Retief-Ambassador to Space (6 page)

 "Enough,"
Lith cut him off. "I assure you no complaints will be lodged by his
associates."

 The
Skweemans closed in on Retief. "All right, big boy, let's go," the
lieutenant said, poking his gun at the prisoner.

 Retief
glanced at the weapon. It was a heavy-duty power pistol, a Groacian copy of an
early Terran type.

 "Have
you ever fired that thing?" he inquired interestedly.

 "Who,
me?" the Skweeman rotated a number of sense organs in a gesture expressing
astonishment. "Heck, no. We got orders to only shoot at live
targets." He looked meaningfully at Retief.

 "A
wise precaution. I understand that model blows up rather easily. That's why the
Groaci sold them to you at bargain prices."

 "To
make no attempt to subvert my minions!" Lith hissed.

 "I
wouldn't dream of it," Retief assured the ruffled diplomat. "I prefer
minions who change sides on their own."

 "You
will have long to wait for that eventuality," Lith snapped. "In a
cell which, alas, lacks most of the amenities."

 "That's
all right," Retief said. "Perhaps I won't be in it long enough to
need them."

 Lith
vibrated his throat-sac, expressing amusement.

 "You
may be right, my dear Terran," he commented blandly. "Now, into your
vehicle, and drive as directed, remembering that guns are upon you!"

 Escorted
by the two police cars, Retief drove the CUT Monojag at a sedate pace along the
indicated route to the village, pulled it.in before a low mud brick building
with one small window set with metal bars. Lith and the Skweeman police
surrounded him as he stepped out into the street. One of the cops stared into
the interior oHhe Monojag.

 "Hey,
this is a fancy job," he commented. "What's that?" He pointed at
a short red-handled lever labeled EMERGENCY LIFT. At his side, Lith goggled,
then whirled on Retief.

 "To
explain at once!" he hissed. "Our intelligence reports have indicated
that vehicles so equipped are capable of VTO and supersonic speeds! Why, then,
did you permit yourself to be so docilely convoyed?"

 "Well,
Lith, maybe those reports you read were exaggerated," Retief smiled
deprecatingly. "After all, your gumshoe brigades have to report
something."

 
Lith
snorted. "So much for the vaunted Terry technology." He turned to his
troops.

 "Lock
him up."

 The
Skweemans closed in to box Retief, like alert, waist-high goblins modelled in
blotchy clay; their guns prodded him along an alley to a small metal door set
in the side of the brick building. The lieutenant opened it with a clumsy
electrokey, waved him inside. The door clanked shut and a shadowy figure rose
up, its face pale in the dim light.

 "Retief!"
First Secretary Magnan gasped. "You mean they captured you, too?"

 "It
seemed the simplest way to solve the problem of finding you," Retief said.
"Now all we have is the problem of getting out."

 The
Skweeman sun was low in the sky now. A brisk, hot wind had sprung up from the
north, whirling streamers of dust into the cell through the barred window from
which Retief watched the activity in the street. Behind him, Magnan turned
away, coughing.

 "They're
as busy as Verpp in moulting season," he sniffed. "No one is paying
us the slightest attention. I suppose we may rot here for hours more before
Ambassador Treadwell secures our release."

 "There's
just one cop patrolling the jail now," Retief said. "The rest of them
have trooped off, arm in arm with their friends the Groaci. I think we picked a
bad time for our calls; they're up to something.

 "I
can't think what's keeping him!" Magnan eyed his watch fretfully.
"I'm missing my afternoon coffee break, to say nothing of dinner." He
sighed heavily, settled himself on the floor.

 "I
simply can't grasp it," he muttered. "The Groaci are famed for their
chicaneries, but open diplomat-napping broaches an entirely new field of
rascality. Why, an honest diplomat won't even be able to run around to trouble
areas, picking up eye-witness impressions, without the risk of being treated as
a mere spy."

