Retief Unbound (27 page)

"So long,
Retief!" Ignarp yelled. "I'll be in touch "

With a rending crash,
the door burst inward. The creature which bounded through the opening was seven
feet tall, with sour yellowish skin blotched with black and purple. Three
gaunt, bristly, knob-kneed legs terminating in broad rubbery webbed feet made
up two thirds of its height. Four left and two right arms of graduated lengths
sprang from the hunched shoulders, protected by a carapace resembling the shell
of a turtle adorned with twisted spikes. Atop a short, thick, tendon-corded
neck rested a pointed head given over largely to a foot-wide, purple-lipped
mouth crowded with needlelike fangs, below a pair of wide-set eyes the size of
tennis balls, a bloodshot yellowish white except for the off-centered metallic
black pupils. A thick, powerful prehensile tail ending in a three-fingered hand
waved a gnarled steelwood club aloft.

With a bellow, the
monstrosity charged. Retief spun the table into its path, ducked a wild swing
as the giant crashed into the obstacle with a plank-splintering impact. At the
open door he turned; the intruder was threshing its way clear of the remains of
the boards, but of the GRAB member there was no sign. Retief had time only to
notice that the grille was missing from the register before the monster tossed
aside a shattered timber and leaped toward him. Retief stepped through and
slammed the door, dropping the heavy bar in place as the armored alien crashed
against it.

In the gloom of the
outer room, the squat figure of the landlord was dimly visible, scrambling for
cover. Retief reached him in two strides, caught the back of his coarse-weave
tunic, lifted him to tippy-toes.

"A slight double
cross, eh, Fudsot? Who paid you?" he inquired genially, as the door behind
him resounded to the berserker's blows.

"Leave me go,
Terry, or I'll see to it you're broken down into surgical spares—"

"What was the idea?
Were you out to get me, or was it Ignarp you were after—or both?"

"You know so
much—you tell me," Fudsot grunted.

"But Ignarp fooled
you," Retief said. "He separated into subassemblies of a convenient
size and went out the ventilator, right?"

"You Terries
aren't supposed to know about that," Fudsot muttered. "A lousy fate,
even for a troublemaker like Ignarp."

"So that's the
last of Ignarp, eh?"

"As Ignarp, yeah.
His sweetbreads and tonsils are back where they started ages ago—free-living
Freebies looking around for a partner to start up a new tenner." Fudsot
wagged his head mournfully.

"A sad end for a
social reformer of his zeal," Retief said. "Still, there's much to be
said for the carefree life of an adenoid. I'll be on my way now, Fudsot, but
before I go—just what was that that broke up our drinking party? I've gotten
accustomed to a certain pleasing variety in the local citizenry, but that chap
was in an entirely new category."

"I heard rumors,
but—" Fudsot broke off.

"But what?"

"But it would be
bad for my health to spread 'em. How's about getting him outa my back room now,
Terry? I got to set the place to rights for the pre-dawn dustup crowd."

"No thanks, I
can't use him."

"You mean—you're
leaving that monstrosity on my hands?"

"Certainly. Mind
if I use the back entrance?"

"No! That's where
... I mean, there isn't one," the landlord finished sullenly.

"That's where
they're waiting to make the pickup, eh? Thanks for the tip." Retief pushed
through a greasy door behind the bar, crossed a kitchen reeking of stale fat,
slipped out into a narrow alleyway decorated with neglected garbage containers.
There was a soft rustling from a dense patch of shadow. A small, spindle-legged
figure swathed in a dark cloak stepped forth. From the folds of the garment a gloved
grasping member protruded, gripping a small power gun.

"So—success
attends my efforts! The moose has taken the bait, and sprung the trap!"

"Mouse, I think
you mean, Wilth," Retief corrected. "What brings you out in the damp
night air?"

"Drat," the
Groaci hissed. "Who informed you of my identity?"

"Don't you
remember? The ambassador introduced us last week, at the Mother-in-Law's Day
Pepsi bust."

"I refer to the
treacher who betrayed my disguise."

