Norton, Andre - Anthology (31 page)

"We can't."

Magnan stopped short. "Let's
go back."

"All right," Retief said.
"Of course, there may be an ambush—"

Magnan moved off. "Let's keep
going."

The party emerged from the
undergrowth at the edge of a great brush-grown mound. Slun took the lead,
rounded the flank of the mound, halted at a rectangular opening cut into the
slope.

"You can find your way easily
enough from here," he said. "You'll excuse us, I hope—"

"Nonsense, Slun!" Zubb
pushed forward. "I'll escort our guests to Qornt Hall." He twittered
briefly to his fellow Verpp. Slun twittered back.

"I don't like it,
Retief," Magnan whispered. "Those fellows are plotting
mischief."

"Threaten them with violence,
Mr. Magnan. They're scared of you."

"That's true—but the drubbing
they received was well-deserved. I'm a patient man, but there are
occasions—"

"Come along, please,"
Zubb called. "Another ten minutes' walk—"

"See here, we have no interest
in investigating this barrow," Magnan announced. "We wish you to take
us direct to Tarroon to interview your military leaders regarding the
Ultimatum!"

"Yes, yes, of course. Qornt
Hall lies here inside the village."

"This is Tarroon?"

"A modest civic center, sir,
but there are those who love it."

"No wonder we didn't observe
their works from the air," Magnan muttered.
"Camouflaged."
He moved hesitantly through the opening.

The party moved along a wide,
deserted tunnel which sloped down steeply, then leveled off and branched. Zubb
took the center branch, ducking slightly under the nine-foot ceiling lit at
intervals with what appeared to be primitive incandescent panels.

"Few signs of an advanced
technology here," Magnan whispered. "These creatures must devote all
their talents to war-like enterprise."

Ahead, Zubb slowed. A distant
susurration was audible, a sustained high-pitched screeching.
"Softly, now.
We approach Qornt Hall. They can be an
irascible lot when disturbed at their feasting."

"When will the feast be over?"
Magnan called hoarsely.

"In another few weeks, I
should imagine
,
if, as you say, they've scheduled an
invasion for next month."

"Look here, Zubb." Magnan
shook a finger at the tall alien. "How is it that these Qornt are allowed
to embark on piratical ventures of this sort without reference to the wishes of
the majority—"

"Oh, the majority of the Qornt
favor the move, I imagine."

"A handful of hotheads are
permitted to embroil the planet in war?"

"Oh, they don't embroil the
planet in war. It's merely a Qornt enterprise. We Verpp ignore such
goings-on."

"Retief, this is fantastic!
I've heard of iron-fisted military cliques before, but this is madness!"

"Come softly, now . . ."
Zubb beckoned, moving toward a bend in the yellow-lit corridor. Retief and
Magnan moved forward. The corridor debouched through a high double door into a
vast oval chamber, high-domed, gloomy,
paneled
in dark
wood and hung with tattered banners, scarred halberds, pikes, rusted
longswords, crossed spears, patinaed hauberks, pitted radiation armor, corroded
power rifles, the immense mummified heads of horned and fanged animals. Great
guttering torches in wall brackets and in stands along the length of the long
table shed a smoky light that reflected from the mirror polish of the red granite
floor, gleamed on polished silver bowls and paper-thin glass, shone jewel-red
and gold through dark bottles—and cast long flickering shadows behind the
fifteen trolls who loomed in their places at the board. Lesser trolls—beaked,
bush-haired, great-eyed—trotted briskly, bird-kneed, bearing steaming platters,
stood in groups of three strumming slender bottle-shaped lutes, or pranced in
intricately-patterned dance, unnoticed in the shrill uproar as each of the
magnificently draped, belted, feathered, and bejeweled Qornt carried on a
shouted conversation with an equally noisy fellow.

"A most interesting display of
barbaric splendor," Magnan breathed. "Now we'd better be getting
back—"

"Ah, a moment," Zubb
said. "Observe the Qorn—the tallest of the feasters—he with the headdress
of crimson, purple, silver and pink—"

"Twelve feet if he's an
inch," Magnan estimated. "And now we really must hurry along—"

"That one is chief among these
rowdies. I'm sure you'll want a word with him. He controls not only the Tarroonian
vessels but those from the other Centers as well."