 "On
the other hand, if we join in the spirit of the thing—" Retief turned from
the window—"we might find that it opens up new avenues to us, too."
He went across to the narrow door, leaned over the barred, waist-high opening,
and shouted for the guard.

 "Good
idea." Magnan got to his feet. "I think it's time we spoke sharply to
these brigands. Just step aside, Retief, and I'll drop a few broad hints."
His voice faded as the fierce visage of the police lieutenant appeared beyond
the aperture. Retief spoke first:

 "Do
you have any idea what a blaster would do to you if I fired from this
range?" he inquired. "Don't give any alarm," he went on as the
speechless cop goggled into the dark cell. "Just quietly unlock the
door—and be sure no one notices anything unusual going on."

 "B
... b ... b ..."the Skweeman said.

 "You
can express your astonishment later," Retief said briskly. "Open up
now, before I have to demonstrate how well armed I am."

 "I
...1 didn't see any weapon on you when we brought you in," the jailer
expostulated.

 "Naturally;
it's the sort of thing a fellow likes to keep secret. Hop to it, now. My
trigger finger is twitching."

 "I
had to be a wise guy and volunteer to be a big shot," the Skweeman
muttered to himself. Retief heard the scrape of the key in the lock. Tumblers
clicked over. The door swung in with a dry squeak.

 "Shhh!"
Magnan put a finger to his lips, looked severely at the native as he sidled out
past him. He looked both ways.

 "The
coast seems to be clear," he whispered as Retief lifted the cop's pistol
from its holster. "Maybe you'd better let me have one of the guns."

 "Hey!"
The Skweeman waved several sensory organs in an agitated way. "I don't see
any blaster— except mine!"

 "Nothing
wrong with your vision, anyway," Retief congratulated him. Now we have to
be running along." He looked thoughtfully at the local. "I really
should shoot you ..."he said judiciously.

 "Sh
... shoot me?" the Skweeman gulped. "But I' ve got a couple of dozen
chicks ready to break through the shell any day now! Those little devils will
have the hide off the old lady in five minutes flat if I'm not there to protect
her when they hatch out!"

 "On
the other hand," Retief went on, "I
could
give you a
break."

 "Yeah!"
the Skweeman breathed. "Now you're talking, Terry!"

 "You
just carry on as though nothing had happened. We'll go about our business and
trouble you no more. I don't think you'll want to bother Uncle Lith by
mentioning our departure; he might take the unreasonable attitude that you're
in some way to blame. Just play them close to your medals and act innocent when
they notice the cell's empty."

 "You
bet, boss. I always knew you Terries were gents. Between us, I never went much
for that two-legged slicker—"

 "Mind
your derogatory references to the number of a being's limbs, sir," Magnan
said stiffly. "Two legs appears to me to be an admirable endowment of such
members."

 "Sure,
no offense, gents. Now, how's about beating it quick, before somebody comes
along? And you better give me back my gun. Somebody might get nosy if I don't
have it."

 Retief
ejected the power cylinder from the butt of the gun, dropped it into his
pocket, handed the empty weapon over.

 "We
can't reach the car," he said to Magnan. "They towed it away to
tinker with at leisure. Weil have to ease out the back way and see how far we
get."

 Keeping
to the narrow alley, Retief and Magnan safely traversed a block of ragged grass
dwellings, emerged at the end of a long avenue that meandered down a slope
toward the mile-distant fence marking the South Skweeman border, barely visible
now in the late twilight.

 "If
there were just some way to cover that ghastly open stretch," Magnan
muttered, "we could be safe in a matter of minutes ..."He broke off,
pointed at a flickering glow, a smudge of smoke rising lazily from a point near
the gate where the road crossed the international line. "What's that?
Dust, perhaps? Or smoke?"

 "The
wind's from the north," Retief said. "And there's nothing but twenty
miles of dry mud-wheat between here and those haystacks housing our friends,
the South Skweeman leaders. Something tells me that's a fire, Mr. Magnan—and
not an accidental one."

