Retief at Large (47 page)

            "Hark,
mindless one! Like other low forms of life, the Soft Ones are tenacious of
vitality. We must make sure of their demise. Hence, I shall descend to
administer the coup de grace to any survivors, while you stand by
off-planet—or, preferably, withdraw to neutral space—"

            "So
you enable to theft these planet, unop-positioned? My amuse! My hylerical!
Goodness me! I accompanate, quite so!"

            "Very
well—if you insist. You may accompany me aboard my personal gunboat. I'll
designate a modest destroyer escort to convoy us down to the surface."

            "Nix.
I preference to my own vessel, gratitudes anyhow. And my bring few Slox cruiser
in order to not lonesome."

            "Cruisers?"
Slith said harshly. "In that case I think a pair of Groaci battleships
would be in order—just to balance the formation, you understand."

            "Combination
operate incompletion—unless Slox battlewagon also include."

            "Actually,"
Slith hissed, "I see no reason not to bring my entire fleet along—just in
case you should entertain ideas of a sneak attack during my absence."

            "My
agreeness! I, too! The more the merriment! Gracious me! Full speed ahead! Devil
take the hind parts!"

            "Agreed!
Roger and out," Slith snapped.

            "Good
heavens, Retief," Magnan muttered, "those two madmen are going to
stage a full-scale invasion just to keep an eye on each other."

            "No
one could accuse us now of having failed to influence the course of Slox-Groaci
relations," Retief said calmly. "Well, let's be off. We have about an
hour before they arrive."

            Quickly
he detached the compact radio from its mountings, extracted an emergency ration
pack from the debris.

            "Which
way?" Magnan queried worriedly, staring at the deep orange shade of the
forest all around.

            "Take
your choice, Mr. Magnan," Retief said, indicating the four points of the
compass. "Eeenie, meenie, miney or moe."

            "Hmm.
I think perhaps due meenie. It looks a tiny bit less forbidding. Or possibly
just a few points to the miney of meenie."

            "Meenie
by miney it is," Retief said and led the way into the tall timber.

-

            "Retief—I'm
utterly exhausted," Magnan panted three quarters of an hour and three
miles from the wrecked scout boat.

            "We're
not yet clear," Retief said. "We'd better keep going and rest
later."

            "I'd
as soon face a Groaci firing squad as die of heart failure and heat
prostration." Magnan sank down on the yielding turf, lay breathing in
great gulps.

            "How
about a Slox skinning party?" Retief suggested. "I understand they
start with the scalp and work downward—like peeling a banana."

            "Jape
if you must." Magnan groaned. "I'm past caring." He sat up
suddenly, staring suspiciously at a small, bell-shaped blossom with petals of a
delicate shade of coral pink.

            "Bees,"
he said distastefully. "Allergic as I am even to Terran insects, a sting
from an alien form would probably be instantly fatal."

            "Still,
as you pointed out, one demise is pretty much like another," Retief
consoled his superior. "If it actually was a bee you saw, it's the first
native animal life to make its presence known."

            "I
didn't see it but I heard it distinctly," Magnan said severely. "It
buzzed practically in my ear."

            "This
is a rather curious forest," Retief observed. "Only one variety of
tree, one kind of grass, one type of flower—in assorted sizes and colors. But
no weeds. No parasitic vines. No big trees crowding out smaller ones, no
stunted growth. Not even any deadfalls."

            Magnan
grunted.

            "Retief,
suppose for the nonce we succeed in eluding capture—what then? Nobody knows
we're here. How will we ever be rescued?"

            "Interesting
question, Mr. Magnan."

            "Not
that it matters a great deal," Magnan went on morosely. "With my
mission a failure—worse than a failure—my career is in ruins. Do you realize
that if it hadn't been for our meddling this invasion would probably never have
come to pass?"

            "The
thought had occurred to me," Retief conceded.

            "To
say nothing of the loss of the scout-boat. If the undersecretary holds me
responsible—holds us responsible, I should say—that is, in the event he doesn't
hold you personally responsible, Retief, as pilot—why, you'll be years paying
it off," he went on more cheerfully. "Still, I'll put in a word for
you. After all, Slith was shooting at us."

            "There
is that."

            "And
actually, who's to say it was my friendly attempt to offer a compromise that
precipitated the invasion? I daresay the hotheads would have embarked on their
conquest in any event."

            "Possibly,"
Retief agreed.

            "By
engaging them in conversation I doubtless delayed the inevitable for a—a length
of time."

            "Several
seconds at least."

            "Retief,
by offering myself as a sacrifice on the alter of inter-being chumship I may
have saved countless lives."

