HARDBALL DIPLOMACY
The Yill circled the floor, sabre twirling. Then
suddenly he was towering before Retief. The
heavy sabre whipped down with an explosive
concussion that cleaved the table. The Yill's
eyes held on Retief as he pushed back his stool
and stood, the huge gray-skinned Yill topping
his six-foot-three by an inch.
In a motion too quick to follow Retief reached
for the sabre, twitched it from the Yills grasp,
swung it in a whistling arc. His opponent
ducked, sprang back and snatched up a sabre
from a table. Retief pressed the Yill, fending off
vicious cuts, chopping back relentlessly.
Now the two stood toe to toe, weapons clashing
in a furious exchange. The Yill gave a step, then
rallied, drove Retief back, back. . . .

Also by Keith Laumer:
RETIEF AT LARGE
from ACE Science Fiction
A
SF

Keith Ldumer
ace books
A Division of Charter Communications Inc.
A GROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY
360 Park Avenue South
New York, New York 10010

RET1EF UNBOUND
Copyright © 1979 by Keith Laumer
RETIEF'S RANSOM © 1971 by Keith Laumer
"Protocol," "Sealed Orders," "Aide Memoire," "Policy,"
and "Palace Revolution" were published in ENVOY TO
NEW WORLDS, copyright © 1963 by Keith Laumer.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be repro-
duced in any form or by any means, except for the inclu-
sion of brief quotations in a review, without permission in
writing from the publisher.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
An ACE Book
Cover art by Bob Adragna
First Ace printing: May 1979
Printed in (ISA.

Table of Contents
PROTOCOL	3
SEALED ORDERS	25
AIDE MEMOIRE	47
POLICY	75
PALACE REVOLUTION	113
RETIEF'S RANSOM	147

". . . into the chaotic Galactic political scene
of the post-Concordiat era, the CDT emerged to
carry forward the ancient diplomatic tradition
as a great supra-national organization dedi-
cated to the contravention of war.1 As mediators
of disputes among Terrestrial-settled worlds
and advocates of Terrestrial interests in contacts
with alien cultures, Corps diplomats, trained in
the chanceries of innumerable defunct
bureaucracies, displayed an encyclopedic
grasp of the nuances of Estra-Terrestrial mores
as set against the labyrinthine socio-politico-
economic Galactic context. Never was the vir-
tuosity of a senior Corps diplomat more bril-
liantly displayed than in Ambassador Sprad-
ley's negotiation of the awkward Sirenian Ques-
tion	"
—extract from the Official History of the
Corps Diplomatique, Vol I, reel 2. Solarian
Press, New New York, 479 A. E. (AD 2940)
PROTOCOL
In THE GLOOM of the squat, mud-colored reception
building, the Counselor, two First Secretaries,
and the senior Attaches gathered around the
plump figure of Ambassador Spradley, their or-
nate diplomatic uniforms bright in the vast
gloomy room. The Ambassador glanced at his
finger watch impatiently.
1) Cf. the original colorful language: "maintenance of a state of
tension short of actual conflict." See CDT File 178/b/491, col. VII,
spool 12: 745mm (code 2g).

4
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Ben, are you quite certain our arrival time was
made clear?"
Second Secretary Magnan nodded emphati-
cally. "I stressed the point, Mr. Ambassador. I
communicated with Mr. T'Cai-Cai just before the
lighter broke orbit, and I specifically em-
phasized—"
"I hope you didn't appear truculent, Mr. Mag-
nan," the Ambassador cut in sharply.
"No indeed, Mr. Ambassador. I merely—"
"You're sure there's no VIP room here?" The
Ambassador glanced around the cavernous room.
"Curious that not even chairs have been pro-
vided."
"If you'd care to sit on one of those crates, I'll
use my hanky—"
"Certainly not." The Ambassador looked at his
watch again and cleared his throat.
"I may as well make use of these few moments
to outline our approach for the more junior mem-
bers of the staff. It's vital that the entire mission
work in harmony in the presentation of the image.
We Terrestrials are a kindly, peace-loving race."
The Ambassador smiled in a kindly, peace-loving
way.
"We seek only reasonable division of spheres of
influence with the Yill." He spread his hands,
looking reasonable.
"We are a people of high culture, ethical, sin-
cere."
The smile was replaced abruptly by pursed lips.
"We'll start by asking for the entire Sirenian Sys-
tem, and settle for half. We'll establish a foothold
on all the choicer worlds and, with shrewd han-
dling in a decade we'll be in a position to assert a

PROTOCOL
5
wider claim." The Ambassador glanced around.
"If there are no questions . . ."
Jame Retief, Vice-Consul and Third Secretary in
the Corps Diplomatique and junior member of the
Terrestrial Embassy to Yill, stepped forward.
"Since we hold the prior claim to the system,
why don't we put all our cards on the table to start
with? Perhaps if we dealt frankly with the Yill, it
would pay us in the long run."
Ambassador Spradley blinked up at the
younger man. Beside him, Magnan cleared his
throat in the silence.
"Vice-Consul Retief merely means—"
"I'm capable of interpreting Mr. Retief's re-
mark," Spradley snapped. He assumed a fatherly
expression.
"Young man, you're new to the service. You
haven't yet learned the team play, the give-and-
take of diplomacy. I shall expect you to observe
closely the work of the experienced negotiators of
the mission, learn the importance of subtlety. Ex-
cessive reliance on direct methods might tend in
time to attenuate the role of the professional dip-
lomat. I shudder to contemplate the conse-
quences."
Spradley turned back to his senior staff mem-
bers. Retief strolled across to a glass-panelled
door and glanced into the room beyond. Several
dozen tall grey-skinned Yill lounged in deep
couches, sipping lavender drinks from slender
glass tubes. Black-tunicked servants moved about
inconspicuously, offering trays. Retief watched as
a party of brightly-dressed Yill moved toward a
wide entrance door. One of the party, a tall male,
made to step before another, who raised a hand

6
RETIEF UNBOUND
languidly, fist clenched. The first Yill stepped
back and placed his hands on top of his head with
a nod. Both Yill continued to smile and chatter as
they passed through the door.
Retief rejoined the Terrestrial delegation,
grouped around a mound of rough crates stacked
on the bare concrete floor, as a small leather-
skinned Yill came up.
"I am P'Toi. Come thiss way ..." He motioned.
The Terrestrials moved off, Ambassador Spradley
in the lead. As the portly diplomat reached the
door, the Yill guide darted ahead, shouldering
him aside, then hesitated, waiting. The Ambas-
sador almost glared, then remembered the image.
He smiled, beckoning the Yill ahead. The Yill
muttered in the native language, stared about,
then passed through the door. The Terran party
followed.
"I'd like to know what that fellow was saying,"
Magnan said, overtaking the Ambassador. "The
way he jostled your Excellency was disgraceful."
A number of Yill waited on the pavement out-
side the building. As Spradley approached the
luxurious open car waiting at the curb, they
closed ranks, blocking his way. He drew himself
up, opened his mouth—then closed it with a
snap.
"The very idea," Magnan said, trotting at
Spradley's heels as he stalked back to rejoin the
staff, now looking around uncertainly. "One
would think these persons weren't aware of the
courtesies due a Chief of Mission."
"They're not aware of the courtesies due an
apprentice sloat skinner!" Spradley snapped.
Around the Terrestrials, the Yill milled ner-
vously, muttering in the native tongue.

PROTOCOL
7
"Where has our confounded interpreter be-
taken himself?" The Ambassador barked. "I
daresay they're plotting openly. . . ."
"A pity we have to rely on a native interpreter."
"Had I known we'd meet this rather uncouth
reception," the Ambassador said stiffly, "I would
have audited the language personally, of course,
during the voyage out."
"Oh, no criticism intended, of course, Mr. Am-
bassador," Magnan said hastily. "Heavens, who
would have thought—"
Retief stepped up beside the Ambassador.
"Mr. Ambassador," he said. "I—"
"Later, young man," the Ambassador snapped.
He beckoned to the Counselor, and the two moved
off, heads together.
A bluish sun gleamed in a dark sky. Retief
watched his breath form a frosty cloud in the chill
air. A broad hard-wheeled vehicle pulled up to
the platform. The Yill gestured the Terran party to
the gaping door at the rear, then stood back, wait-
ing.
Retief looked curiously at the grey-painted van.
The legend written on its side in alien symbols
seemed to read 'egg nog.' Unfortunately he hadn't
had time to learn the script too, on the trip out.
Perhaps later he would have a chance to tell the
Ambassador he could interpret for the mission.
The Ambassador entered the vehicle, the other
Terrestrials following. It was as bare of seats as the
Terminal building. What appeared to be a defunct
electronic chassis lay in the center of the floor,
amid a litter of paper and a purple and yellow sock
designed for a broad Yill foot. Retief glanced back.
The Yill were talking excitedly. None of them
entered the car. The door was closed, and the

8
RETIEF UNBOUND
Terrans braced themselves under the low roof as
the engine started up with a whine of worn turbos,
and the van moved off.
It was an uncomfortable ride. The unsprung
wheels hammered uneven cobblestones. Retief
put out an arm as the vehicle rounded a corner,
caught the Ambassador as he staggered off-
balance. The Ambassador glared at him, settled
his heavy tri-corner hat, and stood stiffly until the
car lurched again.
Retief stooped, trying to see out through the
single dusty window. They seemed to be in a wide
street lined with low buildings. They passed
through a massive gate, up a ramp, and stopped.
The door opened. Retief looked out at a blank grey
facade, broken by tiny windows at irregular inter-
vals. A scarlet vehicle was drawn up ahead, the
Yill reception committee emerging from it.
Through its wide windows Retief saw rich up-
holstery and caught a glimpse of glasses clamped
to a tiny bar.
P'Toi, the Yill interpreter, came forward, gestur-
ing to a small door in the grey wall. Magnan scur-
ried ahead to open it and held it for the Ambas-
sador. As he stepped to it a Yill thrust himself
ahead and hesitated. Ambassador Spradley drew
himself up, glaring. Then he twisted his mouth
into a frozen smile and stepped aside. The Yill
looked at each other, then filed through the door.
Retief was the last to enter. As he stepped inside
a black-clad servant slipped past him, pulled the
lid from a large box by the door and dropped in a
paper tray heaped with refuse. There were alien
symbols in flaking paint on the box. They seemed,
Retief noticed, to spell 'egg nog'.

