Retief Unbound (39 page)

"What is this guy,
nuts or something?" Gloot muttered. "If he's so busy, why's he standing
around making speeches?"

"He's trying to
find out how much we know," Retief said.

Swarmmaster Ussh waved
a negligent hand. "Petty minds can but ascribe petty motives," he
hissed. "What you may or may not know is a matter of supreme
indifference—and I include any fragmentary facts in the possession of your
flown accomplice, for whose absence from this cozy group certain incompetents
will suffer. In fact, I freely confide in you: Tonight, I assume planetary
rule. Tomorrow, I issue my ultimatum to the Galaxy. Next week—but contain
yourself in patience. You yourself—in chains, of course—shall serve as my
emissary to carry the terms to your former masters! As for the Untouchable, you
may retain him as your personal menial."

"I assumed you had
a reason for not shooting us immediately," Retief said.

"I do nothing
without a supremely practical motive," Ussh stated flatly. "And
now—will you go to your durance peacefully, or will it be necessary for me to
have you dragged by the heels, a most undignified progress for a future Slave
Ambassador."

"I think a period
of quiet contemplation may be just what we need at this point," Retief
said.

The dungeon into which
Retief and Gloot were conducted, cut deep into the rock beneath the secret
Groaci lab, was a damp chamber six feet by eight, without lights, furniture, or
other amenities. The narrow portal through which they had entered was barred by
a foot-thick door of solid iron. The ceiling was a seamless surface of
rough-hewn stone, as were the walls and floor.

"At least we got a
drain hole," Gloot commented after they had conducted an examination of
their prison by the light of Retief's cigar lighter. "If worst gets to
worst, I can always flush myself down the sewer; but don't worry, pal. I'll
stick around and keep you company until you starve to death before I split—and
I do mean split."

"That's
thoughtful, Gloot; but maybe it won't come to that."

"Aha! So you have
got a couple aces up your sleeve! I figured; come on, Retief: Let me in on the
scheme! How are we going to hoist these Terries—"

"Groaci."

"Whatever you call
'em, I still don't like 'em. What dramatic stroke are we going to bring off
now, which they'll be caught by surprise with their kilts up?"

"First we find a
comfortable spot on the floor," Retief said.

"Yeah? OK, I'm
with you so far." "Then we wait."

"I'll be frank
with you, Retief: Somehow the program don't sound too promising."

"It's all I have
to offer at the moment."

"Oh." There
was a pause. "Are we, ah, waiting for anything in particular?"

"I'd be inclined
to jump at anything that comes along."

"You must be
joshing, Retief. How can anything come along to jump at, seeing that we're
locked up in an underground dungeon with only one hole in it, namely the one
the bilge runs out of?"

"That narrows it
down," Retief conceded.

"You mean . . .
?"

"Shhh . .
.listen!"

In the utter silence, a
faint rustling sound was audible. Retief thumbed his lighter; the pale flame
cast a feeble glow across the slimy floor.

Below the four-inch
drain orifice, something stirred.

An eyeball crept into
view on spidery legs, swiveling to look around the cell before emerging onto
the floor. Behind it, an ear fluttered up the shaft, circled the chamber, came
to rest in a far corner. A hand crawled into view, paused to hold up two
fingers in a V, then turned to assist a couple of gallbladders over the coping.

"Cripes,"
Gloot muttered as more and more Freebies swarmed into the cell. "What is
this, a convention? The place is crawling with vermin!"

"Steady,
Gloot," Retief cautioned. "When I said jump, I didn't mean
literally."

"It figures the
crumbums would stick us in a hole infested with parasites!"

"Keep your voice
down, Gloot. If our jailors suspect we have guests, they'll soon be along to
break up the party."

"Yeah—even a bunch
o' Terries—or Groaci-foreigners, anyway—ought to have the decency to fumigate
the place if we put up a howl—" Gloot broke off, his mouth hanging open in
an expression of horrified outrage. "Why, the lousy, dirty, obscene little
buggers!" he gasped. "Right out in public, too!"

Under the feeble beam
of the lighter, the eyeball had edged close to a generously proportioned nose which
waited coyly for its advance. They touched, groped—and melted into a close
embrace. A second eye appeared from the drain, glanced around, rushed to the
conjoining couple and promptly took up a position on the opposite side of the
nose. An upper lip linked with them, as other candidates crowded around, while
more and more streamed up from the depths.

"It's—it's a
regular orgy, like I heard about but never got in on!" Gloot blurted, and
raised a large, booted foot to stamp out the objectionable spectacle; Retief
caught his ankle barely in time, dumped him on his back.

"Easy,
Gloot," he said. "It's time you faced up to the facts of life."

"Just wait until I
get my other lung in place," a breathy voice squeaked from the direction
of the congregating singletons, "and I'll give that big hypocrite a piece
of my mind! Maybe that'll raise his IQ to the moron level so he can understand
me when I tell him what I think of him!"

"I thought maybe
it was you who's been dogging my footsteps," Retief said. "Welcome
aboard, Ignarp. You couldn't have come at a better time."

"So that's our Big
Secret, Retief," Ignarp said five minutes later. He was completely
reassembled now, his component parts having settled into position and
accommodated themselves so perfectly that the lines of juncture were barely
visible. "Being able to reassemble gives us a big advantage; that's why
the rest of 'em are out to get us."

"The reasons
normal Lumbagans got no use for these degenerates," Gloot stated with
contempt, "is on account of they got no finer feelings. When they put
theirselves together thataway, they as good as admit all us Lumbagans evolved
from lower forms!"

"Ontogeny
recapitulates philogeny," Ignarp said smugly. "Everybody knows
that."

