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  MIGHTIEST QORN
  BY KEITH LAUMER
  Sly, brave and truculent, the Qornt
     
    held all humans in contempt—except one!
   
    [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
     
    Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963.
     
    Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
     
    the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
  I
   
    Ambassador Nitworth glowered across his mirror-polished, nine-foot
  platinum desk at his assembled staff.
   
    "Gentlemen, are any of you familiar with a race known as the Qornt?"
   
    There was a moment of profound silence. Nitworth leaned forward,
  looking solemn.
   
    "They were a warlike race known in this sector back in Concordiat
  times, perhaps two hundred years ago. They vanished as suddenly as
  they had appeared. There was no record of where they went." He paused
  for effect.
   
    "They have now reappeared—occupying the inner planet of this system!"
   
    "But, sir," Second Secretary Magnan offered. "That's uninhabited
  Terrestrial territory...."
   
    "Indeed, Mr. Magnan?" Nitworth smiled icily. "It appears the Qornt do
  not share that opinion." He plucked a heavy parchment from a folder
  before him, harrumphed and read aloud:
   
    His Supreme Excellency The Qorn, Regent of Qornt, Over-Lord of the
  Galactic Destiny, Greets the Terrestrials and, with reference to the
  presence in mandated territory of Terrestrial squatters, has the honor
  to advise that he will require the use of his outer world on the
  thirtieth day. Then will the Qornt come with steel and fire. Receive,
  Terrestrials, renewed assurances of my awareness of your existence,
  and let Those who dare gird for the contest.
   
    "Frankly, I wouldn't call it conciliatory," Magnan said.
   
    Nitworth tapped the paper with a finger.
   
    "We have been served, gentlemen, with nothing less than an Ultimatum!"
   
    "Well, we'll soon straighten these fellows out—" the Military Attache
  began.
   
    "There happens to be more to this piece of truculence than appears on
  the surface," the Ambassador cut in. He paused, waiting for interested
  frowns to settle into place.
   
    "Note, gentlemen, that these invaders have appeared on terrestrial
  controlled soil—and without so much as a flicker from the instruments
  of the Navigational Monitor Service!"
   
    The Military Attache blinked. "That's absurd," he said flatly. Nitworth
  slapped the table.
   
    "We're up against something new, gentlemen! I've considered every
  hypothesis from cloaks of invisibility to time travel! The fact is—the
  Qornt fleets are indetectible!"
  The Military Attache pulled at his lower lip. "In that case, we can't
  try conclusions with these fellows until we have an indetectible drive
  of our own. I recommend a crash project. In the meantime—"
   
    "I'll have my boys start in to crack this thing," the Chief of the
  Confidential Terrestrial Source Section spoke up. "I'll fit out a
  couple of volunteers with plastic beaks—"
   
    "No cloak and dagger work, gentlemen! Long range policy will be
  worked out by Deep-Think teams back at the Department. Our role will
  be a holding action. Now I want suggestions for a comprehensive,
  well rounded and decisive course for meeting this threat. Any
  recommendation?"
   
    The Political Officer placed his fingertips together. "What about a
  stiff Note demanding an extra week's time?"
   
    "No! No begging," the Economic Officer objected. "I'd say a calm,
  dignified, aggressive withdrawal—as soon as possible."
   
    "We don't want to give them the idea we spook easily," the Military
  Attache said. "Let's delay the withdrawal—say, until tomorrow."
   
    "Early tomorrow," Magnan said. "Or maybe later today."
   
    "Well, I see you're of a mind with me," Nitworth nodded. "Our plan of
  action is clear, but it remains to be implemented. We have a population
  of over fifteen million individuals to relocate." He eyed the
  Political Officer. "I want five proposals for resettlement on my desk
  by oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow." Nitworth rapped out instructions.
  Harried-looking staff members arose and hurried from the room. Magnan
  eased toward the door.
   
    "Where are you going, Magnan?" Nitworth snapped.
   
    "Since you're so busy, I thought I'd just slip back down to Com Inq. It
  was a most interesting orientation lecture, Mr. Ambassador. Be sure to
  let us know how it works out."
   
    "Kindly return to your chair," Nitworth said coldly. "A number of
  chores remain to be assigned. I think you, Magnan, need a little field
  experience. I want you to get over to Roolit I and take a look at these
  Qornt personally."
   
    Magnan's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.
   
    "Not afraid of a few Qornt, are you, Magnan?"
   
    "Afraid? Good lord, no, ha ha. It's just that I'm afraid I may lose my
  head and do something rash if I go."
   
    "Nonsense! A diplomat is immune to heroic impulses. Take Retief along.
  No dawdling, now! I want you on the way in two hours. Notify the
  transport pool at once. Now get going!"
   
    Magnan nodded unhappily and went into the hall.
   
    "Oh, Retief," Nitworth said. Retief turned.
   
    "Try to restrain Mr. Magnan from any impulsive moves—in any
  direction."
  II
   
    Retief and Magnan topped a ridge and looked down across a slope
  of towering tree-shrubs and glossy violet-stemmed palms set among
  flamboyant blossoms of yellow and red, reaching down to a strip of
  white beach with the blue sea beyond.
   
