Reward for Retief (22 page)

            "Goodness," he
murmured, averting his eyes, "one is reminded of a mask of the Aztec god
of war."

            Bimbo snarled and strained
again, then heaved a deep sigh and slacked off. "Never knowed it was
bolted down," he muttered. With a quick dart, Magnan slipped behind him
and deftly lifted the holstered needier. Bimbo failed to notice the swift
maneuver; he turned to Retief and snarled, "Wise one, eh? Tryna make a
monkey outa me."

            "That's not
necessary," Retief countered. "All you need to do, Bimbo, is grow
yourself a tail."

            "No use tryna talk me out
of it—" Bimbo began: then his brutal face belatedly registered
astonishment which quickly changed to rage. He bellowed and took a step toward
Retief, who caught the big fellow's oncoming fist and twisted it. Bimbo uttered
a soprano yelp and sank to his knees.

            "You wouldn't wanna
kinda leave go my arm, I guess," he mumbled. "You know," he went
on in an attempt at a sprightly tone, "I been thinking a lot about
retirement lately, you know, when the thrill ain't there no more, it's time to
quit and leave a younger fella take over."

            "Boss!" Red
blurted. "Does this mean—?"

            "Kindly don't call me
'Boss,' Albert," the retiring kingpin requested. "Just 'Clarence'
will do. No need for empty titles among old comrades, eh?" He turned his
tormented gaze upward to Retief.

            "Could I have it back
now, sir, please?" he entreated. "Purty please wid sugar on." He
uttered a sigh as Retief released his grip and resumed his seat.

            "Be a nice fellow,
Bimbo," Retief offered, "and I'll order you some ice-cream."

            "Maple-walnut?"
Bimbo queried hopefully.

            "With whipped
cream," Retief assured him.

           
coming up,
the pattern responded as from a distance.

           
nicely done,
it added.
it
would have been a pity to actually tear his arm off after I had softened him
up.

           
"I thought
he folded rather too easily," Retief remarked.

            "Easily?" Magnan
echoed. "Why, he held out for a full five seconds. I once saw a Garoobian
hivemaster collapse, whimpering, after less than a second of your persuasive
fist-twister. Bimbo was quite a man."

            "Still is," Retief
amended. "Just getting some sense, is all."

            "Sure, Mr.
Retief," Bimbo gobbled. "I got some now; wanna make amends, is what I
wanna do. Need to apologize to old Busky, which I hammered him up purty good
once, and old Hunk, too, nice feller, Hunk, you'll like him. I see now I
shoulda listen to him. Guess I ain't made too many friends ..." He broke
off as Red placed a pressed-glass dish of tan ice-cream before him. He threw
away the cookie, and dipped in with the long-handled silver spoon.

            "Boy!" he said
gluttonously, "maple-walnut, jest like you useta get at old man Jenkin's
over on Colvin. Never had a double-dip before, though." He fell silent and
devoted himself to swallowing.

            "I always like chawklit
best," Red offered.

            "Do sit down and have
some," Magnan cried. "No, no, I insist. Ill just nip back and fetch
it." He darted away into the dim recesses of the ice-cave.

            To his surprise, the cavern
widened, opening out to an echoic space like the grand concourse at Granyauck
Consolidated, which he saw with surprise was a broad, grassy plain under a blue
sky with fleecy clouds. At the same time, the trickle of water flowing down the
center of the cave floor beside the table broadened until it was an impressive
stream, flowing now between grassy, tree-shaded banks, all in an eclipse-like
twilight. He saw a light on the lawn off to one side and hurried over, to find
a tiny white-painted booth, bright-lit, and occupied by a heavy-set woman
wearing a faded ball gown, with bedraggled ostrich plumes in her unkempt
reddish hair. She bobbed her head as Magnan came up, and at once dipped three
dark-brown scoops into a blue bowl, and handed it over with a smile.

            "I always use a blue
bowl fer the chocklit," she commented. Magnan grabbed the dish and paused
in confusion, while reflecting that the smile made her almost attractive.

            "Is there a
charge?" he inquired uncertainly.

            "Naw, don't kid me,
buddy," she returned, then looked at him more closely. "Ain't seen
you before, handsome," she said.

            "Mind your tone, my
girl," he chided. "I can't abide cheekiness. Did you call me
'handsome'?"

            She partly averted her face.
"I always did like a snappy dresser," she replied diffidently.
"Sorry if I was outa line."

            "Not at all, not at
all, my dear," Magnan reassured her. She patted back her hair, said
"Excuse me," turned abruptly and disappeared through a tiny door in
the back of the booth. Magnan stood gaping, then put the cold bowl on the
narrow counter and leaned forward to examine the interior of the phone-booth-sized
structure. He saw bare walls and a worn floor, directly lit by a glare panel in
the low ceiling. There was no visible evidence of a stasis-box for cold
storage.

            "Curious," Magnan
remarked for the record, and walked around behind the tiny booth. Its back was
a plain white rectangle, with no discernible door. Magnan looked wildly about.

            "Then where, in
Heaven's name did she go?" he wailed.

