he hold it? Magnin looked at Reteif's knuckles. They showed white against the grip.

The globe tilted farther, swung around, then down. Two chips fell out, clattered down a chute and into a box. We're ahead, Magnin said. Let's quit. Reteeth shook his head. The globe rotated, dipped again, three chips fell. She's ready, someone called. It's bound to hit soon. Another voice added excitedly.

Come on, mister. Slow down, Magnin said. said, so it won't move past too quickly. Speed it up before that lead block gets you, someone called. The hole swung high over the top, then down the side. Chips rained out of the hole, six, eight. Next pass, a voice called. The white light flooded the cage.

The globe whirled. The holes slid over the top. Down, down, a chip fell, two more. Reteaf half-roseed, clamped his jaw and, crushed the grip. Sparks flew, the globe slowed, chips spewing. It stopped, swung back, waded by the mass of chips at the bottom, and stopped again with the hole centered. Chips cascaded down the chute, filled the box before Retief spilled on the floor. The crowd yelled. Ritif released the grip and withdrew his arm at the same instant that the lead block slammed

down. Good Lord, Magnan said. I felt that through the floor. Reteef turned to the broad-shouldered man. This game's all right for beginners, he said, but I'd like to talk a really big gamble. Why don't we go to your office, Mr. Zorn? Your proposition interests me, Zorn said, grinding out the stump of his dope stick in a brass ashtray.

But there's some angles in this I haven't mentioned yet. a gambler, Zorn, not a suicide, Reteef said. Take what I've offered. The other idea was fancier, I agree, but it won't work. How do I know you birds aren't lying? Zorn snarled. He stood up, strode up and down the room. You walk in here and tell me I'll have a task force on my neck that the Corps won't recognize my regime. Maybe you're right, but I've got other comments. contacts. They say different." He whirled, stared at Reteef. I have pretty good assurance that once I put it over, the Corps will have to recognize me as the legal government of Petriac. They won't meddle in internal affairs."

Nonsense, Magnin spoke up. The Corps will never deal with a pack of criminals calling themselves, watch your language, you, Zorn rasped. I'll admit Mr. Magnet's point is a little weak, Retief said. But you're overlooking something. You plan to murder a dozen or so officers of the Corps Diplomartique Terrastien, along with the local wheels. The Corps won't overlook that. It can't. They're tough luck there in the middle, Zorn muttered.

Our offer is extremely generous, Mr. Zorn, said. The post you'll get will pay you very well indeed. As against the certain failure of your planned coup, the choice should be simple. Zorn-eyed, Magnan, offering me a job. It sounds phony as hell. I thought you birds were goody-goody-diplamats. It's time you knew, Ratif said. There's no phonier business in the galaxy than diplomacy.

You'd better take it, Mr. Zorn. Magnin said. Don't push me, Junior. Zorn said. You two walk into my headquarters empty-handed and big-mouthed. I don't know what I'm talking to you for. The answer is, no. N-I-X, no.

Who are you afraid of? Reteef said softly. Zorn glared at him. Where did you get that afraid routine? I'm top man here. Don't kid around, Zorn. somebody's got you under their thumb i can see you squirming from here what if i let your boys alone zorn said suddenly the corps won't have anything to say then huh the corps has plans for petriac zorn you aren't part of them a revolution right now isn't part of them having the potentate and the whole nanny cast slaughtered isn't part of them do i make myself clear

listen zorn said urgently pulling a chair around i'll tell you guys a few things you ever heard of a whirl they call rotune certainly magnin said it's a near neighbor of yours another backward that is emergent okay zorn said you guys think i'm a piker do you well let me wise you up the federal junta on rotune is backing my play i'll be recognized by rotune and the rotune fleet will stand by in case i need any help i'll present the c d t with what you call a fait accompli what does rotune get out of this i thought they were your traditional enemies don't get me wrong i've no use for rotune but our interests happen to coincide right now do they retif smiled grimly you can spot a sucker as soon as he comes through that door out there but you go for a deal like this what do you mean zorn looked angrily at retif it's foolproof after you get in power you'll be fast friends with rotune is that it friends hell just give me time to get set and i'll square a few things with that exactly And what do you suppose they have in mind for you? What are you getting at? Why is Routoon interested in your takeover?

Zorn studied Reteef's face. I'll tell you why, he said. It's you, birds. You and your trade agreement. You're here to tie Petriac into some kind of trade combine. That cuts Routune out. Well, we're doing all right out here. We don't need any commitment.

to a lot of fancy pants on the other side of the galaxy. That's what Routin has sold you, eh? Routif said, smiling. Sold nothing. Zorn ground out his doped stick, lit another. He snorted angrily. Huh, okay, what's your idea? He asked after a moment.

You know what Petriac is getting in the way of imports as a result of the agreement? Sure, a lot of junk. To be specific. Reteef said, there will be 50,000 Tatone B3 dry washers, 100,000 glow-float motile lamps, 100,000 earthworm minor garden cultivators, 25,000 Vecho-space heaters, and 75,000 replacement elements for Ford Monomeg drives. Like I said, a lot of junk. Reteef leaned back, looking sardonically at soren.

