Retief Unbound (40 page)

"How do I ... we
look?" the idealized Lumbagan inquired.

"Ready for
anything," Retief said. "By the way, what do I call you now? Somehow
neither Ignoop nor Glarp seems to fit the new you."

"What about . . .
Lucael?"

"It's better than
Michifer. Now, Luke—if you'll pardon the familiarity I think we'd best get on
with the next phase without delay."

"The next phase
being . . . ?"

"As the first
Octuple Lumbagan in history, I assume you have unique abilities. Let's find out
what they are."

"Yes—I see. The
conclusion is logical. By introspection, I note that I have, of course,
enhanced physical strength and endurance, exceptionally keen hearing and
vision. . . ." Lucael paused. "A most interesting effect," he
said. "By bringing either pair of eyes to bear on an object, I of course
achieve the familiar stereoscopic effect: three-dimensional sight—a vast
improvement over the monocular vision of the former Gloot identity. But when I
bring both pairs into play simultaneously, channeling the impression through my
compound occipital lobes, there is an exponential improvement. I can clearly
perceive nine dimensions: five spatial, two temporal, and two more the nature
of which will require careful analysis. ..." The resonant baritone faded
off as Lucael stared, somewhat crosseyed, at the corner of the room.

"You'll have
plenty of time later for research in depth, Luke. For the moment we'd better
stick to the practical applications."

"Of course. The
first order of business, clearly, is to adjust spatial coordinates in such
fashion that our loci lie external to the enclosure by which we are at present
circumscribed."

"Unequivocally, if
not succinctly put. Any suggestions?"

"Hmmm."
Lucael glanced at each of the four walls in turn. "Solid rock to a depth
of several hundred feet on all sides." He stared at the floor.
"Twenty-five miles of rock, underlain by a viscous fluid at high
temperature and pressure. Fascinating!"

"That leaves the
ceiling," Retief prompted.

"To be sure,"
Lucael glanced up. "Yes, this is the simplest route." He glanced at
Retief. "Shall we go?" "After you."

The super-Lumbagan
nodded, folded his arms—both pairs—and rose gently from the floor. In the
moment before his head would have contacted the ceiling, the rocky surface seemed
to shimmer, fading suddenly to invisibility. Without pausing, Lucael rose
steadily up, waist, knees, ankles, to disappear from sight. A moment later, a
sharp, breathy cry sounded, followed by a dull thump.

Retief crouched,
jumped, caught the edge of the circular opening now miraculously existing in
the stone slab, and pulled himself up into what appeared to be a guardroom. A
lone Groaci lay stretched on the floor, peacefully snoring.

"It was necessary
to numb his cortical synapses—temporarily, of course," Lucael said
apologetically. "Poor little creature, so full of vain plans and
misconceptions."

"Aren't we
all?" Retief said. "Luke, let's see how good you are at finding
things at a distance. We need fast transportation."

"Let me see. . . .
Hmmm. I detect a boat at a distance of three hundred yards on an azimuth of
181°24°." "What kind of boat?"

"A hand-hewn canoe
sunk in four fathoms of water. There's a large hole in the bottom."

"Skip that one,
Luke. How about a nice two-man copter?"

"No . . . nothing
like that. However, I note a modest power launch lying at anchor some two miles
to the east."

"Ensign Yubb must
still be busy pacifying the army. I believe his boat was powered by a small
fusion jet. I don't suppose . . . ?"

"I've already
started it," Lucael said. "Just a moment while I lift the anchor . .
. there. Now, let me see: Which is reverse? Oh, yes. Now, all ahead, half speed
until she's past the bar...."

"Nice work, Luke.
While you're bringing her around to this side of the island, take a quick scan
of the building."

"Very well. ... A
guard or two dozing in the keep. . . . Two Groaci in sick bay with contusions.
. . . Half a dozen unfortunates lodged in the brig. Ussh seems to be gone. Yes,
I detect his aura—a most powerful one—some ten miles to the east, traveling
fast."

