Retief at Large (41 page)

            "To
make no move, vile miscreants," the helmeted and greaved Shore Patroller
hissed in his native tongue as his five stalked eyes scanned the shambles.
"To have you red-handed this time, Soft Ones."

            "You're
making a frightful mistake," Magnan choked as half a dozen more Groaci
pushed into the shop, all with levelled weapons. "We didn't—that is, I
didn't—I mean, Retief only—"

            "Ah,
Mr. Magnan, is it not?" the Patrol captain whispered in his faint voice.
"The acceptance of your complete innocence, of course, dear sir. Provided
only the testimony against the true criminal!"

            "True
criminal?" Magnan stuttered. "You mean Retief? But—"

            "What
other?" the Groaci inquired in a reasonable tone.

            "But
... but ..."

            "To
have no need to make a statement now," the captain soothed. "To come
along quietly and to leave us to deal with the killer." He motioned
sharply and his subordinates closed in, hustled the protesting Magnan away.
Then the Groaci turned to Retief.

            "To
remember me, perhaps, Retief? Shluh by name, formerly of the Groacian Planetary
Police, once deeply wronged by you. Tonight, in the cells of a Groaci prison,
to even at last the bitter score."

           
The jeweled eye-shields of
Captain Shluh gave back brilliant glints from the dazzling white Interrogation
lights rigged at the center of the dusty room.

            "Once
more, my dear Retief," he whispered in accent-free Terran. "What was
your motive for your atrocious crimes against the peace and order of Groac? Or
Sulinore, if you prefer. Was it perhaps your plan to introduce subtle
impurities into the provender to be supplied to the delegates? Or did your
schemes run deeper? Was it your full intent to secrete illegal monitoring
devices in the serving vessels—devices of the kind which I will testify were
found on your person when you were searched?"

            "A
couple of years pounding a beat have done wonders for you, Schluh," Retief
said conversationally. "You've lost that fat-behind-the-ears look.
Unfortunately, you still sound about the same."

            "And
you, unlucky Terry, still indulge your penchant for flippancy! It will be
amusing to watch the evolution of your japes into pleas for mercy, as our
acquaintance ripens."

            "You
Groaci must be planning something a little more elaborate than usual,"
Retief mused aloud. "Conning Ambassador Shindlesweet into lending CDT
backing to these phony peace talks took a lot of time and groundwork—and you
lads don't waste credits on empty gestures."

            "You
imply that our motives are less than selfless?" Shluh inquired in a
careless tone. "Ah, well, what matter your thoughts, Soft One? You may
share them freely with your executioner."

            "Let's
look at it analytically," Retief went on. "What have you accomplished
with all this effort, other than getting representatives of every important
world in a CDT dominated sector of the Arm together in one room? But maybe
that's enough, eh, Shluh? If some unfortunate incident occurred and wiped out
the lot of them, whoever was responsible would find himself in a most
unenviable position, public-relations-wise. And I have a feeling it wouldn't be
you Groaci who'd be left holding the satchel. Which leaves the CDT, the other
sponsor of the gathering."

            "Enough,
presumptuous Terry!" Shluh's eyestalks were whipping in an agitated
manner. "In your panic, you rant nonsense!"

            "And
with the CDT discredited," Retief continued, "Groac would have to
step in to straighten out the confusion; and they just might find it necessary
to call on someone like their friends the Blugs to help keep the peace during
the emergency. And maybe, before things got back to normal, the few remaining
Sulinorians might just sort of go into a decline and die off, leaving an empty
world for an enterprising power like Groac to latch onto."

            "What
fever fancies are these?" Shluh hissed. "It is known to all that you
Terries, ever suspicious of the pure motives of others, have installed Mark XXI
surveillance devices at the port and throughout the Conference rooms, thus
making impossible the introduction of any weapons other than the handful allotted
to my Security patrols!"

            "A
good point, Shluh. The Mark XXI's will frisk every attender from socks to
hair-piece. Of course, a little poison in the caterer's salt-shaker wouldn't
trip the detectors, but the metabolic monitors would catch that on the routine analysis
that's run on food to be sure it's safe for alien consumption. So the Borgia
approach is out, too."

            "I
tire of your theorizing!" Shluh was on his feet. "Think what you
will! I tell you in confidence: Even now your Chancery is surrounded by my troops—
ostensibly as honor guard—but none can leave or enter! By this hour tomorrow no
Terry will dare to show his naked face in any capital in the Sector—"

            "Tomorrow,
eh?" Retief nodded. "Thanks for giving me your timetable."

            "Have
done, infamous meddler in the destinies of Groac! But before you die, tell me
the name of the spy who sold you our secrets, and I shall personally supervise
his impalement on the wall of one thousand hooks!"

            "Secrets,
eh? I guess that confirms my guesswork," Retief said. "One more
question: What pay-off do the Blugs get—"

            "Silence!"
Shluh keened. "Be assured your brief remaining hours will be devoted not
to questioning matters of policy beyond your grasp, but to supplying detailed
answers to a number of queries of my own!"

            "Wrong
again," Retief said and took a step toward the desk on which the police
officer leaned, shaking a gloved fist. Shluh jumped back, motioned to the armed
guard standing by, who swung his power gun to the ready, aimed at Retief's face.