    "A delightful vista," Magnan said, mopping at his face. "A pity we
  couldn't locate the Qornt. We'll go back now and report—"
   
    "I'm pretty sure the settlement is off to the right," Retief said. "Why
  don't you head back for the boat, while I ease over and see what I can
  observe."
   
    "Retief, we're engaged in a serious mission. This is not a time to
  think of sightseeing."
   
    "I'd like to take a good look at what we're giving away."
   
    "See here, Retief! One might almost receive the impression that you're
  questioning Corps policy!"
   
    "One might, at that. The Qornt have made their play, but I think it
  might be valuable to take a look at their cards before we fold. If I'm
  not back at the boat in an hour, lift without me."
   
    "You expect me to make my way back alone?"
   
    "It's directly down-slope—" Retief broke off, listening. Magnan
  clutched at his arm.
   
    There was a sound of crackling foliage. Twenty feet ahead, a leafy
  branch swung aside. An eight-foot biped stepped into view, long, thin,
  green-clad legs with back-bending knees moving in quick, bird-like
  steps. A pair of immense black-lensed goggles covered staring eyes set
  among bushy green hair above a great bone-white beak. The crest bobbed
  as the creature cocked its head, listening.
   
    Magnan gulped audibly. The Qornt froze, head tilted, beak aimed
  directly at the spot where the Terrestrials stood in the deep shade of
  a giant trunk.
   
    "I'll go for help," Magnan squeaked. He whirled and took three leaps
  into the brush.
   
    A second great green-clad figure rose up to block his way. He spun,
  darted to the left. The first Qornt pounced, grappled Magnan to its
  narrow chest. Magnan yelled, threshing and kicking, broke free,
  turned—and collided with the eight-foot alien, coming in fast from the
  right. All three went down in a tangle of limbs.
   
    Retief jumped forward, hauled Magnan free, thrust him aside and
  stopped, right fist cocked. The two Qornt lay groaning feebly.
   
    "Nice piece of work, Mr. Magnan," Retief said. "You nailed both of
  them."
  "Those undoubtedly are the most bloodthirsty, aggressive, merciless
  countenances it has ever been my misfortune to encounter," Magnan said.
  "It hardly seems fair. Eight feet tall
  and
  faces like that!"
   
    The smaller of the two captive Qornt ran long, slender fingers over
  a bony shin, from which he had turned back the tight-fitting green
  trousers.
   
    "It's not broken," he whistled nasally in passable Terrestrial, eyeing
  Magnan through the heavy goggles, now badly cracked. "Small thanks to
  you."
   
    Magnan smiled loftily. "I daresay you'll think twice before interfering
  with peaceable diplomats in future."
   
    "Diplomats? Surely you jest."
   
    "Never mind us," Retief said. "It's you fellows we'd like to talk
  about. How many of you are there?"
   
    "Only Zubb and myself."
   
    "I mean altogether. How many Qornt?"
   
    The alien whistled shrilly.
   
    "Here, no signalling!" Magnan snapped, looking around.
   
    "That was merely an expression of amusement."
   
    "You find the situation amusing? I assure you, sir, you are in perilous
  straits at the moment. I
  may
  fly into another rage, you know."
   
    "Please, restrain yourself. I was merely somewhat astonished—" a small
  whistle escaped—"at being taken for a Qornt."
   
    "Aren't you a Qornt?"
   
    "I? Great snail trails, no!" More stifled whistles of amusement escaped
  the beaked face. "Both Zubb and I are Verpp. Naturalists, as it
  happens."
   
    "You certainly
  look
  like Qornt."
   
    "Oh, not at all—except perhaps to a Terrestrial. The Qornt are
  sturdily built rascals, all over ten feet in height. And, of course,
  they do nothing but quarrel. A drone caste, actually."
   
    "A caste? You mean they're biologically the same as you?"
   
    "Not at all! A Verpp wouldn't think of fertilizing a Qornt."
   
    "I mean to say, you are of the same basic stock—descended from a
  common ancestor, perhaps."
   
    "We are all Pud's creatures."
   
    "What are the differences between you, then?"
   
    "Why, the Qornt are argumentive, boastful, lacking in appreciation
  for the finer things of life. One dreads to contemplate descending to
  their
  level."
   
    "Do you know anything about a Note passed to the Terrestrial Ambassador
  at Smorbrod?" Retief asked.
  The beak twitched. "Smorbrod? I know of no place called Smorbrod."
   
    "The outer planet of this system."
   
    "Oh, yes. We call it Guzzum. I had heard that some sort of creatures
  had established a settlement there, but I confess I pay little note to
  such matters."
   
    "We're wasting time, Retief," Magnan said. "We must truss these chaps
  up, hurry back to the boat and make our escape. You heard what they
  said."
   
    "Are there any Qornt down there at the harbor, where the boats are?"
  Retief asked.
   
    "At Tarroon, you mean? Oh, yes. Planning some adventure."
   
