Retief at Large (29 page)
"We
are waiting,"
File-on-Steel said.
"Well,
what do they expect?" Magnan yelped. "It''s true they're bigger,
stronger, faster, longer-lived, and cheaper to operate; and of course they have
vast memory banks and can do lightning calculations and tricks of that
sort—which, however, can hardly compare with our unique human ability to, ah,
do what we do," he finished in a subdued tone.
"What
do you do?"
Red-eye demanded.
"Why,
we, ah, demonstrate moral superiority," Magnan said brightly.
"Shilth
was right about your sense of humor," Retief said admiringly. "But I
think we'd better defer the subtle japes until we discover whether we're going
to survive to enjoy the laugh."
"Well
for heaven's sake
do
something, Retief," Magnan whispered,
"before they make a terrible blunder." He rolled his eyes sideways at
a scythe-like implement hovering as if ready to shear at any instant through
the volume of space he occupied.
"Time
is up,"
Broken Glass said.
The
machines surged forward. The scythe, sweeping horizontally, clanged against the
descending cleavers as Retief and Magnan jumped aside from the rush of a
low-slung tree mower with chattering blades. The latter swerved, collided with
a massive punch-press, one of whose piston-like members stabbed through the
side of a ponderous masonry wrecker. It wobbled, did a sharp right turn and
slammed into the cast-concrete wall, which cracked and leaned, allowing a
massive beam to drop free at one end, narrowly missing Magnan as he rebounded
from the flank of a charging garbage shredder. The falling girder crashed
across the mid-section of the latter machine with a decisive
crunch!
pinning
the hapless apparatus to the spot. It clashed its treads futilely, sending up a
shower of concrete chips. The other machines clustered around it in attitudes
of concern, the Terrans for the moment forgotten.
"Hsst!
Retief! This is our chance to beat a strategic withdrawal!" Magnan
stage-whispered. "If we can just make it back to the elevator—"
"We'll
find Shilth waiting at the top," Retief said. "Mr. Magnan, suppose
you find a comfortable spot behind a packing case somewhere. I'm not quite
ready to leave yet."
"Are
you insane? These bloodthirsty bags of bolts are ready to pound us to
putty!"
"They
seem to be fully occupied with another problem at the moment," Retief
pointed out, nodding toward a post-hole digger which was fruitlessly poking at
the end of the beam which had trapped its fellow. The scythe-armed robot was as
busily scraping at the massive member, without result. The ranks parted to let
a heavy-duty paintchipper through; but it merely clattered its chisel-tips
vainly against the impervious material. And all the while, the pinioned machine
groaned lugubriously, sparks flying from its commutator box as it threshed
vainly to pull free.
Retief
stepped forward; Red-eye swiveled on him, raising a large mallet apparently
designed for pounding heavy posts into hard ground.
"Before
you drive home your argument," Retief said, "I have a proposal."
"What
proposal?"
"You don't seem to be having
much luck extricating your colleague from under the beam. Suppose I try."
"One
minute. I will lift the beam,"
a deep voice boomed. A massively built
loading robot trundled forward, maneuvered deftly into position, secured a grip
on the concrete member with its single huge ami and heaved. For a moment,
nothing happened; then there was a sharp
clonk!
and a broken duralloy
torque rod dangled from the lifter's forged-steel biceps. The girder had not stirred.
"Tough
luck, old fellow," Retief said. "My turn."
"Good
heavens, Retief, if that cast-iron Hercules couldn't do it, how can you hope to
succeed?" Magnan squeaked from his corner.
"You
have the ability to help our colleague?"
Broken Glass demanded.
"If
I do, will you follow my orders?"
"If
you can do that which we cannot do, your superiority is obvious."
"In that case, just pull
that bar out of there, will you?" Retief pointed to a four-inch diameter
steel rod, twenty feet long, part of a roller assembly presumably once used in
loading operations. A stacking machine gripped the rod and gave it a firm pull,
ripping it free from its mountings."
"Stick
one end under the edge of the beam, like a good fellow," Retief said.
"You there, jack-hammer: push that anvil under the rod, eh?" The
machines complied with his requests with brisk efficiency, adjusting the lever
as directed, with the fulcrum as close as possible to the weight to be lifted.
"Retief—if
you couldn't even lift the lever how are you going to ..." Magnan's voice
faded as Retief stepped up on the treadskirt of a sand-blaster and put a foot
on the up-angled long arm of the jury-rigged pry-bar. Steadying himself, he let
his full weight onto the rod. Instantly, it sank gracefully down, lifting the
multi-ton beam a full half-inch from the depression it had imprinted in the
garbage shredder. The latter made a clanking sound, attempted to move, emitted
a cascade of electrical sputterings and subsided.
"He's
ruptured himself!" Magnan gasped. "Poor thing. Still, we've done our
part."