            "Right here, sir,"
a sprightly feminine voice spoke up behind him. He spun and found himself
facing a sturdy, but slender, pretty girl whose auburn hair, in an elaborate
coiffure interwoven with pink and red feathers, glinted in the crepescular
light. "Didn't mean to startle you, sir," she said when Magnan leapt
back with a yelp.

            "N-not at all,"
Magnan babbled, "but where did your mother go?"

            "Ma's been gone for
years," the young lady replied, looking puzzled. "Glad you come
along," she added. "I was getting pretty tired. Not to
complain," she explained quickly. "I picked the job—course I was
pretty young, but I got what I wanted: all the ice cream I wanted for as long
as I wanted it. And you know what? I guess I don't want it anymore. Rather have
homemade soup. So I guess it's time to move on. OK if I go with you?"

            "Are you sure you want
to?" Magnan queried anxiously. "After all, I'm not going much of
anywhere." He paused to search the horizon. "Which way is the
river?" he asked.

            "You
are
new,"
the girl told him. "I thought everybody knew old River Alph goes in a
circle; anyway you go, you'll hit the river."

            "Not
my
river,"
Magnan objected. "It dwindles down to a trickle and disappears among the
rocks. It's only melt-water from the ice-caves, you know."

            She shook her head.
"No, I didn't know," she said vaguely. "Don't know much of
anything, I guess. But I
do
know I'm glad you come along. Been waiting a
mortal long time."

            "Waiting for what, my
dear?" Magnan asked.

            "You, you good-looking
devil," she replied and took his arm possessively. Magnan looked around as
if searching for a route of escape, waving aimlessly at a small swarm of gnats.

            "Ah, from which
direction did I approach?" he inquired nervously.

            The girl pointed.
"Yonder," she said. "Let's go." He allowed her to urge him
in the direction in which she had pointed.

            "Wait," Magnan objected.
"Before we go—tell me, where did you come from—and where did the old bag
go?"

            "Me and the old bag are
the same," the girl said teasingly, and danced out ahead of him to
pirouette gracefully. "All in what yer looking for," she added, as if
in explanation.

            "I
still
don't
understand!" Magnan carped.

            "Why fight it?"
the girl challenged. "You like me better this way, don't you?"

            "Vastly," Magnan
agreed compliantly. "But—"

            "But me no buts, my
fool," she said and kissed him on the mouth. He staggered back, then
caught himself. "What the devil am I doing?" he inquired of the
circumambient air. 'Thinking of what the ambassador would say, at a moment like
this." He took her in his arms and returned the kiss with interest.

            "I told you you were
sweet," she murmured, gently disengaging herself.

            Magnan asked no more
questions as to her identity, but instead broached the subject of the door
through which the old bag had exited the booth.

            "Wait a minute!"
he interrupted himself. "I'll bet—" He broke off and went back around
to the front of the booth, stooped, and began to examine the corrugated
skirting, half-concealed in the lush grass. Suddenly he uttered a
yip\
and
jumped up.

            "It's a nexus repeater
box," he declared. "I found the data-plate. No wonder—but why? Out
here in the middle of nowhere ...?"

            "Don't know what ya
mean, handsome," the girl said. "Old stand been right here all along.
What do you mean, 'the middle of nowhere'?"

            "Never mind,"
Magnan waved the question away. "By the way, Miss, I'm Mr. Magnan, of the
Terran Embassy. May I enquire your name?"

            "Sure, go ahead,
Mister," she answered.

            "Well?" he
snapped.

            "Go ahead and ask me.
I'll be glad to tell ya." "What... is ... your... name ...
please?" Magnan demanded icily.

            "Gaby. Short for
Gabrielle," she told him.

            "Lovely name,
Gaby," Magnan said. "You may call me 'Ben,' rather than 'handsome'."

            "I like 'Handsome'
better," she replied saucily.

            "Very well. But not in
the presence of others," Magnan specified sternly.

            "What others?" she
asked looking around the broad, deserted parkland.

            "Well, there's Red
..." Magnan specified. "And young Bill, and possibly Jacinthe and
Small and that Tiny person, and most of all, Retief—and a gross fellow called
Looie, or possibly Dirty Eddie—and others as well."

            "Suits me, handsome. I
never heard of any of 'em. Where do they stay?"

            "That, Miss,"
Magnan said lugubriously, "is a deep, dark secret. Everything about this
curious place is a mystery. That reminds me: I forgot Red's ice cream. Probably
melted by now, anyway." He turned and went toward the booth, sitting empty
on the lawn, its lights gleaming cheerfully in the deepening twilight. His eye
fell on the blue bowl on the counter where he had left it a quarter-hour
before.

            "Why, the ice-cream
hasn't melted!" he exclaimed.

            "Did you want it to,
Ben?" Gaby asked.

            "No, of course not!
Silly question—but—"

            "You sounded
disappointed," she said. "Might as well eat it now our ownselfs;
won't last forever." She used the slim silver spoon to scoop up a morsel
and offered it. Magnan opened his mouth to receive it.

            "Marvelous!" he
cried. "Makes the blurb-flops seem like tapioca!"