Science Fiction - Daily Short Stories
The Yillian Way - Keith Laumer
Listen Ad Free https://www.solgood.org - Listen to hundreds of audiobooks, thousands of short stories, and meditative sounds.
- Duration:
- 38m
- Broadcast on:
- 28 Jul 2024
- Audio Format:
- mp3
5280 Exterior's James Hardy sighting is a low-maintenance sighting made primarily of cement that resists flame spread and repels wood-borne insects and woodpeckers. Through the month of July, you'll receive free, rigid foam installation with the purchase of whole-house sighting. That's installing additional insulation behind your sighting for free. But only for the month of July. Call today for more details or visit 5280Exterior's.com, 5280Exterior's.com, a James Hardy preferred contractor, 5280 Exterior's, the altitude of quality. The Dakota Music and Spirits Festival returns to Centennial Park, Saturday, August 3rd, from 2 to 10 PM. And it's free! Live music from the Warren Treaty! Chris Daniels and the Kings is Callie and More. Enjoy a spirits competition, Kid Zone and fireworks presented by Oxy and the City of Dakota. Admission and parking are free! The Dakota Music and Spirits Festival brought to you by Breckenridge Brewery and City of Dakota. Visit the City of Dakota.com for more information. The Yillion Way by Keith Lomer The ceremony as protocol of the Yills was impressive, colorful and in the long run deadly. Part 1. James Retif, Vice Consul and 3rd 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 Yill guide who had met the arriving embassy at the foot of the ramp hurried away. The counselor, two first secretaries and the senior attachés gathered around their ambassador, their ornate uniforms bright in the vast, dun-colored room. Ten minutes passed, Retif strolled across to the nearest door and looked through the glass panel at the room beyond. All 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 Yill moved toward the entrance doors. One of the party, a tall male, made to step before another, who raised a hand languidly, fist-clenched. The first Yill stepped back and placed his hands on top of his head. Both Yill were smiling and chatting as they passed through the doors. Retif 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 Retif came up, Ambassador Spradley glanced at his finger-watch and spoke to the man beside him. "Man, are you quite certain our arrival time was made clear?" Second Secretary Magnan nodded emphatically. "I stressed the point, Mr. Ambassador, I communicated with Mr. Takai Kai just before a lighter broke orbit. I specifically hoped you didn't appear a truculent, Mr. Magnan," the Ambassador said shortly. "No, indeed, Mr. Ambassador, I'm merely--" "You're sure there's no VIP room here?" Ambassador glanced around the cavernous room. "Curious. Not even chairs have been provided. If you'd cared 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 to the more junior members of the staff. It's vital that the entire mission work in harmony in the presentation of the image. We terrestrial's are a kindly, peace-loving race," Ambassador smiled in a kindly, peace-loving way. We seek only a reasonable division of spheres of the influence with the yield. 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 serenean system and settle for half. We'll establish a foothold on all the choice of 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," Retief stepped forward. "It's my understanding, Mr. Ambassador, that we hold the prior claim to the serenean system. Did I understand your excellency to say that we are ready to concede half of it to the yield without a struggle?" Ambassador Spradley looked up at Retief, blinking. The younger man loomed over him. Beside him, Magnum cleared his throat in the silence. "Last counsel, Retief, merely means," "I can interpret Mr. Retief's remark," the Ambassador snapped. He assumed a fatherly expression. "Young man, you're noodle of service. You haven't yet learned a 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 subtlety." "Mr. Ambassador," Magnum 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 yule hesitated as another stepped in his path. He raised a fist, and the other moved aside, touching the top of his head profuncturally with both hands. The group started across the room toward the terrestrials. Retief watched as a slender alien came forward and spoke passable Taren in a reedy voice. "I am Patoy, 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 yule stopped, waiting. The Ambassador almost glared, and then remembered the image. He smiled and beckoned the yule ahead. They milled uncertainly, muttering in the native tongue, then passed through the door. The Taren 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." Then's Magnan 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. Retief watched his breath form a frosty cloud in the chill air. A broad, donut-wheeled vehicle was drawn up to the platform. The heel gestured the Terran party to the gaping door at the rear, then stood back, waiting. Retief looked curiously at the grey-painted van. The legend written on its side in alien symbols seemed