Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude (22 page)

"Actually,
I don't think I do," Retief corrected his massive acquaintance. "Know
where, I mean."

"Good,"
Smelch said in a relieved tone. "You're safer that way."

"Not
afraid, are you?"

"Yeah."
Smelch nodded his head vigorously. "I hear they got ways of making a guy
regret the day his left leg met up with his right."

"Who
says so?"

"Everybody,
Retief! All the boys been warned to stay clear, once they was outside. . .
." "You mean you've been inside?"

"Sure."
Smelch looked puzzled, an expression involving a rapid twitching of his ears.
"How could I of not been?" "Flunt's been there too?"

"Natch.
You don't figure the moomy-bird brung him, do you? That's a little joke,
Retief. I know you know the moomy-bird didn't bring him."

"How
about this fellow?" Retief indicated the unconscious Lumbagan stretched at
his feet. "He came from inside too?"

Smelch
clucked sympathetically. "I guess they must of left out some o' your
marbles, Retief. Where else would Zung of come from? In fact"—he lowered
his voice confidentially— "he ain't never graduated, poor sucker."

"Maybe
you'd care to amplify that remark a little, Smelch."

"Zung
is one of the boys which they ain't been allowed out in the big, wonderful
world like you and me." Smelch spread several hands expansively.
"Except only maybe a few feet to clobber anybody that comes along. What I
figure is. . . ." He lowered his voice to a solemn hush. "Him and the
other ones, they ain't all there, you know? Rejects, like."

"Rejects
from what, Smelch?"

"Shhh."
Smelch looked around worriedly. "I don't like the trend of the
conversation, which we're treading on shaky ground, especially this close to
you-know-what."

"No,
but I think it's time I found out."

"Hey—you
ain't planning on climbing the fence?"

"Unless
you know where the gate is."

"Sure—right
up the trail about a hundred yards, or maybe ten. I ain't too precise on the
fine detail work."

"Then
I'll be off, Smelch; give my regards to Flunt when you see him."

"You're
really going to sneak back into you-know-where and grab a peek at
you-know-what? Boy oh boy, if you-know-who sees you—"

"I
know. Thanks for clarifying matters. By the way, if you should run into a
fellow with three legs who answers to the name of Gloot, I'd appreciate any
help you could give him."

"Sure;
you let me know if we see him." "We?"

"Heck,
yes. You don't think I'm going in there alone, do you? And we better get
moving. Zung's starting to twitch."

As they
proceeded silently up the path, Retief was again aware of the soft rustlings
and snufflings he had noted on and off since his arrival on the island. Through
a gap in the shrubbery he caught a fleeting glimpse of a stealthy figure which
ducked out of sight as he paused. He went on; the rustling progress of his
shadow er resumed.

The gate—a
wide construction of aluminum panels and barbed wire—blocked the trail a
hundred feet above the point where they had encountered Zung. A green-shaded
spotlight outlined it starkly against the black foliage. A padlock the size of
an alarm clock dangled from a massive hasp.

"Any
more guards hidden out around the area?" Retief asked.

"Naw—with
Flunt and me doing a tight security job down below, and the other bum working
in close, who needs it?"

"An
incisive point," Retief conceded. They walked boldly up to the gate.
Smelch tried it, seemed surprised when it failed to swing open.

"Looks
like it's stuck," he commented, and ripped it from its hinges, lock and
all, tossing the crumpled panels aside with a metallic crash.

"Nothing
like direct action," Retief said admiringly. "But from this point on
I suggest we observe a trifle more caution, just in case there's anyone up
there whose suspicions might be aroused by the sound of a three-car collision
this far from the nearest highway."

"Say,
pretty shrewd," Smelch said admiringly. "I always wanted to team up
with a guy which he could figure the angles."

Beyond the
former gate, the path continued a few yards before debouching into a wide
cleared strip adjoining a high board fence that extended for some distance in
both directions.

