Reward for Retief (45 page)

            "You fellers come in
here and start tearing things up," the old man grumped, "and then you
come complaining to
me\"

           
"I,
sir," Magnan stated loftily, "am Career Minister Benjamin O. Magnan, Counselor
for Trivial Affairs to the Terran Embassy to Goldblatt's Other World!"

            "I guess that makes you
a big shot," the old fellow remarked indifferently. "But I think I've
got you out-shot. Name's Sol Goldblatt." He approached Magnan and held out
a work-gnarled hand. "You really from that there Embassy? Heard about
that," he said when he had clasped Magnan's limp fingers and nearly
pinched them off. Magnan jerked his hand back, wincing. "That's
ridiculous!" he snapped. "I met Captain Goldblatt only today, a man
in his prime. Besides which," he added confusedly, "his death nearly
two centuries ago is a matter of record!"

            "Then I guess you
better amend the record, Mr. Magnan," Sol commented casually.

            "I tried to contact you
Embassy fellers," he went on, "right after I heard about you setting
up shop here," he added. "Run into all kinds o' trash done invaded
the place. Nice little planet when I first come," he went on.
"Strange kind o' place, lots o' bugs; and I useta hear these like voices
and all, but I still liked it a lot. Then the first bunch o' strangers showed
up—clobbered in accidental, I guess—and started messing things up. Now a feller
can't hardly weed the garden without some hard case coming along to stick his
nose in. I get tired o' running 'em off; jest so they'd leave me be. But now
they got that there infernal machine making passes just to rile me. Now
you
show
up. A embassy's spose to look out for a feller's rights and all, ain't it? What
are you boys doing about this?"

            Magnan sank down on a rustic
bench beside the walk, fanning himself with his hand. "A moment, please,
sir," he pled. "I'm quite overwhelmed." He peered curiously at
the oldster's seamed face. "I thought you were younger," he offered
lamely. "Am I to understand, sir," he hurried on in a voice with a
tendency to break, "that I am indeed in the presence of the fabled
explorer, Captain Goldblatt, himself? Not a descendant, or ..."his
question petered out.

            "Spikking
descendents," his host came back. "What's to descend, with no
females? Or not hardly no females, less you count them hard cases hangs out
with them hoodlums."

            "B-but!" Magnan
exclaimed, jumping up, "haven't you seen—only moments ago—a young lady
clad in a most impractical long frock, who was preceeding me by only a few
moments? Oh, Gaby!" he raised his voice slightly to call, meanwhile
scanning the clearing anxiously.

            "Over here,
Benny," her reply came, from behind a large clump of flowering,
cactus-like plants. "Jest fixing my face. Hang on."

            "Thank Goodness!"
Magnan gobbled. "I feared the worst!"

            "Jest ducked down when
I seen Dirty Eddie sneaking around yonder," she explained, pointing across
the clearing toward a small out-building. "Reckon the skunk's in the John.
Go roust him, Benny. Serve the sucker right." Magnan responded with a
shocked gasp.

            "Pardon me,
ma'am," the elderly fellow interjected hesitantly, peering curiously at
her. "You're the first gal I seen up close since last time I topped off at
Rim Station Nine, here a couple years ago."

            "Rim Station
Nine," Magnan intoned sternly, "was closed down and converted to a
museum over a century ago, during the Apollo Demi-millenium celebration.

            You really must abandon this
habit of prevaricating, sir. It's hardly creditable, and furthermore it won't work."

            " 'Prevarication',"
the old man repeated. "Means 'lying,' don't it? Guess you better watch yer
manners, feller, or I'll get riled, and no telling what might happen." He
turned and hobbled away.

            "Who's that?" Gaby
wanted to know.

            "I'm the owner of this
place, that's who, miss," was the grumpy reply. "Who're you?"

            "I'm Gabrielle, ah. I
use to know pa's name but I fergot."

            "And are you, Miss Ah,
in any way responsible for this persecution?" he demanded. "If so I
insist that you desist at once!"

            "Sir!" Magnan
barked. "That is an insane suggestion! There is a crowd of ruffians
intruding in these otherwise pleasant environs, and it is
they
who are
causing all the trouble. Their ringleader seems to be a scamp going by the
alias Dirty Eddie Magoon at the moment, the same who was seen skulking nearby
but a moment agone! I suggest you lay him by the heels, and inquire of
him
as
to responsibility for the numerous outrages we, and presumably yourself have
suffered in recent days!"

            "Oh, that's jest old
Special Ed," the old man dismissed the idea. "I keep him around to do
odd jobs. Use to, anyway, till he started getting big ideas."

            "Some of them,
sir," Magnan butted in, "are bigger than you think! Why, on one
occasion I was actually assaulted by a fellow twice my size, encased in steel
armor of antique design! Unhorsed the rascal, too," he added contentedly.
"Had a curious hallucination," he went on, "that inside that
armor was Sid Overbore. Transparent wish-fulfillment," he concluded with a
sigh.

            "You was wonderful,
Benny," Gaby breathed, "but don't go bragging it up too much."

            "I merely made
reference to the incident
en passant"
Magnan objected. "I was
citing an instance of the baroque with which I've been beset here."

            "Sure, honey,"
Gaby soothed, stroking his forearm. "You—all of us—been in some fancy
scrapes ever since we passed over."

            " 'Passed over'? You
say?" Magnan queried. "I know that term as a euphemism for
death."

