Retief at Large (38 page)

            "Why,
I don't believe it," Rainsinger said hoarsely, as he stared over the roofs
edge at the steadily rising mud, its surface hazed with sulphurous fumes.
"You mean to tell me that these worms were all that kept the mud in
check?"

            "That's
an oversimplification—but yes." Magnan dabbed at the mud on his chin.
"I'm afraid you've upset the balance of nature."

            "All
right, men!" Rainsinger turned to face his staff, huddled in the most
protected comer of the roof. "It seems we've painted ourselves into a bit
of a corner, ha-ha." He paused to square his shoulders and clear his
throat. "However, there's no point in crying over spilled mud. Now, who
has a suggestion for a dynamic course of action from this point onward? Horace,
Poindexter?"

            "I
suggest we write out our wills and place them in mud and heatproof
jackets," a lean accountant type proposed in a reedy voice.

            "Now,
men! No defeatism! Surely there's some simple way to elude our apparent fate!
Mr. Premier." He faced the Slunchan contingent, muttering together at a
short distance from the Terrans. "What do your people have in mind?"

            "Opinion
of difference a there's," Blabghug said. "Mud the into you pitching
for out holding are extremists the but. Limb from limb you tear to want fellow
the of few a."

            "It's
hopeless!" a trembling Terran blurted, staring down at the heaving surface
of the tarry mud. "We'll all be drowned, scalded and eaten alive by
acid!"

            "Magnan!"
Rainsinger whirled on the former chief of mission. "You chaps must have had
some sort of plan of action for such an eventuality!"

            "Nothing."
Magnan shook his head.
"We
never interfered with Nature's Plan."
His eyes strayed across the steaming bog now washing about the fourth story
windows of the model town. On high ground half a mile distant, the slim form of
the vacated Corps Vessel stood. Beyond it rose the rugged peaks from which the
mud-flow issued.

            "Retief
did
have some sort of mad notion of diverting the gusher at its
source," he said, "but of course that's hopeless—especially now. I
daresay it's all under mud."

            "Retief!"
Rainsinger hurried across to where the young man was prying a board from a
ventilator housing. "What's this about a scheme to dam off the mud?"

            Retief
pointed to a rickety construction of boards, afloat in the mud below.
"It's the body off the car. It won't make the best boat in the world, I'm
afraid, but as soon as it gets within reach I'll give it a try."

            "You'll
sink," Magnan predicted, standing at the fifth floor window through which
Retief had climbed to secure the makeshift skiff. "You can't possibly row
that contrivance with a board "across half a mile of mud!"

            "Maybe
not," Retief said. He dropped down into the boat. "But if it sinks, I
won't have to row it."

            "Maybe
the mud won't come this high," someone offered. "Maybe if we just
wait here—"

            "If
we don't go now, it will be too late," Rainsinger cut off the discussion.

            "We?"
Magnan said.

            "Certainly."
Rainsinger threw a leg over the sill, lowered himself down beside Retief. "It
will take two men to row this thing. Cast off, Mr. Retief, whenever you're
ready."

            For
ten minutes the two men paddled in silence. Looking back, Retief saw the
consulate tower rising from the bubbling mud, almost obscured by the wafting
vapors. In a bundle at his feet were the two thermal suits and a number of
small packets previously prepared but unused.

            "Better
get your suit on, Mr. Rainsinger," he said.

            "I
give them another half hour," Rainsinger called, his voice muffled by his
breathing mask. "How much farther?"

            "Ten
minutes," Retief said, "until we ground on the hill. Then five
minutes walk." He paddled as Rainsinger pulled on the bulky thermal suit.

            Beside
him, a loose board creaked; mud slopped over the low gunwale. A sudden bulging
of the mud almost swamped the boat; a bursting gas bubble threw a stinging
spray across both men.

            "When
we get there—what?"

            "We
hope it's not already flooded out."

            Five
minutes later, just as Retief had pulled on his heat-suit, the overloaded boat
emitted a sudden massive creaking and disintegrated.

            "Jump!"
Retief called; he grabbed the bundles and went over the side, landing in
knee-deep muck, turned to lend a hand to Rainsinger, who floundered after him.
They fought their way up-slope, emerged on a rocky shore at which the surging
mud lapped like a sea of chocolate pudding.

            "It's
pretty deep," Retief said. "Let's hope it's not into the main bore
yet."

            Rainsinger
followed Retief up the steep slope. Ahead, a ruddy glare lightened the murky
scene. They reached the edge of the great circular vent from which smoke and
cinders boiled furiously, whirling glowing embers high in the air. Rainsinger
stared down into the white-hot pit.

            "Ye
gods, man," he shouted over the din. "That's an active volcano! What
in the world do you plan to do here?"

            "Climb
down inside and pull the plug," Retief said.

            "I
forbid it!" Rainsinger yelled. "It's suicide!"

            "If
I don't, the consulate will go under with all hands—to say nothing of a few
thousand Slunchans."

