Retief and the Rascals (8 page)

            "I thought that was George, the janitor—I
mean custodian," Magnan gobbled. "But Miss Meuhl! Heavens! She has
access to—"

            "Lucky she's so homely and shrewish,"
Retief put in, "or there'd be no secrets at all."

            "True," Magnan murmured. "One
must look on the bright side. But His Ex will be furious when he finds
out!"

            "Sammy is
always
furious, Ben,"
Shinth contributed. "So it makes little difference. In fact, if you set it
up just right, you could milk this disclosure for points."

            " 'Points'?" Magnan echoed. "Do
you imagine I'm interested in mere points when my—our lives are in
jeopardy?"

            "Sure, Ben," the sophisticated Groaci
replied. "There's always tomorrow, and we'll be working for points as
usual."

            "Not if I perish here, miserably, among the
scum of Bloorian society!"

            "I am hardly to be lumped as 'Bloorian
society'," Shinth protested.

        "Very well, the scum
of Groaci society!"

            "Bah!" Shinth snorted. "Ben,
you're incorrigible!" He stamped off into the darkness. A moment later his
breathy voice was to be heard again from the shadows: "Now, boys," he
whispered. "Be patient, I've got Ben so confused he doesn't know who's
paying off whom. Did you get the instructions I so subtly passed to you?"

            "You mean about duh secret passage inna
sout' corner and all?" the surly voice of Smad Bell responded.

            "Exactly!" the Groaci confirmed in his
accentless Terran. "Now, you scamps get going, before Ben wakes up and
realizes—"

            "Before I realize what?" Magnan barked
as he approached the conspirators out of the darkness.

            "Rats!" Shinth hissed. "The jig
is up, lads! He's on to us! It's every being for himself!"

            "That s'pose to be some kinda crack?"
Pool demanded. "I guess us Bloorians are still humern, even if we
are
mutated
a little!"

            "By no means, my dear Foor!" Shinth
disclaimed. "I only meant—"

            "Skip it, Shinth," Pool muttered.
"I guess duh point is, like, academic."

            "I warn you, Bell, and you, too,
Pool!" His Groaci Ex snarled. "I'm holding you personally responsible
for these outrages against my person as well as against the proud state of
Groac! I m seeing my attorneys in the morning. I've retained a prestigious
Terran firm, well equipped to sue under Terry law as well as Bloorian!"

            "Never mind, Jim," Magnan said to
Retief, who had come up beside him to urge him to withdraw and deal with the
matter in daylight.

            "I'm a close personal friend of old Mr.
Roger, at Shinth's counsel's firm, Tupp, Futter and Swive, P.A.!" Magnan
snapped. "He'll soon deal with those Johnny-come-latelies, Skinnerback and
Milkerdown, P.A.! Bob Skinnerback and Fred Milkerdown are neophytes! I, for
one, don't fear litigation!" He stamped off to take up a position at the
locked emergency exit.

            "Jeez!" Foor offered in a stage
whisper. "Ben's went and tooken up a position by duh secret excape route!
Now how do we get outa here?"

            "Right through duh odder Terry," a
youngish Bloorian barked, and the entire group charged Retief, ignoring
Shinth's faint cries of protest. Retief waited for the first volunteer and
floored him with a roundhouse swipe, catching two more with the return
backhand. The others split into two groups and advanced from right and left.
Retief ducked aside and allowed them to collide, at which point their
long-suppressed natural hostilities broke free and they instantly formed a
solid mass of combatants, each intent only on tearing his erstwhile ally limb
from limb.

            "Argumentative fellows," Retief
commented, as he helped three unconscious members back to their feet before
propelling them back into the free-for-all. Shinth alone had held aloof from
the melée. He hissed in distress and scuttled for the bale-blocked outer door.
Magnan took a step after him.

            "Let him go, Ben," Retief suggested.
"He'll be easy to find tomorrow, hiding in his chancery, making up
excuses."

            "What possible excuse could exist?"
Magnan demanded, "for the presence of a Groaci Chief of Mission, here in
the godown and well after business hours, in the commissary stores, in company
of these ruffians?"

