Retief at Large (33 page)

            Retief
brought the ends of his wires into the shed, linked them into the lighting
circuit. Against the gray floor, the insulated lines were almost invisible.

            Back
outside, he brushed loose sand over the wires leading up from below, then
headed back to the car. He topped the rise, halted at sight of two bile-green
cars bearing the crossed-oculars insignia of the North Skweeman Home Guard,
parked across the bumpers of the CDT vehicle. There were eight armed Skweemans
in sight, patrolling alertly around the blocked car, while a pair of Groaci stood
by, dapper in Bermuda shorts and solar topis, deep in conversation.

            As
Retief strolled down to meet the reception committee, the locals swiveled to
cover him with their guns. The two Groaci stared, their eye-stalks twitching
hypnotically. Retief recognized one as a member of the Groaci diplomatic staff.

            "Good
morning, Lith," Retief greeted the Groaci Councillor as he came up.
"Keeping busy, I see."

            "To
depart instantly," the Groaci diplomat hissed in his faint voice. "To
explain at once this illegal intrusion on North Skweeman soil!"

            "Which
would you like first, the explanation or the departure?" Retief inquired
interestedly.

            "To
make no jest of this red-handed crime, Terran interloper!" Lith whispered
urgently. His multiple eyes fell on the miniature binoculars in Retief's hand.

            "As
I thought." He motioned to his Skweeman aides. "Your presence
explains itself." He stepped back to allow the gun-handlers to close in.
"Cover him," he ordered. "At the first false move, fire."

            "You're
in a devil-may-care mood this morning," Retief noted. "Given up all
hope of advancement, I suppose, and want to go out in a blaze of notoriety by
making an even bigger mistake than usual."

            "What
did you observe up there?" The second Groaci indicated the top of the rise.

            "Just
what's there," Retief replied easily.

            The
two Groaci exchanged glances, a feat they accomplished with one pair of eyes
while keeping two on Retief and another on the Skweemans. Retief whistled in
admiration.

            "No
signalling," one of them warned.

            "To
poke your long Terry nose in once too often," Lith said. He made a curt
gesture with a pair of arms. "Take him," he commanded the Skweemans.

            "Before
you do that—" Retief held up an admonitory hand—"maybe it would be a
good idea to ask Lith what the future plan for North Skweem might be—if North
Skweem has a future."

            "Silence!"
Lith keened. "To take care, Terry, not to tempt me too far!"

            .
"Hey, talk Skweemish," one of the guards objected. "What are you
two foreigners cooking up, anyway?"

            "We're
merely nattering of trivialities," Lith explained. "Now do your duty,
fellows."

            "Yeah
... but I been thinking: this sapsucker
is
a Terry
diplomat."

            "Enough,"
Lith cut him off. "I assure you no complaints will be lodged by his
associates."

            The
Skweemans closed in on Retief. "All right, big boy, let's go," the
lieutenant said, poking his gun at the prisoner.

            Retief
glanced at the weapon. It was a heavy-duty power pistol, a Groacian copy of an
early Terran type.

            "Have
you ever fired that thing?" he inquired interestedly.

            "Who,
me?" the Skweeman rotated a number of sense organs in a gesture expressing
astonishment. "Heck, no. We got orders to only shoot at live
targets." He looked meaningfully at Retief.

            "A
wise precaution. I understand that model blows up rather easily. That's why the
Groaci sold them to you at bargain prices."

            "To
make no attempt to subvert my minions!" Lith hissed.

            "I
wouldn't dream of it," Retief assured the ruffled diplomat. "I prefer
minions who change sides on their own."

            "You
will have long to wait for that eventuality," Lith snapped. "In a
cell which, alas, lacks most of the amenities."

            "That's
all right," Retief said. "Perhaps I won't be in it long enough to
need them."

            Lith
vibrated his throat-sac, expressing amusement.

            "You
may be right, my dear Terran," he commented blandly. "Now, into your
vehicle, and drive as directed, remembering that guns are upon you!"

            Escorted
by the two police cars, Retief drove the CUT Monojag at a sedate pace along the
indicated route to the village, pulled it.in before a low mud brick building
with one small window set with metal bars. Lith and the Skweeman police
surrounded him as he stepped out into the street. One of the cops stared into
the interior oHhe Monojag.

            "Hey,
this is a fancy job," he commented. "What's that?" He pointed at
a short red-handled lever labeled EMERGENCY LIFT. At his side, Lith goggled,
then whirled on Retief.

            "To
explain at once!" he hissed. "Our intelligence reports have indicated
that vehicles so equipped are capable of VTO and supersonic speeds! Why, then,
did you permit yourself to be so docilely convoyed?"

            "Well,
Lith, maybe those reports you read were exaggerated," Retief smiled
deprecatingly. "After all, your gumshoe brigades have to report
something."

           
Lith snorted. "So much for
the vaunted Terry technology." He turned to his troops.

            "Lock
him up."

