Retief of the Red-Tape Mountain

by Keith Laumer

"I'm back."

Passwyn eyed him sharply. "Well, well, what is it you need, man? Speak up. Don't expect me to request any military assistance, no matter how things are...."

Retief passed a bundle of documents across the desk. "Here's the Treaty. And a Mutual Assistance Pact declaration and a trade agreement."

"Eh?" Passwyn picked up the papers, riffled through them. He leaned back in his chair, beamed.

"Well, Retief. Expeditiously handled." He stopped, blinked at Retief. "You seem to have a bruise on your jaw. I hope you've been conducting yourself as befits a member of the Embassy staff."

"I attended a sporting event," Retief said. "One of the players got a little excited."

"Well ... it's one of the hazards of the profession. One must pretend an interest in such matters." Passwyn rose, extended a hand. "You've done well, my boy. Let this teach you the value of following instructions to the letter."

Outside, by the hall incinerator drop, Retief paused long enough to take from his briefcase a large buff envelope, still sealed, and drop it in the slot.