PROTOCOL
9
* * *
The shrill pipes and whining reeds had been
warming up for an hour when Retief emerged
from his cubicle and descended the stairs to the
banquet hall. Standing by the open doors he lit a
slender cigar and watched through narrowed eyes
as obsequious servants in black flitted along the
low wide corridor, carrying laden trays into the
broad room, arranging setttings on a great four-
sided table forming a hollow square that almost
filled the room. Rich brocades were spread across
the center of the side nearest the door, flanked by
heavily decorated white cloths. Beyond, plain
white extended down the two sides to the far
board, where metal dishes were arranged on the
bare table top. A richly dressed Yill approached,
stepped aside to allow a servant to pass and en-
tered the room.
Retief turned at the sound of Terran voices be-
hind him. The Ambassador came up, trailed by
two diplomats. He glanced at Retief, adjusted his
ruff and looked into the banquet hall.
"Apparently we're to be kept waiting again," he
snapped. "After having been informed at the out-
set that the Yill have no intention of yielding an
inch, one almost wonders . . ."
"Mr. Ambassador," Retief said. "Have you
noticed—"
"However," Ambassador Spradley said, eyeing
Retief, "a seasoned diplomatist must take these
little snubs in stride. In the end—ah there, Mag-
nan . . ." He turned away, talking.
Somewhere a gong clanged. In a moment the
corridor was filled with chattering Yill who
moved past the group of Terrestrials into the ban-

10
RETIEF UNBOUND
quet hall. P'Toi, the Yill interpreter, came up,
raised a hand.
"Waitt heere . . ."
More Yill filed into the dining room, taking
their places. A pair of helmeted guards ap-
proached and waved the Terrestrials back. An
immense grey-jowled Yill waddled to the doors,
ropes of jewels clashing softly, and passed
through, followed by more guards.
"The Chief of State," Retief heard Magnan say.
"The Admirable F'Kau-Kau-Kau."
"I have yet to present my credentials," Ambas-
sador Spradley said. "One expects some latitude
in the observances of protocol, but I confess . . ."
He wagged his head.
The Yill interpreter spoke up.
"You now whill lhie on yourr intesstinss and
creep to fesstive board there." He pointed across
the room.
"Intestines?" Ambassador Spradley looked
about wildly.
"Mr. P'Toi means our stomachs, I wouldn't
wonder," Magnan said. "He just wants us to lie
down and crawl to our seats, Mr. Ambassador."
"What the devil are you grinning at, you idiot?"
the Ambassador snapped.
Magnan's face fell.
Spradley glanced down at the medals across his
paunch.
"This is . . . I've never . . ."
"Homage to godss," the interpreter said.
"Oh-oh—religion," someone said.
"Well, if it's a matter of religious beliefs ..." The
Ambassador looked around dubiously.
"Actually, it's only a couple of hundred feet,"
Magnan said.

PROTOCOL
11
Retief stepped up to P'Toi.
"His Excellency, the Terrestrial Ambassador,
will not crawl," he said clearly.
"Here, young man, I said nothing—"
"Not to crawl?" The interpreter wore an un-
readable Yill expression.
"It is against our religion," Retief said.
"Againsst?"
"We are votaries of the Snake Goddess," Retief
said. "It is a sacrilege to crawl." He brushed past
the interpreter and marched toward the distant
table. The others followed.
Puffing, the Ambassador came to Retief's side as
they approached the dozen empty stools on the far
side of the square opposite the brocaded position
of the Admirable F'Kau-Kau-Kau.
"Mr. Retief, kindly see me after this affair," he
hissed. "In the meantime, I hope you will restrain
any further rash impulses. Let me remind you I am
Chief of Mission here."
Magnan came up from behind.
"Let me add my congratulations, Retief," he
said. "That was fast thinking."
"Are you out of your mind, Magnan?" the Am-
bassador barked. "I am extremely displeased."
"Why," Magnan stuttered, "I was speaking sar-
castically, of course, Mr. Ambassador. Naturally I,
too, was taken aback by his presumption."
The Terrestrials took their place, Retief at the
end. The table before them was of bare green
wood, with an array of shallow pewter dishes
upon it.
The Yill at the table, some in plain grey, others
in black, eyed them silently. There was a constant
stir among them as one or another rose and disap-
peared and others sat down. The pipes and reeds

12
RETIEF UNBOUND
of the orchestra were shrilling furiously and the
susurration of Yillian conversation from the other
tables rose ever higher in competition. A tall Yill
in black was at the Ambassador's side now. The
nearby Yill all fell silent as the servant ladled a
whitish soup into the largest of the bowls before
the Terrestrial envoy. The interpreter hovered,
watching.
"That's quite enough," Ambassador Spradley
said, as the bowl overflowed. The Yill servant
dribbled more of the soup into the bowl. It welled
out across the table top.
"Kindly serve the other members of my staff,"
the Ambassador commanded. The interpreter
said something in a low voice. The servant moved
hesitantly to the next stool and ladled more soup.
Retief watched, listening to the whispers
around him. The Yill at the table were craning
now to watch. The servant was ladling the soup
rapidly, rolling his eyes sideways. He came to
Retief and reached out with the full ladle for the
bowl.
"No," Retief said.
The servant hesitated.
"None for me," Retief said.
The interpreter came up, motioned to the ser-
vant, who reached again, ladle brimming.
"I don't want any!" Retief said, his voice dis-
tinct in the sudden hush. He stared at the interpre-
ter, who stared back for a moment, then waved the
servant away and moved on.
"Mr. Retief," a voice hissed. Retief looked
down the table. The Ambassador was leaning
forward, glaring at him, his face a mottled crim-
son.

PROTOCOL
13
"I'm warning you, Mr. Retief," he said hoarsely.
"I've eaten sheep's eyes in the Sudan, ka swe in
Burma, hundred-year cug on Mars, and every-
thing else that has been placed before me in the
course of my diplomatic career, and by the holy
relics of Saint Ignatz, you'll do the same!" He
snatched up a spoon-like utensil and dipped it
into his bowl.
"Don't eat that, Mr. Ambassador," Retief said.
The Ambassador stared, eyes wide. He opened
his mouth, guiding the spoon toward it.
Retief stood, gripped the table under its edge,
and heaved. The immense wooden slab rose and
tilted; dishes crashed to the floor. The table fol-
lowed with a ponderous slam. Milky soup splat-
tered across the terrazzo; a couple of odd bowls
rolled clattering across the room. Cries rang out
from the Yill, mingling with a strangled yell from
Ambassador Spradley.
Retief walked past the wild-eyed members of
the mission to the sputtering chief. "Mr. Ambas-
sador," he said. "I'd like—"
"You'd like! I'll break you, you young hoodlum!
Do you realize—"
"Pleass . . ." The interpreter stood at Retief's
side.
"My apologies," Ambassador Spradley said,
mopping his forehead. "My profound—"
"Be quiet," Retief said.
"Wh-what?!"
"Don't apologize," Retief said.
P'Toi was beckoning. "Pleasse, aril come."
Retief turned and followed him.
The portion of the table they were ushered to
was covered with an embroidered white cloth, set

14
RETIEF UNBOUND
with thin porcelain dishes. The Yill already
seated there rose, amid babbling, and moved
down to make room for the Terrestrials. The black-
clad Yill at the end table closed ranks to fill the vacant
seats. Retief sat down, finding Magnan at his side.
"What's going on here?" the Second Secretary
said.
"They were giving us dog food," Retief said. "I
overheard a Yill. They seated us at the servants'
section of the table."
"You mean you understand the language?"
"I learned it on the way out—enough, at
least—"
The music burst out with a clangorous fanfare,
and a throng of jugglers, dancers, and acrobats
poured into the center of the hollow square, fran-
tically juggling, dancing, and back-flipping. Ser-
vants swarmed, heaping mounds of fragrant food
on the plates of Yill and Terrestrials alike, pouring
pale purple liquor into slender glasses. Retief
sampled the Yill food. It was delicious. Conversa-
tion was impossible in the din. He watched the
gaudy display and ate heartily.
Retief leaned back, grateful for the lull in the
music. The last of the dishes were whisked away,
and more glasses filled. The exhausted entertain-
ers stopped to pick up the thick square coins the
diners threw. Retief sighed. It had been a rare
feast.
"Retief," Magnan said in the comparative quiet.
"What were you saying about dog food as the
music came up?"
Retief looked at him. "Haven't you noticed the
pattern, Mr. Magnan? The series of deliberate af-
fronts?"