to read, "Hag-nog." The Ambassador entered the vehicle, the other terrestrial's following. It was as bare of seats as the terminal building. It appeared to be a defunct electronic chassis lay in the center of the floor. Retief glanced back. The yill 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. Retief 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. Retief stooped, attempting to see out 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; Retief looked out at a blank, grey facade, broken by tiny windows at irregular intervals. The scarlet vehicle was drawn up ahead, the yill reception committee emerging from it. Through its wide windows, Retief saw a rich upholstery and caught a glimpse of glasses clamped to a tiny bar. Patoy, the yill interpreter, came forward, gestured to a small door. Magnan opened it, waiting for the Ambassador. As he stepped to it, a yill thrust himself ahead and hesitated. Ambassador Spradley drew himself up, glaring. Then he twisted his mouth into a frozen smile and stepped aside. The yill looked at each other, then filed through the door. Retief 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, Retief noticed, to spell "egg nog." Part 2 The shrill pipes and winding reeds had been warming up for an hour when Retief emerged from his cubicle and descended the stairs into 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 nears the door, flanked by heavily decorated white cloths. Beyond, plain white extended to the far side, where metal dishes were arranged on the bare table top. A richly dressed yill approached, stepped aside to allow a servant to pass, and entered the room. Retief turned at the sound of Terran voices behind him. The ambassador came up, trailed by two diplomats. He glanced at Retief, adjusted his rough, and looked into the banquet hall. "Apparently we were to be kept waiting again," he muttered. After having been informed at the outset that the yill have no intention of yielding an inch, one almost wonders, "Mr. Ambassador," Retief said, "have you noticed, however?" Ambassador Spradley said, eyeing Retief. A seasoned diplomatist must take these little snubs in stride. In the end, ah, there, magnum, he turned away, talking. Somewhere a gong claimed. In a moment, the corridor was filled with chattering yill who moved past the group of terrestrials into the banquet hall. Patoy, the yill interpreter, came up and raised a hand. "Wait here." More yill filed into the dining room to take their places. A pair of helmeted guards approached, waving the terrestrials back. An immense, gray-jowled yill waddled to the doors and passed through, followed by more guards. "The chief of state," Retief heard magnum say, "the admiral for cow, cow, cow." "I have yet to present my credentials," Ambassador Spradley said. "One expects some latitude in the observances of protocol, but I confess," he wagged his head. The yill interpreter spoke up. "You now will high on your intestines, and creep to festive board there." He pointed across the room. "In testines," Ambassador Spradley looked about wildly. "Mr. Patoy means our stomachs I wouldn't wonder," magnum said. "He just wants us to lie down and crawl to our seat, Mr. Ambassador." "What the devil are you grinning at, you idiot?" The Ambassador snapped. magnum's face fell. Spradley glanced down at the metals across his punch. "This is--I've never--" "Oimage to gods," the interpreter said. "Oh, oh, religion," someone said. "Well, if it's a matter of religious beliefs," the Ambassador looked doobieously around. "Golly, it's only a couple of hundred feet," magnum offered. Retief stepped up to Patoy. With excellency the terrestrial Ambassador will not crawl, he said clearly. "Here, young man, I said nothing." "Not to crawl," the interpreter wore an unreadable yill expression. "It is against our religion," Retief said. "Against--" "We are votaries of the snake goddess," Retief 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 Retief's side as they approached the dozen empty stools on the far side of the square, opposite the brocated position of the admirable Fakao-Kao-Kao. "Mr. Retief 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 the Chief of Mission here," magnum came up from behind. "Let me have my congratulations, Retief," he said. "That was fast-thinking." "Are you out of your mind, magnum?" the Ambassador barked. "I am extremely displeased." "Why," magnum 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 greenwood with an array of shallow pewter dishes. Some of the yill 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 suceration of yillian conversation from the other tables rose ever higher in competition. A tall yill in black was at the Ambassador's side now. The nearby yill fell silent as he began lading a whitish soup into the largest of the bowls before the Terrestrials 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 into the bowl. "I've only 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. Retief watched, listening to the whispers around him. The yill at the table were craning now to watch. The soup ladler was ladling rapidly, rolling