Here's the gimmick, Zorn, he said. The Corps is getting a little tired of Petriac and Routoon, carrying on their two-penny war out here. Your privateers have a nasty habit of picking on innocent bystanders. After studying both sides, the Corps has decided Petriac would be a little easier to do business with. So this trade agreement was worked out. The Corps can't openly sponsor an armed shipment to a bombard. But personal appliances are another story. So what do we do?

Plow them under with backyard cultivators?" Zorn looked at Reteef puzzled. What's the point? You take the sealed monitor unit from the washer, the repeller field generator from the lamp, the converter control from the cultivator, et cetera, et cetera. To fit these together, according to some very simple instructions, Resto, you have one hundred thousand standard-class Y-hand blasters. Just the thing to turn the tide in a stalemated war fought with obsolete arms.

Good Lord, Magnet said. Ritif, are you? I have to tell him, Ritif said. He has to know what he's putting his neck into. Weapons, eh? Zorn said. And Routun knows about it? Sure they know about it.

It's not too hard to figure out. And there's more. They want the CDT delegation included in the massacre for a reason. It will put Petriac out of the picture. The trade agreement will go to Routoon, and you and your new regime will find yourselves looking down the muzzles of your own blasters. Zarn threw his doepstick to the floor with a snarl. I shoulda smell something when that rotune smoothie made his pitch.

Zorn looked at his watch. I've got two hundred armed men in the palace. We've got about forty minutes to get over there before the rocket goes up. You'd better stay here on the terrace out of the way until I've spread the word, Zorn said, just in case. Let me caution you against any slip-ups, Mr. Zorn, Magnin said. the nanny are not to be molested. Zorn looked at Reteeth. Your friend talks too much, he said.

I'll keep my end of it. He'd better keep his. Nothing's happened to yet. You sure? Magnin said. I'm sure, Zorn said. Ten minutes to go. Plenty of time.

I'll just step into the salon to assure myself that all is well, Magnin said. Suit yourself, Zorn said. Just stay clear of the kitchen or you'll get your throat cut. He sniffed at his dopedstick. What's keeping skulk? he muttered. Magnin stepped to a tall glass door, eased it open, and poked his head through the heavy draperies. As he moved to draw back, a voice was faintly audible. Magnan paused, head still through the drapes.

What's going on there? Zorn rasped. He and Reteeth stepped up behind Magnan. Brother bear, ha! Magnin was saying. Well, come along, Magnan. Ambassador Crodfellar's voice snapped. Magnan shifted from one foot to the other, then pushed through the drapes.

Where have you been, Mr. Magnan? The ambassador's voice was sharp. Oh, a slight accident, Mr. Ambassador. What happened to your shoes? Where are your insignia and decorations? I, uh, spill the drink on them, sir. Uh, listen. The sound of an orchestra came up suddenly, blaring a fanfare.

Zorn shifted restlessly, ears against the glass. What's your friend pulling, he rasped. I don't like this. Keep cool, Zarn, Reteef said. Mr. Magnin is doing a little emergency salvage on his career. The music died away with a clatter. My God! Ambassador Crodfeller's voice was faint.

Magnan, you'll be knighted for this. Thank God you reached me. Thank God it's not too late. I'll find some excuse. I'll get a gram off at once. But you— It's all right, Magnan. You were in time.

Another ten minutes, and the agreement would have been signed and transmitted. The wheels would have been put in motion. My career ruined. Reteef felt a prod at his back. He turned. "'Bouble crossed,' Zorn said softly. "'So much for the word of a diplomat.' Reteef looked at the short-barreled needler in Zorn's hand.

"'I see you had your bets, Zorn,' he said. "'We'll wait here,' Zorn said. "'Until the excitement's over inside. I wouldn't want to attract any attention right now.' "'Your politics are still lousy, Zorn. The picture hasn't changed. your coup hasn't got a chance. Skip it.

I'll take up one problem at a time. Magnet's mouth has a habit of falling open at the wrong time. That's my good luck that I heard it. So there'll be no agreement, no guns, no fat job for a Tammany-Zorn, eh? Well, I can still play it the other way. What have I got to lose? With the movement too quick to follow, Reteif's hand. hand chopped down across Zorn's wrist. The needler clattered as Zorn reeled, and then

Reteith's hand clamped Zorn's arm and whirled him around. In answer to your last question, Reteef said, your neck. You haven't got a chance, double-crosser! Zorn gasped. Skok will be here in a minute, Reteef said, tell him it's all off. Twist harder, Mr. Zorn said. Break it off at the shoulder I'm telling. him nothing. The kidding's over, Zorn, Reteef said. Call it off, or I'll kill you."

I believe you, Zorn said, but you won't have long to remember it. All the killing will be for nothing, Reteef said. You'll be dead, and the Routunes will step into the power vacuum. So what? When I die, the world ends. Suppose I make you another offer, Zorn. Why would it be any better than the last one, Chisler? retief released zorn's arm pushed him away stooped and picked up the needler i could kill you zorn you know that go ahead retif reversed the needler held it out

I'm a gambler, too, Zorn. I'm gambling you'll listen to what I have to say. Zorn snatched the gun, stepped back. He looked at Reteef. That wasn't the smartest bet you ever made, mister. But go ahead. You've got maybe ten seconds. Nobody double-crossed you, Zorn.

