Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude (20 page)

"At
least we won't want for basic supplies," he commented as he extricated the
container. "You're about to sample Terry booze, Gloot."

"Not
bad," the local commented five minutes later, after the puncheon had been
broached with a lump of coral and the contents sampled. "It kind of burns,
but my stomach kind of likes it. In fact"—he paused to hiccup—"I like
it all over. Actually, I just suddenly realized life is just a bowl of
bloopberries, now that my vision has improved—"

"I see
you're one of those affectionate drunks," Retief said as Gloot flung an
arm about his shoulders. "Better take it easy, Gloot. You may need all
your faculties intact for the evening ahead."

"Take
it easy? I only had one li'l ol' swallow. And what's scheduled for the evening?
Fun? Gaiety? Wine, song, and crossword puzzles?"

"More
of a cross-track puzzle," Retief corrected. "Look." He pointed
to a three-toed footprint deeply impressed in the sand.

Gloot
studied the impressions. "Ha! I've got it!" he caroled. "Terries—just
like my old buddy Shlush!"

"I
doubt it," Retief said. "Aside from the fact that they're eighteen
inches long—"

"So
they're big Terries!" Gloot held a large, flat hand over his head.
"This high!" He glanced up at the hand and seemed to sober abruptly.
"This high?"

"That's
a little high for a Terry, especially the kind you have in mind," Retief
said. He followed the tracks, which led up across the wet sand to the edge of
the forest.

"Let's
go find the big Terries and have a li'l party," Gloot proposed cheerfully.
"All palsies together."

"I
understood you didn't care for Terries, Gloot."

"That
was then," Gloot cried gaily. "This is now. Terries are my pals, the
Groaci are my pals—everybody's my pals, even this little fellow," he added
as a small free-flying pineal gland fluttered about his head.
"Kootchie-koo—ain't it cute, Retief?" he added as it landed on his
head.

"A most
appealing organ," Retief agreed. "But I think you'd better lower your
voice."

"What
for? Somebody snoozing?" Gloot stood, weaving slightly. "Tell the
little guys with the hammers to go away," he mumbled, groping at his
scalp; there was a sudden flutter as the visitor departed hurriedly. Gloot sat
down hard on the sand.

"Tell
'em to turn off the sireens and the bright lights," he moaned, "and
take the stewed gym shoes out of my mouth . . ."

"Congratulations,
Gloot," Retief said. "I think you broke the galactic speed record for
hangovers."

"Wha?
Oh, it's you, Retief. Lucky you happened along. I just been set upon by a
strong-arm mob and worked over with lead pipes. Which way'd they go?"
Gloot staggered to his feet.

"You
were too much for them," Retief reassured his companion. "They fled
in various directions."

"Yah,
the yellowbellies," Gloot muttered. "Oh, my skull."

"Where
on the island does this big shot hang out?" Retief asked.

"Beats
me. I was to of been met on the beach."

"Let's
take a look around," Retief suggested, studying the looming woods above
them. "You check that way"—he pointed to the south—"and I'll
have a look up here."

Gloot
grunted assent and moved off. Retief followed the curve of the shore for a
distance of a hundred yards before the beach narrowed and was pinched out by a
rocky ridge extending down from the forest-clad slope above. There were no
tracks, no empty beer bottles, no signs of animate life. He returned to the
starting point. Gloot was nowhere in sight. He followed the Lumbagan's
bootprints as they wove unsteadily across the sand, then turned toward the
nearest tongue of forest. Directly under a stout branch extending from the mass
of foliage, the trail ended. Above, barely visible among the obscuring leaves,
was the freshly cut end of a coarsely woven rope.

Retief
studied the ground. Other footprints were visible here, but Gloot's were not
among them. The marks leading away from the spot, he noted, were deeply
impressed in the sand, as if the owners had been burdened by a heavy
weight—presumably that of the Lumbagan.