his eyes sideways. He came to Retief, reached out with the full ladle for the bowl. "No," Retief said. The ladler hesitated. "None for me," Retief said. The interpreter came up in motion to the servant who reached again ladled brimming. "I don't like it," Retief said, his voice distinct in the sudden hush. He stared at the interpreter, who stared back, then waved the servant away. "Mr. Retief," a voice hissed. Retief looked down 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 Sedan, Kasway in Burma, hundred-year kugan mars and everything else that have been placed before me in the course of my diplomatic career, and by the holy relics of St. Ignat's yule do the same." He snatched up a spoon like utensil and dipped it into his bowl. "Don't eat that, Mr. Ambassador," Retief 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 and tilted, dishes sliding. It crashed to the floor with a ponderous slam. Whiteish soups splattered across the terrazzo. A couple of odd bowls rolled across the room. The cries rang out from the yule mingling with a strangled yule from Ambassador Spradley. Retief walked past the wild-eyed members of the mission to the sputtering chief. "Mr. Ambassador," he said, "I'd like you to like. I'll break you, you young hoodle-um. Do you realize?" "Peace," the interpreter stood at Retief's side. "My apologies," Ambassador Spradley said, mopping his forehead, "my profound apologies. Be quiet," Retief said. "What? What?" "Don't apologize," Retief said. Patoy was beckoning. "Peace, I'll come." Retief turned and followed him. The portion of the table they were ushered to was covered with an embroidered white cloth set within porcelain dishes. The yule already seated there, rose, amid babbling, and moved down the table. The black-clad yule at the end of the table closed ranks to fill the vacant seats. Retief sat down and found magnum at his side. "What's going on here?" the second secretary said angrily. "They were giving us dog food," Retief said. "I overheard a yule, and 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 burst out with a clangerous fanfare, and a throng of jugglers, dancers, and acrobats poured into the center of the hollow square, frantically juggling, dancing, and backflipping. Black-clad servants swarmed suddenly, keeping mounds of fragrant food on the plates of yule and terrestrial alike, pouring a pale purple liquor into slender glasses. Retief sampled the yule food. It was delicious. Retief's wine was impossible in the din. He watched the gaudy display and ate heartily. Part 3. Retief leaned back, grateful for the low 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. Retief sighed. It had been a rare feast. "Retief," Magnan said in the comparative quiet, "what were you saying about dog food as the music came up?" Retief looked at him. "Having you noticed the pattern, Mr. Magnan, the series of deliberate affronts? Deliberate affronts? Just a minute, Retief, their uncouth, yes, crowding into doorways and that sort of thing?" He looked at Retief uncertainly. "They heard at us into a baggage warehouse at the terminal. They hold us here in a garbage truck. Garbage truck? Only symbolic, of course, they ushered us in the tradesmen's entrance and assigned us cubicles in the servants' 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 ye'll must realize our power?" Precisely missed a Magnan, but, with a clang of symbols, the musicians launched a renewed assault. Six tall, helmeted ye'll sprang into the center of the floor and paired off in a wild performance, half-dance, half-combat. Magnan pulled at Retief's arm, his mouth moving. Retief shook his head. No one could talk against a ye'll 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 off to pair off a ging, described the elaborate, pre-combat ritual, and abruptly set two dulled sabers clashing. And two more ye'll were down, stunned. It was a violent dance. Retief watched the drink forgotten. The last two ye'll 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 or eye. The other, a giant, muscular ye'll, spun away, whirled in a mad scurl of pipes as coins showered, and then froze before a gaudy table, raised the saber, and slammed it down in a resounding blow across the gay cloth, before a lace of bobbedecht ye'll in the same instant that the music stopped. In utter silence, the dancer/fighter stared across the table at the seated ye'll. With a shout, the ye'll leaped up, raised a clenched fist. The dancer bowed his head, spread his hands on his helmet. Each took a deep gulp of pale yellow liqueur, and leaned forward to watch. The berybond ye'll, 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. Retiche caught his eye for an instant as he passed. And then the dancer stood rigid before the brocaded table, and the music stopped off short as the saber slammed down before a heavy ye'll in ornate metallic coils. The challenged ye'll rose, and raised a fist. The other, ducked his head, put his hands on his helmet. Coins rolled, and the dancer moved on. Twice more, the dancer struck the table in a ritualistic challenge, exchanged gestures, bent his