The Return of Retief (16 page)

            "I
assume you want to do this thing right," Retief said. "Solemn accords
should never be entered into without use of the ceremonial belt, symbolizing
the binding nature of the agreement."

            "Great
Ree is, of course, a civilized power,"

            Slive
stated, deploying his neck-tentacles to adjust the belt more comfortably.

            "To
make it doubly binding," Retief added, "another strand around the
upper quarters is considered chic How about the drape cords?"

            Eager
to clinch the surrender, Slive jerked free the thick length of plush-covered
rope, and deftly tied it around himself as Retief indicated, just below his
tentacles.

            "That's
nice—and
so
flattering," Retief commented at the same moment that
he stepped in close and slammed a pile-driver right hand to the Ree's pinkish
nerve plexus, at which Slive instantly doubled over hard in irresistible reflex
response.

            Retief
deftly caught the trailing end of the pull-cord and tied it firmly to the
sabre-loop on the belt, cinching it up tight, forcing Slive into a tightly
folded position.

            The
Ree Generalissimo humped on the floor, impotent, his neck-tentacles plucking
ineffectively at the hard knot, Retief ignored the impotent Intimidator's
bellows of rage and circled the desk to the impressive command console. At a
glance he identified it as a standard Bogan export model of a type with which
he was familiar from a number of previous encounters with ambitious Groaci.

            While
Slive yelled, Retief punched in orders to all Ree front-line units to disarm,
and to disable all weaponry. The computer quickly confirmed unquestioning
obedience by all units with one exception: Captain Bliff's Ree command
reported, "Negative: Goblins of Goblinrock on offensive—"

            Retief
cut him off curtly. "This command is direct from the HQ of Intimidator
Slive," he pointed out in flawless Ree, knowing that the automatic
security circuitry would instantly confirm the authenticity of the order.

            Moments
later, the computer reported hostile activities at the periphery of the
controlled zone surrounding field HQ. A quick check confirmed that Bliff, in
his frustration, had attempted to penetrate the Ree security perimeter without
proper clearance and had been fired upon, precipitating a free-for-all, which
automatically triggered a massive response from units of the Outer Line.

            "The
fools think HQ is under occupation by you Terries," Slive mourned as the
volume of incoming Operational Catastrophic transmissions rose in volume and
unintelligibility.

            "Stop
this outrage at once!" Slive yelled. "Or I shall order the instant
defenestration of all Terry and other Eastern hostages, yourself taking pride
of place!"

           
"Au
contraire,"
Retief countered. "Actually, you're going to order
the immediate release and repatriation of all your state guests. Start with the
ones you turned over to the Groaci Consul, Snith. I'll give you access to your
gameboard here long enough for that. Any argument or delay, and I'll have to
see just how sensitive that yatz-patch of yours is: say a good hard kick to
start with, with a furb-ache thrown in for good measure."

            "The
highly-evolved Ree organism cannot servive mistreatment of the nexus,"
Slive stated coldly. "The barbarity you threaten would leave you
incarcerated here with a corpse, and no way out. I suggest, out of sheer
great-heartedness, that you reconsider. You got in, Terry, thanks to my
punctilious observation of protocol, but how will you return to your own?"

            Without
a word, Retief went to the single round window, released the latch, and swung
the hinged frame open. Even at this height, the wind gust bore a faint aroma of
rotting refuse.

            "I
take it this is the window you planned to throw me out of," he commented,
"since it's the only one I've seen in your hive, and it seems to have been
installed very recently." He touched the still-damp mortar securing the
porthole-like window.

            "Correct,"
Slive conceded. "We Ree evolved from a handsome molluscoid form, you know;
for ages we secreted our own personal chambers, which lacked windows. Ergo, we
now feel no need overly to be reminded of vast chasms of open space yawning
below us."

            "Nice
view," Retief commented. He leaned out and surveyed the sheer drop to a
paved courtyard a thousand feet below. Slive shuddered. Retief examined the
expanse of coarsely stuccoed wall looming above another fifty feet to an
overhanging cornice, then turned back to Slive, whose hide had faded to a
sickly greenish color.

            "You
don't like windows much, do you, Slive?" Retief inquired rhetorically.
"Suppose I just push you out this one?"

            The
Intimidator spasmed convulsively. "Not that, Terry! Such a fate is beyond
contemplation! Perhaps some accommodation could be worked out!"

            "Too
late," Retief said sadly. "I'm mad now."

            He
put one leg out, groped, and found a foothold on the rough surface.

            "So
long, ex-Intimidator," he called cheerfully to the immobilized war-lord.
"Maybe within a few weeks one of your well-briefed underlings will get up
his nerve to come in and see why you've been so quiet, and then you'll have the
fun of explaining what happened. You can tell them I went out the window on
schedule, which should help to establish your reputation all over again from
scratch; but that shouldn't bother you much; I hear it only took you thirty
years the first time."

            Retief
paused and scanned the sky, where ragged formations of Ree warcraft were
converging from all directions at bombing altitude. Even as he watched, the
first stick of chemical warheads fell away from the lead craft, followed almost
at once by the deep-toned
crum-mp-p!
of detonation, which sent up a
cloud of dense brown smoke from the outskirts of town to shred in the wind as
more bombs fell, and more, their points of impact advancing steadily across the
city.