Magnin put his foot in it. Too bad. Is that a reason to kill yourself and a lot of other people who've bet their lives on you? They gambled and lost. tough. Maybe you haven't lost yet, if you don't quit. Get to the point." Reteeth spoke earnestly for a minute and a half.

Zorn stood, gun aimed, listening. Then both men turned as footsteps approached along the terrace. A fat man in a yellow sarong padded up to Zorn. Zorn tucked the needler in its waistband. Hold everything skok, he said. Tell the boys to put the knives away. Spread the word fast. It's all off."

"'I want to commend you, Retief,' Ambassador Crodfeller said expansively. You mixed very well at last night's affair. Actually, I was hardly aware of your presence." "'I've been studying Mr. Magnet's work,' Reteef said. "'A good man, Magnan, in a crowd, he's virtually invisible. He knows when to disappear all right. This has been in many ways a model operation, Reteeth.' The ambassador patted his paunch content.

by observing local social customs and blending harmoniously with the court, I've succeeded in establishing a fine, friendly, working relationship with the potentate. I understand the agreement has been postponed. The ambassador chuckled. The potentates a crafty one. Through a special study I have been conducting, I learned last night that he had hoped, too, shall I say, put one over on the core? Great heavens, Reteef said.

Naturally, this placed me in a difficult position. It was my task to quash this gambit without giving any indication that I was aware of its existence. A hairy position indeed, Reteaf said. Quite casually I informed the potentate that certain items, which had been included in the terms of the agreement, had been deleted and others of the agreement. substituted, and I admired him at that moment, Reteef. He took it coolly, appearing completely indifferent, perfectly dissembling his very serious disappointment. I noticed him dancing with

three girls wearing a bunch of grapes apiece. He's very agile for a man of his bulk. You mustn't discount the potentate. Remember, beneath that mask of frivolity, he had absorbed a bitter blow. He had me fooled, Retif said. Don't feel badly, I confess at first I failed to sense his shrewdness. The ambassador nodded and moved off along the corridor. Retief turned and went into an office. Magnin looked up from his desk. Ah, he said, Retif, I've been meaning to ask you about the blasters.

Are you— Retief leaned on Magnet's desk, looked at him. I thought that was the big. be our little secret. Well, naturally, I— Magnin closed his mouth, swallowed. How is it, Ritif, he said sharply, that you were aware of this blaster business when the ambassador himself wasn't?

Easy, Reteef said, I made it up. You what? Magnin looked wild. But the agreement, it's been revised. Ambassador Crodfeller has gone on record. Too bad. glad I didn't tell him about it. Magnin leaned back and closed his eyes.

It was big of you to take all the blame, Bertief said. When the ambassador was talking about nighting people, Magnin opened his eyes. What about that gambler, Zorn, won't he be upset? It's all right, Bertief said. I made another arrangement. The business about making blasters out of common components wasn't completely imaginary. You can actually do it, using parts from an old-fashioned disposal unit. What good will that do him?

Magnin whispered, looking nervous. We're not shipping in any old-fashioned disposal units. We don't need to, Reteef said. They're already installed in the palace kitchen and in a few thousand other places, Zoran tells me. If this ever leaks, Magnin put a hand to his forehead. I have his word on it that the Nenny slaughter is out. This place is ripe for a change.

Maybe Zorn is what it needs. But how can we know? Magnin yelped. How can we be sure? We can't, Bertief said. But it's not up to the core to metal in Petriac's internal affairs. He leaned over, picked up Magnet's desk lighter, and lit a cigar. He blew a cloud of smoke to water.

the ceiling, right?" Magnin looked at him, nodded weakly. Right. I'd better be getting along to my desk, Ratif said, now that the ambassador feels that I'm settling down at last. Retief, Magnet said, Tonight, I implore you, stay out of the kitchen, no matter what. Reteeth raised his eyebrows.

I know, Magnet said, if you hadn't interfered, we'd all have had our throats cut, but at least, he added, we'd have died in accordance with regulations. End of Part 3. End of Gambler's World by Keith Lummer. Part 1 of the Yillion Way by Keith Lommer. This Libra Vox recording is in the public domain. The Yillion Way was originally published in Worlds of If, January, 1962. Part 1.

james rathief vice-counsel and third secretary in the diplomatic corps followed the senior members of the terrestrial mission across the tarmac and into the gloom of the reception building the gray-skinned yale guide who had met the arriving embassy at the foot of the ramp hurried away the councillor two first secretaries and the senior attaches gathered around the ambassador their ornate uniforms bright in the vast, dun-colored room. Ten minutes passed. Retief strolled across to the nearest door and looked through the glass panel at the room beyond. Several dozen Yill lounged in deep couches, sipping lavender drinks from slender glass tubes. Black tunic servants moved about inconspicuously offering trays. A party of brightly dressed Yield moved toward the entrance doors.