neck, and passed on. He circled the broad floor, saber twirling, arms darting in an intricate symbolism. The orchestra blared shrilly, un muffled now by the surf roar of conversation. The ye'll, Retiche noticed suddenly, were sitting silent, watching. The dancer was closer now, and then he was before Retiche, 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 ye'll's eyes held on Retiche's. In the silence, Magnan tittered drunkenly. Retiche pushed back his stool. "Steady, my boy," Ambassador Spradley called. Retiche stood, the ye'll topping his six foot three by an inch. In emotion almost too quick to follow, Retiche reached for the saber, twitched it from the ye'll's grip, swung it in a whistling cut. The ye'll ducked, sprang back, snatched up a saber dropped by another dancer. "Someone stop the madman," Spradley howled. Retiche 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 ye'll ballero. Retiche pressed the other, fending off vicious cuts with the blunt weapon, chopping back relentlessly. Left hand on hip, Retiche matched blow for blow, driving the other back. Abruptly, the ye'll abandoned the double roll. Dancing forgotten, he settled down in earnest, cutting, thrusting, parrying. And now the two stood toe to toe, saber's clashing in a lightning exchange. The ye'll gave a step, too, then rallied, drove Retiche back, back. And the ye'll stumbled, his saber clattered and Retiche dropped his point as the other wavered past him and crashed to the floor. The orchestra fell silent in a descending wail of reeds. Retiche drew a deep breath and wiped his forehead. "Come back here, you young fool," Spradley called hoarsely. Retiche hefted the saber, turned, eyed, brocade-draped table. He started across the floor. The ye'll, sat as if paralyzed. "Retiche! No!" Spradley yelped. Retiche walked directly to the admirable, fa-kow-kow-kow, stopped, raised the saber. Not the chief of state, someone in the terrestrial mission groaned. Retiche whipped the saber down. The dole-blades split the cloth and clove the hardwood table. There was utter silence. The admirable, fa-kow-kow-kow rose, seven feet of oak-beast grey eel. Broad-faced expressionless to any taren eyes, he raised a fist like a jewel-studded ham. Retiche stood frigid for a long moment. Then gracefully he inclined his head, placed his fingertips on his temples. And him, there was a clatter as Ambassador Spradley collapsed. Then the admirable, fa-kow-kow-kow, cried out, and reached across the table to embrace the terrestrial, and the orchestra went mad. Grey hands helped Retiche across the table. Stools were pushed aside to make room at fa-kow-kow's side. Retiche sat, took a tall flag-in of coal-black brandy, pressed on him by his neighbor, clashed glasses with the admirable, and drank. Part 4. Retiche turned at the touch on his shoulder. "The Ambassador wants to speak to you, Retiche," Magnan said. Retiche looked across to where Ambassador Spradley sat, blowering behind a plain table-cloth. "Under the circumstances," Retiche said, "you'd better ask him to come over here." "The Ambassador," Magnan's voice cracked, "never mind the protocol," Retiche said. "The situation is still delicate," Magnan went away. "The feast ends," fa-kow-kow-kow said. "Now you and I, Retiche, must straddle the council stool." "I'll be honoured, admirable," Retiche said. "I must inform my colleagues." "Colleagues," fa-kow-kow-kow said. "It is for Chief Stuparley. Who shall speak for a king while he yet has tongue for talk?" "The yill weigh is wise," Retiche said. "Fekow-kow-kow emptied a squat-tumbler of pink-beer. I will treat with you, Retiche, 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 yill grin. Afterwards we shall carouse, Retiche. This council stool is hard, and a waiting handmaidens delectable. This makes for a quick agreement." Retiche smiled. The king is wise. Of course, a being prefers wenches of his own kind, fa-kow-kow-kow said. He belched. The Ministry of Culture has imported several terry—excuse me, Retiche, terrestrial joy-girls—said to be top-notch specimens. At least they have very fat what you may call it. The king is most considerate, Retiche said. "Let us do it, then, Retiche. I may hazard a fling with one of your terries, myself. I fancy an occasional perversion." Fa-kow-kow-kow dug an elbow into Retiche's side and bellowed with laughter. Ambassador Spradley hurried to intercept Retiche as he crossed to the door at Fa-kow-kow-kow's side. "Retiche? Kindly excuse yourself, I wish a word with you." His voice was icy. Magnan stood behind him, goggling. "Mr. Ambassador, forgive my apparent rudeness," Retiche said. "I don't have time to explain now." "Rudeness," Spradley bark, "don't have time, eh? Let me tell you." "Lower your voice, Mr. Ambassador," Retiche said. Spradley quivered, mouth-open, speechless. "If you sit down and wait quietly," Retiche said, "I think you think!" Spradley spluttered. "Silence," Retiche said. Spradley looked up at Retiche's face. He stared for a moment into Retiche's gray eyes, closed his mouth and swallowed. "The yill seemed to have gotten the impression I'm in