Retief-Ambassador to Space (26 page)

There was a bright flash which made a
green afterimage dance on Retiefs retinas. The alien dropped the object back in
the pouch, took out a second artifact resembling a footlong harmonica, which it
adjusted on a loop around its neck. At once, it emitted a series of bleeps,
toots and deep, resonant thrums, then looked at Retief in a way which seemed
expectant.

"If I'm not mistaken, that's a
Groaci electronic translator," Retief said. "Trade goods like the
camera, I presume?"

"Correct," the device
interpreted the small alien's rasping tones. "By George, it works!"

"The Groaci are second to none,
when it comes to miniaturized electronics and real estate acquistion,"
Retief said.

"Real estate?" the Zoonite
inquired with a rising inflection.

"Planetary surfaces," Retief
explained.

"Oh, that. Yes, I'd heard they'd
settled in down below. No doubt a pre-germination trauma's at the root of the
matter. But, every being to his own form of self-destruction, as Zerd so
succinctly put it before he dissolved himself in fuming nitric acid." The
alien's button eyes roved over Retief. "Though I must say your own death
wish takes a curious form."

"Oh?"

"Teasing a vine-jack for a
starter," The Zoonite amplified. "That's dangerous, you know. The
claw can snip through six inches of
gilv
as though it were a
zoob-patty."

"Actually, I got the impression
the thing was after you," Retief said.

"Oh, it was, it was. Almost got
me, too. Hardly worth the effort. I'd make a disappointing meal." The
Zoonite fingered its translator, the decorative claws clicking tinnily on the
shiny plastic. "Am I to understand you came to my rescue
intentionally?"
it said.

Retief nodded.

"Whatever for?"

"On the theory that one
intelligent being should keep another from being eaten alive, whenever he
conveniently can."

"Hmmm. A curious concept. And now
I suppose you expect me to reciprocate?"

"If it doesn't inconvenience
you," Retief replied.

"But you look so, so edible
..." Without warning, one of the alien's ebon legs flashed out, talons
spread, in a vicious kick. It was a fast stroke, but Retief was faster; shifting
his weight slightly, he intercepted the other's shin with the edge of his shoe,
eliciting a sharp report. The Zooner yelped, simultaneously lashed out,
left-right, with a pair of arms, to meet painful interceptions as Retief struck
upward at one, down at the other. In the next instant, a small hand gun was
pressing into the alien's paunch-bristles.

"We Terries are handy at small
manufacturing, too," Retief said easily. "This item is called a
crater gun. You'll understand why when you've seen it fired."

"... but appearances can be so
deceiving," the Zooner finished its interrupted sentence, wringing its
numbed limbs.

"A natural mistake," Retief
commiserated. "Still, I'm sure you wouldn't have found me any more
nourishing than the vine-jack would have found you: incompatible body
chemistry, you know."

"Yes. Well, in that case, I may
as well be off." The Zooner backed a step.

"Before you go," Retief
suggested, "there are some matters we might discuss to our mutual
profit."

"Oh? What, for example?"

"The invasion of Zoon, for one.
And ways and means of getting back down to
Zoona Firma
for
another."

"You
are
a compulsive—and
it's a highly channelized neurosis: a vine-jack or my humble self won't do; it
has to be the hard way."

"I'm afraid your translator is
out of adjustment," Retief said. "That doesn't seem to mean
anything."

"I find your oblique approach a
trifle puzzling, too," the alien confided. "I sense that you're
trying to tell me something, but I can't for the life of me guess what it might
be. Suppose we go along to my place for an aperitif, and possibly we can
enlighten each other. By the way, I'm known as Qoj, the Ready Biter."

"I'm Retief, the Occasional
Indulger," the Terran said. "Lead the way, Qoj, and I'll do my best
to follow."