One of the party, a tall male, made to step before another, who raised a hand languidly, fist-clinched. The first Yil stepped back and placed his hands on top of his head. Both Yil were smiling and chatting as they passed through the doors. Reteef turned away to rejoin the terrestrial delegation, waiting beside a mound of crates made of rough greenish wood stacked on the bare concrete floor. As Retief came up, Ambassador Spradley glanced at his finger-watch and spoke to the man beside him. Ben, are you quite certain our arrival time was made clear?"

Second Secretary Magnum nodded emphatically. I stressed the point, Mr. Ambassador. I communicated with Mr. Tchai-chi just before the lighter broke orbit, and I specifically— "'I hope you didn't appear truculent, Mr. Magnin.' The Ambassador said sharply. No, indeed, Mr. Ambassador. I merely— You're sure there's no VIP room here?

The Ambassador glanced around the cavernous room. Curious that not even chairs have been provided? If you'd care to sit on one of these crates— Certainly not. The Ambassador looked at his watch again and cleared his throat. I may as well make use of these few moments to outline our approach, for the more junior members of the staff. It's vital that the entire mission work in harmony in the presentation of the image. We terrestrials are a kindly, peace-loving race. The ambassador smiled in a kindly,

peace-loving way. We seek only a reasonable division of spheres of influence with the ill. He spread his hands looking reasonable. We are a people of high culture, ethical, sincere. The smile was replaced abruptly by pursed lips. We'll start by asking for the entire Cyrenian system and settle for half. We'll establish a foothold on the choicier worlds, and with shrewd handling in a century we'll be in a position to assert a wider claim. The ambassador glanced around. If there are no questions, Reteif stepped forward. It's my understanding, Mr. Ambassador, that we hold the prior claim to the Sirenian system.

Did I understand your excellency to say that we're ready to concede half of it to the Yill without a struggle? Ambassador Spradly looked up at Reteef, blinking. The younger man loomed over him. Beside him, Magnin cleared his throat in the silence. "'Vice counsel. Retief merely means—' "'I can interpret Mr. Retief's remark,' the Ambassador snapped. "'He assumed a fatherly expression.

"'Young man, you're new to the service. "'You haven't yet learned to team play. "'The give and take of diplomacy. "'I shall expect you to observe closely the work of the experienced negotiators of the mission. "'You must learn the importance of subtle. Mr. Ambassador, Magnin said, I think the reception committee is arriving. He pointed. Half a dozen tall, short-necked yule were entering through a side door. The leading Yill hesitated as another stepped in his path. He raised a fist and the other moved aside, touching the top of his head

perfunctorily with both hands. The group started across the room toward the terrestrials. Retief watched as a slender alien came forward and spoke passable Terran in a reedy voice. I amtoy, come this way. He turned, and the group moved toward the door, the ambassador leading. As he reached for the door, the interpreter darted ahead and shouldered him aside. The other yield stopped, waiting. The ambassador almost glared, then remembered the image. He smiled and beckoned the yield ahead.

They milled uncertainly, muttering in the native tongue, then passed through the door. The Terrant Party followed. Give a great deal to know what they're saying, Retief overheard as he came up. Our interpreter has forged to the van, the ambassador said. I can only assume he'll appear when needed. A pity we have to rely on a native interpreter, someone said. had I known we'd meet this rather uncouth reception the ambassador said stiffly I would have audited the language personally of course during the voyage out oh no criticism intended of course mr ambassador Heaven's magnet put in who would have thought Retief moved up behind the ambassador Mr. Ambassador he said I later young man the ambassador snapped he beckoned to the first

counselor, and the two moved off heads together. Outside, a bluish sun gleamed in a dark sky. Routief watched his breath form a frosty cloud in the chill air. A broad, donut-wheeled vehicle was drawn up to the platform. The Yield gestured the Terran party to the gaping door at the rear, then stood back waiting. Routif looked curiously at the gray-painted van. The legend, written on its side in alien symbols, seemed to read egg-nog. The ambassador entered the vehicle, the other terrestrials following. It was as bare of seats as the terminal building. What appeared to be a defunct electronic chassis lay in the center of the floor.

Retief glanced back. The Yille were talking excitedly. None of them entered the car. The door was closed, and the Terrans braced themselves under the low roof as the engine started up with a whine of worn turbos. The van moved off. It was an uncomfortable ride. Bertief put out an arm as the vehicle rounded a corner,

just catching the ambassador as he staggered off balance. The ambassador glared at him, settled his heavy tri-corner hat, and stood stiffly until the car lurched again. Routif stooped, attempting to see through the single dusty window. They seemed to be in a wide street lined with low buildings. They passed through a massive gate, up a ramp, and stopped. The door opened.

Reteef looked out at a blank gray façade broken by tiny windows at irregular intervals. A scarlet vehicle was drawn up ahead, the Yield reception committee emerging from It. Through its wide windows, Ratif saw rich upholstery and caught a glimpse of glasses clamped to a tiny bar. Ptois, the Yill interpreter, came forward, gestured to a small door. Magnin opened it, waiting for the Ambassador. As he stepped to it, a Yill thrust himself ahead and hesitated.

