Retief at Large (46 page)

            "Is
it you, Magnan?" the Groaci grated. "When last we met you were
meddling in Groaci affairs under the guise of selfless uplifter, disrupting
peaceful commerce. In what role do you now intrude in Groacian space?"

            "Now,
Slith, you have to confess it was a bit much, selling plastic frankfurters to
those poor backward hot-dog lovers—"

            "How
were we to know their inferior metabolisms were incapable of assimilating
wholesome polystyrenes?" Slith snarled. "Enough of this chatter.

            Withdraw
at once or take full responsibility for precipitation of a regrettable
incident."

            "Now,
don't be hasty, Broodmaster—"

            "You
may address me as Grand Commander of Avenging Flotillas Slith, if you please.
As for haste, it is a virtue I recommend to you. In sixty seconds I order my
gunners to fire."

            "I
suggest you reconsider, Commander," Retief said. "At the first shot
from your guns, three will get you five the Slox open up on you with everything
they've got."

            "What
matter? Let the miscreants invoke the full wrath of outraged Groacihood."

            "At
a rough count, they have thirty-one ships to your twenty-four," Retief
pointed out. "I think they've got you out-wrathed."

            "But
what's all this talk of shooting?" Magnan cried. "What could possibly
be gained by gunfire?"

            "Certain
parcels of real estate, for a starter," Slith said crisply. "Plus the
elimination of certain alien vermin."

            Magnan
gasped. "You confess you're here to take Yudore by force?"

            "Hardly—not
that the matter is of any concern to Terran spies. My mission here is to
prevent the invasion of hapless Yudore by the insidious Slox—"

            "I
hear this," a rasping, high-pitched voice cut in from the auxiliary
screen. It was accompanied by a hissing of background noise. A wavering image
formed on the tube, steadied into the form of a shiny, purplish-red cranium,
long and narrow, knobbed and spiked. A pair of yellow eyes were mounted on
outriggers that projected a foot on either side. "I outrage! I do not endure!
You are gave one minutes, Eastern Standard Time, for total abandon of vicinity!
Counting! Nine, twelve, two, several—"

            "What—what
is it?" Magnan gasped, staring at the newcomer to the conversation.

            "Aha—collusion
between Soft One and Slox!" Slith keened. "I see it now! You thought
to distract my attention with an exchange of civilities while your vile cronies
executed a sneak attack—"

            "I—Chief
General Okkyokk—chum to these monstrositaries?" The Slox spokesman
screeched. "Such indignant my language lack! Insufficient you threaten to
lowly benefits of Slox Protectorate—but addition of insults! My goodness! Drat!
Other obscenity as required!"

            "It
will not avail you to rant," Slith whispered in a venomous tone. "My
guns stand ready to answer your slurs—"

            "Only
incredible restrains of high-class Slox general intrudes herself to spare those
skinny neck!" Okkyokk yelled in reply.

            "Gentlemen,
don't get carried away," Magnan called over the hiss of static. "I'm
sure this can all be worked out equitably—"

            "Unless
this pernicious meddler in the Groaci destiny disperses his flimsy hulls at
once, I'll not be responsible for the result," Slith declared.

            "My
frustrate!" Okkyokk yelled and brandished a pair of anterior limbs tipped
with complicated shredding devices. "Gosh, such wish to know sensation of
plait all five eyes into single superocular, followed by pluck like obscene
daisy—"

            "To
wait in patience until the happy moment when I officiate at your burial,
head-down, in the ceremonial sand-box," Slith countered.

            "Well,
at least they're still speaking to each other," Magnan said as the
exchange raged on. "That's something."

            "We
may get through this without any hull-burns after all," Retief said.
"They have each other bluffed. It looks like talk rather than torpedoes
will carry the day. I suggest we execute a strategic withdrawal while they slug
it out, vocabulary-to-vocabulary."

            "Hmm.
Scant points in that for Terran diplomacy. Duty demands that we play a more
creative role in the
rapprochement."
Magnan put a finger against
his narrow chin. "Now, if I should be the one to propose an equitable
solution—"

            "Let's
not remind them we're here, Mr. Magnan," Retief suggested.
"Frustrated tempers are often taken out in thrown crockery and we'd make a
convenient teacup—"

            "Nonsense,
they'd never dare." Magnan leaned forward. "Gentlemen," he
called over the din of battle. "I have the perfect solution. Since there
seems to be some lack of confidence on the part of each of you in the benign
intentions of the other, I propose that Yudore be placed under a Terran
Protectorate." Magnan smiled expectantly.

            There
was an instant of total silence as two sets of alien sense organs froze,
oriented toward the interruption. Slith was the first to break the paralysis.

            "What?
Leave the fruits of Groaci planning to Terran harvesting? Never."

            "I
convulse!" Okkyokk howled. "I exacerbate! I froth at buccal cavity!
How are you invite? Mercy! Heavens to Marmaduke! Et cetera!"

            "Gentlemen,"
Magnan said. "We Terrans would only remain on Yudore until such time as
the aborigines had been properly educated in modern commercial methods and
sexual hygiene, after which we'd withdraw in favor of local
self-determination!"