Retief
started off along the clearly marked spoor leading up into the deep woods. The
darkness here was almost total. Creatures of the night creaked, chirred, and
wailed in the treetops. An intermittent wind made groaning sounds among the
boughs. Nearer at hand, something creaked faintly. Retief halted, faded back
against the knobby-barked bole of a giant tree.

A minute
passed in silence. Just ahead, a small figure emerged cautiously from the
underbrush: a curiously truncated Lumbagan, advancing in a stealthy crouch.
Gripping a stout club in a cluster of fists, the native advanced cautiously,
peering under bushes and behind trees as he came. Retief silently circled the
sheltering trunk, stepped out behind the stranger and cleared his throat. With
a thin yell, the native sprang straight into the air and struck the ground
running, but with a quick grab Retief snared him by the garland of teeth
encircling his neck.

"I'm
looking for a friend of mine," Retief said in the native tongue. "I
don't suppose you've seen him."

"Him
monster like you?" the terrified captive squeaked, hooking a finger under
his necklace to ease the strain.

"Another
type of monster entirely," Retief said; he gave a succinct description of
his traveling companion.

"Negative,
Sahib. Tribe belong me not nab monster fitting that description. By the way,
how about letting go ceremonial collar before I suffer embarrassment of bite
own head off."

"You'd
be more comfortable if you'd stop tugging," Retief pointed out.

"Against
instinct not try get away from monster," the native explained.

"Curious;
a moment ago I had the distinct impression you were trying to get closer to
me."

"Iron
maiden on other foot now. You eat now, or save for snack?"

"I'll
wait, thanks. Is your village near here?"

"Usually
don't stop to chat with stranger," the captive muttered, "but in this
case looks like best bet to increase longevity. Monster right, I citizen of
modest town half mile up trail."

"I'd
like to pay it a visit. How about acting as guide?" "I got choice in
matter?"

"Certainly,"
Retief said. "You can either lead me there or take the consequences."

"Most
likely lead monster there
and
take consequences. Chief Boobooboo not
like stranger poking around."

"In
that case you can introduce me. Retief's the name. What's yours?"

"Zoof;
but probably change to Mud, once chief get eyeful of humiliating circumstances
attending surprise visit."

"Actually,
Zoof, it's not absolutely necessary that I lead you there by the neck, if
you'll promise not to run out on me."

"Got
funny feeling monster run faster than me anyway. OK, it's deal. I lead you to
village; when you get there, you look over menu, maybe pick choicer
specimen."

"It's a
promise." Retief said. "Nice teeth," he added as he disengaged
his hand from the necklace. "Local product?"

"Nope,
fancy imported, guaranteed solid plastic." Zoof started through the dense
woods, Retief close behind. "No catchum real tooth these days. Life in
woods going to hell in handcart. Monsters ruin hunting, lucky make deal with
Five-eyes monster for steady supply grits and gravy."

"The
Five-eyes you refer to wouldn't by any chance be Groaci?"

"Could
be. Shiny-leg city slicker, same big like me, all time whisper, like offer deal
on hot canoe."

"That's
Ambassador Jith to the life. But I wasn't aware his interests extended this far
back into the brush."

"Sure,
small monster go everywhere, do everything. All time ride giant bird, make
stink, noise, pile up stone, while big monster trample underbrush, rig net,
hunt, eat—"

"What
do these big monsters look like?" Retief inquired. "Take look in
mirror sometime, see for self." "They're Terrans—like me?"

Zoof twisted
his head to study Retief. "Nope, not exact same, maybe. Not so much eyes.
Some got more. Some two time so big like you, tear head off, eat one
bite—"

"Have
you seen the monsters yourself?"

"You
bet; see you, see Five-eyes, hear plenty rumor fill in gaps in
information."

"Are
there any Groaci at your village now?"

"We
find out," Zoof said. "Home town just ahead." He led the way
another fifty feet and halted.

"Well,
what monster think of place?"

