Retief and the Rascals (33 page)

            Buy looked appealing at Retief. "Can you
get this windbag to say something a feller can unnerstan'?" he pled.
"Something about some kinda 'jolly cheroot' or something," he
concluded gloomily. "I don't let the kids smoke no stogies."

            "He's asking you to make your Cubs
available to run errands ana the like while he attempts to con the combatants
into laying down their arms," Retief translated.

            "How's he gonna do that?" Buy
demanded. "He's going to make all of them think there's a big payoff in
it," Retief specified.

       "Oh, I got it,"
Buy replied brightly. "The suckers'll prob'ly go for it, too. By the way,
what's the cash honorarium wit duh Yout' Prize?"

       "A few million
guck," Magnan supplied. "A trifle, merely symbolic. The true prize
lies in the esteem of your fellow beings."

            "Yeah, I got plenty o' that esteem
already," Gad Buy dismissed the idea. "I'm not just a mere Cub
leader! I'm Minister of Internal Chaos, too! How many million?"

            "Seven, I think," Magnan sniffed.
"But to get back to my plan, only after the success of which the awards
ceremony can eventuate—"

            "Ye'r doing it again," Gad complained.
"OK, so I gotta go along with yer scheme, or no Yout' Prize, that about
it?"

            "Succinctly put, Mr. Minister," Magnan
confirmed. "Consider: not only will the boys' participation make peace,
and make the award banquets possible, but their contribution, under your
tutelage, will go far toward qualifying you for the prize."

            "Look, Mister," Buy said earnestly.
"You can count on the little bassers to do whatever you want done! So what
if a few of em get squashed inna process, I say! Right, sir?"

            "By no means!" Magnan yelled.
"The children will be as safe as if clasped in their mothers' arms!"

            "Safer," Gad corrected. "Some o'
them broads takes a while to come down offa Ladies' Day. Clobber anything that
moves. Good job most of 'em is onna march to the port, to kick some rump wid
their men which they're likely to get their selfs kilt inna battle!"

            "Very well," Magnan agreed. "Anyway,
I have no intention of risking the lads' safety. Now here's what I want you to
do ..."

            Three-quarters of an hour later, Ben Magnan,
Retief, and Gad Buy guided his forty-five gaping pre-adolescents down from
three battered school buses with HERNANDO COUNTY SCHOOL SYSTEM
in faded black letters on their sides.
Each boy carried a Daisy air rifle, artfully shaped to resemble an issue
stunner, plus a hastily requisitioned kitchen knife stuck in his belt.

            "Jeez!" George the reluctantly drafted
Embassy driver exclaimed from his high perch as Magnan herded the last of the
Cubs down the narrow steps of the vehicle. "They got a war going on here!
I shunt of drove youse out here! Ferd and Ralphie, too; right, boys?" he
called to his colleagues who were deep in confab between the parked buses.

            They
shush!
ed
him and crept
forward to peek around their respective front fenders to catch a glimpse of the
ground action. The fringes of the mob from the city were just skirting the
intrusive vehicles.

            Someone saw the drivers and yelled,
"Spies!" At once a vigilante mob broke away from the main body to
gather round the stationary buses. One fellow, a burly eight-footer, prodded
Magnan and demanded, "Who ya working for, nosy? What are they paying ya?"
He shoved Magnan behind the bus, out of sight of the rest. "They need a
good boy onna insider" he persisted. "I'm Cram Dook, and I m looking
to better my lot in life here. Whattaya say, before I and the boys string youse
up?"

            "I'm not," Magnan croaked "That
is, there's no, I mean, I can make it worth your while if you'd just direct
attention from me—
and
my associates, of course."

            "Whattaya tryna spy on?" Dook asked
wonderingly. "Nothing here but us Objectionables and a few stray
Reprehensibles maybe, where they fell in inna wrong squad—and o' course our
traditional enemies the Viles; happens they was going on a, like, picnic. Old
Gad Buy here, he invited us, ain't that right Mr. Minister?"

