AIDE MEMOIRE
BY KEITH LAUMER
The Fustians looked like turtles—but
they could move fast when they chose!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1962.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Across the table from Retief, Ambassador Magnan rustled a stiff sheetof parchment and looked grave.
"This aide memoire," he said, "was just handed to me by the CulturalAttache. It's the third on the subject this week. It refers to thematter of sponsorship of Youth groups—"
"Some youths," Retief said. "Average age, seventy-five."
"The Fustians are a long-lived people," Magnan snapped. "These mattersare relative. At seventy-five, a male Fustian is at a trying age—"
"That's right. He'll try anything—in the hope it will maim somebody."
"Precisely the problem," Magnan said. "But the Youth Movement isthe important news in today's political situation here on Fust. Andsponsorship of Youth groups is a shrewd stroke on the part of theTerrestrial Embassy. At my suggestion, well nigh every member of themission has leaped at the opportunity to score a few p—that is, cementrelations with this emergent power group—the leaders of the future.You, Retief, as Councillor, are the outstanding exception."
"I'm not convinced these hoodlums need my help in organizing theirrumbles," Retief said. "Now, if you have a proposal for a pest controlgroup—"
"To the Fustians this is no jesting matter," Magnan cut in. "Thisgroup—" he glanced at the paper—"known as the Sexual, Cultural, andAthletic Recreational Society, or SCARS for short, has been awaitingsponsorship for a matter of weeks now."
"Meaning they want someone to buy them a clubhouse, uniforms, equipmentand anything else they need to complete their sexual, cultural andathletic development," Retief said.
"If we don't act promptly," Magnan said, "the Groaci Embassy may wellanticipate us. They're very active here."
"That's an idea," said Retief. "Let 'em. After awhile they'll go brokeinstead of us."
"Nonsense. The group requires a sponsor. I can't actually order you tostep forward. However...." Magnan let the sentence hang in the air.Retief raised one eyebrow.
"For a minute there," he said, "I thought you were going to make apositive statement."
Magnan leaned back, lacing his fingers over his stomach. "I don't thinkyou'll find a diplomat of my experience doing anything so naive," hesaid.
"I like the adult Fustians," said Retief. "Too bad they have to lughalf a ton of horn around on their backs. I wonder if surgery wouldhelp."
"Great heavens, Retief," Magnan sputtered. "I'm amazed that even youwould bring up a matter of such delicacy. A race's unfortunate physicalcharacteristics are hardly a fit matter for Terrestrial curiosity."
"Well, of course your experience of the Fustian mentality is greaterthan mine. I've only been here a month. But it's been my experience,Mr. Ambassador, that few races are above improving on nature. Otherwiseyou, for example, would be tripping over your beard."
Magnan shuddered. "Please—never mention the idea to a Fustian."
Retief stood. "My own program for the day includes going over to thedockyards. There are some features of this new passenger liner theFustians are putting together that I want to look into. With yourpermission, Mr. Ambassador...?"
Magnan snorted. "Your pre-occupation with the trivial disturbs me,R