Retief rose and dusted his knees. "That's all for now, boys," he said. "I'll take the rest of your money later." He followed the junior diplomat from the ward room, along the bare corridors of the crew level, past the glare panel reading NOTICE—FIRST CLASS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT, through the chandeliered and draped ballroom and along a stretch of soundless carpet to a heavy door bearing a placard with the legend CONFERENCE IN SESSION.
"Ambassador Sternwheeler seemed quite upset, Mr. Retief," the messenger said.
"He usually is, Pete." Retief took a cigar from his breast pocket. "Got a light?"
The Third Secretary produced a permatch. "I don't know why you smoke those things instead of dope sticks, Mr. Retief," he said. "The Ambassador hates the smell."
Retief nodded. "I only smoke this kind at conferences. It makes for shorter sessions." He stepped into the room. Ambassador Sternwheeler eyed him down the length of the conference table.
"Ah, Mr. Retief honors us with his presence. Do be seated, Retief." He fingered a yellow Departmental despatch. Retief took a chair, puffing out a dense cloud of smoke.
"As I have been explaining to the remainder of my staff for the past quarter-hour," Sternwheeler rumbled, "I've been the recipient of important intelligence." He blinked at Retief expectantly. Retief raised his eyebrows in polite inquiry.
"It seems," Sternwheeler went on, "that there has been a change in regime on Glave. A week ago, the government which invited the dispatch of this mission—and to which we're accredited—was overthrown. The former ruling class has fled into exile. A popular workers' and peasants' junta has taken over."
"Mr. Ambassador," Counsellor Magnan broke in, rising. "I'd like to be the first—" he glanced around the table—"or one of the first, anyway, to welcome the new government of Glave into the family of planetary ruling bodies—"