Galactic Diplomat by Keith Laumer Read Free Book Online Page A

why—but man! Even if you didn’t figure on
buying . . .” He trailed off as Retief shook his head, unzipped
his suit to reach to an inside pocket, take out a packet of folded papers.
    “In my capacity as Terrestrial Vice-Consul, I’m serving you
with an injunction restraining you from further exploitation of the body known
as 95739-A.” He handed a paper across to Sam. “I also have here an Order
impounding the vessel Gravel Gertie II .”
    Sam
took the papers silently, sat looking at them. He looked up at Retief. “Funny;
when you beat me at Drift and then threw the game so you wouldn’t show me up in
front of the boys, I figured you for a right guy. I’ve been spilling my heart
out to you like you were my old grandma—an old-timer in the game like me.” He
dropped a hand, brought it up with a Browning 2mm pointed at Retief’s chest.
    “I could shoot you and dump you here with a slab over you,
toss these papers in the john, and high-tail it with the
load . . .”
    “That wouldn’t do you much good in the long run, Sam. Besides
which you’re not a criminal or an idiot.”
    Sam chewed his lip. “My claim is on file in the consulate,
legal and proper. Maybe by now the grant’s gone through and I’ve got clear
title—”
    “Other people have their eye on your rock, Sam. Ever meet a
fellow called Leatherwell?”
    “General Minerals, huh? They haven’t got a leg to stand on.”
    “The last time I saw your claim, it was still lying in the
pending file—just a bundle of paper until it’s validated by the Consul. If
Leatherwell contests it . . . well, his lawyers are on
annual retainer. How long could you keep the suit going, Sam?”
    Mancziewicz closed his helmet with a decisive snap, motioned
to Retief to do the same. He opened the hatch, sat with the gun on Retief.
    “Get out, paper-pusher,” his voice sounded thin in the
headphones. “You’ll get lonesome maybe, but your suit will keep you alive a few
days. I’ll tip somebody off before you lose too much weight. I’m going back and
see if I can’t stir up a little action at the consulate.”
    Retief climbed out, walked off fifty yards. He watched as the
skiff kicked off in a quickly-dispersed cloud of dust, dwindled rapidly away to
a bright speck that was lost against the stars. Then he extracted the locator
beacon from the pocket of his suit and thumbed the control.
    Twenty minutes later, aboard Navy FP-VO-6, Retief pulled off
his helmet. “Fast work, Henry. I’ve got a couple of calls to make. Put me
through to your HQ, will you? I want a word with Commander Hayle.”
    The young Naval officer raised the HQ, handed the mike to
Retief.
    “Vice-Consul Retief here, commander. I’d like you to
intercept a skiff, bound from my present position toward Ceres. There’s a Mr.
Mancziewicz aboard. He’s armed, but not dangerous. Collect him and see that
he’s delivered to the consulate at 0900 Greenwich tomorrow.
    “Next
item: The consulate has impounded an ore-carrier, Gravel Gertie II . It’s
in a parking orbit ten miles off Ceres. I want it taken in
tow . . .” Retief gave detailed instruction. Then he asked for a
connection through the Navy switchboard to the consulate. Magnan’s voice
answered.
    “Retief speaking, Mr. Consul; I have some news that I think
will interest you—”
    “Where are you, Retief? What’s wrong with the screen? Have
you served the injunction?”
    “I’m aboard the Navy patrol vessel. I’ve been looking over
the situation, and I’ve made a surprising discovery. I don’t think we’re going
to have any trouble with the Sam’s people; they’ve looked over the
body—2645-P—and it seems General Minerals has slipped up. There appears to be a
highly valuable deposit there.”
    “Oh? What sort of deposit?”
    “Mr. Mancziewicz mentioned collapsed-crystal metal,” Retief
said.      
    “Well,
most interesting.” Magnan’s voice sounded thoughtful.
    “Just thought you’d like to know.