Retief at Large (34 page)

            "If
there were just some way to cover that ghastly open stretch," Magnan
muttered, "we could be safe in a matter of minutes ..."He broke off,
pointed at a flickering glow, a smudge of smoke rising lazily from a point near
the gate where the road crossed the international line. "What's that?
Dust, perhaps? Or smoke?"

            "The
wind's from the north," Retief said. "And there's nothing but twenty
miles of dry mud-wheat between here and those haystacks housing our friends,
the South Skweeman leaders. Something tells me that's a fire, Mr. Magnan—and
not an accidental one."

            "Fire?"
Magnan gasped. "Great heavens, Retief— the capital is directly down-wind!
They'll be roasted alive—the Ambassador, the staff, the South Skweemans—and no
water anywhere to fight the blaze!"

            "That's
one way of influencing an election," Retief pointed out.

            "Why,
there's nothing to keep it from burning off the prairie all the way to the
sea," Magnan blurted. "The entire country will be incinerated!
There'll be nothing left of our allies but a pall of smoke!"

            There
was a scratchy Skweeman shout from behind the Terrans. They turned to see a
policeman approaching up the alley on the run—a spectacle not unlike a cubic
yard of olive-drab noodles rolling up-hill.

            "Let's
go," Retief snapped. He turned and ran for it, with Magnan pelting at his
heels and a gathering force of pursuers baying on the trail.

-

            "It's
... no ... use," Magnan gasped as they toiled up the last hundred yards
toward the mighty flank of the dam. "They're ... gaining." He cast a
look back at the mob of half a hundred North Skweeman patriots strung out in a
torch-waving line-halfway to the village.

            "Just
a little farther," Retief caught Magnan's arm and hauled him along.
"You're doing fine."

            They
reached the top of the dam, massive and ominous in the darkness. A blaster bolt
crackled blue nearby, from extreme range.

            "Retief,
we're not going to cross
that!"
Magnan stared in horror at the
narrow unrailed catwalk that led out to disappear in darkness, the great black
void on one side, the lapping waters slapping at the concrete on the other.

            "Unless
we want to be shot, we are." Retief started out at a trot. Magnan bleated,
then followed, edging along flat-footed. Another shot chipped concrete behind
him. He yelped and broke into a nervous canter.

            They
reached the far side, scrambled up the dry slope, lit only by the blaster that
peppered them with flying gravel as the shots struck around them.

            "Where
are they?" a Skweeman voice sounded. "I can't see a thing; those
Terries must have eyes like a weenie-bug!"

            "Lights,"
someone else called. "Don't let 'em get away, boys!"

            Retief
stood, cupped his hands beside his mouth.

            "Lith,"
he called. "A word of advice: don't light up!"

            "We
can't ... hide here," Magnan gasped out. "No cover ... and those
shots ... getting close!" He dived flat as a shot kicked up dirt almost at
his feet.

            "They
won't find us in the dark," Retief said.

            "But—they'll
switch on the lights."

            "There
is that chance—but they were warned."

            There
was a shock through the mound that bounced both men three inches into the air.
Then a deep-throated
tooom!
rolled from the abyss like chained thunder,
as brilliant light flooded the entire length of the dam.

            Retief
raised his head, saw great chunks of masonry rising with languid grace high in
the air. Atop the stricken dam, the few bold Skweemans who had started across
dithered momentarily, then pelted for safety as the walkway subsided with
dream-like majesty under them. Most of them reached the far side as the immense
bulk of the dam cracked with a boom like a cannon; the rest dived for the
glistening surface of the pent-up water, splashed desperately for shore as dust
boiled up from the gorge, obscuring the scene of destruction.

            Polyarcs
still blazing bravely, the great dam crumbled, sinking from sight. Wave after
wave of sound rolled across the slope. Rocks and pebbles thudded down near the
diplomats. They gained their feet, sprinted for the top of the hill, then
turned, watched as the surface of the artificial lake heaved, recoiling
ponderously from the blast, then bulged toward the broached dam, formed a vast
spout like translucent black syrup that arched out, out, over, and spilled
down, foaming white now, plunging into the boiling dust. The ground shook as
the incalculable tonnage of water struck far below. A roaring like caged
dinosaurs bellowed upward from the gorge as the river poured back into its bed
in a torrent that shredded concrete and steel from the broken rim of the dam
like water dissolving dry mud. In a scant five minutes, nothing remained of the
great Groaci Dam but the denuded abutments, studded with the stripped ends of
clustered reinforcing rods.

            "Retief!"
Magnan piped over the roar of the waters. "The ... the dam broke!"

            Retief
nodded judiciously. "Yes, Mr. Magnan," he said. "I think you
could say that."

            Retief
and Magnan waded past the tattered remains of the soggy huts thrusting up from
the swirling, mud-brown waters that covered the site of the South Skweeman
capital, inundated by the flood that had swept down so abruptly an hour
earlier. Ambassador Treadwater stood with his staff before the remains of the
Chancery hut, waist deep in the flow. "Ah, there you are, Magnan." He
turned to look disapprovingly at the new arrivals. "Remind me to speak to
you about punctuality. I'd almost begun to wonder if you'd met with foul play.
Even considered sending someone after you."