"Oh, he's the same
fellow who's standing behind you now with a crater gun aimed at your dorsal
suture."

Wilth started
violently, causing one of his government-issue eye shields to clatter to the
cobbles. "Undone!" he keened, as Retief stepped forward to relieve
him of his weapon. "Unhappy Wilth! I rue the day the mound burst to expose
me to the harsh external world!"

"By the way, what
did you have in mind doing with this?" Retief inquired, aiming the gun
negligently at its former owner.

"My instructions—I
assure you, my dear Retief, nothing personal was intended—were to intimidate
you with the firearm, thereby causing you to accompany me to a designated place
for an uninhibited interview with a Most Highly Placed Person."

"Most highly
placed in the Groaci hierarchy, I assume?"

"But of course. Do
you imagine I'm in the habit of trepanning fellow diplomats—even Soft Ones—for
the convenience of members of lesser races?"

"I shouldn't have
asked. And what was to be the subject of this conference?"

"Do you further
imagine I am privy to the machinations of MHPP's?" Wilth glanced nervously
behind him. "As a courtesy to a colleague, would you kindly instruct your
toady to point his piece elsewhere. . . ." His faint voice faded.
"Wh—where is the creature?"

"He couldn't make
it," Retief said. "Liquor inventory, you know—but the intention was
there. Now—"

"Hoaxed!"
Wilth whistled. "Hoodwinked by vile Terran duplicity!"

"Don't take it so
hard, Wilth. No harm done; it's always a rewarding experience to make the
acquaintance of an MHPP of whatever persuasion. I'll go with you."

"You'll . . . ah .
. . accompany me to the rendezvous as planned?" Wilth goggled all five
eyestalks at Retief.

"Why not? The
evening is still young." Retief snapped open the butt of the power gun and
removed the energy cell, handed the disarmed weapon back to the Groaci.

"Why, this is
quite decent of you, Retief," Wilth whispered breathlessly. "What a
pity all Groaci-Terran relations can't be conducted in the same spirit of
amity."

"They are, Wilth,
they are," Retief said soothingly. "Shall we go? I wouldn't like to
keep the MHPP waiting."

"Good notion. But
no tricks, Retief. I trusted you once, to my sorrow. ..."

"Don't worry,
Wilth. I wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to hobnob with the great."

"I wasn't aware
you were a climber, Retief," Wilth said as he motioned the Terran ahead.
"Luckily your social aspirations coincide with my own plans for career
advancement, to our mutual advantage. Straight ahead; I'll follow with the gun,
for the sake of appearances."

It was a brisk
ten-minute walk through the tortuously winding streets—hardly more than tunnels
threading through the monumental jumble of Lumbagan architecture. Wilth halted
at a small but massive door set in a deeply recessed niche, pounded stealthily
on the dark panels. Weak grayish light leaked out as the door opened. A Groaci
in the uniform of a peacekeeper peered out.

"Inside, Soft
One," Wilth ordered curtly. Retief preceded his putative captor along a
cramped passage papered in a pattern of puce and mustard lozenges to a highly
varnished bile-green door that reflected the watery glow of the ceiling
dim-strip. The guard rapped. At a faint response, he thrust the door wide and
motioned Retief through.

A Groaci in jeweled eye
shields was seated behind a wide desk. He waved a negligent three-fingered hand
at Retief, indicating a stool.

"Any
difficulties?" he inquired of his underling in Terran.

"Your Excellency
would be amazed at how easy it was," Wilth replied glumly. "I was
even astonished myself."

"To not accept the
legends of Terry invincibility," the senior alien snapped, switching to
the Groacian tongue, "lest you predispose yourself to quail in the
breech!" He turned three eyes on Retief while holding the glare of the
other two on Wilth. "I," he announced, "am Hivemaster Shlush.
You, I believe, are the fellow Retief?"

"A pleasure, Your
Excellency." Retief acknowledged his identity with a nod and seated
himself.

"You," Shlush
continued ominously, "are not unknown to me by repute."

"I'm
flattered."

