Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude (17 page)

Retief came
to his feet, looking around the small, dim-lit room. The only visible opening
was a small ventilator grille.

"So
long, Retief!" Ignarp yelled. "I'll be in touch "

With a
rending crash, the door burst inward. The creature which bounded through the
opening was seven feet tall, with sour yellowish skin blotched with black and
purple. Three gaunt, bristly, knob-kneed legs terminating in broad rubbery
webbed feet made up two thirds of its height. Four left and two right arms of
graduated lengths sprang from the hunched shoulders, protected by a carapace
resembling the shell of a turtle adorned with twisted spikes. Atop a short,
thick, tendon-corded neck rested a pointed head given over largely to a
foot-wide, purple-lipped mouth crowded with needlelike fangs, below a pair of
wide-set eyes the size of tennis balls, a bloodshot yellowish white except for
the off-centered metallic black pupils. A thick, powerful prehensile tail
ending in a three-fingered hand waved a gnarled steelwood club aloft.

With a bellow,
the monstrosity charged. Retief spun the table into its path, ducked a wild
swing as the giant crashed into the obstacle with a plank-splintering impact.
At the open door he turned; the intruder was threshing its way clear of the
remains of the boards, but of the GRAB member there was no sign. Retief had
time only to notice that the grille was missing from the register before the
monster tossed aside a shattered timber and leaped toward him. Retief stepped
through and slammed the door, dropping the heavy bar in place as the armored
alien crashed against it.

In the gloom
of the outer room, the squat figure of the landlord was dimly visible,
scrambling for cover. Retief reached him in two strides, caught the back of his
coarse-weave tunic, lifted him to tippy-toes.

"A
slight double cross, eh, Fudsot? Who paid you?" he inquired genially, as
the door behind him resounded to the berserker's blows.

"Leave
me go, Terry, or I'll see to it you're broken down into surgical spares—"

"What
was the idea? Were you out to get me, or was it Ignarp you were after—or
both?"

"You
know so much—you tell me," Fudsot grunted.

"But
Ignarp fooled you," Retief said. "He separated into subassemblies of
a convenient size and went out the ventilator, right?"

"You
Terries aren't supposed to know about that," Fudsot muttered. "A
lousy fate, even for a troublemaker like Ignarp."

"So
that's the last of Ignarp, eh?"

"As
Ignarp, yeah. His sweetbreads and tonsils are back where they started ages
ago—free-living Freebies looking around for a partner to start up a new
tenner." Fudsot wagged his head mournfully.

"A sad
end for a social reformer of his zeal," Retief said. "Still, there's
much to be said for the carefree life of an adenoid. I'll be on my way now,
Fudsot, but before I go—just what was that that broke up our drinking party?
I've gotten accustomed to a certain pleasing variety in the local citizenry,
but that chap was in an entirely new category."

"I
heard rumors, but—" Fudsot broke off.

"But
what?"

"But it
would be bad for my health to spread 'em. How's about getting him outa my back
room now, Terry? I got to set the place to rights for the pre-dawn dustup
crowd."

"No
thanks, I can't use him."

"You
mean—you're leaving that monstrosity on my hands?"

"Certainly.
Mind if I use the back entrance?"

"No!
That's where ... I mean, there isn't one," the landlord finished sullenly.

"That's
where they're waiting to make the pickup, eh? Thanks for the tip." Retief
pushed through a greasy door behind the bar, crossed a kitchen reeking of stale
fat, slipped out into a narrow alleyway decorated with neglected garbage
containers. There was a soft rustling from a dense patch of shadow. A small,
spindle-legged figure swathed in a dark cloak stepped forth. From the folds of
the garment a gloved grasping member protruded, gripping a small power gun.

"So—success
attends my efforts! The moose has taken the bait, and sprung the trap!"

"Mouse,
I think you mean, Wilth," Retief corrected. "What brings you out in
the damp night air?"

"Drat,"
the Groaci hissed. "Who informed you of my identity?"