    "That would be the invasion of Smorbrod," Magnan said. "And unless we
  hurry, Retief, we're likely to be caught there with the last of the
  evacuees!"
   
    "How many Qornt would you say there are at Tarroon?"
   
    "Oh, a very large number. Perhaps fifteen or twenty."
   
    "Fifteen or twenty what?" Magnan looked perplexed.
   
    "Fifteen or twenty Qornt."
   
    "You mean that there are only fifteen or twenty individual Qornt in
  all?"
   
    Another whistle. "Not at all. I was referring to the local Qornt only.
  There are more at the other Centers, of course."
   
    "And the Qornt are responsible for the ultimatum—unilaterally?"
   
    "I suppose so; it sounds like them. A truculent group, you know. And
  interplanetary relations
  are
  rather a hobby of theirs."
   
    Zubb moaned and stirred. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head. He spoke
  to his companion in a shrill alien clatter of consonants.
   
    "What did he say?"
   
    "Poor Zubb. He blames me for his bruises, since it was my idea to
  gather you as specimens."
   
    "You should have known better than to tackle that fierce-looking
  creature," Zubb said, pointing his beak at Magnan.
   
    "How does it happen that you speak Terrestrial?" Retief asked.
   
    "Oh, one picks up all sorts of dialects."
   
    "It's quite charming, really," Magnan said. "Such a quaint, archaic
  accent."
   
    "Suppose we went down to Tarroon," Retief asked. "What kind of
  reception would we get?"
   
    "That depends. I wouldn't recommend interfering with the Gwil or the
  Rheuk; it's their nest-mending time, you know. The Boog will be busy
  mating—such a tedious business—and of course the Qornt are tied up
  with their ceremonial feasting. I'm afraid no one will take any notice
  of you."
   
    "Do you mean to say," Magnan demanded, "that these ferocious Qornt, who
  have issued an ultimatum to the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne—who
  openly avow their occupied world—would ignore Terrestrials in their
  midst?"
   
    "If at all possible."
   
    Retief got to his feet.
   
    "I think our course is clear, Mr. Magnan. It's up to us to go down and
  attract a little attention."
  III
   
    "I'm not at all sure we're going about this in the right way," Magnan
  puffed, trotting at Retief's side. "These fellows Zubb and Slun—Oh,
  they seem affable enough, but how can we be sure we're not being led
  into a trap?"
   
    "We can't."
   
    Magnan stopped short. "Let's go back."
   
    "All right," Retief said. "Of course there may be an ambush—"
   
    Magnan moved off. "Let's keep going."
   
    The party emerged from the undergrowth at the edge of a great
  brush-grown mound. Slun took the lead, rounded the flank of the
  hillock, halted at a rectangular opening cut into the slope.
   
    "You can find your way easily enough from here," he said. "You'll
  excuse us, I hope—"
   
    "Nonsense, Slun!" Zubb pushed forward. "I'll escort our guests to Qornt
  Hall." He twittered briefly to his fellow Verpp. Slun twittered back.
   
    "I don't like it, Retief," Magnan whispered. "Those fellows are
  plotting mischief."
   
    "Threaten them with violence, Mr Magnan. They're scared of you."
   
    "That's true. And the drubbing they received was well-deserved. I'm a
  patient man, but there are occasions—"
   
    "Come along, please," Zubb called. "Another ten minutes' walk—"
   
    "See here, we have no interest in investigating this barrow," Magnan
  announced. "We wish you to take us direct to Tarroon to interview your
  military leaders regarding the ultimatum!"
   
    "Yes, yes, of course. Qornt Hall lies here inside the village."
   
    "This is Tarroon?"
   
    "A modest civic center, sir, but there are those who love it."
   
    "No wonder we didn't observe their works from the air," Magnan
  muttered. "Camouflaged." He moved hesitantly through the opening.
   
    The party moved along a wide, deserted tunnel which sloped down
  steeply, then leveled off and branched. Zubb took the center branch,
  ducking slightly under the nine-foot ceiling lit at intervals with what
  appeared to be primitive incandescent panels.
   
    "Few signs of an advanced technology here," Magnan whispered. "These
  creatures must devote all their talents to warlike enterprise."
   
    Ahead, Zubb slowed. A distant susurration was audible, a sustained
  high-pitched screeching. "Softly, now. We approach Qornt Hall. They
  can be an irascible lot when disturbed at their feasting."
   
    "When will the feast be over?" Magnan called hoarsely.
   
    "In another few weeks, I should imagine, if, as you say, they've
  scheduled an invasion for next month."
   
    "Look here, Zubb." Magnan shook a finger at the tall alien. "How is it
  that these Qornt are allowed to embark on piratical ventures of this
  sort without reference to the wishes of the majority?"
   
    "Oh, the majority of the Qornt favor the move, I imagine."
   
    "These few hotheads are permitted to embroil the planet in war?"
   
    "Oh, they don't embroil the planet in war. They merely—"
   
    "Retief, this is fantastic! I've heard of iron-fisted military cliques
  before, but this is madness!"
   