"What kind of vessels?
Warships?"

"Certainly.
What other kind would the Qornt bother with?"

"I don't suppose," Magnan
said casually, "that you'd know the type, tonnage, armament, and manning
of these vessels? And how many units comprise the fleet? And where they're
based at present?"

"They're fully automated
twenty-thousand ton all-purpose dreadnoughts. They mount a variety of
weapons—the Qornt are fond of that sort of thing—and each of the Qornt has his
own, of course. They're virtually
identical,
except
for the personal touches each individual has given his ship."

"Great
Heavens, Retief!"
Magnan exclaimed in a whisper. "It sounds as
though these brutes employ a battle armada as simpler souls might a set of toy
sailboats!"

Retief stepped past Magnan and Zubb
to study the feasting hall. "I can see that their votes would carry all
the necessary weight."

"And, now, an interview with
the Qorn himself," Zubb shrilled. "If you'll kindly step along,
gentlemen . . ."

"That won't be
necessary," Magnan said hastily. "I've decided to refer the entire
matter to a committee—"

"After having come so
far," Zubb said, "it would be a pity to miss having a cozy chat . .
."

There was a pause.

"Ah . . . Retief," Magnan
said. "Zubb has just presented a most compelling argument . . ."

Retief turned. Zubb stood, gripping
an ornately decorated power pistol in one bony hand, a slim needler in the
other. Both were pointed at Magnan's chest.

"I suspected you had hidden
qualities, Zubb," Retief commented.

"See here, Zubb; we're
diplomats—" Magnan started.

"Careful, Mr. Magnan; you may
goad him to a frenzy."

"By no means," Zubb
whistled. "I much prefer to observe the frenzy of the Qornt when presented
with the news that two peaceful Verpp have been assaulted and kidnapped by
bullying interlopers. If there's anything that annoys the Qornt, it's
Qornt-like behavior in others. Now, step along, please."

"Rest assured, this will be
reported—"

"I doubt it."

"You'll face the wrath of
Enlightened Galactic Opinion—"

"Oh? How big a navy does
Enlightened Galactic Opinion have?"

"Stop scaring him, Mr. Magnan.
He may get nervous and shoot." Retief stepped into the banquet hall,
headed for the resplendent figure at the head of the table. A trio of flute-players
broke off in mid-bleat, staring. An inverted pyramid of tumblers blinked as
Retief swung past, followed by Magnan and the tall Verpp. The shrill chatter at
the table faded.

Qorn turned as Retief came up,
blinking three-inch eyes. Zubb stepped forward, gibbered, waving his arms
excitedly. Qorn pushed back his chair—a low, heavily padded stool—and stared
unwinking at Retief, moving his head to bring first one great round eye, then
the other, to bear. There were small blue veins in the immense fleshy beak. The
bushy hair, springing out in a giant halo around the greyish, porous-skinned
face, was wiry, stiff,
moss
-green, with tufts of
chartreuse fuzz surrounding what appeared to be tympanic membranes. The tall
headdress of scarlet silk and purple feathers was slightly askew, and a loop of
pink pearls had slipped down above one eye.

Zubb finished his speech, fell
silent, breathing hard.

Qorn looked Retief over in silence,
then
belched.

"Not bad," Retief said
admiringly. "Maybe we could get up a match between you and Ambassador
Sternwheeler. You've got the volume on him, but he could spot you points on
timber."

"So," Qorn hooted in a
resonant tenor. "You come from Guzzum, eh? Or Smørbrød, as I think you
call it. What is it you're after?
More time?
A compromise?
Negotiations?
Peace?" He slammed a bony hand against the table. "The answer is
NO!"

Zubb twittered. Qorn cocked an eye,
motioned to a servant. "Chain him, then . . ." he indicated Magnan.
His eyes went to Retief. "This one's bigger; you'd best chain him,
too."

"Why, your Excellency—"
Magnan started, stepping forward.

"Stay back!" Qorn hooted.
"Stand over there where I can keep an eye on you."

"
Your
Excellency, I'm empowered—"

"Not here,
you're not!"
Qorn trumpeted. "Want peace, do you? Well, I
don't want peace! I've had a surfeit of peace these last two centuries! I want
action! Loot! Adventure!
Glory!"
He turned to
look down the table.
"How about it fellows?
It's
war to the knife, eh?"

