Reward for Retief (53 page)

            "Naw, I just said you
stole a bundle," Big corrected patiently.

            "And you, Sol?"
Overbore challenged. "Just what have
you
set aside for yourself,
which allows you to join so readily in this defamation of a senior diplomat and
Counselor of this embassy?"

            "Ben," Overbore
next addressed his junior. "Do you propose to stand idly by while this local
dacoit slangs me in that fashion?"

            "Actually, sir,"
Magnan replied in a rather lackluster 91-v (Prolonged Patience With One Who is
Slow to Get it), "Chief Smeer's—or the Captain's charges are quite beside
the point, however well-founded. As an officer of the CDT, it is my obligation
to heed the evidence of my senses."

            "Heed, is it?"
Overbore snarled. "As for your alleged senses, Ben Magnan, they are, I
submit a negligible factor in the present contretemps! I suggest, nay, I order
you to disregard these fanciful allegations!"

            "No, sir," Magnan
replied doggedly.

            " 'No, sir,' you say,
Ben?" Overbore barked in a harsh 172-b (Stunned Incredulity at Attack from
an Unexpected Quarter). "Am I to understand that you are refusing a direct
order given to you by your very own Deputy Chief of Mission?"

            "That's right, I'm
afraid, sir," Magnan confirmed as if incredulous of what he was hearing
himself say. "After all, sir," he added, "that
was
you I
unhorsed in single combat. What were you doing, riding with that bunch called,
as I recall, the Rath?"

            "Nonsense!"
Overbore snapped. "I've never been astride a big black gelding in my
life!"

            "Tell him, honey,"
Gaby urged, pressing herself close to Magnan's side as she caressed his arm,
which he gently disengaged in order to slip it about her slender waist.

            "Can you deny,
sir," Magnan challenged, "that it was this charming young lady whom
you were terrorizing when we met on the field of Honor?"

            " 'Field of Honor'
indeed!" Overbore snorted. "Have you lost your mind, Ben?" he
appealed with a feeble 310A (Inability to Credit Perfidy of Such Magnitude).
Then he rallied. "Ben, I'm giving you one last chance to redeem yourself
and to salvage your career; indeed, to emerge from this fiasco with a glowing
recommendation for an accumulated bump in rank. What do you say to that,
eh?" Overbore looked complacently at Retief. "As for you, a stretch
in a Sardonic dungeon will be good for that stiff neck of yours. We'll see how
long your arrogance lasts in durance vile."

            "I doubt that,
sir," Retief replied quietly. "I'm afraid you've distorted your
paradigm a trifle too far for it to be retrieved now."

            Overbore stepped back, and
with a dramatic gesture barked: "Let this be deleted!"

           
i'm afraid not, sid,
the small voice came back.

            "You—you'd dare to
attempt to defy
me?"
Overbore yelled. "Why, I invoked you and
I can consign you to the Category of unrealized potentialities as easily as
not!"

           
don't try it
,
the Big Voice boomed out with
sufficient vigor to knock Overbore to his knees, in which position he clasped
his hands in a grotesque parody of a prayerful attitude, his eyes fixed on
Magnan. "I beseech you, Ben," he wailed. "As one with whom you
have fingered the ceremonial kiki-stones—stop, before you soil your conscience
beyond repair! Remember the respect due a Counselor of Embassy of Terra! Forget
all this nonsense!"

            "Sorry, sir,"
Magnan replied gloomily, "I confess it hurts me, but not even a moral
leper of the worst stripe could stand by and see the rightful owners of this
world dispossessed, disenfranchised and displaced for the mere personal gain of
a greedy individual."

            "Oh, you want
graft," Overbore replied, on firmer footing now. "Well, Ben, I'm sure
something could be arranged, such as an apartment duplicating those in the New
Waldorf Towers on Nouveau Nine, with your doxy here, and a top-crust, solid
platinum unlimited credit card." His voice had segued to a confidential
purr. Magnan turned his back coldly.

            "That does it," he
announced to his biographers., "Such venality is beyond belief."

            At that point Sol spoke up:
"What about me?" he yelled. "When you two get through slicing up
my
world, whataya got in mind I should get? Retire maybe on a small
pension in the Old Space'n's Home? Forget it! Wiggly and me are gonna fight the
lot o' youse to the last!"

            Magnan turned to Sol,
registering Patience Overstressed (17-w). "You mentioned, sir, that
returning to Zanny-du, the city, that is, would be a simple matter. Kindly
demonstrate its simplicity."

            "Sure, Mr. Ah,"
Sol agreed. "All you got to do, you got to come with me, over by the
Spot." Without awaiting assent, he went to the door and stepped outside;
through the opening, the golden Domes were visible in the distance.

            "Retief!" Magnan
yelped and grabbed his subordinate's arm. "Should we—?"

            "Why not?" Retief
replied and followed Sol, who led the small party, including the surly Eddie,
along a woodland path to the clearing with the ruined fountain where Retief had
found the nexus box. Sol went directly to the hinged tile and lifted it.

            "I found this here
gadget right after that louse, Sid, had it installed."

            "I begin to
perceive," Magnan gasped as One Beginning to Perceive (922-1), "the
full enormity of your meddling here, sir!" He confronted Overbore, who
shied, and abruptly became absorbed in a clump of flowering bum-bum vines
twining about the base of the broken sculpture.

