Retief and the Rascals (20 page)
"You'd better unload that piece,"
Retief told him mildly. "We don't want to make you sign any statement of
charges for damage to public property."
"I was
going
to," Skunky
muttered and dropped the power cell from the butt of the pistol.
"Now holster it," Retief ordered. The
Indestructible did so, looking resentful.
"You ain't scairt of an empty gun, are you,
fella?" he inquired artlessly.
"No. Empty heads are more dangerous,"
Retief corrected.
"That sounded like some kinda crack,"
Skunky complained.
By then Retief had reached him. "I'll tell
you what. You go climb that squat-strut, like Trash did," he suggested
casually.
Skunky dutifully went to the base of the massive
landing jack. "Time I get to the top, old Thrash'll kick me inna face
again," he predicted mournfully, not grabbing the handholds.
"A kick in the gut wouldn't be much
better," Retief pointed out, moving into position.
"Now, now," Skunky protested, putting
a foot on the first rung. "You ain't got to do nothing unfriendly!"
He scrambled upward, out of reach. "I'm
going, ain't I?"
"We'll be watching you," Retief told
the ascending ruffian.
"He'll
be watching me, too, ever
foot o' the way!" the latter complained. "He's watching me right now.
Time I get to the hatch, he'll open it, and I'll get the boot!"
"Just ease up and get flat against the
hull, off to the left of the hatch," Retief ordered. "When his foot
sticks out, grab it and give him a free ride down to your sand-pile."
"Could, I guess," Skunky conceded.
"Unless he gets careful and takes a look first."
"In that case, you can kick
him
in
the head" Retief explained. Skunky reached the top of the jack and
maneuvered over by the hatch. It popped open and Sarge's arm poked out,
gun-first. Skunky struck down at it with a free hand knocking the weapon from
Thrash's grip; then he grabbed the pirate captain's wrist and jerked him clear
of the opening, holding him suspended over the seventy-foot drop.
"Be nice and I'll drop you onna
sandpile," Skunk offered. Thrash replied with a violent lunge that
dislodged Skunky's grip on his wrist; he fell with a wild yell kicking madly,
to impact at the thin edge of the cushioning heap. Half-dazed, he stumbled to
his feet. Retief came over and told him it was time to move on.
Skunky was peering down cockily from his perch
inside the open emergency hatch. Retief called up to him:
"Debark ships' company and fall them in on
the ramp!"
"And what if I don't?" Skunky
returned. "In that case," Shinth cut in, to have no choice but to
order my command to destroy you on the ground!"
"Oh, yer sticking
yer
oar in,"
Skunky objected. "That's no fair, Retief, using the Groaci to jump a
feller Terry!"
"So now it's all good fellowship, eh,
Shinth?" Retief remarked cynically to the furious GIA agent.
"Never!" the Groac hissed. "To
attack the rogues in defense of the prerogatives of proud Groac, alone!"
he told Retief; then, craning upward at Skunky's retreating face:
"To declare this planet and its resident
fleet a protectorate of the Groacian Autonomy, to be defended against the
threat of a band of landless dacoits! Now to do as Retief ordered,
Skunky!"
"Easy, Shinth," Retief soothed.
"Siding with me this once won't lose you your charter membership in the
Terry Hater Underground Directorate."
"To fear not, Jim Retief!" Shinth
spat. "To be in no danger of expulsion from THUD! To know all the names
and addresses and to have access to secret files which would put paid on the
careers of all the behind-the-scenes powers in THUD, a group which, I learned
to my horror but a few days since, is in the employ of Terran Intelligence!
Patriotism alone would demand I denounce the treachers! I have restrained
myself thus far only out of reluctance to expose so many of Groac's most
honored bureaucrats to public disgrace, to the detriment of the Groacian
public's confidence in those few of us who weren't in their conspiracy!"
"That's an item Hy Felix would love to get
hold of," Retief commented casually.
"Retief! You wouldn't! Or, yes, I suppose
you would," Shinth dithered. "Hy would spread it all over the Arm!
