Retief and the Rascals (12 page)

            "Fool!" Shish hissed. "Would you
impute your own slovenliness to
me?"

           
"But, sir," Flinsh attempted,
"I only deposited the secret document just like you said!"

            "I said nothing about towing classified
papers on the floor!" Shish barked. Speechless with rage, he came stamping
over to confront his underling, crowding him back against the safe. Beside
Retief's ear, the floor
creak!
ed
again, under the added load, and
uttered a distinct pop/ping as more fibers failed as the straw of Shish's
weight broke the figurative camel's back.

        "Look out,
sir!" Flinsh yelped. "The safe! It's—"

            "Quickly, pull it back!" Shish
ordered. Both Groaci climbed on the tilting strongbox, as the planks sagged
under it; Retief stroked his improvised chisel across the highly-stressed
fibers on the underside of the deflecting plank: it gave minutely, then
collapsed. Retief ducked aside as the half-ton safe dropped a comer into the
gap now yawning in the floor; it slid farther, doing aside the adjacent
floor-plank, which parted with an angry
crunch!;
then the safe fell
through, in a hail of splinters, to impact on the concrete a yard from Retief's
foot. Above, the Groaci diplomats leaped aside, and fled, with sharp cries.
When all was silent, Retief stepped up on the great red-painted safe and
examined the hole in the floor. He glanced into the empty office above. The
outer door of the richly appointed office stood open. In the distance faint
Groaci cries were audible. Retief climbed up into the room.

            Using the code he had watched Shish employ, he
opened the steel wall-depository, and glanced quickly over its contents, mostly
well-thumbed Groaci soft porn portraying Groacian ladies emerging from hot-sand
tubs, and tight little bundles of local currency. There was one sealed
document, which Retief tucked away with the other in an inside pocket.

            At a sound outside, he flattened himself against
the wall beside the hall door and waited until a five-eyed Groaci head wearing
the plumed helmet of a Groacian peace-keeper had poked inside and withdrawn
with the over-the-shoulder comment:

            "Naw, Mr. Counselor, nothing like that. To
be able to smell Verbot Nine at one part in a trillion. Looks like maybe the
floor give way, is all. The safe's intact, OK."

            "To thank you, Corporal! Now to enter the
room and conduct a proper investigation, at once!" Shish hissed. The
rebuked NCO threw the door wide and stepped inside, just in time to receive
Retief's straight left to his underslung jaw. In falling backward he slammed
the door in Slush's face. Retief stood over the dazed cop, who scuttled
backward away from him, fumbling at the same time for the big brass whistle at
his belt. Retief shook his head and the hapless Groaci went limp and lay
looking up at the tall Terran.

            "To watch it, Terry— he started, but fell
silent when Retief dug a booted toe into his narrow thorax.

            "I'll tell you when to start talking,
Sish," Retief told him. "Keep it quiet for now, and you may yet get
out of this intact."

            "To be very cooperative, honored sir,"
Sish assured his captor. "I was only—"

            "What's it all about, Sish?" Retief
persisted. "What's going on?"

            "Why ask
me?"
Sish objected.
"I'm a mere underling, as you well know, Mr. Retief! Nobody tells
me
anything!"

            "Very well," Retief replied. "It
seems we'd better get Shish back in here. Put on your helmet and give him the
high-sign."

            "B-but I
couldn't!"
Sish
gasped. "To decoy my personal boss into a trap? Reprehensible!"

            "Sure," Retief agreed. "Just
pretend it's some poor, trusting Terry bent on Doing Good, like Ben Magnan,
you're luring to his doom."

            Sish straightened his flaring helm and went
briskly to the door, yanked it open, thrust his head out, and said, "To
step in just a moment, Mr. Shish." He stepped back, holding the door wide
as Shish came through in a rush.

            "Yes, yes, to show me—" he started
impatiently, but recoiled at sight of Retief. "You! The infamous wrecker
Jame Retief! He spat, backing away. Two of his eyes swung to transfix Sish.
"Corporal! he hissed. "Just why is it this interloper on sacred
Groacian soil is not in irons?"

