"Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm only twenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem's not the crop."
"Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for the Commercial—"
"Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines ever settled for anything else!"
"It sounds like I've been missing something," said Retief. "I'll have to try them some time."
Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. "No time like the present," he said.
Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, both dusty, with faded labels, and blackened corks secured by wire.
"Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr. Arapoulous," he said.
"This isn't drinking. It's just wine." Arapoulous pulled the wire retainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose slowly, then popped in the air. Arapoulous caught it. Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle. "Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me." He winked.
Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. "Come to think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaint native customs."
Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deep rust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He looked at Arapoulous thoughtfully.