            "One thang about bein'
dead," Gaby mumbled. "You don't hafta worry about dying."

            "So Hemingway
said," Magnan observed tartly. " 'He who pays today is quiet for
tomorrow.' But of course he had a pathological fear of death which eventually
killed him."

            "Ain't seen him,"
Gaby commented. "He musta been before my time. But anyways, what you got
to do, you got to expect the unexpected. Like them nondeterminate polynomial
complete problems you hear about. You got to do a Worst Case Analysis. Remember
Ramsey's theory, Benjy: 'total disorder is impossible'."

            "I've read very little
in cosmology and the like, my dear," Magnan pointed out. "May one ask
when you acquired such apparent familiarity with the jargon in the Intermediate
Physics?"

            "Ain't jargon,"
Gaby objected. "Tole you this here is a sample of a nondeterminate polynomial
complex problem!"

            "Wave functions were
never a hobby of mine," Magnan objected. "Can't we simply resolve our
problems rationally?"

            "The little lady's
right," the old fellow contributed. "Rationality is a quirk o' the
human mind. Be rational all you like, but that don't make the world conform to
you. I oughta know."

            "And precisely why,
sir" Magnan challenged sharply, "should you, as you say, know of
these matters?"

            "Guess I can answer
that," the elderly space'n answered promptly. "I come here, this
place was a wasteland; jungle, desert, worms and gnats and worse. Big river. No
folks. Started hearing these voices. That was a bad time, I'll jest be fair
with ya." He paused, looking solemn. "Guess it was my own fault,
partly, anyways,' he continued. "Had it made, but I got the big head:
going to be a big benefactor. Taken in this wounded critter and named it Wiggly
and started teaching it tricks. First thing I knew, it was taking over, messing
everything up. Voices in my head got worse'n ever; a ship come along and didn't
know the ropes and got lost and finely clobbered in—served 'em right. Bunch o'
no-goods, but they had a couple passengers aboard. Some spoiled kid and his
guardian or tutor or whatever— good fellow, Prince William, the kid called him.
Never lasted long, though. Tried to take on the roughnecks man-to-man, and they
ganged up on him. Too bad." Sol stared past Magnan. "Oh-oh—" he
remarked. "Here's another one. Big sucker, too."

            "Heavens," Magnan
gasped, turning. "You finally came!"

            "That's right,
sir," Retief agreed. "I'm Retief," he told the old man, who
thrust out a toil-hardened hand.

            "Call me Sol,
ex-Merchant Navy of Terra," he supplied. "And I seen
you
before!
On the wanted bill and all!"

            "Honored Captain,"
Retief said.

            Magnan frowned at Retief.
"Where in the world have you been?" he yapped. "I've been set
upon, chased by a Bolo, wandered lost in this dismal forest—and what were
you
doing while I was suffering, may I inquire?"

            "Sure, go ahead,"
Retief replied easily.

            "I just
did"
Magnan
snapped. "That is, it's understood that when one says 'May I ask?', one
is
in feet, asking! It's like 'I would like to take this opportunity to thank
you,' which means 'thanks'."

            "Trouble with you
diplomatic Johnnies," Sol put in. "Too many words, and most of 'em
useless. What about this here convict, Mr. Magnan? You going to arrest the
sucker, or what?"

            "Why, Captain,"
Magnan demanded coldly of the officer, "do you uniformly employ the
unfortunate term 'Johnnies' with reference to dedicated bureaucrats? As for
arresting my colleague, Mr. Retief—why it's an outrage! Art exceeded his
instructions! Common sense was never Art's strong suit!"

            "Leave it be,
Benny," Gaby urged. "Coulda been a lot worse."

            "But I was inquiring,
or inquiring if I might inquire," Magnan regained his train of thought,
"as to the recent whereabouts of my colleague, Mr. Retief."

            "I was with you until
half an hour ago, Ben," Retief reminded him. "Then you took off on
your own to chase down Miss Gaby, here."

            "You
did,
Benjy?"
the lady gurgled. "How romantic— all except finding this old coot living
in
our
rose-covered cottage."

            "Reckon the place is
mine," Sol corrected, "seeing I built it. Whattaya mean 'old
coot'?"

            "With your own
hands?" Magnan demanded. "Including cutting all the lumber, and
milling the woodwork?"

            "Not exactly, Mister
Ah," Sol corrected. "You see, Zanny-du ain't like most places, where
a feller's got to go through a lot of intermediate steps. This was a unspoiled
paradise, a blank slate, you might say; and my bein' the first Terry along, I
shaped it nearer to my heart's desire, like the poem says."

            "You know Keats?"
Magnan asked in a tone of Mild Surprise (12-x).

            "Nope. Prince William.
He was full of it. Matter of feet, it was him named the place Zanny-du. Funny
kind of name, but to me it's still 'Goldblatt's Other World,' like I called it
in my report, just before I hit atmosphere."

            "And where is this
Prince William now?" Magnan wanted to know. He turned to Retief.
"Didn't that objectionable child who called himself 'Sobby' refer to a
Price William?"

            "His tutor,"
Retief agreed.

            "Pore feller was
grabbed," the old man responded hesitantly to Magnan's question.

            "Grabbed by whom?"
Magnan persisted.

            "By Old Wiggly,
whattaya think?" was the impatient reply. "Tole you he got big ideas.
I tole the damn fool to stay clear o' the Domes."