PROTOCOL
15
"Deliberate affronts! Just a minute, Retief.
They're uncouth, yes, crowding into doorways
and that sort of thing. But..." He looked at Retief
uncertainly.
"They herded us into a baggage warehouse at
the terminal. Then they hauled us here in a gar-
bage truck."
"Garbage truck!"
"Only symbolic, of course. They ushered us in
the tradesmen's entrance, and assigned us cubi-
cles in the servants' wing. Then we were seated
with the coolie-class sweepers at the bottom of the
table."
"You must be mistaken! I mean, after all, we're
the Terrestrial delegation; surely these Yill must
realize our power."
"Precisely, Mr. Magnan. But—"
With a clang of cymbals, the musicians
launched a renewed assault. Six tall, helmeted
Yill sprang into the center of the floor, paired off
in a wild performance, half dance, half combat.
Magnan pulled at Retief's sleeve, his mouth mov-
ing. Retief shook his head. No one could talk
against a Yill orchestra in full cry. Retief sampled
a bright red wine and watched the show.
There was a flurry of action, and two of the
dancers stumbled and collapsed, their partner-
opponents whirling away to pair off again, de-
scribe the elaborate pre-combat ritual, and
abruptly set to, dulled sabres clashing—and
two more Yill were down, stunned. It was a vio-
lent dance. Retief watched, the drink forgotten.
The last two Yill approached and retreated,
whirled, bobbed, and spun, feinted and postured.
And then one was slipping, going down, helmet
awry, and the other, a giant, muscular Yill, spun

16
RETIEF UNBOUND
away, whirled in a mad skirl of pipes as coins
showered—then froze before a gaudy table, raised
the sabre, and slammed it down in a resounding
blow across the gay cloth before a lace-and-bow-
bedecked Yill. The music stopped with a ringing
clash of cymbals.
In utter silence the dancer-fighter stared across
the table. With a shout the seated Yill leaped up
and raised a clenched fist. The dancer bowed his
head, spread his hands on his helmet and re-
sumed his dance as the music blared anew. The
beribboned Yill waved a hand negligently, flung a
handful of coins across the floor, and sat down.
Now the dancer stood rigid before the brocaded
table—and the music chopped off short as the
sabre slammed down before a heavy Yill in ornate
metallic coils. The challenged Yill rose, raised a
fist, and the other ducked his head, putting his
hands on his helmet. Coins rolled, and the dancer
moved on.
He circled the broad floor, sabre twirling, arms
darting in an intricate symbolism. Then suddenly
he was towering before Retief, sabre above his
head. The music cut, and in the startling instan-
taneous silence, the heavy sabre whipped over
and down with an explosive concussion that set
dishes dancing on the table-top.
The Yill's eyes held on Retief's. In the silence
Magnan tittered drunkenly. Retief pushed back
his stool.
"Steady, my boy," Ambassador Spradly called.
Retief stood, the Yill topping his six-foot-three by
an inch. In a motion too quick to follow Retief
reached for the sabre, twitched it from the Yill's
grasp, swung it in a whistling arc. The Yill

PROTOCOL
17
ducked, sprang back and snatched up a sabre
dropped by another dancer.
"Someone stop the madman!" Spradley
howled.
Retief leaped across the table, sending fragile
dishes spinning.
The other danced back, and only then did the
orchestra spring to life with a screech and a mad
tattoo of high-pitched drums.
Making no attempt to follow the weaving pat-
tern of the Yill bolero, Retief pressed the Yill,
fending off vicious cuts with the blunt weapon,
chopping back relentlessly. Left hand on hip, Re-
tief matched blow for blow, driving the other
back.
Abruptly the Yill abandoned the double role.
Dancing forgotten, he settled down in earnest,
cutting, thrusting, parrying. Now the two stood
toe to toe, sabres clashing in a lightning exchange.
The Yill gave a step, two, then rallied, drove Re-
tief back, back—
Retief feinted, laid a hearty whack across the
grey skull. The Yill stumbled, his sabre clattered
to the floor. Retief stepped aside as the Yill wa-
vered past him and crashed to the floor.
The orchestra fell silent in a descending wail of
reeds. Retief drew a deep breath and wiped his
forehead.
"Come back here, you young fool!" Spradley
called hoarsely.
Retief hefted the sabre, turned, eyed the
brocade-draped table. He started across the floor.
The Yill sat as if paralyzed.
"Retief, no!" Spradley yelped.
Retief walked directly to the Admirable

18
RETIEF UNBOUND
F'Kau-Kau-Kau, stopped, raised the sabre.
"Not the Chief of State," someone in the Ter-
restrial Mission groaned.
Retief whipped the sabre down. The dull blade
split the heavy brocade and cleaved the hardwood
table. There was utter silence.
The Admirable F'Kau-Kau-Kau rose, seven feet
of obese grey Yill. His broad face expressionless to
the Terran eye, he raised a fist like a jewel-studded
ham.
Retief stood rigid for a long moment. Then,
gracefully, he inclined his head and placed his
finger tips on his temples. Behind him there was a
clatter as Ambassador Spradley collapsed. Then
the Admirable F'Kau-Kau-Kau cried out, reached
across the table to embrace the Terrestrial, and the
orchestra went mad. Grey hands helped Retief
across the table, stools were pushed aside to make
room at F'Kau-Kau-Kau's side. Retief sat, took a
tall flagon of coal-black brandy pressed on him by
his neighbor, clashed glasses with The Admir-
able, and drank.
"The feast ends," F'Kau-Kau-Kau said. "Now
you and I, Retief, must straddle the Council
Stool."
"I'll be honored, Your Admirableness," Retief
said. "I must inform my colleagues."
"Colleagues?" F'Kau-Kau-Kau said. "It is for
chiefs to parley. Who shall speak for a king while
he yet has tongue for talk?"
"The Yill way is wise," Retief said.
F'Kau-Kau-Kau emptied a squat tumbler of pink
beer. "I'll treat with you, Retief, as viceroy, since
as you say your king is old and the space between

PROTOCOL
19
worlds is far. But there shall be no scheming un-
derlings privy to our dealings." He grinned a Yill
grin. "Afterwards we shall carouse, Retief. The
Council Stool is hard, and the waiting hand-
maidens delectable; this makes for quick agree-
ment."
Retief smiled. "The Admirable speaks wis-
dom."
"Of course, a being prefers wenches of his own
kind," F'Kau-Kau-Kau said. He belched. "The
Ministry of Culture has imported several Terres-
trial joy-girls, said to be top-notch specimens. As
least they have very fat watchamacallits."
"Your Admirableness is most considerate," Re-
tief said.
"Let us to it then, Retief. I may hazard a tumble
with one of your Terries, myself. I fancy an occa-
sional perversion." F'Kau-Kau-Kau dug an elbow
into Retief's side and bellowed with laughter.
As Retief crossed to the door at F'Kau-Kau-
Kau's side, Ambassador Spradley glowered from
behind the plain tablecloth. "Retief," he called,
"kindly excuse yourself. I wish a word with you."
His voice was icy. Magnan stood behind him,
goggling.
"Forgive my apparent rudeness, Mr. Ambas-
sador," said Retief. "I don't have time to explain
now—"
"Rudeness!" Spradley yipped. "Don't have
time, eh? Let me tell you—"
"Please lower your voice, Mr. Ambassador,"
Retief said. "The situation is still delicate."
Spradley quivered, his mouth open. He found
his voice, "You—you—"
"Silence!" Retief snapped. Spradley looked up

20
RETIEF UNBOUND
at Retief's face, staring for a moment into Retief's
grey eyes. He closed his mouth and swallowed.
"The Yill seem to have gotten the impression
I'm in charge," Retief said. "We'll have to main-
tain the deception."
"But—but—" Spradley stuttered. Then he
straightened. "That is the last straw," he whis-
pered hoarsely. "I am the Terrestrial Ambassador
Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary.
Magnan has told me that we've been studiedly
and repeatedly insulted, since the moment of our
arrival; kept waiting in baggage rooms, trans-
ported in refuse lorries, herded about with ser-
vants, offered swill at the table. Now I, and my
senior staff, are left cooling our heels, without so
much as an audience, while this—this multiple
Kau person hobnobs with—with—"
Spradley's voice broke. "I may have been a trifle
hasty, Retief, in attempting to restrain you. Slight-
ing the native gods and dumping the banquet
table are rather extreme measures, but your re-
sentment was perhaps partially justified. I am
prepared to be lenient with you." He fixed a
choleric eye on Retief.
"I am walking out of this meeting, Mr. Retief.
I'll take no more of these personal—"
"That's enough," Retief said sharply. "We're
keeping The Admirable waiting."
Spradley's face purpled.
Magnan found his voice. "What are you going
to do, Retief?"
"I'm going to handle the negotiation," Retief
said. He handed Magnan his empty glass. "Now
go sit down and work on the Image."
* * *

PROTOCOL
21
At his desk in the VIP suite aboard the orbiting
Corps vessel, Ambassador Spradley pursed his
lips and looked severely at Vice-Consul Retief.
"Further," he said, "you have displayed a com-
plete lack of understanding of Corps discipline,
the respect due a senior officer, even the basic
courtesies. Your aggravated displays of temper,
ill-timed outbursts of violence, and almost incred-
ible arrogance in the assumption of authority
make your further retention as an Officer-Agent of
the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne impossi-
ble. It will therefore be my unhappy duty to rec-
ommend your immediate—"
There was a muted buzz from the com-
municator. The Ambassador cleared his throat.
"Well?"
"A signal from Sector HQ, Mr. Ambassador," a
voice said.
"Well, read it," Spradley snapped. "Skip the
preliminaries ..."
"Congratulations on the unprecedented suc-
cess of your mission. The articles of agreement
transmitted by you embody a most favorable reso-
lution of the difficult Sirenian situation, and will
form the basis of continued amicable relations
between the Terrestrial States and the Yill Empire.
To you and your staff, full credit is due for a job
well done. Signed, Deputy Assistant Secretary
Stern wheeler."
Spradley cut off the voice impatiently. He
shuffled papers, then eyed Retief sharply.
"Superficially, of course, an uninitiated ob-
server might leap to the conclusion that the ah ...
results that were produced in spite of these ... ah
• . . irregularities justify the latter." The Ambas-
sador smiled a sad, wise smile. "This is far from