    "Come softly, now." Zubb beckoned, moving toward a bend in the
  yellow-lit corridor. Retief and Magnan moved forward.
  The corridor debouched through a high double door into a vast oval
  chamber, high-domed, gloomy, paneled in dark wood and hung with
  tattered banners, scarred halberds, pikes, rusted longswords, crossed
  spears over patinaed hauberks, pitted radiation armor, corroded power
  rifles, the immense mummified heads of horned and fanged animals. Great
  guttering torches in wall brackets and in stands along the length
  of the long table shed a smoky light that reflected from the mirror
  polish of the red granite floor, gleamed on polished silver bowls and
  paper-thin glass, shone jewel-red and gold through dark bottles—and
  cast long flickering shadows behind the fifteen trolls at the board.
   
    Lesser trolls—beaked, bush-haired, great-eyed—trotted briskly,
  bird-kneed, bearing steaming platters, stood in groups of
  three strumming slender bottle-shaped lutes, or pranced an
  intricate-patterned dance, unnoticed in the shrill uproar as each of
  the magnificently draped, belted, feathered and jeweled Qornt carried
  on a shouted conversation with an equally noisy fellow.
   
    "A most interesting display of barbaric splendor," Magnan breathed.
  "Now we'd better be getting back."
   
    "Ah, a moment," Zubb said. "Observe the Qornt—the tallest of the
  feasters—he with the head-dress of crimson, purple, silver and pink."
   
    "Twelve feet if he's an inch," Magnan estimated. "And now we really
  must hurry along—"
   
    "That one is chief among these rowdies. I'm sure you'll want a word
  with him. He controls not only the Tarroonian vessels but those from
  the other Centers as well."
   
    "What kind of vessels? Warships?"
   
    "Certainly. What other kind would the Qornt bother with?"
   
    "I don't suppose," Magnan said casually, "that you'd know the type,
  tonnage, armament and manning of these vessels? And how many units
  comprise the fleet? And where they're based at present?"
   
    "They're fully automated twenty-thousand-ton all-purpose dreadnaughts.
  They mount a variety of weapons. The Qornt are fond of that sort of
  thing. Each of the Qornt has his own, of course. They're virtually
  identical, except for the personal touches each individual has given
  his ship."
   
    "Great heavens, Retief!" Magnan exclaimed in a whisper. "It sounds as
  though these brutes employ a battle armada as simpler souls might a set
  of toy sailboats!"
   
    Retief stepped past Magnan and Zubb to study the feasting hall. "I can
  see that their votes would carry all the necessary weight."
   
    "And now an interview with the Qorn himself," Zubb shrilled. "If you'll
  kindly step along, gentlemen...."
   
    "That won't be necessary," Magnan said hastily, "I've decided to refer
  the matter to committee."
   
    "After having come so far," Zubb said, "it would be a pity to miss
  having a cosy chat."
   
    There was a pause.
   
    "Ah ... Retief," Magnan said. "Zubb has just presented a most
  compelling argument...."
  Retief turned. Zubb stood gripping an ornately decorated power pistol
  in one bony hand, a slim needler in the other. Both were pointed at
  Magnan's chest.
   
    "I suspected you had hidden qualities, Zubb," Retief commented.
   
    "See here, Zubb! We're diplomats!" Magnan started.
   
    "Careful, Mr. Magnan; you may goad him to a frenzy."
   
    "By no means," Zubb whistled. "I much prefer to observe the frenzy
  of the Qornt when presented with the news that two peaceful Verpp
  have been assaulted and kidnapped by bullying interlopers. If there's
  anything that annoys the Qornt, it's Qornt-like behavior in others. Now
  step along, please."
   
    "Rest assured, this will be reported!"
   
    "I doubt it."
   
    "You'll face the wrath of Enlightened Galactic Opinion!"
   
    "Oh? How big a navy does Enlightened Galactic Opinion have?"
   
    "Stop scaring him, Mr. Magnan. He may get nervous and shoot." Retief
  stepped into the banquet hall, headed for the resplendent figure at
  the head of the table. A trio of flute-players broke off in mid-bleat,
  staring. An inverted pyramid of tumblers blinked as Retief swung past,
  followed by Magnan and the tall Verpp. The shrill chatter at the table
  faded.
   
    Qorn turned as Retief came up, blinking three-inch eyes. Zubb stepped
  forward, gibbered, waving his arms excitedly. Qorn pushed back his
  chair—a low, heavily padded stool—and stared unwinking at Retief,
  moving his head to bring first one great round eye, then the other, to
  bear. There were small blue veins in the immense fleshy beak. The bushy
  hair, springing out in a giant halo around the grayish, porous-skinned
  face, was wiry, stiff, moss-green, with tufts of chartreuse fuzz
  surrounding what appeared to be tympanic membranes. The tall head-dress
  of scarlet silk and purple feathers was slightly askew, and a loop of
  pink pearls had slipped down above one eye.
   
    Zubb finished his speech and fell silent, breathing hard.
   
    Qorn looked Retief over in silence, then belched.
   