Ambassador Spradly drew himself up, glaring. Then he twisted his mouth into a frozen, smile and stepped aside. The Yille looked at each other, then filed through the door. Routif was the last to enter, as he stepped inside a black-clad servant slipped past him, pulled the lid from a large box by the door, and dropped in a paper tray heaped with refuse. There were alien symbols in flaking paint on the box. They seemed, Reteef noticed, to spell egg-nog. The shrill pipes and whining reeds had been warming up for an hour when Routif emerged

from his cubicle and descended the stairs to the banquet hall. Standing by the open doors, he lit a slender cigar and watched through narrowed eyes as obsequious servants in black flitted along the low-wide corridor, carrying laden trays into the broad room, arranging settings on a great four-sided table forming a hollow square that almost filled the room. Rich brocades were spread across the center of the side nearest the door, flanked by heavily decorated white cloths, beyond plain white extended to the far side, where metal dishes were arranged on the bare tabletop.

A richly dressed yill approached, stepped aside to allow a servant to pass and entered the room. Reteef turned to the sound of Terran voices behind him. The Ambassador came up, trailed by two diplomats. He glanced at Reteef, adjusted his rough, and looked into the banquet hall. Apparently we're to be kept waiting again, he muttered. After having been informed at the outset that the Y'l have no intention of yielding an inch, what almost wonders, Mr. Ambassador.

Reteef said, have you noticed— However, Ambassador Bradley said, eyeing Reteef, A seasoned diplomat must take these little snubs in stride. In the end— Ah, there, Magnan, he turned away, talking. Somewhere a gong clanged. In a moment the corridor was filled with a chattering Yille, who moved past the group of terrestrials into the banquet hall.

Batoi, the Yill interpreter, came up and raised a hand. wait here more yale filed into the dining-room to take their places a pair of helmeted guards approached waving the terrestrials back and immense gray-chowled yill waddled to the doors and passed through followed by more guards the chief of state reteef heard magnins say the admirable fokau cow cow cow i have yet to present my credentials and Ambassador Spradley said, One expects some latitude in the observances of protocol, but I confess, he wagged his head. The ill interpreter spoke up.

You now will lie on your intestines and creep two festive board there? He pointed across the room. Intestants? Ambassador Spradley looked about wildly. mr pitoy means our stomachs i wouldn't wonder magnin said he just wants us to lie down and crawl to our seats mr ambassador what the devil are you grinning at you idiot the ambassador snapped magnin's face fell spadley glanced down at the metals across his paunch this is i've never homage to gods the interpreter said Oh, a religion, someone said. Well, if it's a matter of religious beliefs.

The ambassador looked dubiously around. Golly, it's only a couple of hundred feet, Magnan offered. Artif stepped up to Potoy. His Excellency, the terrestrial ambassador, will not crawl, he said clearly. Here, young man, I said nothing. Not to crawl, the interpreter wore an arthur war in unreadable yill expression. It is against our religion, Routif said.

Against? We are votaries of the snake goddess, Reteeth said. It is a sacrilege to crawl. He brushed past the interpreter and marched toward the distant table. The others followed. Puffing, the ambassador came to Ritif's side as they approached the dozen empty stools at the far side of the square opposite the brocaded position of the admirable fokau-cao-cow. Mr. Chief, kindly see me after this affair, he hissed.

In the meantime, I hope you will restrain any further rash impulses. Let me remind you, I am chief of mission here. Magnin came up from behind. And let me end my congratulations, Ratif, he said. That was fast thinking. Are you out of your mind, Magnin? The Ambassador barked. I am extremely displeased.

Why? Magnet stuttered. I was speaking sarcastically, of course, Mr. Ambassador. Didn't you notice the kind of shocked little gasp I gave when he did it? The terrestrials took their places, Retief at the end. The table before them was of bare green wood, with an array of shallow pewter dishes. Some of the yale at the table were in plain gray, others in black. All eyed them silently.

There was a constant stir among them as one or another rose and disappeared and others sat down. The pipes and reeds were shrilling furiously, and the sureration of Yillian conversation from the other tables rose even higher, in competition. A tall yule in black was at the ambassador's side now. The nearby Yill fell silent, as he began ladling a whitish soup into the largest of the bowls before the terrestrial envoy. The interpreter hovered watching.

That's quite enough, Ambassador Spradley said as the bowl overflowed. The Yill servant rolled his eyes, dribbled more of the soup in. into the bowl. "'And kindly served the other members of my staff,' the ambassador said. The interpreter said something in a low voice. The servant moved hesitantly to the next stool and ladled more soup. Routif watched, listening to the whispers around him. The yale at the table were craning now to watch.

The soup ladler was ladling rapidly, rolling his eyes sideways. He came to Reteef, reached out with him. with a full ladle for the bowl?" No, Retief said. The ladleer hesitated. None for me, Retief said. The interpreter came up in motion to the servant, who reached again ladle brimming. I don't like it.

