Retief Unbound (16 page)

"It looks," said Retief,
"like we've had a little bit of luck."

"On our second pass," the
gaunt-faced officer said, "they let fly with something. I don't know how
it got past our

screens. It socked home in the
stern and put the main pipe off the air. I threw full power to the emergency
shields, and broadcast our identification on a scatter that should have hit
every receiver within a par sec; nothing. Then the transmitter blew. I was a
fool to send the boat down, but I couldn't believe, somehow .. ."

"In a way it's lucky you did,
captain. That was my only lead."

"They tried to finish us after
that. But, with full power to the screens, nothing they had could get through.
Then they called on us to surrender."

Retief nodded. "I take it you
weren't tempted?"

"More than you know. It was a
long swing out on our first circuit. Then coming back in, we figured we'd hit.
As a last resort I would have pulled back power from the screens and tried to
adjust the orbit with the steering jets, but the bombardment was pretty heavy.
I don't think we'd have made it. Then we swung past and headed out again. We've
got a three-year period. Don't think I didn't consider throwing in the
towel."

"Why didn't you?"

"The information^ we have is
important. We've got plenty of stores aboard, enough for another ten years, if
necessary. Sooner or later I knew a Corps search vessel would find us."

Retief cleared his throat.
"I'm glad you stuck with it, Captain. Even a backwater world like Groac
can kill a lot of people when it runs amok."

"What I didn't know," the
captain went on, "was that we're not in a stable orbit. We're going to
graze atmosphere pretty deeply this pass, and in another sixty days we'd be
back to stay. I guess the Groaci would be ready for us."

"No wonder they were sitting
on this so tight. They were almost in the clear."

"And you're here now," the
captain said. "Nine years, and we weren't forgotten. I knew we could count
on—"

"It's over now, captain.
That's what counts."

"Home . . . After nine years .
. ."

"I'd like to take a look at
the films you mentioned," Retief said. "The ones showing the installations
on the satellite."

The captain complied. Retief
watched as the scene unrolled, showing the bleak surface of the tiny moon as
the
Terrific
had seen it, nine years before. In harsh black and white, row on row of
identical hulls cast long shadows across the pitted metallic surface of the
satellite.

"They had quite a little
surprise planned; your visit must have panicked them," Retief said.

"They should be about ready to
go, by now. Nine years . . ."

"Hold that picture,"
Retief said suddenly. "What's that ragged black line across the plain
there?"

"I think it's a fissure. The
crystalline structure—"

"I've got what may be an
idea," Retief said. "I had a look at some classified files last
night, at the Foreign Office. One was a progress report on a fissionable
stock-pile. It didn't make much sense at the time. Now I get the picture. Which
is the north end of that crevasse?"

"At the top of the
picture."

"Unless I'm badly mistaken,
that's the bomb dump. The Groaci like to tuck things underground. I wonder what
a direct hit with a 50 megaton missile would do to it?"

"If that's an ordnance storage
dump," the captain said, "it's an experiment I'd like to try."

"Can you hit it?"

"I've got fifty heavy missiles
aboard. If I fire them in direct sequence, it should saturate the defenses.
Yes, I can hit it."

"The range isn't too
great?"

"These are the deluxe
models." The captain smiled bale- fully. "Video guidance. We could
steer them into a bar and park 'em on a stool."

"What do you say we try
it?"

"I've been wanting a solid
target for a long time," the captain said.

Half an hour later, Retief
propelled Shluh into a seat before the screen.

"That expanding dust cloud
used to be the satellite of

Groac, Shluh," he said.
"Looks like something happened to it."

The police chief stared at the
picture.

"Too bad," Retief said.
"But then it wasn't of any importance', was it, Shluh?"

Shluh muttered incomprehensibly.

"Just a bare hunk of iron,
Shluh, as the Foreign Office assured me when I asked for information."

"I wish you'd keep your
prisoner out of sight," the captain said. "I have a hard time keeping
my hands off him."

"Shluh wants to help, captain.
He's been a bad boy and I have a feeling he'd like to co-operate with us now,
especially in view of the eminent arrival of a Terrestrial ship, and the dust
cloud out there," Retief said.

"What do you mean?"

"Captain, you can ride it out
for another week, contact the ship when it arrives, get a tow in, and your
troubles are over. When your films are shown in the proper quarter, a Peace
Force will come out here and reduce Groac to a sub- technical cultural level
and set up a monitor system to insure she doesn't get any more expansionist
ideas—not that she can do much now, with her handy iron mine in the sky
gone."

"That's right, and-"

"On the other hand, there's
what I might call the diplomatic approach ..."

He explained at length. The captain
looked at him thoughtfully.

"I'll go along," he said.
"What about this fellow?"

Retief turned to Shluh. The
Groacian shuddered, retracting his eye stalks.

"I will do it," he said
faintly.

"Right," Retief said.
"Captain, if you'll have your men bring in the transmitter from the shuttle,
I'll place a call to a fellow named Fith at the Foreign Office." He turned
to. Shluh. "And when I get him, Shluh, you'll do everything exactly as
I've told you—or have Terrestrial monitors dictating in Groac City."

"Quite candidly, Retief,"
Counselor Nitworth said, "I'm rather nonplussed. Mr. Fith of the Foreign
Office seemed almost painfully lavish in your praise. He seems most eager to
please you. In the light of some of the evidence I've turned up of highly
irregular behavior on your part, it's difficult to understand."

"Fith and I have been through
a lot together," Retief said. "We understand each other."

