The Return of Retief (17 page)

            "—mess
up a fellow's nap," he was uttering to himself aggrievedly. "Coulda
waited a while."

            Retief
went along to the lift by which the group had arrived, rode it down to ground
level, where he was challenged at once by a guard with the broad belly-stripes
of a sergeant, who made an abortive move toward his holstered hand-gun, then
waved him on.

            "I've
seen this one before; Admiral, said VIP treatment all the way," he
explained to a pair of lesser sentries who had hurried forward, eager to
exercise petty authority.

            Without
further incident, Retief reached the street, commandeered the passenger
compartment of the same vehicle in which he had arrived, which was still parked
in the GENERAL OFFICERS slot, and ordered the somnolent driver to take him to
the port.

            "Figgered
yer worship to be in there longer," the chauffeur carped, laying aside his
comic book. "Figgered I was good for the afternoon." Retief handed
him a ten-Guck note to assuage his sorrow, and was rewarded with a fast trip to
the CREW gate. Here he permitted the helpful driver to use his special key on
the heavy padlock, and proceeded to the READY zone, where he briskly selected a
line-cart and drove it across the cracked ramp to the berth assigned to
Phoenix.
As he opened the entry port, a cop-cart arrived and squealed to a halt.

            "Oh,
for a minute I thought you was one of them Terries," the officer-braided
policeman explained. "But that don't add up because nobody leaves those
fellows running loose. I heard His Ex is planning to do some kinda swap deal.
This here is a Terry boat, though, so you must be from the Eastern Arm, right?
So I guess you must be one o' them Groacs or whatever. Never could understand
why you fellows sold out your own Arm, no offense."

            "To
abstain from feckless speculation, Chief Inspector," Retief replied in
flawless Groaci. "To extend my compliments to the Chief of Operations, and
inform him I shall lift at once and require close escort to the vicinity of
Goblinrock."

            "Oh,
sure, chief, I mean yer highness or whatever the appropriate style is fer
foreign big shots."

            As
soon as
Phoenix
was clear of the ground-clutter, a tight formation of
Ree gunships formed up to englobe completely the departing vessel, intercepting
and warning off the patrol boats which swarmed to investigate the unscheduled
liftoff.

            Retief
monitored the exchange of conversation on the open band, and after keying in
his course, ate a light meal of
boeuf bourgignon
and a delicate Chablis,
then went aft for a nap. As he dozed off he heard a commanding Ree voice cut
through the background chatter:

            "Now
hear our sublime Intimidator Slive!" it announced impressively; then the
voice of Slive himself: "From the depths of our inscrutable wisdom, we
have determined that it is expedient that the recently dismissed Envoy of
Terra, one Retief, be detained for further interrogation."

            Slive's
voice increased its decibels. "All units! Seize the Terran ship
Phoenix.
Don't destroy! Deliver the unspeakable Retief in prime condition for most
intense interrogation!"

            The
open radio band seemed to vibrate with harsh echoes.

            Noting
that Goblinrock now lay a fractional AU dead ahead, Retief reached out
tentatively with the insubstantial voice he had fallen so easily into using
with the native organism on that body:

            "Pushy—I'm
estimating planet-fall in plus nine-oh-three-one, mark. Your next big meal is
following me in."

            "Greeting,
Retief," Pushy's reply came promptly. "Welcome back! And we
appreciate your thoughtfulness in bringing lunch. We do hope it's still alive,
thus to furnish us the fun of preparing our meal personally."

            Retief
reassured the alien that the Ree would arrive alive and full of determination
to retain that status.

            "Superb!"
Pushy came back. "Good sport, as well as good eats! Capital. Do
hurry!"

            Retief
landed his refurbished ship on the opposite side of the small world from his
first contact, but found Pushy, now resembling a heap of violet soccer balls,
awaiting him.

            Before
he had finished telling Pushy what had been happening to him, a Ree cruiser
flashed overhead, followed a moment later by three squadrons of atmospheric
craft, a detachment of which peeled off to settle in in a mile-wide circle
around
Phoenix
and Pushy.

            "Oh
goody," Pushy interrupted, "lunchtime!"

            At
once he collapsed into a heap of unconnected spheres, each of which rolled off on
its own, forming a thin, purple circle, expanding like a ring on water to
contact and overwhelm each Ree fighter craft as it fruitlessly fired
antipersonnel charges at the advancing balls.

            Retief
tuned to the Ree battle-command frequency and overheard the confused babble:

            "—new
trick! What—hold it! Belay that! Secure all hatches with manual
safe-bars!"

            "—already
told you slobs, deploy anti-explosive barriers and firewalls! Don't let—"

            "—pigtail
three to pigtail one, over! Pigtail three—"

            "—have
your orders," an overriding transmission cut through the gobble. "I
shall dock and establish my field HQ at locus 13 degrees north, zero latitude.
Stand by for further instructions."

            "—tried
everything! This stuff is everywhere, like sticky fish-nets, and it keeps
coming! Ouch, it—"

            "Silence!"
the commanding voice boomed out. "We are now in position and can observe a
curious phenomenon. G-5, did you report violet cobwebs? You blundered: these
cobwebs are of a distinct green tint! We are now declaring a Condition Scarlet
alert! Stand by!"

            As
the last Ree transmission cut off abruptly, Retief noticed that the purple
spheres had reassembled and were even now taking the form of a lone, snow-white
column, reaching far up into Goblinrock's dark sky.