"Don't be,"
Shlush hissed. "Your name, Soft One, is a byword for the Terran duplicity
and meddling that have plagued Groaci foreign policy since the first
intimations of our manifest Galactic destiny!"

"That's a rather
uncharitable description of Corps policy, Hivemaster," Retief commented.
"By the way, what brings you here? I don't recall seeing your name on the
last embassy list—"

"Not to pry into
matters of no concern to foreigners!" Shlush hissed.

"In fact,"
Retief went on, "I seem to recall that you were rather suddenly retired to
civilian life after that fiasco on Grabnark IV—"

Shlush jabbed a digit
at Retief, all five eyes canted alertly in his guest's direction now.
"Your role in the humbling of the great is not forgotten, Retief! But now
the era of Terry domination comes to an end! No more will we Groaci suffer
graciously the intolerable interposition of foreigners between ourselves and
the objects of our desires!"

"Go on."
Retief puffed a cigar to life, blew aromatic smoke across the desk.

"You," Shlush
hissed, "have the honor of being the first Terry to learn the fate of all
inferiors who seek to impede the path of Groaci expansion!"

"I hope I prove
worthy of the distinction," Retief said pleasantly.

"Ah, you have done
so long since, my Retief—on the first occasion when you laid violent hands on
the person of an Exalted One! And as soon as certain specialty devices I have
caused to be installed in the vaults beneath my present humble quarters reach
operating rpm, you shall reap your reward!"

"In the
meantime," Retief suggested mildly, "I take it you'd like to have a
little talk."

"Indeed yes,"
Shlush whispered. "How perceptive of you, Retief."

"Not at all,"
the Terran demurred. "Wilth told me."

"To have babbled
of state secrets, littermate of drones?" The hivemaster hissed the
question at his underling.

"Whom, I,
Excellency? Why, to have but hinted he'd best be on his metacarpals—"

"To commit another
indiscretion, and to find yourself trussed by the policies alongside the Soft
One!" Shlush turned back to Retief. "But I'm slighting my hostly
obligations," he said smoothly. "Would you care for a little
something whilst we chat?"

"Brandy,
thanks," Retief said comfortably.

"You," Shlush
addressed the guard still hovering by the door. "To fetch brandy at once.
Black Bacchus will do."

"To congratulate
Your Excellency on Your Excellency's taste," the peacekeeper hissed
unctiously. "But to wonder if Your Excellency would amplify Your
Excellency's instructions to include data as to where I'm supposed to fetch it
from."

"The usual source,
hivefellow of defectives!"

"To do as
commanded, Exalted One—but don't you ink—thay the errytay ightmay recognize the
abellay?"

"To assume you
have itway enough to ourpay it in the itchenkay!" Shlush favored Retief
with the Groaci equivalent of a sour smile. "I've instructed the fellow to
serve our refreshments in a VIP decanter reserved for important guests,"
he translated.

"I'm sensible of
the honor," Retief said. "Now, what was it you wanted to tell
me?"

"Tell you? My dear
Terry, you fail to grasp the full implications of the situation. It is you who
are going to tell mer

"What would you
like to know first?" Retief said promptly.

"You may begin
with full details of secret Terran armament schemes, overall invasion strategy,
D—day tactical plans, and close-support logistical arrangements," Shlush
said crisply.

"I can cover that
in a very few words," Retief said. "There aren't any."

"Pah! You expect
me to believe that an organization of the sophistication of the CDT intends to
play it by ear?" "Play what by ear?" Retief inquired interestedly.
"The take-over. What else?"

"The
take-over?" Retief tipped an inch of cigar ash onto Shlush's polished desk
top. "What of?"

"Of this plague
spot known as Lumbaga, naturally!"

"Who's taking it
over?" Retief inquired interestedly.

"We are! That is to
say, you are! I mean to say, of course, having gotten wind of the perfidious
schemes laid by you treacherous Soft Ones under the cynical guise of pretended
participation in bogus peace talks, we Groaci have naturally been compelled to
take appropriate steps to safeguard the endangered lives, property, and sacred
self-determination of the indigenous autochthones."