Retief-Ambassador to Space (23 page)

 Roped
together, the two men worked their way from one precarious foothold to the
next, descending toward the smoky surface bubbling beneath them. A hundred feet
below the crater's rim, Retief gripped Rainsinger's arm, pointed through the
swirling clouds of soot.

 "The
level's risen about a hundred feet," he said. "If it reaches that
series of vents along the north side before we can block them, the volume of
the flow will double, and fill the valley in no time. We have to reach them and
plug them before the mud covers them."

 "What
good will that do?" Rainsinger's voice came thinly through Retief's
earset. "It will just keep rising until it goes all the way over the
top!"

 "That
brings us to part two," Retief said. "You see that dark patch there,
on the south wall, a little higher up? That's an old vent, silted up a long
time ago. If we can blast it clear in time, the flow will go down the other
side, away from the town."

 Rainsinger
studied the aspect below.

 "Weil
never make it," he said grimly. "Let's get started."

 Another
ten minutes' climb brought Retief and Rainsinger to the set of side-channels
leading to the valley and the town. Working rapidly, Retief placed the charges
of smashite so as to collapse the four six-foot-wide openings.

 "All
set," he called. "Weil take shelter from the blast in the other
cave."

 "It
will be close," Rainsinger said. "The mud's risen ten feet in the
last five minutes. Another ten feet and we're out of luck!"

 "Come
on!" Retief followed a ledge that led halfway around the seventy-foot
throat of the volcano, then used a series of cracks and knobs to cover the
remaining distance. The boiling muck was a bare six inches from his feet when
he reached the dark conduit. Twenty feet inside its mouth, their progress was
halted by an obstructing mass of hardened mud and volcanic ash.

 "Weil
fire our other charges first," Retief said. "As soon as they blow,
we'll set another one here and head for the surface."

 "I
don't like the looks of this, Retief! All this rock is full of fractures!"

 "
I'm not too fond of it myself," Retief said. "Better turn off your
earset. Here goes!"

 He
pressed the button on the detonator in his hand. White light winked; the crash
that followed was deafening even over the shrieking of the volcano. Rock fragments
rained down past the cave opening, sending geysers of steaming lava fountaining
high. There was a deeper rumble, and the floor shook under them. A giant slab
of stone dropped into view, lodged across the throat of the volcano. Others
slammed down, packing themselves into place with impacts like mountains
falling. Trapped smoke and dust recoiled, thickening into opacity.

 "That
does it!" Rainsinger shouted. "We've blocked the main passage! We
can't get out!"

 "It
looks that way—" Retief started. His voice was cut off by a thunderous
boom as the cave's roof fell in.

-

 "Retief!"
Rainsinger's voice was a hoarse croak in the relative silence after the last
rattle of falling rock had died away. "Are you still alive?"

 "For
the moment," Retief reassured his companion.

 "Well—if
there was any doubt about whether we'd get out, this finishes it,"
Rainsinger said grimly.

 "Let's
take a look," Retief suggested. Using hand-lamps, they scanned their
surroundings. The original cave was now a rubble-choked pocket, blocked at one
end by the lava plug, at the other by multi-ton fragments of fallen rock,
through which small trickles of mud were already finding their way.

 "The
only remaining question is whether we broil in hot mud, drown in lava or die of
asphyxiation," Rainsinger said grimly.

 "It
would be interesting to know whether our blast did any good," Retief said.
"Will the lava go over the top, or will the dam hold?"

 "Let's
tell ourselves it wasn't all in vain," Rainsinger grunted. "Don't
misinterpret my remarks," he added. "I'm not complaining. I have only
myself to blame. I started the whole thing with my misplaced zeal." He
laughed hollowly. "And I was going to make a name for myself by putting
Slunch on the map, businesswise."

 "Let's
just blame it on local conditions and let it go at that," Retief
suggested. He looked at the gauge on his wrist. "The temperature in here
is ninety-one and a half degrees Centigrade. It looks as if drowning is
out."