Retief
studied the gloomy forest around him, insofar as he could see in no way
different from the previous half mile of woods.

"It's
unspoiled, I'll say that for it," he commented. "Is this Main
Street?"

"Monster
kidding? Is snazzy residential section, plenty tight zoning, you bet. Come on,
we find chief and boys over at favorite hangout, Old Log."

"A
bar?"

"Nope,
just swell place root for grubs."

"I take
it the Grubs aren't a ball team?"

"More
of hors d'oeuvres," Zoof corrected. He led the way through a dense stand
of forest patriarchs, emerged in a small, open glade where half a dozen
Lumbagans, differing wildly in detail, wandered apparently aimlessly, gazing at
the ground. With a sharp cry, one pounced, came up with a wriggling creature
which he thrust into a sack at his waist.

"My
grasp of Lumbagan zoology is somewhat hazy," Retief said. "How do
these grubs fit into the general biological picture?"

"Play
essential role," Zoof replied. "Grub grow up be kidney, jawbone,
kneecap, you name it."

"So
much for future generations. Still, it's no worse than eating eggs, I
suppose."

"Not
eat 'em," Zoof corrected. "Collect, sell to skinny-leg monster, get
plenty Colonel Sanders fried chicken and other exotic chow, you bet."

The grub
hunters had interrupted their search to stare inhospitably at Retief.

"Hey,
Chief," Zoof greeted his leader, "this monster name Retief, express
desire meet jungle big shot. Retief, shake grasping member of Chief Boobooboo,
son of Chief Booboo, son of Chief Boob."

"Grandpa
name Boo, not Boob," the chief corrected sternly. "Why you want me,
monster? Zoof not look tender?"

"Actually
I was looking for a friend—"

"Hmm,
neat switch. Usual custom eat enemy, but after all, why be prejudice? Eat chum
too, get varied diet." Boobooboo looked appraisingly at Zoof.

"As it
happens, I've already eaten," Retief said. "The friend I'm looking
for seems to have been involved in an incident involving a rope."

'"Monster
bark up wrong flagpole," the chief stated. "Unsophisticated aborigine
unequal to technical challenge of make rope."

"Any
idea who might have snared him?"

"Sure."

"Possibly
you'd confide in me." "Why?"

"I
don't suppose the simple desire to do a good turn would be sufficient
motivation?" "Not that unsophisticated," Boobooboo said flatly.
"Good time remember ancient folk wisdom embodied in old tribal saying:
What's in It for Me?"

"What
about a firm promise of a year's supply of pizza pies?"

"Not
much nourishment in promise," the chief pointed out. "Got better
idea. . . ." Boobooboo lowered his voice. "Know where big supply
eatables located; you help collect, maybe I get bighearted and tell all."

"I
think I'd prefer a more definite commitment," Retief said. "Strike
out the 'maybe' and we might be able to get together."

"Sure;
just stuck 'maybe' in so have something to concede."

"I see
I'm dealing with a pro," Retief acknowledged. "En passant, where is
this food supply located?"

"Half
mile that direction." The chief pointed. "Enough chow for whole tribe
from now to next St. Swithin's Day."

"I take
it you've actually seen the groceries for yourself?" "Sure, same time
deliver."

"I see:
you plan to hijack the supplies you've been selling to the Groaci."

"Hijack
loaded word. Just say decide to share wealth with underprivileged. Monsters got
wealth, we got underprivileged'

"At the
present rate, Chief, I predict your supply of unsophistication won't last out
the winter. But why do you need my help? You have enough troops to stage a raid
on your own."

"Monster
not get big picture. Skinny-legs spoilsport hide comestibles away inside magic
cave, patrol perimeter with plenty fearsome monster, tear a simple tribesman
apart with two hands while hunt fleas with rest."

"And
you think I can penetrate this fortress?"

"Maybe
not; but better you than me and boys; we just simple pastoral types; hunt,
fish, steal, not go in for heavy work."