Datasets:

EJinHF

/

OQFS_SQuALITY

like 0

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> CULTURAL EXCHANGE BY KEITH LAUMER It was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of an education than they expected! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Second Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-featheredberet from the clothes tree. I'm off now, Retief, he said. I hopeyou'll manage the administrative routine during my absence without anyunfortunate incidents. That seems a modest enough hope, Retief said. I'll try to live up toit. I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division, Magnansaid testily. When I first came here, the Manpower UtilizationDirectorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. Ifancy I've made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question thewisdom of placing you in charge of such a sensitive desk, even for twoweeks. But remember. Yours is purely a rubber-stamp function. In that case, let's leave it to Miss Furkle. I'll take a couple ofweeks off myself. With her poundage, she could bring plenty of pressureto bear. I assume you jest, Retief, Magnan said sadly. I should expect evenyou to appreciate that Bogan participation in the Exchange Program maybe the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into morecultivated channels. I see they're sending two thousand students to d'Land, Retief said,glancing at the Memo for Record. That's a sizable sublimation. Magnan nodded. The Bogans have launched no less than four militarycampaigns in the last two decades. They're known as the Hoodlums ofthe Nicodemean Cluster. Now, perhaps, we shall see them breaking thatprecedent and entering into the cultural life of the Galaxy. Breaking and entering, Retief said. You may have something there.But I'm wondering what they'll study on d'Land. That's an industrialworld of the poor but honest variety. Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,Magnan said. Our function is merely to bring them together. Seethat you don't antagonize the Bogan representative. This willbe an excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplomaticrestraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll agree. A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. What is it, Miss Furkle? That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here again. On the small deskscreen, Miss Furkle's meaty features were compressed in disapproval. This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to you, Retief,Magnan said. Tell him something. Get rid of him. And remember: hereat Corps HQ, all eyes are upon you. If I'd thought of that, I'd have worn my other suit, Retief said. Magnan snorted and passed from view. Retief punched Miss Furkle'sbutton. Send the bucolic person in. <doc-sep>A tall broad man with bronze skin and gray hair, wearing tight trousersof heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck and a short jacket,stepped into the room. He had a bundle under his arm. He paused atsight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and heldout his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the two big men stood, faceto face. The newcomer's jaw muscles knotted. Then he winced. Retief dropped his hand and motioned to a chair. That's nice knuckle work, mister, the stranger said, massaging hishand. First time anybody ever did that to me. My fault though. Istarted it, I guess. He grinned and sat down. What can I do for you? Retief said. You work for this Culture bunch, do you? Funny. I thought they wereall ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer.What I wanted to see you about was— He shifted in his chair. Well,out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem. The wine crop is justabout ready. We start picking in another two, three months. Now I don'tknow if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...? No, Retief said. Have a cigar? He pushed a box across the desk.Arapoulous took one. Bacchus vines are an unusual crop, he said,puffing the cigar alight. Only mature every twelve years. In between,the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own.We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms.Apples the size of a melon—and sweet— Sounds very pleasant, Retief said. Where does the Libraries andEducation Division come in? Arapoulous leaned forward. We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folkscan't spend all their time hybridizing plants. We've turned all theland area we've got into parks and farms. Course, we left some sizableforest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place, Mr.Retief. It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what— Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Ouryear's about eighteen Terry months. Cold as hell in winter; eccentricorbit, you know. Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. We do mostlypainting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring; still plenty cold.Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating; and it's the season forwoodworkers. Our furniture— I've seen some of your furniture, Retief said. Beautiful work. Arapoulous nodded. All local timbers too. Lots of metals in our soiland those sulphates give the woods some color, I'll tell you. Thencomes the Monsoon. Rain—it comes down in sheets. But the sun's gettingcloser. Shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in the sunshine?That's the music-writing season. Then summer. Summer's hot. We stayinside in the daytime and have beach parties all night. Lots of beachon Lovenbroy; we're mostly islands. That's the drama and symphony time.The theatres are set up on the sand, or anchored off-shore. You havethe music and the surf and the bonfires and stars—we're close to thecenter of a globular cluster, you know.... You say it's time now for the wine crop? That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most years we have just theordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing; getting it in doesn'ttake long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting newplaces ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We spend alot of time in our houses. We like to have them comfortable. But thisyear's different. This is Wine Year. <doc-sep>Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. Our winecrop is our big money crop, he said. We make enough to keep us going.But this year.... The crop isn't panning out? Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm onlytwenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem'snot the crop. Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for theCommercial— Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines eversettled for anything else! It sounds like I've been missing something, said Retief. I'll haveto try them some time. Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. Notime like the present, he said. Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, bothdusty, with faded labels, and blackened corks secured by wire. Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr. Arapoulous, he said. This isn't drinking . It's just wine. Arapoulous pulled the wireretainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose slowly, then popped in theair. Arapoulous caught it. Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle.Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me. He winked. Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. Cometo think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaintnative customs. Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deeprust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He lookedat Arapoulous thoughtfully. Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crustedport. Don't try to describe it, Mr. Retief, Arapoulous said. He took amouthful of wine, swished it around his teeth, swallowed. It's Bacchuswine, that's all. Nothing like it in the Galaxy. He pushed the secondbottle toward Retief. The custom back home is to alternate red wineand black. <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up. Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback? Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest. We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men. That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base. It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers. Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose? Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews. Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice? <doc-sep>Never did, Retief said. You say most of the children are born aftera vintage. That would make them only twelve years old by the time— Oh, that's Lovenbroy years; they'd be eighteen, Terry reckoning. I was thinking you looked a little mature for twenty-eight, Retiefsaid. Forty-two, Terry years, Arapoulous said. But this year it looks bad.We've got a bumper crop—and we're short-handed. If we don't get a bigvintage, Croanie steps in. Lord knows what they'll do to the land. Thennext vintage time, with them holding half our grape acreage— You hocked the vineyards? Yep. Pretty dumb, huh? But we figured twelve years was a long time. On the whole, Retief said, I think I prefer the black. But the redis hard to beat.... What we figured was, maybe you Culture boys could help us out. A loanto see us through the vintage, enough to hire extra hands. Then we'drepay it in sculpture, painting, furniture— Sorry, Hank. All we do here is work out itineraries for travelingside-shows, that kind of thing. Now, if you needed a troop of Groacinose-flute players— Can they pick grapes? Nope. Anyway, they can't stand the daylight. Have you talked this overwith the Labor Office? Sure did. They said they'd fix us up with all the electronicsspecialists and computer programmers we wanted—but no field hands.Said it was what they classified as menial drudgery; you'd have thoughtI was trying to buy slaves. The buzzer sounded. Miss Furkle's features appeared on the desk screen. You're due at the Intergroup Council in five minutes, she said. Thenafterwards, there are the Bogan students to meet. Thanks. Retief finished his glass, stood. I have to run, Hank, hesaid. Let me think this over. Maybe I can come up with something.Check with me day after tomorrow. And you'd better leave the bottleshere. Cultural exhibits, you know. II As the council meeting broke up, Retief caught the eye of a colleagueacross the table. Mr. Whaffle, you mentioned a shipment going to a place called Croanie.What are they getting? Whaffle blinked. You're the fellow who's filling in for Magnan, overat MUDDLE, he said. Properly speaking, equipment grants are thesole concern of the Motorized Equipment Depot, Division of Loans andExchanges. He pursed his lips. However, I suppose there's no harm intelling you. They'll be receiving heavy mining equipment. Drill rigs, that sort of thing? Strip mining gear. Whaffle took a slip of paper from a breast pocket,blinked at it. Bolo Model WV/1 tractors, to be specific. Why is MUDDLEinterested in MEDDLE's activities? Forgive my curiosity, Mr. Whaffle. It's just that Croanie cropped upearlier today. It seems she holds a mortgage on some vineyards overon— That's not MEDDLE's affair, sir, Whaffle cut in. I have sufficientproblems as Chief of MEDDLE without probing into MUDDLE'S business. Speaking of tractors, another man put in, we over at the SpecialCommittee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations'General Economies have been trying for months to get a request formining equipment for d'Land through MEDDLE— SCROUNGE was late on the scene, Whaffle said. First come, firstserved. That's our policy at MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen. He strodeoff, briefcase under his arm. That's the trouble with peaceful worlds, the SCROUNGE committeemansaid. Boge is a troublemaker, so every agency in the Corps is outto pacify her. While my chance to make a record—that is, assistpeace-loving d'Land—comes to naught. He shook his head. What kind of university do they have on d'Land? asked Retief. We'resending them two thousand exchange students. It must be quite aninstitution. University? D'Land has one under-endowed technical college. Will all the exchange students be studying at the Technical College? Two thousand students? Hah! Two hundred students would overtax thefacilities of the college. I wonder if the Bogans know that? The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwisetrade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand studentsindeed! He snorted and walked away. <doc-sep>Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape, then rode theelevator to the roof of the 230-story Corps HQ building and hailed acab to the port. The Bogan students had arrived early. Retief saw themlined up on the ramp waiting to go through customs. It would be halfan hour before they were cleared through. He turned into the bar andordered a beer. A tall young fellow on the next stool raised his glass. Happy days, he said. And nights to match. You said it. He gulped half his beer. My name's Karsh. Mr. Karsh.Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a drag, sitting around this placewaiting.... You meeting somebody? Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids. How they expect—Never mind. Have one onme. Thanks. You a Scoutmaster? I'll tell you what I am. I'm a cradle-robber. You know— he turnedto Retief—not one of those kids is over eighteen. He hiccupped.Students, you know. Never saw a student with a beard, did you? Lots of times. You're meeting the students, are you? The young fellow blinked at Retief. Oh, you know about it, huh? I represent MUDDLE. Karsh finished his beer, ordered another. I came on ahead. Sort ofan advance guard for the kids. I trained 'em myself. Treated it likea game, but they can handle a CSU. Don't know how they'll act underpressure. If I had my old platoon— He looked at his beer glass, pushed it back. Had enough, he said. Solong, friend. Or are you coming along? Retief nodded. Might as well. <doc-sep>At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched as the first ofthe Bogan students came through, caught sight of Karsh and snapped toattention, his chest out. Drop that, mister, Karsh snapped. Is that any way for a student toact? The youth, a round-faced lad with broad shoulders, grinned. Heck, no, he said. Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go totown? We fellas were thinking— You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids! I mean ... no! Nowline up! We have quarters ready for the students, Retief said. If you'd liketo bring them around to the west side, I have a couple of copters laidon. Thanks, said Karsh. They'll stay here until take-off time. Can'thave the little dears wandering around loose. Might get ideas aboutgoing over the hill. He hiccupped. I mean they might play hookey. We've scheduled your re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a longwait. MUDDLE's arranged theater tickets and a dinner. Sorry, Karsh said. As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off. Hehiccupped again. Can't travel without our baggage, y'know. Suit yourself, Retief said. Where's the baggage now? Coming in aboard a Croanie lighter. Maybe you'd like to arrange for a meal for the students here. Sure, Karsh said. That's a good idea. Why don't you join us? Karshwinked. And bring a few beers. Not this time, Retief said. He watched the students, still emergingfrom Customs. They seem to be all boys, he commented. No femalestudents? Maybe later, Karsh said. You know, after we see how the first bunchis received. Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle. Do you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are boundfor? Why, the University at d'Land, of course. Would that be the Technical College? Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. I'm sure I've never pried into thesedetails. Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle? Retiefsaid. Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students aretravelling so far to study—at Corps expense. Mr. Magnan never— For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leavesme with the question of two thousand young male students headed fora world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors.But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligationto Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage onLovenbroy. Well! Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows.I hope you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom! About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question, Retief said. Butnever mind. I'd like you to look up an item for me. How many tractorswill Croanie be getting under the MEDDLE program? Why, that's entirely MEDDLE business, Miss Furkle said. Mr. Magnanalways— I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can. <doc-sep>Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left theoffice, descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the CorpsLibrary. In the stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored overindices. Can I help you? someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow. Thank you, ma'am, Retief said. I'm looking for information on amining rig. A Bolo model WV tractor. You won't find it in the industrial section, the librarian said.Come along. Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-litsection lettered ARMAMENTS. She took a tape from the shelf, pluggedit into the viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat armoredvehicle. That's the model WV, she said. It's what is known as a continentalsiege unit. It carries four men, with a half-megaton/second firepower. There must be an error somewhere, Retief said. The Bolo model I wantis a tractor. Model WV M-1— Oh, the modification was the addition of a bulldozer blade fordemolition work. That must be what confused you. Probably—among other things. Thank you. Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. I have the information youwanted, she said. I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under theimpression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths— Sure, Retief said. Shoot. How many tractors? Five hundred. Are you sure? Miss Furkle's chins quivered. Well! If you feel I'm incompetent— Just questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss Furkle. Fivehundred tractors is a lot of equipment. Was there anything further? Miss Furkle inquired frigidly. I sincerely hope not, Retief said. III Leaning back in Magnan's padded chair with power swivel andhip-u-matic concontour, Retief leafed through a folder labelled CERP7-602-Ba; CROANIE (general). He paused at a page headed Industry. Still reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the two bottles ofBacchus wine and two glasses. He poured an inch of wine into each andsipped the black wine meditatively. It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with theproduction of such vintages.... Half an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the phone and putthrough a call to the Croanie Legation. He asked for the CommercialAttache. Retief here, Corps HQ, he said airily. About the MEDDLE shipment,the tractors. I'm wondering if there's been a slip up. My records showwe're shipping five hundred units.... That's correct. Five hundred. Retief waited. Ah ... are you there, Retief? I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundredtractors. It's perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled. Mr. Whaffle— One unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output,Retief said. Now Croanie subsists on her fisheries. She has perhapshalf a dozen pint-sized processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, theycould handle the ore ten WV's could scrape up ... if Croanie had anyore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't a WV a poor choice as a miningoutfit? I should think— See here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few surplus tractors?And in any event, what business is it of yours how we plan to use theequipment? That's an internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle— I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other fourhundred and ninety tractors? I understood the grant was to be with no strings attached! I know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old diplomatictradition that any time you can get anybody to accept anything as agift, you've scored points in the game. But if Croanie has some schemecooking— <doc-sep>Nothing like that, Retief. It's a mere business transaction. What kind of business do you do with a Bolo WV? With or without ablade attached, it's what's known as a continental siege unit. Great Heavens, Retief! Don't jump to conclusions! Would you have usbranded as warmongers? Frankly—is this a closed line? Certainly. You may speak freely. The tractors are for transshipment. We've gotten ourselves into adifficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise. This is an accommodationto a group with which we have rather strong business ties. I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy,Retief said. Any connection? Why ... ah ... no. Of course not, ha ha. Who gets the tractors eventually? Retief, this is unwarranted interference! Who gets them? They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see— And who's the friend you're helping out with an unauthorizedtransshipment of grant material? Why ... ah ... I've been working with a Mr. Gulver, a Boganrepresentative. And when will they be shipped? Why, they went out a week ago. They'll be half way there by now. Butlook here, Retief, this isn't what you're thinking! How do you know what I'm thinking? I don't know myself. Retief rangoff, buzzed the secretary. Miss Furkle, I'd like to be notified immediately of any newapplications that might come in from the Bogan Consulate for placementof students. Well, it happens, by coincidence, that I have an application here now.Mr. Gulver of the Consulate brought it in. Is Mr. Gulver in the office? I'd like to see him. I'll ask him if he has time. Great. Thanks. It was half a minute before a thick-necked red-facedman in a tight hat walked in. He wore an old-fashioned suit, a drabshirt, shiny shoes with round toes and an ill-tempered expression. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>The secretary placed the papers on the desk. Arapoulous caught her eyeand grinned. She sniffed and marched from the room. What that gal needs is a slippery time in the grape mash, Arapoulousobserved. Retief thumbed through the papers, pausing to read from timeto time. He finished and looked at Arapoulous. How many men do you need for the harvest, Hank? Retief inquired. Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass and looked thoughtful. A hundred would help, he said. A thousand would be better. Cheers. What would you say to two thousand? Two thousand? Retief, you're not fooling? I hope not. He picked up the phone, called the Port Authority, askedfor the dispatch clerk. Hello, Jim. Say, I have a favor to ask of you. You know thatcontingent of Bogan students. They're traveling aboard the two CDTtransports. I'm interested in the baggage that goes with the students.Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait. Jim came back to the phone. Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived.But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketedclear through to Lovenbroy. Listen, Jim, Retief said. I want you to go over to the warehouse andtake a look at that baggage for me. Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the errand. Thelevel in the two bottles had gone down an inch when Jim returned tothe phone. Hey, I took a look at that baggage, Retief. Something funny going on.Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII hand blasters, power pistols— It's okay, Jim. Nothing to worry about. Just a mix-up. Now, Jim,I'm going to ask you to do something more for me. I'm covering for afriend. It seems he slipped up. I wouldn't want word to get out, youunderstand. I'll send along a written change order in the morning thatwill cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to do.... Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous. As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think we'd better get downto the port, Hank. I think I'd like to see the students off personally. IV Karsh met Retief as he entered the Departures enclosure at the port. What's going on here? he demanded. There's some funny business withmy baggage consignment. They won't let me see it! I've got a feelingit's not being loaded. You'd better hurry, Mr. Karsh, Retief said. You're scheduled toblast off in less than an hour. Are the students all loaded? Yes, blast you! What about my baggage? Those vessels aren't movingwithout it! No need to get so upset about a few toothbrushes, is there, Mr.Karsh? Retief said blandly. Still, if you're worried— He turned toArapoulous. Hank, why don't you walk Mr. Karsh over to the warehouse and ...ah ... take care of him? I know just how to handle it, Arapoulous said. The dispatch clerk came up to Retief. I caught the tractor equipment,he said. Funny kind of mistake, but it's okay now. They're beingoff-loaded at d'Land. I talked to the traffic controller there. He saidthey weren't looking for any students. The labels got switched, Jim. The students go where the baggage wasconsigned. Too bad about the mistake, but the Armaments Office willhave a man along in a little while to dispose of the guns. Keep an eyeout for the luggage. No telling where it's gotten to. Here! a hoarse voice yelled. Retief turned. A disheveled figure in atight hat was crossing the enclosure, arms waving. Hi there, Mr. Gulver, Retief called. How's Boge's business comingalong? Piracy! Gulver blurted as he came up to Retief, puffing hard. You'vegot a hand in this, I don't doubt! Where's that Magnan fellow? What seems to be the problem? Retief said. Hold those transports! I've just been notified that the baggageshipment has been impounded. I'll remind you, that shipment enjoysdiplomatic free entry! Who told you it was impounded? Never mind! I have my sources! Two tall men buttoned into gray tunics came up. Are you Mr. Retief ofCDT? one said. That's right. What about my baggage! Gulver cut in. And I'm warning you, if thoseships lift without— These gentlemen are from the Armaments Control Commission, Retiefsaid. Would you like to come along and claim your baggage, Mr. Gulver? From where? I— Gulver turned two shades redder about the ears.Armaments? The only shipment I've held up seems to be somebody's arsenal, Retiefsaid. Now if you claim this is your baggage.... Why, impossible, Gulver said in a strained voice. Armaments?Ridiculous. There's been an error.... <doc-sep>At the baggage warehouse Gulver looked glumly at the opened cases ofguns. No, of course not, he said dully. Not my baggage. Not mybaggage at all. Arapoulous appeared, supporting the stumbling figure of Mr. Karsh. What—what's this? Gulver spluttered. Karsh? What's happened? He had a little fall. He'll be okay, Arapoulous said. You'd better help him to the ship, Retief said. It's ready to lift.We wouldn't want him to miss it. Leave him to me! Gulver snapped, his eyes slashing at Karsh. I'llsee he's dealt with. I couldn't think of it, Retief said. He's a guest of the Corps, youknow. We'll see him safely aboard. Gulver turned, signaled frantically. Three heavy-set men in identicaldrab suits detached themselves from the wall, crossed to the group. Take this man, Gulver snapped, indicating Karsh, who looked at himdazedly, reached up to rub his head. We take our hospitality seriously, Retief said. We'll see him aboardthe vessel. Gulver opened his mouth. I know you feel bad about finding guns instead of school books inyour luggage, Retief said, looking Gulver in the eye. You'll be busystraightening out the details of the mix-up. You'll want to avoidfurther complications. Ah. Ulp. Yes, Gulver said. He appeared unhappy. Arapoulous went on to the passenger conveyor, turned to wave. Your man—he's going too? Gulver blurted. He's not our man, properly speaking, Retief said. He lives onLovenbroy. Lovenbroy? Gulver choked. But ... the ... I.... I know you said the students were bound for d'Land, Retief said. ButI guess that was just another aspect of the general confusion. Thecourse plugged into the navigators was to Lovenbroy. You'll be glad toknow they're still headed there—even without the baggage. Perhaps, Gulver said grimly, perhaps they'll manage without it. By the way, Retief said. There was another funny mix-up. Therewere some tractors—for industrial use, you'll recall. I believe youco-operated with Croanie in arranging the grant through MEDDLE. Theywere erroneously consigned to Lovenbroy, a purely agricultural world. Isaved you some embarrassment, I trust, Mr. Gulver, by arranging to havethem off-loaded at d'Land. D'Land! You've put the CSU's in the hands of Boge's bitterest enemies! But they're only tractors, Mr. Gulver. Peaceful devices. Isn't thatcorrect? That's ... correct. Gulver sagged. Then he snapped erect. Hold theships! he yelled. I'm canceling the student exchange— His voice was drowned by the rumble as the first of the monstertransports rose from the launch pit, followed a moment later by thesecond, Retief watched them out of sight, then turned to Gulver. They're off, he said. Let's hope they get a liberal education. V Retief lay on his back in deep grass by a stream, eating grapes. A tallfigure appeared on the knoll above him and waved. Retief! Hank Arapoulous bounded down the slope and embraced Retief,slapping him on the back. I heard you were here—and I've got newsfor you. You won the final day's picking competition. Over two hundredbushels! That's a record! Let's get on over to the garden. Sounds like the celebration's aboutto start. In the flower-crowded park among the stripped vines, Retief andArapoulous made their way to a laden table under the lanterns. A tallgirl dressed in loose white, and with long golden hair, came up toArapoulous. Delinda, this is Retief—today's winner. And he's also the fellow thatgot those workers for us. Delinda smiled at Retief. I've heard about you, Mr. Retief. Weweren't sure about the boys at first. Two thousand Bogans, and allconfused about their baggage that went astray. But they seemed to likethe picking. She smiled again. That's not all. Our gals liked the boys, Hank said. Even Bogansaren't so bad, minus their irons. A lot of 'em will be staying on. Buthow come you didn't tell me you were coming, Retief? I'd have laid onsome kind of big welcome. I liked the welcome I got. And I didn't have much notice. Mr. Magnanwas a little upset when he got back. It seems I exceeded my authority. Arapoulous laughed. I had a feeling you were wheeling pretty free,Retief. I hope you didn't get into any trouble over it. No trouble, Retief said. A few people were a little unhappy withme. It seems I'm not ready for important assignments at Departmentallevel. I was shipped off here to the boondocks to get a little moreexperience. Delinda, look after Retief, said Arapoulous. I'll see you later.I've got to see to the wine judging. He disappeared in the crowd. Congratulations on winning the day, said Delinda. I noticed you atwork. You were wonderful. I'm glad you're going to have the prize. Thanks. I noticed you too, flitting around in that white nightie ofyours. But why weren't you picking grapes with the rest of us? I had a special assignment. Too bad. You should have had a chance at the prize. Delinda took Retief's hand. I wouldn't have anyway, she said. I'mthe prize. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

