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Chapter Twelve

 

1

His discussion with the two GOSH robots had eaten precious minutes, and during that time the Krll invasion force had swept past Camp Concentration. According to his mental sitmap, they were already approaching High Gnashberry's starport, several miles ahead. Retief began jogging with thudding, heavy-footed strides across the rolling landscape. He could see the towers of the university now on the horizon ahead, as well as the low sprawl of the starport. Smoke rose from several fires in the forests on the outskirts of the city.

He made for the starport. With luck, if he was registering on Krll scanners, they would assume he was a straggler from the column at Camp Concentration. Things were likely to be a bit confused within the Krll ranks right now, and they wouldn't be focused on the fact that one of their own was working against them.

Tracer rounds and ion bolts crisscrossed through the morning sky, green and red and yellow glowing embers snapping along in follow-the-leader formations, and Retief heard the crump of heavy explosions. There was fighting going on in or near the city, which could only mean that the CDT Marines were putting up a fight. The B'ruk didn't have a military, the peace demonstrators were into signs and chants rather than military hardware, and the embassy staff was armed with nothing more threatening than interdepartmental memos.

The Marines were tough, but a single embassy detachment wouldn't be able to hold out for long against Kreplach's invasion force.

The starport's perimeter fence had been trampled flat. Retief crossed onto the port tarmac, skirting several burning vehicles and a wrecked Type-70 Deathwalker. The Krll assault machine had been hit by something with a nasty punch; Retief decided he would have to be extra careful if he didn't want to become a victim of so-called friendly fire.

A starship, a battered-looking tramp freighter, lay crumpled and broken on her side, tangled in the wreckage of her own gantry, smoke billowing from her power-core housing. He recognized her. The name on her rust-patched, space-pitted prow read Starmaid. It looked like Captain Rufus would not be making the Kordoban Circuit again . . . not in the 'Maid at any rate.

Beyond the Starmaid was the warehouse where he'd found the crates of smuggled joyweed. The stacks of crates, he saw, were even higher now. There must have been hundreds of the wooden shipping crates piled high on the tarmac next to the warehouse. Sandbags had been piled up with chunks of broken masonry, sheet metal, and other debris to create a defensive wall in front of the warehouses. Retief started forward.

A flash to his left warned him that he was under fire. He lunged to his right, dropped, and rolled, hitting the tarmac with a boiler-room crash just as a football-sized missile hissed past on a contrail of white smoke. Coming up to a kneeling position, he turned in time to see the missile braking as it pulled into a high-G turn fifty yards away, swinging about in a hard one-eighty to make another pass.

Retief raised his right arm and loosed a stream of infinite repeater bolts at the homing missile, trying to claw it down. He missed and it completed its turn, arrowing straight for him. Retief adjusted his aim, bringing the crosshairs superimposed on his mind's eye onto the pinpoint of the oncoming missile, and fired again.

The warhead detonated with a savage blast fifteen yards away.

"Damn it, Billy!" a harsh voice cried from somewhere behind the sandbags. "You missed him!"

"Sorry, sir!" another, harsher voice called from further to the left. "I'll nail him for sure this time!"

Swiftly, Retief stood up, raising both arms high, the muzzles of his infinite repeaters aimed at the sky. "Don't shoot, Billy," he called over the Krll walker's external speaker. "I'm on your side!"

"Don't listen to him," the harsh voice yelled. "It's a trick! Pour it on him, men!"

Blast rifle fire hammered at Retief's walker, a cacophony of clangs and ringing impacts that shredded chunks of armor from his torso. Retief leaned into the fusillade, keeping his arms up and the muzzles of his weapons aimed harmlessly into the air.

"Billy!" Retief called above the clattering racket. "Have you seen any deadly poisonous garter snakes lately?"

"Mr. Retief?" Then an armored Marine stood up behind the sandbag wall, waving one arm wildly while the other supported a heavy Mark XL shoulder-launched antiarmor missile weapon, a SLAAM launcher. "Hold your fire, boys! Hold your fire! He's one of ours!"

