Retief and the Rascals (24 page)

            "Better give 'em to Pete," Retief
suggested. "Or he'll reach in there and grab them."

            "How
can
he?" the former
commander jeered. "It's all inside my head, not wrote down nowhere!"

            "Guess I'll just hafta open up yer
head," Pete growled. "Less you wanta be reasonable, that is."

            "Ha!" Sluggy snorted.
"That'll
be the day, you bullet-headed galoot!"

            "Never mind," Pete said, and strolled
over to the emergency exit hatch of the vessel in question. He studied the
four-foot square laminated duralloy panel for a moment, then inserted his
fingers under the edge and with a
screech!
of torn metal ripped it from
its hinges. He threw it aside and came back over to Thrash.

            "Now, what was that code again? I don't
reckon a feller dumb as you would use more'n one access to the whole works.
Spit it out!"

            Thrash was still staring at the rudely removed
hatch cover lying on the pavement bent almost double.

            "That ain't
possible!"
he
protested to the Big Umpire in the Sky. "That there panel tested ten
atmospheres at the depot!"

            "Think how your head will look,"
Retief suggested, "if you don't speak up
right now."

           
Thrash put Both hands on the sides of his
head and backed away from Pete, who reached out, took a casual grip on the
sergeant's shoulder, and lifted him, at arm's length.

            Thrash kicked his feet frantically, his face
reflecting the discomfort in his shoulder. "You'll break it!" he
yelled.

            "Don't give me no ideas, Bub," Pete
suggested. He dropped the stubborn fellow and turned to Retief.

            "Reckon I oughta go aboard and operate on
the panel," he said indifferently. "Take the numbers offa that
sardine-can yonder, and plug 'em into the override system."

            "Good idea," Retief seconded.
"Meanwhile, I'll inform the crew you're the new admiral, so they won't get
hurt."

            Skunky began a protest, but a glare from Pete
silenced him.

            A cluster of unbeautiful faces were peering from
the informally opened escape hatch. They shrank back as Pete came over,
reached, and swung up and through the opening. A moment later a man leaped out,
hit the ramp running, and yelled, "It ain't
nacheral!"
He
scuttled up to Magnan, who received him in dignified silence, ignoring the
excited fellow's babbling pleas for aid.

            In the meantime, Pete descended and returned to
Magnan's side, dusting his hands contentedly. "Nothing wrong with that tub
a little discipline won't fix," he commented over the noisy complaints of
the evicted crewman.

            "Do shut up, my man," Magnan cut in.
"You've just had the honor of meeting Powerful Pete, your new commanding
officer."

            "Not mine, he ain't," the refugee
yelled, rolling his eyes at Pete. "I ain't serving with no guy that can
dump Heavy Bob on his butt withouten even looking at
him, and
bend old
Bob's favorite flint-steel shillelagh into a pretzel with one hand! Lemme outa
here!" He held his nose as if diving into a pool, and dug off. He had
covered only a few inches before Pete's arm shot out, grabbed him by the
collar, and hauled him back, bleating.

        "Shaddup,
Ratsy," Pete growled.

        Ratsy fell silent.

            "Pity these chaps are so
undisciplined," Magnan commented. "Still, I'm sure you'll soon flog
them into line, Pete."

            "Say, Retief," Pete's hollow voice
spoke up apologetically. "I guess I still got to explain a few thangs to
them boys; seems like they had some feller name' Bob fer a captain, let 'em run
wild. Back there, you!" he interrupted himself, lunging at Ratsy.
"You know, I already said about I'll prolly hafta bend a few hard
cases."

            "Be my guest, Pete," Retief replied.
"Just so you have the flagship ready to lift on full battle status in five
minutes."

            "But, Jim," Magnan protested.
"The other captains—will they take orders from Pete?"

            "By definition, Ben," Retief reassured
his chief. He commandeered General Hish's all-wave talker, over the
expostulations of the latter, and raised Admiral Foof, then handed the talker
back to Hish.