            "Haven't
your lads been told that you can't fire a blaster in an enclosed space like
this without incinerating everything in it, including the shooter?" Retief
asked casually, and took another step. The guard lowered the gun hesitantly,
his eyes twitching in confusion.

            "He
lies, cretinous hive-mate of broodfoulers! Fire!" Shluh screeched, and
ducked to snatch at an open drawer. Retief reached him in a bound, caught the
unfortunate captain by the neck, sent him skidding toward the guard as a
belated shot lit the room like a photoflash. As the two Groaci went down in a
heap, Retief caught up the dropped gun.

            "Well,
another myth exploded," he said. "Shluh, take off your belt and strap
him up." With the gun covering the two aliens, he seated himself at the
desk, flipped up the OUT key on the desk field-phone, punched in a number. A
moment later, the glum face of Counsellor of Embassy Clutchplate appeared on
the screen. He gaped.

            "Retief!
What—how—Do you realize—? Did you actually—? How could you have ..."his
voice faltered as he took in the scene in the background. "Isn't that
Chief Shluh? What's he doing?'

            "He
just ran into an old acquaintance," Retief soothed, ignoring a sharp rap
at the door. "Mr. Clutch-plate, how far along are the arrangements for
Blug participation in the Conference?"

            "Why,
their delegation will arrive within the hour. The convoy just 'vised Port
Authority for landing clearance. But see here—"

            "Convoy?"
Retief glanced up as pounding sounded at the door.

            "Just
fifty first-class cruisers; as escort for the transport. The Blug never travel
unarmed, you know. But—"

            "See
if you can get the ambassador to turn them down," Retief rapped.
"Failing that, meet 'em with an armed guard and—"

            "Mr.
Retief!" the counsellor barked. "I don't know what mad scheme you've
embarked on, but it won't work! I know how you feel about the Blugs, and the
Groaci too, for that matter. But taking the law into your own hands—"

            "No
time for any long discussions, Mr. Clutch-plate," Retief cut in as a heavy
thud rocked the door. "I'd ask you for a squad of Marines if I knew where
I was, but—"

            "Turn
yourself in," Clutchplate blurted. "It's the only way. You can plead
guilty due to temporary insanity brought on by outraged political convictions,
and get off with no more than half a dozen years on a penal satellite."

            "It's
an interesting proposal." Retief ducked as splinters of door whined past
his head. "What am I guilty of?"

            "Murder,
of course," Clutchplate yelped. "Two Sulinorians, remember?"

            "It
slipped my mind," Retief said. "But see if you can hold the charge
open a little longer. I may have a few Groaci to add to it." He flipped
off the screen as the door shuddered and bulged inward.

            "Time
for you to talk fast, Shluh," he said crisply. "I've decided to slip
out the back way to avoid the autograph hounds. There are three doors I could
use. You'll tell me which one's the best route."

            "Never!"

            Retief
fired a bolt from the hip past the Groaci.

            "On
the other hand," Shluh hissed quickly, "what matter if you temporarily
elude my overzealous troops? Our plans will proceed—and the measures you sought
to set in motion will avail naught to stop them!" He darted to a side
door, keyed it open.

            "Go,
then, Retief! But take what path you will, a dreadful end awaits you!"

            "In
that case, you'd better go first." Shluh hissed and tried to dart aside,
but Retief caught him, propelled him ahead with a foot in the seat. He slammed
and barred the panel behind him, as the outer door fell in with a crash.

            They
followed dim, dusty passages, ascended winding stairways, moved silently along
dark, lofty halls lined with ancient armor and hung with rotted banners. Half a
dozen times Retief eluded Groaci search parties by a hair's breadth. In a wide
room decorated with painted murals showing centauroids cavorting on purple
grass, Shluh gestured toward a high-arched, doorless opening through which pale
moonlight gleamed.

            "There
is your exit to the night, Retief!" he keened sardonically. "Make
what use of it you will! The way is clear!"

            Retief
crossed the room, stepped out onto a tiny balcony, thick with the droppings of
the tiny bat-like creatures that wheeled and
skree!
ed
at his
appearance. Ragged vines grew over a low balustrade, beyond which darkness
spread to a skyline of tower-encrusted hills. He looked down. The wall dropped
sheer into inky shadows far below.

            "Thanks
for everything, Shluh." He threw a leg over the stone railing. "I'll
see you at your trial—if your bosses let you live that long, after the way
you've botched your assignment."

            "Stop,
impetuous outworlder!" Shluh keened, as Groaci feet clicked in the room
behind him. "Even should you survive the descent, you know not what you
do! Not even you would I urge on to to what waits in the darkness below!"

            "You
mean your short patrols?"

            "Not
my patrols, nor the Marines of your own embassy which even now seek you,
warrant in hand, will ever find you, if once you set foot in those
demon-haunted byways!"

            "So
that's
where you set up your jail-house?" Retief looked thoughtful.
"Still, I'd rather mingle with spooks than go back to your little party.
Ta-ta, Shluh. Stay as sweet as you are." Shluh hit the deck as Retief
-raised the gun and fired a burst toward the approaching search party, slung
the blast rifle over his shoulder and started down toward the silent streets of
the Forbidden City.