"You have no cause for
complacency, Retief," Nitworth said. "Miss Meuhl was quite justified
in reporting your case. Of course, had she known that you were assisting Mr.
Fith in his marvelous work, she would have modified her report somewhat, no
doubt. You should have confided in her."

"Fith wanted to keep it
secret, in case it didn't work out. You know how it is."

"Of course. And as soon as
Miss Meuhl recovers from her nervous breakdown, there'll be a nice promotion
awaiting her. The girl more than deserves it for her years of unswerving
devotion to Corps policy."

"Unswerving," Retief
said. "I'll go along with that."

"As well you may, Retief.
You've not acquitted yourself well in this assignment. I'm arranging for a
transfer; you've alienated too many of the local people."

"But as you said, Fith speaks
highly of me . . ."

"True. It's the cultural
intelligentsia I'm referring to. Miss Meuhl's records show that you
deliberately affronted a number of influential groups by boycotting—"

"Tone deaf," Retief said.
"To me a Groacian blowing a nose- whistle sounds like a Groacian blowing a
nose-whistle."

"You have to come to terms
with local aesthetic values. Learn to know the people as they really are. It's
apparent from some of the remarks Miss Meuhl quoted in her report that you held
the Groaci in rather low esteem. But how wrong you were. All the while they
were working unceasingly to rescue those brave lads marooned aboard our
cruiser. They pressed on, even after we ourselves had abandoned the search. And
when they discovered that it had been a collision with their satellite which
disabled the craft, they made that magnificent gesture—unprecedented. One hundred
thousand credits in gold to each crew member,
as a
token of
Groacian sympathy."

"A handsome gesture,"
Retief murmured.

"I hope, Retief, that you've
learned from this incident. In view of the helpful part you played in advising
Mr. Fith in matters of procedure to assist in his search, I'm not recommending
a reduction in grade. Well overlook the affair, give you a clean slate. But in
the future, I'll be watching you closely."

"You can't win em all,"
Retief said.

"You'd better pack up; you'll
be coming along with us in the morning." Nitworth shuffled his papers
together. "I'm sorry that I can't file a more flattering report on you. I
would have liked to recommend your promotion, along with Miss Meuhl's."

"That's okay," Retief
said. "I have my memories."

. . . Ofttimes, the expertise
displayed by experienced Terrestrial Chiefs of Mission in the analysis of local
political currents enabled these dedicated senior officers to secure acceptance
of Corps commercial programs under seemingly insurmountable conditions of
adversity. Ambassador Crodfoller's virtuoso performance in the reconciliation
of rival elements at Petreac added new luster to Corps prestige . . .

Vol VIII, reel 8. 489 A. E. (AD
2950)

Retief
paused
before a
tall mirror to check the overlap of the four sets of lapels that ornamented the
vermilion cutaway of a First Secretary and Consul.

"Come along, Retief,"
Magnan said. "The ambassador has a word to say to the staff before we go
in."

"I hope he isn't going to
change the spontaneous speech he plans to make when the Potentate impulsively
suggests a trade agreement along the lines they've been discussing for the last
two months."

"Your derisive attitude is
uncalled for, Retief," Magnan said sharply. "I think you realize it's
delayed your promotion in the Corps."

Retief took a last glance in the
mirror. "I'm not sure I want a promotion. It would mean more lapels."

Ambassador Crodfoller pursed his
lips, waiting until Retief and Magnan took places in the ring of Terrestrial
diplomats around him.

"A word of caution only,
gentlemen. Keep always foremost in your minds the necessity for our
identification with the Nenni Caste. Even a hint of familiarity with lower
echelons could mean the failure of the mission. Let us remember: the Nenni
represent authority here on Petreac; their traditions must be observed,
whatever our personal preferences. Let's go along now; the Potentate will be
making his entrance any moment."

Magnan came to Retief's side as
they moved toward the salon.

"The ambassador's remarks were
addressed chiefly to you, Retief," he said. "Your laxness in these
matters is notorious. Naturally, I believe firmly in democratic principles
myself."

"Have you ever had a feeling, Mr.
Magnan, that there's a lot going on here that we don't know about?"

Magnan nodded. "Quite so;
Ambassador Crodfoller's point exactly. Matters which are not of concern to the
Nenni are of no concern to us."

"Another feeling I get is that
the Nenni aren't very bright. Now suppose—"

"I'm not given to
suppositions, Retief. We're here to implement the policies of the Chief of
Mission. And I should dislike to be in the shoes of a member of the Staff whose
conduct jeopardized the agreement that's to be concluded here tonight."

A bearer with a tray of drinks
rounded a fluted column, shied as he confronted the diplomats, fumbled the
tray, grabbed, and sent a glass crashing to the floor. Magnan leaped back,
slapping at the purple cloth of his pants leg. Retief's hand shot out and
steadied the bray. The servant rolled his terrified eyes.

"I'll take one of those, now
that you're here," Retief said easily, lifting a glass from the tray.
"No harm done. Mr. Magnan's just warming up for the big dance."

A Nenni major-domo bustled up,
rubbing his hands politely.

"Some trouble here? What
happened, Honorables, what,
what ..."

"The blundering idiot,"
Magnan spluttered. "How dare—"

"You're quite an actor, Mr.
Magnan," Retief said. "If I didn't know about your democratic principles,
I'd think you were really angry."

The servant ducked his head and
scuttled away.

"Has this fellow given
dissatisfaction. . . ?" The major-domo eyed the retreating bearer.

"I dropped my glass,"
Retief said. "Mr. Magnan's upset because he hates to see liquor
wasted."