The Return of Retief (2 page)

            The
aliens were still marching directly toward him, but showed no signs of noticing
him, or the modest steam-clouds his work had produced. He laid low until the
Ree column had passed, then, at the top of the pass, he paused, swung, and at
tight beam burned through one of the now exposed anchor cables restraining the
bubble; it turned lazily and slid down into the blast crater, entry-port down.

            The
Ree soldiery, having filed through the pass and deployed before the bubble,
dithered in confusion, then fell into ranks again and stood unmoving, their
face plates staring skyward.

            Retief
made his way down the rough path to the crater floor; there he paused, turned,
studied the iceberg for a moment, then took careful aim with his energy gun at
narrow beam, and cut away the last bridge of ice supporting the immense mass he
had earlier cut almost free. At last, a sharp
crack!
rang out, followed
by a deep-noted rumble. The entire face of the towering ice sheet began to
descend, shattered suddenly into myriad pieces, some no larger than dice,
others as big as pianos. With a deafening roar, the ice cascaded down, closing
the pass under a drift of frozen methane, wreathed in a slowly settling cloud
of ice crystals.

            He
went on toward the alien vessel; when he was within a hundred yards of it, the
amplified voice boomed out:

            "We
see you! Thought for a minute the ice fall got you. Now approach, more slow but
hurry up!"

            As
the amplified command came to an end, Retief noticed that the turret-mounted
gun which had been aimed toward the pass was now rotating and depressing
steeply so as to bear directly on him. He advanced slowly, passed into the
shelter of the alien hull, while the guns reached maximum deflection and came
to rest with a whine of frustrated gearing.

            At
the stern of the vessel, Retief examined the adjacent ice-wall, studied angles
and distances, and again made two converging cuts in the clean blue ice.

            Behind
him, the same irritable voice spoke up again: "I notice the pass fell in,
just missed my fellows. Looks like maybe you tried to put one over on me."

            "What
do you mean, 'tried'?" Retief asked, using an inductance contact unit
which he held against the space-burned hull plate beside him.

            "You
better come out where I can see you, stranger," the alien cut, "or
otherwise I can't shoot you if we feel like it. Maybe you say no fair ask for
help, then shoot you when you come over. Well, that's a little trick we played
on you, crafty stranger."

            "Worked
fine," Retief said. "And here I am. Now you'd better open up so I can
come in and have a nice chat with you. Otherwise I'll have to bury your command
under an estimated five hundred tons of ice. That's a little trick
I
played on
you!"

           
"Now you better
come inside my vehicle and give me your explanation and apologies," the
Ree said as if by sudden inspiration. The entry hatch cycled open.

            "When
the inside door opens, come up the hall to my office," the voice commanded
curtly. "See, I don't want to leave my captain-chair here, cause I might
get lost. Never
did
read the Owner's Manual on this thing."

            Retief
left the airlock and proceeded forward to the command deck. As he went he
snapped open his face plate. An alien odor of smoked fish assailed his
nostrils.

            In
the Command Center he saw what he assumed was the Ree captain, closely fitted
into a gimbal-mounted container the size of a garbage can, which exposed only a
face like a burnt waffle, surrounded by muscular tentacles, which twitched
suddenly, and then hung limp.

            "Ho,
you startled me, creeping up like that," the alien voice said, unmagnified
now, and sounding like a ten-year-old Boy Scout, flunking his Eagle badge.
"When I get startled," the captain went on, "I'm no good for
anything for half an hour. Takes the starch out of the old tentacles. Sit down,
stranger, and wait'll I feel like it."

            "Would
you really have shot me, if I'd let you?" Retief inquired mildly.

            "Sure,
yes! See, I got these here automatic defense circuits; they're set up to blast
anything comes close to the hull."

            "Why
didn't you shut the system down?" Retief asked. "We couldn't very
well talk if you'd blasted me first."

            "I
don't know nothing about all that fancy electric stuff," the garbage
canned Ree explained. "I hardly even got to find out how to work the
autochef, otherwise I and my boys woulda starved. This is my first
command."

            "Why
did you shoot at my station?" Retief inquired. "What are you doing on
this iceberg?"

            "Well,
I got my orders," the Ree said, in a tone which implied he expected an
argument. "Anyway, I'm asking the questions. Now, who and what are you,
and why?"

            "I
am Retief, Terry diplomat on detached duty to monitor the automatic equipment
monitoring the ice flow for Cartographic Section," Retief replied.
"As for why, I'll have to pass that one. It's one of those jobs they give
people they're not quite ready to shoot. I still want to know what you're doing
here, and why you attacked me."

            "Well,
I was having a little trouble with my vehicle, Retief. By the way, I'm Captain
Fump, Imperial Naval Arm of Great Ree. So, like I was telling you, my vehicle
here was giving me a hard time. See, I wanted to head for some place they
called Lonesome George, but it seems like my vehicle here has got this
pre-programmed course set in it, and I hadda shoot a hole into the control box,
before it'd leave off trying to steer itself. Then I found out it wasn't so
easy to steer it good by hand, and I hadda make what you call a force landing.
OK?"

            "OK
up to that point," Retief conceded, "but why did you fire at my
bubble?"