Second Secretary Magnan will be away from the Manpower Utilization Directorate, Division of Libraries and Education (MUDDLE) for two weeks, leaving Retief in charge. Magnan reminds Retief that his role is to act as a rubber stamp, continuing Magnan’s actions. Magnan points out that Retief should appreciate that Bogan is participating in the Exchange Program. Its participation might be a step toward sublimating their aggression into more cultivated channels. The Bogans are sending two thousand students to d’Land as exchange students, and Magnan thinks this might end their aggression and bring them into the cultural life of the Galaxy. Retief wonders aloud what the students will study in such a poor, industrial land. Magnan points out that this is none of Retief’s concern and that his role is simply to facilitate bringing the two groups together. When Miss Furkle, the secretary, buzzes Magnan that the bucolic person from Lovenbroy is there again, Magnan pushes the meeting off onto Retief.The person from Lovenbroy is named Hank Arapoulous. He is a farmer and tells Retief that the Bacchus vines that they use to make their wine mature every twelve years and that this year is a harvest year, but they are short on workers to harvest the grapes. They have a shortage of workers for the harvest due to their conflict over strip mining and the loss of several of their young men in the battles to prevent it. Also, Lovenbroy had to borrow money from Croanie, and the loan was due. The wine crop will put them in the clear if they can harvest it. The biggest concern is what Croanie will do with the land if they can’t pay the loan; Lovenbroy has offered half its grape acreage as security for the loan it received. Hank asks Retief for a loan, but Retief tells him that MEDDLE’s role is only for transportation. Hank says he also checked with the Labor Office, but it only offered to set them up with machinery. Retief attends a council meeting and learns that Croanie will receive a shipment of strip mining equipment. A spokesman for the Special Committee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations’ General Economies (SCROUNGE) indicates he has been trying to get mining equipment for d’Land. He tells Retief that Boge is a troublemaker, so all the agencies in the Corps are trying to appease her. Upon further discussion, Retief learns that d’Land doesn’t have a university for the exchange students to attend, just a technical college that would be overwhelmed to receive 200, much less 2,000, students. Retief also learns that all the exchange students are males, and their “luggage” is full of weapons. He diverts their luggage and sends the exchange students to Lovenbroy, where they help harvest the grapes. Retief is also sent to Lovenbroy for exceeding his authority. Hank tells Retief that he has won the prize for the picking competition. The prize is a girl named Delinda.