The small-arms fire dwindled off, then ceased. For an eerie moment, all was silent. Then another armored figure with captain's bars stenciled on his helmet above the visor stood up. Several other Marines, all clad in heavy Peacekeeper combat armor, also rose behind the sandbags, holding their blast rifles at the ready, aimed straight at Retief's cockpit.

"Captain Martinet, I presume," Retief said. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Yeah? And who might you be?"

"Jame Retief, CDT."

"Retief? I know that name! You're that embassy staffer who got himself kicked out in disgrace! And now you have the audacity to show up here wearing a Krlljoy tin can? What kind of fool do you take me for?"

"Any kind you like. Listen, Captain. I know it doesn't look like it, but I am on your side. I'd kind of like to stop this invasion before anyone else gets hurt."

"Prove it."

"How would I do that?"

"Well, for starters, you can unbutton that thing and climb out of there. I don't like talking up to people."

Retief gave a mental command, and a clamshell blister on the front of the warwalker's torso split open, exposing Retief snug in his cramped cockpit. He sat up on the couch and looked down at the Marine officer. "If you don't mind, I'll stay here for the time being," Retief said. "But this'll show you I'm human."

"There's human, and then there's human," Martinet replied. "And there's Terries that would sell their own grandmothers to a Bogan guano mine for ten guck and the price of a cup of coffee."

"Well, I assure you I put a much higher price than that on my grandmother," Retief told him.

"Okay, Jason," another man in unmarked Marine armor said, coming up behind the officer. "I'll take it from here."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, well," Retief said, recognizing the characteristic rasp of the man's voice. "Colonel Marwonger! Who's minding the store?"

"Eh?"

"The embassy! Who's protecting the embassy while you're playing soldier down here?"

"Embassy Security, of course. And you watch your impertinence, young man!"

"Rupert? You have Rupert Numbly protecting the embassy?"

"I don't recall that you have the authority here to question ambassadorial policy, Retief. You have been discredited, disgraced, and expunged. I suggest that you explain yourself instanter as to what you happen to be doing with an enemy combat machine, before I have you arrested and shot on the spot for treason!"

"Before you do that, Colonel," Retief said, pointing at the stacked-up cargo crates behind the sandbag wall. "Why are you protecting those instead of the embassy?"

The question seemed to catch Marwonger off guard. "Huh? Why, uh, that is . . . orders! From the very top! Well . . . from Crappie . . . uh, from Ambassador Crapwell's office, that is. He says it's absolutely vital to protect the educational assets being shipped to the university."

"More vital than protecting the embassy staff and other resident Terries? That is what the Embassy Guard is for."

"Listen, Retief. I don't need you telling me or Captain Martinet and his Marines our jobs! We were ordered to protect these textbooks at all costs and that's just what we're doing!"

As Marwonger talked, Retief closed his eyes to screen out his own vision, letting his mind engage with the warwalker's senses. By focusing and concentrating, he found he could zoom in, via a camera mounted on top of the walker, and examine a dozen different shipping manifests visible on as many crates from this angle. Every one listed the contents as textbooks—Elementary Economic Metacalculus as Interpreted Through Keynesian Philosophy, the twenty-third edition—and all were slated for pickup by Ms. Ann Thrope.

"The tin cans've already tried to break through here twice," Marwonger was saying, "and we've pushed 'em back with bloody noses both times! So . . . what's it to you, anyway?"

Retief also checked the mental sitmap. Purple blips were gathering just beyond the spaceport area and among the terminal buildings, obviously readying another assault against the cluster of pink blips marking the CDT Marines.

"I hate to tell you, Colonel, but they're getting ready for another try. I count . . . ten of them, five behind the buildings to the west, the others spread out along the starport perimeter, north and south."

"Geeze, Colonel!" a Marine gunnery sergeant exclaimed. "Last time they tried it with only five! We won't be able to hold 'em!"

"Shut up! I'm in command here!"

"Colonel!" Captain Martinet said. "We have only four SLAAM rounds left! Gunney's right. We can't—"

"You will protect this shipment, Captain! Or have you Marines stopped following orders?"

"Whoa, there, Colonel," Retief said. "You do not want to get on the bad side of the people. I think I can help."