            "Ah,
them automatics took over again, what you call a back-up system. Nothing I
could do. Lucky you ducked in close where they can't see you, Retief, or
they'da blasted you sure."

            "I
see," Retief replied. "That being the case, it's a good thing I
didn't deploy my defensive batteries, eh? What an emplacement of infinite
repeaters would do to this tub is nobody's business."

            "Yeah,
lucky your automatics don't work no bettern' mine," Fump said
complacently. His tentacles were beginning to twitch now. "OK, I'm warming
up, Retief," he said. "Be in shape in a minute. Now, the way I see
it, you better go lock yourself in the aft lazaret, that means back storeroom,
and I'll see if
I
can get my command together here, and we'll take a
little ride. Now it's time for my nap." The burnt waffle went slack, and a
buzzing sound started up.

-

            He
made a leisurely tour of the Groaci manufactured vessel, found a dormitory
consisting of stacked garbage cans, smaller than Fump's, all empty ... A lone
crewman, apparently the only crewman left aboard after Fump had sent the squad
outside, was manning the aft fire-control compartment. The chamber was clearly
in need of maintenance. Retief stripped away spider-webs and entered the
cramped space.

            "Hey!"
the Ree gunnery officer exclaimed as Retief appeared abruptly before him.
"You're a Groaci, ain't you?
Love
them Groaci; good pals, if only
they wouldn't steal so much, no offense."

            "You
may talk about the sticky fingers of the Groaci all you like," Retief
reassured the fellow. "Personally, I'm more of a Terry."

            "Oh,
I heard about them: got big antlers, hey, and green spots, and all, right?
Sure, I seen plenty Terries even if they do eat Groaci grubs and got a terrible
prejudice against all life-forms fortunate enough to have five eyes, like the
Groaci. That's how come the Terries are always picking on the peace-loving
Groaci, which they only wanta live peaceful."

            "On
someone else's real estate," Retief pointed out. "Which brings us to
you boys: what are you doing so far out of your own backyard?"

            "Well,
we got this big invasion planned, only don't tell anybody because it's what you
call Top Secret dope."

            "Oh?
Are there many of you Top Secret dopes?" Retief inquired.

            "Sure,
a big armada of us, but old Fumpy got lost—and here we are. But where in the
Cold Place are we, anyway?"

            "You're
on a minor planet known as Icebox Nine, in the North Tip of the Eastern Arm. I
take it you boys are from the Western Arm."

            "Right,
and if you ask me, which nobody will, we should of stayed home and reworked the
tailings. I took a look outside, and I didn't see nothing but ice. Course a
nice cool climate is swell, with just the odd glacier creeping down the
mountain for excitement, but
this
place is ridiculous."

            "So
you don't intend to lay claim to Icebox Nine?" Retief inquired casually.

            "Not
unless old Fumpy is even dumber'n what I think he is. You know the rule:
everybody stakes out a new breeding surface gets to live there, permanent, as
King, or Mayor, or Emperor, or Dictator, or Count, whatever title he likes.
Now, on a planet like this, what fun could a fellow have dictating, or
counting, or whatever? We oughta head for home pronto, and report the invasion
didn't work out. But old Fumpy's got a idear he can be a big shot, except he
forgot to find out how to run this tub, which he took delivery personal from
some local turncoat name of Lith, or Whish, or like that."

            "You
shouldn't leave your intercom open if you're gonna knock your captain,"
Fump's voice spoke grumpily from the wall-mounted talker. "By the way,
Goop, if you see a creature with only four limbs snooping around in your
department, throw a quick Kablitski on him and leave him lay in the aft lazaret.
I trusted the bum to lock himself up, but he outsmarted me. Got it?"

            "Eye,
eye, sir," Goop replied snappily. "Hey, hold still a minute,
pal," he added, addressing Retief. "I got to look up 'Kablitski' in
my martial arts manual, where I can throw one on you like the cap'n said."

            "Never
mind," Retief suggested. "I'll just go forward and explain to the
captain why that would be a bad idea."

            "Well,"
Goop said, laying aside his manual.

            "Sure.
If you promise you won't pull a fast one and not report to Cap like you
said."

            "I
promise!' Retief assured the yeoman.

            Back
in the cramped command center, Retief found Fump out of his seat and poring
over a chart-table. The alien was of simple physique, being a foot-thick,
four-foot-tall column of bluish-white muscle with a ring of small tentacles
just below the horny face, and a rippling fringe at the lower end, by which he
ambulated with surprising agility. Now he stood as if shocked when Retief
confronted him.

            "It's
you again!" the captain charged.

            "Right,"
Retief replied in a congratulatory tone. "I see you're too sharp to fool
about that, Captain."

            "Ho,"
Fump agreed. "What you doing back here in my office, after you said you
was going back to the lock-up?"

            "You
missed that one," Retief said. "I didn't say I was planning on
locking myself up: that was
your
idea."

            "Yeah,
but you lemme think—" the stubby officer started, then abruptly doubled
over and spun, its upper quarters whipping toward Retief in a blow that would
have broken ribs. Retief braced himself against a wall-locker and raised a
knee, placed to intercept Fump's rugged face, which it did, with a meaty
smack!
The captain tottered, straightened, with thin yellow juice dribbling from
his features, and staggered back.