Retief and the Rascals (27 page)

            "Without doubt that will defuse the
situation," Magnan enthused. "Just tell the scamp to pull back ten
thousand miles and take up a #1 Siesta, and await my further instructions as to
their participation in the festivities!"

           
" 'Your
instructions', indeed!"
Hish sputtered. "Foof!" he yelled into his talker. "Disregard
Ben Magnan's impudent 'order'! You can just retire ten nards and go into a
single-lobed Siesta formation and stand by to execute km order! Over and
out!"

            "Gee whiz! General Hish, sir," Foof
temporized. "Won't that leave my flank wide open to old Pete?"

            "I meant of course, Admiral," Hish
came back hotly, "that you will carry out your strategic withdrawal
after
you've raked Pete's garbage scows stem to stern with yum-radiation! Do
it!"

            Pale green halos appeared along the port flanks
of Foof's vessels—the side facing Powerful Pete's CDF units. The latter at once
went inert, as indicated by the abrupt cessation of the carrier wave that had
been droning from Ben's talker. Suddenly the massive, heavy vessels dropped
from formation, falling through and past the Groaci picket-line.

            "Yipes!" Magnan yelped. "They'll
crash right where we're standing!"

            "I doubt it," Retief corrected.
"Watch: as soon as his last unit is clear of Foof's control-zone,
they'll—" He fell silent as the wildly tumbling warships righted
themselves, assumed a battle-front formation, and returned to the ready-line.

            "Smooth as Ziz-silk!" Magnan breathed.
"I didn't think Pete's irregulars had it in them to pull a China that
way!"

            "Fire!" Hish yelled. "Fire all
batteries
now,
you idiot!"

            "The port batteries to bear on
emptiness!" Foof objected.

            "I meant fire all effective batteries, of
course, you cretin!" Hish sputtered. "Have you no intellect
whatever?"

            "Not much," Retief supplied, "or
he'd be cutting space for shelter on the far side of the satellite, before Pete
gets annoyed and swats him."

            "To do so at once, and that gladly!"
Foof gobbled. Thank you, General! To meet again in the Bad Place,
perhaps!"

            The Groaci vessels executed a smart end-for-end
and made a beeline for a point on the far side of the scene of carnage.

            "Smart fellow, Admiral Foof," Magnan
remarked. "Congratulations, General, on saving your fleet."

        "Mutiny!
Treason!" Hish yelled.

            "No thanks," Retief spoke up for all
present. "We'll manage with what we've got. The inspectors are here, you
know."

            "Able Space'n Foof!" Hish shrieked.
"To keep a pair of oculars cocked for a Terran sneak-up from the direction
of Bloor City! To capture said vessel, more or less gently, and escort it
here."

            "You mean that
Goliath-class
that's
rising like a moon half a nard due east?" Foof yelped. "No
fair!"

            "Hish! You wouldn't!" Magnan gasped.
"Chief Inspector Snail is not known for his patience with unwarranted
interference!"

            "This is warranted, Ben," Hish replied
coolly. "To give you a few seconds to rearrange
your
scenario,
too."

            "There
is
that," Magnan mused.
"But how in the world am I going to convince these hard-nosed snoops that
a war is a carnival?"

            "That's your problem, Ben," Hish
muttered. "You were the one who thought of it, remember?"

            "Certainly!" Magnan agreed. "I
was inspired! But it's in both our interests to prevent unfortunate reports of
carnage on a planetwide scale reaching Sector, or Groaci Sub-central,
either!"

            "To take it easy, Ben," Hish soothed.
"Imagine Pokey's delight when his transport is met and escorted in by an
interplanetary honor guard including sophisticated Groacian peace-keeping
vessels, patently devoted to safeguarding his well-being!"

        "You mean ...?"
Magnan gasped.

            "Precisely," Hish confirmed.
"Foof, you heard that. Now, do Groac proud in your role of emissary of
Interbeing Goodwill. Fall your command in on Pete's. There's a restoration of
rank in it for you if you put Pokey down in a good mood."