Who are the Bogans, and what happens to their plan? [SEP] <s> CULTURAL EXCHANGE BY KEITH LAUMER It was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of an education than they expected! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Second Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-featheredberet from the clothes tree. I'm off now, Retief, he said. I hopeyou'll manage the administrative routine during my absence without anyunfortunate incidents. That seems a modest enough hope, Retief said. I'll try to live up toit. I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division, Magnansaid testily. When I first came here, the Manpower UtilizationDirectorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. Ifancy I've made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question thewisdom of placing you in charge of such a sensitive desk, even for twoweeks. But remember. Yours is purely a rubber-stamp function. In that case, let's leave it to Miss Furkle. I'll take a couple ofweeks off myself. With her poundage, she could bring plenty of pressureto bear. I assume you jest, Retief, Magnan said sadly. I should expect evenyou to appreciate that Bogan participation in the Exchange Program maybe the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into morecultivated channels. I see they're sending two thousand students to d'Land, Retief said,glancing at the Memo for Record. That's a sizable sublimation. Magnan nodded. The Bogans have launched no less than four militarycampaigns in the last two decades. They're known as the Hoodlums ofthe Nicodemean Cluster. Now, perhaps, we shall see them breaking thatprecedent and entering into the cultural life of the Galaxy. Breaking and entering, Retief said. You may have something there.But I'm wondering what they'll study on d'Land. That's an industrialworld of the poor but honest variety. Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,Magnan said. Our function is merely to bring them together. Seethat you don't antagonize the Bogan representative. This willbe an excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplomaticrestraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll agree. A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. What is it, Miss Furkle? That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here again. On the small deskscreen, Miss Furkle's meaty features were compressed in disapproval. This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to you, Retief,Magnan said. Tell him something. Get rid of him. And remember: hereat Corps HQ, all eyes are upon you. If I'd thought of that, I'd have worn my other suit, Retief said. Magnan snorted and passed from view. Retief punched Miss Furkle'sbutton. Send the bucolic person in. <doc-sep>A tall broad man with bronze skin and gray hair, wearing tight trousersof heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck and a short jacket,stepped into the room. He had a bundle under his arm. He paused atsight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and heldout his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the two big men stood, faceto face. The newcomer's jaw muscles knotted. Then he winced. Retief dropped his hand and motioned to a chair. That's nice knuckle work, mister, the stranger said, massaging hishand. First time anybody ever did that to me. My fault though. Istarted it, I guess. He grinned and sat down. What can I do for you? Retief said. You work for this Culture bunch, do you? Funny. I thought they wereall ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer.What I wanted to see you about was— He shifted in his chair. Well,out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem. The wine crop is justabout ready. We start picking in another two, three months. Now I don'tknow if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...? No, Retief said. Have a cigar? He pushed a box across the desk.Arapoulous took one. Bacchus vines are an unusual crop, he said,puffing the cigar alight. Only mature every twelve years. In between,the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own.We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms.Apples the size of a melon—and sweet— Sounds very pleasant, Retief said. Where does the Libraries andEducation Division come in? Arapoulous leaned forward. We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folkscan't spend all their time hybridizing plants. We've turned all theland area we've got into parks and farms. Course, we left some sizableforest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place, Mr.Retief. It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what— Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Ouryear's about eighteen Terry months. Cold as hell in winter; eccentricorbit, you know. Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. We do mostlypainting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring; still plenty cold.Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating; and it's the season forwoodworkers. Our furniture— I've seen some of your furniture, Retief said. Beautiful work. Arapoulous nodded. All local timbers too. Lots of metals in our soiland those sulphates give the woods some color, I'll tell you. Thencomes the Monsoon. Rain—it comes down in sheets. But the sun's gettingcloser. Shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in the sunshine?That's the music-writing season. Then summer. Summer's hot. We stayinside in the daytime and have beach parties all night. Lots of beachon Lovenbroy; we're mostly islands. That's the drama and symphony time.The theatres are set up on the sand, or anchored off-shore. You havethe music and the surf and the bonfires and stars—we're close to thecenter of a globular cluster, you know.... You say it's time now for the wine crop? That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most years we have just theordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing; getting it in doesn'ttake long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting newplaces ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We spend alot of time in our houses. We like to have them comfortable. But thisyear's different. This is Wine Year. <doc-sep>Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. Our winecrop is our big money crop, he said. We make enough to keep us going.But this year.... The crop isn't panning out? Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm onlytwenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem'snot the crop. Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for theCommercial— Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines eversettled for anything else! It sounds like I've been missing something, said Retief. I'll haveto try them some time. Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. Notime like the present, he said. Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, bothdusty, with faded labels, and blackened corks secured by wire. Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr. Arapoulous, he said. This isn't drinking . It's just wine. Arapoulous pulled the wireretainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose slowly, then popped in theair. Arapoulous caught it. Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle.Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me. He winked. Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. Cometo think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaintnative customs. Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deeprust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He lookedat Arapoulous thoughtfully. Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crustedport. Don't try to describe it, Mr. Retief, Arapoulous said. He took amouthful of wine, swished it around his teeth, swallowed. It's Bacchuswine, that's all. Nothing like it in the Galaxy. He pushed the secondbottle toward Retief. The custom back home is to alternate red wineand black. <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up. Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback? Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest. We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men. That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base. It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers. Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose? Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews. Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice? <doc-sep>Never did, Retief said. You say most of the children are born aftera vintage. That would make them only twelve years old by the time— Oh, that's Lovenbroy years; they'd be eighteen, Terry reckoning. I was thinking you looked a little mature for twenty-eight, Retiefsaid. Forty-two, Terry years, Arapoulous said. But this year it looks bad.We've got a bumper crop—and we're short-handed. If we don't get a bigvintage, Croanie steps in. Lord knows what they'll do to the land. Thennext vintage time, with them holding half our grape acreage— You hocked the vineyards? Yep. Pretty dumb, huh? But we figured twelve years was a long time. On the whole, Retief said, I think I prefer the black. But the redis hard to beat.... What we figured was, maybe you Culture boys could help us out. A loanto see us through the vintage, enough to hire extra hands. Then we'drepay it in sculpture, painting, furniture— Sorry, Hank. All we do here is work out itineraries for travelingside-shows, that kind of thing. Now, if you needed a troop of Groacinose-flute players— Can they pick grapes? Nope. Anyway, they can't stand the daylight. Have you talked this overwith the Labor Office? Sure did. They said they'd fix us up with all the electronicsspecialists and computer programmers we wanted—but no field hands.Said it was what they classified as menial drudgery; you'd have thoughtI was trying to buy slaves. The buzzer sounded. Miss Furkle's features appeared on the desk screen. You're due at the Intergroup Council in five minutes, she said. Thenafterwards, there are the Bogan students to meet. Thanks. Retief finished his glass, stood. I have to run, Hank, hesaid. Let me think this over. Maybe I can come up with something.Check with me day after tomorrow. And you'd better leave the bottleshere. Cultural exhibits, you know. II As the council meeting broke up, Retief caught the eye of a colleagueacross the table. Mr. Whaffle, you mentioned a shipment going to a place called Croanie.What are they getting? Whaffle blinked. You're the fellow who's filling in for Magnan, overat MUDDLE, he said. Properly speaking, equipment grants are thesole concern of the Motorized Equipment Depot, Division of Loans andExchanges. He pursed his lips. However, I suppose there's no harm intelling you. They'll be receiving heavy mining equipment. Drill rigs, that sort of thing? Strip mining gear. Whaffle took a slip of paper from a breast pocket,blinked at it. Bolo Model WV/1 tractors, to be specific. Why is MUDDLEinterested in MEDDLE's activities? Forgive my curiosity, Mr. Whaffle. It's just that Croanie cropped upearlier today. It seems she holds a mortgage on some vineyards overon— That's not MEDDLE's affair, sir, Whaffle cut in. I have sufficientproblems as Chief of MEDDLE without probing into MUDDLE'S business. Speaking of tractors, another man put in, we over at the SpecialCommittee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations'General Economies have been trying for months to get a request formining equipment for d'Land through MEDDLE— SCROUNGE was late on the scene, Whaffle said. First come, firstserved. That's our policy at MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen. He strodeoff, briefcase under his arm. That's the trouble with peaceful worlds, the SCROUNGE committeemansaid. Boge is a troublemaker, so every agency in the Corps is outto pacify her. While my chance to make a record—that is, assistpeace-loving d'Land—comes to naught. He shook his head. What kind of university do they have on d'Land? asked Retief. We'resending them two thousand exchange students. It must be quite aninstitution. University? D'Land has one under-endowed technical college. Will all the exchange students be studying at the Technical College? Two thousand students? Hah! Two hundred students would overtax thefacilities of the college. I wonder if the Bogans know that? The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwisetrade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand studentsindeed! He snorted and walked away. <doc-sep>Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape, then rode theelevator to the roof of the 230-story Corps HQ building and hailed acab to the port. The Bogan students had arrived early. Retief saw themlined up on the ramp waiting to go through customs. It would be halfan hour before they were cleared through. He turned into the bar andordered a beer. A tall young fellow on the next stool raised his glass. Happy days, he said. And nights to match. You said it. He gulped half his beer. My name's Karsh. Mr. Karsh.Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a drag, sitting around this placewaiting.... You meeting somebody? Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids. How they expect—Never mind. Have one onme. Thanks. You a Scoutmaster? I'll tell you what I am. I'm a cradle-robber. You know— he turnedto Retief—not one of those kids is over eighteen. He hiccupped.Students, you know. Never saw a student with a beard, did you? Lots of times. You're meeting the students, are you? The young fellow blinked at Retief. Oh, you know about it, huh? I represent MUDDLE. Karsh finished his beer, ordered another. I came on ahead. Sort ofan advance guard for the kids. I trained 'em myself. Treated it likea game, but they can handle a CSU. Don't know how they'll act underpressure. If I had my old platoon— He looked at his beer glass, pushed it back. Had enough, he said. Solong, friend. Or are you coming along? Retief nodded. Might as well. <doc-sep>At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched as the first ofthe Bogan students came through, caught sight of Karsh and snapped toattention, his chest out. Drop that, mister, Karsh snapped. Is that any way for a student toact? The youth, a round-faced lad with broad shoulders, grinned. Heck, no, he said. Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go totown? We fellas were thinking— You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids! I mean ... no! Nowline up! We have quarters ready for the students, Retief said. If you'd liketo bring them around to the west side, I have a couple of copters laidon. Thanks, said Karsh. They'll stay here until take-off time. Can'thave the little dears wandering around loose. Might get ideas aboutgoing over the hill. He hiccupped. I mean they might play hookey. We've scheduled your re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a longwait. MUDDLE's arranged theater tickets and a dinner. Sorry, Karsh said. As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off. Hehiccupped again. Can't travel without our baggage, y'know. Suit yourself, Retief said. Where's the baggage now? Coming in aboard a Croanie lighter. Maybe you'd like to arrange for a meal for the students here. Sure, Karsh said. That's a good idea. Why don't you join us? Karshwinked. And bring a few beers. Not this time, Retief said. He watched the students, still emergingfrom Customs. They seem to be all boys, he commented. No femalestudents? Maybe later, Karsh said. You know, after we see how the first bunchis received. Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle. Do you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are boundfor? Why, the University at d'Land, of course. Would that be the Technical College? Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. I'm sure I've never pried into thesedetails. Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle? Retiefsaid. Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students aretravelling so far to study—at Corps expense. Mr. Magnan never— For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leavesme with the question of two thousand young male students headed fora world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors.But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligationto Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage onLovenbroy. Well! Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows.I hope you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom! About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question, Retief said. Butnever mind. I'd like you to look up an item for me. How many tractorswill Croanie be getting under the MEDDLE program? Why, that's entirely MEDDLE business, Miss Furkle said. Mr. Magnanalways— I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can. <doc-sep>Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left theoffice, descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the CorpsLibrary. In the stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored overindices. Can I help you? someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow. Thank you, ma'am, Retief said. I'm looking for information on amining rig. A Bolo model WV tractor. You won't find it in the industrial section, the librarian said.Come along. Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-litsection lettered ARMAMENTS. She took a tape from the shelf, pluggedit into the viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat armoredvehicle. That's the model WV, she said. It's what is known as a continentalsiege unit. It carries four men, with a half-megaton/second firepower. There must be an error somewhere, Retief said. The Bolo model I wantis a tractor. Model WV M-1— Oh, the modification was the addition of a bulldozer blade fordemolition work. That must be what confused you. Probably—among other things. Thank you. Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. I have the information youwanted, she said. I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under theimpression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths— Sure, Retief said. Shoot. How many tractors? Five hundred. Are you sure? Miss Furkle's chins quivered. Well! If you feel I'm incompetent— Just questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss Furkle. Fivehundred tractors is a lot of equipment. Was there anything further? Miss Furkle inquired frigidly. I sincerely hope not, Retief said. III Leaning back in Magnan's padded chair with power swivel andhip-u-matic concontour, Retief leafed through a folder labelled CERP7-602-Ba; CROANIE (general). He paused at a page headed Industry. Still reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the two bottles ofBacchus wine and two glasses. He poured an inch of wine into each andsipped the black wine meditatively. It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with theproduction of such vintages.... Half an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the phone and putthrough a call to the Croanie Legation. He asked for the CommercialAttache. Retief here, Corps HQ, he said airily. About the MEDDLE shipment,the tractors. I'm wondering if there's been a slip up. My records showwe're shipping five hundred units.... That's correct. Five hundred. Retief waited. Ah ... are you there, Retief? I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundredtractors. It's perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled. Mr. Whaffle— One unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output,Retief said. Now Croanie subsists on her fisheries. She has perhapshalf a dozen pint-sized processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, theycould handle the ore ten WV's could scrape up ... if Croanie had anyore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't a WV a poor choice as a miningoutfit? I should think— See here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few surplus tractors?And in any event, what business is it of yours how we plan to use theequipment? That's an internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle— I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other fourhundred and ninety tractors? I understood the grant was to be with no strings attached! I know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old diplomatictradition that any time you can get anybody to accept anything as agift, you've scored points in the game. But if Croanie has some schemecooking— <doc-sep>Nothing like that, Retief. It's a mere business transaction. What kind of business do you do with a Bolo WV? With or without ablade attached, it's what's known as a continental siege unit. Great Heavens, Retief! Don't jump to conclusions! Would you have usbranded as warmongers? Frankly—is this a closed line? Certainly. You may speak freely. The tractors are for transshipment. We've gotten ourselves into adifficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise. This is an accommodationto a group with which we have rather strong business ties. I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy,Retief said. Any connection? Why ... ah ... no. Of course not, ha ha. Who gets the tractors eventually? Retief, this is unwarranted interference! Who gets them? They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see— And who's the friend you're helping out with an unauthorizedtransshipment of grant material? Why ... ah ... I've been working with a Mr. Gulver, a Boganrepresentative. And when will they be shipped? Why, they went out a week ago. They'll be half way there by now. Butlook here, Retief, this isn't what you're thinking! How do you know what I'm thinking? I don't know myself. Retief rangoff, buzzed the secretary. Miss Furkle, I'd like to be notified immediately of any newapplications that might come in from the Bogan Consulate for placementof students. Well, it happens, by coincidence, that I have an application here now.Mr. Gulver of the Consulate brought it in. Is Mr. Gulver in the office? I'd like to see him. I'll ask him if he has time. Great. Thanks. It was half a minute before a thick-necked red-facedman in a tight hat walked in. He wore an old-fashioned suit, a drabshirt, shiny shoes with round toes and an ill-tempered expression. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>The secretary placed the papers on the desk. Arapoulous caught her eyeand grinned. She sniffed and marched from the room. What that gal needs is a slippery time in the grape mash, Arapoulousobserved. Retief thumbed through the papers, pausing to read from timeto time. He finished and looked at Arapoulous. How many men do you need for the harvest, Hank? Retief inquired. Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass and looked thoughtful. A hundred would help, he said. A thousand would be better. Cheers. What would you say to two thousand? Two thousand? Retief, you're not fooling? I hope not. He picked up the phone, called the Port Authority, askedfor the dispatch clerk. Hello, Jim. Say, I have a favor to ask of you. You know thatcontingent of Bogan students. They're traveling aboard the two CDTtransports. I'm interested in the baggage that goes with the students.Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait. Jim came back to the phone. Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived.But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketedclear through to Lovenbroy. Listen, Jim, Retief said. I want you to go over to the warehouse andtake a look at that baggage for me. Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the errand. Thelevel in the two bottles had gone down an inch when Jim returned tothe phone. Hey, I took a look at that baggage, Retief. Something funny going on.Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII hand blasters, power pistols— It's okay, Jim. Nothing to worry about. Just a mix-up. Now, Jim,I'm going to ask you to do something more for me. I'm covering for afriend. It seems he slipped up. I wouldn't want word to get out, youunderstand. I'll send along a written change order in the morning thatwill cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to do.... Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous. As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think we'd better get downto the port, Hank. I think I'd like to see the students off personally. IV Karsh met Retief as he entered the Departures enclosure at the port. What's going on here? he demanded. There's some funny business withmy baggage consignment. They won't let me see it! I've got a feelingit's not being loaded. You'd better hurry, Mr. Karsh, Retief said. You're scheduled toblast off in less than an hour. Are the students all loaded? Yes, blast you! What about my baggage? Those vessels aren't movingwithout it! No need to get so upset about a few toothbrushes, is there, Mr.Karsh? Retief said blandly. Still, if you're worried— He turned toArapoulous. Hank, why don't you walk Mr. Karsh over to the warehouse and ...ah ... take care of him? I know just how to handle it, Arapoulous said. The dispatch clerk came up to Retief. I caught the tractor equipment,he said. Funny kind of mistake, but it's okay now. They're beingoff-loaded at d'Land. I talked to the traffic controller there. He saidthey weren't looking for any students. The labels got switched, Jim. The students go where the baggage wasconsigned. Too bad about the mistake, but the Armaments Office willhave a man along in a little while to dispose of the guns. Keep an eyeout for the luggage. No telling where it's gotten to. Here! a hoarse voice yelled. Retief turned. A disheveled figure in atight hat was crossing the enclosure, arms waving. Hi there, Mr. Gulver, Retief called. How's Boge's business comingalong? Piracy! Gulver blurted as he came up to Retief, puffing hard. You'vegot a hand in this, I don't doubt! Where's that Magnan fellow? What seems to be the problem? Retief said. Hold those transports! I've just been notified that the baggageshipment has been impounded. I'll remind you, that shipment enjoysdiplomatic free entry! Who told you it was impounded? Never mind! I have my sources! Two tall men buttoned into gray tunics came up. Are you Mr. Retief ofCDT? one said. That's right. What about my baggage! Gulver cut in. And I'm warning you, if thoseships lift without— These gentlemen are from the Armaments Control Commission, Retiefsaid. Would you like to come along and claim your baggage, Mr. Gulver? From where? I— Gulver turned two shades redder about the ears.Armaments? The only shipment I've held up seems to be somebody's arsenal, Retiefsaid. Now if you claim this is your baggage.... Why, impossible, Gulver said in a strained voice. Armaments?Ridiculous. There's been an error.... <doc-sep>At the baggage warehouse Gulver looked glumly at the opened cases ofguns. No, of course not, he said dully. Not my baggage. Not mybaggage at all. Arapoulous appeared, supporting the stumbling figure of Mr. Karsh. What—what's this? Gulver spluttered. Karsh? What's happened? He had a little fall. He'll be okay, Arapoulous said. You'd better help him to the ship, Retief said. It's ready to lift.We wouldn't want him to miss it. Leave him to me! Gulver snapped, his eyes slashing at Karsh. I'llsee he's dealt with. I couldn't think of it, Retief said. He's a guest of the Corps, youknow. We'll see him safely aboard. Gulver turned, signaled frantically. Three heavy-set men in identicaldrab suits detached themselves from the wall, crossed to the group. Take this man, Gulver snapped, indicating Karsh, who looked at himdazedly, reached up to rub his head. We take our hospitality seriously, Retief said. We'll see him aboardthe vessel. Gulver opened his mouth. I know you feel bad about finding guns instead of school books inyour luggage, Retief said, looking Gulver in the eye. You'll be busystraightening out the details of the mix-up. You'll want to avoidfurther complications. Ah. Ulp. Yes, Gulver said. He appeared unhappy. Arapoulous went on to the passenger conveyor, turned to wave. Your man—he's going too? Gulver blurted. He's not our man, properly speaking, Retief said. He lives onLovenbroy. Lovenbroy? Gulver choked. But ... the ... I.... I know you said the students were bound for d'Land, Retief said. ButI guess that was just another aspect of the general confusion. Thecourse plugged into the navigators was to Lovenbroy. You'll be glad toknow they're still headed there—even without the baggage. Perhaps, Gulver said grimly, perhaps they'll manage without it. By the way, Retief said. There was another funny mix-up. Therewere some tractors—for industrial use, you'll recall. I believe youco-operated with Croanie in arranging the grant through MEDDLE. Theywere erroneously consigned to Lovenbroy, a purely agricultural world. Isaved you some embarrassment, I trust, Mr. Gulver, by arranging to havethem off-loaded at d'Land. D'Land! You've put the CSU's in the hands of Boge's bitterest enemies! But they're only tractors, Mr. Gulver. Peaceful devices. Isn't thatcorrect? That's ... correct. Gulver sagged. Then he snapped erect. Hold theships! he yelled. I'm canceling the student exchange— His voice was drowned by the rumble as the first of the monstertransports rose from the launch pit, followed a moment later by thesecond, Retief watched them out of sight, then turned to Gulver. They're off, he said. Let's hope they get a liberal education. V Retief lay on his back in deep grass by a stream, eating grapes. A tallfigure appeared on the knoll above him and waved. Retief! Hank Arapoulous bounded down the slope and embraced Retief,slapping him on the back. I heard you were here—and I've got newsfor you. You won the final day's picking competition. Over two hundredbushels! That's a record! Let's get on over to the garden. Sounds like the celebration's aboutto start. In the flower-crowded park among the stripped vines, Retief andArapoulous made their way to a laden table under the lanterns. A tallgirl dressed in loose white, and with long golden hair, came up toArapoulous. Delinda, this is Retief—today's winner. And he's also the fellow thatgot those workers for us. Delinda smiled at Retief. I've heard about you, Mr. Retief. Weweren't sure about the boys at first. Two thousand Bogans, and allconfused about their baggage that went astray. But they seemed to likethe picking. She smiled again. That's not all. Our gals liked the boys, Hank said. Even Bogansaren't so bad, minus their irons. A lot of 'em will be staying on. Buthow come you didn't tell me you were coming, Retief? I'd have laid onsome kind of big welcome. I liked the welcome I got. And I didn't have much notice. Mr. Magnanwas a little upset when he got back. It seems I exceeded my authority. Arapoulous laughed. I had a feeling you were wheeling pretty free,Retief. I hope you didn't get into any trouble over it. No trouble, Retief said. A few people were a little unhappy withme. It seems I'm not ready for important assignments at Departmentallevel. I was shipped off here to the boondocks to get a little moreexperience. Delinda, look after Retief, said Arapoulous. I'll see you later.I've got to see to the wine judging. He disappeared in the crowd. Congratulations on winning the day, said Delinda. I noticed you atwork. You were wonderful. I'm glad you're going to have the prize. Thanks. I noticed you too, flitting around in that white nightie ofyours. But why weren't you picking grapes with the rest of us? I had a special assignment. Too bad. You should have had a chance at the prize. Delinda took Retief's hand. I wouldn't have anyway, she said. I'mthe prize. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who are the Bogans, and what happens to their plan?

