The Return of Retief (19 page)
"Don't
let that 'pilot' stuff go to your head, Mr. Retief," Sitzfleisch rebuked
his subordinate sharply. "I am Team Leader; you're merely a nondiplomatic
admin chap here.
I
give the orders."
"That
being the case, Mr. Ambassador," Retief replied, "CDT regs require
that you qualify yourself as a rated pilot and so register with
Operations."
"Nonsense,
I'm no bus driver!" Sitzfleisch snapped. "You can take care of all
that sort of thing, of course. Now, what's the low-down, Retief? I hear you've
visited this chap Slive; what's he really like?"
"He's
a cruel, ambitious thug," Retief told him, "but on the other hand,
he's a liar and a swindler."
"Are
you saying the fellow is a career diplomat?" the TL demanded.
"You
said that," Retief pointed out. "So don't quote me."
An
hour later,
Phoenix
was on course for Fringe Space at flank speed, and
already her complement of Retief and twelve senior bureaucrats had settled into
the monotonous routine of deep-space travel.
Bypassing
Goblinrock, Retief conferred briefly with Pushy via the latter's unconventional
direct-link technique.
"Pity,"
the totipotent being commented when Retief told him he wouldn't be landing this
trip. "But we've learned patience over the ages, and of course we're well
fed at the moment and full of new ideas. Do stop in again soon, and I'll tell
you all about our new project."
"Don't
start yet," Retief cautioned. "I think I can promise you a steady
supply of glimp eggs, starting very soon now. Meanwhile, don't do anything to
upset the
status quo"
Pushy agreed to
allow his grandiose new schemes to lie fallow for the present, and abruptly
lapsed into the comatose state which, he had explained, helped pass the eons
with minimal ennui.
Nearing
the Goober Cluster, Retief programmed a course correction to bring the speedy
vessel into landing orbit at the sparsely-settled world officially designated
RNGCA6321, but known to its hardy inhabitants as Hardtack.
As
the converted destroyer took up its parking orbit, Retief tuned the
communicator to the local traffic band, and was instantly assailed by a clamor
of voices, all talking at once, and all, it seemed at the top of their lungs.
"—got
the sucker in my sights—"
"—save
some for Y Squadron!"
"—told
you bums to stand by for orders!" a domineering voice cut 'through the
babble. "Whattya think this is? A wild barf-beast hunt or something? Now,
B Squadron, you fall in, in echelon left like the plan calls for, and the rest
o' you—"
"—no
exercise! Let's go get em!"
At
the same moment, the long-range proximity detectors
ping!
ed
imperatively.
"What
is .it?" Homer Sitzfleisch demanded, peering over Retief's shoulder at the
screen which displayed an irregular array of small objects converging on
Phoenix. "A meteor swarm?" The Team Leader hazarded. "Odd sort
of phenomenon to find orbiting a T-class planet."
"I
think it's our reception committee," Retief replied.
"Impossible!"
Sitzfleisch snapped. "I notified no one of our anticipated arrival! In
fact, I myself was not aware you planned to detour to this benighted frontier
post. What explanation do you offer?"
"Hardtack
One,
Phoenix
calling," Retief said into the extreme range talker.
"Kindly organize yourselves to escort a CDT vessel transporting a party of
VIP's on an Operational Cosmic Urgent mission."
"Looks
like the boys are on the ball," he added, addressing Sitzfleisch.
Abruptly, the incoherent clamor of incomings cut off, and a commanding voice
came through clearly:
"CDT
Phoenix,
Hardtack One here. We were notified you'd be coming, but we
didn't exactly believe it. Just give me a minute here, and I'll whip this bunch
of mine into shape. By the way, hold your fire if some of my eager beavers
happen to let off a few ranging shots. Don't worry, they'll probably
miss."
"What's
that?" Sitzfleisch demanded. "We're to be fired on? By Terran
colonists? Return fire, Mr. Retief, and do so at once."
"You'd
better go lie down, Mr. Ambassador," Retief suggested quietly. "We've
penetrated their outer perimeter, it seems, without proper clearance, so the
boys are understandably excited. But our automatics can take care of any stray
rounds that happen to come our way.
"Roger,
Hardtack One," he said into the talker. "Request escort for immediate
docking at your main port."
"Roger,
CDT," Hardtack came back. "I can get you down right away; as for our
main port, we only got the one. Over and out."
On
the forward and lateral screens, the horde of small craft which had risen to
challenge the intruder were closing in, some firing as they came.
"We'll
be blasted to atoms!" Sitzfleisch yelled. "Mr. Retief, I suggest—nay,
I
command
that you return fire at once!"
"Very
well, Mr. Ambassador," Retief said calmly. "Could you assist by
pushing the missile buttons?"
"With
pleasure, Retief," Sitzfleisch said, moving to the Attack console.
"No,
not those missiles. They're long-range," Retief said, directing him to a
shiny metal box with rows of black buttons.
The
Team Leader jabbed his finger enthusiastically at a sequence of buttons.
