Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude (8 page)

            'You'll
have to excuse Flup here," Mub said to Retief. "The poor boob's not
playing with a full set of googy-stones. Should of sent him back to
Headquarters where it wouldn't be noticed."

            Before
the situation could deteriorate further, there was a sudden crashing of
underbrush and the giant form of Constable Yong arrived in a leap, a
narrow-shouldered Terran astride his back, his arms wrapped around the big
cat's neck.

            "Hiya,
chum," the Vang greeted Retief. Magnan, still clinging to his perch,
raised his head and weakly cried:

            "There
you are! I feared you'd been done a mischief when I turned to speak to you and
found only that slimy little gossip-monger, Thif, at my elbow. Then I
remembered you were on close terms with the, uh, officer here, and when I
followed his trail it led me to him, and—"

            "Now,
Ben," Shinth spoke up from his awkward position in the grasp of Sergeant
Flup. "You're a reasonable chap, you'll see to it your associate does
nothing prejudicial to Groaci-Terran relations, I'm sure!"

            "Of
course, Shinth," Magnan concurred soothingly. "But it was uncommonly
crude of you to plant Major Fith on us, posing as a reporter. Alas, he was able
to divulge only a part of your scheme before he passed—"

            "Away?"
Shinth blurted, all five eyes vibrating in shock.

            "Merely
out, Colonel," Magnan reassured the agitated fellow. "But you can
rectify the omission. If you hurry, I shall be all the more favorably disposed
toward ameliorating the severity of your sentence. Hurry up and Tell All; I
have to get the word back in time for Staff Meeting if I'm to score maximum
points—ah, abort the mischief, that is."

            "
'Tell
All',"
Shinth whispered. "Then you know about ..."
he paused to dash a drop of lachrymal exudation from an eyestalk. "Alas, I
am undone," he mourned.

            "To
be sure," Magnan replied cooly. "Speak up, Colonel. May as well take
defeat like a warrior."

            "All
right, since that wretch Fith has already spilled the legumes, I may as well
fill in the details. No court would cry me culpable."

            "Start
talking," Magnan ordered curtly.

            "The
Grand War Fleet will be landing at high noon, local, encircling the
fairgrounds," Shinth whispered brokenly.

            "Ye
Gods!" General Mub yelled. "A Terran fleet invading Glorb? Disaster!
General Hish assured me nothing of the sort was to be feared!"

            "I
say, General," Magnan objected tentatively, "Shinth said nothing
about a
Terran
fleet. Doubtless it is a Groaci fleet to which he
alludes."

            "What
would Retief know of Groacian treachery?" Mub yelled.

            "Actually
as a diplomat, he's quite experienced in the field," Magnan assured the
agitated patriot. "As am I myself, of course."

            "Yes,
yes, I suppose your intelligence apparatus has ferreted out many of their fell
designs. By the way, what sort of being are you?"

            "Surely
you jest, General," Magnan suggested. "I am of course, a Deputy Chief
of Mission, on temporary assignment to the Pageant."

            "Sure,
but except for His Lordship here," the General indicated Retief, "I
never saw one like you before. You're not one of them Glimps, are you?

            "By
no means, sir," Magnan said soothingly. "Now if you'll excuse me, His
Lordship and I must be off; final preparation for the preliminary competition,
you know."

            "You
call an invasion force a preliminary competition?" Mub inquired in his
usual yell. "What's next? Genocide?"

            "It
was the pageant to which I alluded," Magnan corrected the officer. He turned
to Retief. "Shall we go? I'd best hurry ahead with the Constable, in the
interest of prompt action." He went briskly to the side of Yong, who had
stretched out comfortably in a patch of sunlight.

            "Nix,"
the Vang demurred. "I'm sticking with my old pal Retief."

            "Oh,
very well," Mub agreed. "Hand him over, Sergeant," he directed
the non-com who was still gripping Shinth's skinny arm.