            "That's
no reason to throw your life away! Weil head for higher ground and try to work
our way around to the ship. We might be able to summon help—"

            "Not
a chance," Retief said. He started forward. Rainsinger stepped in his way,
a bulky figure in the mud-coated heat-suit. They faced each other, two big men,
toe to toe.

            "That's
an order!" Rainsinger grated.

            "Better
stand aside, Mr. Rainsinger," Retief said.

            "I've
warned you," Rainsinger said, and drove a short, sledge-hammer right to
Retief's mid-section. Retief grunted and took a step back.

            "You
throw a good right, Mr. Rainsinger," he said through his teeth. "How
are you at catching?"—and he slammed a straight left that spun the other
around, sent him to his knees. Retief started past him, and Rainsinger dived,
tackled him from the side. Retief twisted, drove a knee to Rainsinger's chin.
He went down on his face.

            "Sorry,"
Retief said. He went forward, picked his spot and lowered his feet over the
edge. Behind him, Rainsinger called out. Retief looked back. The trade mission
chief struggled to his feet, stood swaying back and forth.

            "You'll
probably need a little help down there," he said blurrily as he started
forward. "Wait for me ...

            Roped
together, the two men worked their way from one precarious foothold to the
next, descending toward the smoky surface bubbling beneath them. A hundred feet
below the crater's rim, Retief gripped Rainsinger's arm, pointed through the
swirling clouds of soot.

            "The
level's risen about a hundred feet," he said. "If it reaches that
series of vents along the north side before we can block them, the volume of
the flow will double, and fill the valley in no time. We have to reach them and
plug them before the mud covers them."

            "What
good will that do?" Rainsinger's voice came thinly through Retief's
earset. "It will just keep rising until it goes all the way over the
top!"

            "That
brings us to part two," Retief said. "You see that dark patch there,
on the south wall, a little higher up? That's an old vent, silted up a long
time ago. If we can blast it clear in time, the flow will go down the other
side, away from the town."

            Rainsinger
studied the aspect below.

            "Weil
never make it," he said grimly. "Let's get started."

            Another
ten minutes' climb brought Retief and Rainsinger to the set of side-channels
leading to the valley and the town. Working rapidly, Retief placed the charges
of smashite so as to collapse the four six-foot-wide openings.

            "All
set," he called. "Weil take shelter from the blast in the other
cave."

            "It
will be close," Rainsinger said. "The mud's risen ten feet in the
last five minutes. Another ten feet and we're out of luck!"

            "Come
on!" Retief followed a ledge that led halfway around the seventy-foot
throat of the volcano, then used a series of cracks and knobs to cover the
remaining distance. The boiling muck was a bare six inches from his feet when
he reached the dark conduit. Twenty feet inside its mouth, their progress was
halted by an obstructing mass of hardened mud and volcanic ash.

            "Weil
fire our other charges first," Retief said. "As soon as they blow,
we'll set another one here and head for the surface."

            "I
don't like the looks of this, Retief! All this rock is full of fractures!"

            "
I'm not too fond of it myself," Retief said. "Better turn off your
earset. Here goes!"

            He
pressed the button on the detonator in his hand. White light winked; the crash
that followed was deafening even over the shrieking of the volcano. Rock
fragments rained down past the cave opening, sending geysers of steaming lava
fountaining high. There was a deeper rumble, and the floor shook under them. A
giant slab of stone dropped into view, lodged across the throat of the volcano.
Others slammed down, packing themselves into place with impacts like mountains
falling. Trapped smoke and dust recoiled, thickening into opacity.

            "That
does it!" Rainsinger shouted. "We've blocked the main passage! We
can't get out!"

            "It
looks that way—" Retief started. His voice was cut off by a thunderous
boom as the cave's roof fell in.

-

            "Retief!"
Rainsinger's voice was a hoarse croak in the relative silence after the last
rattle of falling rock had died away. "Are you still alive?"

            "For
the moment," Retief reassured his companion.

            "Well—if
there was any doubt about whether we'd get out, this finishes it," Rainsinger
said grimly.

            "Let's
take a look," Retief suggested. Using hand-lamps, they scanned their
surroundings. The original cave was now a rubble-choked pocket, blocked at one
end by the lava plug, at the other by multi-ton fragments of fallen rock, through
which small trickles of mud were already finding their way.

            "The
only remaining question is whether we broil in hot mud, drown in lava or die of
asphyxiation," Rainsinger said grimly.

            "It
would be interesting to know whether our blast did any good," Retief said.
"Will the lava go over the top, or will the dam hold?"

            "Let's
tell ourselves it wasn't all in vain," Rainsinger grunted. "Don't
misinterpret my remarks," he added. "I'm not complaining. I have only
myself to blame. I started the whole thing with my misplaced zeal." He
laughed hollowly. "And I was going to make a name for myself by putting
Slunch on the map, businesswise."