            "Then," Foof expostulated, "to
not get to fire these starboard batteries after all? To have them all laid and
ready to go! My chief gunner will be furious!"

            "Stay your grasping member," Hish
ordered. "The reputation of fair Groac depends now upon the subtlety of
your approach. Run those guns in! To display more bunting than a used-car lot
on a slow Saturday!"

            "That was close," Magnan sighed.
"What if Foof had accidentally blown the inspection team out of space!
Why, the scandal! And some busybody at Sector would probably have considered it
an attempt at a cover-up and dispatched a full double-X emergency team in to
find out what was being covered up!

            "Yes," Retief soothed, "but that
didn't happen. All we have to deal with is Pokey's team. That's relatively
easy, eh?"

            "I shall attempt to regard the situation in
that light," Magnan moaned. "Look!" he interrupted himself.
"There it is now! Old Pokey's got himself one of those converted
cruiser-cum-superdreadnoughts as his private play-pretty! Huge thing, isn't it?
Foof's vessels look like flies around an elephant. But why are they ...?"
He broke off and stared in horror as first one, than a group of three, then the
entire Groaci squadron opened fire on the Terran behemoth.

        "The fools!" he
yelled. "When they return fire—"

            "She's been decommissioned, Ben,"
Retief reminded him. "That means the battle-board stays dark. Unless
..." he mused.

            "That's
almost
a pity," Magnan
sniffed, "when one considers the effrontery of Admiral Foof in attacking
her.
He
didn't know her batteries are silenced."

            "Gutsy little fella," Retief
commented. "Let's find out
how
gutsy." He turned and plucked
Hish's talker from his lapel just as the general was launching into an excited
speech.

            "—to be dead in space!" Hish made a
fruitless grab for his property and subsided.

            "Look yonder!" he spat at Retief.
"Now see the cowardly Terries have refused our challenge!"

            "Skip it, Hish," Retief rebuked the
excited Groaci. "You know as well as I do she's disarmed. I guess that's
why Foof fired on her. That's hardly in the spirit of Gorm Festival!"

            "That happens to be Groacian naval property
you're sequestering!" Hish hissed, making another grab for his talker.
"To gimme that, at once!"

            Retief pushed him away. "Better put the
general in irons, Ben," he suggested. "I'm going to be too busy to
bother with him.

            "As you well know, Jim," Magnan
countered, "I don't have any irons in my pocket!"

            "That's all right," Retief comforted
his agitated chief. "Just turn him over to the black gang to watch."

            "Capital notion!" Magnan agreed. He
beckoned to one of the surly malcontents from
Indefensible
standing by
watching the large vessel on final approach. The name
Corruptible
was
legible now, blazoned across her bow.

            "Pity the
'In'
was shot away,"
Magnan muttered. "I suppose I'd best get over there quickly, to orient Pokey
properly, before he forms an unfortunate impression of the state of affairs
here."

            "Sure. Come on, Ben," Retief agreed,
as he took the driver's seat of a line-cart parked near at hand. Pulling in
under the still-hot and reeking stern-tubes was like probing the flanks of a
live volcano. Magnan craned his neck to scan the curve of the vessel's mighty
hull.

            I wonder what the delay is?" he muttered.
"Usually Pokey is egregiously prompt in debarking. He hates space travel,
you know."

            "Who wouldn't?" Retief inquired.
"Weeks on end boxed up in a metal labyrinth full of stale air and
complaining passengers. Planetfall is always a welcome event."

            "Ah, there he is now," Magnan caroled
as if in delight, as the VIP balcony deployed from a point a hundred feet above
them. A short, plump man in full early midmorning ceremonials gripped the rail
and stared down at his welcoming committee, now consisting of not only Retief
and Magnan, but a dozen tube-sweepers as well, who had followed the cart to
gape.