            "Glad
to, sir," Flup said promptly, thrusting the crestfallen Groaci toward
Magnan.

            "There
must be some mistake," Magnan began, recoiling; then his eye was caught by
Retief, who shook his head unobtrusively.

            "But
then I suppose the Constable can accommodate another."

            "No
sweat," Yong agreed. "But I still ain't going anywhere without
Retief."

            "How
about it, gents?" General Mub said earnestly to Magnan. "Can you
fellows get a battle fleet out here to cancel out the one this little beggar's
got standing by?"

             "But,
my dear General," Magnan demurred, "that would be in violation of
sacred interplanetary agreements."

            "Not
if we acted in response to a formal request from the General," Retief
pointed out.

            "To
be sure," Magnan agreed thoughtfully. "So, I'd best hurry back to my
office aboardship to draw up the document."

            "Nope,"
Yong put in. "I'll take Retief, nobody else."

            "The
blank Technical Assistance forms are in my desk drawer, just under the Foreign
Office Notes," Magnan told Retief quickly. "Fill one in and hurry
back. No typos, remember: the Glorbian Foreign Minister is finicky about using
blank forms in the first place."

            "Let's
all go, except for
him,"
Mub suggested with a venomous glance at
Yong. "My staff whirly-gig or whatever you call it, is standing by just
over the ridge."

            "I'll
see you there," Yong commented as he turned and bounded away.

            Retief
unobtrusively stepped closer to Shinth, whom Flup had thrust back into his
cell. He handed the Groaci his fountain pen.

            "Give
the glab-worm a shot of this in the eye, when it come out for lunch," he
suggested, "then break it in two and toss it down its throat, and retire
to a neutral corner," then he rejoined Magnan and the General.

            Ten
minutes later, in Magnan's office, General Mub signed with a flourish the
hastily typed-up form, requesting, or more accurately, demanding the immediate
dispatch of technical assistance, complete with trained personnel and full
field equipment. "Yep," he commented, "the boys back at HQ will
sit up and take notice when they see how I pulled their fat outa the fire this
time. I'll have that third star in no time, soon's they see the Groaci fleet
slip in to block off the Terries."

            "General
Mub," Magnan said solemnly, "an unfortunate misunderstanding has
somehow arisen. We are not Groaci; that noisy fellow in Number Three is a
Groaci, while Retief here and myself are genuine Terrans, ready to save your
fat and get you that star."

            "What?"
Mub yelled. "You mean I got one of Glorb's benefactors in the slammer, and
I'm standing here chinning with the notorious Retief? They'll bust me back to
buck general—or maybe T-5. Corporal! Lock up this pair of sharpies!" He
gestured to a torpid two-striper standing by, who shuffled his feet, but failed
to move.

            "Pray
don't be hasty, General," Magnan urged, backing away. "Consider:
whether you call us rose or weed, it is nonetheless the wretch in Number Three
who had admitted that it is
his
hostile vessels which are about to
invade sacred Glorbian soil."

            Mub
paused in mid-yell to scratch at his heavy jaw with a blunt finger. "You
got a point there, fella; and frankly I been troubled by one little detail:
'sneaky little five-eyed sticky-fingers' is what Yong used to call the
Groaci—and you boys don't look like you got quite that many eyes—and old
Retief—or whoever the sucker in Number Three is—has got a whole lot of
'em—maybe even five, like Yong said."

            "Good
thinking, General!" Magnan congratulated the officer. "Now I must get
on the SWIFT transmitter and get those Peace Enforcers in here before
M-minute." He hurried across to the alcove filled by the Galactic-Ultimate-Top-Secret-shaped
wave interference-front device, and in a moment had transmitted a certified
true copy of the agreement to Sector and had elicited a promise of the prompt
dispatch of the requested advisory group.

            There
was a screech from beyond the cabin door, which slammed open to admit Yong,
behind whom an excited clerk was dithering. "Oh, Mr. Magnan!" he
cried. "I had to show him your office, because—"

            "Never
mind, Bobby, I quite understand," Magnan said off-handedly as he ducked
aside to avoid the Vang's abrupt arrival.