"Eh? You're a civilian!"

"Sometimes. Are you all on sealed life support?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"If any of you are breathing uncanned air, close down your vents! Now!" Retief gave a mental command and the clamshell doors hissed shut.

"Hey! I wasn't through with you! Come back out here!"

"Duck, Colonel," Retief said, and he lowered both arms, pointing the infinite repeaters at the piled-high mountain of cargo crates.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Retief triggered both ion weapons, sending streams of brilliantly flaring ion bolts into the crates. Wood superheated and exploded; paper and bindings took fire and burned furiously. Retief swept his fire across the base of the crate mountain, as the crates stacked on top crashed down into the blaze. Dense clouds of white smoke erupted from the bonfire and billowed across the tarmac.

"Retief! Do you know what you've done? You've just set fire to fifteen tons of very expensive college textbooks!"

"Really? Normally I'm only moderately in favor of the death penalty for people who burn books," Retief explained. "However, in this case I'm making an exception. Besides, the Groaci ruined all of them long before I got to them."

"Wha . . . what are you blathering about, Retief?"

"Joyweed, Colonel. Those books are all hollowed out and stuffed full of joyweed being smuggled in from Odiousita V. I'm sure you knew nothing about it, of course. . . ."

"Why, ah, er . . . no! Of course not! Wait! How did you know?"

"I have my sources. Get ready. Here come your friends."

A line of Krll warwalkers were moving across the tarmac now. Smoke from the burning crates hung as a heavy fog across the starport. If the Krll had not yet sealed up their combat walkers and gone on internal life support . . .

They were still coming. Maybe they'd heard about what happened at Camp Concentration and buttoned up. That would be very bad.

The Marines opened fire, and Retief added his considerable firepower to theirs. Another SLAAM missile streaked through the fog and ripped the right leg from a Zuuba-class walker, pitching it onto the pavement with a horrendous crash. Retief managed to kneecap another, but the others kept coming, firing now as they walked, concentrating their fire on Retief's walker. He felt a sharp shock, and his left arm shattered, the infinite repeater circuitry fusing in a blaze of sparks and flaming metal. His right leg buckled and he dropped to one knee. He disabled another Krll machine and still they kept coming. . . .

But slower now. And slower still. Several, Retief saw, were weaving a bit as the smoke began to affect their drivers' reactions. The closest walker froze in mid-step, arms outstretched. Another stumbled and fell, then appeared unable to get up again as it kicked and writhed in mechanical frustration.

Billy loosed another SLAAM rocket, taking down another Krll walker. "Hold your fire, boys," Retief said. "Looks like these fellows have all had more than enough."

"Good God, Retief," Marwonger cried. "What have you done?"

But it was difficult to hear the man over the cheers of the Marines.

2

Retief cracked the clamshell blister and clambered out of his battle-damaged walker. The Marines, a bit incongruously in their armor, were jumping up and down, waving their weapons and cheering. Some had scrambled up on top of the sandbag wall.

Folding up the neural transducer and putting it in his pocket, Retief walked over to where Marwonger, Martinet, and several senior NCO Marines were standing in the midst of the celebration.

"You've gone too far, Retief," Marwonger bellowed, shaking an armor-gauntleted finger at him. "You've destroyed a valuable shipment of textbooks that I . . . that is, that the embassy was charged to protect! You have sabotaged the CDT's mission to this world! I'll see you up on charges for this! Vandalism! Willful Destruction of Government Property! Discharging Alien Weaponry in a Restricted Zone! Criminal Malfeasance!"

Retief surveyed the immense pile of furiously burning crates, book bindings, and joyweed beyond the sandbag wall. The blaze was quite out of control now and would likely burn for hours. "While you're at it, why don't you add Arson and Air Pollution to the list. Colonel, are you sure you want to lay claim to that textbook shipment?"

"Eh? Why . . . what do you mean?"

"Wake up and smell the roses, Colonel. Or, in this case, smell the joyweed."

"Joyweed? That's . . . preposterous! Those are economics texts, for the university!"

