Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude (23 page)

"To
regret—but to report untoward circumstances without," a second Groaci
whispered in agitation.

"Begone,
imbecile. This taciturn wretch is just on the point of divulging all!"

"Ah—Eminent
One—the desirability of completing my report."

"What
report?"

"The
one which prompted this lowly one to intrude on Your Loftiness' deliberations:
namely and to wit: the discovery that the security of this installation has
been broached."

"Indeed?"
the Groaci hissed. "To imply you failed to see to the complete combustion
of file copies of certain special requisitions? To attend to it at once, thus
forestalling any possible criticism by the small-minded—"

"To
entreat your pardon, Your Greatness—but to correct a misapprehension: the
breech to which I had reference is the unauthorized presence inside the station
of certain intruders—"

"Intruders!
Why wasn't I notified at once!" the non-Groaci voice barked.

"To
have sought in vain to get a word in edgeways—" "To skip the
apologies! To dispose of the interlopers instanter!"

"To
regretfully report their precise whereabouts is not yet known!"

"To
find them at once and to dispatch them out of hand!" "I don't like
this," the other voice said in Lumbagan. "Flabby security is
something I can't afford at this point. I'm

off to Omega
Station, Nith. Carry on with the interrogation."

Retief tried
the doorknob, found it locked. He quickly extracted a small but complicated
device from an inner pocket, applied it to the latch. There was a soft click.
The door opened silently on a small dark room lined with coat hooks; beyond was
a second room, clinically furnished in white. Under a ceiling glare panel,
Gloot sat in a steel chair, strapped in position by heavy bands of wire mesh.
An elaborate network of color-coded wires led from a cap-like device clamped to
his head to a gray steel cabinet resembling a ground-car tune-up console.

A Lumbagan, if
anything larger and more baroque than Smelch, leaned against the wall. A
uniformed Groaci stood by a door in the opposite wall. Before the captive stood
a slight figure nattily attired in bile-green Bermuda shorts, an aloha shirt in
clashing pinks, and orange and violet Argyles.

"Well,
my old friend Nith, formerly of the Groaci Secret Police," Retief said
softly to Smelch. "I wasn't aware his duties had brought him to these
shores."

"Hey—for
a couple minutes I thought that was Whatchama-callit," the Lumbagan
whispered. "But I guess not ... he ain't yelling."

"He
looks like him, does he?"

"Who?"

"You
know."

"Oh,
him."

"You
didn't answer the question." "Uh—what was the question?"
"On second thought I withdraw it."

"Now,"
the Groaci addressed Gloot eagerly, "there are none here but you and I and
Leftenant Chish, and a lone guard unequipped with the higher cerebral centers,
so there can be no thought of repercussions arising from your master's
misinterpretation of events. Now, speak up, fellow. Tell all!"

Gloot
struggled against his bonds. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy," he said.
"If I just had a couple hands free, or maybe a prehensile tail, if I had a
prehensile tail—"

"Bah!
My lone chance to acquire glory in the absence of his Pushiness—"

"You
mean his Puissance?"

"You
heard me. Now, whilst he's absent, quickly spill the legumes, fellow! I'll see
to it you're awarded the Order of Groac, with bladder!"

"Go
soak your organ cluster in concentrated sulphuric acid."

"I have
no time now for such indulgences, reticent one! You force me to extreme
measures, entered into the more reluctantly in the light of certain
prohibitions promulgated by His Extremeness regarding unauthorized use of
equipment! But you leave me no choice, if I'm to score a badly needed point or
two!" Nith turned to the knob-studded console, twiddled controls.
"Now to administer a stimulus which will unlock your mandibles, producing
a veritable torrent of data. . . ." He pushed a button; Gloot leaped
against his restraints, yodeling enthusiastically. Nith pushed another button.
Gloot slumped in his chair.

"Ah,
you see?" Nith whispered. "Already you feel better: the cathartic
effect of unburdening oneself of baseless hostilities. Now, you may begin with
the designation of your employers. Whose hireling are you, fellow?"