            "To go to full Pink Alert status at
once!" the general commanded in the Court dialect of Groaci. "To
prepare to receive the first units of our new allies, a formerly dacoit force
known as the Cluster Defense Force. To lay on an honor guard plus a reception
line appropriate to the occasion, and prepare for inspection! To do it
now!" Retief repossessed the talker, evaded Hish's grab, and switched to
the Indestructibles' band.

            "Foof is going to try something
tricky," he told Pete. "When he brings his units up alongside and
opens ports, you and your fellows are to invite them aboard. Welcome them as
allies! We'll all be great pals! Got it?"

            "Sure, Retief, we sucker the sticky-fingers
aboard and then croak 'em! Neat! But why would they go dead in space and open
up beside
us?"

           
"Just a whim of Foof's," Retief
explained. "Remember, Pete: No misunderstandings, now."

            "Jim." Magnan clutched at Retief's
sleeve. "I'm surprised at you! That is treacherous in the extreme! To
decoy the Groaci aboard as guests and then do them in!"

            "Not what I said, Ben," Retief
corrected. "I told both sides they were pals now. Both sides plan to
violate the truce, so that makes them even."

            "Leaving us General Promo and the renegade
Colonel Switchback to deal with, not to mention Wim Dit and the hostile
factions here on the planet itself!" Magnan muttered. "Dear,
dear
me,
sometimes one wonders if Galactic peace is worth all the fighting."

            There was a heavy metallic
thud!
from
above. The Groaci flagship, coming alongside
Unreliable,
had somehow
managed to collide with its host vessel, accidentally wrecking the external
antenna array deployed alongside the port side astern of the coil compartment.
Angry yells clamored in Terry and Groaci from all talkers at once, until a deep
bass cut through the clamor:

            "OK! I get it. These five-eyed little
sharpies are figgering on sabotaging my command here! But we're gonna show 'em
that trick can work both ways. Watch that fore PC pickup blister o'
theirs!"

            All eyes went at once to the slight bulge in the
otherwise smooth curve of the forehull of the pride of the Groacian Grand
Fleet, which housed the multiplex sensor array feeding data to all the external
sensing systems of the high-tech vessel. It erupted in a spout of molten metal
and incandescent gases.

            "Ye gods!" Magnan burst out.
"That's an act of war! An overt attack on a friendly vessel in the very
act of paying a courtesy call! It's
your
fault, Retief! It was you who
arranged the affair!"

            "Thanks, Ben," Retief replied. "I
can use the points back at Sector. Get set for some fireworks. We'd better ease
over to the blockhouse."

            Just as the vaultlike door closed behind the
ill-assorted foursome, a giant clap of thunder shook the tiny structure to its
foundation. At the external viewer, Magnan saw the tall Terran warship aflame
from end to end, its keel batteries still spitting fire, while the Groaci
vessel hovered a cable-length away, a pale violet aura attesting to the load
its screens were under.

            "They'll be—or have been killed!"
Magnan wailed. "Poor chaps! And just when an armistice was within our
grasp! If only Admiral Foof had turned the con over to an experienced space'n,
and avoided that unfortunate collision! Poor Captain Pete took it amiss, and
here's the result! I can't bear to look! Oh, look there, Jim! The poor devils
are jumping—that's a hundred-foot fall to the pavement below, and—but it can't
be!" He staggered back from the screen as a dozen suited crewmen leaped
from the fore hatch, some beating out flames as they fell.

            "Sure it can, Ben," Retief corrected.
"They're wearing lift suits that'll let 'em down easy."

            "But!" Magnan protested. "They're
not—I mean— look, Jim! Instead of fleeing to safety, they're all clustering
around the Groaci ship's ceremonial portal!"

            "Right," Retief agreed. "They
know Admiral Foof will be making a formal appearance there to accept the
plaudits of the fleet or as much of it as was here to witness his clever
handling of the dastardly sneak attack."

            "You sound as if you were on
their
side!"
Magnan whimpered. "Our poor lads never had a chance: there they were, all
busy tidying-up and readying everything to greet their guests in style, and
suddenly—disaster!"