22
RETIEF UNBOUND
the case," he said. "I—"
The communicator burped softly.
"Confound it." Spradley muttered. "Yes?"
"Mr. T'Cai-Cai has arrived," the voice said.
"Shall I—"
"Send him in, at once." Spradley glanced at
Retief. "Only a two-syllable man, but I shall at-
tempt to correct these false impressions, make
some amends . . ."
The two Terrestrials waited silently until the
Yill Protocol chief tapped at the door.
"I hope," the Ambassador said, "that you will
resist the impulse to take advantage of your un-
usual position." He looked at the door. "Come
in."
T'Cai-Cai stepped into the room, glanced at
Spradley, then turned to greet Retief in voluble
Yill. He rounded the desk to the Ambassador's
chair, motioned him from it, and sat down.
"I have a surprise for you, Retief," he said in
Terran. "I myself have made use of the teaching
machine you so kindly lent us."
"That's good," Retief said. "I'm sure Mr. Sprad-
ley will be interested in hearing what we have to
say."
"Never mind," the Yill said. "I am here only
socially." He looked around the room.
"So plainly you decorate your chamber; but it
has a certain austere charm." He laughed a Yill
laugh.
"Oh, you are a strange breed, you Terrestrials.
You surprised us all. You know, one hears such
outlandish stories. I tell you in confidence, we had
expected you to be overpushes."
"Pushovers," Spradley said tonelessly.

PROTOCOL
23
"Such restraint! What pleasure you gave to
those of us, like myself of course, who appreciated
your grasp of protocol. Such finesse! How subtly
you appeared to ignore each overture, while
neatly avoiding actual contamination. I can tell
you, there were those who thought—poor
fools—that you had no grasp of etiquette. How
gratified we were, we professionals, who could
appreciate your virtuosity—when you placed
matters on a comfortable basis by spurning the
cats'-meat. It was sheer pleasure then, waiting, to
see what form your compliment would take."
The Yill offered orange cigars, then stuffed one
in his nostril.
"I confess even I had not hoped that you would
honor our Admirable so signally. Oh, it is a pleas-
ure to deal with fellow professionals, who under-
stand the meaning of protocol."
Ambassador Spradley make a choking sound.
"This fellow has caught a chill," T'Cai-Cai said.
He eyed Spradley dubiously. "Step back, my man,
I am highly susceptible.
"There is one bit of business I shall take pleas-
ure in attending to, my dear Retief," T'Cai-Cai
went on. He drew a large paper from his reticule.
"His Admirableness is determined that none
other than yourself shall be accredited here. I have
here my government's exequatur confirming you
as Terrestrial Consul-General to Yill. We shall look
forward to your prompt return."
Retief looked at Spradley.
"I'm sure the Corps will agree," he said.
, "Then I shall be going," T'Cai-Cai said. He
stood up. "Hurry back to us, Retief. There is much
that I would show you of the great Empire of Yill."

24	RETIEF UNBOUND
He winked a Yill wink.
"Together, Retief, we shall see many high and
splendid things."

... In the face of the multitudinous threats to
the peace arising naturally from the complex
Galactic situation, the polished techniques de-
vised by Corps theoreticians proved their worth
in a thousand difficult confrontations. Even
anonymous junior officers, armed with brief-
cases containing detailed instructions, were
able to soothe troubled waters with the skill of
experienced negotiators. A case in point was
Consul Passwyn's incisive handling of the Jaq-
Terrestrial contretemps at Adobe . . .
Vol. II, reel 91 480 A. E. (AD 2941)
SEALED ORDERS
"IT'S TRUE," Consul Passwyn said, "I requested
assignment as Principle Officer at a small post.
But I had in mind one of those charming resort
worlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or
perhaps a distressed spaceman or two a year. In-
stead, I'm zoo-keeper to these confounded
settlers, and not for one world, mind you, but
eight." He stared glumly at Vice-Consul Retief.
"Still," Retief said, "it gives an opportunity for
travel."
"Travel!" the Consul barked. "I hate travel.

26
RETIEF UNBOUND
Here in this backwater system particularly. . . ."
He paused, blinked at Retief, and cleared his
throat. "Not that a bit of travel isn't an excellent
thing for a junior officer. Marvelous experience."
He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a but-
ton. A system triagram appeared: eight luminous
green dots arranged around a larger disc repre-
senting the primary. Passwyn picked up a
pointer, indicating the innermost planet.
"The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The
confounded settlers—a mere handful of them—
have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble with an
intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can't
think why they bother, merely for a few oases
among the endless deserts. However, I have, at
last, received authorization from Sector Head-
quarters to take certain action."
He swung back to face Retief. "I'm sending you
in to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed
orders." He picked up a fat, buff envelope. "A pity
they didn't see fit to order the Terrestrial settlers
out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it's too late. I'm
expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement
between Terrestrial and Jaq and a division of terri-
tory. It's idiotic. However, failure would look very
bad in my record, so I shall expect results." He
passed the buff envelope across to Retief.
"I understood that Adobe was uninhabited,"
Retief said, "until the Terrestrial settlers arrived."
"Apparently that was an erroneous impression.
The Jaq are there." Passwyn fixed Retief with a
watery eye. "You'll follow your instructions to the
letter. In a delicate situation such as this, there
must be no impulsive, impromptu element intro-
duced. This approach has been worked out in

SEALED ORDERS
27
detail at Sector; you need merely implement it. Is
that entirely clear?"
"Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited
Adobe?"
"Of course not. They all hate travel too. If there
are no other questions, you'd best be on your way.
The mail run departs the dome in less than an
hour."
"What's this native life form like?" Retief asked,
getting to his feet.
"When you get back," said Passwyn, "you tell
	 ,,
me.
The mail pilot, a leathery veteran with quarter-
inch whiskers, spat toward a stained corner of the
compartment, and leaned close to the screen.
"They's shootin' goin' on down there," he said.
"Them white puffs over the edge of the desert."
"I'm supposed to be preventing the war," said
Retief. "It looks like I'm a little late."
The pilot's head snapped around. "War?" he
yelped. "Nobody told me they was a war goin' on
on 'Dobe. If that's what that is, I'm gettin' out of
here."
"Hold on," said Retief. "I've got to get down.
They won't shoot at you."
"They shore won't, sonny. I ain't givin' 'em the
chance." He reached for the console and started
punching keys. Retief reached out, catching his
wrist.
"Maybe you didn't hear me. I said I've got to get
down."
The pilot plunged against the restraint and
swung a punch that Retief blocked casually. "Are
you nuts?" the pilot screeched. "They's plenty

28
RETIEF UNBOUND
shootin' goin' on fer me to see it fifty miles out."
"The mails must go through, you know."
"I ain't no consarned postman. If you're so dead
set on gettin' killed—take the skiff. I'll tell 'em to
pick up the remains next trip—if the shootin's
over."
"You're a pal. I'll take your offer."
The pilot jumped to the lifeboat hatch and cy-
cled it open. "Get in. We're closin' fast. Them
birds might take it into their heads to lob one this
way."
Retief crawled into the narrow cockpit of the
skiff. The pilot ducked out of sight, came back,
and handed Retief a heavy old-fashioned power
pistol. "Long as you're goin' in, might as well take
this."
"Thanks." Retief shoved the pistol in his belt. "I
hope you're wrong."
"I'll see they pick you up when the shootin's
over—one way or another."
The hatch clanked shut; a moment later there
was a jar as the skiff dropped away, followed by
heavy buffeting in the backwash from the depart-
ing mail boat. Retief watched the tiny screen, his
hands on the manual controls. He was dropping
rapidly: forty miles, thirty-nine . . .
At five miles, Retief threw the light skiff into
maximum deceleration. Crushed back in the pad-
ded seat, he watched the screen and corrected the
course minutely. The planetary surface was rush-
ing up with frightening speed. Retief shook his
head and kicked in the emergency retro-drive.
Points of light arced up from the planet face be-
low. If they were ordinary chemical warheads the
skiffs meteor screens should handle them. The

SEALED ORDERS
29
screen on the instrument panel flashed brilliant
white, then went dark. The skiff leaped and flip-
ped on its back, smoke filling the tiny compart-
ment. There was a series of shocks, a final bone-
shaking concussion, then stillness, broken by the
ping of hot metal contracting.
Coughing, Retief disengaged himself from the
shock-webbing, groped underfoot for the hatch,
and wrenched it open. A wave of hot jungle air
struck him. He lowered himself to a bed of shat-
tered foliage, got to his feet... and dropped flat as
a bullet whined past his ear.
He lay listening. Stealthy movements were au-
dible from the left. He inched his way forward and
made the shelter of a broad-boled dwarf tree.
Somewhere a song lizard burbled. Whining in-
sects circled, scented alien life, and buzzed off.
There was another rustle of foliage from the un-
derbrush five yards away. A bush quivered, then a
low bough dipped. Retief edged back around the
trunk and eased down behind a fallen log. A
stocky man in a grimy leather shirt and shorts
appeared, moving cautiously, a pistol in his hand.
As he passed, Retief rose, leaped the log, and
tackled him. They went down together. The man
gave one short yell, then struggled in silence.
Retief flipped him onto his back, raised a fist—
"Hey!" the settler yelled. "You're as human as I
am!"
"Maybe I'll look better after a shave," said Re-
tief. "What's the idea of shooting at me?"
"Lemme up—my name's Potter. Sorry 'bout
that. I figured it was a Flap-jack boat; looks just
like 'em. I took a shot when I saw something move;
didn't know it was a Terrestrial. Who are you?