Reteef said, his voice distinct in the sudden hush. He stared at the interpreter who stared back, then waved the servant away. Mr. Riecheef, a voice hissed. Retif looked down at the table. The ambassador was leaning forward, glaring at him, his face, a mottled crimson. I'm warning you, Mr. Retief, he said hoarsely. I've eaten sheep's eyes in the Sudan, Kassway in Burma, hundred-year coug on Mars, and everything else that has been placed before me

in the course of my diplomatic career. And by the holy relics of St. Ignat's you'll do the same. He snatched up a spoon like utensil and dipped it into his bowl. Don't eat that, Mr. Ambassador, Reteef said. The ambassador stared, eyes wide. He opened his mouth, guided the spoon toward it. Retief stood, gripped the table under its edge, and heaved. The immense wooden slab rose into it.

Tilted, dishes sliding. It crashed to the floor with a ponderous slam. Whiteish soup splattered across the tarasso. A couple of odd bowls rolled across the room. Prize rang out from the yale, mingling with a strangled yell from Ambassador Spradley. Reteef walked past the wide-eyed members of the mission to the spluttering chief. Mr. Ambassador, he said, I'd like—you'd like. I'll break you, you young huddleum.

Do you realize? Please! The interpreter stood at Riteef's side. My apologies. Ambassador Bradley said, mopping his forehead, my profound apologies. Be quiet, Reteef said. What? Don't apologize, Reteef said.

Ptois was beckoning. Please, I'll come. Ritif turned and followed him. The portion of the table they were ushered to was covered with an embroidered white cloth, set with thin porcelain dishes. The yale already seated there, rose amid babbling, and moved down the table. The black-clad yel let the end table close shrinks to fill the vacant seats. Reteef sat down and found Magnan at his side.

What's going on here? The second secretary said angrily. They were giving us dog food, Reteef said. i overheard a yield they seated us at the bottom of the servants table you mean you know their language i learned it on the way out enough at least the music broke out with a clangorous fanfare and a throng of jugglers dancers and acrobats poured into the center of the hollow square frantically juggling dancing and back flipping black-clad servants swarmed suddenly heaping mounds of fragrant food on the place of yill and terrestrials alike pouring a pale purple liquor into slender glasses riteef sampled the yale food it was delicious conversation was impossible in the den he watched the gaudy display and ate heartily end of part one of the yelian way part two of the yillion way by keith lummer

this labor box recording is in the public domain part two retief leaned back grateful for the lull in the music the last of the dishes were whisked away and more glasses filled the exhausted entertainers stopped to pick up the thick square coins the diners threw riteef sighed it had been a rare feast ratif magin said in the comparative quiet what were you saying about dog food as the music came up retief looked at him haven't you noticed the pattern mr magnin the series of deliberate affronts deliberate affronts just a minute retif they're uncouth yes crowding into doorways and things like that he looked at retief uncertainly they herded us into a baggage warehouse at the terminal they hauled us here in a garbage truck garbage truck only symbolic of course they ushered us in a garbage truck they ushered us in a garbage truck They ushered us in the tradesmen's entrance. They assigned us cubicles in the servant's wing. Then we were seated with the coolly-class sweepers at the bottom of the table.

You must be—I mean, we're the terrestrial delegation. Surely these yield must realize our power. Precisely, Mr. Magnin. But with a clang of symbols, the musicians launched a renewed assault. Six tall, helmeted yale sprang into the center of the floor and paired off in a wild performance, half dance, half combat. Magnin pulled at Reteef's arm, his mouth moving. Reteith shook his head.

No one could talk against a Yill orchestra in full cry. He sampled a bright red wine and watched the show. There was a flurry of action, and two of the dancers stumbled and collapsed. Their partner opponents, whirling away to pair off again, described the elaborate pre-combat ritual, and abruptly set to, dulled sabers clashing, and two more yale were down, stunned. It was a violent dance. Reteef watched, the drink forgotten. The last two Y'l approached and retreated, whirled bobbed and spun, fainted and postured,

and on the instant clashed. straining chest to chest, then broke apart, heavy weapons chopping, parrying as the music mounted to a frenzy. Evenly matched, the two hacked, thrust blow for blow across the floor, then back, defense forgotten, slugging it out. And then one was slipping, going down, helmet awry, the other a giant muscular yule, spun away, whirled in a mad squirrel of pipes as coins. showered, then froze before a gaudy table, raised the saber, and slammed it down in a resounding

blow across the gay cloth before the lace and bow-decked yale in the same instant that the music stopped. In utter silence the dancer-fighter stared across the table at the seated yill. With a shout the yel leaped up, raised a clenched fist. The dancer bowed his head, spread his hands on his helmet. Routif took a deep gulp of pale yellow liqueur and leaned forward to watch. The beribboned yill waved a hand negligently, spilled a handful of coins across the table, and sat down.

The challenger spun away in a screeching shrill of music. Bertieff caught his eye for an instant as he passed. And then the dancer stood, Ritif stood richly. rigid before the brocaded table, and the music stopped off short as the saber slammed down before a heavy yule in ornate metallic coils. The challenged yill rose and raised a fist. The other ducked his head, put his hands on his helmet. Coins rolled, the dancer moved on.