            "That's
assuming there's anybody left alive to release you," he added to his
gloomy prediction.

            Slive
humped on the floor, yelling curses.

            "Your
staff will assume you're giving the impudent Terry a good going-over,"
Retief suggested. "Of course, you
could
forget about losing face
and yell for help."

            "You,
too, shall die in the holocaust, mischievous Terry!" Slive warned.
"For Mug's sake, Retief, call 'em off! Let me at that console for ten
seconds and prevent tragedy: I've got a locked channel that can cut through ten
layers of jamming and override any priority up to Imperial Whim! Only just lay
off that window!"

            Slive
strained in vain against his bonds, tentacles slack now, his hoarse voice
fading to a whimper.

            At
that moment a near-miss threw a hail of shrapnel against the wall close enough
for a sliver to draw blood from Retief's exposed ankle. He climbed back inside,
went to the fallen big shot, took a grip on the leather belt, which was biting
deep into the CIIU's muscular torso, and dragged him behind the console.

            "First,
order the hostages freed," he instructed. "Then you can call off the
attack."

            Slive
flipped keys with his tentacles, shouting against the incomprehensible bellow
from the tight-security, top-priority channels, the bedlam now amplified by the
impact of bombs near at hand. The building shuddered.

            "—at
me!" Slive was yelling. "Abort mission! You have been duped by the
enemy! Break off attack immediately and return to station! Clear classified
channels for incoming Operational Ultimate orders! I repeat: break off attack
at once!"

            As
his voice faded, cracked and became a mere croak, the volume of incoming calls
slowly faded, only an occasional word or phrase coming through:

            "Foul-up!
But I've got my orders ..."

            "—old
Slive says hit HQ, he don't mean head for the boondocks!"

            "—emergency
plan twelve-point-oh-nine. Clear enough. But—"

            "Knock
it off, I said!" Slive yelled raggedly, flipping keys frantically.

            The
attack formations were dispersing reluctantly, Retief saw through the
shrapnel-shattered glass. Slive whimpered, his tentacles slack.

            "Now
the hostages," Retief reminded his host. He came over to stand beside the
trussed-up Ree chieftain, who attempted to writhe out of reach of a kick to the
yatz-patch. Retief jerked him back into optimum position, prodded the pink area
with his toe.

            "All
right, all right," Slive croaked. "I got to give the old laryngeal
plates a little rest first," he whispered, breaking off to cough
rackingly.

            "Now!"
Retief said and drew back his foot. Slive began operating a different row of
keys, marked in obscure Ree glyphs.

            "All
stations," he grated, "the signing of a new Ree-Terra accord renders
status of hostages equivocal."

            He
paused. "I can make this a kill order just as easy, Terry," he told
Retief. "You've got to ante up again. Now, what I've got in mind: I turn
this bunch of nobodies loose, and you Terries deliver a new set, only VIP's
this time. Better make up your mind, Terry." Slive turned back to his
command console.

            "Hold
it," Retief said quickly. "No kill order. I'm not empowered to offer
you any substitutes, except one. Me. Free the hostages, and one month from
today, after I've personally confirmed that the hostages are home safe, I'll
come back and report to you."

            "Done!"
Slive cried. "A capital notion, Terry! What fun I shall have with you ere
I cast your broken remains out that selfsame window!" With renewed vigor,
the CIIU resumed his tight-beam transmission to all Reedom:

            "Contingency
plan 321" he cited. "Release hostages intact, and deliver them to the
nearest Terry enclave! I want them turned over in good shape, so nobody can
claim that Great Ree don't know how to treat its property! Do it!"

            "Get
Snith on the hotline," Retief ordered. "Tell him to put Hardtack's
Governor Anderson on." A moment later, he heard the elderly hostage's
cracked voice.

            "...
tell this five-eyed little plucked rooster what—"

            "Never
mind, Governor," Retief said soothingly. "Keep cool and you'll be on
your way to Hardtack within the hour. Spread the word: It's a genuine
repatriation; we've worked out a deal."

            "Wouldn't
trust none of them consarned worms as far as they can jump," Anderson
complained, until Retief signed off.

            "Now
what, bold Terry?" Slive demanded. "What, pray, is to prevent me from
ordering my troops in to defenestrate you as originally planned?"

            "Don't
waste their time," Retief suggested, going to the window. "We Terries
evolved from an arboreal type, you know. We love a brisk climb before
dinner."

            He
swung himself out and was pleased to find convenient new hand-and-footholds
where patches of stucco had been knocked away by the same blast which had
broken the glass.

            He
leaned back in to wave to Slive, and started the upward climb. A soldier on an
adjacent rooftop noticed and fired an offhand shot which knocked a chunk from
the cornice in a convenient place to assist the lone Terran in gaining the
roof.

            Once
there, Retief quickly sought out the stairhead, opened the heavy hatch-cover, and
descended into the now familiar fishy odor. Down the dim, nacreous stairwell,
he could hear faint sounds of alarms and excursions below. A glow from one side
indicated the mouth of a cross-passage, which he entered and followed to the
wider and relatively well-lit main corridor. Here he waited for a squad of
uniformed Ree soldiery to pass, escorting a gaunt and ragged Terran, who
shuffled along the corridor, shoulders hunched, muttering.