"Nobody's,"
Gloot muttered.

"Shall
I be forced to consign you to the parts bins after all?" Nith hissed
ominously. "Ah . . . Uplifted One," the bystanding Groaci officer
offered diffidently, "to note that the veracitometer indicates the
inferior one is speaking the truth."

"Eh?
Impossible!" Nith whipped his eyestalks around to focus on the panel.
"The impossibility, that is, that you should imagine me to be unaware of
that circumstance." He twiddled knobs on the panel, then addressed himself
again to Gloot:

"Who
sent you here!"

"Nobody
sent me; me and a chum came together." "Aha! This chum! What power
does he represent?" "He's a Groaci," Gloot said sullenly.
"A . . . Groaci?"

"You
heard me, Five-eyes! And a big wheel at that!"

"The
indication of the instruments," the lesser Groaci whispered. "The
possibility of a malfunction?"

"To not
descend to the fatuous, Leftenant Chish! I myself to have overseen the
installation! The acceptance of the preposterous: the hobbledehoy's
truthfulness!"

"Amplified
One!" Chish hissed. "To begin to see the light! Lackaday! To have
accidentally abducted a member of the personal staff of a Groacian MHHP!"

Nith waggled
his eyes at Gloot playfully. "In your report to your superior, I'm sure
you won't find it necessary to mention this little contretemps, eh? Just look
upon it as a slight misunderstanding, easily mended—"

"Upthrust
One," Lt. Chish interrupted. "The possibility that though this one's
companion is of the noble Groacian stock, he himself might yet be in the pay of
inferior races—"

"To be
sure, Leftenant," Nith said smoothly. "To have been about to raise
precisely that issue." He faced Gloot. "Confess all, unfortunate
dupe! You were the prisoner of the Groacian noblebeing, correct?"

"Well—technically
he was
my
prisoner. But between you and me, Five-eyes, I was beginning
to wonder who was in charge."

"You
dared impede the freedom of a High Born One? You abducted him here against his
will?"

"Naw,
it wasn't that way," Gloot said. "It was kind of a joint venture,
like."

"Joint
venture? I fail to postulate any conceivable circumstance under which the
interests of Groac and of an aboriginal would coincide!"

"Dough,"
Gloot said succinctly. "Mazoola. Bread. You know."

"You
shared an interest in gourmet cookery?" "Gripes, how'd you know
that?"

"Further
association with us Groaci will accustom you to such casual displays of
omniscience," Nith said smoothly.

"But—to
have implied that it occupied the status of coequal with its Groaci
companion," Chish objected.

"To
have spoken allegorically, as is customary with artists! To have implied only
His Supernalness' shared interest in matters gastronomic. But now to
wonder—what brings Groaci brass to this dismal backwater, unannounced? The
possibility that Supreme HQ is checking up on me."

"The
possibility of inquiring subtly of His Supremacy's cook," Chish whispered.

"To try
to curb your tendency to get into the act, Leftenant," Nith hissed.
"Tell me, fellow," he addressed Gloot, "what was the purpose of
your Groaci master's visit to these remote environs?"

"To see
what was cooking, what else?"

"Yes,
yes, of course—a clever cover story. But in addition to his culinary
researches, what was the mission of the High Born?"

"If he
had one, he never told me," Gloot said.

"To be
expected that His Grandeur would not confide in an underling," Nith
murmured.

"Estimable
Broodmaster," the leftenant hissed. "To hypothesize: Might not these
same intruders be a veritable inspection team, dispatched by Ambassador Jith,
who, jealous of his prerogatives, may have introduced them here by devious
means, the better to check up on your operation unheralded?"

"Exactly
what I had deduced!" Nith whispered and started for the door.
"Certain reactionary elements have long desired my downfall. What better
time than now to bring long schemes to naught by meddlesome probing, thereafter
to cry me culpable! Forewarned, I'll see to certain matters regarding the
voucher files; meantime, dispatch the prisoner instanter, lest he level
feckless charges against my person!" Nith skittered through the door and
was gone. The leftenant made a rude gesture at the closed door and turned to
Gloot, drawing his pistol.