The Bogans are people who have a history of aggression within the Nicodemean Cluster. In the last twenty years, they have launched four military campaigns against other Galaxy members; because of this, they are known as the Hoodlums of the Nicodemean Cluster. They have agreed to send 2,000 of their students to participate in the Exchange Program in d’Land that the Manpower Utilization Directorate, Division of Libraries and Education is facilitating. This agreement is a curiosity to Retief because d’Land is a poor, industrial society, so he wonders what the Bogans will study there. His superior, Second Secretary Magnan, tells him that is none of his business and to be sure not to antagonize the Bogan representative. According to the Special Committee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Underdeveloped Nations’ General Economies (SCROUNGE) committeeman, every agency in the Corps is trying to appease Boge since Boge is a well-known troublemaker. He also informs Retief that d’Land has no universities, just an under-endowed technical college that could not handle 200, much less 2,000, exchange students. He also tells Retief that most of d’Land’s problems result from an unwise trade agreement that it made with Boge. Retief meets Karsh, a Scoutmaster who trained the Bogan students; he made it like a game but says they know how to handle a CSU. As the Bogan students come through Customs and see Mr. Karsh, they snap to attention. Mr. Karsh refuses to let the students leave the airport. Retief notices that all the exchange students are males, and Karsh tells him they wanted to see how the first group of students was received before sending any females. Retief realizes that Bogan students are headed to a place that has no classrooms for the students. In the meantime, the tractors are being sent to Croanie, a world under obligation to Boge, and Croanie holds the mortgage to the best vineyards in Lovenbroy. Retief looks up the tractors that are being sent to Croanie and discovers they are armored vehicles with a half-megaton per second firepower. Retief learns that these continental siege units are ultimately being sent to Lovenbroy, which is rich in minerals, on behalf of Boge. Retief also learns that Boge has an application to send another 2,000 students to Croanie and is considering sending 2,000 more to Featherweight. Retief learns that Boge tried to take over Lovenbroy several years earlier and would have succeeded if not for bad luck. Retief calls a friend who works in transport and learns that the Bogan students’ luggage is all being sent to Lovenbroy, and when he looked in the luggage, it was all weapons. Retief diverts the luggage and sends the students on to Lovenbroy to help with the grape harvest for the vineyards. He impounds the luggage full of weapons.

Who is Hank Arapoulous, and what does he do in the story? [SEP] <s> CULTURAL EXCHANGE BY KEITH LAUMER It was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of an education than they expected! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Second Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-featheredberet from the clothes tree. I'm off now, Retief, he said. I hopeyou'll manage the administrative routine during my absence without anyunfortunate incidents. That seems a modest enough hope, Retief said. I'll try to live up toit. I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division, Magnansaid testily. When I first came here, the Manpower UtilizationDirectorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. Ifancy I've made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question thewisdom of placing you in charge of such a sensitive desk, even for twoweeks. But remember. Yours is purely a rubber-stamp function. In that case, let's leave it to Miss Furkle. I'll take a couple ofweeks off myself. With her poundage, she could bring plenty of pressureto bear. I assume you jest, Retief, Magnan said sadly. I should expect evenyou to appreciate that Bogan participation in the Exchange Program maybe the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into morecultivated channels. I see they're sending two thousand students to d'Land, Retief said,glancing at the Memo for Record. That's a sizable sublimation. Magnan nodded. The Bogans have launched no less than four militarycampaigns in the last two decades. They're known as the Hoodlums ofthe Nicodemean Cluster. Now, perhaps, we shall see them breaking thatprecedent and entering into the cultural life of the Galaxy. Breaking and entering, Retief said. You may have something there.But I'm wondering what they'll study on d'Land. That's an industrialworld of the poor but honest variety. Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,Magnan said. Our function is merely to bring them together. Seethat you don't antagonize the Bogan representative. This willbe an excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplomaticrestraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll agree. A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. What is it, Miss Furkle? That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here again. On the small deskscreen, Miss Furkle's meaty features were compressed in disapproval. This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to you, Retief,Magnan said. Tell him something. Get rid of him. And remember: hereat Corps HQ, all eyes are upon you. If I'd thought of that, I'd have worn my other suit, Retief said. Magnan snorted and passed from view. Retief punched Miss Furkle'sbutton. Send the bucolic person in. <doc-sep>A tall broad man with bronze skin and gray hair, wearing tight trousersof heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck and a short jacket,stepped into the room. He had a bundle under his arm. He paused atsight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and heldout his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the two big men stood, faceto face. The newcomer's jaw muscles knotted. Then he winced. Retief dropped his hand and motioned to a chair. That's nice knuckle work, mister, the stranger said, massaging hishand. First time anybody ever did that to me. My fault though. Istarted it, I guess. He grinned and sat down. What can I do for you? Retief said. You work for this Culture bunch, do you? Funny. I thought they wereall ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer.What I wanted to see you about was— He shifted in his chair. Well,out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem. The wine crop is justabout ready. We start picking in another two, three months. Now I don'tknow if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...? No, Retief said. Have a cigar? He pushed a box across the desk.Arapoulous took one. Bacchus vines are an unusual crop, he said,puffing the cigar alight. Only mature every twelve years. In between,the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own.We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms.Apples the size of a melon—and sweet— Sounds very pleasant, Retief said. Where does the Libraries andEducation Division come in? Arapoulous leaned forward. We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folkscan't spend all their time hybridizing plants. We've turned all theland area we've got into parks and farms. Course, we left some sizableforest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place, Mr.Retief. It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what— Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Ouryear's about eighteen Terry months. Cold as hell in winter; eccentricorbit, you know. Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. We do mostlypainting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring; still plenty cold.Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating; and it's the season forwoodworkers. Our furniture— I've seen some of your furniture, Retief said. Beautiful work. Arapoulous nodded. All local timbers too. Lots of metals in our soiland those sulphates give the woods some color, I'll tell you. Thencomes the Monsoon. Rain—it comes down in sheets. But the sun's gettingcloser. Shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in the sunshine?That's the music-writing season. Then summer. Summer's hot. We stayinside in the daytime and have beach parties all night. Lots of beachon Lovenbroy; we're mostly islands. That's the drama and symphony time.The theatres are set up on the sand, or anchored off-shore. You havethe music and the surf and the bonfires and stars—we're close to thecenter of a globular cluster, you know.... You say it's time now for the wine crop? That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most years we have just theordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing; getting it in doesn'ttake long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting newplaces ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We spend alot of time in our houses. We like to have them comfortable. But thisyear's different. This is Wine Year. <doc-sep>Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. Our winecrop is our big money crop, he said. We make enough to keep us going.But this year.... The crop isn't panning out? Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm onlytwenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem'snot the crop. Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for theCommercial— Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines eversettled for anything else! It sounds like I've been missing something, said Retief. I'll haveto try them some time. Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. Notime like the present, he said. Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, bothdusty, with faded labels, and blackened corks secured by wire. Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr. Arapoulous, he said. This isn't drinking . It's just wine. Arapoulous pulled the wireretainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose slowly, then popped in theair. Arapoulous caught it. Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle.Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me. He winked. Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. Cometo think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaintnative customs. Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deeprust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He lookedat Arapoulous thoughtfully. Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crustedport. Don't try to describe it, Mr. Retief, Arapoulous said. He took amouthful of wine, swished it around his teeth, swallowed. It's Bacchuswine, that's all. Nothing like it in the Galaxy. He pushed the secondbottle toward Retief. The custom back home is to alternate red wineand black. <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up. Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback? Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest. We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men. That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base. It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers. Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose? Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews. Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice? <doc-sep>Never did, Retief said. You say most of the children are born aftera vintage. That would make them only twelve years old by the time— Oh, that's Lovenbroy years; they'd be eighteen, Terry reckoning. I was thinking you looked a little mature for twenty-eight, Retiefsaid. Forty-two, Terry years, Arapoulous said. But this year it looks bad.We've got a bumper crop—and we're short-handed. If we don't get a bigvintage, Croanie steps in. Lord knows what they'll do to the land. Thennext vintage time, with them holding half our grape acreage— You hocked the vineyards? Yep. Pretty dumb, huh? But we figured twelve years was a long time. On the whole, Retief said, I think I prefer the black. But the redis hard to beat.... What we figured was, maybe you Culture boys could help us out. A loanto see us through the vintage, enough to hire extra hands. Then we'drepay it in sculpture, painting, furniture— Sorry, Hank. All we do here is work out itineraries for travelingside-shows, that kind of thing. Now, if you needed a troop of Groacinose-flute players— Can they pick grapes? Nope. Anyway, they can't stand the daylight. Have you talked this overwith the Labor Office? Sure did. They said they'd fix us up with all the electronicsspecialists and computer programmers we wanted—but no field hands.Said it was what they classified as menial drudgery; you'd have thoughtI was trying to buy slaves. The buzzer sounded. Miss Furkle's features appeared on the desk screen. You're due at the Intergroup Council in five minutes, she said. Thenafterwards, there are the Bogan students to meet. Thanks. Retief finished his glass, stood. I have to run, Hank, hesaid. Let me think this over. Maybe I can come up with something.Check with me day after tomorrow. And you'd better leave the bottleshere. Cultural exhibits, you know. II As the council meeting broke up, Retief caught the eye of a colleagueacross the table. Mr. Whaffle, you mentioned a shipment going to a place called Croanie.What are they getting? Whaffle blinked. You're the fellow who's filling in for Magnan, overat MUDDLE, he said. Properly speaking, equipment grants are thesole concern of the Motorized Equipment Depot, Division of Loans andExchanges. He pursed his lips. However, I suppose there's no harm intelling you. They'll be receiving heavy mining equipment. Drill rigs, that sort of thing? Strip mining gear. Whaffle took a slip of paper from a breast pocket,blinked at it. Bolo Model WV/1 tractors, to be specific. Why is MUDDLEinterested in MEDDLE's activities? Forgive my curiosity, Mr. Whaffle. It's just that Croanie cropped upearlier today. It seems she holds a mortgage on some vineyards overon— That's not MEDDLE's affair, sir, Whaffle cut in. I have sufficientproblems as Chief of MEDDLE without probing into MUDDLE'S business. Speaking of tractors, another man put in, we over at the SpecialCommittee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations'General Economies have been trying for months to get a request formining equipment for d'Land through MEDDLE— SCROUNGE was late on the scene, Whaffle said. First come, firstserved. That's our policy at MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen. He strodeoff, briefcase under his arm. That's the trouble with peaceful worlds, the SCROUNGE committeemansaid. Boge is a troublemaker, so every agency in the Corps is outto pacify her. While my chance to make a record—that is, assistpeace-loving d'Land—comes to naught. He shook his head. What kind of university do they have on d'Land? asked Retief. We'resending them two thousand exchange students. It must be quite aninstitution. University? D'Land has one under-endowed technical college. Will all the exchange students be studying at the Technical College? Two thousand students? Hah! Two hundred students would overtax thefacilities of the college. I wonder if the Bogans know that? The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwisetrade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand studentsindeed! He snorted and walked away. <doc-sep>Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape, then rode theelevator to the roof of the 230-story Corps HQ building and hailed acab to the port. The Bogan students had arrived early. Retief saw themlined up on the ramp waiting to go through customs. It would be halfan hour before they were cleared through. He turned into the bar andordered a beer. A tall young fellow on the next stool raised his glass. Happy days, he said. And nights to match. You said it. He gulped half his beer. My name's Karsh. Mr. Karsh.Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a drag, sitting around this placewaiting.... You meeting somebody? Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids. How they expect—Never mind. Have one onme. Thanks. You a Scoutmaster? I'll tell you what I am. I'm a cradle-robber. You know— he turnedto Retief—not one of those kids is over eighteen. He hiccupped.Students, you know. Never saw a student with a beard, did you? Lots of times. You're meeting the students, are you? The young fellow blinked at Retief. Oh, you know about it, huh? I represent MUDDLE. Karsh finished his beer, ordered another. I came on ahead. Sort ofan advance guard for the kids. I trained 'em myself. Treated it likea game, but they can handle a CSU. Don't know how they'll act underpressure. If I had my old platoon— He looked at his beer glass, pushed it back. Had enough, he said. Solong, friend. Or are you coming along? Retief nodded. Might as well. <doc-sep>At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched as the first ofthe Bogan students came through, caught sight of Karsh and snapped toattention, his chest out. Drop that, mister, Karsh snapped. Is that any way for a student toact? The youth, a round-faced lad with broad shoulders, grinned. Heck, no, he said. Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go totown? We fellas were thinking— You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids! I mean ... no! Nowline up! We have quarters ready for the students, Retief said. If you'd liketo bring them around to the west side, I have a couple of copters laidon. Thanks, said Karsh. They'll stay here until take-off time. Can'thave the little dears wandering around loose. Might get ideas aboutgoing over the hill. He hiccupped. I mean they might play hookey. We've scheduled your re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a longwait. MUDDLE's arranged theater tickets and a dinner. Sorry, Karsh said. As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off. Hehiccupped again. Can't travel without our baggage, y'know. Suit yourself, Retief said. Where's the baggage now? Coming in aboard a Croanie lighter. Maybe you'd like to arrange for a meal for the students here. Sure, Karsh said. That's a good idea. Why don't you join us? Karshwinked. And bring a few beers. Not this time, Retief said. He watched the students, still emergingfrom Customs. They seem to be all boys, he commented. No femalestudents? Maybe later, Karsh said. You know, after we see how the first bunchis received. Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle. Do you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are boundfor? Why, the University at d'Land, of course. Would that be the Technical College? Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. I'm sure I've never pried into thesedetails. Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle? Retiefsaid. Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students aretravelling so far to study—at Corps expense. Mr. Magnan never— For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leavesme with the question of two thousand young male students headed fora world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors.But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligationto Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage onLovenbroy. Well! Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows.I hope you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom! About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question, Retief said. Butnever mind. I'd like you to look up an item for me. How many tractorswill Croanie be getting under the MEDDLE program? Why, that's entirely MEDDLE business, Miss Furkle said. Mr. Magnanalways— I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can. <doc-sep>Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left theoffice, descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the CorpsLibrary. In the stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored overindices. Can I help you? someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow. Thank you, ma'am, Retief said. I'm looking for information on amining rig. A Bolo model WV tractor. You won't find it in the industrial section, the librarian said.Come along. Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-litsection lettered ARMAMENTS. She took a tape from the shelf, pluggedit into the viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat armoredvehicle. That's the model WV, she said. It's what is known as a continentalsiege unit. It carries four men, with a half-megaton/second firepower. There must be an error somewhere, Retief said. The Bolo model I wantis a tractor. Model WV M-1— Oh, the modification was the addition of a bulldozer blade fordemolition work. That must be what confused you. Probably—among other things. Thank you. Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. I have the information youwanted, she said. I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under theimpression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths— Sure, Retief said. Shoot. How many tractors? Five hundred. Are you sure? Miss Furkle's chins quivered. Well! If you feel I'm incompetent— Just questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss Furkle. Fivehundred tractors is a lot of equipment. Was there anything further? Miss Furkle inquired frigidly. I sincerely hope not, Retief said. III Leaning back in Magnan's padded chair with power swivel andhip-u-matic concontour, Retief leafed through a folder labelled CERP7-602-Ba; CROANIE (general). He paused at a page headed Industry. Still reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the two bottles ofBacchus wine and two glasses. He poured an inch of wine into each andsipped the black wine meditatively. It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with theproduction of such vintages.... Half an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the phone and putthrough a call to the Croanie Legation. He asked for the CommercialAttache. Retief here, Corps HQ, he said airily. About the MEDDLE shipment,the tractors. I'm wondering if there's been a slip up. My records showwe're shipping five hundred units.... That's correct. Five hundred. Retief waited. Ah ... are you there, Retief? I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundredtractors. It's perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled. Mr. Whaffle— One unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output,Retief said. Now Croanie subsists on her fisheries. She has perhapshalf a dozen pint-sized processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, theycould handle the ore ten WV's could scrape up ... if Croanie had anyore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't a WV a poor choice as a miningoutfit? I should think— See here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few surplus tractors?And in any event, what business is it of yours how we plan to use theequipment? That's an internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle— I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other fourhundred and ninety tractors? I understood the grant was to be with no strings attached! I know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old diplomatictradition that any time you can get anybody to accept anything as agift, you've scored points in the game. But if Croanie has some schemecooking— <doc-sep>Nothing like that, Retief. It's a mere business transaction. What kind of business do you do with a Bolo WV? With or without ablade attached, it's what's known as a continental siege unit. Great Heavens, Retief! Don't jump to conclusions! Would you have usbranded as warmongers? Frankly—is this a closed line? Certainly. You may speak freely. The tractors are for transshipment. We've gotten ourselves into adifficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise. This is an accommodationto a group with which we have rather strong business ties. I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy,Retief said. Any connection? Why ... ah ... no. Of course not, ha ha. Who gets the tractors eventually? Retief, this is unwarranted interference! Who gets them? They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see— And who's the friend you're helping out with an unauthorizedtransshipment of grant material? Why ... ah ... I've been working with a Mr. Gulver, a Boganrepresentative. And when will they be shipped? Why, they went out a week ago. They'll be half way there by now. Butlook here, Retief, this isn't what you're thinking! How do you know what I'm thinking? I don't know myself. Retief rangoff, buzzed the secretary. Miss Furkle, I'd like to be notified immediately of any newapplications that might come in from the Bogan Consulate for placementof students. Well, it happens, by coincidence, that I have an application here now.Mr. Gulver of the Consulate brought it in. Is Mr. Gulver in the office? I'd like to see him. I'll ask him if he has time. Great. Thanks. It was half a minute before a thick-necked red-facedman in a tight hat walked in. He wore an old-fashioned suit, a drabshirt, shiny shoes with round toes and an ill-tempered expression. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>The secretary placed the papers on the desk. Arapoulous caught her eyeand grinned. She sniffed and marched from the room. What that gal needs is a slippery time in the grape mash, Arapoulousobserved. Retief thumbed through the papers, pausing to read from timeto time. He finished and looked at Arapoulous. How many men do you need for the harvest, Hank? Retief inquired. Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass and looked thoughtful. A hundred would help, he said. A thousand would be better. Cheers. What would you say to two thousand? Two thousand? Retief, you're not fooling? I hope not. He picked up the phone, called the Port Authority, askedfor the dispatch clerk. Hello, Jim. Say, I have a favor to ask of you. You know thatcontingent of Bogan students. They're traveling aboard the two CDTtransports. I'm interested in the baggage that goes with the students.Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait. Jim came back to the phone. Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived.But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketedclear through to Lovenbroy. Listen, Jim, Retief said. I want you to go over to the warehouse andtake a look at that baggage for me. Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the errand. Thelevel in the two bottles had gone down an inch when Jim returned tothe phone. Hey, I took a look at that baggage, Retief. Something funny going on.Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII hand blasters, power pistols— It's okay, Jim. Nothing to worry about. Just a mix-up. Now, Jim,I'm going to ask you to do something more for me. I'm covering for afriend. It seems he slipped up. I wouldn't want word to get out, youunderstand. I'll send along a written change order in the morning thatwill cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to do.... Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous. As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think we'd better get downto the port, Hank. I think I'd like to see the students off personally. IV Karsh met Retief as he entered the Departures enclosure at the port. What's going on here? he demanded. There's some funny business withmy baggage consignment. They won't let me see it! I've got a feelingit's not being loaded. You'd better hurry, Mr. Karsh, Retief said. You're scheduled toblast off in less than an hour. Are the students all loaded? Yes, blast you! What about my baggage? Those vessels aren't movingwithout it! No need to get so upset about a few toothbrushes, is there, Mr.Karsh? Retief said blandly. Still, if you're worried— He turned toArapoulous. Hank, why don't you walk Mr. Karsh over to the warehouse and ...ah ... take care of him? I know just how to handle it, Arapoulous said. The dispatch clerk came up to Retief. I caught the tractor equipment,he said. Funny kind of mistake, but it's okay now. They're beingoff-loaded at d'Land. I talked to the traffic controller there. He saidthey weren't looking for any students. The labels got switched, Jim. The students go where the baggage wasconsigned. Too bad about the mistake, but the Armaments Office willhave a man along in a little while to dispose of the guns. Keep an eyeout for the luggage. No telling where it's gotten to. Here! a hoarse voice yelled. Retief turned. A disheveled figure in atight hat was crossing the enclosure, arms waving. Hi there, Mr. Gulver, Retief called. How's Boge's business comingalong? Piracy! Gulver blurted as he came up to Retief, puffing hard. You'vegot a hand in this, I don't doubt! Where's that Magnan fellow? What seems to be the problem? Retief said. Hold those transports! I've just been notified that the baggageshipment has been impounded. I'll remind you, that shipment enjoysdiplomatic free entry! Who told you it was impounded? Never mind! I have my sources! Two tall men buttoned into gray tunics came up. Are you Mr. Retief ofCDT? one said. That's right. What about my baggage! Gulver cut in. And I'm warning you, if thoseships lift without— These gentlemen are from the Armaments Control Commission, Retiefsaid. Would you like to come along and claim your baggage, Mr. Gulver? From where? I— Gulver turned two shades redder about the ears.Armaments? The only shipment I've held up seems to be somebody's arsenal, Retiefsaid. Now if you claim this is your baggage.... Why, impossible, Gulver said in a strained voice. Armaments?Ridiculous. There's been an error.... <doc-sep>At the baggage warehouse Gulver looked glumly at the opened cases ofguns. No, of course not, he said dully. Not my baggage. Not mybaggage at all. Arapoulous appeared, supporting the stumbling figure of Mr. Karsh. What—what's this? Gulver spluttered. Karsh? What's happened? He had a little fall. He'll be okay, Arapoulous said. You'd better help him to the ship, Retief said. It's ready to lift.We wouldn't want him to miss it. Leave him to me! Gulver snapped, his eyes slashing at Karsh. I'llsee he's dealt with. I couldn't think of it, Retief said. He's a guest of the Corps, youknow. We'll see him safely aboard. Gulver turned, signaled frantically. Three heavy-set men in identicaldrab suits detached themselves from the wall, crossed to the group. Take this man, Gulver snapped, indicating Karsh, who looked at himdazedly, reached up to rub his head. We take our hospitality seriously, Retief said. We'll see him aboardthe vessel. Gulver opened his mouth. I know you feel bad about finding guns instead of school books inyour luggage, Retief said, looking Gulver in the eye. You'll be busystraightening out the details of the mix-up. You'll want to avoidfurther complications. Ah. Ulp. Yes, Gulver said. He appeared unhappy. Arapoulous went on to the passenger conveyor, turned to wave. Your man—he's going too? Gulver blurted. He's not our man, properly speaking, Retief said. He lives onLovenbroy. Lovenbroy? Gulver choked. But ... the ... I.... I know you said the students were bound for d'Land, Retief said. ButI guess that was just another aspect of the general confusion. Thecourse plugged into the navigators was to Lovenbroy. You'll be glad toknow they're still headed there—even without the baggage. Perhaps, Gulver said grimly, perhaps they'll manage without it. By the way, Retief said. There was another funny mix-up. Therewere some tractors—for industrial use, you'll recall. I believe youco-operated with Croanie in arranging the grant through MEDDLE. Theywere erroneously consigned to Lovenbroy, a purely agricultural world. Isaved you some embarrassment, I trust, Mr. Gulver, by arranging to havethem off-loaded at d'Land. D'Land! You've put the CSU's in the hands of Boge's bitterest enemies! But they're only tractors, Mr. Gulver. Peaceful devices. Isn't thatcorrect? That's ... correct. Gulver sagged. Then he snapped erect. Hold theships! he yelled. I'm canceling the student exchange— His voice was drowned by the rumble as the first of the monstertransports rose from the launch pit, followed a moment later by thesecond, Retief watched them out of sight, then turned to Gulver. They're off, he said. Let's hope they get a liberal education. V Retief lay on his back in deep grass by a stream, eating grapes. A tallfigure appeared on the knoll above him and waved. Retief! Hank Arapoulous bounded down the slope and embraced Retief,slapping him on the back. I heard you were here—and I've got newsfor you. You won the final day's picking competition. Over two hundredbushels! That's a record! Let's get on over to the garden. Sounds like the celebration's aboutto start. In the flower-crowded park among the stripped vines, Retief andArapoulous made their way to a laden table under the lanterns. A tallgirl dressed in loose white, and with long golden hair, came up toArapoulous. Delinda, this is Retief—today's winner. And he's also the fellow thatgot those workers for us. Delinda smiled at Retief. I've heard about you, Mr. Retief. Weweren't sure about the boys at first. Two thousand Bogans, and allconfused about their baggage that went astray. But they seemed to likethe picking. She smiled again. That's not all. Our gals liked the boys, Hank said. Even Bogansaren't so bad, minus their irons. A lot of 'em will be staying on. Buthow come you didn't tell me you were coming, Retief? I'd have laid onsome kind of big welcome. I liked the welcome I got. And I didn't have much notice. Mr. Magnanwas a little upset when he got back. It seems I exceeded my authority. Arapoulous laughed. I had a feeling you were wheeling pretty free,Retief. I hope you didn't get into any trouble over it. No trouble, Retief said. A few people were a little unhappy withme. It seems I'm not ready for important assignments at Departmentallevel. I was shipped off here to the boondocks to get a little moreexperience. Delinda, look after Retief, said Arapoulous. I'll see you later.I've got to see to the wine judging. He disappeared in the crowd. Congratulations on winning the day, said Delinda. I noticed you atwork. You were wonderful. I'm glad you're going to have the prize. Thanks. I noticed you too, flitting around in that white nightie ofyours. But why weren't you picking grapes with the rest of us? I had a special assignment. Too bad. You should have had a chance at the prize. Delinda took Retief's hand. I wouldn't have anyway, she said. I'mthe prize. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who is Hank Arapoulous, and what does he do in the story?