"Don't
you remember? The ambassador introduced us last week, at the Mother-in-Law's
Day Pepsi bust."

"I
refer to the treacher who betrayed my disguise."

"Oh,
he's the same fellow who's standing behind you now with a crater gun aimed at
your dorsal suture."

Wilth
started violently, causing one of his government-issue eye shields to clatter
to the cobbles. "Undone!" he keened, as Retief stepped forward to
relieve him of his weapon. "Unhappy Wilth! I rue the day the mound burst
to expose me to the harsh external world!"

"By the
way, what did you have in mind doing with this?" Retief inquired, aiming
the gun negligently at its former owner.

"My
instructions—I assure you, my dear Retief, nothing personal was intended—were
to intimidate you with the firearm, thereby causing you to accompany me to a
designated place for an uninhibited interview with a Most Highly Placed
Person."

"Most
highly placed in the Groaci hierarchy, I assume?"

"But of
course. Do you imagine I'm in the habit of trepanning fellow diplomats—even
Soft Ones—for the convenience of members of lesser races?"

"I
shouldn't have asked. And what was to be the subject of this conference?"

"Do you
further imagine I am privy to the machinations of MHPP's?" Wilth glanced
nervously behind him. "As a courtesy to a colleague, would you kindly
instruct your toady to point his piece elsewhere. . . ." His faint voice
faded. "Wh—where is the creature?"

"He
couldn't make it," Retief said. "Liquor inventory, you know—but the
intention was there. Now—"

"Hoaxed!"
Wilth whistled. "Hoodwinked by vile Terran duplicity!"

"Don't
take it so hard, Wilth. No harm done; it's always a rewarding experience to
make the acquaintance of an MHPP of whatever persuasion. I'll go with
you."

"You'll
. . . ah . . . accompany me to the rendezvous as planned?" Wilth goggled
all five eyestalks at Retief.

"Why
not? The evening is still young." Retief snapped open the butt of the
power gun and removed the energy cell, handed the disarmed weapon back to the
Groaci.

"Why,
this is quite decent of you, Retief," Wilth whispered breathlessly.
"What a pity all Groaci-Terran relations can't be conducted in the same
spirit of amity."

"They
are, Wilth, they are," Retief said soothingly. "Shall we go? I
wouldn't like to keep the MHPP waiting."

"Good
notion. But no tricks, Retief. I trusted you once, to my sorrow. ..."

"Don't
worry, Wilth. I wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to hobnob with the
great."

"I
wasn't aware you were a climber, Retief," Wilth said as he motioned the Terran
ahead. "Luckily your social aspirations coincide with my own plans for
career advancement, to our mutual advantage. Straight ahead; I'll follow with
the gun, for the sake of appearances."

It was a
brisk ten-minute walk through the tortuously winding streets—hardly more than
tunnels threading through the monumental jumble of Lumbagan architecture. Wilth
halted at a small but massive door set in a deeply recessed niche, pounded
stealthily on the dark panels. Weak grayish light leaked out as the door opened.
A Groaci in the uniform of a peacekeeper peered out.

"Inside,
Soft One," Wilth ordered curtly. Retief preceded his putative captor along
a cramped passage papered in a pattern of puce and mustard lozenges to a highly
varnished bile-green door that reflected the watery glow of the ceiling
dim-strip. The guard rapped. At a faint response, he thrust the door wide and
motioned Retief through.

A Groaci in
jeweled eye shields was seated behind a wide desk. He waved a negligent
three-fingered hand at Retief, indicating a stool.

"Any
difficulties?" he inquired of his underling in Terran.

"Your
Excellency would be amazed at how easy it was," Wilth replied glumly.
"I was even astonished myself."

"To not
accept the legends of Terry invincibility," the senior alien snapped,
switching to the Groacian tongue, "lest you predispose yourself to quail
in the breech!" He turned three eyes on Retief while holding the glare of
the other two on Wilth. "I," he announced, "am Hivemaster
Shlush. You, I believe, are the fellow Retief?"

