Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude (24 page)

"/
resemble you?" Magnan echoed. "Oh, really? Well, actually, the press
of other duties has precluded undue emphasis in my case on gross muscular
development, but I fancy I cut a rather imposing figure in any case. But I fail
to see the connection—"

"How
come," Gloot asked bluntly, "this Groaci's got the same shortage of
eyes as you, Retief?"

"Quite
simple, Gloot. He's a relative; we're both members of the ape family."

"Oh.
But what's he doing here, palling around with these foreigners?"

"Simplicity
itself," Magnan said. "Though I was far from palling around, as you
so crudely put it. I was seized by a brace of brigands and whisked here for
some obscure purpose unconnected with normal diplomatic procedures." The
first secretary looked severely at Chish. "Perhaps you have some explanation?"

"I'm
sure he does." Retief assisted the struggling Groaci to the chair, and
with Gloot's enthusiastic aid strapped him in position, fitting the cranial
attachments in place atop his cartilaginous skull amid his eyestalks, which
drooped dejectedly now.

"Alas
for lost opportunities," the officer mourned. "Had I but known of the
imminence of my downfall, I might at least have had the pleasure of making
plain to the abominable Nith my true assessment of his worth!"

"Too
bad, Chish. Maybe I'll find a chance to make it up to you," Retief said.
"Now, I believe this model has the automatic prevarication-suppressor,
which shoots a nice jolt through your trigeminal nerve if you accidentally
stray into inaccuracy. Just set it at max, Gloot, to save time."

"Base
alien, thus to serve an innocent official, harmlessly engaged in the
performance of his duties—"

"Later,
Chish. Who was the big shot?"

"One
Swarmmaster Ussh, a most prestigious official. You'll rue the day—"

"Probably.
Where's Omega Station?"

"I
haven't the faintest—yip! the faintest intention of lying, I was about to
say—eek! On a desert isle some leagues from here, drat all Soft Ones!"

"Which
one?" Gloot demanded. "Rumboogy? Delerion?"

"Sprook!"
Chish whispered. "I could wish you no more dolorous fate than to set foot
in its miasmic swamps!"

"The
needles say he's telling the truth," Gloot said.

"As he
sees it," Retief said. "Unfortunately, false information doesn't
register as long as he believes it. I have a feeling his boss wasn't keeping
him fully informed."

"It is
you, vile counterfeit—" Chish started, and broke off, listening. Faintly
from afar a clattering sounded. "Ha!" the Groaci hissed in triumph.
"In instants a squad of peacekeepers will be upon you, to put an end to
your presumptuous invasion of sacred Groacian symbolic soil, as well as to your
grotesque imposture!"

"What's
he talking about?" Gloot demanded.

"I
refer to the understandable aspirations of lesser races to the lofty status of
Groacihood—"

"He
also means the cops will be here any minute," Retief cut in. "I
wonder if you'd be kind enough, Chish, to direct us to the nearest exit."

"A
door—at the end of the passage there. A passage leads thence to a hidden
egress—and good riddance to you!"

"Well,
we'll have to be saying good night now, Leftenant. When Vump comes to perhaps
he'll unstrap you. In the meantime, you can while away the time by planning
what you should have said to Nith when you had the chance."

"True,"
Chish whispered. "Gone are my dreams of early advancement. But I may yet get
a crack at that lousy civilian."

"Let
that thought sustain you in your hour of trial," Retief said.

Ten minutes
later, after carefully skirting the spot where Flunt guarded the trail, humming
tunelessly to himself in the moonlight, the party reached the rendezvous where
Booboo-boo and his villagers had lain in wait. A long-legged native
materialized from the mist.

"Well,
you got one," Zoof said, eyeing Smelch appraisingly. "Two if you
count skinny one." He prodded Magnan. "Hey—this one inedible like
you, Retief. Not count!"

"These
are just samples," Retief said. "The main course is right behind
us."

In the pause
in the conversation, faint cries were audible from the rear.

