Reward for Retief (35 page)

            "Nothing you can do,
Jimmy," he said as he lifted the boy. "But there is that which
I
must
do."

            "No!" the boy
Retief yelled and sought to grab the big man's hand. "I command you,
Captain Count William!"

            The big man smiled
uncertainly. "As you desire, Milord."

            "My name's
'Jame!"
he shouted. "Let's go!"
let
it go, retief entity
,
a gigantic, disembodied voice boomed
from the sky.
link easily with me and
we will prevail! now let us extend awareness. and perhaps ...

           
Instead of
complying, the boy turned and ran into the shadowed interior of the temple. He
stopped in the lee of a column of soap-smooth stone. On the glistening white
marble block lay a small gold coin. Retief picked it up absently and stood
listening. There was only silence. He started on, and at once the great,
strange, silent voice boomed out, somehow more distant now.
there you are! hold still! why do you seek to
elude me? come, join with me and together we shall soon discover what we seek.
come, now, just gently, no need for impulsive actions. do cooperate.

           
Retief probed
the darkness and encountered a maze of intangible barriers, like a series of
nets guiding him in
that
direction. He turned and faced the opposite
way.

            A dim light sprang up, all
around the periphery of the long rectangular platform surrounded by the
columns. Cool air flowed across his face, bearing the scent of night-blooming
flowers and perfumed smoke. Retief took a tentative step toward the shrine-like
structure at the center of the uncluttered floor. It was a small rectangle of
cut stone, and before it a fire smouldered on a brazier.

           
where are you, now
?
The Voice demanded.
I
had you plotted to the deminit and now again
you slip away. this is not to be tolerated in an ally! show yourself loyal to
our covenant! heed me and follow my guidance without fail! your intransigence
could trigger a disaster! be prudent. the forces involved are beyond
calculation. now!
the
Voice commanded.

           
go forward to the stone of hrolfr, and—

           
"What's inside
there?" Retief asked the circumambient gloom, indicating the shrine.

           
eh? that IS
not your
concern
!
the Voice reprimanded sharply,
follow my instructions, no more, no less.

           
the
forces we seek to manipulate will be in alignment—and a mis-touch could
collapse the paradigm
—
At that point, Retief closed his mind to the
insistent Voice. At once he was aware of Boss's garish office and Magnan's
nervous presence. "Very well," he addressed Voice patiently. "So
far, you've communicated to me, very poignantly, that something of value is
threatened. Very well, I'm willing to help save it; so no more charades."

           
as you wIll
, the Voice agreed grumpily,
directly to the nexus, then
.

           
As the silent
Voice trailed off, Retief felt himself catapulted into a whirling chaos of
flashing lights, erratic pressures and cacophonous sound. At the center of the
maelstrom, a vivid blue-white glare was the sole constant within his
perception. He moved toward it against impalpable pressures. Magnan clung to
his arm with both hands. Retief saw it come into focus as a glowing crystal as
big as a baseball, multi-faceted, glittering. As Magnan whimpered behind him,
Retief gripped the doorknob, turned it, and stepped into a small, drably
furnished room where a young child, perhaps eight years old, thin, dirty-faced
and clad in rags, crouched in a corner. Magnan crowded in behind Retief. A big,
swarthy man in need of a shave sat with crossed arms as big as pork hocks on a
sagging wooden box labelled PRODUCE OF BEGONIA. At sight of Retief, the boy
exclaimed and started to his feet, then at a snarl from the swarthy man, fell
back silently.

            "Got a sick kid
here," the man grunted in a surprisingly mellow baritone. "Can't do
nothing with the little devil; seems like he's went kinda off in the head.
Tried everything; hit him, starved him, chained him fer awhile—but no, he's got
these big ideas. They call me George the Stick." He rose, hitched up his
belt and waited.

            Magnan swallowed audibly.
"Ah, I am Mr. Magnan of the Embassy," he croaked. He indicated his
companion. "This is Retief, my, ah, assistant. Please pardon the
intrusion; it was noisy out there."

            "Cheese!" George
burst out, his eye roving past Retief and Magnan as if in expectation of a
crowd at their heels. "There's what you call a Class One Discordancy going
on out there and the guy waltzes through and says it was noisy! You must be
quite a man! I don't know your angle, chum, but I'm on your side, you
bet!"

            "Relax, Vince,"
Retief suggested. "We're not here to choose up sides. Just answer a few
questions, if you don't mind."

            "And if I da
mind," Vince came back in a defeated tone, "I guess you ast 'em
anyways, right? How'd you know I'm Vince Scumelli?"

            "Just a lucky
guess," Retief told him. "Captain Goldblatt mentioned you."

            Vince tapped his temple with
a blunt forefinger. "That nut-case send you?" he barked. "What
more's
he want?" Then he slumped on his broccoli box.

            "Just a minute,"
Magnan put in sharply. "First this fellow said his name was George; now
it's Vince." He glanced sharply at Retief. "How can we trust a man
who's unsure of his own name?"