The
other machines were maneuvering, making way for a squat cargo-tug, which backed
up to the victim, but was unable to get in position to attach its tow-cable. A
dirt-pusher with a wide blade tried next, but in the close quarters failed to
get within six feet of the disabled machine. The others had no better luck.
"Mr.
Magnan, find a length of cable," Retief called. Magnan rummaged, turned up
a rusting coil of braided wire.
"One
of you robots with digits tie one end of the cable to the patient," Retief
said. "Cinch the other up to something that won't give."
Two
minutes later the cable was stretched drum tight from a massive stanchion to
the cripple, running between closely-spaced paired columns.
"Next,
we apply a transverse pull to the center of the cable," Retief directed.
"They
can't," Magnan wailed. "There's no room!"
"In
that case, Mr. Magnan, perhaps you'd be good enough to perform the
office."
"I?"
Magnan's eyebrows went up. "Perhaps you've forgotten my Motorman's
Arm."
"Use
the other one."
"You
expect me, one-handed, to budge that ten-ton hulk?"
"Better
hurry up. I feel my foot slipping."
"This
is madness," Magnan exclaimed, but he stepped to the cable, gripped it at
mid-point, and tugged. With a harsh squeak of metal, the damaged machine moved
forward half an inch.
"Why—why,
that's positively astonishing!" Magnan said with a pleased look.
"Tighten
the cable and do it again!" Retief said quickly. The machines hurried to
take up the slack. Magnan, with an amazed expression, applied a second pull.
The wreck moved another centimeter. After three more nibbles, the tug was able
to hook on and drag its fellow clear. Retief jumped down, letting the beam drop
with an incredible floor-shaking
boom!
"Heavens!" Magnan found
his voice. "I never imagined I was such a brute! After all, the diplomatic
life
is
somewhat sedentary ..."He flexed a thin arm, fingering it
in search of a biceps.
"Wrestling
with the conscience is excellent exercise," Retief pointed out. "And
you've held up your end of some rather weighty conversations in your
time."
"Jape
if you must," Magnan said coolly. "But you can't deny I
did
free
the creature. Er, machine, that is."
"You
have freed our colleague,"
Sand-in-the-gears said to Magnan.
"We
are waiting for your orders. Master.
"To be sure," Magnan
placed his fingertips together and pursed his lips. "You won't fit into
the lift," he said judiciously, looking over his new subjects. "Is
there another way up?"
"To
be sure, Master."
"Excellent.
I want all of you to ascend to the surface at once, round up and disarm every
Groac on the planet, and lock them up. Arid see that you don't squash the one
called Shilth in the process. I have a little gloating to do."
On
a newly excavated terrace under a romantically crumbling wall of pink brick,
Magnan and Retief sat with Shilth, the latter wearing a crestfallen expression
involving quivering anterior mandibles and drooping eye-stalks. His elaborate
cloak of office was gone, and there were smudges of axle grease on his
once-polished thorax.
"Dirty
pool, Magnan," the Groaci said, his breathy voice fainter than ever.
"I was in line for the Order of the Rubber Calipers, Second Class, at the
very least, and you spoiled it all with your perambulating junkyard. Who would
have dreamed you'd been so sly as to secretly conceal a host of war-machines? I
suspect you did it merely to embarrass me."
"Actually,"
Magnan began, and paused. "Actually, it
was
quite shrewd of
me, now that you mention it."
"I
think you overdid the camouflage, however," Shilth said acidly as a
street-broom whiffled past, casting a shower of dust over the party. "The
confounded things don't appear to be aware that the
coup
is over.
They're still carrying on the charade."
"I
like to keep my lads occupied," Magnan said briskly, nodding grandly at a
hauler trundling past along the newly cleaned avenue with a load of newly
uprooted brush. "Helps to keep them in trim in case they're needed
suddenly to quell any disturbances."
"Never
fear, I've impressed on Thish that he will not long survive any threat to my
well-being."
"Company
coming," Retief said, gesturing toward a descending point of sun-bright
blue light. They watched the ship settle into a landing a quarter of a mile
distant, then rose and strolled over to greet the emerging passengers.
"Why,
it's Mr. Pennyfool," Magnan said. "I knew he'd be along to rescue us.
Yoo-hoo, Mr. Pennyfool!
"That's
Mr. Ambassador, Magnan," Pennyfool corrected sharply. "Kindly step
aside. You're interfering with a delicate negotiation." The little man
marched past Retief without a glance, halted before Shilth, offering a wide
smile and a limp hand. The Groaci studied the latter, turned it over gingerly
and examined the back, then dropped it.
"Liver
spots," he said. "How unaesthetic."
"Now,
Planetary Director Shilth, we're prepared to offer a handsome fee in return for
exploratory rights here on Verdigris." Pennyfool restored his smile with
an effort. "Of course, anything we find will be turned over to you at
once—"
"Oh,
ah, Mr. Ambassador," Magnan hazarded.
"We
Groaci," Shilth said sourly, "are not subject to such pigmentational
disorders. We remain a uniform, soothing puce at all times."