            "None," Retief supplied. "That'll
keep him even busier."

            They went around the free-for-all and approached
Shinth, skulking by the well-known secret exit.

            "What about it, Mr. Ambassador?"
Magnan demanded. "Do we get the safe-conduct, or do you prefer public
exposure?"

            "Bah!" His Groacian Ex dismissed the
question. "It's scant explaining I'll be doing, vile Terries! In my
capacity as Environmental Coordinator for this Sector, I came here to look into
allegations that you Terries have been trafficking in contraband under the
guise of bestowing largess! This warehouse is my proof! In the morning, far
from doing penance, I shall arrive here with a squad of local vigilantes, as
well as Committees of Investigation from both my embassy and your own. I've no
doubt Sammy Swinepearl will be as outraged as I when I tell him whom I've
caught red-handed!" With that, he slipped behind a stack of bales, darted
to the exterior door, and was swallowed by the curious throng which had
gathered to peer into the darkness and hazard guesses as to what was going on
in there.

            "—soun's like old Shinth got duh goods on
Ben dis time!" one hazarded.

            "—annudder example o' skulduggery in high
places!" another countered. Hey! Dere's duh crinimal now! Let's get him,
boys! I guess we can fergit duh old race-riot fer a while and pick it up again
at dawn, right where we left off at, refreshed by a night o' mayhem and vandalism!"
With a yell, he and two others charged the barricade. As he vaulted over the
grating, Retief accidentally palmed him off-course, so that he impacted the
floor grin-first. His colleagues, closely followed by Shinth, had started
forward with hoarse yells, which changed to wails as Retief flipped the iron
grille upright directly in their path. As they piled up against it, he pushed
it over on top of them, and tumbled a stack of baled hides down on the grating,
effectively pinning all three in place, Shinth at the bottom of the struggling
heap.

            "Dirty pool, Retief!" the Groaci
hissed. "This was a classic 'Book 'em, Danno' situation, and it
ill-behooves a diplomat of your experience to thus fly in the face of
tradition! Let me up at once! At
once,
I say!" He had thrust his
small, lumpy head and one feeble arm through between the bars. "Assist
me!" he demanded. "Can't you see that in their struggles these
ruffians are savaging me, their benefactor? Wim, stop that!" he commanded.

            The Terrans were startled to hear the gravelly
voice of Wim Dit complain from the middle of the stack, "Now, Mister
Ambassador, you promised no publicity! And yet now Ben Magnan's on to me, and
Retief is squashing my ribs. You're on your own!"

            "Retief!" Shinth gasped. "I lie
here, a victim of treachery, undone by his own better nature! Lend me a
hand!"

            "Too bad, Mr. Ambassador," Retief
commiserated without enthusiasm. He grasped one of the Groaci's five gently
waving eyestalks and tugged. Shinth squealed.

            "Oops!" Retief commented. "I don't
think you're going to fit—unless I pull harder."

            "Jim, you wouldn't! Magnan gasped.
"That would make a dismal entry in your Promotion of Chumship column!
Release His Excellency at once! And as for you, Mr. Ambassador," he
shifted his scolding to the unfortunate alien, "I'm
surprised
at
you! Consorting with absolutely the worst element in Bloorish society! And
helping them violate Terry sovereignty, too! And you!" he addressed the
Grand Inquisitor. "You're in it, too! What do you have to say for yourselves,
you scamps?"

            "You wrong me, Ben," Shinth wailed.
"In me you see the archetypal selfless bureaucrat, risking all to complete
his mission of peace-making and the promotion of vigorous economic activity
here on Bloor! You're well aware that all of poor, bleeding Bloor's problems
arise from the failure of haughty Terra to provide food, clothing, and shelter
for the huddled masses of this unfortunate planet! Had you fellows initiated
Goodies for Undesirables a few decades sooner, political chaos would never have
eventuated here! So, kindly tell Jim to leggo my eye, and let us resume this
discussion in my office at seven A.M. tomorrow morning!"

            " 'Seven A.M. tomorrow' or 'seven tomorrow
morning' would obviate the redundancy, Mr. Ambassador," Magnan pointed
out, then, in flawless Groaci, "to receive your counselor in
my
office
at nine A.M. tomorrow morning."