 "Fire?"
Magnan gasped. "Great heavens, Retief— the capital is directly down-wind!
They'll be roasted alive—the Ambassador, the staff, the South Skweemans—and no
water anywhere to fight the blaze!"

 "That's
one way of influencing an election," Retief pointed out.

 "Why,
there's nothing to keep it from burning off the prairie all the way to the
sea," Magnan blurted. "The entire country will be incinerated!
There'll be nothing left of our allies but a pall of smoke!"

 There
was a scratchy Skweeman shout from behind the Terrans. They turned to see a
policeman approaching up the alley on the run—a spectacle not unlike a cubic
yard of olive-drab noodles rolling up-hill.

 "Let's
go," Retief snapped. He turned and ran for it, with Magnan pelting at his
heels and a gathering force of pursuers baying on the trail.

-

 "It's
... no ... use," Magnan gasped as they toiled up the last hundred yards
toward the mighty flank of the dam. "They're ... gaining." He cast a
look back at the mob of half a hundred North Skweeman patriots strung out in a
torch-waving line-halfway to the village.

 "Just
a little farther," Retief caught Magnan's arm and hauled him along.
"You're doing fine."

 They
reached the top of the dam, massive and ominous in the darkness. A blaster bolt
crackled blue nearby, from extreme range.

 "Retief,
we're not going to cross
that!"
Magnan stared in horror at the
narrow unrailed catwalk that led out to disappear in darkness, the great black
void on one side, the lapping waters slapping at the concrete on the other.

 "Unless
we want to be shot, we are." Retief started out at a trot. Magnan bleated,
then followed, edging along flat-footed. Another shot chipped concrete behind
him. He yelped and broke into a nervous canter.

 They
reached the far side, scrambled up the dry slope, lit only by the blaster that
peppered them with flying gravel as the shots struck around them.

 "Where
are they?" a Skweeman voice sounded. "I can't see a thing; those
Terries must have eyes like a weenie-bug!"

 "Lights,"
someone else called. "Don't let 'em get away, boys!"

 Retief
stood, cupped his hands beside his mouth.

 "Lith,"
he called. "A word of advice: don't light up!"

 "We
can't ... hide here," Magnan gasped out. "No cover ... and those
shots ... getting close!" He dived flat as a shot kicked up dirt almost at
his feet.

 "They
won't find us in the dark," Retief said.

 "But—they'll
switch on the lights."

 "There
is that chance—but they were warned."

 There
was a shock through the mound that bounced both men three inches into the air.
Then a deep-throated
tooom!
rolled from the abyss like chained thunder,
as brilliant light flooded the entire length of the dam.

 Retief
raised his head, saw great chunks of masonry rising with languid grace high in
the air. Atop the stricken dam, the few bold Skweemans who had started across
dithered momentarily, then pelted for safety as the walkway subsided with
dream-like majesty under them. Most of them reached the far side as the immense
bulk of the dam cracked with a boom like a cannon; the rest dived for the
glistening surface of the pent-up water, splashed desperately for shore as dust
boiled up from the gorge, obscuring the scene of destruction.

 Polyarcs
still blazing bravely, the great dam crumbled, sinking from sight. Wave after
wave of sound rolled across the slope. Rocks and pebbles thudded down near the
diplomats. They gained their feet, sprinted for the top of the hill, then
turned, watched as the surface of the artificial lake heaved, recoiling
ponderously from the blast, then bulged toward the broached dam, formed a vast
spout like translucent black syrup that arched out, out, over, and spilled
down, foaming white now, plunging into the boiling dust. The ground shook as
the incalculable tonnage of water struck far below. A roaring like caged
dinosaurs bellowed upward from the gorge as the river poured back into its bed
in a torrent that shredded concrete and steel from the broken rim of the dam
like water dissolving dry mud. In a scant five minutes, nothing remained of the
great Groaci Dam but the denuded abutments, studded with the stripped ends of
clustered reinforcing rods.