    "Not bad," Retief said admiringly. "Maybe we could get up a match
  between you and Ambassador Sternwheeler. You've got the volume on him,
  but he's got timbre."
   
    "So," Qorn hooted in a resonant tenor. "You come from Guzzum, eh? Or
  Smorbrod, as I think you call it. What is it you're after? More time?
  A compromise? Negotiations? Peace?" He slammed a bony hand against the
  table. "The answer is
  no
  !"
   
    Zubb twittered. Qorn cocked an eye, motioned to a servant. "Chain that
  one." He indicated Magnan. His eyes went to Retief. "This one's bigger;
  you'd best chain him, too."
   
    "Why, your Excellency—" Magnan started, stepping forward.
   
    "Stay back!" Qorn hooted. "Stand over there where I can keep an eye on
  you."
   
    "Your Excellency, I'm empowered—"
   
    "Not here, you're not!" Qorn trumpeted. "Want peace, do you? Well, I
  don't want peace! I've had a surfeit of peace these last two centuries!
  I want action! Loot! Adventure! Glory!" He turned to look down the
  table. "How about it, fellows? It's war to the knife, eh?"
  There was a momentary silence from all sides.
   
    "I guess so," grunted a giant Qornt in iridescent blue with
  flame-colored plumes.
   
    Qorn's eyes bulged. He half rose. "We've been all over this," he
  bassooned. He clamped bony fingers on the hilt of a light rapier. "I
  thought I'd made my point!"
   
    "Oh, sure, Qorn."
   
    "You bet."
   
    "I'm convinced."
   
    Qorn rumbled and resumed his seat. "All for one and one for all, that's
  us."
   
    "And you're the one, eh, Qorn?" Retief commented.
   
    Magnan cleared his throat. "I sense that some of you gentlemen are not
  convinced of the wisdom of this move," he piped, looking along the
  table at the silks, jewels, beaks, feather-decked crests and staring
  eyes.
   
    "Silence!" Qorn hooted. "No use your talking to my loyal lieutenants
  anyway," he added. "They do whatever I convince them they ought to do."
   
    "But I'm sure that on more mature consideration—"
   
    "I can lick any Qornt in the house." Qorn said. "That's why I'm Qorn."
  He belched again.
   
    A servant came up staggering under a weight of chain, dropped it with a
  crash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the guns while the servant wrapped
  three loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a lock in place.
   
    "You next!" The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms.
  Four loops of silvery-gray chain in half-inch links dropped around
  them. The servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through the
  ends and closed it.
   
    "Now," Qorn said, lolling back in his chair, glass in hand. "There's a
  bit of sport to be had here, lads. What shall we do with them?"
   
    "Let them go," the blue and flame Qornt said glumly.
   
    "You can do better than that," Qorn hooted. "Now here's a suggestion:
  we carve them up a little—lop off the external labiae and pinnae,
  say—and ship them back."
   
    "Good lord! Retief, he's talking about cutting off our ears and sending
  us home mutilated! What a barbaric proposal!"
   
    "It wouldn't be the first time a Terrestrial diplomat got a trimming,"
  Retief commented.
   
    "It should have the effect of stimulating the Terries to put up a
  reasonable scrap," Qorn said judiciously. "I have a feeling that
  they're thinking of giving up without a struggle."
   
    "Oh, I doubt that," the blue-and-flame Qornt said. "Why should they?"
   
    Qorn rolled an eye at Retief and another at Magnan. "Take these two,"
  he hooted. "I'll wager they came here to negotiate a surrender!"
   
    "Well," Magnan started.
   
    "Hold it, Mr. Magnan," Retief said. "I'll tell him."
   
    "What's your proposal?" Qorn whistled, taking a gulp from his goblet.
  "A fifty-fifty split? Monetary reparations? Alternate territory? I can
  assure you, it's useless. We Qornt
  like
  to fight."
   
    "I'm afraid you've gotten the wrong impression, your Excellency,"
  Retief said blandly. "We didn't come to negotiate. We came to deliver
  an Ultimatum."
   
    "What?" Qorn trumpeted. Behind Retief, Magnan spluttered.
   
    "We plan to use this planet for target practice," Retief said. "A new
  type hell bomb we've worked out. Have all your people off of it in
  seventy-two hours, or suffer the consequences."
  IV
   
    "You have the gall," Qorn stormed, "to stand here in the center of
  Qornt Hall—uninvited, at that—and in chains—"
   
    "Oh, these," Retief said. He tensed his arms. The soft aluminum links
  stretched and broke. He shook the light metal free. "We diplomats like
  to go along with colorful local customs, but I wouldn't want to mislead
  you. Now, as to the evacuation of Roolit I—"
  Zubb screeched, waved the guns. The Qornt were jabbering.
   
    "I told you they were brutes," Zubb shrilled.
   
    Qorn slammed his fist down on the table. "I don't care what they are!"
  he honked. "Evacuate, hell! I can field eighty-five combat-ready ships!"
   
    "And we can englobe every one of them with a thousand Peace Enforcers
  with a hundred megatons/second firepower each."
   