It was a breathtaking thirty-minute
journey through the towering treetops. The alien progressed by long, curiously
dream-like leaps from one precarious rest to another, while Retief made his way
as rapidly as' possible along interlacing branches and bridges, of tangled
vine, keenly aware of the bottomless chasm yawning below.

The trip ended at a hundred-foot
spherical space where the growth had been cleared back to create a shady,
green-lit cavern. Bowers and leafy balconies were nestled around its periphery;
tiny, fragile-looking terraces, hung suspended under the shelter of sprays of
giant fronds. There were several dozen Zooners in sight, some lounging on the
platforms or perched in stem-mounted chairs which swayed dizzyingly to the
light breeze; others sailed gracefully from one roost to another, while a few
hung by one or more limbs from festooning vines, apparently sleeping.

"I'll introduce you around,"
the Zooner said. "Otherwise the fellows will be taking experimental cracks
at you and getting themselves hurt. I'm against that, because an injured Zooner
is inclined to be disagreeable company." He flipped a switch on the
translator and emitted a sharp cry. Zooner heads turned. Qoj spieled off a
short speech, waved a hand at Retief, who inclined his head courteously. The
locals eyed the Terran incuriously, went back to their previous activities. Qoj
indicated a tiny table mounted atop a ten-foot rod, around which three small
seats were arranged, similarly positioned. Retief scaled the support, took up
his seat like a flagpole sitter. Qoj settled in opposite him, the stem
quivering and swaying under his weight. He whistled shrilly, and a
black-spotted gray creature came sailing in a broad leap, took orders, bounded
away, returned in a moment with aromatic flagons.

"Ah," Qoj leaned back
comfortably with two pairs * of legs crossed. "Nothing like a little
bottled Nirvana, eh?" He lifted his flask and poured the contents in past
a row of pronged teeth rivaling those of the vine-jack,

"Quite an interesting place you have
here." Retief unobtrusively sniffed his drink, sampled it. The fluid
evaporated instantly on his tongue, leaving a fruity aroma.

"It's well enough, I
suppose," Qoj assented, "under the circumstances."

"What circumstances are
those?"

"Not enough to eat. Too many
predators—like that fellow you dispatched. Cramped environment—no place to go.
And of course, cut off as we are from raw materials, no hope for technological
advancement. Let's face it, Retief: we're up the tree without a paddle."

Retief watched a bulky Zooner sail
past in one of the feather-light leaps characteristic of the creatures.

"Speaking of technology," he
said. "How do you manage that trick?"

"What trick?"

"You must weigh three hundred
pounds—but when [ you want to, you float like a dandelion seed."

"Oh, that. Just an inherent
knack, I guess you'd call it. Even our spore-pods have it; otherwise, they'd
smash when they hit the ground."

"Organic antigravity,"
Retief said admiringly. "Or perhaps teleportation would be a better
name."

"The gland responds to mental
impulses" Qoj said.

"Fortunately, our young have no
mentality to speak of, so they're grounded. Otherwise, I suppose we'd never
have a moment's peace."

"He tossed another shot down his
throat, lounging back in his chair as it swayed past Retief, rebounded to swing
in the opposite direction, while Retiefs perch waved in a gentle counterpoint,
a motion which tended to cross the eyes and bring a light sweat to the
forehead.

"I wondered why there were no
little ones gamboling about your doorstep," Retief said.

"Doorstep?" Qoj jerked
upright and stared in alarm toward the shaded entrance to his bower.
"Great slaving jaws, Retief, don't give me a slart like that! The lttle
monsters are down on the surface where they belong!"

"Unattended?"

Qoj shuddered. "I suppose we
really ought to be doing something about them, but frankly—it's too
dangerous."

Retief raised an eyebrow in polite
inquiry.

"Why, the little fiends would
strip the very crust off the planet if they weren't able to assuage their voracity
by eating each other."

"So that's why you don't occupy
the surface."

"Um. If our ancestors hadn't
taken to the trees, we'd be extinct by now—devoured by our own offspring."