            "Oh, I guess I forgot my irons, Mr.
Shish," Sish explained. To be just going to ..."

            "Skip that," Retief cut in,
confronting Shish. "That's enough horsing around. Now: What's all this
about you imprisoning Terries and how far up does the involvement in the
flink-hide trade go?"

            Shish's eye-stalks drooped, miming total
incomprehension.

            "Don't bother with the twitches,
Shish," Retief snapped. "You know we Terries don't understand when
you mime 'incomprehension' in your eye-stalk language. Speak up!"

            "To Know nothing of Ben Magnan being held
in the code room under interrogation by Colonel Thilth," Shish gobbled.

        "What is it he
expects to find out?" Retief insisted.

            "Oh, nothing of consequence," Shish
replied airily. "Just sort of exploring Ben's psyche, I guess. Asked him
how long he had known about the system of secret passages and all, and if Sammy
Swinepearl had OKed the hidden entry into the Terry Chancery from our VIP mess,
stuff like that. Counter-counterintelligence you could call it. But Ben's
hanging tough: says he's not privy to no nefarious stuff and all. He's lying!
Ben's in this up to his paltry eyeballs!"

     " 'In' what?"
Retief demanded.

            "Why, the scheme initiated by Sam
Swinepearl, of course!" Shish hissed. "What else?"

            "I thought perhaps you were referring to
the trade in contraband flink-hides," Retief explained patiently.
"Was that your own idea, or is somebody coercing you?"

            " 'Coercing'?
Me?
A Groacian Deputy
Chief of Mission!" Shish squalled. "Flink-hides, indeed! That was
merely a cover, Retief, for Sammy's actual crimes!"

            "I'm fascinated, Counselor," Retief
prompted. "Pray continue."

        "It's
unthinkable!" Shish hissed.

            "Think about it anyway," Retief
directed. "Let's get to the heart of the matter."

            "A shipment—nay, ten shipments, a hundred,
of Bogan small-arms!" Shish blabbed. "In transit at this moment! With
means of slaughter in the hands of the locals, no one will be safe, Retief! We
have to abort this tragedy, somehow!"

        " 'We'?" Retief
queried. "Now we're all pals, eh?"

            "Are we not? Surely any civilized nation—a
category in which one can hardly include Bloor—would intercede to prevent this
monumental atrocity. To arm these fratricidal barbarians, who, even bare-handed
but for rude implements improvised from the so-called relief shipments supplied
by your Terries, have succeeded in decimating their subject populations!
Certain interested powers from the Western Arm have succeeded in suborning poor
Sam Swinepearl from the path of duty to cooperate in a scheme to depopulate
Bloor, thereby making it, as an unoccupied planet, fair game for colonization!
The 'relief' shipments are subtly tampered with, and fifty thousand stand of
Bogan 2mm repeaters arrived at the port but yesterday, disguised as
agricultural equipment. The turncoat Wim it has acquiesced to this diabolical
plan, in hope of gaining advantages for his Disreputable clique! The heavy
stuff is to follow in a few days. It will be Unspeakable against Unthinkable,
Unbearable versus Intolerable; Reprehensible will confront Contemptible at the
barricades! Instead of the traditional buffets and insults, these naive dupes
will exchange hard shots! Vascular fluids will flow in the gutters! I have it
on good authority that Hellbores will be included in the next shipment; even
infinite repeaters will be placed in the hands of warring clans, clashing
tribes, unions locked in jurisdictional dispute! Bands of irregulars will mow
down dacoit hordes; each and every traditional rival on the planet will assault
its ancient enemy with massed gunfire, cannisters of Verbot Ten will be as
common as hurled rocks are now! The slaughter of valuable consumers will be
beyond calculation or the possibility of property conducted funeral rites, at
Groacian bargain prices! There's not an hour to lose, Retief! Let's go talk to
Ben, and see what can yet be done, if it's not altogether too late to stop the
bloodbath!"

            "Lead on," Retief said.
"Sish," he ordered the corporal. "You stick around and
discourage any meddlers."