Retief
turned back to the battle screens. The swarm of attacking ships was thinning.
There
was an interruption at the rear of the Control Center. A junior political
officer poked his head around the edge of the entry panel and complained,
"The chiefs back here want to know what's going on. Who's monkeying with
the music tapes? The sound is jumping from octave to octave—"
The
junior nodded and withdrew.
Sitzfleisch
had stopped jabbing the stereo buttons and was watching the screens. The last
attacker veered off at contact minus a fractional second.
The
babble of excited voices incoming on the local band thinned out, to be dominated
at last by the emphatic commands of Hardtack One:
"Form
escort of honor to convoy CDT vessel parations for the reception, as Your
Excellency so perceptively suggested."
"Capital
notion," Sitzfleisch breathed, mopping at his forehead with a large
floral-patterned tissue.
When
the pmgling of gradually cooling, entry-seared hot metal had ceased, a
lantern-jawed man casually uniformed in blue-dyed homespun ornamented with an
amount of buttons and braid suggestive of Field Marshal rank advanced to the
Phoenix's
landing party in a studied saunter.
"All
right, fellows, I'm Sergeant-Major Grundy," he announced in a brassy
voice. "Which one of you boys is in charge here?"
"May
I present Ambassador Sitzfleisch," Retief spoke up as the latter bustled
forward to confront his host.
"Only
a sergeant?" Sitzfleisch muttered as he started to offer a handshake, then
patted his paunch instead. "A mere non-com to meet me and my little party
of heroes—none of whom is less than a CDTO-10, except for my driver Retief, of
course."
"Happens
Sergeant-Major's the top dog in our organization," Grundy snapped.
"Now, what's the idea getting our fellows all stirred up? Figgered it was
another Ree invasion."
"It
so happens, Sergeant," the Team Leader replied coldly, "that I am on
a mission of the utmost gravity, and it was only with reluctance that I decided
to honor your small planet with an actual State Visit."
"Gosh,"
Grundy said expressionlessly.
"According
to the CDT List," Underthrust put in, "there's a Consulate here.
Where's the Consul?"
"I
was about to inquire as to that," Team Leader Ambassador Sitzfleisch said
quickly. "Damned odd the fellow's not here, eh?"
"Nope,"
Grundy said. "Be pretty strange if he
was
here, seein's he took off
right after the Rees hit the Plantation and grabbed the governor and all."
"Impossible!"
Sitzfleisch thundered. "A diplomat deserting his post in the face of the,
ah, alleged enemy."
"Maybe
he heard
you
was coming, Cap'n," Grundy suggested expressionlessly.
"And there ain't nothing 'alleged' about the enemy. Them suckers burned
our entire zitz-weed crop, and our snick berries didn't come out too good,
neither, seein's they parked their go-boats right in the midst of our prime
acreage. You watch: snick berries are going sky high. That's a market tip,
fellows. Well, are we going to stand here and jaw the whole day, or are we
going up to town and have some eats? We got a kind of lash-up banquet laid on,
soon's we heard we bagged us a boatload of big shots from Aldo."
"A
modest meal would not be amiss," Sitzfleisch conceded, amidst the
enthusiastic cries of his subordinates:
"—some
real chow at last!"
"—one's
palate is probably atrophied!"
"—shipboard
rations! Never—"
"Ah,
just what are you serving, Sergeant Major?" the Team Leader inquired.
"Got
a big rock ranger, that's a local sheep," Grundy replied. "Kinda
gamey if you ain't used to it. Descended from goats and sheep the early
explorers turned loose here. Smells pretty bad. Tough, too, a big old male like
this is. But like the little fellow said, it's better'n x-rations. Got some
fine gravy with it, too. We pour that over the mashed bile-tarnips. Hope you
like bichy-bichy, about a hundred-ninety proof, got plenty of that, made outa local
lichen you know, little green, but plenty of vitamins. For dessert, well, I
guess there won't be no dessert, cause the batch the Eady boys was bringing
done blowed up on 'em. Too much yeast, I guess, and a mutated strain at that.
Let's go."
As
Grundy completed his description of the viands in store, a knock-kneed flatbed
pulled up alongside the little group in a cloud of powdered guano, and the
Sergeant Major waved his guests aboard, but caught Retief's eye.
"Seein's
you're the driver for this here bunch, you better ride up front with me,"
he suggested. Retief complied.
As
soon as he had clanged the cardboard-upholstered cab door shut, having crowded
in beside Retief and the driver, Grundy said in a confidential tone, "How
about it, brother? How bad is the war? Where's the Navy? We appreciate the
shipment you boys snuck in labelled 'office supplies,' but hand-blasters ain't
gonna help much if they decide to stand off and bomb."
"You'll
be glad to know that Governor Anderson is on his way home," Retief put in
as Grundy ran out of breath. "And his family, too."
"How
about Buster, the hired man?" Grundy demanded. "He's the best tech
man in the Plantation. Came out here to be a inspector for the outfit installed
the SWIFT gear, only the company folded, and he was stranded. Had to take
whatever job he could get. He OK too?"