"No
violence, now," he cautioned the Lumbagan as he removed the cranial
attachments of the veracitometer. "And remember to mention my name in
glowing terms to your master. That's Chish: C-H-I-S-H, by a gross miscarriage
of justice a mere leftenant—" He broke off as Retief stepped through the
door, Smelch behind him. Uttering a faint cry, the officer whirled toward the
door by which his superior had just departed. The Terran reached it first.

"Guard!
To me!" Chish keened, but as the Lumbagan behemoth lumbered into action,
Smelch stepped behind him, gripped hands with himself, raised the resultant
picnic-ham-size aggregation of bone and muscle overhead and brought it down
atop the fellow's cranium with a resounding thump, felling him in his tracks.

"Poor
old Vump, he always had a glass head," Smelch commented.

"Nice
one!" Gloot yelled. "But save old Nith for me!"

"Unhand
me, Terran!" Chish whispered, trying unsuccessfully to dodge past Retief.
"To have important business requiring my urgent attention!" '

"You're
confused, Leftenant," Retief said. "It was Brood-master Nith who had
the pressing appointment."

"Indeed?
To have never heard of him."

"Too
bad. I was hoping you could tell me who he works for."

"Never,
vile Soft One!"

"I'd
avoid those long-term predictions if I were you, Chish. They have a tendency to
unravel at the edges." Retief looked past the Groaci to Gloot, busily freeing
himself from the last of his entanglements.

"Don't
break anything, Gloot; we wouldn't want to short the leftenant's wiring."

"What's
this?" Chish hissed. "My w-wiring?"

"Where'd
the other one go?" Gloot demanded. "That's the one I want. I want to
pluck those eyes one at a time, like ripe froomfruit! How about it, you?"
he glowered at Chish, who recoiled from the menacing figure towering over him.
"Where's the other Terry?"

"The .
. . the other Terry?" the Groaci hissed in agitation. "What other
Terry?"

"You
know what other Terry!" Gloot roared.

"Oh,
that Terry," Chish said hurriedly. "Why, I do believe he's occupying
the, er, guest suite, just across the passage."

"Yeah?"
Gloot looked baffled. "What's he doing there?" "He was, ah,
assisting me in certain experimental activities," Chish replied.
"Which reminds me, I'm overdue for my saline infusion, so if you'll kindly
unhand me. . . ."

Gloot pushed
the Groaci away and went across the room and into the passage. He paused before
the door across the hall and rapped. A faint, uncertain cry answered him.

"Whattya
know?" he said. "He's in there." He tried the knob, then stepped
back and kicked the stout panel; the plastic cracked. A second kick shattered
the lock, and the door banged inward. A slight figure appeared in the opening,
checked at the sight of the Lumbagan.

"Hey,"
Gloot said weakly as Retief came up behind him. "That's not—"

"Well,
there you are at last, Retief," First Secretary Magnan gasped.
"Heavens, I thought you'd never turn up!"

"I
don't get it," Gloot said, looking from Magnan to Retief. "Another
Groaci with only two eyes, just like you, Retief— and I just noticed that Terry
you're holding onto is wearing three fakes, just like that other Terry, Chish.
What gives?"

"Duplicity
on a vast scale," Retief said. "It's creeping in everywhere these
days."

"You
labor under a misappreheninsion, dull-witted bucolic!" the Groaci began,
subsiding in midword at a minatory tweak.

"What's
this person referring to?" Magnan inquired, favoring Gloot with a
distasteful look. "Is he somehow under the impression—"

"He's a
great admirer of the Groaci, Mr. Magnan. Naturally, he leaped to the conclusion
that you enjoyed that status, since you resemble me so closely." Retief
gave Chish's collar an extra half-twist as the latter attempted to speak.