            "Ben!" Shinth expostulated. "To
try to make points at a moment like this, when I'm about to see, pardon the
pun, permanent darkness close in on twenty percent of my visual field, is
ghastly bad form!"

            "Make that forty," Retief corrected,
as he gathered in a second twitching eyestalk.

            "I hadn't realized, Jim, that you are so
unfeeling!" Shinth protested. "Release my optical members at once!
Ben, I call upon you to effect the release of my visual organs from the grasp
of your barbaric colleague!"

            "First, tell your hirelings to cease their caterwaulings,"
Magnan directed crisply. "Then they're to stop threshing about. Tell Smad
to put the bracelets on the others and line them all up for inspection, and I
may,
just possibly, see my way clear to succor you from the situation in which
your greed and impudence have placed you."

            " 'Greed'?' Shinth echoed in a tone of
Shocked Disbelief (16-b). " 'Impudence'? I can scarce credit my auditory
members, Ben: that you, a fellow career diplomat, would so characterize my
valiant efforts in aid of the unfoldment of Groacian manifest destiny!"

            "Don't waste that sixteen on me,
Shinth," Magnan advised in a tone from which cynicism was not altogether
absent.

            "Hey!" Shinth yelled, as loudly as his
feeble vocal membranes could manage. "That was a crack from which cynicism
was not altogether absent! Ben, must it come to this, after our years of
professional association?—years, I might point out, in which I have risen, step
by step, to the lofty rank of Career Ambassador, albeit to a trashy world,
whilst you remain stranded in the DSO-1 slot! Show a trifle of respect for
protocol and tell Jim to help me up, without recourse to my eyestalks as
handholds!" The Groacian slumped exhaustedly, uttering one final
"Hush!" to Jum Derk, directly below him.

            In the momentary silence, Wim Dit spoke up
indignantly. "Mr. Ambluster, you tol' us poor unsophisticated patriots
about when duh Terry handouts would go up soon's we kidnapped a couple of em
and robbed duh store, and all!"

            "It
is
traditional," Shinth's
voice came weakly to Magnan's ear. "Cryptic Terra always rewards most
bountifully those nations which prove their contempt by acts of violence
directed against her! Look in your history books! Best of all, of course, is to
wage open warfare against her, thereby qualifying for gigantic handouts. Shinth
was haranguing Magnan now: "The Terry taxpayer is a curious beast:
cheerfully electing legislators who tax him to poverty in order to provide
luxuries for those at home who prove they will never upset the social order by
doing something useful, and, abroad, those who demonstrate their implacable
hostility! It doesn't scan, Ben; but then I suppose such perversity bathes your
gonads in a warm glow of self-abnegation. Now, let's get back to business and
let me and my associates out of this trap; the formal apologies can wait until
later, but make them good, Ben! Especially considering the fact that the
projected heist came to naught! Act now, Ben, and I may yet be able to put in a
word on your behalf at the hearing!"

            You speak of hearings!" Magnan yelled
indignantly. "Do you suggest—?"

            "Naw, just the one hearing, Ben," Wim
corrected. "When duh Inspectors hit dun Mission nex' mont'. I'll hafta
have you had up on a atrocities rap, an all. But don't sweat it. Just you and
Jim east outa here and let I and my boys and His Ex, too, get on with duh haul,
and I'll even forget about duh trick wid duh ironwork an all. How's dat fer
fair, old pal?"

            "Equitable enough, I suppose," Magnan
conceded hesitantly. "Jim, do you suppose we could ...?"

            "Not a chance, Mr. Magnan," Retief
replied. "Local reinforcements have been arriving steadily via the secret
passage. While you were negotiating, or giving up, or whatever, I've been
listening to them. They've slipped around us and blocked off all the exits. No
way out. I'm afraid Wim's trying to con us."

            "Yes, but," Magnan offered,
"since we're outnumbered, we can hardly be expected to offer further
resistance! Imagine!" he mused on. "Wim Dit himself, personally
participating in robbery and smuggling and Lordy knows what else!"