Hank Arapoulousis is first described as a “bucolic person from Lovenbroy.” He is a farmer, tall with bronze skin and gray hair, who comes to MUDDLE’s office to discuss the harvest problems in Lovenbroy. They grow Bacchus vines, which only mature once every twelve years. This year is a harvest year, but they don’t have enough people to harvest the grapes. Arapoulousis explains to Retief that a few years ago, Boge landed a force on Lovenbroy to try to mine their minerals by strip-mining. Lovenbroy fought back for a year but lost a lot of its men. This created financial problems, so Lovenbroy borrowed money from Croanie, mortgaging its crops. The loan is due, and the wine crop will cover the loan amount, but they don’t have enough people to harvest the grapes. He is worried that if they don’t have a great harvest, Croanie will come in and start mining. Also, if they default on the loan, Croanie will hold half of the grape acreage that they used to secure the loan. Arapoulousis has also asked for help from the Labor Office, but they only offered to send them machinery, and machines cannot harvest the grapes. He returns to see Retief the following day to find out if Retief has discovered a way to help. When Mr. Karsh makes a scene about the missing luggage for the exchange students, Retief has Arapoulousis take Karsh away and “take care of him.” When they return, Karsh is stumbling and needs support to stand up. Arapoulousis explains that Karsh fell. Retief sends the exchange students to Lovenbroy with Arapoulousis to help with the harvest. As the harvest is winding down, Arapoulousis tells Retief that Retief has won the award for the picking competition. Arapoulousis is also the person who judges the wine contest.