Twice more the dancer struck the table in ritualistic challenge, exchanged gestures, bent his neck, passed on he circled the broad floor saber-twirling arms darting in an intricate symbolism the orchestra blared shrilly unmuffled now by the surf roar of conversation the ill riteef noticed suddenly we're sitting silent watching the dancer was closer now and then he was before riteef poised towering saber above his head the music cut And in the startling instantaneous silence, the heavy saber whipped over and down with an explosive concussion that set dishes dancing on the tabletop. The Yille's eyes held on Reteef's. In the silence, Magnan tittered drunkenly, Reteif pushed back his stool. Steady, my boy, Ambassador Spradley called.

Reteif stood. The Yille, topping his six foot three. by an inch. In a motion almost too quick to follow, Reteef reached for the saber, twitched it from the Yield's grip, swung it in a whistling cut. The Yield ducked, sprang back, snatched up a saber dropped by another dancer. Someone stopped the madman, Spradley howled. Reteef leaped across the table, sending fragile dishes spinning.

The other danced back, and only then did the orchestra spring to life with a screech. and a mad tattoo of high-pitched drums, making no attempt to follow the weaving pattern of the Yille Burlero. Reteef pressed the other, fending off vicious cuts with the blunt weapon, chopping back relentlessly. Left hand on hip, Reteef matched blow for blow, driving the other back. Abruptly the Yille abandoned the double roll. Dancing forgotten. He settled down in earnest, cutting, thrusting.

parrying. And now the two stood, toe to toe. Sabres clashing in a lightning exchange. The Yille gave a step. Two then rallied, drove Reteef back, back. And the Yill stumbled. His saber clattered, and Reteeth dropped his point as the other wavered past him and crashed to the floor. The orchestra fell silent, in a descending wail of reeds. Reteenth drew a deep breath, and wiped his forehead. "'Come back here, you young fool,' Spradley called hoarsely. Reteaf hefted the saber, turned, eyed the brocade-draped table. He started across the floor.

The yule sat as if paralyzed. "'Ratief, no!' Spradley yelped. Reteef walked directly to the admirable Fakow-kow-kow, stopped, raised the saber. Not the chief of state, someone in the terrestrial mission groaned. Retief whipped the saber down. The dull blades split the cloth and clove the hardwood table. There was utter silence. The admirable Fou, cow cow, cow rose, seven feet of obese gray yill.

Broad face expressionless to any tyrann eyes. He raised a fist like a jewel. studded ham. Reteef stood rigid for a long moment, then, gracefully, he inclined his head, placed his fingertips on his temples. Behind him there was a clatter as Ambassador Spradley collapsed. Then the admirable Fou-Cow-Cow-Crow cried out, and reached across the table to embrace the terrestrial and the orchestra went mad. Gray hands helped Reteef across the table, Stools were pushed aside to make room at Foukowkow's side. Reteef sat, took a tall flagon of coal-black brandy pressed on him by his neighbor,

clashed glasses with the admirable, and drank. Routif turned at the touch on his shoulder. The ambassador wants to speak to you, Reteef, Magnin said. Reteif looked across to where Ambassador Spradley sat glowering behind the plain tablecloth. under the circumstances ratif said you'd better ask him to come over here the ambassador magnin's voice cracked never mind the protocol ratif said the situation is still delicate magnin went away The feast ends, Foukow, cow, cow said, Now you and I, Reteef, must straddle the council stool. I'll be honored, admirable, Reteef said.

I must inform my colleagues. Colleagues, Foukow, Kaukow said, It is for chiefs to parley. Who shall speak for a king while he has yet tongue to talk? The y'l way is wise, Reteef said. but cow cow cow emptied a squat tumbler of pink beer i will treat with you riteef as viceroy since as you say your king is old and the space between worlds is far but there shall be no scheming underlings privy to our dealings he grinned a yell grin afterwards we shall carouse riteef the council stool is hard and the waiting hand maidens delectable.

This makes for quick agreement." Reteeth smiled. The king is wise. Of course, a being prefers winches of his own kind, the cow-cow-cow said. He belched. The Ministry of Culture

has imported several terry, excuse me, Reteep, terrestrial joy girls, said to be top-notch specimens. At least they have very fat, Whatcha-macallit? The king is most considerate, Reteef said. Let us to it then, Reteef.

I shall hazard a fling with one of those terries myself. I fancy an occasional perversion. Fekau-Cow-Cow-Cow-Dug an elbow into Reteef's side and bellowed with laughter. Ambassador Spradley hurried to intercept Reteef as he crossed to the door at Fou-Cow-Cow-Cow's side. said. Reteef, kindly excuse yourself. I wish a word with you. His voice was icy.

Magnin stood behind him, goggling. Mr. Ambassador, forgive my apparent rudeness, Bertief said. I don't have time to explain now. Roodness, spadly barked. Don't have time, eh? Let me tell you. Lower your voice, Mr. Ambassador, Reteef said. Spradley quivered, mouth open, speechless.