            "First
to pervert, then to abandon!" Slith hissed. "Bold threats, Soft Ones!
But I defy you! General Okkyokk! I propose a truce while we band together to
confront the common enemy."

            "Done!
Caramba! I effronterize! I mortal insult! I even annoy! First destruction we
the kibitzer! Then proceedure to Slox-Groaci quarrel!"

            "Wait!"
Magnan yelped. "You don't understand—"

            "I'm
afraid they do," Retief said as he reached for the controls. "Hang on
for evasive action, Mr. Magnan." The tiny craft leaped ahead, curvetting
wildly left and right. There was a flash and the screens went white and blanked
out. The boat bucked wildly and flipped end-for-end. A second detonation sent
it spinning like a flat stone skipped over a pond.

            "Retief—stop!
We're headed straight for no-man's land!" Magnan gasped as a lone screen
flickered back to life, showing a vast Groaci battlewagon swelling dead ahead.

            "We're
going in under their guns," Retief snapped. "Running away, we'd be a
sitting duck."

            "Maybe
they'll let us surrender," Magnan bleated. "Can't we run out a white
flag or something?"

            "I'm
afraid it would just give them an aiming point." Retief wrenched the boat
sideways, rode out another near miss, dove under the big ship's stern.

            "Look
out—" Magnan screamed as a vast, mottled blue-green disk slid onto the
screen. "We'll crash on Yudore—"

            "If
we're lucky," Retief agreed. Then the rising keening of splitting air made
further conversation impossible.

            Except
for the fading hiss of escaping air and the
ping
of hot metal
contracting, the only sounds audible in the shattered cockpit were Magnan's
groans as he extricated himself from the wreckage of his contour chair. Through
a rent in the hull, yellow sunlight glared on the smoking ruins of the scout
boat's control panel, the twisted and buckled floor plates, the empty pilot's seat.

            "Glad
to see you're awake," Retief said. Magnan turned his aching head to see
his companion leaning in the open escape hatch, apparently intact but for a
bruise on the cheekbone and a burned patch on the front of his powder-blue
blazer. "The air's a little thin but the O
₂
content seems
adequate. How do you feel?"

            "Ghastly,"
Magnan confided. He fumbled his shock harness free and groped his way through
the hatch to drop down shakily on a close-cropped peach-colored sward. All
around, tall, treelike growths with ribbed red-orange trunks rose into the pale
sky, supporting masses of spongy tangerine-toned foliage.

            Clumps
of yellow, amber and magenta blossoms glowed in the shade like daubs of
fluorescent paint.

            "Why
are we still alive?" the senior diplomat inquired dazedly. "The last
thing I remember is a pale pink mountain sticking up through a cloud bank
directly in our path."

            "We
missed it," Retief reassured his chief. "There was just enough power
left on our plates to cushion touchdown. That and a lot of springy foliage
saved our necks."

            "Where
are we?"

            "On
a small island in the northern hemisphere, which seems to be the only land on
the planet. That's about as specific as I can be, I'm afraid—and I designated
the north pole arbitrarily at that."

            "Well—let's
get it over with." Magnan sighed, looking around. "Where are they? I
suggest we throw ourselves on Slith's mercy. Frankly, I don't trust that
Okkyokk—there's something shifty about those cantilevered oculars of his."

            "I'm
afraid we won't be able to surrender immediately," Retief said. "Our
captors haven't yet arrived."

            "Hmm.
Doubtless they're making a somewhat less precipitous approach then we. I
suppose we might as well make ourselves comfortable."

            "On
the other hand," Retief said reasonably, "why wait around?"

            "What
other hope of rescue have we?"

            "I
don't think either party would make the ideal host—assuming they bother with
live prisoners in the first place."

            "You're
implying that Slith—a fellow bureaucrat—a being with whom I've shared many a
convivial cup—would acquiesce to our execution out of hand?" Magnan
gasped.

            "He
might. If he didn't do the job himself."

            "Heavens,
Retief, what are we to do? How far do you suppose it is to the nearest native
village?"

            "I
didn't see any signs of civilization on the way down—no towns, no roads or
cleared fields. Let's give a listen on the long-wave bands." Retief
climbed back into the wrecked craft, investigated the shock-mounted TRX,
spliced a number of broken wires and twirled the knob. Nothing but faint
static. He switched to the ship-to-ship frequency.

            "—blundering
two-eyed incompetent!" Slith's furious voice came through loud and clear.
"Your broken-down excuse for a flagship was closer to them than my own
superb standard-bearer. It was your responsibility to blast them from
space—"

            "My
indignant! My furious! Heck! Darn! This accuse from a Five-eyes
margarine-fingers! I intolerate! Too bad!"

            "Have
done! These vituperations avail us not at all. If the Soft Ones survive to make
known that we fired on a Terran vessel—in self-defense, of course—a horde of
their execrable Peace Enforcers will descend on us like bim beetles in
grub-harvest time."

            "I
proposterate! My laughter! Your numbskull! Alive, oh! After such crashing, entirely!
No, unpossible; I rediculate! Au contraire, I suggestion my resumption our
dispute. Where were? Indeed, yes—my descriptioning your ancestry—"