Retief and the Rascals (23 page)

            "That smarts some," he remarked, at
the same moment felling Skunk with a backhanded swipe. "Not much,
though," he continued (contemplatively, "considering it blown my toes
off."

            He paused to pull off the perforated boot and
wiggle the surprisingly intact digits. "Hey, that's sumpin!" he
exclaimed. "Put a round o' hardshot through the duron toe of my number
twelve EE withouten hardly bruising the skin much!" He held up the
miraculously intact pedal extremity for Magnan's inspection. "See?"
he moaned. "Still got six toes! Coulda been cripple fer life. All because
old Skunk was trying a fast one."

            "Just a moment, Sergeant," Magnan put
in. "It would be quite unfortunate to make, and act upon, a hasty Judgment
at this critical point."

            "What's critical about it?" Thrash
bellowed. "I'm shot, ain't I, even if it nigh missed me!"

            "But it was you, yourself," Magnan
pointed out, "who fired the shot."

            "Shooting at
him,
wasn't I?"
Thrash demanded. "Same difference: if he wouldn't of deserved to be shot,
I wouldn't of mint a hunderd-guck duron-reinforced boondocker!" He
casually dumped Skunky, who had just gotten his feet back under him. The dumpee
sprawled with a plaintive cry and kicked Thrash in the back of the knee.

            Thrash collapsed, clutching his leg. "He
done broke my laig!" he whimpered, and cast a shrewd glance at Magnan, as
he scrambled to his feet. "Just when I was goin' to offer to fergit and
forgive! You going to jest stand there, Mr. dipple-matic bigshot, and let that
little space-rat maim me? Huh?" He advanced on the cowering Magnan,
scowling and hefting a cabbage-sized fist. "Huh? Are you?" he yelled,
and dropped abruptly as Skunky kicked his other knee.

            Magnan backed away, looking around for Retief.
"Jim!" he croaked. "You'd best deal with this brute before he
assaults me—and that Skunky person, too!"

            "Who,
me?"
Skunky screeched.
"After I gone and dumped this here mutineer fer ya? Save you from getting
yer mush caved in, too. Some gratitude!"

            He got to his feet, fingering various bruises.
"Oughta make
me
Admiral o' the fleet, stead o' this here
loser," he stated importantly. "Then maybe we'd get some action to
clear these Groaci five-eyes outa here!"

            "Splendid notion!" Magnan bleated.
"Captain Obtu-luck—"

            "I'm kinda sensitive about my name,"
Skunky cut in. "That's 'Cap Obtulucz'! See, 'luch', not 'luck'! So, OK,
now you gotta appoint me out loud where I can get it on my CR taper here.
Sealed and official. Go ahead."

            "By the authority which should have been
vested in me," Magnan intoned obediently, "I appoint you, Skunk
Obululusk, to be commanding admiral of the task force heretofore known as 'the
Indestructibles', to assume all authority and responsibilities appertaining
thereto. Say, 'I accept the appointment'."

            "Wait a sec," Skunky protested,
"what was that part about 'responsibilities'?"

            "An inevitable concomitant of
authority," Magnan scolded. "A pity some of you would-be 'bosses'
don't realize that! It's not all fancy uniforms and yessirs'. It's up to you to
get your force in fighting trim, rig for
space,
and advance to confront
the enemy! Now be about it! But first you have to say, 'I accept the
appointment tendered to me, to be Grand Admiral of Fleets in the Terran Reserve
on EAD—'."

            "That's wid full pay and allowances,
right?" Skunky amended. "Right," he answered his own query.
"I except the perntmen' tender to me to be Grand Admiral of Leets inna
Terry Reserves. OK; let's have the fancy suit—
wit'
medals—and I can get
going. Stay down, you!" he ordered Thrash, enforcing the order with a kick
in the grimace as the battered ex-captain was coming uncertainly to his feet.

            "Now, none of that," Magnan
interceded. "We have a war to conduct. We can't be fighting."

            "I'm getting tireda you civilians tryna
tell a Grand Admiral what to do," Skunky snarled and strode off toward
Execrable,
the nearest unit of his new command.

