Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude (25 page)

"Now,
just a minute," Gloot temporized, pointing to Retief and Magnan. "You
don't want to shoot these foreigners here. They got diplomatic immunity."

"Does
that mean bullets won't punch holes in them?"

"It
means anybody that tries it gets the whole Groaci Navy landing on him like a
barge-load of chopped liver!"

"Did
you say—Groaci?"

"Right.
This here one is, ah, Superhivemaster Retief, head Yumpity-yump of the whole
Groaci show!"

"Well,
that's different." The receptionist lowered the brak-gun. "Why didn't
you say so? We've been expecting a VHHP visit—"

"Because
it's a secret, Dum-dum!" Gloot explained. "Oh. Well then, why'd you
tell me?" the captain challenged.

"If you
shot us it would spoil the surprise."

"Yeah—that
figures. I guess you want to see Colonel Suash, eh, sir?" the Lumbagan
inquired of Retief.

"I
couldn't have phrased it better myself," Retief said. "How is the
colonel these days?"

"Just
like me," the greeter replied. "How else?"

"And
naturally, I got to go along as interpreter," Gloot said.

"What for?
The Groaci gent speaks pretty fair Lumbagan."

"He
only speaks the diplomatic dialect. Everything he says means something
else."

"Oh,
well, in that case I guess you better come too." The local stepped back
and motioned them past. A narrow trail became visible ahead, a raised causeway
between dark pools thick with rank growth. Two more identical Lumbagans emerged
into view, fell in at the rear of the column.

"Weirdest
thing I ever saw," Gloot muttered to Retief. "Boy, it must be
confusing, having everybody in sight with the same number of everything. A guy
could get mixed up and wander into the wrong bedroom even."

"It
happens," Retief confirmed.

"Say,
that's right, you Groaci come all of a pattern too," Gloot said.
"Except for you getting a little short-changed on eyes, of course. Funny,
I keep forgetting you're a foreigner and an alien, Retief; you seem just like a
regular fellow."

"Thanks,
Gloot. I take it twins are a rarity on Lumbaga, to say nothing of
octuplets?"

"Hey,
no more talking," the officer barked. "Trying to figure out what's
the opposite of everything the Groaci says is giving me a swift pain in the
parietal lobes."

"Don't
even try, rube," Gloot said callously. "Decoding diplomatic
conversations is a job for experts—and even they can't do it."

The trail
debouched into a wide clearing, lined with neatly pitched tents, before one of
which, larger than the others, a gay-colored banner hung limp in the still air.
In the ruddy glow of a campfire were gathered a dozen more soldiers, all carbon
copies of the reception committee.

"Wow!"
Gloot exclaimed, "I heard of putting troops in uniforms, but this is
fantastic!"

"Retief!"
Magnan said behind his hand. "We've had no reports of any organized native
militia here on Lumbaga! Heavens, I shudder to contemplate what effect this
development might have, law-and-orderwise!"

"A
thought-provoking concept," Retief agreed.

"Wait
here," their captor ordered, and stepped inside the oversized tent. A
moment later he reemerged, followed by still another duplicate of himself, this
one wearing a gaudy cummerbund and braided shoulder tabs. The newcomer stared
at the Terran, then jerked a power gun of foreign manufacture from a holster at
his hip.

"What's
this, a hoax?" he demanded sharply. "You're not Swarmmaster
Ussh!"

"Of
course not," Retief said briskly. "For a mission of this importance I
thought I'd better come personally."

"You
don't even look like the other ones," the officer barked. "Not enough
eyes—"

"Lay
off," Gloot spoke up sharply. "The poor guy was born that way."

"Born?
Born? What's that?"

"It's
kind of hard to explain," Gloot said. "It's kind of like you start
from scratch, and one day—bloop! There you are. Get the idea?"

"Hmmphfff,
do you take me for a nincompoop? I've heard rumors that foreigners come into
existence in some such miraculous fashion, but I don't believe in spontaneous
generation! Now: what did you expect to accomplish here? Sabotage? Espionage?
Assassinations?"