charge," Retiche 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-planet potentiary. Magnan has told me that we've been studiedly insulted, repeatedly, since the moment of our arrival, kept waiting in baggage-rooms, transported in refuse-lories, heard it about with servants, offered swill at the table. Now, I am my senior staff, our left cool in our heels, without so much as an audience, while this, this multiple cow-person hob-knobs with, with, Spradley's voice broke. I may have been a trifle-hasty Retiche in attempting to restrain you, blaspheming the native gods, and dump in the banquet-table, or rather extreme measures, but your resentment was perhaps partially justified. I am prepared to be lenient with you." He fixed a cholera cai on Retiche. "I am walking out of this meeting, Mr. Retiche. I'll take no more of these deliberate, personal—" "That's enough," Retiche snapped. "You're keeping the king waiting. Get back to your chair, and sit there until I come back." Then found his voice. "What are you going to do, Retiche? I'm going to handle the negotiations," Retiche said. He handed Magnan his empty glass. "Now go sit down and work on the image." At his desk in the VIP suite aboard the orbiting Cora vessel, Ambassador Spradley pursed his lips and looked severely at Vice-Concil Retiche. "Further," he said, "you have displayed a complete lack of understanding of core discipline, the respect, do a senior agent, and even the basic curdices. 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 is 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," Spradley snapped. "Skip 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 serenean situation, and you will form the basis of continued amicable relations between the terrestrial states and the ill 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. I'd retief sharply." "Superficially, of course, an uninitiated observer might leap to the conclusion that the 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, "con found it," Spradley muttered, "yes." "Mr. Tchaikai has arrived," the voice said, "shall I send him in at once?" Spradley glanced at retief. "Only a two-syllable man, but I shall attempt to correct these false impressions and 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," Tchaikai stepped into the room, glanced at Spradley, turned to greet retief in valuable yield. He rounded the desk to the Ambassador's chair, motioned him from it, and sat down. "I have a surprise for you, Retief," he said in Taren. "I, myself, have made use of the teaching machine you so kindly lent us." "That's fine," Tchaikai, Retief said. "I'm sure Mr. Spradley will be interested in hearing what we have to say." "Never mind," the yule 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 at yule laugh. "Oh, you are a strange breed, Euterrestrials. You surprised us all. You know, one hears such outlandish stories, I tell you, in confidence, we had expected you to be overpushes." "Pushovers," 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 cat's meat. It was sheer pleasure, then, waiting, to see what form your compliment would take." The yule offered orange cigars, stuffed one in his nostril. "I confess, even I had not hoped that you would honor our admirable so signally. Oh, it is a pleasure to deal with fellow professionals who understand the meaning of protocol." Spradley made a choking sound. "This fellow has caught a chill," Tukai-Kai said. He eyed Spradley 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," Tukai-Kai went on. He drew a large paper from his reticue. The admirable is determined that none other than yourself shall be accredited here. I have here my government's executor confirming you as terrestrial consul-general to yule. We shall look forward to your prompt return." Retief looked at Spradley. "I am sure the Coa will agree," he said. "Then I shall be going," Tukai-Kai said. He stood up. "Hurry back to us, Retief. There is much that I would show you of yule." "I'll hurry," Retief said. And with a yule wink, together we shall see many high and splendid things. End of The Yillion Way by Keith Lommer 5280 exteriors James Hardy's sighting is a low-maintenance sighting made primarily of cement that resist flame spread and repels wood-borne insects and woodpeckers. Through the month of July, you'll receive free rigid foam installation with the purchase of whole-house sighting that's installing additional insulation behind your sighting for free. But only for the month of July. Call today for more details or visit 5280exteriors.com 5280exteriors.com, a James Hardy preferred contractor 5280 Exteriors, the altitude of quality. The Dacono Music and Spirits Festival returns to Centennial Park Saturday, August 3rd from 2 to 10 p.m. and it's free live music from The War and Treaty. Chris Daniels and the Kings is Cally and More. Enjoy a spirits competition, Kid Zone and fireworks presented by Oxy and the City of Dacono. Admission and parking are free. The Dacono Music and Spirits Festival brought to you by Breckenridge Brewery and City of Dacono. Go to thecityofdacono.com for more information.