            "Oh, Grand Admiral," Magnan called
after him, netting no response. Skunky forged on, ignoring the group of
crewmen, debarked from various vessels, who had gathered to block his way.

            "Oh, dear," Magnan whimpered. "I
see that uncouth ex-Captain Chornt, late skipper of
Indistinguishable,
who was stripped of his command and reduced to the ranks by ACHE. An unwise
move, I fear, however richly deserved the rebuke was. He's the ringleader of
this delegation, I don't doubt!"

            Retief nodded and forged ahead. As he passed
Skunky, he spoke to him, men angled off toward the welcoming committee, now
waiting uneasily, slapping spanners against their palms ana spitting. After a
moment's hesitation, Skunky walked boldly up to Chornt, halted, and gave him a
six-grades hand salute. Chornt returned it perfunctorily and motioned to those
beside him, who moved to encircle Skunky.

            As the latter turned to gaze back at Retief, now
coming up behind Chornt, one of the larger crewmen, a shaggy green Hondu master
gunner, pushed aside the spindly Yarch wiper blocking his view and stepped into
Retief's path, "Who're you, Bo?" he demanded, showing a fine set of
pointed teeth.

            "I'm your new instructor in good
manners," Retief told him. "For openers, you may inform Space'n
Last-class Chornt that he's to lie facedown with his arms extended above his
head."

            "Oh, a cute one." The Hondu glared and
snapped his interlocking fangs. "Better get lost, Professor, before some
o' the boys, which we're playing hookey today, take a dislike to you."

            "Goodness!" Retief squeaked.
"That would be just dreadful! I'm here to reaffirm our mutual chumship! If
the fellows would just—"

            " 'The fellows'," the Hondu replied
"are going into town to tear it up a little. We heard about now there was
some kinda rumble going on, with fat pickings for anybody wised-up enough to
grab 'em. Stand aside!"

            Retief happened to stoop just then, even as the
Hondu's haymaker whistled over his back. He came up with an empty gribble-grub
bag.

            "Littering!" he said with disdain.
"Now," he went on briskly, "we must lay by the heels the
miscreant guilty of this environmental rape!" Retief shifted his gaze to
the sullen louts scuffing their feet in a loose ring around him. The Hondu had
faded to rejoin the encircling crowd.

            "Now, Retief said sharply. "Is the
malefactor ready to step forward and receive his rebuke in good part?"

            The entire contingent advanced a step, jostling
each other and triggering a number of shoving matches which soon reduced the
circle to a chaotic mob with Retief at the center.

            "All right, students," Retief said
heartily. "Recess is over. Class begins now. You." He pointed at a
hulking lout with a jaw like a drag-line shovel. "Close your mouth, get
that gut in, shoulders back, look straight ahead, and don't scratch!"

            "Jeez," the pupil muttered. "This
guy gives me five, no, seven things to do at once. "How'm I sposeta
...?"

            "Once more: Don't talk. One demerit,"
Retief said, and hit the loquacious fellow hard in the solar plexus. The
reprimandee grunted and opened his snaggle-toothed mouth, then changed his mind
and sat down abruptly.

            "On your feet!" Retief snapped.
"I said, 'Close your mouth'. Next violation is
two
demerits."

            "He can't do it," a bystander remarked
gleefully. "Old Snag only got one solar plexus." The heckler looked
around for approval, but instead intercepted Retief's fist with his grin; he
hit the pavement beside Snag, howling.

            Snag put a hand over his bloody mouth and said.
"Shh, Grinder, the nice man don't like yer voice."

            "A-plus," Retief approved. "Snag,
help Grinder up and both of you can stand at attention right over there. The
rest of you can fall in on Snag and Grinder," he went on, as the two
volunteer squad-leaders sheepishly took up their assigned positions.

"I hear you boys learned close-order drill back on
Devilworld," Retief told his class. "Let's see if old Sarge Damon the
Demon still knows his stuff. Left face!"

            The squad pivoted left in an almost orderly
fashion, but with derisive grins and slouched posture.

