The Return of Retief (20 page)

            "Buster
looked hale and hearty when I saw him last," Retief reassured the
sergeant-major. "When the Ree attacked," he went on to inquire,
"did they set up a base here, or was it just hit-and-run?"

            "Tried
to," Grundy said with satisfaction. "Run, I mean. But we headed 'em
off at the draw, and they all committed suicide. Least, they all went rigid and
ain't made a move since. Like they was paralyzed, or catatonic or like that.
Ain't rotted, so they ain't really dead, I guess."

            "The
Ree are a practical folk," Retief explained. "If they realize they're
trapped, they go into deep hibernation until the coast is clear."

            "Well,
anyway," the sergeant-major resumed his account, "soon's we took care
of that, we got together and decided if the Navy ain't gonna give us coverage,
we'd better do something ourselves. That's how come the Planetary Defense
Force. Not a real spit-and-polish outfit, but eager to go. You saw that
yourself."

            "Team
Leader Ambassador Sitzfleisch was deeply impressed," Retief assured
Grundy.

            "I
bet we don't get no more static from them Ree," the sergeant-major
predicted, "when they get word we're organized and combat-ready."

            "You
may be right," Retief agreed. "That being the case, it would be a
pity to let the troops get stale from lack of action."

            "Right!
If my boys don't get to loose off a few rounds, now their dander's up, they'll
probably start in looting each other."

            "I
have a solution," Retief said quietly. "Suppose we carry the war to
the enemy."

            "Whaddaya
mean, Retief?" Grundy inquired hesitantly. "How can we do that when
they ain't here?"

            "Easily,"
Retief told him. "We can go on the offensive."

            "I
like it," Grundy said. "By golly, Retief, the boys are gonna love
this. 'We,' you said: that mean you're coming, too?"

            "I
wouldn't miss it," Retief assured the local warlord.

            "Course,"
Grundy said, after a pause, "we don't know what kind of firepower they
got, or where they're at."

            "I
can help you there," Retief advised the sergeant-major. "Do you
people maintain contact with McGillicudy's World, Drygulch, Dobe, and the other
worlds in the cluster?"

            "Sure
do, got a nice balance o' payments, too, only we ain't heard from them lately.
Last we heard, the worms are harassing them, too, just like us."

            "Do
you think they'd fight to hold onto their planets?" Retief asked.

            "Durn
tootin," Grundy responded enthusiastically. "Only they got no more
armed forces'n we have—less, since we started the PDF."

            "Suppose
we rename it the Cluster Defense Force, and find a way to supply arms,"
Retief suggested. "Would you agree to that?"

            "Just
what I was thinkin' about myself!" Grundy stated: "only I don't know
how I could help em with arms. We hardly got enough in the sneak shipments for
ourselves."

            "I
have a few ideas," Retief said. "Here's what I have in mind ..."

-

            When
the shuffling of feet and clearing of throats had subsided, Team Leader
Ambassador Sitzfleisch adjusted his hip-o-matic chair and
harrumph!
ed
portentously, keeping his small, red-rimmed eyes averted from those of his
Select Team.

            "Gentlemen,"
he began, "it appears we have acted hastily. It's all very well to counsel
appeasement by colonists when one is comfortably situated at Sector HQ.
However, now that we, ourselves, and you chaps as well, have been offered as a
sacrifice to these blood-thirsty dacoits, and are indeed here in Tip Space
surrounded by hordes of the blighters poised to attack with indescribable
ferocity at any moment—" he paused for the shudder "—it becomes
crystal-clear that some effective move on our part is imperative if we are to
survive. Mr. Retief," Sitzfleisch turned to fix his gaze on the latter. "You
will at once prepare my vessel for return to Sector with all deliberate
haste."

            "That
won't be practical, Mr. Ambassador," Retief informed his chief. "I've
already agreed to transport the sergeant-major to McGillicudy's World for a
conference, after which we'll probably go on to Jawbone and a few other places.
It appears the Ree are jamming what little inter-world communications
capability these frontier planets possess."

            "Your
agreement was cheeky, I'd say, Mr. Retief," Siztfleisch snapped.
"After all, the scheduling of my personal VIP transport is my own
prerogative."

            "Aside
from the fact that
Phoenix
was requisitioned by the CDT for official use
only," Retief said, "she was requisitioned from me, presumably on the
basis of the idea that a vessel which had once paid a call on Slive would be
best qualified to do it again, and I'm still the owner of record. In any case,
I've committed the ship to this job, for which the sergeant-major extends his
heartfelt gratitude to Your Excellency."

            "Umm,
well, if you've promised, I suppose ..."

            "Fine,
that's settled, then," Retief dismissed the matter. "In the
meanwhile," he went on, "you and your troops can keep busy attending to
some detail work pending my return." He handed over a list.

            "All
of you Team members held headquarters jobs of vast importance prior to your
selection for the Team," Retief pointed out, "and by some curious
oversight possibly connected with an unauthorized visit to Comm Section at
Sector, you still retain full powers. My suggestion is well-worn Naval blue
polyon was introduced as Cap Josh from Shivaree; his neighbor was a thick-set
fellow of remote African extraction, who smiled pleasantly, showing filed
teeth, when Grundy presented Chief Umbubu from Moosejaw, and so on along the
table. None of the planetary leaders, Retief noted, was afflicted with an
effete appearance or any extraordinary air of over-intellectualization. At
last, the ritual of introduction was broken into by a gap-toothed fellow with a
bicycle chain wrapped around his fist and a flat leather cap which seemed
molded to his flattened skull. "OK, so who's this, Mr. Retief, we got to
waste all this time telling him our names?" he boomed from the far end of
the table.