            "Fascinating, eh,
Ben?" he remarked in a tone of Utter Innocence (390-1).

            "Not even an FSO-1 and
Counselor of Embassy can really bring off a 390, sir," Magnan commented
regretfully, "especially when you go for a mid-range. A V or c' I might
have bought."

            "Intransigent to a
degree," Overbore stated, as one dictating to a Court reported.
"What's this about catching a cab back to town, out here in the woods? And
who's responsible for breaking up this handsome Groaci copy of a Degas
Dancer?"

           
"As to
that, sir," Magnan began awkwardly, but was cut off by Sol, who had
bustled over importantly to jostle the two diplomats aside.

            "Now, like I
said," he announced, "what you got to do, you got to like, scrunch
down inside yer head and relax. Leave me do the work."

            "What's this feller
talking about, Benny?" Gaby demanded, almost climbing his arm. "I
tell ya, I don't like this, messing around with Transfer point Sixteen and all.
Why, I heard—"

            "Not now, my
dear," Magnan shut her off. He caught Retief s eye. "I say, Jim, do
you suppose—"

            "Don't do no supposing,
Mister," Small suggested, rather abruptly. "Ain't safe here in the
stay-away zone. I just now figgered out—"

            "All you guys are
nuts," Dirty Eddie announced, coming up late. He was at once felled by a
sweep of Prince William's arm. Sobhain was craning to see over Gaby's shoulder.

            "What's in the
box?" he inquired of his tutor, who shook his head. The boy fell silent.

            "You got to like pick
up the thread," Sol was announcing didactically. "I found out—"

            "What is it, Jim?"
Magnan inquired anxiously of his colleague. "I thought the nexus box was a
Galactic Ultimate Top Secret device on the threshold of real-theoretical
interface!"

            "So it is, sir,"
Retief confirmed. "Remember Eisenstein's Dilemma? His rebuttal of
Shrodinger's cat, if you recall."

            "I guess I read
something about that in
Unlikely,
a few issues back," Magnan acknowledged.
"But what have essays in abstruse physics to do with the fact that we're
stranded in the midst of a wilderness infested with hostile Bolos and
non-inflatable Worms, plus a Spectre, I understand, to say nothing of these
ubiquitous gnats, all the while being hunted by the Rath, as well as every idle
cutthroat on the planet in expectation of a fabulous reward?"

            "Well put, sir,"
Retief told his supervisor. "I think perhaps Sol knows something, so let's
see what it is."

            "Ha!" Sol barked.
"I know stuff I don't even know I know. Now, get aligned, like I
said."

           
do as sol suggests,
the Voice boomed out in the silence,
I
showed him the technique some time ago.

            i
dare you to try it
!
Junior's derisive voice came, as from a remote distance,
you can dissolve the whole space/time/vug
intersection back into the PRIMORDIAL ylem. take my advice, get clear of the
concentration, and take a hike. it will take a little longer, but you'll get
somewhere. or would you like some more golfballs to drown in, mr. retief?"

           
"Go ahead,
Sol," Retief prompted. At once he felt a diaphonous
touch
somewhere
behind his eyes, crude by comparison with the delicate nuances of Voice's
telepathic promptings, but clear enough. He
rotated
his attention in
line with the prodding. His thoughts went to the shedding facades of the Terran
Embassy, the now-deserted street before it, and—

            "That's him!" a
squeaky voice yelled. "Grab him quick!"

            "—back there,
you!" Small's voice snarled, at Retief s side. He became aware again of
the surrounding forest, now aboil with unshaven louts, among whom he glimpsed
Horny, Bimbo, Tiny, Tim, Gimpy, Hump, Chief Smeer, Deputy Chief Smudge, Buzzy
and Constable Bob, all converging on him. He picked up the constable and using
him as a flail, laid low the first ranks, at which the somewhat less eager
recoiled. Small looked at Retief and grinned. Just then, Bill, the Marine
guard, resplendent in fresh dress blues, burst into sight. He halted at the
sight of the little group surrounded by their groaning attachees.

            "On the way to tip you
off, General," he told Retief. "Guess I missed the fun."

            "There'll be more,
Bill," Retief reassured the lad.

            "Okay," Sol spoke
up. "I didn't expect some kind of riot while I'm tryna get the old bug
axes aligned. Let's try it again." He squeezed his eyes shut.

            "Sir," Bill said
diffidently to Retief. "Maybe you ought to report in now. Old Shorty's
busting a gusset—oh, His Terran Excellency is eager to speak to you, sir, I
mean."

            "Just going,
Bill," Retief replied, and after taking three steps along the path,
emerged into a dimly lit strip littered with debris and lined with irregular
pilings supporting, far above, the familiar peeling facades of Embassy Row.

            "Hell," Sol
remarked from close behind, "let's try that again, a little tighter,
OK?" The oversized glasswalled elevator slid to a stop with a soft
whoosh!
and the entire party entered. Magnan paused to look back.

            "Heavens!" he
remarked. "In that fog, it's no wonder we became a trifle confused."

3

           
Five minutes later,
on the carpet before the three-meter iridium desk, which was the Fortress
Unvan-quishable since far Sacnoth of His Terran Excellency, Magnan was
stammering out his account of recent events.

            "—actually, sir, it
seems Sid Overbore was a member of a Secret Survey Party sent in here to
Goldblatt's Other World—uh, excuse me, sir: to Sardon—"