The Return of Retief (24 page)
"Well,
enough of nostalgia for the moment, Ben," D'Ong said. "I mustn't keep
Ambassador Shiss waiting. Until tomorrow at the jelly-flower judging,
then?"
"Ah—wait—Mr.
Minister—"
"Just
call me D'Ong," the Grotian said affably.
"All
that 'Mr. Minister' jazz gives me a swift pain in the zop-slot."
"Sure,
er, D'Ong," Magnan agreed. "Why don't you and I sneak off for a
couple quick cups of tea, and let old Shiss stew in his own juice?"
"I
couldn't think of it, Ben. One doesn't stand up a fellow-being, no matter how
tiresome he may be."
"Yes,
but frankly, D'Ong, I have a feeling Shiss is up to no good. On the other hand,
if I could speak to you for a moment, I could explain about a real
treaty-sweetener as advantageous as your auntie's tea bag."
"Why
couldn't you have explained it at the lunch, instead of mumbling away to
Freddy?"
"Well,
we only thought of it—"
"Halt!
What scheming Terry trick are you up to, Magnan?" Fith demanded through
the keyhole. "How fortunate I alerted the guard at your unheralded
approach!"
There
was a sudden outburst of breathy Groaci shouting from beyond the wall. A bolt
screeched at being withdrawn, and the massive gate swung back.
A
platoon of Groaci peace-keepers in flaring red helmets and chrome-plated
greaves with red and green studs emerged in a ragged column of twos.
"To
surround the soft ones instanter!" a non-com whispered in harsh Groaci.
The
troops at once formed a lopsided circle around Magnan and D'Ong, power guns at
the ready.
"Here,
here, I protest!" Magnan cried. "Captain Fith!" He fixed the
officer with an Indignant Stare (491-a) "You're making a serious blunder!
Call off your boys at once!"
"You
know how it is, Ben," Fith said in his accentless Terran. "Got to
keep on top of the situation. This puts me one-up. No hard feelings."
"Au
contraire,
I shall have very hard feelings indeed unless Minister D'Ong and
I receive an immediate apology."
A
hoarse Groaci voice called from beyond the wall, "To do your duty at once,
Captain Fith—ah, Major Fith, that is, as soon as you have him bound hand, foot,
and incidental members, and deposited in the torture cage."
"You
see how it is, Ben," Fith said sadly. "Ambassador Shiss is taking a
personal interest in the caper." He turned to address the corporal of the
guard. "You heard His Excellency. Tie him up! Be quick about it,
nest-fouling litter-mate of drones!"
The
corporal paused to jot a note on his cuff, then laid hands on D'Ong.
"Not
the Foreign Minister—the Terry!" Brevet-Major Fith snapped. "Escort
the Minister to his appointment in His Excellency's office."
"Steady,
Ben," D'Ong murmured. "I'm sure there'll eventually be a nice note of
apology from the Groaci Foreign Office. But—"
He
broke off as a pair of Groaci peace-keepers seized him and hustled him up the
broad steps and into the Embassy.
Fith's
sticky fingers were exploring Magnan's jacket pocket. They came out with the
small packets of coffee.
"What's
this, Ben?" he asked. "A new product of Terran know-how?"
"An
old beverage, Fith," Magnan said, struggling against his captors.
"Not worth drinking, really."
"Poison?
Not smart of you, Ben, seeking to poison Shiss and D'Ong and thus delay the
signing of the Groaci treaty." Fith tossed the packets outside the gate.
The
penetrating voice of Ambassador Shiss called from beyond the wall, "Let's
get this show on the road—Lieutenant."
Fith
leaped as if prodded by an electrospur.
"There
goes the old promotion," he mourned. "Drag him in, boys," he
added to his troops.
Four
Groaci lifted Magnan bodily and staggered off with him, to the ground-level
dungeon door. The massive Embassy gates clanged shut.
-
Meanwhile
Ambassador Smallfrog and Retief had adjoured to the No. 2 Reception Salon, and
were refreshing themselves with a flagon of Bacchus black.
"By
gad, Retief," Smallfrog declared, placing his Toby mug on the table with
emphasis, "a permatized tea bag ought to get me the Undersecretary-ship on
Kreel, if not better. Did I tell you how I bested the Kreels during my Third
Assistant days under old Charlie Gumlip? Well, my boy—"
An
hour later he paused in his narrative and remarked, "Ben is taking rather
long to convince the Foreign Minister."
"If
he, indeed, was able to reach him, Mr. Ambassador," Retief pointed out.
"Goodness
gracious, Retief, Ben had only to step down the avenue to the Groaci
Embassy," Smallfrog protested.
"Exactly.
The Groaci Embassy," Retief said quietly.
"Hmph,"
Smallfrog snorted. "You'd best run down there, Retief, and find out what
has happened. No telling what
faux pas
Ben has committed, in his
eagerness to win merit points."
"I
agree there's no telling, with the Groaci," Retief said.
He
rose, sauntered down the hall, and out the front door. He paused on the
terrace, enjoying the cedar-scented evening air. Grote's large pale-blue sun
was near the horizon, and the shadows were dense beneath the heo trees.