            "Sorry
I'm late," Yong said, panting slightly from his run. "I run into
Gertie and talked the kid into coming back here. Some guys down below took over
and escorted her to her quarters. Seemed like she was hungry."

            "Nice
work, Yong," Retief said, then stepped into the passage, beckoning the
constable to follow.

            "I
need your help, Yong," he told the big cat. "Shinth has his troops
poised, ready to move in on signal. So I wonder if perhaps you could round up a
few friends to take up position around their detachments and discourage them a
little."

            "You
bet, Retief," Yong agreed enthusiastically. "I'm adjutant of a
reserve outfit, and I can have the boys in place in half an hour." With
that, the huge carnivore turned and dashed off along the passage.

            Magnan
emerged from his office, an anxious expression on his narrow features.

            "I
trust we've done the correct thing, Retief," he muttered behind his hand
as General Mub came up. "I'd best advise His Excellency of the status quo
at once. General, if you'd be so kind as to accompany me ...?" He turned
to the morose Glorb who was examining the carpeted deck closely.

            "Looks
like snarf-weed, cropped close by a tud," he commented. "But it
ain't. How'd you get it to grow inside? I could use some of the same strain to
plush up my field HQ. By the way," he went on, "it looks like
everything's just about set, down below. The old pageant ought to be starting
any second now."

            "No
doubt, General," Magnan agreed, "but I'd be most appreciative if
you'd stay by me until after we've informed the Ambassador of our
arrangements."

            "Don't
worry, Mr. Magnan. I don't figger to sneak off and give the signal; now I know
the score, I wouldn't say 'Yivshish' if you was to offer me a medal."

            "Careful,
General," Magnan cautioned. "Don't even whisper the word. Someone
might overhear." Mub nodded agreement, and the little party went off in
search of Ambassador Grossblunder, finding him surrounded as usual by eager
staff members, on the ramp in the shade of the towering vessel.

            "Oh,
there you are, Ben," the great man greeted his Counselor. "The time
has come for you to work your miracle. You may now produce your solution to the
contretemps in which I have found myself, due of course to no lack of
perspicacity on
my
part. Who could have imagined such barbaric rules
would be in effect here? To parade in the nude, indeed! Preposterous. Though it
is a bit sticky in regulation full early late afternoon ceremonial
attire." Grossblunder plucked at his sodden dicky and mopped his low,
grayish forehead with a large floral patterned tissue. "Speak up,
Ben," he urged as no response was apparent to his dictum.

            "Ah,
oh yes, the miracle," Magnan gobbled. "I was just coming to that, Mr.
Ambassador. But as I was saying—you may expect the arrival of a squadron of
Peace Enforcers at any moment."

            "Magnan!"
Grossblunder barked. "Have you gone mad? One hint of Terran militarism at
this halcyon celebration of friendly inter-being rivalry would shatter the
Corps image beyond salvaging." He broke off, muttering to himself. Just
then a stir in the crowd which had withdrawn to the vicinity of the judges'
stand turned all heads as one.

            "La
cucaracha! Or possibly caramba!" Gross-blunder blurted. "Or whatever
it is the Mexicans say to express astonishment."

            "Why,
I declare," a fragile-looking Second Secretary murmured. "It's a
Groaci VIP car! And, why, I shouldn't wonder if that were the Groaci Top
Advisor, General Hish himself, alighting!"

            "Hish,
eh," Grossblunder muttered. "This could be disaster with a capital
D,
gentlemen." He fixed Magnan with a choleric eye. "No more talk of
Terran battle fleets, now, Ben," he commanded sternly. "If Hish
should catch the merest hint—I leave to your imagination the entry I should be
forced to make in the Egregious Blunder column on your next ER."

            "But,
sir," Magnan said mechanically, turning to Retief for a cue, then
subsiding at the latter's headshake.