If you sit down and wait quietly, Reteef said, I think—you think? Bradley sputtered. Silence, Reteef said. Spradley looked up at Reteef's face. He stared for a moment into Reteef's gray eyes, closed his mouth, and swallowed. The Yield seemed to have gotten the impression I'm in charge, Reteaf said. said, we'll have to keep it up. But, but, Spradley stuttered.

Then he straightened. That is the last straw, he whispered hoarsely. I am the terrestrial ambassador extraordinary and minister penipotentiary. Magnin has told me that we've been studiedly insulted repeatedly since the moment of our arrival, kept waiting in baggage rooms, transported in refuse lorries. heard it about with servants offered swill at table now high and my senior staff are left cooling our heels without so much as an audience while this this multiple cow-person hob-nobbs with with spratley's voice broke i may have been a trifle hasty ritee in attempting to restrain you blaspheming the native gods and dumping the banquet table are rather extreme measures but your resentment was perhaps partially justified i am prepared to be lenient with you he fixed a choleric eye on

"'I am walking out of this meeting, Mr. Reteef. I'll take no more of these deliberate, personal—' "'That's enough,' Reteeth snapped. "'You're keeping the king waiting. Get back to your chair and sit there until I come back.' Magnin found his voice. "'What are you going to do, Routif?' "'I'm going to handle the negotiation,' Routif said.

He handed Magnin his empty glass. Now go sit down and work on the image.' At his desk in the VIP suite aboard the orbiting core vessel, Ambassador Spradley pursed his lips and looked severely at Vice-Counsel riteef. Further, he said, You have displayed a complete lack of understanding of core discipline, the respect due a senior agent, even the basic courtesies, your aggravated displays of temper, ill-timed outbursts of violence,

and almost incredible arrogance in the assumption of authority make your further retention as an officer agent of the diplomatic corps impossible it will therefore be my unhappy duty to recommend your immediate there was a muted buzz from the communicator the ambassador cleared his throat well a signal from sector hq mr ambassador a voice said well read it Bradley snapped, skipped the preliminaries. Congratulations on the unprecedented success of your mission. The Articles of Agreement transmitted by you embody a most favorable resolution of the difficult cyrenian situation, and will form the basis of continued amicable relations between

the Terrestrial States and the Yill Empire. To you and your staff, full credit is due for a job well done, signed Deputy Assistant Secretary Spradley cut off the voice impatiently. He shuffled papers, eyed retief sharply. Superficially, of course, an uninitiated observer might leap to the conclusion that the ah-ah results that were produced in spite of these irregularities justify the latter. The ambassador smiled a sad, wise smile. This is far from the case.

He said, I— The communicator burped softly. Confound it! Spradley muttered, yes. Mr. De Chai Chai has arrived, the voice said, shall I? Send him in at once. Spradley glanced at Reteef. Only a two-syllible man.

Amal I shall attempt to correct these false impressions make some amends. The two terrestrials waited silently, until the yield protocol chief tapped at the door. I hope, the ambassador said, that you will resist the impulse to take advantage of your unusual position. He looked at the door. Come in. Tichai stepped into the room, glanced at Spradley, turned to greet Ritif in voluble

Yil. He rounded the desk to the ambassador's chair, motioned him from it, and sat down. I have a surprise for you, Reteef," he said in Terran. I myself have made use of the teaching machines you so kindly lent us. That's fine to Chai Chai, Reteef said. I'm sure Mr. Spradley will be interested in hearing what we have to say. Never mind, the Yield said. I am here only socially.

He looked around the room. So plainly you decorate your chamber, but it has a certain austere charm. He laughed. I ye'll laugh. Oh, you are a strange breed, you terrestrials, you surprised us all. You know, one hears such outlandish stories. I tell you in confidence we had expected you to be over-pushes. Push-overs, Spradley said tonelessly.

Such restraint! What pleasure you gave to those of us, like myself, of course, who appreciated your grasp of protocol. such finesse how subtly you appeared to ignore each overture while neatly avoiding actual contamination i can tell you there were those who thought poor fools that you had no grasp of etiquette how gratified we were we professionals who could appreciate your virtuosity when you placed matters on a comfortable basis by spurning the cats meat it was sheer pleasure then waiting to see what form your compliment would take the yield offered orange cigars stuffed one in its nostril i confess even i had not hoped that you would honor our admirables so signally oh it is a pleasure to deal with fellow professionals who understand the meaning of protocol ambassador spradley made a choking sound this fellow has caught a chill to chai chai said he eyed spadley dubiously step back my man i am highly susceptible

there is one bit of business i shall take pleasure in attending to my dear retief de chai chai went on he drew a large paper from his reticule the admirable is determined that none other than your self shall be accredited here i have here my government's exequater confirming you as terrestrial counsel general to yill we shall look forward to your prompt return Reteef looked at Spradley. I'm sure the Corps will agree, he said. Then I shall be going, to Chai Chai said. He stood up. Hurry back to us, Reteef. There is much that I would show you of Yill.

I'll hurry, Reteef said. And with the Yill wink, Together we shall see many high and splendid things. End of Part 2 of the Yelian Way. End of the gamblers. World and the Yillion Way by Keith Lumber.