 "Look,
the mud's hardening as it comes through the barrier," Rainsinger said.
"The trickle's choking off." He looked thoughtful. "By now the
level outside our door is up to the blockage. If the lava that squeezes through
that hardens as fast as this did ..."

 A
tremor went through the cave's floor. "Oh-oh!" Rainsinger rocked on
his feet. "Looks like this is it, Retief ..."

 "Set
your suit air on maximum pressure!" Retief said quickly. "Then lie
down and wrap your arms around your knees and hold on!" His voice was
drowned in an end-of-the-universe boom as the side of the mountain blew out.

 Retief's
first impression, as he came back to consciousness, was of a gentle rocking
motion, which ended rudely as something hard gouged him in the back. He rolled
over and got to his feet. He was standing in shallow mud at the shore of a
placid expanse of brown, already stiffening into hardness. A few yards distant,
a lumpy mansized object stirred feebly. He went to it, assisted Rainsinger to
his feet.

 "Quite
a view, eh?" He indicated the cone rising from the mists wreathing the
expanse of mud. The entire wall of the volcano was gone, and from the vast rent
a glistening river of gumbo poured.

 "We're
alive," Rainsinger said groggily. "Remarkable! And it looks as though
we succeeded in diverting the mud." He pulled off his suit helmet,
revealing a face puffed and bruised. "My apologies to you, Mr. Retief—for
a number of things."

 "And
mine to you, Mr. Rainsinger, for an equal number of things. And I suggest we
get these suits off before we harden into statues."

 The
two men stripped off the suits, thickly coated with rapidly hardening mud.

 "Well,
we may as well be getting back, I suppose," the trade mission chief said
glumly. "I'll transmit my resignation to Sector, then gather up my chaps
and be on my way."

 They
tramped along the lake shore in silence for half an hour. Rounding the curve of
the mountain, the valley came into view. Where the town had been, a pattern of
building tops reared up above a glossy expanse of eggplant brown.

 "I
came here to make commercial history," Rainsinger muttered. "Instead
I destroyed a city, including enough Corps property to keep me in debt for six
lifetimes ..."

 "I
wonder what's going on down there?" Retief said, pointing. On the level
mud surrounding the buried buildings of the town, small figures darted and
swooped.

 "They
look like giant water-bugs," Rainsinger said wonderingly. "What do
you suppose it means?"

 "Let's
go down and see," Retief said.

 "It's
remarkable!" Magnan rubbed his hands together and beamed at the lively
group of Slunchans disporting themselves on the mirror-flat surface of the
hardened [ mud flow that occupied the former town plaza, brightly illuminated
by the light from the surrounding windows. "It was Blabghug who discovered
the crates stores in the consulate attic. He opened them, imagining they might
contain something to eat—and discovered roller skates!"

 "Rainsinger
Mr., Hey!" One of the gracefully cavorting locals came whizzing across the
newly formed rink, executed a flashy one-toe reverse spin and braked to a halt
before the trade mission chief. "Foot-wheels these of shipment a get we
can soon how?"

 "They've
had to set up a rotation system," Magnan said. "Every Slunchan who
sees them simply goes mad for them!"

 "With
start to, sets thousand hundred a about take we'll," Blabghug cried.
"More take we'll, ready rinks more get we as soon as!"

 "I
... I don't understand," Rainsinger said. "The mud—what's happened to
it? It feels like top-quality asphalt, worth fifty credits a ton!"

 Magnan
nodded happily. "Just after the mud began to recede, Freddy was doing a
little foraging—for salvage, of course—and accidentally got into the powdered
tombstones. When the mud contacted the plastic, it started hardening up. It
must have had some sort of catalytic action, because the whole plaza froze
over."

 "So
that's why the volcano plugged up so quickly," Rainsinger said in
wondering tones. "And it's still hardening, just as fast as it's exposed
to the air and the, er, catalyst!"