"A
pleasure, Your Excellency." Retief acknowledged his identity with a nod
and seated himself.

"You,"
Shlush continued ominously, "are not unknown to me by repute."

"I'm
flattered."

"Don't
be," Shlush hissed. "Your name, Soft One, is a byword for the Terran
duplicity and meddling that have plagued Groaci foreign policy since the first
intimations of our manifest Galactic destiny!"

"That's
a rather uncharitable description of Corps policy, Hivemaster," Retief
commented. "By the way, what brings you here? I don't recall seeing your
name on the last embassy list—"

"Not to
pry into matters of no concern to foreigners!" Shlush hissed.

"In
fact," Retief went on, "I seem to recall that you were rather
suddenly retired to civilian life after that fiasco on Grabnark IV—"

Shlush
jabbed a digit at Retief, all five eyes canted alertly in his guest's direction
now. "Your role in the humbling of the great is not forgotten, Retief! But
now the era of Terry domination comes to an end! No more will we Groaci suffer
graciously the intolerable interposition of foreigners between ourselves and
the objects of our desires!"

"Go
on." Retief puffed a cigar to life, blew aromatic smoke across the desk.

"You,"
Shlush hissed, "have the honor of being the first Terry to learn the fate
of all inferiors who seek to impede the path of Groaci expansion!"

"I hope
I prove worthy of the distinction," Retief said pleasantly.

"Ah,
you have done so long since, my Retief—on the first occasion when you laid
violent hands on the person of an Exalted One! And as soon as certain specialty
devices I have caused to be installed in the vaults beneath my present humble
quarters reach operating rpm, you shall reap your reward!"

"In the
meantime," Retief suggested mildly, "I take it you'd like to have a
little talk."

"Indeed
yes," Shlush whispered. "How perceptive of you, Retief."

"Not at
all," the Terran demurred. "Wilth told me."

"To
have babbled of state secrets, littermate of drones?" The hivemaster
hissed the question at his underling.

"Whom,
I, Excellency? Why, to have but hinted he'd best be on his metacarpals—"

"To
commit another indiscretion, and to find yourself trussed by the policies
alongside the Soft One!" Shlush turned back to Retief. "But I'm
slighting my hostly obligations," he said smoothly. "Would you care
for a little something whilst we chat?"

"Brandy,
thanks," Retief said comfortably.

"You,"
Shlush addressed the guard still hovering by the door. "To fetch brandy at
once. Black Bacchus will do."

"To
congratulate Your Excellency on Your Excellency's taste," the peacekeeper
hissed unctiously. "But to wonder if Your Excellency would amplify Your
Excellency's instructions to include data as to where I'm supposed to fetch it
from."

"The
usual source, hivefellow of defectives!"

"To do
as commanded, Exalted One—but don't you ink—thay the errytay ightmay recognize
the abellay?"

"To
assume you have itway enough to ourpay it in the itchenkay!" Shlush
favored Retief with the Groaci equivalent of a sour smile. "I've
instructed the fellow to serve our refreshments in a VIP decanter reserved for
important guests," he translated.

"I'm
sensible of the honor," Retief said. "Now, what was it you wanted to
tell me?"

"Tell
you? My dear Terry, you fail to grasp the full implications of the situation.
It is you who are going to tell mer

"What
would you like to know first?" Retief said promptly.

"You
may begin with full details of secret Terran armament schemes, overall invasion
strategy, D—day tactical plans, and close-support logistical
arrangements," Shlush said crisply.

"I can
cover that in a very few words," Retief said. "There aren't
any."

"Pah!
You expect me to believe that an organization of the sophistication of the CDT
intends to play it by ear?" "Play what by ear?" Retief inquired
interestedly. "The take-over. What else?"

"The
take-over?" Retief tipped an inch of cigar ash onto Shlush's polished desk
top. "What of?"

"Of
this plague spot known as Lumbaga, naturally!"

"Who's
taking it over?" Retief inquired interestedly.