            "Ah, there, Magnan," the Chief
Inspector's fruity voice echoed clearly along the hull. "I
do
appreciate
the welcoming display your chaps are putting on, but firing live ammo at
me—isn't that a trifle beyond the limits of good taste?"

            "It's Gorm Festival," Magnan lied like
a trooper. "Your riming is impeccable, Pokey! You've arrived precisely at
the climax of the ceremonial mock battle! Striking spectacle, isn't it,
sir?"

            "Spikking striking," Pokey returned,
ducking shell fragments, "that one struck maybe ten feet from my person.
Those are hardshots, Ben!" The paunchy inspector turned back, to motion
his staff out beside him.

            Retief released Hish, who stooped to recover his
VIP eyeshields.

            "On, looky!" Magnan urged Retief.
"He
loves
it! He's urging his toadies—ah, staff, that is—to come
out and watch with him."

            "I don't think Foof is as expert at
near-misses as could be desired," Retief pointed out. "He's lobbing
those frags in there a little too close for comfort."

            "I appreciate your chaps' zeal for
verisimilitude, Ben," Pokey called, "but I fear for my people here.
I'd best descend at once. You may tell them to stop firing now."

            "It's working fine so far," Magnan
told Retief confidentially. "But what's going to happen when he finds out
I can't stop the firing as he so lightly proposes?"

            "That won't be a problem, will it, Hish?
Retief inquired of the literally crestfallen alien, at the same moment taking a
new grip on the general's eye-stalks with his left fist and handing over the
talker with his right.

            "You'll know just what to say," Retief
suggested gently.

            "To leave go my oculars!" Hish wailed.
"They're still a little out of focus from last time!" Then into the
talker:

        "Foof! You stop that
at once, do you hear?"

            The Groaci ships began peeling off and streaking
for the stratosphere as Hish spoke rapidly to his subordinate. When the last
Groaci ship had withdrawn, Retief repossessed the talker. Pete's irregulars
moved in to escort the mighty warship.

            "Nice work, Admiral," Retief said.
"Now, for an encore, just put your command down, in formation, on the
parade ground to the east. I'll see you in person on the ground in a little
while."

            "Look there!" Magnan yelped, and
pointed upward. A small, maneuverable skiff had emerged from
Corruptible
s
cargo hatch just forward of the coil compartment, and was dashing after the
retreating Groaci squadron.

            "Ben!" Pokey's distressed voice came
in echoey, on ten bands at once. "I thought it would be like my yacht, but
it's got all these thermometers and clocks, instead of comforting green lights!
I don't know if you can hear me or not. If you can, wave both arms."

            Magnan immediately semaphored, peering upward at
the skiff, which was now turning hack toward its mother ship.

            "Yes, that's it, Mr. Snail!" he cried.
"One mustn't interfere with the rituals, of course.
Do
ground your
skiff and we can have a nice drive back to town for the welcoming
banquet."

            "Look there, Magnan!" Pokey came back
hotly. "The vandals have shot the '
In'
off my prow, so that it
appears my vessel is
'Corruptible'!
Disgraceful!"

            "I don't think anyone will notice,
sir," Magnan gobbled, "if you'll withdraw her to the periphery of the
carnival."

            "I can't work that one, either," Pokey
snapped. "My captain is incapacitated at the moment: poor chap was holding
a bottle of some kind to his lips when the first salvo struck. He quite
naturally jumped in startlement, and broke a tooth. The pain must be unbearable.
Quacky gave him a shot, but it reacted badly with the .7 alcohol level in Cap's
blood. He's unconscious, though still on his feet, swearing some perfectly
dreadful
oaths! What's a 'gaboochie'? Pardon men if it's an obscenity I hadn't
encountered before. This scamp ignores my orders, and insists we're under
attack! Isn't that ridiculous?"

            "That's pretty funny," Magnan agreed.
"But if you'd just put that skiff down over here by the Customs hut, we
could explain all the fine points of Gorm Festival to you. It's considered bad
form actually to kill anyone, so you'll be safer here."