"And I suppose your apparent
indifference to the arrival of the Groaci is based on the same reasoning."

"Feeding season's about to
begin," Qoj said offhandedly. "Those fellows won't last a day. Not
much juice in them, though—at least not in the one I met—"

"That would be the previous owner
of the camera and the translator?"

"Correct. Interesting chap. He
was buzzing about in an odd little contrivance with whirling vanes on top, and
ran afoul a loop of siring vine. My, wasn't he full of plans ..." The
Zooner sipped his flask, musing.

"The Groaci, individually, don't
look like much, I'll agree," Retief said. "But they have a rather
potent subnuclear arsenal at their command. And it appears they're about to
launch a general offensive against your young!"

"So? Maybe they'll clear the
little nuisances out.' Then we can descend to the ground and start living like
gentlebeings."

"What about the future of the
race?"

"
That
for the future of
the race," Qoj made a complicated gesture with obscure biological
implications. "We're only concerned about ourselves."

"Still," Retief countered,
"you were young once—"

"If you're going to be
crude," the Zooner said with inebriated dignity, "you may leave
me."

"Sure," Retief said.
"But before I go, would you mind describing these little fellows?"

"In shape, they're not unlike us
adults; they come in all sizes, from this"—Qoj held two taloned fingers an
inch apart—"to this." He indicated a yard and a half. "And of
course, the baby fur. Ghastly blue fuzz a foot long."

"You did say ... blue?"

"Blue."

Retief nodded thoughtfully. "You
know, Qoj, I think we have the basis for a cooperative undertaking after all.
If you'll give me another five minutes of your time, I'll explain what I have
in mind ..."

Flanked by Qoj and another Zooner
named Ornx the Eager Eater, Retief dropped down through the cloud layer, propelled
by a softly hissing steering jet salvaged from his punctured lift harness.

"That's it, dead ahead," he
pointed to the towering coral reef, pale rose-colored in the distance.

"Wheee!" Qoj squealed with
delight as he pulled up abreast of Retief with a shrill whistling of his
borrowed jet. "Capital idea, Retief, these little squirt-bottles! You
know, I never dreamed flying could be such fun! Always lived in dread of
getting out of reach of a branch and just drifting aimlessly until one of the
boys or some other predator got me. With these, a whole new dimension opens up!
I can already detect a lessening of sibling rivalry drives and inverted Oedipus
syndromes!"

"Don't let your released tensions
go to your head, Qoj," Retief cautioned. "The Groaci may still take a
little managing. You hang back while I go in to check the lie of the
land."

Minutes later, Retief swept in above
the convoluted surface of the coral peak. No Groaci were to be seen, but half a
dozen Terrans were wandering aimlessly about their lofty prison. They ran
forward with glad cries as Retief landed.

"Good show, my boy!" Colonel
Smartfinger pumped his hand. "I knew you wouldn't leave us stranded here!
Those rascally Groaci commandeered our harnesses—"

"But—where are the
reinforcements?" the Political Officer demanded, staring around.
"Where's the lighter? Where's His Excellency? Who are
these
creatures?" He eyed the Zooners, circling for a landing. "Where have
you been, Retief?" He broke off, staring. "And where's your
harness?"

"I'll tell you later,"
Retief motioned the diplomats toward the deflated Groaci gasbag now draped
limply across the rocks. "There's no time to dally, I'm afraid. All
aboard."

"But—its punctured!"
Smartfinger protested. "It won't fly, man!"

"It will when our new allies
finish," Retief reassured the colonel.

The Zooners were already busy,
bustling about the ersatz cloud, stuffing fistfuls of seed-pods inside. A
corner of the big bag stirred lazily, lifted to flap gently in the breeze. One
side curled upward, tugging gently.

"You know what to do,"
Retief called to Qoj. "Don't waste any time following me down." He
jumped into the air, thumbed the jet control wide open, and headed for the next
stop at flank speed.