"You'll notice that that Krll assault unit is no longer trying to reduce you and these Marines to small blots on the tarmac. Joyweed has some pretty strong effects on most folks' nervous systems, and the effect is different for different species. It gives humans a good-natured high, though when it's combined with certain other drugs, it has the effect of suppressing the will and making the person highly suggestible, like deep hypnosis."

"Why . . . uh . . . that's fascinating. I had no idea. . . ."

"For the Groaci, well, let's just say it acts as a powerful aphrodisiac. And the Krll it puts to sleep. B'ruklians don't seem to be much affected by the stuff one way or the other, but that's probably due to their tough constitutions. Their species isn't native to this planet, you know. They evolved on a much more hostile world than B'rukley . . . at least, we would think so. Higher gravity, hotter sun, higher background radiation. They evolved in a tough environment and have physiologies to match."

"Nonsense," Marwonger snapped. "The Krll evolved on the same . . ." He realized what he was saying and stopped himself.

"So you know about that?" Retief said. "Very interesting. However, the Krll evolved from a marine species. In the ocean, of course, they were shielded from the ambient radiation. Some pretty intense natural selection factors drove them onto the land eventually, but they survived there by burrowing underground. Gravity must've been a problem for them on land, since in the ocean they didn't have to cope with it. But they remained amphibious—they need to go back to the water frequently—and since they were crawlers rather than walkers, they adapted.

"But their respiratory systems are completely different from B'ruklian lungs. They're more like the gills of terrestrial fish . . . those feathery organs behind their legs? They're packed with capillaries, so they absorb oxygen directly from the air—or water—as long as they're kept moist. Mix in some joyweed smoke, and the active chemical circulates straight to their central nervous system. I suspect that when conditions got too severe on their homeworld, they would dig a burrow and hibernate. A sudden drop in oxygen levels puts them to sleep almost immediately."

"How . . . very interesting," Marwonger said weakly.

"Isn't it, though? I find it even more interesting that you know something about Krll and B'ruklian evolution already, Colonel. Obviously it's more than the fact that both species happen to have eight legs."

"Why, uh . . . as to that . . ."

"I gather you have fairly extensive contacts with certain commercial and industrial interests."

"Eh? What business is that of yours?"

"Well, aside from the basic ethical considerations, conflict of interest, and all of that, I'm wondering if the Groaci didn't have some help in outfitting the Krll war machine. Krll battle armor appears to be a mix of Japanese design and Groaci copies of Japanese designs. Their warwalkers are essentially Bogan technology—obsolete Bogan technology."

"So?"

"Warwalkers just have too many disadvantages in combat, you know. The legs are obvious targets, especially at the joints, and the fact they stand upright, as opposed, say, to a low-to-the-ground Bolo combat unit, doesn't help either. The increased maneuverability just doesn't compensate for the relatively light armor and the vulnerable joints. The Bogans gave up on the idea several centuries ago, but certain other commercial interests have been looking for ways to cash in on Bogan war surplus."

"The Groaci . . ."

"Yes, they're in on the surplus-arms market to some extent, though our Groaci friends don't much go in for heavy armor. But certain Terrestrial robotics manufacturers, now . . . Tell me, Colonel. When did GOSH buy you?"

"You can't prove anything!"

"I think we'll leave that to the court-martial board, Colonel. I imagine the office of the CDT Judge Advocate General is going to be quite interested in having a look at your stock portfolios and bank accounts."

Marwonger went for his sidearm, snapping a Browning Mark XXX power pistol from his thigh holster. "You're dead, Retief!"

Billy was standing just behind Marwonger and a few feet to his right. With a lightning stroke, he swung the heavy SLAAM launcher in a whistling arc, bringing the weapon's muzzle down across Marwonger's wrist. Even with his arm encased in an armored gauntlet, the blow knocked the pistol from his hand and Marwonger yelped with pain. Other Marines closed in from three sides, grabbing the struggling Army colonel and pinning him. Retief stepped closer, reached out, and released Marwonger's helmet seal before pulling the helmet free.

"Like I said, Colonel," Retief said, his face inches from Marwonger's, "wake up and smell the joyweed."