"Home,
sweet home," Smelch said nostalgically. "The old place sure has
changed since I ventured out into the great world."

"Has
it?"

"Sure.
After all, that was a couple hours ago." "This is where you were born
and raised, in other words." "Yeah—inside the fence is where I spent
my happy childhood, all four days of it." "I'd like to see the old
place."

"Well,
old Sneakyfeet won't like it—but to heck with him and his dumb rules. Who but a
alumnus would want to look inside anyways? Come on, Retief." Smelch led
the way to an inconspicuous gate which yielded to his efforts, not without a
certain amount of splintering. Retief propped the door back in place and turned
to regard an extensive array of ranked cages stacked in long aisles that led
away in the moonlight to the far line of the fence. A dispirited yammering
chorus of sound started up nearby, reminiscent of visiting day at a pet
hospital. A vaguely zoolike odor hung in the air.

Retief
approached the nearest row of cages. In the first, a creature resembling a
rubber rutabaga with spidery legs slumped dolefully against the bars. Adjacent,
a pair of apprehensive-looking ankles huddled together for warmth.

"Freebies,"
Smelch said. "Just in from the jungle. Little do the poor little fellers
dream what a high class destiny's in store for 'em."

"What
destiny is in store for them, Smelch?"

"Right
this way," the Lumbagan invited, indicating the next rank of cages. These
were somewhat larger than those in the first section, each containing a
creature giving the appearance of having been assembled from spare parts. Here
a spindly leg drummed the fingers of a lone hand springing from where a foot
might have been expected; there a bored-looking lower lip, flanked by a pair of
generous ears, sprang directly from an unmistakable elbow. In the next echelon,
the cages were still larger, occupied by specimens of a more sophisticated
appearance. A well-developed paunch with a trio of staring brown eyes at the
top squatted on four three-toed feet, watching the visitors incuriously. A
remarkably human-looking head with a full beard swung from the roof of its
prison by the muscular arm that was its sole appendage.

"Uh,
some o' the boys look a little weird," Smelch said apologetically,
"but in the end they mostly turn out handsome devils, like me."

"Someone
seems to have gone to considerable trouble to set up this lonelyhearts
farm," Retief commented. "In the natural state, I understand, matches
among Freebies take place at rare intervals. This looks like mass production.
Any idea why, Smelch?"

"Nope.
I ain't one of them guys which he asks questions all the time, you know what I
mean? I mean, why poke the old nostrils in and maybe get 'em stuffed full of
lint, right?"

"It's a
philosophy without which bureaucracy as we know it would soon wither
away," Retief conceded. "What was your job when you were here,
Smelch?"

"Well,
lessee, there was eating. That took a lot o' my time. Then there was sleeping.
I like that pretty good. Then . . . lessee ... I guess that just about wraps it
up. Why?"

"You
must have a strong union," Retief said. "Why were you here?"

"Jeez,
you know that's a question which a guy could wonder about it a long time if he
wouldn't drop off to sleep first. Personally, I got like a theory that before
we can attack the problem of transcendentalism, we got to examine the nature of
knowledge and its limitations, making a appropriate distinction between noumena
and phenomena. I figure by coordinating perceptions by means of rationally
evolved concepts of understanding we can proceed to the analysis of experience
and arrive at the categorical imperative, with its implicit concomitants. Get
what I mean?"

"I
think possibly I've been underestimating you, Smelch. I didn't know you read
Kant."

"Can't
read, you mean," Smelch corrected. "Nope, I never had the time for no
idle pursuits, what with that heavy schedule I told you about."

"Quite
understandable, Smelch. By the way, Flunt mentioned you'd only been here a
week. Where were you before that?"

"Well,
now we're getting into the area o' the metaphysical, Retief, which when you
examine material phenomena by inductive processes you arrive at a philosophical
materialism, not to exclude ontological and epistemological considerations,
which in general could be assumed to deny metaphysics any validity in the
context o' Aristotelian logic. Or am I just spinning my wheels?"