            The
Skweemans closed in to box Retief, like alert, waist-high goblins modelled in
blotchy clay; their guns prodded him along an alley to a small metal door set
in the side of the brick building. The lieutenant opened it with a clumsy
electrokey, waved him inside. The door clanked shut and a shadowy figure rose
up, its face pale in the dim light.

            "Retief!"
First Secretary Magnan gasped. "You mean they captured you, too?"

            "It
seemed the simplest way to solve the problem of finding you," Retief said.
"Now all we have is the problem of getting out."

            The
Skweeman sun was low in the sky now. A brisk, hot wind had sprung up from the
north, whirling streamers of dust into the cell through the barred window from
which Retief watched the activity in the street. Behind him, Magnan turned
away, coughing.

            "They're
as busy as Verpp in moulting season," he sniffed. "No one is paying
us the slightest attention. I suppose we may rot here for hours more before
Ambassador Treadwell secures our release."

            "There's
just one cop patrolling the jail now," Retief said. "The rest of them
have trooped off, arm in arm with their friends the Groaci. I think we picked a
bad time for our calls; they're up to something.

            "I
can't think what's keeping him!" Magnan eyed his watch fretfully.
"I'm missing my afternoon coffee break, to say nothing of dinner." He
sighed heavily, settled himself on the floor.

            "I
simply can't grasp it," he muttered. "The Groaci are famed for their
chicaneries, but open diplomat-napping broaches an entirely new field of
rascality. Why, an honest diplomat won't even be able to run around to trouble
areas, picking up eye-witness impressions, without the risk of being treated as
a mere spy."

            "On
the other hand, if we join in the spirit of the thing—" Retief turned from
the window—"we might find that it opens up new avenues to us, too."
He went across to the narrow door, leaned over the barred, waist-high opening,
and shouted for the guard.

            "Good
idea." Magnan got to his feet. "I think it's time we spoke sharply to
these brigands. Just step aside, Retief, and I'll drop a few broad hints."
His voice faded as the fierce visage of the police lieutenant appeared beyond
the aperture. Retief spoke first:

            "Do
you have any idea what a blaster would do to you if I fired from this
range?" he inquired. "Don't give any alarm," he went on as the
speechless cop goggled into the dark cell. "Just quietly unlock the
door—and be sure no one notices anything unusual going on."

            "B
... b ... b ..."the Skweeman said.

            "You
can express your astonishment later," Retief said briskly. "Open up
now, before I have to demonstrate how well armed I am."

            "I
...1 didn't see any weapon on you when we brought you in," the jailer
expostulated.

            "Naturally;
it's the sort of thing a fellow likes to keep secret. Hop to it, now. My
trigger finger is twitching."

            "I
had to be a wise guy and volunteer to be a big shot," the Skweeman
muttered to himself. Retief heard the scrape of the key in the lock. Tumblers
clicked over. The door swung in with a dry squeak.

            "Shhh!"
Magnan put a finger to his lips, looked severely at the native as he sidled out
past him. He looked both ways.

            "The
coast seems to be clear," he whispered as Retief lifted the cop's pistol
from its holster. "Maybe you'd better let me have one of the guns."

            "Hey!"
The Skweeman waved several sensory organs in an agitated way. "I don't see
any blaster— except mine!"

            "Nothing
wrong with your vision, anyway," Retief congratulated him. Now we have to
be running along." He looked thoughtfully at the local. "I really
should shoot you ..."he said judiciously.

            "Sh
... shoot me?" the Skweeman gulped. "But I' ve got a couple of dozen
chicks ready to break through the shell any day now! Those little devils will
have the hide off the old lady in five minutes flat if I'm not there to protect
her when they hatch out!"

            "On
the other hand," Retief went on, "I
could
give you a
break."

            "Yeah!"
the Skweeman breathed. "Now you're talking, Terry!"

            "You
just carry on as though nothing had happened. We'll go about our business and
trouble you no more. I don't think you'll want to bother Uncle Lith by
mentioning our departure; he might take the unreasonable attitude that you're
in some way to blame. Just play them close to your medals and act innocent when
they notice the cell's empty."

            "You
bet, boss. I always knew you Terries were gents. Between us, I never went much
for that two-legged slicker—"

            "Mind
your derogatory references to the number of a being's limbs, sir," Magnan
said stiffly. "Two legs appears to me to be an admirable endowment of such
members."

            "Sure,
no offense, gents. Now, how's about beating it quick, before somebody comes
along? And you better give me back my gun. Somebody might get nosy if I don't
have it."

            Retief
ejected the power cylinder from the butt of the gun, dropped it into his
pocket, handed the empty weapon over.

            "We
can't reach the car," he said to Magnan. "They towed it away to
tinker with at leisure. Weil have to ease out the back way and see how far we
get."

            Keeping
to the narrow alley, Retief and Magnan safely traversed a block of ragged grass
dwellings, emerged at the end of a long avenue that meandered down a slope
toward the mile-distant fence marking the South Skweeman border, barely visible
now in the late twilight.