            "Mr.
Ambassador—about all this water—"

            "Hark!"
Someone raised a hand torch, shot its blue-white beam out across the water,
picked up the low silhouette of an inflated dinghy on which a number of
bedraggled, knobby-kneed Groaci crouched. Several Skweemans splashed forward to
intercept the craft.

            "Well,
nice of you to drop in, my dear Shish," Treadwater called. "Most
unfortunate that your engineers have apparently proved unequal to their task.
Possibly their slide-rules were out of adjustment. Still their timing was good,
conflagration wise."

            He
smiled sourly as the staff chuckled dutifully.

            "Bah,
the design was flawless," Shish whispered as the raft bobbed on the
ripples. "We were sabotaged!"

            "Sabotage?"
Treadwater surveyed the Groaci Ambassador as haughtily as his sodden puce
cutaway would allow. "I think you are as aware as I that import of
explosives to an emergent planet like Skweem is quite impossible, but for
certain industrial types allocated to massive engineering projects."

            "You
suggest that Groaci detonants were employed in this dastardly fashion? Why, the
very idea ..." Shish fell sulkily silent.

            "Confidentially,
Retief," Magnan whispered behind his hand, "Just what do you
supposed'd happen to the dam?"

            "Possibly
someone got their wires crossed," Retief murmured.

            "Now,
Mr. Ambassador," Treadwater said. "I fear I shall have to expropriate
your conveyance for official CDT use. I find it necessary to remove to my hill
station at once to prepare my dispatches." He broke off as a muddy
scarecrow faintly recognizable as the Agricultural Attache splashed up to join
the group.

            "Did
you notice the current change, Mr. Ambassador?" he cried gaily. "The
water's draining off into the river bed now—and the new channel cut by the
flood is just this side of the border. I fancy we'll have no more interference
from these meddlesome Groaci—oh, Ambassador Shish," he nodded to the
sodden dignitary. "Nice night Your Excellency."

            "Bah,"
Shish replied.

            The
attache was rubbing his hands together. "My preliminary study seems to
indicate that the inundation has deposited a good six inches of new topsoil
over a large portion of South Skweem. All scoured off Northern Skweem, of
course, but then, they
will
allow defective dams to be built on
their land ..." His voice trailed off. He pointed across the rapidly
receding waters. Amid much splashing, a large party of Skweemans was
approaching at a rapid clip.

            "Gad!"
Colonel Pluckwyn boomed. "We're being invaded!"

            "Here,
do something!" Treadwater turned to Shish. "They're your allies! Tell
them to go along quietly and we'll see about a handsome CDT reparation for any
inconvenience—"

-

            "I
claim sanctuary!" Shish whistled in agitation. "Treadwater, it's your
duty to protect me and my chaps from these soreheads!"

            "They
do
appear somewhat irate." Magnan began backing away. "Don't
lose your heads, gentlemen!" Treadwater croaked. "We'll demand the
privileges of honorable prisoners of war—"

            "We
haven't lost, yet," Retief pointed out.

            "An
excellent point, Mr. Retief." The Ambassador reached for the Groaci raft.
"I hereby appoint you as a special committee to meet with these fellows
and study their grievances. If you can drag the talks out for an hour, the rest
of us will go for help."

            "Quite
an honor, my boy," Colonel Pluckwyn said, as he tumbled a faintly
protesting Groaci over the side. "And you merely a Second Secretary."

            "I
don't think we should do anything hasty," Retief said. "Now that the
North Skweemans have had a taste of Groaci sponsorship, they may be ready for
our program."

            Councillor
Lith, showing signs of wear and tear, surfaced beside Retief, having been
replaced by a Terran aboard the raft. "Some day, Terry, the truth of this
affair will out," he hissed in faint Groaci ferocity.

            "Why
be pessimistic?" Retief responded. "If you play your cards right, the
North Skweemans may never learn that the dam was placed so that when the basin
was full you could open the flood gates and wipe out their capital along with
anything that might have been left of South Skweem, leaving an open field for a
Groaci take-over."

            "What?
Are you suggesting—"

            "I'd
suggest dawn as a reasonable deadline," Retief went on. "If you wade
along with Ambassador Treadwater, you can get off a 'gram and have a ship in
here to pick you up by then. I can't guarantee that I can keep it quiet much
longer than that."

            "Hey!"
Dimplick shouted suddenly. "Look at the placard they're waving!"
Retief glanced toward the approaching North Skweemans, coming up rapidly now.

            "Why,
those appear to be hastily lettered pro-Terry slogans," the Political
Officer burst out.

            "Have
you lost your wits?" Treadwater rumbled. He peered through the gloom.
"Hmmm. It appears you're right." He straightened his back. "Just
as I expected, of course. I knew that my policies toward these fellows would
bear fruit, given time." He shot Magnan a reproving look. "A pity you
chose to go junketing just at the climactic point of the finesse. You missed a
valuable lesson in diplomatic subtlety."

            Magnan
opened his mouth, caught a look from Retief, closed it again.

            "I'm
sure we were all fooled by Your Excellency's apparent total inactivity,
sir," he gulped.