            "Capital!"
Pushy exclaimed suddenly. "Retief, this has been an occasion of great joy.
I didn't waste any H
₂
0 on these fellows, just bathed them in HCl;
they dissolved readily. How soon can we hope for another shipment?"

            "Not
before your appetite recovers, I trust," Retief suggested. "I'd like
to stay and visit, but I have to be on my way, before someone back at Sector
gives away the Eastern Arm. Ta."

-

            Back
in Space, Retief found that all Ree military craft had withdrawn to extreme
radio range, their traffic, coming through faintly amid a background of star
static, being concerned with such topics as 'orderly withdrawal', 'tight
quarantine' and 'Terry secret weapons.'

            He
bypassed Prute and the other outlying Fringe worlds, and headed in-Arm at flank
speed. M'hu hu's refurbished tramp had the high-speed capability to be expected
of a former attack destroyer. He was passed inward without comment by the TSA
pickets, and at a fractional AU from Aldo, he made contact via tight beam with
Sector HQ in the person of Undersecretary Clayfoot, the Staff Duty Officer, and
transmitted a concise report on his mission to Slive.

            "I
had to twist the Intimidator's furb," Retief concluded, "but he
agreed to exchange all the Terran hostages for one VIP from the
Corps
Diplomatique,
namely me. I'm to return in one standard month, after I've
made sure the hostages are safe."

            "You
say your name is Retief?" Clayfoot cut in peremptorily.

            "Can't
be," another voice in the background commented. "That's that
fellow—the troublemaker; Crodfoller sent him off on a suicide mission. Must be
a hoax."

            "Never
mind, George," Clayfoot's glutinous voice responded, off-mike. "I'll
just pump the hoaxer a bit, and find out something useful. Now, let's just scan
this so-called report. Hmmm, proposes to exchange diplomats for dirt farmers;
pedants for peasants, unlikely on the face of it. Here, fellow: how many senior
CDT officials did you say they're demanding in return for, let me see, one
hundred twenty distressed colonists?"

            "Just
one, Mr. Secretary, me," Retief replied patiently.

            "That's
absurd!" Clayfoot snapped. "Even if we considered one bureaucrat for
ten bucolics a fair rate of exchange, that would be an even dozen. And you say
they're only asking for a mere Second Secretary of Embassy and Consul;
preposterous! You betray your lack of knowledge of great affairs, fellow! Now,
give up this imposture and clear the channel for important matters!"

            "I
was pressed for time," Retief informed his superior. "I didn't wait
around to negotiate a less favorable exchange ratio."

            "Indeed!
Now, Mr. Retief or whatever your actual identity may be, I shall now test your
bona
fides
by a few questions regarding matters known only to a select few
inner-circle officers here at Sector: What's on the menu for next Tuesday at
the Officer's Open Mess?"

            "Gerbil-culture
burgers, Ka-swe, cultured hundred-year cug, peanut-butter and olive salad, and
authentic Chicago smörgäsar," Retief replied promptly, suppressing an
impulse to gag.

            "I
can see the rot runs deep," Clayfoot said to his unseen companion,
"the rascal knows his eats."

            "Probably
bribed Jerry, the bartender at the VIP lounge," the background voice
suggested.

            "By
no means," Retief corrected. "The menus for March were on page two of
the
Daily Corps
last week."

            "By
Jove, perhaps this Retief really
did
make the
gaffe
of returning
from a one-way assignment," Clayfoot muttered. "Damned inconvenient.
I've already assigned a new man to complete the iceberg count out on Icebox
Nine. Now, see here, Retief," he went on, addressing the microphone
directly:

            "You're
to keep this strictly confidential; not a word to anyone until I've debriefed
you! Is that understood?"

            "It's
jake at this end, Mr. Secretary," Retief reassured the great man.
"I'm estimating Aldo in plus twelve-ten-two. I could use a meal and a bed
before debriefing, if the tactical situation allows."

            "Good
notion, Retief! I follow your thinking: if you were rushed direct to the Staff
Duty Office, rumors might spread that you had Hot Dope— and we wouldn't want
that, eh?"

           
Phoenix
docked precisely on schedule, and Retief emerged to be met by an Embassy
driver, who whisked him to HQ at a speed well in excess of the limit
established by Regulations. He was at once assigned a spartan chamber in the
Diplomatic Officers Quarters and had removed his shoes and stretched out when a
cautious tapping sounded at the door. He opened it and Ben Magnan scurried in.

            "Gracious"
Magnan whispered. "I mustn't be seen here, Retief! It's top hush-hush, but
when I heard that you'd actually come alive through a meeting with CIIU Slive,
naturally I had to see you at once. Candidly, I feared for you—for, in spite of
all, I have a feeling that without your peculiar style of diplomacy, the CDT
would be the poorer. Welcome back!"

            Retief
accepted the excited Econ man's handshake and reassured him that Intimidator
Slive had turned out to be a reasonable chap after all.

            "Rumors
are flying, Retief," Magnan reported breathlessly. "Somehow Jerry—the
barman, you know—got wind of some immense plum of an assignment that's become
available to a few select headquarters types, a result of your own dealings
with the Chief Intimidator, the story has it. Perhaps I myself might aspire to
be one of these Special Delegates, Jerry says. If you could give me the inside
dope, Retief, that might just swing the balance in my favor. Surely, as an old
associate, you'll give that edge, eh?"