Keith Laumer

“ Normally they're concerned with nothing but business. But what has Fust got that they could use?"
"You may rule out the commercial aspect in this instance," said Magnan. "Fust possesses a vigorous steel-age manufacturing economy. The Groaci are barely ahead of them."
"Barely," said Retief. "Just over the line into crude atomics ... like fission bombs."
Magnan shook his head, turned back to his papers. "What market exists for such devices on a world at peace? I suggest you address your attention to the less spectacular but more rewarding work of studying the social patterns of the local youth." ”

“ Magnan leaned back, lacing his fingers over his stomach. "I don't think you'll find a diplomat of my experience doing anything so naive," he said.
"I like the adult Fustians," said Retief. "Too bad they have to lug half a ton of horn around on their backs. I wonder if surgery would help."
"Great heavens, Retief," Magnan sputtered. "I'm amazed that even you would bring up a matter of such delicacy. A race's unfortunate physical characteristics are hardly a fit matter for Terrestrial curiosity." ”

“ Magnan cleared his throat. "Now that our Mr. Retief has arrived, perhaps we could rush right along to the Sponsorship ceremonies."
"This group," said Retief, leaning across Magnan, "the SCARS. How much do you know about them, Mr. Minister?"
"Nothing at all," the huge Fustian elder rumbled. "For my taste, all Youths should be kept penned with the livestock until they grow a carapace to tame their irresponsibility."
"We mustn't lose sight of the importance of channeling youthful energies," said Magnan.
"Labor gangs," said the minister. "In my youth we were indentured to the dredge-masters. ”

“ I'll see what I can do ... for a price."
"I appeal to you," Yith whispered hoarsely. "As a fellow diplomat, a fellow alien, a fellow soft-back—"
"Why don't you appeal to Slock, as a fellow skunk?" said Retief. "Now keep quiet ... and you may get out of this alive."
The heavier of the two struggling Fustians threw the other to the ground. There was another brief flurry, and then the smaller figure was on its back, helpless.
"That's Whonk, still on his feet," said Retief. "I wonder who he's caught—and why."
Whonk came toward the Moss Rock dragging the supine Fustian, who kicked vainly. ”

“ And even for a man of high position, retirement is no pleasure. A slab in the Park of Monuments is little better. A dismal outlook for one's next thousand years!"
"You two carry on to the police station," said Retief. "I want to play a hunch. But don't take too long. I may be painfully right."
"What—?" Magnan started.
"As you wish, Retief," said Whonk.
The flat-car trundled past the gate to the shipyard and Retief jumped down, headed at a run for the VIP boat. The guard post still stood vacant. The two Youths whom he and Whonk had left trussed were gone. ”

“ Retief said. "Now, if you have a proposal for a pest control group—"
"To the Fustians this is no jesting matter," Magnan cut in. "This group—" he glanced at the paper—"known as the Sexual, Cultural, and Athletic Recreational Society, or SCARS for short, has been awaiting sponsorship for a matter of weeks now."
"Meaning they want someone to buy them a clubhouse, uniforms, equipment and anything else they need to complete their sexual, cultural and athletic development," Retief said.
"If we don't act promptly," Magnan said, "the Groaci Embassy may well anticipate us. They're very active here." ”

“ Now, at the mid-hour of the fourth cycle, the workmen were heaped along the edge of the refreshment pond, deep in their siesta. He took a multi-bladed tool from a pocket, tried various fittings in the lock. ”

“ Magnan snorted. "Your pre-occupation with the trivial disturbs me, Retief. More interest in substantive matters—such as working with Youth groups—would create a far better impression."
"Before getting too involved with these groups, it might be a good idea to find out a little more about them," said Retief. "Who organizes them? There are three strong political parties here on Fust. What's the alignment of this SCARS organization?"
"You forget, these are merely teenagers, so to speak," Magnan said. "Politics mean nothing to them ... yet."
"Then there are the Groaci. ”

“ Back at his Embassy, leaving you suckers holding the bag, I'll bet."
"Shelter behind me, Retief," said Whonk.
"Go get 'em, old-timer." Retief stooped, picked up one of the pry-bars. "I'll jump around and distract them."
Whonk let out a whistling roar and charged for the immature Fustians. They fanned out ... and one tripped, sprawled on his face. Retief whirled the metal bar he had thrust between the Fustian's legs, slammed it against the skull of another, who shook his head, turned on Retief ... and bounced off the steel hull of the Moss Rock as Whonk took him in full charge. ”

“ Whonk considered. "There were drums," he said. "Four of them, quite small, painted an evil green, the property of the Soft Ones, the Groaci. They lay here a day and a night. At full dark of the first period they came with stevedores and loaded them aboard the barge Moss Rock." ”