30
RETIEF UNBOUND
What you doin' here? We're pretty close to the
edge of the oasis. That's Flap-jack country over
there." He waved a hand toward the north, where
the desert lay.
"I'm glad you're a poor shot. Some of those
missiles were too close for comfort."
"Missiles, eh? Must be Flap-jack artillery. We
got nothin' like that."
"I heard there was a full-fledged war brewing,"
said Retief. "I didn't expect—"
"Good!" Potter said. "We figured a few of you
boys from Ivory would be joining up when you
heard. You from Ivory?"
"Yes. I'm—"
"Hey, you must be Lemuel's cousin. Good
night! I pretty near made a bad mistake. Lemuel's a
tough man to explain anything to."
"I'm—"
"Keep your head down. These damn Flap-jacks
have got some wicked hand weapons. Come on ..."
He began crawling through the brush. Retief fol-
lowed. They crossed two hundred yards of rough
country before Potter got to his feet, took out a
soggy bandanna, and mopped his face.
"You move good for a city man. I thought you
folks on Ivory just sat down under those domes
and read dials. But I guess bein' Lemuel's
cousin—"
"As a matter of fact—"
"Have to get you some real clothes, though.
Those city duds don't stand up on 'Dobe."
Retief looked down at his charred, torn, sweat-
soaked powder-blue blazer and slacks, the infor-
mal uniform of a Third Secretary and Vice-Consul
in the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne.

SEALED ORDERS
31
"This outfit seemed pretty rough-and-ready
back home," he said. "But I guess leather has its
points."
"Let's get on back to camp. We'll just about
make it by sundown. And look, don't say nothin'
to Lemuel about me thinkin' you were a Flap-
jack."
"I won't; but—"
Potter was on his way, loping off up a gentle
slope. Retief pulled off the sodden blazer,
dropped it over a bush, added his string tie, and
followed Potter.
"We're damn glad you're here, mister," said a
fat man with two revolvers belted across his
paunch. "We can use every man. We're in bad
shape. We ran into the Flap-jacks three months
ago and we haven't made a smart move since.
First, we thought they were a native form we
hadn't run into before. Fact is, one of the boys shot
one, thinkin' it was fair game. I guess that was the
start of it." He paused to stir the fire.
"And then a bunch of 'em hit Swazey's farm
here. Killed two of his cattle, and pulled back," he
said.
"We figure they thought the cows were people,"
said Swazey. "They were out for revenge."
"How could anybody think a cow was folks,"
another man put in. "They don't look nothin'
like—"
"Don't be so dumb, Bert," said Swazey. "They'd
never seen Terries before; they know better now."
Bert chuckled. "Sure do. We showed 'em the
next time, didn't we, Potter? Got four—"
"They walked right up to my place a couple

32
RETIEF UNBOUND
days after the first time," Swazey said. "We were
ready for 'em. Peppered 'em good. They cut and
run—"
"Flopped, you mean. Ugliest-lookin' critters
you ever saw. Look just like a old piece of dirty
blanket humpin' around."
"It's been goin' on this way ever since. They raid
and then we raid. But lately they've been bringin'
some big stuff into it. They've got some kind of
pint-sized airships and automatic rifles. We've
lost four men now and a dozen more in the freezer,
waiting for the med ship. We can't afford it. The
colony's got less than three hundred able-bodied
men."
"But we're hangin' onto our farms," said Potter.
"All these oases are old sea-beds—a mile deep,
solid topsoil. And there's a couple of hundred
others we haven't touched yet. The Flap-jacks
won't get 'em while there's a man alive."
"The whole system needs the food we can
raise," Bert said. "These farms we're tryin' to start
won't be enough but they'll help."
"We been yellin' for help to the CDT, over on
Ivory," said Potter. "But you know these Embassy
stooges."
"We heard they were sendin' some kind of bu-
reaucrat in here to tell us to get out and give the
oasis to the Flap-jacks," said Swazey. He tight-
ened his mouth. "We're waitin' for him. . . ."
"Meanwhile we got reinforcements comin' up.
We put out the word back home; we all got rela-
tives on Ivory and Verde—"
"Shut up, you damn fool!" a deep voice grated.
"Lemuel!" Potter said. "Nobody else could
sneak up on us like that—"

SEALED ORDERS
33
"If I'd a been a Flap-jack, I'd of et you alive," the
newcomer said, moving into the ring of the fire.
He was a tall, broad-faced man in grimy leather.
He eyed Retief.
"Who's that?"
"What do ya mean?" Potter spoke in the silence.
"He's your cousin."
"He ain't no cousin of mine," Lemuel said. He
stepped to Retief.
"Who you spyin' for, stranger?" he rasped.
Retief got to his feet. "I think I should
explain—"
A short-nosed automatic appeared in Lemuel's
hand, a clashing note against his fringed
buckskins.
"Skip the talk. I know a fink when I see one."
"Just for a change, I'd like to finish a sentence,"
Retief said. "And I suggest you put your courage
back in your pocket before it bites you."
"You talk too damned fancy to suit me."
"You're wrong. I talk to suit me. Now, for the
last time: put it away."
Lemuel stared at Retief. "You givin' me or-
ders . . . ?"
Retief's left fist shot out and smacked Lemuel's
face dead center. The raw-boned settler stumbled
back, blood starting from his nose. The pistol fired
into the dirt as he dropped it. He caught himself,
jumped for Retief .. . and met a straight right that
snapped him onto his back—out cold.
"Wow!" said Potter. "The stranger took Lem ...
in two punches ..."
"One," said Swazey. "That first one was just a
love tap."
Bert froze. "Quiet, bovs," he whispered. In the

34
RETIEF UNBOUND
sudden silence a night lizard called. Retief
strained, heard nothing. He narrowed his eyes,
peering past the fire.
With a swift lunge he seized up the bucket of
drinking water, dashed it over the fire, and threw
himself flat. He heard the others hit the dirt a split
second after him.
"You move fast for a city man," breathed
Swazey beside him. "You see pretty good too.
We'll split and take 'em from two sides. You and
Bert from the left, me and Potter from the right."
"No," said Retief. "You wait here. I'm going out
alone."
"What's the idea '...?"
"Later. Sit tight and keep your eyes open." Re-
tief took a bearing on a treetop faintly visible
against the sky and started forward.
Five minutes' cautious progress brought Retief
to a slight rise of ground. With infinite caution he
raised himself and risked a glance over an out-
cropping of rock. The stunted trees ended just
ahead. Beyond, he could make out the dim con-
tour of rolling desert: Flap-jack country. He got to
his feet, clambered over the stone, still hot after a
day of tropical heat, and moved forward twenty
yards. Around him he saw nothing but drifted
sand, palely visible in the starlight, and the occa-
sional shadow of jutting shale slabs. Behind him
the jungle was still. He sat down on the ground to
wait.
It was ten minutes before a movement caught
his eye; something had separated itself from a
dark mass of stone, and glided across a few yards
of open ground to another shelter. Retief watched.
Minutes passed. The shape moved again, slipped

SEALED ORDERS
35
into a shadow ten feet distant. Retief felt the butt
of the power pistol with his elbow. His guess had
better be right. . . .
There was a sudden rasp, like leather against
concrete, and a flurry of sand as the Flap-jack
charged. Retief rolled aside, then lunged, throw-
ing his weight on the flopping Flap-jack—a yard
square, three inches thick at the center, and all
muscle. The ray-like creature heaved up, curled
backward, its edge rippling, to stand on the flat-
tened rim of its encircling sphincter. It scrabbled
with its prehensile fringe-tentacles for a grip on
Retief's shoulders. Retief wrapped his arms
around the creature and struggled to his feet. The
thing was heavy, a hundred pounds at least; fight-
ing as it was, it seemed more like five hundred.
The Flap-jack reversed its tactics, becoming
limp. Retief grabbed and felt a thumb slip into an
orifice.
The creature went wild. Retief hung on, dug the
thumb in deeper.
"Sorry, fellow," he muttered between his
clenched teeth. "Eye-gouging isn't gentlemanly,
but it's effective. ..."
The Flap-jack fell still; only its fringes rippling
slowly. Retief relaxed the pressure of his thumb.
The creature gave a tentative jerk; the thumb dug
in. The Flap-jack went limp again, waiting.
"Now that we understand each other," said Re-
tief, "lead me to your headquarters."
Twenty minutes' walk into the desert brought
Retief to a low rampart of thorn branches: the
Flap-jacks' outer defensive line against Terry
forays. It would be as good a place as any to wait

36
RETIEF UNBOUND
for the next move by the Flap-jacks. He sat down,
eased the weight of his captive off his back, keep-
ing a firm thumb in place. If his analysis of the
situation was correct, a Flap-jack picket should be
along before too long. . . .
A penetrating beam of red light struck Retief in
the face, then blinked off. He got to his feet. The
captive Flap-jack rippled its fringe in an agitated
way. Retief tensed his thumb.
"Sit tight," he said. "Don't try to do anything
hasty. . . ." His remarks were falling on deaf
ears—or no ears at all—but the thumb spoke as
loudly as words.
There was a slither of sand, then another. Retief
became aware of a ring of presences drawing
closer.
Retief tightened his grip on the creature. He
could see a dark shape now, looming up almost to
his own six-three. It appeared that the Flap-jacks
came in all sizes.
A low rumble sounded, like a deep-throated
growl. It strummed on, then faded out. Retief
cocked his head, frowning.
"Try it two octaves higher," he said.
"Awwrrp! Sorry. Is that better?" a clear voice
came from the darkness.
"That's fine," Retief said. "I'm here to arrange
an exchange of prisoners."
"Prisoners? But we have no prisoners."
"Sure you have. Me. Is it a deal?"
"Ah, yes, of course. Quite equitable. What
guarantees do you require?"
"The word of a gentleman is sufficient." Retief
released his captive. It flopped once and disap-
peared into the darkness.

