"The Consul for the Terrestrial States," Retief said, "presents his compliments, et cetera, to the Ministry of Culture of the Groacian Autonomy, and with reference to the Ministry's invitation to attend a recital of interpretive grimacing, has the honor to express regret that he will be unable—" "You can't turn this invitation down," Administrative Assistant Meuhl said flatly. "I'll make that 'accepts with pleasure'."
Retief exhaled a plume of cigar smoke.
"Miss Meuhl," he said, "in the past couple of weeks I've sat through six light-concerts, four attempts at chamber music, and god knows how many assorted folk-art festivals. I've been tied up every off-duty hour since I got here—"
"You can't offend the Groaci," Miss Meuhl said sharply. "Consul Whaffle would never have been so rude."
"Whaffle left here three months ago," Retief said, "leaving me in charge."
"Well," Miss Meuhl said, snapping off the dictyper. "I'm sure I don't know what excuse I can give the Minister."
"Never mind the excuses," Retief said. "Just tell him I won't be there." He stood up.
"Are you leaving the office?" Miss Meuhl adjusted her glasses. "I have some important letters here for your signature."
"I don't recall dictating any letters today, Miss Meuhl," Retief said, pulling on a light cape.
"I wrote them for you. They're just as Consul Whaffle would have wanted them."
"Did you write all Whaffle's letters for him, Miss Meuhl?"
"Consul Whaffle was an extremely busy man," Miss Meuhl said stiffly. "He had complete confidence in me."
"Since I'm cutting out the culture from now on," Retief said, "I won't be so busy."
"Well!" Miss Meuhl said. "May I ask where you'll be if something comes up?"
"I'm going over to the Foreign Office Archives."
Miss Meuhl blinked behind thick lenses. "Whatever for?"
Retief looked thoughtfully at Miss Meuhl. "You've been here on Groac for four years, Miss Meuhl. What was behind the coup d'etat that put the present government in power?"
"I'm sure I haven't pried into—"
"What about that Terrestrial cruiser? The one that disappeared out this way about ten years back?"
"Mr. Retief, those are just the sort of questions we avoid with the Groaci. I certainly hope you're not thinking of openly intruding—"
"Why?"
"The Groaci are a very sensitive race. They don't welcome outworlders raking up things. They've been gracious enough to let us live down the fact that Terrestrials subjected them to deep humiliation on one occasion."
"You mean when they came looking for the cruiser?"
"I, for one, am ashamed of the high-handed tactics that were employed, grilling these innocent people as though they were criminals. We try never to reopen that wound, Mr. Retief."
"They never found the cruiser, did they?"
"Certainly not on Groac."
Retief nodded. "Thanks, Miss Meuhl," he said. "I'll be back before you close the office." Miss Meuhl's face was set in lines of grim disapproval as he closed the door.
The pale-featured Groacian vibrated his throat-bladder in a distressed bleat.
"Not to enter the Archives," he said in his faint voice. "The denial of permission. The deep regret of the Archivist."
"The importance of my task here," Retief said, enunciating the glottal dialect with difficulty. "My interest in local history."
"The impossibility of access to outworlders. To depart quietly."
"The necessity that I enter."
"The specific instructions of the Archivist." The Groacian's voice rose to a whisper. "To insist no longer. To give up this idea!"
"OK, Skinny, I know when I'm licked," Retief said in Terran. "To keep your nose cl............