Marwonger tried to hold his breath, struggled harder, then gasped hard. He sneezed once, coughed . . . and then began to relax, his eyes losing their focus and becoming just a bit glassy.

"Oh, man," he said after a moment, his voice losing its rasping edge. "I love the smell of joyweed in the morning. . . ."

 

3

"Make sure your men stay on internal life support, Captain," Retief told Martinet a short time later. "The stuff in the air is still pretty concentrated."

"Don't worry, sir. My boys and I intend to stay sharp. Am I right, men?"

The reply chorused back over the Marine comm channel. "Ooh-rah!"

"Good man. I suggest that you get back to the embassy as fast as possible," Retief continued. "Any Terries caught in the streets by the invasion might have tried to find refuge there. Things'll be pretty chaotic, and they'll need people with clear heads."

"Yes, sir." The Marine hesitated. "Except, sir . . . well, most of the embassy staff is out in the streets?"

"Oh?"

"There's been this peace demonstration for the last few days. I guess His Ex and some of the other brass went out to show solidarity, and all of that."

"Great," Retief said, shaking his head. "Okay. Use the embassy commo center to punch a message through to the Peace Enforcer task force and let them know what's happening. Take Marwonger with you, and keep an eye on him. He knows a lot about what's been going on behind the scenes here, and I imagine the CDT Intelligence Bureau is going to want to have a long chat with him."

"That's a definite roger." Martinet hesitated. "Uh . . . Retief? Aren't you coming back to the embassy with us?"

"Negative, Captain." He moistened a finger and held it up. "Wind from the east," he said. "It'll carry this smoke into the city. But the haze might be too thin by the time it gets there to have much effect on the invaders. There's also Kreplach's ground troops to consider. If the officers and NCOs figure out what's happening here, they'll be buttoned up, and the ordinary troopers are combat robots and don't breathe. So I'm going to see what I can do."

"Like that?" Martinet exclaimed. "Without your Krll tin suit?"

"I'll accept the loan of a Mark XXX, if you can spare one," Retief said.

"Absodamnlutely." Martinet turned. "Kirkland!"

Billy came to attention. "Sir!"

"Let Retief have Marwonger's sidearm."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Retief took the proffered weapon and checked the power level and diagnostic readouts. "That was slick work disarming the colonel, Billy."

"Aw, shoot," the young Marine said. "Wasn't like the clown was a Marine, or nothin'."

Retief smiled. The rivalry between Marines and Army went back a long way.

"Those commando utilities of yours have a built-in transceiver," Martinet said as Retief tucked the weapon away. "You run into something you can't handle, you yell for the Marines, you hear me?"

"Don't worry, Captain. I'll do just that."

"Geeze, I don't know, Captain, sir," Billy said. "If there's something out there Retief can't handle, I'm not sure I'd care to meet it." He picked up his SLAAM launcher and gave it an affectionate pat. "We'll be there, though. Sir! Semper fi!"

4

An hour later, Retief made his cautious way through the center of High Gnashberry. The weave of his commando utilities, which by night were black, in daylight faded to various and shifting shades of neutral gray, matching to some degree the tones of pavement and buildings through which he moved. He stuck to the shadows as much as possible, moving with careful stealth toward the city's central plaza.

The further into the city he went, however, the less it seemed that stealth was necessary. The haze of joyweed smoke was, if anything, thicker toward the center of town, and he came across more and more of the giant Krll battle walkers immobilized in mid-step or sprawled across the pavement where they'd stumbled and fallen. Many were sitting, their backs up against the walls of city buildings, some of which creaked ominously under the massive weight.

And there were the peace demonstrators themselves.

There must have been several thousand of them, and, judging by the litter in the streets, it looked like they'd been having one hell of a party. Young Terries were everywhere, lying full length on the sidewalks, propped up against walls or the torsos or limbs of fallen warwalkers, sitting in intimate head-nodding circles, or simply wandering aimlessly through the streets. The park—the phark, Retief corrected himself—appeared carpeted by bodies. Judging by the number of people puffing away on hand-rolled joyweed joints, it was possible that the Krll walkers hadn't been felled by the smoke from the spaceport after all.