"It's time we
emulated him. Let's go, Luke; we don't want to miss all the excitement."

"You refer to the
moment when Ussh announces his assumption of power and his program of Galactic
conquest?"

"No," Retief
said. "I mean the moment when he discovers that Newton's Third Law applies
to politicians as well as ping-pong balls."

They met no opposition
as they left the now almost-deserted building. Lucael picked a route down the
hill through the dense woods to emerge on the beach just as the unmanned power
launch rounded the curve of the shore and headed in toward the beach. They
splashed out through the shallows as the engine cut; the boat glided silently
up to them. Aboard, Lucael restarted the engines, and Retief took the helm.

"Ussh's first
column has just entered the city from the west," Lucael announced.
"He himself is at this moment leading a procession along Brigand Street
toward the Castle. Rioting seems to be proceeding as usual."

"Let's be grateful
for His Ultimateness' fondness for dramatic gestures," Retief said.
"If he'll occupy himself with his victory parade for an hour or so, we may
be in time."

"In time to thwart
his coup?"

"Probably not. But
with luck, in time to stage a small coup of our own." He opened the
throttles and the powerful boat surged ahead across the dark water toward the
city lights fifteen miles to the east.

The shadowy shapes of
Groo-groo and Delerion and Rum-boogie rose in turn from the darkness, slid past
on the port side, dwindled astern, none showing any signs of life with the
exception of a few small campfires glowing high on their forested slopes.
Ahead, the lights of Thieves' Harbor spread wider, reaching out to enclose them
as they passed the breakwater. The wharves were deserted as the sleek craft
nosed up to the Municipal Pier.

Retief cut the power,
tossed a line around a piling and jumped down onto the wharf.

"The place looks
strange without at least one small street fight in progress," he said.
"Apparently it takes a war to bring peace to Lumbaga."

"The crowds have
gathered near the Castle complex," Lucael said. "A cordon of armed
troops surround the area. Ussh is in the ballroom, in company with a number of
off-worlders."

"Is Ambassador
Pouncetrifle among those present?" Retief described the Terran
Plenipotentiary. Lucael confirmed that he was included in the group.

"They seem to be
linked together," the super-Lumbagan added, "by means of a chain
attached to a series of metal collars which in turn encircle their necks."

"Apparently Ussh
intends to establish a no-nonsense foreign policy," Retief commented.
"The idea has merit, but in the present case we'll have to try to
introduce a little nonsense after all."

"Interference may
prove difficult. All entrances are blocked by the crowd. I can of course
levitate myself to any desired point within the atmosphere, but the amount of
extra weight I'm capable of carrying is limited."

"Piggyback is out,
then. Let's try the back door where your Ignarp segment and I first met."

Retief led the way across
the plaza and down Dacoit Street, poorly lit by the widely spaced gas lamps,
deserted now, littered with the forlorn trash crowds leave behind. They were
within a hundred feet of the inconspicuous door when a small party of helmeted
and greaved Groaci soldiers emerged suddenly from a narrow cross street ahead.
The officer in charge hissed an order; his troops spread out to block the way,
then one by one crumpled to the cobblestones. The officer, the last on his
feet, stared uncomprehendingly at his collapsing command, then belatedly jerked
his pistol from its sequinned holster only to drop it, totter two steps, and
fall.

Lucael staggered back
against the wall of the building beside them, his face working like yeast.

"Jeez . . . I just
had the screwiest nightmare," he muttered, almost in Gloot's voice.
"Another . . . lousy trick by . . . unprincipled exploiters, I'll
wager," he added in Ignarp's petulant tones.

"Luke! Pull
yourself together!" Retief snapped. "You can't afford to go to pieces
now!"

Lucael's features
twitched and subsided. The four golden eyes settled back into position.

"I . . . find that
. . . there are limitations to my power output," he said weakly.

"Come on, Luke.
Just a little farther." They covered the remaining yards to the doorway. The
heavy door opened on the musty passage.