SEALED ORDERS
37
"If you'd care to accompany me to our head-
quarters," the voice said, "we can discuss our
mutual concerns in comfort."
"Delighted."
Red lights blinked briefly. Retief, glimpsing a
gap in the thorny barrier, stepped through it. He
followed dim shapes across warm sand to a low
cave-like entry, faintly lit with a reddish glow.
"I must apologize for the awkward design of our
comfort-dome," said the voice. "Had we known
we would be honored by a visit. . . ."
"Think nothing of it," Retief said. "We diplo-
mats are trained to crawl."
Inside, with knees bent and head ducked under
the five-foot ceiling, Retief looked around at the
walls of pink-toned nacre, a floor like burgundy-
colored glass spread with silken rugs, and a low
table of polished red granite set out with silver
dishes and rose-crystal drinking tubes.
"Let me congratulate you," the voice said. Re-
tief turned. An immense Flap-jack, hung with
crimson trappings, rippled at his side. The voice
issued from a disk strapped to its back. "Your
skirmish-forms fight well. I think we will find in
each other worthy adversaries."
"Thanks. I'm sure the test would be interesting,
but I'm hoping we can avoid it."
"Avoid it?" Retief heard a low humming com-
lrig from the speaker in the silence. "Well, let us
dine," the mighty Flap-jack said at last, "we can
resolve these matters later. I am called Hoshick of
the Mosaic of the Two Dawns."
"I'm Retief." Hoshick waited expectantly.
"■ • . of the Mountain of Red Tape," Retief added.
"Take your place, Retief," said Hoshick. "I hope

38
RETIEF UNBOUND
you won't find our rude couches uncomfortable."
Two other large Flap-jacks came into the room
and communed silently with Hoshick. "Pray for-
give our lack of translating devices," he said to
Retief. "Permit me to introduce my colleagues."
A small Flap-jack rippled into the chamber
bearing on its back a silver tray, laden with aro-
matic food. The waiter served the diners and filled
the drinking tubes with yellow wine.
"I trust you'll find these dishes palatable,"
Hoshick said. "Our metabolisms are much alike, I
believe." Retief tried the food; it had a delicious
nut-like flavor. The wine was indistinguishable
from Chateau d'Yquem.
"It was an unexpected pleasure to encounter
your party here," Hoshick said. "I confess at first
we took you for an indigenous earth-grubbing
form, but we were soon disabused of that notion."
He raised a tube, manipulating it deftly with his
fringe tentacles. Retief returned the salute and
drank.
"Of course," Hoshick continued, "as soon as we
realized that you were sportsmen like ourselves,
we attempted to make amends by providing a bit
of activity for you. We've ordered out our heavier
equipment and a few trained skirmishers and
soon we'll be able to give you an adequate show,
or so I hope."
"Additional skirmishers?" said Retief. "How
many, if you don't mind my asking?"
"For the moment, perhaps only a few hundred.
Thereafter . . . well, I'm sure we can arrange that
between us. Personally I would prefer a contest of
limited scope—no nuclear or radiation-effect
weapons. Such a bore, screening the spawn for

SEALED ORDERS
39
deviations. Though I confess we've come upon
some remarkably useful sports: the ranger-form
such as you made captive, for example. Simple-
minded, of course, but a fantastically keen
tracker."
"Oh, by all means," Retief said. "No atomics. As
you pointed out, spawn-sorting is a nuisance, and
then too, it's wasteful of troops."
"Ah, well, they are after all expendable. But we
agree, no atomics. Have you tried the ground-
gwack eggs? Rather a speciality of my Mosaic >.."
"Delicious," said Retief. "I wonder if you've
considered eliminating weapons altogether?"
A scratchy sound issued from the disk. "Pardon
my laughter," Hoshick said, "but surely you
jest?"
"As a matter of fact," said Retief, "we ourselves
try to avoid the use of weapons."
"I seem to recall that our first contact of
skirmish-forms involved the use of a weapon by
one of your units."
"My apologies," said Reitef. "The—ah—
skirmish-form failed to recognize that he was
dealing with a sportsman."
"Still, now that we have commenced so merrily
with weapons . . ." Hoshick signaled and the
servant refilled the drinking tubes.
"There is an aspect I haven't yet mentioned,"
Retief went on. "I hope you won't take this per-
sonally, but the fact is, our skirmish-forms think
of weapons as something one employs only in
dealing with certain specific life-forms."
"Oh? Curious. What forms are those?"
"Vermin. Deadly antagonists, but lacking in
caste. I don't want our skirmish-forms thinking of

40
RETIEF UNBOUND
such worthy adversaries as yourself as vermin."
"Dear me! I hadn't realized, of course. Most
considerate of you to point it out." Hoshick
clucked in dismay. "I see that skirmish-forms are
much the same among you as with us: lacking in
perception." He laughed scratchily.
"Which brings us to the crux of the matter,"
Retief said. "You see, we're up against a serious
problem with regard to skirmish-forms: a low
birth rate. Therefore we've reluctantly taken to
substitutes for the mass actions so dear to the
heart of the sportsman. We've attempted to put an
end to these contests altogether ..."
Hoshick coughed explosively, sending a spray
of wine into the air. "What are you saying?" he
gasped. "Are you proposing that Hoshick of the
Mosaic of the Two Dawns abandon honor?"
"Sir!" said Retief sternly. "You forget yourself.
I, Retief of the Red Tape, merely make an alternate
proposal more in keeping with the newest sport-
ing principles."
"New?" cried Hoshick. "My dear Retief, what a
pleasant surprise! I'm enthralled with novel
modes. One gets so out of touch. Do elaborate."
"It's quite simple, really. Each side selects a
representative and the two individuals settle the
issue between them."
"I... um ... I'm afraid I don't understand. What
possible significance could one attach to the ac-
tivities of a couple of random skirmish-forms?"
"I haven't made myself clear," Retief said. He
took a sip of wine. "We don't involve the
skirmish-forms at all; that's quite passe."
"You don't mean . . . ?"
"That's right. You and me."

SEALED ORDERS
41
* * *
Outside the starlit sand Retief tossed aside the
power pistol and followed it with the leather shirt
Swazey had lent him. By the faint light he could
just make out the towering figure of the Flap-jack
rearing up before him, his trappings gone. A silent
rank of Flap-jack retainers were grouped behind
him.
"I fear I must lay aside the translator now, Re-
tief," said Hoshick. He sighed and rippled his
fringe tentacles. "My spawn-fellows will never
credit this. Such a curious turn fashion has taken.
How much more pleasant it is to observe the ac-
tion from a distance."
"I suggest we use Tennessee rules," said Retief.
"They're very liberal: biting, gouging, stomping,
kneeling, and, of course, choking, as well as the
usual punching, shoving, and kicking."
"Hmmm. These gambits seem geared to forms
employing rigid endo-skeletons; I fear I shall be at
a disadvantage."
"Of course," Retief said, "if you'd prefer a more
plebeian type of contest . . ."
"By no means. But perhaps we could rule out
tentacle-twisting, just to even the balance."
"Very well. Shall we begin?"
With a rush Hoshick threw himself at Retief,
who ducked, whirled, and leaped on the Flap-
jack's back—and felt himself flipped clear by a
mighty ripple of the alien's slab-like body. Retief
rolled aside as Hoshick turned on him, jumped to
his feet, and threw a punch to Hoshick's mid-
section. The alien whipped his left fringe around
in an arc that connected with Retief's jaw, spin-
ning onto his back. Hoshick's weight struck Retief

42
RETIEF UNBOUND
like a dumptruck-load of concrete. Retief twisted,
trying to roll. The flat body of the creature blan-
keted him. He worked an arm free and drummed
blows on the leathery back. Hoshick nestled
closer.
Retief's air was running out. He heaved up
against the smothering weight; nothing budged.
He was wasting his strength.
He remembered the ranger-form he had cap-
tured. The sensitive orifice had been placed vent-
rally, in what would be the thoracic area. . . .
He groped, feeling tough hide set with horny
granules. He would be missing skin tomorrow—if
there was a tomorrow. His thumb found the
orifice, and he probed.
The Flap-jack recoiled. Retief held fast, probed
deeper, groping with the other hand. If the crea-
ture were bilaterally symmetrical there would be a
set of ready-made handholds. . . .
There were. Retief dug in and the Flap-jack
writhed and pulled away. Retief held on, scram-
bled to his feet, threw his weight against Hoshick,
and fell on top of him, still gouging. Hoshick
rippled his fringe wildly, flopped in distress, then
went limp. Retief relaxed, released his hold, and
got to his feet, breathing hard. Hoshick humped
himself over onto his ventral side, lifted, and
moved gingerly over to the sidelines. His retainers
came forward, assisted him into his trappings,
and strapped on the translator. He sighed heavily,
adjusting the volume.
"There is much to be said for the old system,"
he said. "What a burden one's sportsmanship
places on one at times."
"Great fun, wasn't it?" said Retief. "Now, I