He caught sight of a familiar, bloated face among the now thoroughly spaced-out revelers. "Mr. Ambassador?"

Ambassador Crapwell looked up, bleary-eyed, from his resting place on the grass. He was cozily tucked in between two young women, an arm around each. "Eh? Whozzat?" He squinted up at Retief. "Heyyyy . . . dude. I know you from somewhere, don't I?"

"It's possible, Mr. Ambassador. You seem to be enjoying the invasion."

"Invasion?" He squinted, then looked at his companions. "What invasion, man? There was this peace demonstration . . . kind of went on for a few days, and some of us came down to show . . . to show our support . . . to show something." He frowned, as if trying to remember something important. "Hy? What did we come out here for?"

Hy Felix was wrapped in the arms of another girl a few feet away. He didn't seem to hear.

"Well, enjoy yourselves," Retief said. "I'll check back with you later."

"Hey, dude," Crapwell called as Retief turned. "Ya got any munchies?"

Yes, Retief decided, there might have been enough of a haze already hanging in the air to take the Krll warwalkers down.

But not all of them. As he neared the Embassy, a long shadow rippled across the buildings along the west side of the Avenue of Much Walking, and he heard the hollow boom of massive footsteps. Cutting east through the Alley of Diaphanous Delights, he emerged on the Boulevard of Benevolent Ambiance in time to see a Krll walker emerge from between two buildings.

Or, rather . . . not one of the standard walker designs, but a special-made unit, one Retief had seen before—almost twenty feet tall, humanoid, and painted black and silver, with a gold rank insignia on the winged silver helm.

Retief stepped into the street. "Kreplach!" he yelled.

The armored giant stopped, turned, scanning for him. "Retief!" the giant's amplified voice boomed. He raised his right arm, to which a weapons pack had been strapped like a bulky gauntlet. "I knew we would meet again . . . for one final time!"

Kreplach's weapon fired, a dazzling white flare leaping across the street. Retief dove headfirst, somersaulted, and came to his feet in the shadowed cover of the alley just as the bolt blasted scraps of stone from a wall. The concussion slapped Retief's back like the swat from a too-friendly used aircar salesman.

Retief drew his power pistol, leaned around the corner, and snapped off three quick shots, aiming for the armored giant's optical scanner slit in the helmet. All three bolts hit the helmet, but they didn't seem to more than flare off the metal surface. Kreplach shifted his aim and fired a second time. Retief tumbled back from the corner of the building an instant before part of it shattered, leaving a gaping hole the size of a large garbage can.

Leaning out from behind his shelter, Retief fired again, but with no better effect than before. That optical slit was narrow and deeply recessed, with a reflective baffle angled to prevent just such an attempt to blind the driver. It would take a remarkable piece of marksmanship to bounce a round squarely into the opening.

He saw armored Krll soldiers emerging onto the street now, perhaps a dozen of them, some robots, some NCOs and officers obviously working on internal life support. They were advancing on the mouth of the alley, moving fast. He heard the metallic clatter of jogging armored feet echoing down from the other end of the alley as well. In another few seconds, he would be trapped.

He touched the transceiver control at his throat. "Captain Martinet! This is Retief!"

"Retief! Martinet! Go!"

"I've got the boss Krll cornered on the Boulevard of Benevolent Ambiance!"

"Retief! Pull back. The Marines will be there in five minutes!"

"Sorry, I don't have five minutes. I'm going to try something he won't be expecting, but if this doesn't work, make sure you get him! If we can nail this guy, we just might be able to put an end to this mess!"

"We're on our way!"

"Retief out!"

He waited, crouching in the shadow, listening to the metal footfalls on pavement grow ever closer. He tucked his weapon away, took a deep breath, then sprang out into the street to face the oncoming monster.