At
the Embassy gate, the Marine guard came to attention. Retief nodded, "
'Evening, Jimmy. Have you seen Mr. Magnan? Which way did he go?"
"He
was headed for the Groaci Embassy, looking for D'Ong. Funny, the way D'Ong
slipped right past me. I hope I didn't goof, letting him get away with
it."
"Not
at all, Jim. I'm going to stroll that way and see what there is to be
seen."
Retief
ambled along the shaded walk. Near-ing the Groaci Embassy, he studied the high,
grayish-ocher walls, topped with corroded spikes. At the gate he paused, and
stooped to pick up a flattened coffee packet from among the trampled leaves. He
studied it thoughtfully, dropped it again, and approached the peep-hole in the
massive metal gate. He rapped on it twice, and it slid back to reveal a cluster
of eye-stalks in plain G. I. eyeshields.
"
'Evening, Captain Fith," Retief said. "Where's Magnan?"
"To
imply that I, a peace-loving Groacian national, doing his simple duty, am aware
of the comings and goings of Terry First Secretaries?" a breathy voice
replied, then added in accent-free Terran, "Shucks, Retief, I just came on
duty. You had an idea Ben was here?"
"Never
mind, Fith. I just thought maybe we could skip the formalities and get right to
the point. If you boys are holding Mr. Magnan in your compound against his
will, we'll have to call out a squadron of Peace Enforcers to make it clear,
one more time, that you can't get away with it."
"Curious
fancy on your part, Retief. Why would we Groaci be interested in detaining a
mere Terry?"
"Skip
it. Where's D'Ong?"
"You
refer to the feckless local Foreign Minister? He is, I believe, closeted at
this moment with His Excellency, Ambassador Shiss, discussing means of
enhancing Grote-Groaci relations—not that it's any of your business."
"Better
check your manual, Fith. This is too early in the treaty negotiations to start
using your Tentative Insolence, 931-y. Stick to a 21-b Cautious Impertinence
for the present, or old Shiss will have you on the carpet for impairing
Terry-Groaci relations."
"Mmm.
To withdraw now, Retief, to see to my routine duties, such as inspecting my
sluggards unaware, gold-bricking in the therapeutic sand-pit, instead of
cleaning their power guns as instructed."
He
slammed the peep-hole cover.
Retief
went along to the corner and glanced down the narrow avenue that ran along the
north side of the Groaci Embassy compound.
The
leaf-strewn sidewalks were deserted. A lone Yillian delivery van was slumped at
the curb near the rear gate to the compound. Retief noted that it bore a legend
painted in Yillian characters that resembled the word 'egg-nog,' indicating
that it was the Yillian Consul-General's formal garbage truck. He noted as he
passed it that it listed heavily to starboard. A sour odor of fermenting refuse
hung over the grubby vehicle.
Retief
snorted and tried the rear gate. It was solidly locked. He stepped back and
kicked it at lock height. There was a metallic tinkle and the gate swung ajar.
At once, the snout of a Groaci power gun poled through the opening, then
withdrew.
There
was the creak of a rusted chassis sagging on broken shock absorbers. Retief
turned to see a heavy, gray-skinned Yill ponderously emerging from the side
door of the garbage truck.
"You
Terries got an eye on this dump, too, huh?" the Yill said in a glutinous
voice. "Some funny stuff going on around here. One of our boys came over
to deliver a birthday stew to His Groacian Excellency and never came out again.
Swell glimp-egg stew it was, too, aged six months, just ripe enough but not
too
ripe, you know?"
"How
long ago was that, F'Lin-lin?" Retief inquired.
"About
two weeks, come sundown. Hey, I just noticed—they goofed and left the gate
open."
"Careful,"
Retief cautioned as the Yill approached the gate. "There's a power gun
just inside."
"Sure,
I know all that stuff," F'Lin-lin said carelessly. Reaching the gate, he
thrust it open and instantly stepped back and flattened himself against the
fence beside it. When the gun muzzle poked out, F'Lin-lin grabbed it and held
on.
"Watch
it," Retief advised. "If he's on the ball, he'll set it at low beam
and maximum choke, and it'll be red-hot in a few seconds."
The
Yill grunted and released the gun, which at once withdrew, while F'Lin-lin blew
on his palm and muttered.
Retief
took up a position against the fence on the hinge side of the gate. After a few
seconds a finger-like member poked out hesitantly. Retief caught the six-inch
stalk tipped by a bulbous blue ocular, and held it gently but firmly as it
twitched.
"Nice
going, Retief," F'Lin-lin said. "I always wanted to pull one of their
wiggly eyeballs out by the roots. Interesting to see how much stress it'll take
to do it."
"To
see anything, Quilf?" a wispy voice called from beyond the gate.
"Not
precisely to
see
anything, Whiff, but there's something rather curious
going on. It got completely dark all of a sudden, and—well, better give me a
hand. No!" came a gasp. "Not to try to drag me back. I have my eye
fixed on something interesting."
At
once a second Groaci thrust out his head, all five eyes erect and alert. Retief
released Quilf's eye-stalk, grabbed Whiff by the neck and assisted him out.