    "Retief." Magnan tugged at his sleeve. "Don't forget their superdrive."
   
    "That's all right. They don't have one."
   
    "But—"
   
    "We'll take you on!" Qorn French-horned. "We're the Qorn! We glory in
  battle! We live in fame or go down in—"
   
    "Hogwash," the flame-and-blue Qorn cut in. "If it wasn't for you, Qorn,
  we could sit around and feast and brag and enjoy life without having to
  prove anything."
   
    "Qorn, you seem to be the fire-brand here," Retief said. "I think the
  rest of the boys would listen to reason—"
   
    "Over my dead body!"
   
    "My idea exactly," Retief said. "You claim you can lick any man in
  the house. Unwind yourself from your ribbons and step out here on the
  floor, and we'll see how good you are at backing up your conversation."
  Magnan hovered at Retief's side. "Twelve feet tall," he moaned. "And
  did you notice the size of those hands?"
   
    Retief watched as Qorn's aides helped him out of his formal trappings.
  "I wouldn't worry too much, Mr. Magnan. This is a light-Gee world. I
  doubt if old Qorn would weigh up at more than two-fifty standard pounds
  here."
   
    "But that phenomenal reach—"
   
    "I'll peck away at him at knee level. When he bends over to swat me,
  I'll get a crack at him."
   
    Across the cleared floor, Qorn shook off his helpers with a snort.
   
    "Enough! Let me at the upstart!"
   
    Retief moved out to meet him, watching the upraised backward-jointed
  arms. Qorn stalked forward, long lean legs bent, long horny feet
  clacking against the polished floor. The other aliens—both servitors
  and bejeweled Qornt—formed a wide circle, all eyes unwaveringly on the
  combatants.
   
    Qorn struck suddenly, a long arm flashing down in a vicious cut at
  Retief, who leaned aside, caught one lean shank below the knee. Qorn
  bent to haul Retief from his leg—and staggered back as a haymaker took
  him just below the beak. A screech went up from the crowd as Retief
  leaped clear.
   
    Qorn hissed and charged. Retief whirled aside, then struck the alien's
  off-leg in a flying tackle. Qorn leaned, arms windmilling, crashed to
  the floor. Retief whirled, dived for the left arm, whipped it behind
  the narrow back, seized Qorn's neck in a stranglehold and threw his
  weight backward. Qorn fell on his back, his legs squatted out at an
  awkward angle. He squawked and beat his free arm on the floor, reaching
  in vain for Retief.
   
    Zubb stepped forward, pistols ready. Magnan stepped before him.
   
    "Need I remind you, sir," he said icily, "that this is an official
  diplomatic function? I can brook no interference from disinterested
  parties."
   
    Zubb hesitated. Magnan held out a hand. "I must ask you to hand me your
  weapons, Zubb."
   
    "Look here," Zubb began.
   
    "I
  may
  lose my temper," Magnan hinted. Zubb lowered the guns, passed
  them to Magnan. He thrust them into his belt with a sour smile, turned
  back to watch the encounter.
   
    Retief had thrown a turn of violet silk around Qorn's left wrist, bound
  it to the alien's neck. Another wisp of stuff floated from Qorn's
  shoulder. Retief, still holding Qorn in an awkward sprawl, wrapped
  it around one outflung leg, trussed ankle and thigh together. Qorn
  flopped, hooting. At each movement, the constricting loop around his
  neck, jerked his head back, the green crest tossing wildly.
   
    "If I were you, I'd relax," Retief said, rising and releasing his grip.
  Qorn got a leg under him; Retief kicked it. Qorn's chin hit the floor
  with a hollow clack. He wilted, an ungainly tangle of over-long limbs
  and gay silks.
   
    Retief turned to the watching crowd. "Next?" he called.
   
    The blue and flame Qornt stepped forward. "Maybe this would be a good
  time to elect a new leader," he said. "Now, my qualifications—"
   
    "Sit down," Retief said loudly. He stepped to the head of the table,
  seated himself in Qorn's vacated chair. "A couple of you finish
  trussing Qorn up for me."
   
    "But we must select a leader!"
   
    "That won't be necessary, boys. I'm your new leader."
  "As I see it," Retief said, dribbling cigar ashes into an empty wine
  glass, "you Qornt like to be warriors, but you don't particularly like
  to fight."
   
    "We don't mind a little fighting—within reason. And, of course, as
  Qornt, we're expected to die in battle. But what I say is, why rush
  things?"
   
    "I have a suggestion," Magnan said. "Why not turn the reins of
  government over to the Verpp? They seem a level-headed group."
   
    "What good would that do? Qornt are Qornt. It seems there's always one
  among us who's a slave to instinct—and, naturally, we have to follow
  him."
   
    "Why?"
   
    "Because that's the way it's done."
   
    "Why not do it another way?" Magnan offered. "Now, I'd like to suggest
  community singing—"
   
    "If we gave up fighting, we might live too long. Then what would
  happen?"
   
    "Live too long?" Magnan looked puzzled.
   