Perhaps we could reach an accommodation: as soon as Skunky has his thieves and
murderers nicely lined up to pass in review, I'll sneak around behind them and
pretend to be inspecting the rear rank. You put Skunky and his chief
lieutenants in irons, and I'll shoot a few tail end Charlies just as an example
to the rest. General Hish will be along soon with his Special Detachment to
disarm the rabble."
Magnan arrived on a line-cart in time to
overhear the Groaci's words.
"Special Detachment?" he cried.
"I don't think our Division of Spheres of Influence Agreement included
provisions for a secret Groaci swat team inside Bloor City!" Magnan
dismounted to await the Groaci's excuses.
Shinth ignored him.
"As for your precious General Hish,"
Magnan resumed hotly, "he's the incompetent fumbler who failed to disable
these captive vessels in the first place! Where's he gotten to? I have a word
or two to say to that gentlebeing!"
"Right here, Ben," Hish supplied,
emerging somewhat untidily, from the adjacent refuse bin. "To be sorry
about the foul-up," he apologized casually. "To have been so busy
suppressing sixteen mutinies, I may have overlooked ..."
"Never mind," Magnan cut him off.
"That's past history. What's important
now
is to get this gang back
under control. Shinth, what do you nave in mind?"
" 'In mind', you say, Ben?" the Groaci
responded in a disparaging tone. "I took the opportunity, Ben, whilst you
were busybodying yonder, to call Admiral Foof aboard his flagship
Devious
and
call in a space-strike on this gaggle of decrepit ex-warships! He'll be along
momentarily, I imagine, so we'd do well to vacate the area pronto! Let's get
out of here!" So saying, Shinth jostled Magnan aside to take his seat at
the controls of the cart. Retief upended him and deposited him in the cargo
bin, already half-full of sharp-cornered line equipment. Sarge Thrash scrambled
aboard as the cart dug off toward the operations building.
"Slow down, Ben," Retief urged.
"Listen!" he offered his direct supervisor a lapel talker.
Magnan listened intently, while braking to a
stop. "Ye gods!" he yelled and thrust the offending communication device
back into Retief's hand.
"It's Rex!" he yelled. "He's—it
will—I expect there's going to be trouble!"
"What to be
that?"
Shinth
wailed, pointing skyward at a ring of bright points visible at extreme range.
"Oh, that's just General Rex (Buck) Promo
taking exception to a Groaci task force forming up over Terry-mandated
territory," Magnan told him jauntily. "He'll clear your Admiral Foof
out of the way in a moment or two, so there's no real need for hasty evacuation."
Magnan retrieved the ground-to-space talker and after listening for a moment,
cut in:
"No, Rex! Don't do it! After all, the idea
isn't
to precipitate an interplanetary incident! Just group your command in a
Barnum to encircle the captive units you see on the ramp here!"
"Sold me out, eh, Ben?" Promo's yell
came through clearly to all present. "Made a deal with those five-eyed
scoundrels, have you? Thought you'd get Buck Promo into a compromising
position, did you, and then milk the situation. Forget it, Ben, the scheme
flops hard! See, I already pulled a little switch on
you!
Remember
Colonel Switchback? The chiseler tried to undercut me by spilling the whole
plan to Intermediate Command—Admiral Hardbutt's outfit. Ha! The trick
backfired! Hardbutt offered me a reserve squadron that was in for depot
maintenance at Ringsta II and just signed off yesterday, for a full half-cut!
The robber! I gave him twenty points is all. But Bob Switchback's prolly got
more treachery up his sleeves. And I don't trust the admiral any farther than I
could spit in a whirlwind!"
"A parlous situation!" Magnan declared
"One hardly knows
whom
to trust! I—"
"This is no time for Old English datives,
Ben," Promo objected. "Trust? Ha! Trust nobody, that's who! Now let's
quit bellyaching; we've got work to do!" He paused for bream.
"You got these paroled convicts quieted
down some, Mister? As soon's your bunch is ready to lift, I'll give you the
numbers for a rendezvous off-planet that'll nave the five-eyes up all night writing
out explanations to be discovered on their remains!"
