Retief and the Rascals (21 page)

            "Looky what you let him do to me, when I
was tryna help!" he invited Retief, removing his hands from his goblinlike
face long enough for Retief to get a glimpse of red ruin.

            "I woulda done worser'n that, if old Retief
wouldn't of had aholt of my arm," Slug declared.

            "Ha! If he wouldn't of trip' me first, you
never woulda got the chanct!" Skunky came back with the tone of One Who
Knows Dirty Pool When He Sees It (2031-a).

            "Heavens," Ben Magnan contributed,
approaching cautiously from the position he had selected well out of the area
of disorderly conduct. "Imagine a lowlife of this Skunky's stripe
attempting the double-mil series!" he appealed to Cosmic Justice.
"It's grotesque!" He stood over the malefactor, looking down sternly.
"That could well have been mistaken for a two-thousand thirty-one-d (I'll
Get You) by one with a less perfectly trained eye than mine! Think what a
vendetta could have resulted, my man! One doesn't lightly tamper with
subtleties honed over a millennium of intensive harsh experience in the great
arena of Galactic diplomacy! A two-oh-three-one, indeed! Get up, you rogue!
You're going straight to the local lockup, a place I know well, due to the
gross inefficiency of native officials, abetted by the venality of yet others!
Get up, I say! Retief, make him get up!"

            Retief went over to Skunky, who scuttled
backward, then got to his feet. "I was going to!" he told his
biographers in an indignant tone. "What's the big hurry, anyways?"

            "Mr. Magnan just thought you might prefer
to go to jail with your long bones intact," Retief explained gently.
"Now go over there to Sergeant Thrash and apologize."

            "Me?" Skunky cried in a tone of Moral
Outrage (a feeble 901-b). "What do I got to apologize to old Sluggy
for?"

            "Existing, for a start," Ben Magnan supplied.
"In fact, you owe us all an apology for that. Start now."

            "Well, par' me," the chastened brigand
started uncertainly. "Par' me for living! I guess a pore boy that never
got no Christmas prezzies ain't got a right to breathe the air. Prolly 'cuse me
o' smothering somebody which I used up
his
air! Ha! I guess a blue
bicycle under the Christmas tree when I was twelve, if we woulda had a
Christmas tree, and I wouldn't of never took to a life o' crime and all!"
Skunky leaped toward Sluggy in response to a gentle lack in the seat of the
pants from Retief.

            "Now, Jim, we mustn't be guilty of
brutality!" Magnan objected. "Please, Mr. Skunky, if you don't
mind," he went on, "if you could just express to Mr. Thrash your
sincere regret at past misunderstandings, I'm sure ... well, I'm not quite sure
what I'm sure of, but—"

            "OK, I get the sketch," Skunky
grunted. "And I ain't 'Mr. Skunky'. Skunky is my given name; the surname
is Obtulucz!"

            "Oh, I sorry about that, Mr.
Obtulucz!" Magnan exclaimed. "A person's name is his most precious
possession! I didn't know—"

            "Slap it," Skunky suggested curtly.
"Now ..." His tone became more brisk. "Before I apologize to
this Sluggy person, he gotta apologize to me first!" Skunky halted and
folded his arms, assuming an obstinate expression. Retief prodded him again.

            "I'm going, ain't I?" Mr. Obtulucz
yelled indignantly, and collided with Sergeant Thrash, who had been standing by
sullenly, fingering a swollen lip. He repelled Skunky with a hearty shove.

            "Keep that degenerate away from me, and
we'll get along OK," he growled.

           
"Mister
Thrash!" Magnan
objected. "He was only trying to express his sincere regret for past
differences, and to offer his hand in comradeship! Isn't that right, Mr.
Obtulucz?" He solicited confirmation from Skunky, who, having regained his
balance after the shove, was approaching Sluggy from behind in an elaborately
casual saunter.

           
"Mister
Obtulucz!" Magnan
yelped. "Don't—don't even
think
about assaulting Mr. Thrash from
behind!"

            "That's Sergeant Thrash!" Sluggy
protested. "I guess I still got the rank. This here
Mister
Objectionable
or whatever, he's onney a tube-scraper-third! He better show a little
respect!"