            "Do as he says, cretinous litter-mate of
drones!" Shish snapped. "Nothing, I repeat, 'not anything', is to be
allowed to interfere with our high mission! Come, Retief!" Shish concluded
grandly. "The Forces of Right will yet prevail!" Just as Retief and
the Groaci Counselor of Embassy opened the door to depart the room, gunfire
rattled in the corridor. Shish leaped back. A window smashed inward and a
smoking cannister
thump!
ed
on the carpet beside Sish.

        "Deal with that,
Corporal!" Shish yelled.

            "Verbot Two!" Sish squealed.
"It's every being for himself!" He dived through the broken pane into
the darkness.

            "Pity," Shish commented, glancing
back. "That light-well is six stories deep. But poor Sish had no future in
the Cadre in any case. Never did learn so much as the Manual of Arms! Fell down
every time he attempted the foot salute!"

            They went along the corridor, from which the
gunfire had moved on, though the armed local employees crouched at the
intersection gave evidence that the disturbance was not yet over; but the scene
of action seemed to have shifted to an upper floor. Sounds of carnage came from
the stairwell. Abruptly, Ben Magnan appeared, scrambling down out of a cloud of
smoke and dust.

            "Ah, there you are, Mr. Shish!" he
chirped "And you, too, Jim. I'm
so
relieved you've placed yourself
under the protection of the Counselor! I'm sorry I was detained, but it seemed
Colonel Thilth
would
have his little chat. One has to admire his élan,
nattering of commercial matters whilst crater-guns are booming just outside the
door!"

            "Ben Magnan!" Shish hissed.
"What—how—where is the Colonel now?" The Groaci peered up into the
obscurity of the stairwell, where recurrent flashes of gunfire lit the murk
fitfully.

            "Oh, ah, I fear I quite inadvertently
slammed the door on poor Thilth! Magnan twittered. "After our chat, I had
preceded him out of the chamber when a pair of your Marines entered the
passage, firing as they came; I fear I shied a trifle and accidentally slammed
the door on poor Thilth! I was just coming to let you know, in case you were
wondering what was keeping him."

            "Thoughtful of you, Ben," Shish
purred. "As to your chat, did you cover the, ah, irregularities I fancy
I've detected in certain shipments of emergency aid supplies?"

            "Oh, dear me, yes," Magnan burbled.
"You mean about the jellied blurb-jowls going astray, I shouldn't wonder.
But," Magnan wagged a finger playfully in Shish's inscrutable face.
"I've not forgotten they're your favorite! It was a mere administrative
mix-up; no doubt we'll find them mixed in with the semi-annual requisition. If
you'd just buck my two missing bales of Report of Redundant Reports forms back
to my office, I'd be most appreciative!"

            "Bother the R of RR forms!" Shish spat
ungraciously. "And the infernal blurb-jowl as well! I'm a bit off my feed
since the local ruffians invaded my office yesterday," he explained.
"Actually, Retief has a question or two to ask you, I believe."

            "Yes, Jim?" Magnan looked expectantly
at his six-three junior. "What was it? You're curious about the new
hemi-semi-demi early late mid-afternoon dress codes specified for the banquet,
I suppose? By the way, about those flink-hides—"

            "What" Shish snarled. "You have the
effrontery to bring up
that
matter, right here in a monitored stretch of
corridor? Have you
no
discretion, Ben?"

            "It's not the flink-hides, Shish,"
Retief corrected. "Those bales are dummies; the cartons are full of
handguns and ammo to fit them, with a layer of moldy hides on the outside. I
suppose Wim Dit has taken delivery by now."

            Magnan recoiled. " 'Handguns', you say,
Jim! Whatever are they for? If anyone should be so foolish as to place weapons
in the hands of any faction here on Bloor, the resultant massacre would make
Fort Dade seem like a picnic!"

            "Perhaps not so foolish, eh, Ben?"
Shish spoke up in a wheedling tone. "Remember that twenty thousand guck
has been deposited in your account in the Bank of Groac."

           
"Mister
Counselor!" Magnan
rebuked. "I thought that contribution to charity in my name was to be
our
little secret!" He stepped to Retief's side.