            "They got their batteries in action awfully
fast for a bunch of fellows who were busy setting out party favors,"
Retief observed.

            "Don't be cynical, Jim," Magnan
sniffed. "It ill suits you."

            "I was just quoting the Groaci standard
Press Release #3," Retief pointed out. "The one they use whenever
some tricky piece of business has backfired."

            "Of course. 'In defiance of all civilized
tenets of interplanetary relations, the conscienceless criminals opened fire,
etc ...'" Magnan quoted further from the same traditional source.
"With both ships blind, however are they to straighten out this sorry
contretemps?" he wailed. "If only Foof and Pete could compare notes
calmly, a major disaster could be averted!"

            "I guess it's up to us," Retief
suggested. "We still have CD contact with both vessels. Let's see what we
can do."

            "Right on, Jim!" Magnan caroled and
grabbed for the talker. "Oh, Admiral Foof," he cried in a tone which
combined Awed Awareness of the Presence of Greatness (1031-n) with Patience
Tried Beyond Endurance (71-z). "And Captain Obtulucz, or maybe Pete, or
both, and Sarge Thrash, you, too! I urge you all to do nothing hasty! This
unfortunate misunderstanding can easily be rectified by restraint and goodwill!
First of all, let's all you gentlebeings take a deep breath, and repeat:
'Groaci (or Terries, as appropriate) are just new friends I haven't hugged yet.

            "How'm I s'pose to take a deep
breath?" Pete demanded, "when all I got to breathe is poison fumes
from where my insulation's on fire, where the Commission never enforced the ban
on poison-producing-when-burned stuff aboard all vessels under the jurisdiction
of Space Regs?"

            "Just hold your breath a moment, Captain,
there's a good fellow," Magnan sang out.

            "Ha! That's swell for Pete," Foof
interjected. "But what I got here, to have every crew aboard out on his
feet—barf-sick, you know, from that sneaky—"

            "Yes, yes, we all know PR-3," Magnan
cut in. "Just wait a few seconds and their Ban-nodes will have recovered
from the momentary inconvenience. Then I want you to descend to the ramp, just
as Captain Obtulucz will, and here, on the soil of the Free Port, under the
sponsorship of the CDT, shake manipulatory members!"

            "Ha!" Skunky's outraged voice
bellowed. "Me, shake manipulatory member with that five-eyed
sticky-fingers!"

            Captain Obtulucz!" Magnan rebuked in a
shocked tone. "There'll be no use of racial pejoratives! You be nice to
Foof and he'll be nice to you!"

            "To expect me to be nice to a treacherous
Soft One, and even to touch his vascular-fluid-stained manipulatory
member?" Foof yelled.

            "Now, Foof, what I said applies to you as
well!" Magnan chided. "Characterizing Terries as 'Soft Ones' is
hardly in the spirit of chumship! It's true we Terries lack your own handsome
carapaces, but we have our points!"

            "Am I to expect you, a Terry, to be
unbiased in a dispute between Groac and Terra?" Foof demanded skeptically.

            "To be unbiased is the great talent of the
trained diplomat," Magnan replied jeeringly. "Just leave that part to
me, Foof, and, I beg of you, descend at once!"

            "You presume to order me, a Grand Admiral
of Fleets of Groac?" Foof hissed. "You, a mere civilian, and a Terry
one at that?"

            "Get your skinny butt down here in two
seconds flat," Retief interjected, "or I'll have to come up there and
throw it down."

            "To—" Foof started an impudent reply,
but broke off with a hiss as the crewmen from
Unreliable,
drifting
lightly in their lift-gear, plucked him from the open portal and swooped down,
arriving just as Captain Pete in his lift-suit settled in beside Magnan. The
enraged Groaci eluded Magnan's grab and aimed all five eyestalks at him in an
Ultimate Expression of Revulsion (G-73-B). Magnan recoiled. "My
dear
Admiral,"
he expostulated, "I hardly think I warrant a Seventy-three, about a G, I
imagine, under the present conciliatory circumstances! That's a ploy
appropriate to the denunciation of a rapist/murderer caught in the act!"