            "The oaf lies in his decayed teeth!"
Buy snapped. "Now, boys," he turned to his charges. "Let's put
on our beards now, eh? What fun, don't you agree?"

            Each boy produced a shabby set of false whiskers
Gad had thoughtfully requisitioned from a theatrical supply house on the way to
BBS Headquarters. In a trice, the children took on the appearance of an army of
gnomes, an impression heightened when they obediently fell into ranks.

            "Hey, Mr. Minister," one of the taller
lads called. "You told that bum we're going on a picnic! You told us we
was gonna get a close-up view o' the war and all! And I'm not wearing no crummy
whiskers, neither! The hair gets in my mouth!" He ripped the offending
disguise from his pink-cheeked face and threw it down, spitting the offending
hairs after it. Many of his fellow Cubs followed suit.

            "Here, Jimmy!" Buy yelled, attempting
in vain to quell the rebellion. "I have to return them beards in good
order by tonight! Bobby, you stop that!" He grabbed the arm of another
tall kid who was stomping on his fire-red facial hair. Bobby kicked him below
the knee, and at once a free-for-all ensued led by Jimmy. Cram Dook fled losing
himself in the passing throng, who were armed Magnan noticed with agricultural
implements.

            Stolen, no doubt from the peaceful B-9's,"
he muttered to Retief, who replied, "The boys did a good job in the dress
rehearsal. I hope they've saved some stuff for the main performance.

            "Don't worry," Bobby, the
self-appointed straw-boss, reassured Magnan. "That was lots o' fun. I seen
where old Cram Dook went. Let's go get him, fellers!" He dashed off in the
direction taken by the misguided fellow, followed by the entire pack, with the
exception of Jimmy and a few troublemakers who had rallied to his demand for
obedience. Both groups charged, all yelling, "Get em!" at the top of
their treble voices.

            The two Cub groups began shooting BBs at each
other as they pushed through the townsfolk, precipitating a stampede among the
rabble in arms, who overran the command car from which Slum Dob was yelling
orders: "Fall in, there! Get back in ranks! We got to hit 'em onna flank,
in a orderly fashion—"

            His voice choked off as the car was overturned,
almost rolling on him. Back on his feet, he sprinted for town, his impromptu
army dissolved into a shouting mob which slowly coalesced and began pushing its
way townwards against the press of those still advancing, while the Cubs,
waving improvised fixed bayonets, spurred them on their way with well-aimed
jabs.

            "Oh, dear me," Magnan twittered.
"Jim! Look there! Thrash's crews have noticed the confusion in the ranks
here, and are preparing to take advantage of the chaos by leading an attack on
the poor, unexpecting townsfolk! Unless ..." His gaze went to Admiral
Promo's small detachment advancing on Thrash's gang from the rear. Meanwhile,
Colonel Switchback's uniformed crew were forming up smartly directly in Promo's
path. Another gang, under Lieutenant Ape, (who had somehow survived the attack
on his ship) was gathering on Switchback's flank. Skunky was trying in vain to
recruit fellows from both gangs, thereby setting off small secondary riots.

            "Excuse me a moment, sir," Retief said
quietly. "I think we'd better get back in our boat."

            "Yes, of course," Magnan agreed
hastily. "From there we can address these ruffians, and direct them to
disperse. And we can use the deck gun to put a round across their bows, so to
speak."

            Once aboard the landing craft, Retief called
Chief Blatski.

            "Stan," he said sternly, "I want you
to suggest quietly to Captain Muldoon that he maneuver
Ruppy
into a
position fifty feet directly over the ridge and go to standby. Both factions
down here are converging on the high ground, and he needs to be in position to
command the situation from above."

            "Just what
I
was thinking, Mr.
Retief," Blatski came back heartily. "Hey, Captain, sir!" His
voice was audible as he set off to deliver the message.

            A moment later the capital ship had moved,
silently for all its bulk, into a spot whence it cast a shadow across the
just-colliding factions, both of which hesitated, then raised fists and shook
them at the mighty vessel hovering above them.

            "Uh-oh," Magnan blurted. "They're
taking it badly, Jim! What if—?"