"Keep
going," Gloot muttered. "You'll hit something yet."

"I'm
afraid we're wasting time, Colonel," Retief said. "Shall we go
inside? What I have is confidential."

"Well,"
the commander started, but Retief had already brushed past him, Gloot at his
heels, Magnan bringing up the rear. The interior of the headquarters tent was
spacious, comfortably furnished with chairs, tables, straw cushions, beaded
hangings.

"Pretty
plush," Gloot commented to Retief. "You Groaci do all right by your
chums."

"Lots
of people would be surprised to know just how far Groaci chumship has
penetrated into the jungle," Retief commented.

Their host
bustled past, waved them to seats, rang for an orderly who quickly produced
drinks all around.

"Now,
what's all this about a confidential mission?" Suash said ill-temperedly.
"I thought all that was settled."

"It's a
matter of adjusting to fluctuating conditions," Retief advised the officer
coolly.

"You
mean—the Terries are getting suspicious?"

"There
is that possibility."

"But I
was assured they were a pack of self-serving incompetents, who wouldn't realize
what was going on until they found themselves stacked in a parts bin."

"A
slight exaggeration, Colonel," Magnan said icily. "Not that we Groaci
care one way or another what sort of base canards you spread," he added
quickly as the officer frowned.

"I
don't like that." The colonel shifted in his chair. "Do they know
we're here?" "They just found out."

"That's
bad! But surely they're not aware of the secret installation in the
interior?" "The word is out," Retief admitted.

"This
is terrible!" Colonel Suash cried. "Do they know our role on
D-day?"

"Not
yet," Retief said. "But they're hoping to learn any time now."

"How?"
Suash flapped his arms in agitation. "It's the most closely guarded
military secret in Lumbagan history. In fact, it's the only military secret in
Lumbagan history!"

"Simple,"
Gloot spoke up. "You got a spy in your midst."

"A spy?
Impossible!"

"Oh,
yeah? Nothing easier. After all, all you birds look alike. All a spy has to do
is disguise himself to look like one of you—and zingo, he's invisible."

"Diabolical!"

"It's
just the old needle-in-a-froomstack principle," Gloot said carelessly.
"With a new twist."

"No
wonder you were sent to warn me." Suash groaned. "What can I
do?"

"Easy,"
Gloot volunteered. "Stage a showdown inspection."

"How .
. . how do you mean?"

"Call
your troops in one at a time, and order 'em to disassemble. The one that's a
Terry in disguise won't be able to do it."

"What?
Order my own lads to destroy themselves?"

"Got
any better ideas, Suash? Anyway, the odds are you won't work more'n halfway
through the roster before you hit pay dirt."

"You
concur?" Suash looked anxiously at Retief.

"It
ought to be interesting to see what happens."

"I ...
I suppose I haven't any choice. Not after the demonstration Shlush gave me of
the fate in store for failures." The colonel tinkled his bell again. An
orderly promptly appeared.

"Ah—Private
Spub. I have, er, to inform you that your nation, ah, requires of you the, er,
supreme sacrifice."

"You're
not canceling my furlough?" Spub said aggrievediy.

"By no
means. As a matter of fact, you're about to enjoy a type of freedom you've not
known for some time—" "You mean—my discharge came through?
Yipeeee!"

"Private
Spub! You're at attention! I suppose in a sense one might say you're about to
be discharged. At any rate, after tonight you'll no longer be a member of my
command. I'd like to say that you've been a satisfactory soldier, except for a
slight tendency toward insubordination, goldbricking, and slovenliness in
dress—"

"I get
it," Spub said. "You're resigning. Can't say that I blame you,
Suash—"

"Colonel
Suash, Private!"

"Not if
you've resigned. Make up your mind," Spub said sullenly.

"Spub,
I order you to . . . to . . . disassemble yourself." "You
mean—?"

"I mean
disassociate! Into Freebies!"