SEALED ORDERS
43
know you'll be eager to continue. If you'll just
wait while I run back and fetch some of our
gouger-forms—"
"May hide-ticks devour the gouger-forms!"
Hoshick bellowed. "You've given me such a
sprong-ache as I'll remember each spawning-time
for a year."
"Speaking of hide-ticks," said Retief, "we've
developed a biter-form—"
"Enough!" Hoshick roared so loudly that the
translator bounced on his hide. "Suddenly I yearn
for the crowded yellow sands of Jag. I had
hoped ..." He broke off, drawing a rasping breath.
"I had hoped, Retief," he said, speaking sadly
now, "to find a new land here where I might plan
my own Mosaic, till these alien sands and bring
forth such a crop of paradise-lichen as should glut
the markets of a hundred worlds. But my spirit is
not equal to the prospect of biter-forms and
gouger-forms without end. I am shamed before
you."
"To tell you the truth, I'm old-fashioned my-
self," said Retief. "I'd rather watch the action
from a distance too."
"But surely your spawn-fellows would never
condone such an attitude."
"My spawn-fellows aren't here. And besides,
didn't I mention it? No one who's really in the
know would think of engaging in competition by
mere combat if there were any other way. Now,
you mentioned tilling the sand, raising
lichens—"
"That on which we dined," said Hoshick, "and
from which the wine is made."
"The big trend in fashionable diplomacy today

44
RETIEF UNBOUND
is farming competition. Now, if you'd like to take
these deserts and raise lichen, we'll promise to
stick to the oases and raise vegetables."
Hoshick curled his back in attention. "Retief,
you're quite serious? You would leave all the fair
sand hills to us?"
"The whole works, Hoshick. I'll take the oases."
Hoshick rippled his fringes ecstatically. "Once
again you have outdone me, Retief," he cried,
"this time, in generosity."
"We'll talk over the details later. I'm sure we can
establish a set of rules that will satisfy all parties.
Now I've got to get back. I think some of the
gouger-forms are waiting to see me."
It was nearly dawn when Retief gave the whis-
tled signal he had agreed on with Potter, then rose
and walked into the camp circle. Swazey stood
up.
"There you are," he said. "We been wonderin'
whether to go out after you."
Lemuel came forward, one eye black to the
cheekbone. He held out a raw-boned hand. "Sorry
I jumped you, stranger. Tell you the truth, I
thought you was some kind of stool-pigeon from
the CDT."
Bert came up behind Lemuel. "How do you
know he ain't, Lemuel?" he said. "Maybe he—"
Lemuel floored Bert with a backward sweep of
his arm. "Next cotton-picker says some embassy
Johnny can cool me gets worse'n that."
"Tell me," said Retief. "How are you boys fixed
for wine?"
"Wine? Mister, we been livin' on stump water
for a year now. 'Dobe's fatal to the kind of bacteria
it takes to ferment liquor."

SEALED ORDERS
45
"Try this." Retief handed over a squat jug.
Swazey drew the cork, sniffed, drank, and passed
it to Lemuel.
"Mister, where'd you get that?"
"The Flap-jacks made it. Here's another ques-
tion for you: would you concede a share in this
planet to the Flap-jacks in return for a peace
guarantee?"
At the end of a half hour of heated debate
Lemuel turned to Retief. "We'll make any reason-
able deal," he said. "I guess they got as much right
here as we have. I think we'd agree to a fifty-fifty
split. That'd give about a hundred and fifty oases
to each side."
"What would you say to keeping all the oases
and giving them the desert?"
Lemuel reached for the wine jug, his eyes on
Retief. "Keep talkin', mister," he said. "I think
you got yourself a deal."
Consul Passwyn glanced up as Retief entered
the office.
"Sit down, Retief," he said absently. "I thought
you were over on Pueblo, or Mud-flat, or whatever
they call that desert."
"I'm back."
Passwyn eyed him sharply. "Well, well, what is
it you need, man? Speak up. Don't expect me to
request any military assistance."
Retief passed a bundle of documents across the
desk. "Here's the Treaty. And a Mutual Assistance
Pact and a Trade Agreement."
"Eh?" Passwyn picked up the papers and riffled
through them. He leaned back in his chair, beam-
ing.
"Well, Retief, expeditiously handled." He

46
RETIEF UNBOUND
stopped and blinked at the Vice-Consul. "You
seem to have a bruise on your jaw. I hope you've
been conducting yourself as befits a member of
the Consulate staff."
"I attended a sporting event. One of the players
got a little excited."
"Well . . . it's one of the hazards of the profes-
sion. One must pretend an interest in such mat-
ters." Passwyn rose and extended a hand. "You've
done well, my boy. Let this teach you the value of
following instructions to the letter."
Outside, by the hall incinerator drop, Retief
paused long enough to take from his briefcase a
large buff envelope, still sealed, and drop it in the
slot.

. . . Supplementing broad knowledge of af-
fairs with such shrewd gambits as identifi-
cation with significant local groups, and the
consequent deft manipulating of inter-group
rivalries, Corps officials on the scene played deci-
sive roles in the preservation of domestic tran-
quility on many a far-flung world. At Fust, Am-
bassador Magnan forged to the van in the exercise
of the technique . . .
Vol VII, reel 43. 487 A.E. (AD 2948)
AIDE MEMOIRE
Across the table from Retief, Ambassador Mag-
nan, rustling a stiff sheet of parchment, looked
grave.
"This aide memoire," he said, "was just handed
to me by the Cultural Attache. It's the third on the
subject this week. It refers to the matter of spon-
sorship of Youth groups."
"Some youths," Retief said. "Average age:
seventy-five."
"The Fustians are a long-lived people," Mag-
nan snapped. "These matters are relative. At
seventy-five, a male Fustian is at a trying age."
"That's right; he'll try anything in the hope it
will maim somebody."

48
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Precisely the problem," Magnan replied. "But
the Youth Movement is the important news in
today's political situation here on Fust, and spon-
sorship of Youth groups is a shrewd stroke on the
part of the Terrestrial Embassy. At my suggestion,
well nigh every member of the mission has leaped
at the opportunity to score a few p— that is, to
cement relations with this emergent power group:
the leaders of the future. You, Retief, as Counselor,
are the outstanding exception."
"I'm not convinced these hoodlums need my
help in organizing their rumbles," Retief said.
"Now, if you have a proposal for a pest control
group—"
"To the Fustians, this is no jesting matter,"
Magnan cut in. "This group," he glanced at the
paper, "known as the Sexual, Cultural and Athlet-
ic Recreational Society, or SCARS, for short, has
been awaiting sponsorship for a matter of weeks
now."
"Meaning they want someone to buy them a
clubhouse, uniforms, equipment, and anything
else they need to plot against the peace in style,"
Retief said.
"If we don't act promptly, the Groaci embassy
may well anticipate us. They're very active here."
"That's an idea," said Retief, "let 'em. After a
while they'll be broke—instead of us."
"Nonsense. The group requires a sponsor. I
can't actually order you to step forward. How-
ever ..." Magnan let the sentence hang in the air.
Retief raised one eyebrow.
"For a minute there," he said, "I thought you
were going to make a positive statement."
Magnan leaned back, lacing his fingers over his

AIDE MEMOIRE
49
stomach. "I don't think you'll find a diplomat of
my experience doing anything so naive," he said.
"I like the adult Fustians," said Retief. "Too bad
they have to lug half a ton of horn around on their
backs. I wonder if surgery—"
"Great heavens, Retief," Magnan spluttered.
"I'm amazed that even you would bring up a mat-
ter of such delicacy. A race's unfortunate physical
characteristics are hardly a fit matter for Terres-
trial curiosity."
"Well, I've only been here a month. But it's been
my experience, Mr. Ambassador, that few people
are above improving on nature; otherwise you, for
example, would be tripping over your beard."
Magnan shuddered. "Please—never mention
the idea to a Fustian."
Retief stood. '"My own program for the day
includes going over to the dockyards. There are
some features of this new passenger liner the Fus-
tians are putting together that I want to look into.
With your permission, Mr. Ambassador. . . ?"
Magnan snorted. "Your preoccupation with the
trivial disturbs me, Retief. More interest in sub-
stantive matters—such as working with youth
groups—would create a far better impression."
"Before getting too involved with these groups,
it might be a good idea to find out a little more
about them," Retief said. "Who organizes them?
There are three strong political parties here on
Fust; what's the alignment of this SCARS organi-
zation?"
"You forget, these are merely teen-agers, so to
speak," Magnan said. "Politics mean nothing to
them . . . yet."
"Then there are the Groaci. Why their passion-

50
RETIEF UNBOUND
ate interest in a two-horse world like Fust? Nor-
mally they're concerned with nothing but busi-
ness; and what has Fust got that they could
use?"
"You may rule out the commercial aspect in this
instance," said Magnan. "Fust possesses a vigor-
ous steel-age manufacturing economy. The
Groaci are barely ahead of them."
"Barely," said Retief. "Just over the line into
crude atomics . . . like giga-megaton bombs."
Magnan, shaking his head, turned back to his
papers. "What market exists for such devices on a
world at peace?" he said. "I suggest you address
your attention to the less spectacular but more
rewarding work of insinuating yourself into the
social patterns of the local youth."
"I've considered the matter," Retief said, "and
before I meet any of the local youth socially I want
to get myself a good blackjack."
Retief left the sprawling bungalow-type build-
ing that housed the chancery of the Terrestrial
Embassy, hailed one of the ponderous slow-
moving Fustian flat-cars, and leaned back against
the wooden guard rail as the heavy vehicle trund-
led through the city toward the looming gantries
of the shipyards. It was a cool morning with a
light breeze carrying the fish odor of Fustian
dwellings across the broad cobbled avenue. A few
mature Fustians lumbered heavily along in the
shade of the low buildings, audibly wheezing
under the burden of their immense carapaces.
Among them, shell-less youths trotted briskly on
scaly stub legs. The driver of the flat-car, a labor-
caste Fustian with his guild colors emblazoned on