            "Of
course
he will," Magnan
cooed. "Won't you, Skunky?"

            The felon thus addressed stooped as if to fasten
a bootstrap and came up with the switchblade dropped earlier by Shinth.
"I'll show the lousy slacker some respeck!" he stated, in a tone
suggesting that this was precisely what unseen forces had tried in vain to
prevent. He skirted the sergeant and when abreast of him, said in a gravelly
tone: "I think my lef boot is a little bit dusty, Bo. You better buff both
of 'em up a little."

            Thrash turned slowly, like a bull elephant
looking back to see what's biting his behind. "You talkina
me,
worm?"
he demanded.

            "Now, now," Magnan interjected
soothingly. "There's no occasion for any misunderstanding, gentlemen! I'll
see to the trifling chore myself!" He took the monogrammed hanky from the
breast pocket of his pearl-gray late midafternoon blazer and, stooping, whipped
it across the tips of Skunky's scuffed and grease-caked ship-boots.
"There," he caroled. "That's ever so much better, isn't
it?"

            Skunky gave him a flat glare and snorted.
"I don't see no difference. Them boots is
s'pose
to be
blue,
dum-dum!"
Dum-dum at once knelt at the insolent fellow's feet, the better to inspect the
battered footgear.

            "Oh, look!" he bleated. "I see a
little bit of blue, right there!" As he pointed to an ungreased patch
which had been concealed under the latch-flap, Skunky attempted to stamp on his
fingers, but instead fell heavily as Retief knocked him back.

            "Jim!" Magnan protested. "I
wasn't finished yet!" He rose and scrambled after the retreating object of
his scrutiny. "Say, Skunky," he addressed Mr. Obtulucz brightly.
"I've an idea: why not just slip off your boots, and I'll be able to do a
much
better job!"

            "You figger to get me out here
barefooted!" Skunky accused. "Not me, chum! Mrs. Obtulucz's boy
Vergil—that's my real name, see?—ain't gonna fall fer
mat
one!
Nope!" He stared defiantly at Magnan, who had finished dusting his knees
and was gazing sorrowfully at Retief.

            "What's a Deputy Chief of Mission to do,
Jim?" he wailed. "Goodness knows I've
tried
to reason with
this savage! He's incorrigible! I may as well take him directly to jail!"

            "Yeah?" Skunky jeered. "You and
what army? What's that 'Incurably'?"

            "This one right here," Magnan
returned, pointing at Sergeant Thrash. "Sergeant," he continued
without pause. "I deputize you as a Peacekeeper Second, and I direct you
to take this fellow in charge and escort him to the local civic lockup!"

            "Me, a cop?" Thrash scoffed.
"That's a hot one! I
never
had no ambition to get into the big-time
crooked stuff!"

            "Sergeant!" Magnan said coldly.
"That was a direct order! Do it!"

            Thrash, as if reluctantly, feinted at his
prisoner's arm, then grabbed him by the neck, and rammed a stiff right to the
gut when Skunk expostulated.

            "Don't get the idea," he told the
gasping detainee, "you got any cherce inna matter, just cause I never ast
fer the job." He thrust Skunky ahead of him, and started off toward the
terminal budding.

            "To hold everything!" Shinth rasped
"What assurance do you have, Ben, that these two miscreants won't join
forces and abscond once out of sight? I say to shoot them now," he offered
eagerly, "and offer pious mottoes over their remains later!"

            Thrash and Skunky turned back and rushed to
Magnan, seeking shelter behind him. "Don't let him do this thing, Master
Magnan!" they gabbled in unison. "We wun't try nothin! Honest! Would
we?" They looked to each other for confirmation.

        "All we want—"
Thrash started.

            "—is a nice safe cell inna lockup!"
Skunk finished for him.

            "As you were!" Retief ordered, and the
two fell silent, eyeing Shinth uneasily.

            "Retief!" Magnan blurted.
"Where's Hish gotten to?" He stared around wildly, miming
Astonishment at a Totally Unprincipled Breach of Tacit Understanding (3120-c).