Spub took a
step backward, whirled, and darted from the tent.

"Head
for the tall timber, boys!" he yelled. "Old Suash has finally blown
his rug! He's on a suicide-pact kick!"

"Here,
fall in for inspection!" Suash roared, plunging through the tent fly.
"Sergeant! Come back here. . . ."

"It
appears the colonel has a slight discipline problem," Magnan sniffed as he
and Retief followed their host outside. The encampment was already deserted but
for the irate officer and a lone private who loitered near the campfire,
staring into the woods where his comrades had disappeared.

"Well,
I'm glad to see I have one loyal subordinate," Suash cried. "Fall in,
you!"

"I
wonder why he didn't depart with the others," Magnan said.

"Maybe
because he had reason to stick around," Retief conjectured.

"Well,
Private," Suash addressed the fellow, "it was a pleasure to have you
in my outfit."

"Was?"
the private inquired in a shy whisper.

"It's
now my sad duty to order you to disincorporate," Suash went on.
"Seems a shame, with you the only loyal trooper in the group. But such are
the fortunes of war."

"Ah . .
. I'm afraid that won't be convenient," the soldier demurred feebly.

"What's
this, mutiny?"

"Aha!"
Gloot said to Retief. "We're on to something. Watch this." He stepped
forward, shouldered Suash aside, and rammed a stiffened finger into the
private's midsection. The latter doubled over, emitting hoarse wheezing sounds.

"I told
you so!" Gloot cried. "Grab him!" he added as the assaulted
private ducked suddenly and sprang past him, only to be brought down in a
flying tackle by the colonel.

"A dead
giveaway, Retief," Gloot explained happily. "Any genuine Lumbagan
will break down into Freebies if you land a solid poke in his lunar
plexus."

"So,"
Suash growled, dusting himself off and glaring down at the unfortunate
imposter. "A Terry spy, eh?"

"By no
means," the bogus private gasped, tottering to his feet.

"I
happen to know better!" Suash barked. "Luckily, this Groaci civilian,
Mr. Retief, tipped me off—"

"Retief?
Groaci?" the accused spy fumbled at his head, stripped away a rubber mask
to reveal five stalked oculars in a pale gray visage.

"I
happen to be one Pilth, Groaci observer assigned to undercover surveillance
duty!" he hissed. "
There
"—he pointed at Retief—"is
the Terry spy!"

Suash looked
uncertainly from Retief to the Groaci, gave Gloot a sharp look as the latter
guffawed.

"Nice
try, Terry," Gloot said. "But it so happens I can vouch for Retief. I
collected him personally from Groaci secret HQ in Dacoit Street. He and Shlush
were just like that."

"Cretins!
Assassins! Dumbbells! Are you so ignorant of esthetics as to be unaware of the
characteristics defining the noble Groaci race? Where, may I ask, are this
impostor's handsome stemmed oculars, five in number? And—"

"
That
again," Gloot said wearily. "OK, so the guy's deformed, but in spite
of the handicap he does OK. How about you, Terry? I got a hunch about three o'
those eyeballs you're waggling at me are phonies. . . ." He reached for
Pilth's twitching eyestalks, but with a sharp cry, the Groaci dodged aside.

"Unhand
me, vile aborigine!" he keened.

"I'll
just give 'em an easy yank or two," Gloot assured the terrified captive,
making another grab for his eyes.

"I
confess!" Pilth squeaked, cowering behind Suash. "I throw myself on
your mercy! Just don't let that great uncouth bruiser lay hands on me!"

"The
effrontery of it!" Suash exclaimed. "Trying to pass yourself off as
one of my good friends, the Groaci—as if you could fool me—while spying on my
operation!"

"Better
find out how much he's learned," Retief suggested.

Suash
glowered at the culprit. "How many of our secrets have you ferreted
out?"

"Colonel—might
I have a word with you in private," Pilth entreated earnestly, "ere a
gross miscarriage of justice takes place, as well as a disaster to the common
cause?"