    "When estivating time comes there'd be no burrows for us. Anyway, with
  the new Qornt stepping on our heels—"
   
    "I've lost the thread," Magnan said. "Who are the new Qornt?"
   
    "After estivating, the Verpp moult, and then they're Qornt, of course.
  The Gwil become Boog, the Boog become Rheuk, the Rheuk metamorphosize
  into Verpp—"
   
    "You mean Slun and Zubb—the mild-natured naturalists—will become
  warmongers like Qorn?"
   
    "Very likely. 'The milder the Verpp, the wilder the Qorn,' as the old
  saying goes."
   
    "What do Qornt turn into?" Retief asked.
   
    "Hmmmm. That's a good question. So far, none have survived Qornthood."
   
    "Have you thought of forsaking your warlike ways?" Magnan asked. "What
  about taking up sheepherding and regular church attendance?"
   
    "Don't mistake me. We Qornt like a military life. It's great sport to
  sit around roaring fires and drink and tell lies and then go dashing
  off to enjoy a brisk affray and some leisurely looting afterward. But
  we prefer a nice numerical advantage. Not this business of tackling you
  Terrestrials over on Guzzum—that was a mad notion. We had no idea what
  your strength was."
   
    "But now that's all off, of course," Magnan chirped. "Now that we've
  had diplomatic relations and all—"
   
    "Oh, by no means. The fleet lifts in thirty days. After all, we're
  Qornt; we have to satisfy our drive to action."
   
    "But Mr. Retief is your leader now. He won't let you!"
   
    "Only a dead Qornt stays home when Attack day comes. And even if
  he orders us all to cut our own throats, there are still the other
  Centers—all with their own leaders. No, gentlemen, the Invasion is
  definitely on."
   
    "Why don't you go invade somebody else?" Magnan suggested. "I could
  name some very attractive prospects—outside my sector, of course."
   
    "Hold everything," Retief said. "I think we've got the basis of a deal
  here...."
  V
   
    At the head of a double column of gaudily caparisoned Qornt, Retief
  and Magnan strolled across the ramp toward the bright tower of the CDT
  Sector HQ. Ahead, gates opened, and a black Corps limousine emerged,
  flying an Ambassadorial flag under a plain square of white.
   
    "Curious," Magnan commented. "I wonder what the significance of the
  white ensign might be?"
   
    Retief raised a hand. The column halted with a clash of accoutrements
  and a rasp of Qornt boots. Retief looked back along the line. The high
  white sun flashed on bright silks, polished buckles, deep-dyed plumes,
  butts of pistols, the soft gleam of leather.
   
    "A brave show indeed," Magnan commented approvingly. "I confess the
  idea has merit."
   
    The limousine pulled up with a squeal of brakes, stood on two fat-tired
  wheels, gyros humming softly. The hatch popped up. A portly diplomat
  stepped out.
   
    "Why, Ambassador Nitworth," Magnan glowed. "This is very kind of you."
   
    "Keep cool, Magnan," Nitworth said in a strained voice. "We'll attempt
  to get you out of this."
   
    He stepped past Magnan's out-stretched hand and looked hesitantly at
  the ramrod-straight line of Qornt, eighty-five strong—and beyond, at
  the eighty-five tall Qornt dreadnaughts.
   
    "Good afternoon, sir ... ah, Your Excellency," Nitworth said, blinking
  up at the leading Qornt. "You are Commander of the Strike Force, I
  assume?"
   
    "Nope," the Qornt said shortly.
   
    "I ... ah ... wish to request seventy-two hours in which to evacuate
  Headquarters," Nitworth plowed on.
   
    "Mr. Ambassador." Retief said. "This—"
   
    "Don't panic, Retief. I'll attempt to secure your release," Nitworth
  hissed over his shoulder. "Now—"
   
    "You will address our leader with more respect!" the tall Qornt hooted,
  eyeing Nitworth ominously from eleven feet up.
   
    "Oh, yes indeed, sir ... your Excellency ... Commander. Now, about the
  invasion—"
   
    "Mr. Secretary," Magnan tugged at Nitworth's sleeve.
   
    "In heaven's name, permit me to negotiate in peace!" Nitworth snapped.
  He rearranged his features. "Now your Excellency, we've arranged to
  evacuate Smorbrod, of course, just as you requested—"
   
    "Requested?" the Qornt honked.
   
    "Ah ... demanded, that is. Quite rightly of course. Ordered.
  Instructed. And, of course, we'll be only too pleased to follow any
  other instructions you might have."
   
    "You don't quite get the big picture, Mr. Secretary," Retief said.
  "This isn't—"
   
    "Silence, confound you!" Nitworth barked. The leading Qornt looked at
  Retief. He nodded. Two bony hands shot out, seized Nitworth and stuffed
  a length of bright pink silk into his mouth, then spun him around and
  held him facing Retief.
   
    "If you don't mind my taking this opportunity to brief you, Mr.
  Ambassador," Retief said blandly. "I think I should mention that this
  isn't an invasion fleet. These are the new recruits for the Peace
  Enforcement Corps."
   