"From now on, save
your strength for emergencies," Retief said. "I think I can guarantee
there'll be a steady supply."

They threaded the route
through dusty passages, ascended the stairs to the kitchens, which they found
deserted and showing signs of rapid evacuation. A cramped spiral service stair
led from an alcove beside the dumbwaiter to the upper stories. At the top,
faint voices muttered beyond the door which opened into the private apartment
wing.

"A party of minor
Groaci officials," Lucael said, speaking with his eyes closed. "They
seem to be placing wagers as to whether Terra will be granted colony status, or
merely regarded as conquered territory." He paused. "They're gone
now."

Retief eased the door
open half an inch; crimson carpet led to a pair of massive, carved purplewood
doors, just closing behind the bet-laying aliens. Retief went swiftly forward,
got a foot in it before it closed. The anteroom beyond was empty; through a
low, arched opening the barbarically splendid ballroom was visible, crowded
with a mixed throng of locals and aliens. In an elaborately carved chair at the
far end of the room sat a towering Lumbagan draped in a robe of Imperial
purple, flanked on one side by Colonel Suash at the head of an honor guard of
matched native troops in shining cuirasses and polished helms, power guns at
present arms, impressive in spite of a number of black eyes and Band-Aids in
evidence. At the other side of the throne stood a detachment of Groaci peacekeepers
in full uniform. A gaggle of Groaci functionaries, including Ambassador Jith,
stood nearby. Ambassador Pouncetrifle, leaning sideways due to the weight of
the chain on his neck, stood before the throne; a dozen or so members of his
staff huddled behind him in a tight group, none apparently craving the honor of
sharing the front rank with the chief of mission.

". . . sensible of
the honor and all that, Your Imperial Highness," the Terran ambassador was
saying, "but see here, I can't simply offer Terran recognition of your
regime on my own authority!"

"Let's simplify
the proposition," a deep bass voice boomed from the Imperial chair.
"Acknowledge our divine right, and sign the treaty, and we'll allow you to
linger to observe our coronation before being whipped back to your
kennels!"

"Ah ... if I might
venture an observation. ..." A faint voice spoke up from the Groaci
delegation. It was Ambassador Jith who stepped forward. "While one fully
appreciates the eminent propriety of the installation of a native Lumbagan
regime entertaining kindly sentiments toward the Gro-acian state—"

"Yes, yes, get on
with it!" the enthroned Lumbagan rumbled.

"To be sure, Your
Imperial Highness—I merely meant to suggest that perhaps a less precipitate
approach to the question of recognition—"

"Our photograph,
hand-tinted by skilled coolies, will be distributed to every village, hamlet,
and town in the Eastern Arm! Recognitionwise, we'll be better known than that
fellow Whatzizname who won the noodle-knitting contest on TV!"

"Doubtless, sire,
your fame will be quickly spread abroad—"

"No broads! As an
asexual race, we Lumbagans look with disfavor on any sport we can't get in on!
Now, that's enough of the subject! On with the formalities!" His Highness
favored Pouncetrifle with a scowl involving three eyes and four eyebrows.

"Well, what about
it, Terran? Do you want to acknowledge the legitimacy of our gracious rule and
receive an exequatur allowing you to go on using up our Lumbagan air, or would
you prefer to play a stellar role in the first death sentence we hand down from
our newly established throne?"

"Apparently Your
Imperial Highness is having his little jape," Jith hissed in apparent
dismay. 'As Groacian Plenipotentiary, I must advise that the Groacian state
would look with extreme disfavor on the establishment of any unfortunate
precedent with regard to informal methods of diplomat disposal. A simple
declaration of
persona non grata
—"

"Nope. Italian
food gives us heartburn," the Imperial figure decreed. "And if we
hear any more static from aliens of any persuasion, we might just revise our
whole plan for Galactic enlightenment to include you Groaci out!"

An unusually tall and
robust Groaci stepped forward from the rear rank.