What is Lovenbroy, and why is it important? [SEP] <s> CULTURAL EXCHANGE BY KEITH LAUMER It was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of an education than they expected! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Second Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-featheredberet from the clothes tree. I'm off now, Retief, he said. I hopeyou'll manage the administrative routine during my absence without anyunfortunate incidents. That seems a modest enough hope, Retief said. I'll try to live up toit. I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division, Magnansaid testily. When I first came here, the Manpower UtilizationDirectorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. Ifancy I've made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question thewisdom of placing you in charge of such a sensitive desk, even for twoweeks. But remember. Yours is purely a rubber-stamp function. In that case, let's leave it to Miss Furkle. I'll take a couple ofweeks off myself. With her poundage, she could bring plenty of pressureto bear. I assume you jest, Retief, Magnan said sadly. I should expect evenyou to appreciate that Bogan participation in the Exchange Program maybe the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into morecultivated channels. I see they're sending two thousand students to d'Land, Retief said,glancing at the Memo for Record. That's a sizable sublimation. Magnan nodded. The Bogans have launched no less than four militarycampaigns in the last two decades. They're known as the Hoodlums ofthe Nicodemean Cluster. Now, perhaps, we shall see them breaking thatprecedent and entering into the cultural life of the Galaxy. Breaking and entering, Retief said. You may have something there.But I'm wondering what they'll study on d'Land. That's an industrialworld of the poor but honest variety. Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,Magnan said. Our function is merely to bring them together. Seethat you don't antagonize the Bogan representative. This willbe an excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplomaticrestraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll agree. A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. What is it, Miss Furkle? That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here again. On the small deskscreen, Miss Furkle's meaty features were compressed in disapproval. This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to you, Retief,Magnan said. Tell him something. Get rid of him. And remember: hereat Corps HQ, all eyes are upon you. If I'd thought of that, I'd have worn my other suit, Retief said. Magnan snorted and passed from view. Retief punched Miss Furkle'sbutton. Send the bucolic person in. <doc-sep>A tall broad man with bronze skin and gray hair, wearing tight trousersof heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck and a short jacket,stepped into the room. He had a bundle under his arm. He paused atsight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and heldout his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the two big men stood, faceto face. The newcomer's jaw muscles knotted. Then he winced. Retief dropped his hand and motioned to a chair. That's nice knuckle work, mister, the stranger said, massaging hishand. First time anybody ever did that to me. My fault though. Istarted it, I guess. He grinned and sat down. What can I do for you? Retief said. You work for this Culture bunch, do you? Funny. I thought they wereall ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer.What I wanted to see you about was— He shifted in his chair. Well,out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem. The wine crop is justabout ready. We start picking in another two, three months. Now I don'tknow if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...? No, Retief said. Have a cigar? He pushed a box across the desk.Arapoulous took one. Bacchus vines are an unusual crop, he said,puffing the cigar alight. Only mature every twelve years. In between,the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own.We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms.Apples the size of a melon—and sweet— Sounds very pleasant, Retief said. Where does the Libraries andEducation Division come in? Arapoulous leaned forward. We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folkscan't spend all their time hybridizing plants. We've turned all theland area we've got into parks and farms. Course, we left some sizableforest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place, Mr.Retief. It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what— Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Ouryear's about eighteen Terry months. Cold as hell in winter; eccentricorbit, you know. Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. We do mostlypainting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring; still plenty cold.Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating; and it's the season forwoodworkers. Our furniture— I've seen some of your furniture, Retief said. Beautiful work. Arapoulous nodded. All local timbers too. Lots of metals in our soiland those sulphates give the woods some color, I'll tell you. Thencomes the Monsoon. Rain—it comes down in sheets. But the sun's gettingcloser. Shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in the sunshine?That's the music-writing season. Then summer. Summer's hot. We stayinside in the daytime and have beach parties all night. Lots of beachon Lovenbroy; we're mostly islands. That's the drama and symphony time.The theatres are set up on the sand, or anchored off-shore. You havethe music and the surf and the bonfires and stars—we're close to thecenter of a globular cluster, you know.... You say it's time now for the wine crop? That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most years we have just theordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing; getting it in doesn'ttake long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting newplaces ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We spend alot of time in our houses. We like to have them comfortable. But thisyear's different. This is Wine Year. <doc-sep>Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. Our winecrop is our big money crop, he said. We make enough to keep us going.But this year.... The crop isn't panning out? Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm onlytwenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem'snot the crop. Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for theCommercial— Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines eversettled for anything else! It sounds like I've been missing something, said Retief. I'll haveto try them some time. Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. Notime like the present, he said. Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, bothdusty, with faded labels, and blackened corks secured by wire. Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr. Arapoulous, he said. This isn't drinking . It's just wine. Arapoulous pulled the wireretainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose slowly, then popped in theair. Arapoulous caught it. Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle.Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me. He winked. Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. Cometo think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaintnative customs. Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deeprust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He lookedat Arapoulous thoughtfully. Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crustedport. Don't try to describe it, Mr. Retief, Arapoulous said. He took amouthful of wine, swished it around his teeth, swallowed. It's Bacchuswine, that's all. Nothing like it in the Galaxy. He pushed the secondbottle toward Retief. The custom back home is to alternate red wineand black. <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up. Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback? Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest. We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men. That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base. It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers. Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose? Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews. Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice? <doc-sep>Never did, Retief said. You say most of the children are born aftera vintage. That would make them only twelve years old by the time— Oh, that's Lovenbroy years; they'd be eighteen, Terry reckoning. I was thinking you looked a little mature for twenty-eight, Retiefsaid. Forty-two, Terry years, Arapoulous said. But this year it looks bad.We've got a bumper crop—and we're short-handed. If we don't get a bigvintage, Croanie steps in. Lord knows what they'll do to the land. Thennext vintage time, with them holding half our grape acreage— You hocked the vineyards? Yep. Pretty dumb, huh? But we figured twelve years was a long time. On the whole, Retief said, I think I prefer the black. But the redis hard to beat.... What we figured was, maybe you Culture boys could help us out. A loanto see us through the vintage, enough to hire extra hands. Then we'drepay it in sculpture, painting, furniture— Sorry, Hank. All we do here is work out itineraries for travelingside-shows, that kind of thing. Now, if you needed a troop of Groacinose-flute players— Can they pick grapes? Nope. Anyway, they can't stand the daylight. Have you talked this overwith the Labor Office? Sure did. They said they'd fix us up with all the electronicsspecialists and computer programmers we wanted—but no field hands.Said it was what they classified as menial drudgery; you'd have thoughtI was trying to buy slaves. The buzzer sounded. Miss Furkle's features appeared on the desk screen. You're due at the Intergroup Council in five minutes, she said. Thenafterwards, there are the Bogan students to meet. Thanks. Retief finished his glass, stood. I have to run, Hank, hesaid. Let me think this over. Maybe I can come up with something.Check with me day after tomorrow. And you'd better leave the bottleshere. Cultural exhibits, you know. II As the council meeting broke up, Retief caught the eye of a colleagueacross the table. Mr. Whaffle, you mentioned a shipment going to a place called Croanie.What are they getting? Whaffle blinked. You're the fellow who's filling in for Magnan, overat MUDDLE, he said. Properly speaking, equipment grants are thesole concern of the Motorized Equipment Depot, Division of Loans andExchanges. He pursed his lips. However, I suppose there's no harm intelling you. They'll be receiving heavy mining equipment. Drill rigs, that sort of thing? Strip mining gear. Whaffle took a slip of paper from a breast pocket,blinked at it. Bolo Model WV/1 tractors, to be specific. Why is MUDDLEinterested in MEDDLE's activities? Forgive my curiosity, Mr. Whaffle. It's just that Croanie cropped upearlier today. It seems she holds a mortgage on some vineyards overon— That's not MEDDLE's affair, sir, Whaffle cut in. I have sufficientproblems as Chief of MEDDLE without probing into MUDDLE'S business. Speaking of tractors, another man put in, we over at the SpecialCommittee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations'General Economies have been trying for months to get a request formining equipment for d'Land through MEDDLE— SCROUNGE was late on the scene, Whaffle said. First come, firstserved. That's our policy at MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen. He strodeoff, briefcase under his arm. That's the trouble with peaceful worlds, the SCROUNGE committeemansaid. Boge is a troublemaker, so every agency in the Corps is outto pacify her. While my chance to make a record—that is, assistpeace-loving d'Land—comes to naught. He shook his head. What kind of university do they have on d'Land? asked Retief. We'resending them two thousand exchange students. It must be quite aninstitution. University? D'Land has one under-endowed technical college. Will all the exchange students be studying at the Technical College? Two thousand students? Hah! Two hundred students would overtax thefacilities of the college. I wonder if the Bogans know that? The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwisetrade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand studentsindeed! He snorted and walked away. <doc-sep>Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape, then rode theelevator to the roof of the 230-story Corps HQ building and hailed acab to the port. The Bogan students had arrived early. Retief saw themlined up on the ramp waiting to go through customs. It would be halfan hour before they were cleared through. He turned into the bar andordered a beer. A tall young fellow on the next stool raised his glass. Happy days, he said. And nights to match. You said it. He gulped half his beer. My name's Karsh. Mr. Karsh.Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a drag, sitting around this placewaiting.... You meeting somebody? Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids. How they expect—Never mind. Have one onme. Thanks. You a Scoutmaster? I'll tell you what I am. I'm a cradle-robber. You know— he turnedto Retief—not one of those kids is over eighteen. He hiccupped.Students, you know. Never saw a student with a beard, did you? Lots of times. You're meeting the students, are you? The young fellow blinked at Retief. Oh, you know about it, huh? I represent MUDDLE. Karsh finished his beer, ordered another. I came on ahead. Sort ofan advance guard for the kids. I trained 'em myself. Treated it likea game, but they can handle a CSU. Don't know how they'll act underpressure. If I had my old platoon— He looked at his beer glass, pushed it back. Had enough, he said. Solong, friend. Or are you coming along? Retief nodded. Might as well. <doc-sep>At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched as the first ofthe Bogan students came through, caught sight of Karsh and snapped toattention, his chest out. Drop that, mister, Karsh snapped. Is that any way for a student toact? The youth, a round-faced lad with broad shoulders, grinned. Heck, no, he said. Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go totown? We fellas were thinking— You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids! I mean ... no! Nowline up! We have quarters ready for the students, Retief said. If you'd liketo bring them around to the west side, I have a couple of copters laidon. Thanks, said Karsh. They'll stay here until take-off time. Can'thave the little dears wandering around loose. Might get ideas aboutgoing over the hill. He hiccupped. I mean they might play hookey. We've scheduled your re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a longwait. MUDDLE's arranged theater tickets and a dinner. Sorry, Karsh said. As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off. Hehiccupped again. Can't travel without our baggage, y'know. Suit yourself, Retief said. Where's the baggage now? Coming in aboard a Croanie lighter. Maybe you'd like to arrange for a meal for the students here. Sure, Karsh said. That's a good idea. Why don't you join us? Karshwinked. And bring a few beers. Not this time, Retief said. He watched the students, still emergingfrom Customs. They seem to be all boys, he commented. No femalestudents? Maybe later, Karsh said. You know, after we see how the first bunchis received. Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle. Do you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are boundfor? Why, the University at d'Land, of course. Would that be the Technical College? Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. I'm sure I've never pried into thesedetails. Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle? Retiefsaid. Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students aretravelling so far to study—at Corps expense. Mr. Magnan never— For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leavesme with the question of two thousand young male students headed fora world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors.But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligationto Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage onLovenbroy. Well! Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows.I hope you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom! About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question, Retief said. Butnever mind. I'd like you to look up an item for me. How many tractorswill Croanie be getting under the MEDDLE program? Why, that's entirely MEDDLE business, Miss Furkle said. Mr. Magnanalways— I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can. <doc-sep>Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left theoffice, descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the CorpsLibrary. In the stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored overindices. Can I help you? someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow. Thank you, ma'am, Retief said. I'm looking for information on amining rig. A Bolo model WV tractor. You won't find it in the industrial section, the librarian said.Come along. Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-litsection lettered ARMAMENTS. She took a tape from the shelf, pluggedit into the viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat armoredvehicle. That's the model WV, she said. It's what is known as a continentalsiege unit. It carries four men, with a half-megaton/second firepower. There must be an error somewhere, Retief said. The Bolo model I wantis a tractor. Model WV M-1— Oh, the modification was the addition of a bulldozer blade fordemolition work. That must be what confused you. Probably—among other things. Thank you. Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. I have the information youwanted, she said. I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under theimpression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths— Sure, Retief said. Shoot. How many tractors? Five hundred. Are you sure? Miss Furkle's chins quivered. Well! If you feel I'm incompetent— Just questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss Furkle. Fivehundred tractors is a lot of equipment. Was there anything further? Miss Furkle inquired frigidly. I sincerely hope not, Retief said. III Leaning back in Magnan's padded chair with power swivel andhip-u-matic concontour, Retief leafed through a folder labelled CERP7-602-Ba; CROANIE (general). He paused at a page headed Industry. Still reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the two bottles ofBacchus wine and two glasses. He poured an inch of wine into each andsipped the black wine meditatively. It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with theproduction of such vintages.... Half an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the phone and putthrough a call to the Croanie Legation. He asked for the CommercialAttache. Retief here, Corps HQ, he said airily. About the MEDDLE shipment,the tractors. I'm wondering if there's been a slip up. My records showwe're shipping five hundred units.... That's correct. Five hundred. Retief waited. Ah ... are you there, Retief? I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundredtractors. It's perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled. Mr. Whaffle— One unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output,Retief said. Now Croanie subsists on her fisheries. She has perhapshalf a dozen pint-sized processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, theycould handle the ore ten WV's could scrape up ... if Croanie had anyore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't a WV a poor choice as a miningoutfit? I should think— See here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few surplus tractors?And in any event, what business is it of yours how we plan to use theequipment? That's an internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle— I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other fourhundred and ninety tractors? I understood the grant was to be with no strings attached! I know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old diplomatictradition that any time you can get anybody to accept anything as agift, you've scored points in the game. But if Croanie has some schemecooking— <doc-sep>Nothing like that, Retief. It's a mere business transaction. What kind of business do you do with a Bolo WV? With or without ablade attached, it's what's known as a continental siege unit. Great Heavens, Retief! Don't jump to conclusions! Would you have usbranded as warmongers? Frankly—is this a closed line? Certainly. You may speak freely. The tractors are for transshipment. We've gotten ourselves into adifficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise. This is an accommodationto a group with which we have rather strong business ties. I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy,Retief said. Any connection? Why ... ah ... no. Of course not, ha ha. Who gets the tractors eventually? Retief, this is unwarranted interference! Who gets them? They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see— And who's the friend you're helping out with an unauthorizedtransshipment of grant material? Why ... ah ... I've been working with a Mr. Gulver, a Boganrepresentative. And when will they be shipped? Why, they went out a week ago. They'll be half way there by now. Butlook here, Retief, this isn't what you're thinking! How do you know what I'm thinking? I don't know myself. Retief rangoff, buzzed the secretary. Miss Furkle, I'd like to be notified immediately of any newapplications that might come in from the Bogan Consulate for placementof students. Well, it happens, by coincidence, that I have an application here now.Mr. Gulver of the Consulate brought it in. Is Mr. Gulver in the office? I'd like to see him. I'll ask him if he has time. Great. Thanks. It was half a minute before a thick-necked red-facedman in a tight hat walked in. He wore an old-fashioned suit, a drabshirt, shiny shoes with round toes and an ill-tempered expression. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>The secretary placed the papers on the desk. Arapoulous caught her eyeand grinned. She sniffed and marched from the room. What that gal needs is a slippery time in the grape mash, Arapoulousobserved. Retief thumbed through the papers, pausing to read from timeto time. He finished and looked at Arapoulous. How many men do you need for the harvest, Hank? Retief inquired. Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass and looked thoughtful. A hundred would help, he said. A thousand would be better. Cheers. What would you say to two thousand? Two thousand? Retief, you're not fooling? I hope not. He picked up the phone, called the Port Authority, askedfor the dispatch clerk. Hello, Jim. Say, I have a favor to ask of you. You know thatcontingent of Bogan students. They're traveling aboard the two CDTtransports. I'm interested in the baggage that goes with the students.Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait. Jim came back to the phone. Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived.But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketedclear through to Lovenbroy. Listen, Jim, Retief said. I want you to go over to the warehouse andtake a look at that baggage for me. Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the errand. Thelevel in the two bottles had gone down an inch when Jim returned tothe phone. Hey, I took a look at that baggage, Retief. Something funny going on.Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII hand blasters, power pistols— It's okay, Jim. Nothing to worry about. Just a mix-up. Now, Jim,I'm going to ask you to do something more for me. I'm covering for afriend. It seems he slipped up. I wouldn't want word to get out, youunderstand. I'll send along a written change order in the morning thatwill cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to do.... Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous. As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think we'd better get downto the port, Hank. I think I'd like to see the students off personally. IV Karsh met Retief as he entered the Departures enclosure at the port. What's going on here? he demanded. There's some funny business withmy baggage consignment. They won't let me see it! I've got a feelingit's not being loaded. You'd better hurry, Mr. Karsh, Retief said. You're scheduled toblast off in less than an hour. Are the students all loaded? Yes, blast you! What about my baggage? Those vessels aren't movingwithout it! No need to get so upset about a few toothbrushes, is there, Mr.Karsh? Retief said blandly. Still, if you're worried— He turned toArapoulous. Hank, why don't you walk Mr. Karsh over to the warehouse and ...ah ... take care of him? I know just how to handle it, Arapoulous said. The dispatch clerk came up to Retief. I caught the tractor equipment,he said. Funny kind of mistake, but it's okay now. They're beingoff-loaded at d'Land. I talked to the traffic controller there. He saidthey weren't looking for any students. The labels got switched, Jim. The students go where the baggage wasconsigned. Too bad about the mistake, but the Armaments Office willhave a man along in a little while to dispose of the guns. Keep an eyeout for the luggage. No telling where it's gotten to. Here! a hoarse voice yelled. Retief turned. A disheveled figure in atight hat was crossing the enclosure, arms waving. Hi there, Mr. Gulver, Retief called. How's Boge's business comingalong? Piracy! Gulver blurted as he came up to Retief, puffing hard. You'vegot a hand in this, I don't doubt! Where's that Magnan fellow? What seems to be the problem? Retief said. Hold those transports! I've just been notified that the baggageshipment has been impounded. I'll remind you, that shipment enjoysdiplomatic free entry! Who told you it was impounded? Never mind! I have my sources! Two tall men buttoned into gray tunics came up. Are you Mr. Retief ofCDT? one said. That's right. What about my baggage! Gulver cut in. And I'm warning you, if thoseships lift without— These gentlemen are from the Armaments Control Commission, Retiefsaid. Would you like to come along and claim your baggage, Mr. Gulver? From where? I— Gulver turned two shades redder about the ears.Armaments? The only shipment I've held up seems to be somebody's arsenal, Retiefsaid. Now if you claim this is your baggage.... Why, impossible, Gulver said in a strained voice. Armaments?Ridiculous. There's been an error.... <doc-sep>At the baggage warehouse Gulver looked glumly at the opened cases ofguns. No, of course not, he said dully. Not my baggage. Not mybaggage at all. Arapoulous appeared, supporting the stumbling figure of Mr. Karsh. What—what's this? Gulver spluttered. Karsh? What's happened? He had a little fall. He'll be okay, Arapoulous said. You'd better help him to the ship, Retief said. It's ready to lift.We wouldn't want him to miss it. Leave him to me! Gulver snapped, his eyes slashing at Karsh. I'llsee he's dealt with. I couldn't think of it, Retief said. He's a guest of the Corps, youknow. We'll see him safely aboard. Gulver turned, signaled frantically. Three heavy-set men in identicaldrab suits detached themselves from the wall, crossed to the group. Take this man, Gulver snapped, indicating Karsh, who looked at himdazedly, reached up to rub his head. We take our hospitality seriously, Retief said. We'll see him aboardthe vessel. Gulver opened his mouth. I know you feel bad about finding guns instead of school books inyour luggage, Retief said, looking Gulver in the eye. You'll be busystraightening out the details of the mix-up. You'll want to avoidfurther complications. Ah. Ulp. Yes, Gulver said. He appeared unhappy. Arapoulous went on to the passenger conveyor, turned to wave. Your man—he's going too? Gulver blurted. He's not our man, properly speaking, Retief said. He lives onLovenbroy. Lovenbroy? Gulver choked. But ... the ... I.... I know you said the students were bound for d'Land, Retief said. ButI guess that was just another aspect of the general confusion. Thecourse plugged into the navigators was to Lovenbroy. You'll be glad toknow they're still headed there—even without the baggage. Perhaps, Gulver said grimly, perhaps they'll manage without it. By the way, Retief said. There was another funny mix-up. Therewere some tractors—for industrial use, you'll recall. I believe youco-operated with Croanie in arranging the grant through MEDDLE. Theywere erroneously consigned to Lovenbroy, a purely agricultural world. Isaved you some embarrassment, I trust, Mr. Gulver, by arranging to havethem off-loaded at d'Land. D'Land! You've put the CSU's in the hands of Boge's bitterest enemies! But they're only tractors, Mr. Gulver. Peaceful devices. Isn't thatcorrect? That's ... correct. Gulver sagged. Then he snapped erect. Hold theships! he yelled. I'm canceling the student exchange— His voice was drowned by the rumble as the first of the monstertransports rose from the launch pit, followed a moment later by thesecond, Retief watched them out of sight, then turned to Gulver. They're off, he said. Let's hope they get a liberal education. V Retief lay on his back in deep grass by a stream, eating grapes. A tallfigure appeared on the knoll above him and waved. Retief! Hank Arapoulous bounded down the slope and embraced Retief,slapping him on the back. I heard you were here—and I've got newsfor you. You won the final day's picking competition. Over two hundredbushels! That's a record! Let's get on over to the garden. Sounds like the celebration's aboutto start. In the flower-crowded park among the stripped vines, Retief andArapoulous made their way to a laden table under the lanterns. A tallgirl dressed in loose white, and with long golden hair, came up toArapoulous. Delinda, this is Retief—today's winner. And he's also the fellow thatgot those workers for us. Delinda smiled at Retief. I've heard about you, Mr. Retief. Weweren't sure about the boys at first. Two thousand Bogans, and allconfused about their baggage that went astray. But they seemed to likethe picking. She smiled again. That's not all. Our gals liked the boys, Hank said. Even Bogansaren't so bad, minus their irons. A lot of 'em will be staying on. Buthow come you didn't tell me you were coming, Retief? I'd have laid onsome kind of big welcome. I liked the welcome I got. And I didn't have much notice. Mr. Magnanwas a little upset when he got back. It seems I exceeded my authority. Arapoulous laughed. I had a feeling you were wheeling pretty free,Retief. I hope you didn't get into any trouble over it. No trouble, Retief said. A few people were a little unhappy withme. It seems I'm not ready for important assignments at Departmentallevel. I was shipped off here to the boondocks to get a little moreexperience. Delinda, look after Retief, said Arapoulous. I'll see you later.I've got to see to the wine judging. He disappeared in the crowd. Congratulations on winning the day, said Delinda. I noticed you atwork. You were wonderful. I'm glad you're going to have the prize. Thanks. I noticed you too, flitting around in that white nightie ofyours. But why weren't you picking grapes with the rest of us? I had a special assignment. Too bad. You should have had a chance at the prize. Delinda took Retief's hand. I wouldn't have anyway, she said. I'mthe prize. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is Lovenbroy, and why is it important?