    Magnan stepped forward, glanced at the gag in Ambassador Nitworth's
  mouth, hesitated, then cleared his throat. "We felt," he said, "that
  the establishment of a Foreign Brigade within the P. E. Corps structure
  would provide the element of novelty the Department has requested
  in our recruiting, and at the same time would remove the stigma of
  Terrestrial chauvinism from future punitive operations."
   
    Nitworth stared, eyes bulging. He grunted, reaching for the gag, caught
  the Qornt's eye on him, dropped his hands to his sides.
   
    "I suggest we get the troops in out of the hot sun," Retief said.
  Magnan edged close. "What about the gag?" he whispered.
   
    "Let's leave it where it is for a while," Retief murmured. "It may save
  us a few concessions."
  An hour later, Nitworth, breathing freely again, glowered across his
  desk at Retief and Magnan.
   
    "This entire affair," he rumbled, "has made me appear to be a fool!"
   
    "But we who are privileged to serve on your staff already know just how
  clever you are," Magnan burbled.
   
    Nitworth purpled. "You're skirting insolence, Magnan," he roared. "Why
  was I not informed of the arrangements? What was I to assume at the
  sight of eighty-five war vessels over my headquarters, unannounced?"
   
    "We tried to get through, but our wavelengths—"
   
    "Bah! Sterner souls than I would have quailed at the spectacle!"
   
    "Oh, you were perfectly justified in panicking—"
   
    "I did
  not
  panic!" Nitworth bellowed. "I merely adjusted to the
  apparent circumstances. Now, I'm of two minds as to the advisability of
  this foreign legion idea of yours. Still, it may have merit. I believe
  the wisest course would be to dispatch them on a long training cruise
  in an uninhabited sector of space—"
   
    The office windows rattled. "What the devil!" Nitworth turned, stared
  out at the ramp where a Qornt ship rose slowly on a column of pale blue
  light. The vibration increased as a second ship lifted, then a third.
   
    Nitworth whirled on Magnan. "What's this! Who ordered these recruits to
  embark without my permission?"
   
    "I took the liberty of giving them an errand to run, Mr. Secretary,"
  Retief said. "There was that little matter of the Groaci infiltrating
  the Sirenian System. I sent the boys off to handle it."
   
    "Call them back at once!"
   
    "I'm afraid that won't be possible. They're under orders to maintain
  total communications silence until completion of the mission."
   
    Nitworth drummed his fingers on the desk top. Slowly, a thoughtful
  expression dawned. He nodded.
   
    "This may work out," he said. "I
  should
  call them back, but since
  the fleet is out of contact, I'm unable to do so, correct? Thus I can
  hardly be held responsible for any over-enthusiasm in chastising the
  Groaci."
   
    He closed one eye in a broad wink at Magnan. "Very well, gentlemen,
  I'll overlook the irregularity this time. Magnan, see to it the
  Smorbrodian public are notified they can remain where they are. And
  by the way, did you by any chance discover the technique of the
  indetectable drive the Qornt use?"
   
    "No, sir. That is, yes, sir."
   
    "Well? Well?"
   
    "There isn't any. The Qornt were there all the while. Underground."
   
    "Underground? Doing what?"
   
    "Hibernating—for two hundred years at a stretch."
  Outside in the corridor, Magnan came up to Retief, who stood talking to
  a tall man in a pilot's coverall.
   
    "I'll be tied up, sending through full details on my—our—your
  recruiting theme, Retief," Magnan said. "Suppose you run into the city
  to assist the new Verpp Consul in settling in."
   
    "I'll do that, Mr. Magnan. Anything else?"
   
    Magnan raised his eyebrows. "You're remarkably compliant today, Retief.
  I'll arrange transportation."
   
    "Don't bother, Mr. Magnan. Cy here will run me over. He was the pilot
  who ferried us over to Roolit I, you recall."
   
    "I'll be with you as soon as I pack a few phone numbers, Retief," the
  pilot said. He moved off. Magnan followed him with a disapproving eye.
  "An uncouth sort, I fancied. I trust you're not consorting with his
  kind socially."
   
    "I wouldn't say that, exactly," Retief said. "We just want to go over a
  few figures together."
  
question_text: What is the relationship between Magnan and Retief, and how does it shift throughout the story?
response: Mangan and Retief begin their adventure on the planet at odds with each other. Mangan is in favor of leaving the planet while Retief proposing investigating further the more they learn. Mangan is diplomatic and risk-averse in his interaction while Retief prefers action.
  
  Retief is the cleverer of the two men and understands that although the Verpp and Qornt look imposing, the lower gravity on the planet renders them ineffectual physically. He uses this knowledge to his advantage to defeat Qorn, the leader of the Qornt and bluff the remainder of the population into establishing himself as their leader. Mangan, originally the leader of the expedition falls into line behind Retief's lead. By the end of the story Retief has accomplished a striking victory and now is beginning to view Mangan as another clueless dignitary like Nitworth and begins to discuss his future plans with the lower-class pilot, Cy.