            "Ben," Shinth put in, "stick to
the double-m series for now, OK? I admit I have trouble distinguishing between
the suffixes above three thousand."

            "Sorry, Shinth," Magnan apologized.
"Actually, I usually reserve the triple-m for hearings before Boards of
Inquiry. About the only way to protest some scamp's tendency to try one by
implication, without being charged with contempt!"

            "Stand fast," Retief suggested.
"I think Hish is playing a little game." He went to the rubbish bin
from which the general had emerged a few minutes before, and setting his
blaster on low-beam, irradiated the contents for a full ten seconds. With a
hiss like an aroused alligator, General Hish emerged from among the fruit rinds
and ramp-sweepings, uttering Category Inth oaths in Low Groaci.

            "General Hish!" Magnan objected.
"Do
you mind your vocabulary! I'm astonished that an officer of your exalted
rank would be so conversant with the jargon of the scraping-chamber!"

            "To be sorry about that, Ben," Hish
said contritely. "To have risen from the ranks, you know—and I'd like to
see
you
concerning yourself with niceties of speech when
your
copper
athletic supporter has just been heated to one hundred degrees Crumblnski by
induction! That fellow Retief is a menace! He knew full well ...!"

            "Sure did," Retief acknowledged as he
reset the blaster at
service level
2
and holstered it. "That'll smart enough to remind you who's in charge
here."

            "General, Magnan addressed the diminutive
Groaci reproachfully. "Just why, if I may ask, were you concealed in the
dustbin?"

            "To fulfill the requirements of policy, for
reasons of high state, not to be divulged to lesser life-forms," Hish
snorted. "Stand aside, Ben; I fear I've lost an eye-shield." The wily
alien stooped and began to sort through the spilled rubbish, seemingly intent
on his task. Retief went around him and picked up the general's two-way talker:
it was somewhat sticky, but its telltale still glowed pink.

            "To be all set at this end, Hish," it
said in a breathy whisper, in the High Groaci dialect. "To have diverted
the noddies' attention?" the talker went on. "To be ready to launch
at your signal."

            "Swell," Retief commented. "That
sounded like Admiral Foof. I thought he was staked out on the sulfur pits for
malfeasance and conduct unbecoming and a few other things."

            "A trifling breach of pettifogging
regs!" Hish spat. "Foof is a valuable officer with extensive field
experience, not to be lightly set aside! I myself trepanned him Yan and
reinstated him on my personal staff."

            "I remember his last trial," Retief
commented. "He saturation-bombed his own observation station on Yoon with
Verbot Ten, as I recall. Maybe he didn't know there was a delegation of twelve
Groaci inspectors in the complement, or maybe he didn't care. That was a little
too rich for the vascular fluids of the High Command, even. They took away his
play-toys and exiled him to Yan."

            "Ah, but the good admiral had thoughtfully
detached a full squadron and sent it in to Blinsh for depot maintenance,"
Hish gloated. "And now these same superb fighting units, fully
refurbished, are standing by, ready to do battle with the forces of
tyranny!"

            "You mean he's going to attack Groac
City?" Retief inquired in a guileless tone.

            "Yes!" Hish agreed hastily. "The
scoundrels will rue— No— (Dammit, Jim! You're deliberately trying to confuse
me). It's another pack of scoundrels entirely which I've targeted! You'll know
soon enough!" He paused as a high-frequency whistle sounded, followed by a
crump!
across the ramp. "Into the bonded warehouse, on the instant!
The admiral is here!" he yelled, then, "Stop it, you damned
fool!" Hish snarled into his talker. "It's Yoon all over again! Only
this time there'll be no kindly General Hish to succor you, the same having
been blown up in your precipitate attack! I
told
you to await my
signal!"

            "Sorry about that, Hish," Foof
apologized tonelessly. "But it seems like I got a little mutiny on my
hands here. Super Chief Hooth and some o' the boys lock me up inna head. To
have gotten the idea there's loot for the taking, there on Bloor."

            "Hooth!" Hish hissed. "But Super
Hooth is the very non-com on whom I myself conferred the Grand Bladder
with
dangle
berries, of the Legion of Apathy! Surely—!"