            "Dress right, dress!" Retief shouted.
The men did "eyes right," and each extended his right arm to touch
his neighbor's shoulder, shuffling his feet to come into approximate spacing
and alignment. Retief noted a wider-than-average space next to a gorilloid
fellow addressed by his fellows, appropriately enough, as "Ape," but
made no comment as he noticed that Ape's knuckles almost touched the ground as
he stood erect, arms hanging at his sides, his beady eyes fixed on a point in
space.

            "Ape, fall out," Retief ordered. Ape
complied without eagerness. "Jeez," he remarked
sotto voce,
as
if wishing to avoid overhearing himself. "I wanneda be a
part o'
things,
like the other fellows."

            "So you are," Retief reassured the
anthropoid. "In fact, you're platoon leader. Put your outfit through their
paces and report to me."

            Ape did a snappy about-face and growled.
"Ten-hut! The squad dropped their extended arms and came to approximate
eyes front.

            "You, Buggy," Ape snarled. "Wipe
that grin offa yer puss! This here ain't no playground! This here is war to the
knife!" Ape did another about-face to look curiously at Retief. "I
fergot to ast, sir, by what authority am I suppose to be taking orders from a
civilian?"

            "Actually," Magnan contributed, coming
up just then, "Mr. Retief is a Battle Commander and chief of the armed
forces of the Empire. He's only on detached duty to the Corps."

            "Oh, par' me all to hell, General,
sir," Ape stammered and brought up a semi-snappy salute. "Sir, I beg
to report the squad is all at the position of a soljer!"

            "Carry on, Lieutenant," Retief
replied, returning the salute.

            Ape turned back to his command, stared at the
front rank as if in disbelief, and bawled "Lef-haa, fwut harch, hup-two,
d'leflank, harch, hup-hoo, detail halt! Hand salute, two! You, Buggy!" he
yelled at a gangly fellow with a thin neck and a lumpy, undersized skull.
" 'Sloot' don't mean shade yer eyes like a hostile Injun lookin' fer settlers
to scalp! Looky here, I'll show you one more time!"

            "Fall 'em out, Lieutenant," Retief
ordered, and beckoned his trainee officer close, putting the squad "at
ease."

            "Lieutenant Ape," he addressed the
big-bellied man. "In three minutes, you're going to lead the charge in an
assault on the rest of the crew of
Indefensible.
You'll want some
disciplined troops behind you when you brace Big Ben Crmblnski, eh? So shape em
up in a hurry!" He turned and walked away.

        Ape motioned the at-ease
squad closer.

            "Jim," Magnan put in worriedly.
"Do you think it wise to let that gang of recruits—?"

            "Lissen," Ape addressed his clumsy
troops. "You boys know how old Crummy is always blowing off his yap about
how his own section's the sharpest outfit inna squadron. Well, in a couple
minutes, we're gonna make him eat them words! So, do I get a little cooperation
now, and no more klutz treatment?"

            The men yelled "Yaaay!" and as if by
magic flowed smoothly and re-formed in a crisp, rigidly aligned squad front,
each man fairly vibrating with zeal.

            "I guess Sarge Damon still has his stuff
after all," Retief remarked to Magnan as they watched the squad deploy
snappily into a line of skirmishers, re-form on command into a column of ducks,
execute a flawless double-reverse flanking turn, and end at the spot from which
they had begun, ready to assault the unsuspecting Second Platoon.

            "Well done, Lieutenant," Retief
congratulated Ape. "Now form up for an envelope on the next vessel in
line. When you've got them in position, Sarge here will order the crew
out."

            "Wait just a minute," Powerful Pete
objected as he came up. "I thought I was in charge o' them vessels now.
You said so yerself, Retief."

            "True, Pete. But the crews don't know that;
they'll respond better to Thrash right now."

            "Oh, OK, but soon's we secure that tub,
you'll make sure all hands get the word, right? If I hafta go in there cold, I
might hafta bust a few guys, which I need all the crew I can get."

        "Sure," Retief
agreed.

            Thrash came forward importantly. "Won't do
you boys a whole lot o' good," he stated in a self-satisfied tone.
"I'm
the one got all the function codes right here." He tapped his warped
frontal bone.