Lovenbroy is one of the members of the Nicodemean Cluster and part of the cultural life of the Galaxy. Lovenbroy is known for its exquisite wines produced from the Bacchus vines, which only mature once every twelve years. Lovenbroy is important for the Galaxy culture because, during the time when it is not raising and harvesting grapes and other crops, it makes important cultural contributions. They have created parks and farms and left sizable forests for hunting. They offer skiing, bob-sledding, and ice skating in the spring while it is still cold. They also create fine furniture, sculpture, and art. During the summer, they offer beach parties, drama, and symphonies. The land is full of minerals, which led Boge to land a force to strip-mine some of the resources. Lovenbroy fought back, but it took a year, and it lost many men. This has left Lovenbroy short-handed for this year’s grape harvest. It also took a financial toll on Lovenbroy, and it had to borrow money from Croanie, mortgage its crops, and export its artwork. The loan is due during the harvest year, and without enough men to pick the grapes, Croanie will come in and take over half the vineyard land and mine it. Croanie is under obligation to Boge, and Boge is behind the scheme of sending “exchange students” supposedly to d’Land but really to Lovenbroy to take its minerals.

What is Croanie, and why is it important in the story? [SEP] <s> CULTURAL EXCHANGE BY KEITH LAUMER It was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of an education than they expected! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Second Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-featheredberet from the clothes tree. I'm off now, Retief, he said. I hopeyou'll manage the administrative routine during my absence without anyunfortunate incidents. That seems a modest enough hope, Retief said. I'll try to live up toit. I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division, Magnansaid testily. When I first came here, the Manpower UtilizationDirectorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. Ifancy I've made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question thewisdom of placing you in charge of such a sensitive desk, even for twoweeks. But remember. Yours is purely a rubber-stamp function. In that case, let's leave it to Miss Furkle. I'll take a couple ofweeks off myself. With her poundage, she could bring plenty of pressureto bear. I assume you jest, Retief, Magnan said sadly. I should expect evenyou to appreciate that Bogan participation in the Exchange Program maybe the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into morecultivated channels. I see they're sending two thousand students to d'Land, Retief said,glancing at the Memo for Record. That's a sizable sublimation. Magnan nodded. The Bogans have launched no less than four militarycampaigns in the last two decades. They're known as the Hoodlums ofthe Nicodemean Cluster. Now, perhaps, we shall see them breaking thatprecedent and entering into the cultural life of the Galaxy. Breaking and entering, Retief said. You may have something there.But I'm wondering what they'll study on d'Land. That's an industrialworld of the poor but honest variety. Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,Magnan said. Our function is merely to bring them together. Seethat you don't antagonize the Bogan representative. This willbe an excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplomaticrestraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll agree. A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. What is it, Miss Furkle? That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here again. On the small deskscreen, Miss Furkle's meaty features were compressed in disapproval. This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to you, Retief,Magnan said. Tell him something. Get rid of him. And remember: hereat Corps HQ, all eyes are upon you. If I'd thought of that, I'd have worn my other suit, Retief said. Magnan snorted and passed from view. Retief punched Miss Furkle'sbutton. Send the bucolic person in. <doc-sep>A tall broad man with bronze skin and gray hair, wearing tight trousersof heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck and a short jacket,stepped into the room. He had a bundle under his arm. He paused atsight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and heldout his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the two big men stood, faceto face. The newcomer's jaw muscles knotted. Then he winced. Retief dropped his hand and motioned to a chair. That's nice knuckle work, mister, the stranger said, massaging hishand. First time anybody ever did that to me. My fault though. Istarted it, I guess. He grinned and sat down. What can I do for you? Retief said. You work for this Culture bunch, do you? Funny. I thought they wereall ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer.What I wanted to see you about was— He shifted in his chair. Well,out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem. The wine crop is justabout ready. We start picking in another two, three months. Now I don'tknow if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...? No, Retief said. Have a cigar? He pushed a box across the desk.Arapoulous took one. Bacchus vines are an unusual crop, he said,puffing the cigar alight. Only mature every twelve years. In between,the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own.We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms.Apples the size of a melon—and sweet— Sounds very pleasant, Retief said. Where does the Libraries andEducation Division come in? Arapoulous leaned forward. We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folkscan't spend all their time hybridizing plants. We've turned all theland area we've got into parks and farms. Course, we left some sizableforest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place, Mr.Retief. It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what— Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Ouryear's about eighteen Terry months. Cold as hell in winter; eccentricorbit, you know. Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. We do mostlypainting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring; still plenty cold.Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating; and it's the season forwoodworkers. Our furniture— I've seen some of your furniture, Retief said. Beautiful work. Arapoulous nodded. All local timbers too. Lots of metals in our soiland those sulphates give the woods some color, I'll tell you. Thencomes the Monsoon. Rain—it comes down in sheets. But the sun's gettingcloser. Shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in the sunshine?That's the music-writing season. Then summer. Summer's hot. We stayinside in the daytime and have beach parties all night. Lots of beachon Lovenbroy; we're mostly islands. That's the drama and symphony time.The theatres are set up on the sand, or anchored off-shore. You havethe music and the surf and the bonfires and stars—we're close to thecenter of a globular cluster, you know.... You say it's time now for the wine crop? That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most years we have just theordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing; getting it in doesn'ttake long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting newplaces ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We spend alot of time in our houses. We like to have them comfortable. But thisyear's different. This is Wine Year. <doc-sep>Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. Our winecrop is our big money crop, he said. We make enough to keep us going.But this year.... The crop isn't panning out? Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm onlytwenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem'snot the crop. Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for theCommercial— Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines eversettled for anything else! It sounds like I've been missing something, said Retief. I'll haveto try them some time. Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. Notime like the present, he said. Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, bothdusty, with faded labels, and blackened corks secured by wire. Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr. Arapoulous, he said. This isn't drinking . It's just wine. Arapoulous pulled the wireretainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose slowly, then popped in theair. Arapoulous caught it. Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle.Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me. He winked. Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. Cometo think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaintnative customs. Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deeprust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He lookedat Arapoulous thoughtfully. Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crustedport. Don't try to describe it, Mr. Retief, Arapoulous said. He took amouthful of wine, swished it around his teeth, swallowed. It's Bacchuswine, that's all. Nothing like it in the Galaxy. He pushed the secondbottle toward Retief. The custom back home is to alternate red wineand black. <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up. Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback? Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest. We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men. That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base. It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers. Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose? Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews. Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice? <doc-sep>Never did, Retief said. You say most of the children are born aftera vintage. That would make them only twelve years old by the time— Oh, that's Lovenbroy years; they'd be eighteen, Terry reckoning. I was thinking you looked a little mature for twenty-eight, Retiefsaid. Forty-two, Terry years, Arapoulous said. But this year it looks bad.We've got a bumper crop—and we're short-handed. If we don't get a bigvintage, Croanie steps in. Lord knows what they'll do to the land. Thennext vintage time, with them holding half our grape acreage— You hocked the vineyards? Yep. Pretty dumb, huh? But we figured twelve years was a long time. On the whole, Retief said, I think I prefer the black. But the redis hard to beat.... What we figured was, maybe you Culture boys could help us out. A loanto see us through the vintage, enough to hire extra hands. Then we'drepay it in sculpture, painting, furniture— Sorry, Hank. All we do here is work out itineraries for travelingside-shows, that kind of thing. Now, if you needed a troop of Groacinose-flute players— Can they pick grapes? Nope. Anyway, they can't stand the daylight. Have you talked this overwith the Labor Office? Sure did. They said they'd fix us up with all the electronicsspecialists and computer programmers we wanted—but no field hands.Said it was what they classified as menial drudgery; you'd have thoughtI was trying to buy slaves. The buzzer sounded. Miss Furkle's features appeared on the desk screen. You're due at the Intergroup Council in five minutes, she said. Thenafterwards, there are the Bogan students to meet. Thanks. Retief finished his glass, stood. I have to run, Hank, hesaid. Let me think this over. Maybe I can come up with something.Check with me day after tomorrow. And you'd better leave the bottleshere. Cultural exhibits, you know. II As the council meeting broke up, Retief caught the eye of a colleagueacross the table. Mr. Whaffle, you mentioned a shipment going to a place called Croanie.What are they getting? Whaffle blinked. You're the fellow who's filling in for Magnan, overat MUDDLE, he said. Properly speaking, equipment grants are thesole concern of the Motorized Equipment Depot, Division of Loans andExchanges. He pursed his lips. However, I suppose there's no harm intelling you. They'll be receiving heavy mining equipment. Drill rigs, that sort of thing? Strip mining gear. Whaffle took a slip of paper from a breast pocket,blinked at it. Bolo Model WV/1 tractors, to be specific. Why is MUDDLEinterested in MEDDLE's activities? Forgive my curiosity, Mr. Whaffle. It's just that Croanie cropped upearlier today. It seems she holds a mortgage on some vineyards overon— That's not MEDDLE's affair, sir, Whaffle cut in. I have sufficientproblems as Chief of MEDDLE without probing into MUDDLE'S business. Speaking of tractors, another man put in, we over at the SpecialCommittee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations'General Economies have been trying for months to get a request formining equipment for d'Land through MEDDLE— SCROUNGE was late on the scene, Whaffle said. First come, firstserved. That's our policy at MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen. He strodeoff, briefcase under his arm. That's the trouble with peaceful worlds, the SCROUNGE committeemansaid. Boge is a troublemaker, so every agency in the Corps is outto pacify her. While my chance to make a record—that is, assistpeace-loving d'Land—comes to naught. He shook his head. What kind of university do they have on d'Land? asked Retief. We'resending them two thousand exchange students. It must be quite aninstitution. University? D'Land has one under-endowed technical college. Will all the exchange students be studying at the Technical College? Two thousand students? Hah! Two hundred students would overtax thefacilities of the college. I wonder if the Bogans know that? The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwisetrade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand studentsindeed! He snorted and walked away. <doc-sep>Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape, then rode theelevator to the roof of the 230-story Corps HQ building and hailed acab to the port. The Bogan students had arrived early. Retief saw themlined up on the ramp waiting to go through customs. It would be halfan hour before they were cleared through. He turned into the bar andordered a beer. A tall young fellow on the next stool raised his glass. Happy days, he said. And nights to match. You said it. He gulped half his beer. My name's Karsh. Mr. Karsh.Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a drag, sitting around this placewaiting.... You meeting somebody? Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids. How they expect—Never mind. Have one onme. Thanks. You a Scoutmaster? I'll tell you what I am. I'm a cradle-robber. You know— he turnedto Retief—not one of those kids is over eighteen. He hiccupped.Students, you know. Never saw a student with a beard, did you? Lots of times. You're meeting the students, are you? The young fellow blinked at Retief. Oh, you know about it, huh? I represent MUDDLE. Karsh finished his beer, ordered another. I came on ahead. Sort ofan advance guard for the kids. I trained 'em myself. Treated it likea game, but they can handle a CSU. Don't know how they'll act underpressure. If I had my old platoon— He looked at his beer glass, pushed it back. Had enough, he said. Solong, friend. Or are you coming along? Retief nodded. Might as well. <doc-sep>At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched as the first ofthe Bogan students came through, caught sight of Karsh and snapped toattention, his chest out. Drop that, mister, Karsh snapped. Is that any way for a student toact? The youth, a round-faced lad with broad shoulders, grinned. Heck, no, he said. Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go totown? We fellas were thinking— You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids! I mean ... no! Nowline up! We have quarters ready for the students, Retief said. If you'd liketo bring them around to the west side, I have a couple of copters laidon. Thanks, said Karsh. They'll stay here until take-off time. Can'thave the little dears wandering around loose. Might get ideas aboutgoing over the hill. He hiccupped. I mean they might play hookey. We've scheduled your re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a longwait. MUDDLE's arranged theater tickets and a dinner. Sorry, Karsh said. As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off. Hehiccupped again. Can't travel without our baggage, y'know. Suit yourself, Retief said. Where's the baggage now? Coming in aboard a Croanie lighter. Maybe you'd like to arrange for a meal for the students here. Sure, Karsh said. That's a good idea. Why don't you join us? Karshwinked. And bring a few beers. Not this time, Retief said. He watched the students, still emergingfrom Customs. They seem to be all boys, he commented. No femalestudents? Maybe later, Karsh said. You know, after we see how the first bunchis received. Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle. Do you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are boundfor? Why, the University at d'Land, of course. Would that be the Technical College? Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. I'm sure I've never pried into thesedetails. Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle? Retiefsaid. Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students aretravelling so far to study—at Corps expense. Mr. Magnan never— For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leavesme with the question of two thousand young male students headed fora world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors.But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligationto Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage onLovenbroy. Well! Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows.I hope you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom! About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question, Retief said. Butnever mind. I'd like you to look up an item for me. How many tractorswill Croanie be getting under the MEDDLE program? Why, that's entirely MEDDLE business, Miss Furkle said. Mr. Magnanalways— I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can. <doc-sep>Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left theoffice, descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the CorpsLibrary. In the stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored overindices. Can I help you? someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow. Thank you, ma'am, Retief said. I'm looking for information on amining rig. A Bolo model WV tractor. You won't find it in the industrial section, the librarian said.Come along. Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-litsection lettered ARMAMENTS. She took a tape from the shelf, pluggedit into the viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat armoredvehicle. That's the model WV, she said. It's what is known as a continentalsiege unit. It carries four men, with a half-megaton/second firepower. There must be an error somewhere, Retief said. The Bolo model I wantis a tractor. Model WV M-1— Oh, the modification was the addition of a bulldozer blade fordemolition work. That must be what confused you. Probably—among other things. Thank you. Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. I have the information youwanted, she said. I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under theimpression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths— Sure, Retief said. Shoot. How many tractors? Five hundred. Are you sure? Miss Furkle's chins quivered. Well! If you feel I'm incompetent— Just questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss Furkle. Fivehundred tractors is a lot of equipment. Was there anything further? Miss Furkle inquired frigidly. I sincerely hope not, Retief said. III Leaning back in Magnan's padded chair with power swivel andhip-u-matic concontour, Retief leafed through a folder labelled CERP7-602-Ba; CROANIE (general). He paused at a page headed Industry. Still reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the two bottles ofBacchus wine and two glasses. He poured an inch of wine into each andsipped the black wine meditatively. It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with theproduction of such vintages.... Half an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the phone and putthrough a call to the Croanie Legation. He asked for the CommercialAttache. Retief here, Corps HQ, he said airily. About the MEDDLE shipment,the tractors. I'm wondering if there's been a slip up. My records showwe're shipping five hundred units.... That's correct. Five hundred. Retief waited. Ah ... are you there, Retief? I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundredtractors. It's perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled. Mr. Whaffle— One unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output,Retief said. Now Croanie subsists on her fisheries. She has perhapshalf a dozen pint-sized processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, theycould handle the ore ten WV's could scrape up ... if Croanie had anyore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't a WV a poor choice as a miningoutfit? I should think— See here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few surplus tractors?And in any event, what business is it of yours how we plan to use theequipment? That's an internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle— I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other fourhundred and ninety tractors? I understood the grant was to be with no strings attached! I know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old diplomatictradition that any time you can get anybody to accept anything as agift, you've scored points in the game. But if Croanie has some schemecooking— <doc-sep>Nothing like that, Retief. It's a mere business transaction. What kind of business do you do with a Bolo WV? With or without ablade attached, it's what's known as a continental siege unit. Great Heavens, Retief! Don't jump to conclusions! Would you have usbranded as warmongers? Frankly—is this a closed line? Certainly. You may speak freely. The tractors are for transshipment. We've gotten ourselves into adifficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise. This is an accommodationto a group with which we have rather strong business ties. I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy,Retief said. Any connection? Why ... ah ... no. Of course not, ha ha. Who gets the tractors eventually? Retief, this is unwarranted interference! Who gets them? They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see— And who's the friend you're helping out with an unauthorizedtransshipment of grant material? Why ... ah ... I've been working with a Mr. Gulver, a Boganrepresentative. And when will they be shipped? Why, they went out a week ago. They'll be half way there by now. Butlook here, Retief, this isn't what you're thinking! How do you know what I'm thinking? I don't know myself. Retief rangoff, buzzed the secretary. Miss Furkle, I'd like to be notified immediately of any newapplications that might come in from the Bogan Consulate for placementof students. Well, it happens, by coincidence, that I have an application here now.Mr. Gulver of the Consulate brought it in. Is Mr. Gulver in the office? I'd like to see him. I'll ask him if he has time. Great. Thanks. It was half a minute before a thick-necked red-facedman in a tight hat walked in. He wore an old-fashioned suit, a drabshirt, shiny shoes with round toes and an ill-tempered expression. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>The secretary placed the papers on the desk. Arapoulous caught her eyeand grinned. She sniffed and marched from the room. What that gal needs is a slippery time in the grape mash, Arapoulousobserved. Retief thumbed through the papers, pausing to read from timeto time. He finished and looked at Arapoulous. How many men do you need for the harvest, Hank? Retief inquired. Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass and looked thoughtful. A hundred would help, he said. A thousand would be better. Cheers. What would you say to two thousand? Two thousand? Retief, you're not fooling? I hope not. He picked up the phone, called the Port Authority, askedfor the dispatch clerk. Hello, Jim. Say, I have a favor to ask of you. You know thatcontingent of Bogan students. They're traveling aboard the two CDTtransports. I'm interested in the baggage that goes with the students.Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait. Jim came back to the phone. Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived.But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketedclear through to Lovenbroy. Listen, Jim, Retief said. I want you to go over to the warehouse andtake a look at that baggage for me. Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the errand. Thelevel in the two bottles had gone down an inch when Jim returned tothe phone. Hey, I took a look at that baggage, Retief. Something funny going on.Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII hand blasters, power pistols— It's okay, Jim. Nothing to worry about. Just a mix-up. Now, Jim,I'm going to ask you to do something more for me. I'm covering for afriend. It seems he slipped up. I wouldn't want word to get out, youunderstand. I'll send along a written change order in the morning thatwill cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to do.... Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous. As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think we'd better get downto the port, Hank. I think I'd like to see the students off personally. IV Karsh met Retief as he entered the Departures enclosure at the port. What's going on here? he demanded. There's some funny business withmy baggage consignment. They won't let me see it! I've got a feelingit's not being loaded. You'd better hurry, Mr. Karsh, Retief said. You're scheduled toblast off in less than an hour. Are the students all loaded? Yes, blast you! What about my baggage? Those vessels aren't movingwithout it! No need to get so upset about a few toothbrushes, is there, Mr.Karsh? Retief said blandly. Still, if you're worried— He turned toArapoulous. Hank, why don't you walk Mr. Karsh over to the warehouse and ...ah ... take care of him? I know just how to handle it, Arapoulous said. The dispatch clerk came up to Retief. I caught the tractor equipment,he said. Funny kind of mistake, but it's okay now. They're beingoff-loaded at d'Land. I talked to the traffic controller there. He saidthey weren't looking for any students. The labels got switched, Jim. The students go where the baggage wasconsigned. Too bad about the mistake, but the Armaments Office willhave a man along in a little while to dispose of the guns. Keep an eyeout for the luggage. No telling where it's gotten to. Here! a hoarse voice yelled. Retief turned. A disheveled figure in atight hat was crossing the enclosure, arms waving. Hi there, Mr. Gulver, Retief called. How's Boge's business comingalong? Piracy! Gulver blurted as he came up to Retief, puffing hard. You'vegot a hand in this, I don't doubt! Where's that Magnan fellow? What seems to be the problem? Retief said. Hold those transports! I've just been notified that the baggageshipment has been impounded. I'll remind you, that shipment enjoysdiplomatic free entry! Who told you it was impounded? Never mind! I have my sources! Two tall men buttoned into gray tunics came up. Are you Mr. Retief ofCDT? one said. That's right. What about my baggage! Gulver cut in. And I'm warning you, if thoseships lift without— These gentlemen are from the Armaments Control Commission, Retiefsaid. Would you like to come along and claim your baggage, Mr. Gulver? From where? I— Gulver turned two shades redder about the ears.Armaments? The only shipment I've held up seems to be somebody's arsenal, Retiefsaid. Now if you claim this is your baggage.... Why, impossible, Gulver said in a strained voice. Armaments?Ridiculous. There's been an error.... <doc-sep>At the baggage warehouse Gulver looked glumly at the opened cases ofguns. No, of course not, he said dully. Not my baggage. Not mybaggage at all. Arapoulous appeared, supporting the stumbling figure of Mr. Karsh. What—what's this? Gulver spluttered. Karsh? What's happened? He had a little fall. He'll be okay, Arapoulous said. You'd better help him to the ship, Retief said. It's ready to lift.We wouldn't want him to miss it. Leave him to me! Gulver snapped, his eyes slashing at Karsh. I'llsee he's dealt with. I couldn't think of it, Retief said. He's a guest of the Corps, youknow. We'll see him safely aboard. Gulver turned, signaled frantically. Three heavy-set men in identicaldrab suits detached themselves from the wall, crossed to the group. Take this man, Gulver snapped, indicating Karsh, who looked at himdazedly, reached up to rub his head. We take our hospitality seriously, Retief said. We'll see him aboardthe vessel. Gulver opened his mouth. I know you feel bad about finding guns instead of school books inyour luggage, Retief said, looking Gulver in the eye. You'll be busystraightening out the details of the mix-up. You'll want to avoidfurther complications. Ah. Ulp. Yes, Gulver said. He appeared unhappy. Arapoulous went on to the passenger conveyor, turned to wave. Your man—he's going too? Gulver blurted. He's not our man, properly speaking, Retief said. He lives onLovenbroy. Lovenbroy? Gulver choked. But ... the ... I.... I know you said the students were bound for d'Land, Retief said. ButI guess that was just another aspect of the general confusion. Thecourse plugged into the navigators was to Lovenbroy. You'll be glad toknow they're still headed there—even without the baggage. Perhaps, Gulver said grimly, perhaps they'll manage without it. By the way, Retief said. There was another funny mix-up. Therewere some tractors—for industrial use, you'll recall. I believe youco-operated with Croanie in arranging the grant through MEDDLE. Theywere erroneously consigned to Lovenbroy, a purely agricultural world. Isaved you some embarrassment, I trust, Mr. Gulver, by arranging to havethem off-loaded at d'Land. D'Land! You've put the CSU's in the hands of Boge's bitterest enemies! But they're only tractors, Mr. Gulver. Peaceful devices. Isn't thatcorrect? That's ... correct. Gulver sagged. Then he snapped erect. Hold theships! he yelled. I'm canceling the student exchange— His voice was drowned by the rumble as the first of the monstertransports rose from the launch pit, followed a moment later by thesecond, Retief watched them out of sight, then turned to Gulver. They're off, he said. Let's hope they get a liberal education. V Retief lay on his back in deep grass by a stream, eating grapes. A tallfigure appeared on the knoll above him and waved. Retief! Hank Arapoulous bounded down the slope and embraced Retief,slapping him on the back. I heard you were here—and I've got newsfor you. You won the final day's picking competition. Over two hundredbushels! That's a record! Let's get on over to the garden. Sounds like the celebration's aboutto start. In the flower-crowded park among the stripped vines, Retief andArapoulous made their way to a laden table under the lanterns. A tallgirl dressed in loose white, and with long golden hair, came up toArapoulous. Delinda, this is Retief—today's winner. And he's also the fellow thatgot those workers for us. Delinda smiled at Retief. I've heard about you, Mr. Retief. Weweren't sure about the boys at first. Two thousand Bogans, and allconfused about their baggage that went astray. But they seemed to likethe picking. She smiled again. That's not all. Our gals liked the boys, Hank said. Even Bogansaren't so bad, minus their irons. A lot of 'em will be staying on. Buthow come you didn't tell me you were coming, Retief? I'd have laid onsome kind of big welcome. I liked the welcome I got. And I didn't have much notice. Mr. Magnanwas a little upset when he got back. It seems I exceeded my authority. Arapoulous laughed. I had a feeling you were wheeling pretty free,Retief. I hope you didn't get into any trouble over it. No trouble, Retief said. A few people were a little unhappy withme. It seems I'm not ready for important assignments at Departmentallevel. I was shipped off here to the boondocks to get a little moreexperience. Delinda, look after Retief, said Arapoulous. I'll see you later.I've got to see to the wine judging. He disappeared in the crowd. Congratulations on winning the day, said Delinda. I noticed you atwork. You were wonderful. I'm glad you're going to have the prize. Thanks. I noticed you too, flitting around in that white nightie ofyours. But why weren't you picking grapes with the rest of us? I had a special assignment. Too bad. You should have had a chance at the prize. Delinda took Retief's hand. I wouldn't have anyway, she said. I'mthe prize. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is Croanie, and why is it important in the story?

Croanie is a member of the Nicodemean Cluster of the Galaxy and is an associate of Boge, a member known to be a troublemaker. They tried to steal minerals from Lovenbroy earlier by attacking them. Croanie is under obligation to Boge. Croanie is the world that gave Lovenbroy a loan when it needed money to help tide it over until its next grape harvest. Croanie gave Lovenbroy a mortgage on its crops and holds a security interest in half of the grape acreage that it will acquire if Lovenbroy cannot meet the loan payment that is coming due. This is the reason that Hank Arapoulous goes to MEDDLE and asks for help obtaining workers to go to Lovenbroy and harvest the crop. It also turns out that Croanie is involved in Boge’s efforts to attack Lovenbroy and gain access to its minerals. Mr. Whaffle reveals to Retief that Croanie is set to receive a shipment of heavy mining equipment, but Croanie is best known for its oceans and fishing and has no ore. In addition, when the Bogan exchange students arrive without their luggage, Mr. Karsh says their luggage is coming from Croanie. When their luggage does arrive, it is full of weapons. The “tractors” that are being shipped to Croanie are really armored vehicles that are continental siege units that carry four men and have a half-megaton/second firepower. Mr. Whaffle reveals that the tractors are for transshipment and that Croanie is in a difficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise, with Boge. There is also an application for 2,000 more “exchange students” to be sent to Croanie.

"What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> THE RECRUIT BY BRYCE WALTON It was dirty work, b(...TRUNCATED)

"The story opens on a discussion at home between a husband and wife being overheard by their sixteen(...TRUNCATED)

"Describe the setting of the story [SEP] <s> THE RECRUIT BY BRYCE WALTON It was dirty work(...TRUNCATED)

"The story is set in an urban environment in an unspecified time in the future. The story begins in (...TRUNCATED)

"How is slang used in the story? [SEP] <s> THE RECRUIT BY BRYCE WALTON It was dirty work, (...TRUNCATED)

"Distinctive teenage or “teener” vernacular language is used extensively throughout the story. W(...TRUNCATED)

"How does Wayne interact with the story’s other characters? [SEP] <s> THE RECRUIT BY BRYCE W(...TRUNCATED)

"Wayne is a cocky, arrogant sixteen-year-old defined by his lack of respect for authority. His main (...TRUNCATED)

"How does this society seek to deal with violence? [SEP] <s> THE RECRUIT BY BRYCE WALTON I(...TRUNCATED)

"The expository dialogue by Doctor Burns at the end of the story provides some insight into how this(...TRUNCATED)