"Well,
delivery to figurative door, real deluxe service, Retief," Chief Boobooboo
said. "Maybe you not bad monster deal with after all."

"Nothing
like a satisfied customer, Chief. And now I think we'd better be off and leave
you to your celebration. Which way to Sprook Island?"

"Funny
time decide end it all," Boobooboo said. "But to each his own. Just
head for river, follow down to shore. Sprook just across way, nice swim, give
time to reflect on misspent life before end. But look out for monsters, patrol
river mouth every hour on hour in magic fish."

"What's
a magic fish?" Gloot demanded.

"Local
name for light-weight straked dory with V transom."

"Boy,
you natives sure talk funny," Gloot commented.

The hue and
cry had drawn near by the time the refugees found the stream. They followed its
course as it wound across mud flats to the north shore of the island. A mile
across the water, the low shape of the next land mass was barely visible in the
pink moonlight.

"Surely
you aren't thinking of going
there?"
Magnan said querulously.
"At this hour of the night?"

"Just
long enough to keep an appointment with a VHPP," Retief reassured his
superior.

"Well,
in that case—but how will we get there?"

"I
expect our transportation will be along soon."

"Hey, I
just remembered," Smelch said. "Sprook Island is where the wizards
hang out. Guys which they can be in two places at once—or so the older boys
told me."

"Nuts,"
Gloot scoffed. "Everybody knows Sprook is where the walking dead get their
exercise."

"H-how
do you know that?" Magnan said.

"I got
a uncle that's an eye, ear, nose, and throat man over there."

"He
cures them?"

"Naw,
he sells 'em."

"I
understood you Lumbagans didn't die in an ordinary sense," Retief said.

"Yeah—but
when spare parts go west, Sprook is where they get together and make new friends.
Picture it, Retief: phantom Lumbagans, made out of the odd ectoplasmic leg and
the discarded ghostly elbow, prowling around in the mist looking for a spectral
pancreas to make up a complete set."

"A
curious superstition," Magnan commented with a shudder. "One might
almost wonder if it's home-grown or imported."

"Superstition
nothing," Smelch said. "I know a guy who has a chum whose pal
distinctly overheard a fellow say he saw a familiar face peeking out of the
stranglemoss one time when a squall blew him aground off Sprook. It was a face
he wouldn't likely forget, he said, on account of he chopped it off a stranger
in a barroom brawl the week before."

"Maybe
it was lucky enough to strike up a new friendship with a lonely head—"

"It
don't work that way, Retief. Once a Four-Decker breaks up, it's all the way
back to Freebies: eyes, ears, cerebellum, the works—and the whole lousy job to
do over again."

"Presumably
Nith's alien components won't interest the local haunts."

"Yeah—it's
OK for you foreigners," Gloot said. "But us Lumbagans are fair
game."

"Then
it looks as if Mr. Magnan and I will be going alone," Retief said.
"Thanks for your help, fellows—"

"Hey—what's
the idea? What about my investment?" Gloot protested. "Besides, I got
no particular hankering to hang around this place for those five-eyed little
devils and their overgrown hatchetmen to beat the brush for, come sunup!"

"Gosh,
I'd sure like to go on a sea voyage," Smelch said. "I always wanted
to see the bright lights and all. But I got a feeling if I don't get back to my
post my career as a alert sentry is at a end."

"The
brightest light we're likely to see on Sprook is a will-o'-the-wisp, or maybe a
little burning swamp gas," Gloot said gloomily. "But I guess even
that's better'n the one Chish'll put you under when he gets his mitts on
you."

"Yeah."
Smelch sighed. "Well, so long, fellers. I hope you enjoyed your stay. Drop
in again some time."

"It was
a pleasure, Smelch," Retief said. "I don't know when I've been as
efficiently guarded."

"Gee, thanks,
Retief. If you'd drop a line to my boss, I might get a pay raise out of
it."

"I'll
keep that thought in mind, Smelch."