            "I
suppose a certain number of bacteria were lost in our crash landing,"
Retief sarcastically pointed out.

            "You
scoff," Magnan charged. "But history will vindicate my stand. Why, I
wouldn't be surprised if a special posthumous medal were struck—" He broke
off with a start. "There it is again—" He scrambled up. "It
sounded like an enraged hornet. Where did it go?"

            Retief
cocked his head, listening, then leaned over to examine the clump of
apricot-colored flowers nodding on long stems, beside which Magnan had been
sitting.

            "Don't
waste time plucking nosegays," Magnan yelped. "I'm under
attack—"

            "Mr.
Magnan, I don't think there are any insects in the vicinity."

            "Eh?
Why, I can hear them quite plainly." Magnan frowned. "It sounds like
one of those old fashioned hand-crank telephones still in use out on Jawbone.
When you leave it off the hook."

            "Close,
Mr. Magnan," Retief said and leaned down to put his ear close to the
trumpet-shaped bloom.

            "Well,
I thought you'd never speak," a tiny voice said distinctly in his ear.

            "Buzzing
blossoms is quite fantastic enough," Magnan said wonderingly. "But
talking tulips? Who'd ever believe it?"

            "...
somebody to converse with," the cricket-sized voice was saying. "I'm
dying to know all the news. Now, just tell me all about yourself—your hopes,
your dreams, how you happened to be here— everything—"

            Retief
held a blossom to his lips as if it were indeed the mouthpiece of a phone.

            "I'm
Retief. This is my colleague, Mr. Magnan. Whom have we the honor of
addressing?"

            "Well,
nice to know you, Retief. And Mister Magnan, too. May I call you Mister for
short? First names are so much more sort of informal. I'm Herby. Just a
nickname, of course. Actually I don't have a name. At least I didn't have until
dear Renfrew came along. You have no idea what a sheltered life I'd led until
then. Why, do you know I had the idea I was the only sentient intelligence in
the Galaxy?"

            "Who
are you?" Magnan blurted. "Where are you? Why is the microphone
camouflaged to look like a plant?"

            "Camouflage?
Why, there's no camouflage, Mister. You see me just as I am."

            "But
I don't see you at all," Magnan complained, looking around warily.
"Where are you hiding?"

            "You're
squeezing me at this very moment," Herby said.

            "You
mean—" Magnan held the faintly aromatic blossom at arm's length and stared
at it. "You mean—I'm—you're—we're—"

            "Now
you're getting the idea," the voice said encouragingly.

            "Talking
flowers—here, in the middle of nowhere—and speaking Terran at that? I must be
hallucinating. I've been driven mad by hardship."

            "I
doubt it, Mr. Magnan," Retief said soothingly. "I hear it, too."

            "If
I can imagine I hear voices coming out of posies I can imagine your hearing
them too," Magnan retorted tartly.

            "Oh,
I'm real enough," the voice said reassuringly. "Why should you doubt
me?"

            "Who
taught you to speak Terran?" Retief asked.

            "Renfrew.
I learned so much from him. Curious— but before he came, it never occurred to
me to be lonely."

            "Who
is Renfrew?"

            "A
friend. A very dear friend."

            "Retief,
this is fantastic," Magnan whispered. "Are there—are there many like
you?" he inquired of the bloom.

            "No—just
me. After all, there'd hardly be room, you know—"

            "A
coincidence," Magnan exclaimed. "One talking plant on the entire
world and we stumble on it in the first hour. I'm beginning to think our luck
is still holding."

            "Now,
where are you from, if you don't mind my asking?" the plant inquired.

            "We're
Terrans," Magnan said. "And I'm sure we're going to get on famously,
Herby."

            "But—I
understood Terra was the name of Renfrew's home planet."

            "Quite
so. Marvelous place. You'd love it, now that all the jungles have been cleared
and replaced by parking lots—" Magnan caught himself. "Ah, no offense
intended, of course. Some of my best friends are plants."

            "Heavens—all
three of you from one planet? No wonder you left. Such overcrowding—"

            "Yes—now,
Mr. Herby, if you could just tell us the way to the nearest native
settlement—"

            "Buildings,
you mean? Streets, spaceports, that sort of thing?"

            "Yes.
Preferably not one of these dismal provincial towns. Something in a modest
metropolis will do."

            "Sorry,
there isn't one—though Renfrew told me about them."

            Magnan
groaned. "No towns at all? Then—"

            "Just
jungle."

            "If
this fellow Renfrew has a ship we may be able to catch a ride with him. I
wonder—could we meet him?"

            "Well—I
suppose so, Mister. He's quite nearby as it happens."

            "He's
still here, then?"

            "Oh,
yes indeed."