"Sure—but decent
folks don't admit it!"

"Which brings us
to the question of why you trailed me here," Retief said.

"I told you I'd
keep an eye on you—"

"Yes, I saw it
fluttering in the middle distance."

"And it looks to
me like maybe things are even worse than we thought. And you're the only one
that maybe can do something about it. Ergo—here I am. What can I do? Get you
some light reading matter? Take last messages to loved ones?"

"Better yet, you
can get us out of here."

"I don't know,
Retief," Ignarp said, eyeing Gloot, who stood at the far side of the cell,
arms folded, a sullen expression on his face. "Why should I go to the
trouble to bail this clod out of stir?"

"Because without
him, I'm afraid my plan won't work out," Retief said.

"Who needs
him?" Ignarp challenged. "All I have to do is slide back out the way
I came in—"

"I still don't
believe it," Gloot muttered. "Me—associating with this degenerate.
Having to stand here and listen to him talk about it."

"—infiltrate the
building and reassemble inside. Then, when you pound on the door and yell and
the guard comes to work you over with the rubber hoses, I jump out and nail
him."

"I got a better
idea," Gloot said. "Retief, you lend your coat to this deviate; we
set up a yell, and when the bums come running, they open the door and see the
two of you up against the wall thumbing your noses. Naturally, they come charging
in, and I jump out behind 'em and lay 'em low."

"Some plan,"
Ignarp commented. "They see Retief without his coat and a total stranger
wearing it, and that's supposed to lull their suspicions?"

"OK, then
I
borrow his coat—"

"So they see him
without a coat, and me naked—and they figure I'm you, only two feet shorter and
better looking—"

"No, I got it:
Retief borrows my coat—"

"You're not
wearing one, dummy."

"So he keeps his
coat! You get back of the door—"

"Don't tell me
what to do, tall, spotted, and grotesque!"

"You got a nerve,
short, blotchy, and depraved! I got a good mind—"

"Want to bet? We
do it my way. See you later, Retief—" "How about waiting long enough
to hear my proposal, Ignarp?"

"Well—OK. Who
wears your coat?"

"I do. It's you
two fellows who have some changes to make."

"Huh?" Gloot
said uneasily.

"What you got in
mind?" Ignarp said suspiciously.

"Something far
worse than you think," Retief said. "Tell me, Ignarp, how would you
like to see Lumbaga pacified by a dictator?"

"You kidding? We
like to fight amongst ourselves. Having all the fat in the hands of the
exploiting classes is bad enough, without some spoilsport depriving us of our
national pastime. Forget it, Retief—"

"I'd be glad to,
but I'm afraid a fellow named Ussh has a more tenacious memory. Unless we do
something to stop it, by this time tomorrow, Lumbaga will be at
peace—permanently."

"Well, what are we
hanging around here for?" Ignarp demanded. "Let's try my plan,
and—"

"All the more
reason to get going on my plan!" Gloot cut in.

"Gentlemen,"
Retief interrupted, "there comes a time in any friendly fight when it's
wise to pause and give a thought to consequences. At this moment, the
opposition is busy putting the finishing touches on a plan that's been years in
the making. The occupying armies are already on the march for the capital—and
we're sealed in a vault forty feet underground, engaged in a jurisdictional
dispute."

"Oh . . . well
" Gloot said.

"It doesn't look
good, does it?" Ignarp said soberly.

"The proposals now
before us," Retief said, "would afford a few satisfying cracks at the
heads of our captors, and might even get us as far as the end of the hall
before the inevitable end. What's required is a plan with sufficient scope to
carry us through to a successful conclusion."

"I'll buy
that," Gloot said. "But—"

"Out with it,
Retief," Ignarp said. "I've got a funny feeling I'm not going to like
this."

"Probably
not," Retief agreed. In a few brief words, he outlined his proposal.

A stunned silence
followed.

"Retief! And I
thought you were a fine, upstanding fellow—for a foreigner!" Ignarp said
weakly.

"If I wouldn't of
heard it, I wouldn't of believed it," Gloot said in a choked voice.

"Well, how about
it, gentlemen?" Retief said. "We don't have much time."

"You expect me to
lend countenance to a thing like that?" Ignarp protested. "It's
enough to make your eyebrows crawl!"

"What if my
friends heard about it?" Gloot muttered.

"It's not
traditional!" Ignarp complained.

"It's against
nature!"

"Mongrelization!"

"I'll be dragged
down to his level!"

"It'll never
work!"

"Couldn't we talk
about it first? For a few years, say—or maybe a century or so?"

"It's now or
never, fellows," Retief said. "After tomorrow, every Lumbagan on the
planet will be herded into a Freeby farm and integrated forcibly, regardless of
his sensitivities."

"Me?" Gloot
said. "And that . . . that . . . dilettante?"

"That . . . that
oaf—and me?" Ignarp wailed.

"It's that—or
something worse," Retief said with finality. "Could you at least . .
. douse the light?" Ignarp said. "I need a shot o' rum," Gloot
said.

"Of course."
Retief handed over his flask and switched off; the dim glow faded. In the
darkness there were soft, tentative scufflings, faint mutterings; Retief paced
the cell, three paces, back three paces, whistling softly to himself. Time
passed. . .

Silence fell. Retief
paused.

"Ready,
gentlemen?"

"We . . . I . . .
guess so," a curiously mellow voice answered. Then, more strongly:
"Yes, ready, Retief."

He flicked on the
lighter. In its glow stood not the dumpy Ignarp nor the lanky Gloot, but a
tall, superbly muscled figure, brawny arms folded over a mighty chest, four
golden eyes glowing from a broad and noble brow alight with intellect.