            "Like
I told you at first, Nandy," the sergeant-major called back in an
impatient tone, "Retief here's our CDT contact, got some great ideas about
how we get ourselves organized. Talked about the special arms shipment and all."

            A
black-bearded ruffian in solid whites with gold buttons responded from beside
Nandy:

            "If
he's the one shipped us the hand-guns labeled hand lotion, he's a all-right
guy, right, guys?"

            "Wait
a minute, Admiral," the Neanderthal-oid cut in. "You talk like this
slicker thinks he's bossing the show. Nobody bosses Boss Nandy."

            "Not
unless he qualifies in the traditional fashion, I presume you mean, Boss,"
a spidery fellow with impressive eyebrows and an elaborately broken nose put
in, in an adenoidal voice. "Ha?" he pressed the query.

            "Well,
Upright," Nandy grunted, rising to reveal a barrel-like torso supported by
legs like gnarled parentheses, "I guess that's a legit of a idear, so
let's just check out this guy's meat." He started toward the head of the
table, exchanging quick handshakes and terse greetings as he went. "—tell
'em. Boss!"

            "—mash
this here bum and get back."

            "—put
on some, ain't you, Nan?"

            "—just
take a minute ..."

            Watching
the approach of the hulking fellow, Grundy whispered to Retief:

            "Looks
like I got you into a fix here, Retief. But just play it cool; I got a .1mm
stashed, and I'll sting him good if he starts to get too rough."

            Boss
Nandy's rolling gait brought him quickly to confront Retief, who had risen
quietly and stood easily, awaiting this challenger's next move. Now,
face-to-shirt-front with his intended victim, Nandy hesitated, cocking his
lumpy head to peer up at Retief from under brows like the overhang of a rock
shelter at Les Eyzies.

            "Don't
mess with Boss," Grundy advised Retief,
sotto voce,
"he ain't
got much restraint, you know."

            "He
won't be needing any, Sarge," Retief told him.

            "Kinda
tall, ain't ya, feller?" Nandy commented in his guttural basso, at the
same moment making a grab at Retief's arm with a calloused, broken-nailed hand
the size of a catcher's mitt.

            Retief
inobtrusively caught the Boss's forearm, held it immobile, and squeezed.
Nandy's lumpy face grew red as he strained silently to free himself from Retief's
grip.

            "You'd
best go back and sit down," Retief suggested quietly. Nandy nodded, and
Retief released the shaggy fellow's arm and started to turn away; just as he
raised a hand to his breast pocket, he heard an abrupt scrape of Nandy's
shoe-leather, and turned back; as he did, somehow his elbow collided with the
Boss's prognathous jaw. Nandy's legs went rubbery, but he caught himself, and
stood swaying slightly.

            "Oops,"
Retief said, "did I bump into you, Boss?"

            "I
never seen them other three guys," Boss mourned. "Anyways, I heard
you diplomatic Johnnies was creampuffs. I heard wrong," he added, as the
last of the glaze faded from his deep-set, blood-shot eyes.

            "May
I escort you to your place?" Retief asked. Nandy shook his head. The
entire exchange had occurred so swiftly and inobstrusively that no one at the
table had observed more than a momentary jostling.

            "Maybe
you're a all-right guy at that," Nandy muttered. "Keeping it quiet
like you done, instead of showing me up in front of the boys."

            "We
can always put on a show for the boys latter, when your jawbone knits,"
Retief pointed out pleasantly. Nandy raised his voice to address the table:

            "Like
I said, Retief here is the operations boss of this caper, and I don't want to
hear no complaints."

            After
a pause, he added. "How about you, Crubby?" The member so addressed
was a hulking Mongol type, sweating profusely in a sheepskin vest which exposed
biceps like lumpy watermelons, a robber baron from Dry wash known to his peers
as Tang the Execrable.

            Tang
gave Nandy a look like a slant-eyed cobra, and grunted. "He's OK with me,
pal. Anybody got any objections?" Tang looked slowly along one side of the
long table, and back along the other, found only bland smiles and averted eyes.

            "Now,
let's get on to the details," Sergeant-Major Grundy yelled over the sudden
outburst of conversation which followed Tang's challenge. "Retief,"
he went on, "want to tell 'em about the relief shipments?"

            Retief
nodded. "Since CDT issue supplies are listed alphabetically," he told
his attentive listeners, "errors can occur if the computers hiccup, and
skip a space. Hence, orders for hand-lotion are interpreted as 'hand-guns,'
flame-retardent paint is adjacent to flame-throwers, and so on. That being the
case, I suggest you unpack any recent deliveries of semi-annual requisition
items."

            "You
mean it's all just another bureaucratic snafu?" a mass of bristly black
whiskers inquired in a surprisingly melodious tenor voice. "Well," he
went on, "no one ever said Stan Spewak was slow on the uptake. Had to
disguise what they was doing, so's not to let on they were backing us frontier
fellers."