Kreplach was still thirty feet away, but Retief closed that distance in a desperate sprint, running flat out, head down, boots pounding on the pavement. Twice he zigzagged sharply as Krll troopers opened fire, sending flashes of white light hissing and snapping past him, missing him by inches. The Krll leader raised his weapon, but before he could fire, Retief was inside the armored form's reach, ducking beneath a clumsy swing by Kreplach's left arm, grabbing hold of his left leg, using his momentum to swing himself around behind the towering suit of armor, then swarming hand over hand up the massive, black-painted metal thigh.

One of the soldiers fired, burning a fist-sized crater in the Krll leader's back a foot above Retief's head.

"Ah!" Kreplach shouted in amplified fury. "Not me, you idiots! Him! Shoot him!" He twisted violently, trying to reach the black-clad human clambering up his back, and succeeded only in causing another half-dozen shots from his own troops to miss—and slam into his arm and torso instead.

Careful not to put his bare hands near hot metal, Retief climbed higher, using that first crater as a foothold for his insulated boot. Bracing himself with one arm, he pulled out his power pistol and snapped off several shots from his elevated perch, bringing down a robotic private soldier in a smoking heap and making the others scatter.

Kreplach hurled himself into violent contortions, trying to reach or strike his attacker. "Get it off! Get it off!" he boomed. A back-thrust elbow dealt Retief a near miss to his arm, a savage blow that nearly knocked him down. He rode out the shock, however, pressing close as Kreplach tried to reach over his own shoulder to grab him. One squeeze from one of those armored hands, and Retief was dead. Fortunately, the range of motion for the armored giant was less than that of a healthy human. Twist as he might, Kreplach couldn't come to grips with his annoying midget attacker. In a moment, Retief thought, the Krll was going to figure out he could back into the side of a building, or simply fall down, and rid himself of the pest in one deadly smash.

Clinging to Kreplach's shoulder, Retief traced the outline of an ejection hatch on the rear of the giant helmet. He dialed his power pistol down to an intense, narrow beam and needled the locking mechanism. An arc-brilliant pinpoint of radiance flared. In a moment, he would burn through. . . .

But Kreplach twisted again, stepping backward this time, and slammed Retief against the side of the nearest building. The Krll leader's positioning was bad and dealt Retief only a glancing blow, but it caught his right arm and the side of his head. The pistol went spinning away, clattering onto the pavement, as Retief's ears rang and he very nearly lost hold.

One last chance. Kreplach was positioning himself for another swipe against the wall. Retief levered himself up, left foot on the giant's shoulder, left arm clinging to one of the out-thrust wings of Kreplach's huge battle helmet. With his free hand, he grabbed the edge of the partly sprung hatch and pulled. . . .

His muscles bulged; his back shrieked protest. Krll energy bolts hissed past, one so close that he felt its fiery breath brush his cheek.

Then, with a rending, sheet-metal groan, the hatch gave a bit . . . and gave a bit more . . . then popped free with a loud snap, and Retief sent the hatch sailing toward a Krll trooper. Inside the open cockpit, the mottled dark-gray-and-brown carapace of a large Krll lay on a formfitting couch, bathed in a steady mist of water, a Groaci neural transducer crimped down over its head and the forward half of its thorax.

Reaching in, Retief pulled off the transducer, and the armored giant jolted to an unsteady halt just short of slamming backward into the wall a second time. Still clinging to the winged helmet, Retief reached in again, grabbed the wet and slippery form by the tail, and hauled it up and out and into the light.

"Nooooo!" Retief's commando suit translated the shrill yelp from the being, a terrified little-girl squeal. "Don't eeeat meeee!" Two and a half feet long, Kreplach twisted and writhed in Retief's grasp. The Krll's tail was powerful, but Retief kept a firm grip, dangling the lord general head-down high above the street.

"Not another step, boys, or your boss gets to try to conquer the pavement."

"Do as the monster says!" the dangling Krll screamed. "Do as the monster says!"

The troops hesitated, uncertain. Retief didn't know if his words were being translated for them by computer, or if Kreplach understood Standard and was doing the translating for him. In any case, they seemed to get the idea.

"Drop your weapons," Retief ordered. One by one, the soldiers complied.

Moments later, the Marines arrived, double-timing it down the street.

"Just in time, boys," Retief called cheerfully. "I think this war may be over."

 

 

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