            Bobby jostled Jimmy aside and made hand-and-arm
gestures to the disorganized crowd of Cubs. Jimmy was haranguing his splinter
bunch.

            "Good job," Magnan groaned.
"Bobby is using the secret Cub signals to order the boys to retreat! Wise
move! But look! Wim Dit's requisitioned space-vessels are settling in
now!"

            "Not quite," Retief corrected Magnan's
assumption about Bobby's semaphoring as the lads renewed their bayonet charge.

            "Actually," Gad muttered, "I'm
not sure
what
those gestures signify. It's a system the boys have worked
out for themselves."

            Above, just under the rocky crest of the ridge,
Bobby's lads were busily adjusting their steak-knife bayonets on their Daisies.
They proceeded to form a line abreast, three rank deep, and advanced up the
steep rise. The first of Wim Dit's irregulars, topping the ridge, paused to
stare in horror at the array of midgets, some still bearded, threatening them
with glinting steel blades affixed to their stunners. They fell back, wildly
yelling to their compatriots to flee, a suggestion eagerly accepted with the
result that Buck Promo's troop, just reaching the rocky crest, were abruptly
assaulted by a charging mob of yelling townsfolk bent on escape. Quarrels had
broken out here and there between Objectionables who objected to being jostled
by Unmentionables, and Viles who resented Filthies blocking their way. Promo's
men joined in enthusiastically, while Wim Dit's grounded space-detachment waded
in with nightsticks to protect the interests of their ground-based compatriots.

The harsh rattle of a cleared throat from the S-to-G talker
reminded the diplomats of Chief Inspector Snail's watchful eye above.

            "It appears I'd best take a hand
personally," he barked. Since you fellows have blotted your copybooks so
egregiously, I'll have to step in to restore order. I'm ordering Captain
Muldoon to set her down just off to the west, there."

            "Jim!" Magnan bleated, grabbing at his
subordinate's arm. "we have to stop him! He'll be torn to pieces! Or, on
the other hand, if Chief Blatski gets impatient with the intransigence of these
undisciplined mobsters, he'll open fire, and all our hopes of a halcyon future
for both locals and the Chief Inspector will be dashed! So—what shall we
do?"

            "Nothing, sir," Retief proposed,
"except record it all for the amusement of the vast Tri-D viewing public
of the Arm."

            "But—Pokey won't give an inch!" Magnan
protested. "He'll exact exorbitant fines, which will not only bankrupt the
planetary economy, but will enrage every man-jack on Bloor, of whatever
allegiance, even the few who've remained relatively calm until now! Pokey will
order thousands jailed, and—and write a report that will render all Bloor
inadmissable forever to GFU's distribution rolls. As for Pokey, he'll be in a
rest home for years, recovering from the shock of not only having his authority
flaunted, but being physically manhandled by these ruffians! What are we to do
to avert this confrontation?"

            "Not a thing, Mr. Magnan," Retief
repeated. "Let's just watch. Think about it. Don't they really deserve
each other?"

The End

* * * * * *

"THAT'S TELLING HIM, BEN!"

Retief called over the heads of the half-dozen assorted
thugs crowding around the entrance to the cul-de-sac. "Run for it,
Ben!" Retief called.

Magnan fled into the darkness, three of the Bloorians baying
at his heels. Retief gave chase. He overtook and tripped Gugly Eye, a loafer
he'd often seen hanging around the motor pool. Eye was the last in line Retief
moved up to grab Jum Derk by the collar and dump him sideways. Jumping over the
still rolling Unspeakable, he overtook the front-runner and knocked him down,
Wim's bellow and Shinth's faint voice shouting behind him. Retief called to
Magnan. was ignored, and followed his fleeing supervisor along the echoing
corridor.

"That did it!" Shinth hissed. "Close the
passage, Wim!" Retief skidded to a halt and charged back toward the Groaci
and his hirelings, but the Bloorian strong-arm squad had already rolled an
immense, rail-mounted steel slab in place, sealing off the passage.