 "You've
brought off a real coup, sir!" Magnan caroled. "The Slunchans have
never had anything but squishy mud underfoot before. Now that they see the
possibilities, we'll be able to sell them on all the court games: tennis,
volleyball, badminton—then on to the whole gamut of wheeled vehicles! I can see
it now: Round-the-planet motorcycle races! The Grand Prix to end all Grand
Prixes!"

 "Grands
Prix," Rainsinger corrected absently. "But not only that, Magnan, my
boy! This new material—I'll wager we can corner the paving market for the
entire Galactic Arm! And it's virtually free!"

 "Ah,
am I to understand then, sir, that your report won't place as much emphasis on
certain apparent custodial deficiencies as your earlier remarks might have
indicated?" Magnan inquired smoothly.

 Rainsinger
cleared his throat. "My first impressions were a bit wide of the
mark," he said. "I was just wondering if you'd find it necessary in
your report of my visit to detail the
precise
circumstances surrounding
the discovery—or should I say invention?—of this new product."

 "No
point in burdening Sector with excess detail," Magnan said crisply.

 "Now,
about transport," Rainsinger mused aloud. "I'd estimate I could place
ten million tons at once on Schweinhund's World—and another ten or twenty
million tons on Flamme ..."

 "I
think it would be wise to place immediate orders for pogo sticks, croquet sets
and bicycles," Magnan thought aloud. "We'll want to work through the
small items before bringing on the heavy equipment ..."

 The
two strolled away, deep in conversation.

 "Say,
all this excitement has given me an appetite," the fat attache said. "I
believe I'll go get myself a sandwich. Possibly two sandwiches." As he
hurried off, Sir Frederik Gumbubu scooted up to Retief, executing a
speed-braking stop.

 "Terry,
us join and pair a grab!" he shouted.

 "Good
idea," Retief said, and swung off across the plaza, arm in arm with the
foreign minister.

-

As Second Secretary of Embassy Jame
Retief stepped from the lighter which had delivered the Terran Mission to the
close-cropped turquoise sward of the planet Zoon, a rabbit-sized creature
upholstered in deep blue-violet angora bounded into view from behind an
upthrust slab of scarlet granite. It sat on its oddly arranged haunches a few
yards from the newcomers, twitching an assortment of members as though testing
the air for a clue to their origin. First Secretary Magnan's narrow face
registered apprehension as a second furry animal, this one a yard-wide sphere
of indigo fuzz, came hopping around the prow of the vessel.

"Do you suppose they bite?"

"They're obviously grass-eaters,"
Colonel Smartfinger, the Military Attaché, stated firmly. "Probably make
most affectionate pets. Here, ah, kitty, kitty." He snapped his fingers
and whistled. More bunnies appeared.

"Ah—Colonel." The
Agricultural Attaché touched his sleeve. "If I'm not mistaken—those are
immature specimens of the planet's dominate life-form!"

"Eh?" The colonel pricked up
his ears. "These animals? Impossible!"

"They look just like the
high-resolution photos the Sneak-and-peek teams took. My, aren't there a lot of
them!"

"Well, possibly this is a sort of
playground for them. Cute little fellows—" Smartfinger paused to kick one
which had opened surprising jaws for a nip at his ankle.

"That's the worst of these crash
operations," the Economic Officer shied as a terrier-sized fur-bearer
darted in close and crunched a shiny plastic button from the cuff of his mauve
late-midmorning semi-informal hip-huggers. "One never knows just what one
may be getting into."

"Oh-oh." Magnan nudged
Retief as a technician bustled from the lock, heavy-laden. "Here comes the
classified equipment the Ambassador's been sitting on since we left Sector
HQ."

"Ah!" Ambassador Oldtrick
stepped forward, rubbing his small, well-manicured hands briskly together. He
lifted an article resembling a Mae West life jacket from the stack offered.

"Here, gentlemen, is my personal
contribution to, ahem, high-level negotiations!" He smiled proudly and
slipped his arms through a loop of woven plastic. "One-man,
self-contained, power-boosted aerial lift units," he announced. "With
these, gentlemen, we will confront the elusive Zooner on his home ground!"