As the
oversized Lumbagan moved off, Retief, Magnan and Gloot made their way out
through a dense stand of reeds sprouting from the mud to a hummock giving a
clear view of the creek mouth. Ten slow minutes passed.

"Get
set, gentlemen—here it comes," Retief said. A small, dark shape came into
view downstream: a boat, crowded with oversized Lumbagans sliding silently
toward them across the black water.

Retief moved
quietly forward, wading out into the stream until the waters rose neck-deep,
the reeds rising well above his head. Through the thickly scattered stems he
could catch only glimpses of the approaching craft. Quite suddenly it was
directly above him, sliding past. He ducked under water, rose noiselessly just
aft of the rowers' station, grasped the gunwale of the overloaded skiff, and
heaved hard. With startled yells, the near-side passengers grabbed for support,
missed, and struck the water with resounding splashes. On the return
oscillation, Retief thrust upward, sending the remaining passengers over the
far side. Bubbling sounds rose all around him; abruptly a swarm of Freebies
were making for shore. Half a minute later, the refugees were aboard the craft,
Gloot manning the sweeps, Retief in the bow scanning the open sea ahead, Magnan
crouched shivering in the stern.

"Heavens,
I'm sure I've caught a chill," the first secretary said. "Can't this
appointment wait, Retief? As you know, I'm a stickler for punctuality, but. . .
."

"So is
our host, I suspect," Retief said. "And we wouldn't want him to start
without us."

Twenty
minutes' brisk effort brought the boat within a hundred yards of the light surf
breaking on Sprook's windward shore.

"We'll
take her around to the far side," Retief said. "No use making it too
easy for the leftenant."

Gloot eyed
the dark shore without pleasure. "In there, a guy would be lucky to find
his head with both hands—if he once happened to drop it, I mean. How're we
supposed to get a line on which way the bum went?"

"I
suspect we'll encounter a clue," Retief said.

"Gracious!"
Magnan said excitedly. "I see the bright lights, way up in the middle of
the air!"

"Yeah—there's
a lone peak sticking up from the middle of the island," Gloot said
gloomily, turning to stare at the faint glow shining through the mist.
"According to rumor, that's ghost headquarters."

They rounded
a low headland, saw a shallow bay ahead. At Retief's suggestion, they steered
for shore at a point where the mangrovelike water trees seemed thinnest.
Rubbery stems bent and snapped with damp popping sounds as they forced the boat
through. When it grounded on mud, the three passengers stepped out, waded
through ankle-deep water to shore.

"Well,"
Gloot said dubiously, "we could sure use that clue about now . . ."

A sharp
click sounded from the darkness ahead.

"All
right, just stand still until the moon comes out," a coarse voice ordered
from the shadows, "so I can see to shoot you."

"Well,
there's our clue, right on schedule," Gloot said in an undertone to
Retief. "But I never heard of a zombie needing a gun." He raised his
voice: "What do you mean, shoot us? How do you know we're not
friends?"

"Easy.
We don't have any."

"You're
likely to get yourself in a peck of trouble," Gloot said, edging closer to
the source of the voice. "I happen to be a pretty influential
fellow—"

"One
more teeny little step and you'll influence me to blaze away ready or not. With
the spread I get with this sawed-off, there won't be a piece of you that'll
survive long enough to stomp on."

With
dramatic suddenness, the larger moon swam clear of the obscuring cumulonimbus.
The Lumbagan who stood twenty feet away, aiming a large and efficient-looking
gun, was of medium height, equipped with four arms, two legs, two eyes, a
single mouth of modest dimensions. Behind him stood a second Lumbagan of
identical aspect, clothed in an identical tunic of dun and chicle drab,
differing only in its simple ornamentation.

"Jeez—old
Smelch said you wizards could be in two places at once," Gloot muttered.
"But I didn't expect it to be the same place."

"Don't
bother your misshapen head," the gunner snapped. "Stand closer
together, no use wasting a round." He gestured impatiently with the gun.