            "I ain't unsure o' my
name," the swarthy man contradicted in a surly tone. "Name's Vince
Scumelli, just like yer partner said. What
I
said was they call me
George the Stick, which I'm pretty good with a cue, see? Least I was until this
Goldblatt come along. Come in one night, looking like that Robin's son, Caruso.
Said his vessel done clobbered in, and big-hearted me, I let the bum in and he
asts fer a game, so next thing I know, he's the new owner, and I'm shoved inna
back room. That was maybe a couple weeks ago, and I been locked in here ever
since, then yesterday the door opens and they shove this kid in here.
Natcherly, I ast him what gives, but he ain't talking." Vince paused to
grab at an imaginary fly in front of his face. "I'm ready to talk
deal," he concluded gloomily. "Onney just lemme outa here."

            "He's insane,"
Magnan commented without emphasis. "It's been well over two centuries
since the Captain's disappearance."

            "We were talking to him
ten minutes ago," Retief reminded him.

            Magnan shook his head
impatiently. "I suppose there's no sense seeking logic in this irrational
paradigm," he instructed himself firmly.

           
logic is firmly grounded on the vug axis,
the Voice put
in.
it is quite independent of the
space and time dimensions. once the vuggish orientation of the paradigm has
been altered—and I warned him!—no logic can be expected.

           
"I awready
said I'll deal," Vince reminded his guests' back. "You don't need to go
doing no ventriloquist tricks."

            At that point the door
opened and Captain Goldblatt/ Boss staggered into the room. He slapped his
forehead and recoiled at the sight of Retief. "You, again!" he
lamented. "Whattaya want outa me?"

            "The truth,"
Magnan responded promptly. "At first you said you'd been here for two
centuries—a palpable absurdity; then you said two weeks. That, Mr. Boss, is
quite inconsistent, as I'm sure you'll agree."

            "Two hunnert year, two
weeks, whassa difference?" Boss challenged. "You try sitting in a
cell a while, you'll find out there ain't no time-posts to tell you how far you
come. Ain't even got a watch."

            "Why is this boy
here?" Magnan demanded relentlessly.

            "Vince already tole
you, they shove the kid onto me one day to make me miserabler'n what I already
am. Kid's nuts; acts like he thinks I'm his valet or like that. How about it,
kid?" He turned to the lad, who had gone to the vacated box and was
sitting, looking calmly at Boss.

            "You feel better
now?" Boss suggested.

            "Better than what,
Mister Boss?" the kid asked. "I resent being confined," he
added. "And it's your doing. I want—well," his voice faltered,
"I don't exactly know what I want, but it sure isn't this—being locked in
here with this surly lout."

            Boss lunged toward the boy
and somehow found his ankle hooked by the child's foot. The boy jumped back as
Boss crashed on the crate, flattening the flimsy slats back.

            "Kid's got no respeck,
j'ear what the punk said? Talks like a book, 'surly lout,' he calls me!
Me!" The swarthy man sat breathing hard and glaring resentfully at the
boy.

            "Who are you,
lad?" Magnan asked in a kindly tone, with just a hint of Sternness
Available As Needed (981-c).

            "Don't waste no 981 on
that lousy kid," Boss advised. "He wun't bat a eyelash if a full
Ambluster unleashed a 989, Now You're Really Going to Get It, on him. Even a
Z-plus. Hard as tube linings." Magnan ignored the comment and continued to
look at the boy with benign expectancy. The lad returned a defiant look then
stared into a corner.

            "Really, my boy,"
Magnan said a trifle testily, "it's no good standing mute. We want only to
help you, you know."

            "All I need is for
these guys to go away and stop bugging me," the boy muttered. "I was
doing OK until they came along."

            " They'?" Magnan
queried. "I see only one guard."

            "There's more
of'em," the boy told him. "Outside."

            "There's nothing
outside," Magnan objected, "except a, ah, class one discordancy,
brought about, no doubt, by meddling by half-informed individuals."

            "They're ahead of
me," the boy grumbled. "Nobody informs
me
of anything, ever
since—" His voice trailed off and for the first time he looked like a lost
child.

            "Still," Magnan
pointed out, "we're here now—and the situation must be dealt with, not
merely deplored. Now, Retief and I represent the Embassy of Terra— and the
first order of business is for you to tell us all you know that would assist us
in grasping, and thus mastering the situation. All right?"

            "Whattaya talking to
the kid for?" Boss demanded. "This here is man's work."

            "He's lying to
you," the boy told Magnan. "Said he was here first. He's lying."

            Boss lunged again, but shied
as Retief stepped into his path.

            "Go sit down,
Captain," Retief told the frustrated fellow, who went to a broken chair
beside the door, pushed aside an empty carton, and perched tentatively.

            "Now, tell us your
name, boy," Magnan urged the child. "How old are you?" He
waited, beaming. "Come, come, boy," Magnan said sharply. "I am a
First Secretary of Embassy of Terra," he stated importantly. "How
dare you offer me mute insolence?"

            "Easy, Ben,"
Retief interjected. "From his point of view you're just a nosy
stranger." He went over to the boy, and asked: "Would you like to get
out of here?"

            "That I would,
sir," the child replied promptly.

            "So would we,"
Retief told him. "Maybe you could give us some information that would
help."