"Bother the paperwork!" Shinth
contributed "Retief, I call upon you to halt this betrayal before further
damage is done to the prospects for Groacian-Terry detente! What we do here
today could well determine the future of Galactic politics for a
millennium!"
"I'm afraid Shinth is right this time,
Rex," Retief told the indignant general. "At the moment, the Groaci
units are participating, unwittingly, it's true, in the rather delicate job of
neutralizing the only combat-ready armed battle group on the planet, before
they realize they're in a position to dictate terms."
"Oh," Promo replied, as one Only Now
Being Informed of the True Situation (1904-x).
"Dear me," Magnan muttered to any
Unseen Chronicler who might be monitoring the situation from on high. "One
does
wish that amateurs untrained in the subtleties of nullspeak would
refrain from essaying the millennial series, at least. That nineteen-oh-four
could well be mistaken for a discreditable twelve-two (I Guess You Got Me, Pal)
with who knows what harm to the negotiation!"
"Luckily," Retief pointed out,
"no one was paying any attention, they're all watching Sarge Thrash trying
to sneak up on Skunky. Twenty guck he gets decked for his trouble."
"Done!" Magnan replied, slapping his
palm to Retief's extended hand. "Skunky's an uncouth fellow, but well
versed in Shugo-II!"
"Right," Retief agreed, "but
Thrash is a pink belt in Shugo-III."
Just then, Thrash took three quick steps to
close the gap with Skunky, who ducked a high leg-sweep and grabbed the
proffered limb, giving it a good two-hundred-seventy-degree twist before
dumping the sergeant on his rear. Thrash howled and raised his haunch so as to
comfort his bruised tail-bone.
"Fots dirty, is
what the skunk does!" he grieved.
"Sure do, Sluggy," Skunky acknowledged
proudly. "How you think I got the name 'Skunky'?"
"Name ain't
'Sluggy'," the fallen non-com grumped.
"Is
now!"
his conqueror
declared. "Fer 'sluggish', see? 'Sluggy' it is, right, Mr. Retief?"
As he turned to his sponsor for confirmation, his expression changed from
triumphant to shrewd. His eyes narrowed, and he made a grab for Retief's arm,
but somehow instead met a sword-arm that impacted his neck with sufficient
force to put a glaze on his squint. He staggered and tripped over Sluggy, who
at once took a one-handed grip on his throat. Skunky made curious squawking
sounds and threshed violently.
"I was fleet champ until this sneaky feller
dumped me," Sluggy told a breathlessly waiting world. "So that made
him a super-champ. So now I m croaking him with one hand; that makes me a
distinguished super-champ, right, Retief?"
"Something like that," Retief
concurred. "By the way, I'm a double-distinguished hyper-champ," he
went on. "So you'd better let old Skunky have a little air. I'll need him
in breathing condition to testify at your trial."
"My
trial?" Sluggy yelped
indignantly. "After I done like you said and taken this here super-champ
down a peg or two and all?"
"Alas," Retief told the burly fellow
as he scrambled to his feet, dumping the gasping Skunky carelessly aside.
"Such is life. 'The evil that men do,' and all that"
"I don't know nothing about
Shakespeare!" Sluggy declared vehemently. "Anyway, it says about how
the good is oft interred with their bones. That guy was dead, see? And I'm
not!"
"That could be rectified quite
easily," Retief reminded the sergeant, at the same moment extending a foot
to trip Skunky as he made a lunge for freedom. Sluggy took advantage of the
distraction to throw a left-handed haymaker, which Retief ducked. In an almost
leisurely way he took an elbow-breaker on Sarge's extended arm, evoking a howl
of pain and rage, the big man crumpled to his knees, lunging in vain against
the restraint. Skunky, observing the byplay, reached out from his prone
position at Slug's feet and seized the booted foot lacking at his face. He
rotated it half a turn and netted a kick in the teeth. He fell back, cursing.