"Did
you work that out for yourself, Smelch, or did somebody tip you off?"

"Never
mind. I don't think I'd grasp the full significance of the answer anyway."

They passed
the last of the cages, these occupied by a bewildering variety of Lumbagan life
forms in a wide range of colors and shapes, and displaying a remarkably diverse
endowment of limbs, sensory equipment, and other somatic elements.

"They
look vigorous enough," Retief commented as one hefty specimen gripped the
bars and drooled at him.) "But I get an impression they're not too
bright."

"Well,
sure, first they got to go through the indoctrination center. You can't expect
a agglomeration which last week it was grubbing roots in the woods to be a instant
intellectual. That takes a couple days."

"I see.
Where do we go from here, Smelch?"

"How
about the cafeteria? I got a yen for some good old home cooking."

"Let's
save that until after I've met you-know-who," Retief suggested.

"Mondays
they usually got mud-on-a-mortarboard," Smelch said nostalgically, testing
the air through his multiple nostrils. "Also on Wednesday, Saturday, and
all the other days. Lucky it's my favorite. But I guess you're right, Retief.
We got to make our courtesy calls before we chow down. I guess old Sneaky-feet.
. . ." Smelch paused. "Hey, talking about sneaky feet, old
you-know-who has got three toes on each foot; I barged in on him once when he
was just climbing out of a tub of hot sand. Wow, if language was skinning
hooks, I'd of been flayed to the ribs in no time. That's when I seen 'em. His
feet, I mean. . . ."

He broke off
as a faint, rhythmic sound became audible, swiftly growing louder. The running
lights of a copter appeared above the treetops, winking in a complicated pattern.
The machine sank out of sight beyond the fence.

"What
do you know, Retief—that's old Whatzis himself," Smelch cried delightedly.
"But now that it's time to make the introductions," he added with
sudden doubt, "I kind of wonder if it's a good idea. If he's in a bad mood
he could maybe interpret it as me not doing my job of keeping outsiders on the
outside."

"Let's
hope he doesn't take a narrow-minded approach,"

Retief said
encouragingly. They had reached the section of fence opposite the point where the
copter had descended. He jumped, caught the top, pulled himself up in time to
see a hurrying figure in a dark cloak and a pale headgear disappear into a
small structure at the edge of the clearing.

He pulled
himself over and dropped to the ground. A moment later Smelch joined him.

"That
copter's been busy tonight," Retief said. "What's in the
building?"

"All
kinds of neat stuff, like the cafeteria," Smelch said. "Did I mention
they got mud-on-a-mortarboard?"

"You
did. Let's go take a closer look."

They reached
the door through which the heli's passenger had disappeared. It opened, and
they stepped into a brightly lit corridor. At the far end, light gleamed
through a glass-paneled door. When they reached it, muffled sounds were audible
from the room beyond.

Retief took
a small button-shaped object from his pocket, pressed it to the door, put his
ear to it.

". . .
you still hesitate?" a suave voice said. "Possibly you are deterred
by ethical considerations, a reluctance to betray those who have placed their
trust in you. Dismiss the thought, fellow! What harm to honor if nobody blabs,
eh?"

Snorting and
threshing sounds followed.

"Ah . .
. Exalted One," a breathy Groaci voice whispered, "to offer a
suggestion: the removal of the gag to facilitate compliance with
instructions."

"Um. I
was just about to order. Guard!"

Heavy
footsteps sounded, followed by a ripping sound and a hoarse yell, then a
shuddering sigh.

"Just
one," Gloot's voice said yearningly. "Just one little old ocular,
right by the roots. ..."

A faint buzz
sounded, eliciting a grunt of annoyance.

"Cretin!"
the Groaci hissed. "The unwarranted interruption of His Unutterableness'
virtuoso performance!"