There was a momentary silence.

"I guess so," grunted a
giant Qornt in iridescent blue with flame-colored plumes.

Qorn's eyes bulged. He half rose.
"We've been all over this!" he bassooned. He clamped bony fingers on
the hilt of a light rapier. "I thought I'd made my point . . ."

"Oh, sure,
Qorn."

"You bet."

"I'm convinced."

Qorn rumbled and resumed his seat.
"All for one and one for all, that's us."

"And you're the one, eh
Qorn?" Retief commented.

Magnan cleared his throat. "I
sense that some of you gentlemen are not convinced of the wisdom of this
move," he piped, looking along the table at the silks, jewels, beaks,
feather-decked crests, and staring eyes.

"Silence!"
Qorn hooted. "No use
your
talking to my loyal
lieutenants anyway," he added. "They do whatever I convince them they
ought to do."

"But I'm sure that on more mature
consideration—"

"I can lick any Qornt in the
house," Qorn said. "That's why I'm Qorn." He belched again.

A servant came up staggering under
a weight of chain, dropped it with a crash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the
guns while the servant wrapped three loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a
lock in place.

"You,
next!"
The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms.
Four loops of silvery-grey chain in half-inch links dropped around them. The
servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through the ends and closed it.

"Now," Qorn said, lolling
back in his chair, glass in hand. "
There's a bit of
sport to be had here, lads
. What shall we do with them?"

"Let them go," the blue
and flame Qornt said glumly.

"You can do better than
that," Qorn hooted. "Now, here's a suggestion: we carve them up a
little—lop off the external labiae and pinnae, say—and ship them back—"

"Good lord! Retief, he's
talking about cutting off our ears and sending us home mutilated! What a
barbaric proposal!"

"It wouldn't be the first time
a Terrestrial diplomat got a trimming," Retief commented.

"It should have the effect of
stimulating the Terries to put up a reasonable scrap," Qorn said
judiciously. "I have a feeling that they're thinking of giving up without
a struggle."

"Oh, I doubt that," the
blue-and-flame Qornt said. "Why should they?"

Qorn rolled an eye at Retief and
another at Magnan. "Take these two," he hooted. "I'll wager they
came here to negotiate
a surrender
!"

"Well," Magnan started.

"Hold it, Mr. Magnan,"
Retief said, "I'll tell him."

"What's your proposal?"
Qorn whistled, taking a gulp from his goblet.
"A
fifty-fifty split?
Monetary reparations?
Alternate territory?
I can assure you, it's useless. We
Qornt LIKE to fight—"

"I'm afraid you've gotten the
wrong impression, Your Excellency," Retief said blandly. "We didn't
come to negotiate. We came to deliver an ultimatum . . ."

"What?" Qorn trumpeted.
Behind Retief, Magnan spluttered.

"We plan to use this planet
for target practice," Retief said. "A new type hell bomb we've worked
out. Have all your people off of it in seventy-two hours, or suffer the
consequences."

* * *

"You have the gall," Qorn
stormed, "to stand here in the center of Qornt Hall—uninvited, at that—and
in chains—"

"Oh, these," Retief said.
He tensed his arms; the soft aluminum links stretched, broke. He shook the
light metal free. "We diplomats like to go along with colorful local
customs, but I wouldn't want to mislead you. Now, as to the evacuation of
Roolit I—"

Zubb screeched, waved the guns. The
Qornt at the table craned, jabbering.

"I told you they were
brutes," Zubb shrilled.

Qorn slammed his fist down on the
table. "I don't care what they are!" he honked. "
Evacuate,
hell! I can field eighty-five combat-ready
ships—"

"And we can englobe every one
of them with a thousand Peace Enforcers, with a hundred megatons/second
firepower each."

"Retief—" Magnan tugged
at his sleeve. "Don't forget their superdrive—"

"That's all right; they don't
have one."

"But—"

"We'll take you on!"
Qorn French-horned.
"We're the Qorn! We glory in
battle! We live in fame or go down in—"

"Hogwash," the
flame-and-blue Qornt cut in. "If it wasn't for you, Qorn, we could sit
around and feast and brag and enjoy life without having to prove
anything."