AIDE MEMOIRE
51
his back, heaved at the tiller, swung the unwieldy
conveyance through the shipyard gates, and
creaked to a halt.
"Thus I come to the shipyard with frightful
speed," he said in Fustian. "Well I know the way
of the naked-backs, who move always in haste."
Retief, climbing down, handed him a coin.
"You should take up professional racing," he said.
"Dare-devil."
Retief crossed the littered yard and tapped at
the door of a rambling shed. Boards creaked in-
side, then the door swung back. A gnarled ancient
with tarnished facial scales and a weathered
carapace peered out at Retief.
"Long may you sleep," Retief said. "I'd like to
take a look around, if you don't mind. I under-
stand you're laying the bed-plate for your new
liner today."
"May you dream of the deeps," the old fellow
mumbled. He waved a stumpy arm toward a
group of shell-less Fustians standing by a massive
hoist. "The youths know more of bed-plates than
do I, who but tend the place of papers."
"I know how you feel, old-timer," Retief said.
"That sounds like the story of my life. Among
your papers do you have a set of plans for the
vessel? I understand it's to be a passenger liner."
The oldster nodded. He shuffled to a drawing
file, rummaged, pulled out a sheaf of curled
prints, and spread them on the table. Retief stood
silently, running a finger over the uppermost
drawing, tracing lines . . .
"What does the naked-back here?" a deep voice
barked behind Retief. He turned. A heavy-faced
Fustian youth, wrapped in a mantle, stood at the

52
RETIEF UNBOUND
open door, Beady yellow eyes set among fine
scales bored into Retief.
"I came to take a look at your new liner," said
Retief.
"We need no prying foreigners here," the youth
snapped. His eye fell on the drawings; he hissed
in anger.
"Doddering hulk!" he snapped at the ancient,
moving toward them. "May you toss in night-
mares! Put aside the plans!"
"My mistake," Retief said. "I didn't know this
was a secret project."
The youth hesitated. "It is not a secret," he
muttered. "Why should it be a secret?"
"You tell me."
The youth worked his jaws and rocked his head
from side to side in the Fustian gesture of uncer-
tainty. "There is nothing to conceal," he said. "We
merely construct a passenger liner."
"Then you don't mind if I look over the draw-
ings," Retief said. "Who knows, maybe some day
I'll want to reserve a suite for the trip out."
The youth turned and disappeared. Retief
grinned at the oldster. "Went for his big brother, I
guess," he said. "I have a feeling I won't get to
study these in peace here. Mind if I copy them?"
"Willingly, light-footed one," said the old Fus-
tian. "And mine is the shame for the discourtesy
of youth."
Retief took out a tiny camera, flipped a copying
lens in place, leafed through the drawings, click-
ing the shutter.
"A plague on these youths," said the oldster.
"They grow more virulent day by day."
"Why don't you elders clamp down?"

AIDE MEMOIRE
53
"Agile are they and we are slow of foot. And
this unrest is new; unknown in my youth was
such insolence."
"The police—"
"Bah," the ancient rumbled. "None have we
worthy of the name, nor have we needed them
before now."
"What's behind it?"
"They have found leaders. The spiv, Slock, is
one. And I fear they plot mischief." He pointed to
the window. "They come, and a soft-one with
them."
Retief, pocketing the camera, glanced out the
window. A pale-featured Groacian with an or-
nately decorated crest stood with the youths, who
eyed the hut, then started toward it.
"That's the military attache of the Groaci Em-
bassy," Retief said. "I wonder what he and the
boys are cooking up together?"
"Naught that augurs well for the dignity of
Fust," the oldster rumbled. "Flee, agile one, while
I engage their attentions."
"I was just leaving," Retief said. "Which way
out?"
"The rear door," the Fustian gestured with a
stubby member. "Rest well, stranger on these
shores," he said, moving to the entrance.
"Same to you, pop," said Retief. "And thanks."
He eased through the narrow back entrance,
waited until voices were raised at the front of the
shed, then strolled off toward the gate.
It was an hour along in the second dark of the
third cycle when Retief left the Embassy technical
library and crossed the corridor to his office. He

54
RETIEF UNBOUND
flipped on a light and found a note tucked under a
paperweight:
"Retief: I shall expect your attendance at the
IAS dinner at first dark of the fourth cycle.
There will he a brief but, I hope, impressive
sponsorship ceremony for the SCARS group,
with full press coverage, arrangements for
which I have managed to complete in spite of
your intransigence."
Retief snorted and glanced at his watch: less
than three hours. Just time to creep home by flat-
car, dress in ceremonial uniform, and creep back.
Outside he flagged a lumbering bus, stationed
himself in a corner of it, and watched the yellow
sun, Beta, rise above the low skyline. The nearby
sea was at high tide now, under the pull of the
major sun and the three moons, and the stiff
breeze carried a mist of salt spray. Retief turned up
his collar against the dampness. In half an hour he
would be perspiring under the vertical rays of a
first-noon sun, but the thought failed to keep the
chill off.
Two youths clambered up on the moving plat-
form and walked purposefully toward Retief. He
moved off the rail, watching them, his weight
balanced.
"That's close enough, kids," he said. "Plenty of
room on this scow; no need to crowd up."
"There are certain films," the lead Fustian mut-
tered. His voice was unusually deep for a Youth.
He was wrapped in a heavy cloak and moved
awkwardly. His adolescence was nearly at an end,
Retief guessed.
"I told you once," Retief said. "Don't crowd me."

AIDE MEMOIRE
55
The two stepped close, their slit mouths snap-
ping in anger. Retief put out a foot, hooked it
behind the scaly leg of the over-age juvenile, and
threw his weight against the cloaked chest. The
clumsy Fustian tottered, then fell heavily. Retief
was past him and off the flat-car before the other
youth had completed his vain lunge toward the
spot Retief had occupied. The Terrestrial waved
cheerfully at the pair, hopped aboard another ve-
hicle, and watched his would-be assailants
lumber down off their car and move heavily off,
their tiny heads twisted to follow his retreating
figure.
So they wanted the film? Retief reflected,
thumbing a cigar alight. They were a little late. He
had already filed it in the Embassy vault, after
running a copy for the reference files. And a com-
parison of the drawings with those of the obsolete
Mark XXXV battle cruiser used two hundred years
earlier by the Concordiat Naval Arm showed them
to be almost identical—gun emplacements and
all. And the term obsolete was a relative one. A
ship which had been outmoded in the armories of
the Galactic Powers could still be king of the walk
in the Eastern Arm.
But how had these two known of the film?
There had been no one present but himself and the
old-timer—and Retief was willing to bet the el-
derly Fustian hadn't told them anything.
At least not willingly . . .
Retief frowned, dropped the cigar over the side,
waited until the flat-car negotiated a mud-
wallow, then swung down and headed for the
shipyard.

56
RETIEF UNBOUND
* * *
The door, hinges torn loose, had been propped
loosely back in position. Retief looked around at
the battered interior of the shed. The old fellow
had put up a struggle.
There were deep drag-marks in the dust behind
the building. Retief followed them across the
yard. They disappeared under the steel door of a
warehouse.
Retief glanced around. Now, at the mid-hour of
the fourth cycle, the workmen were heaped along
the edge of the refreshment pond, deep in their
siesta. Taking a multi-bladed tool from his pocket,
Retief tried various fittings in the lock; it snicked
open and he eased the door aside far enough to
enter.
Heaped bales loomed before him. Snapping on
the tiny lamp in the handle of the combination
tool, Retief looked over the pile. One stack seemed
out of alignment—and the dust had been scraped
from the floor before it. He pocketed the light,
climbed up on the bales, and looked over into a
ring of bundles. The aged Fustian lay inside the
ring, a heavy sack tied over his head. Retief
dropped down beside him, sawed at the tough
twine, and pulled the sack free.
"It's me, old fellow," he said, "the nosy
stranger. Sorry I got you into this."
The oldster threshed his gnarled legs, rocked
slightly, then fell back. "A curse on the cradle that
rocked their infant slumbers," he rumbled. "But
place me back on my feet and I hunt down the
youth Slock though he flee to the bottom-most
muck of the Sea of Torments."
"How am I going to get you out of here? Maybe
I'd better get some help."

AIDE MEMOIRE
57
"Nay. The perfidious youths abound here," said
the old Fustian. "It would be your life."
"I doubt if they'd go that far."
"Would they not?" The Fustian stretched his
neck. "Cast your light here. But for the toughness
of my hide . . ."
Retief put the beam of the light on the leathery
neck. A great smear of thick purplish blood wel-
led from a ragged cut. The oldster chuckled: a
sound like a seal coughing.
"Traitor they called me. For long they sawed at
me—in vain. Then they trussed me and dumped
me here. They think to return with weapons to
complete the task."
"Weapons? I thought it was illegal—"
"Their evil genius, the Soft One," the Fustian
said, "he would provide fuel to the Fire-Devil."
"The Groaci again," Retief said. "I wonder what
their angle is."
"And I must confess: I told them of you, ere I
knew their full intentions. Much can I tell you of
their doings. But first, I pray: the block and
tackle."
Retief found the hoist where the Fustian di-
rected him, maneuvered it into position, hooked
onto the edge of the carapace, and hauled away.
The immense Fustian rose slowly, teetered . . .
then flopped on his chest. Slowly he got to his
feet.
"My name is Whonk, fleet one," he said. "My
cows are yours."
"Thanks. I'm Retief. I'd like to meet the girls
some time. But right now, let's get out of here."
Whonk leaned his bulk against the ponderous
stacks of baled kelp, bull-dozing them aside.
"Slow am I to anger," he said, "but implacable in

58
RETIEF UNBOUND
my wrath. Slock, beware . . ."
"Hold it," said Retief suddenly. He sniffed.
"What's that odor?" He flashed the light around,
playing it over a dry stain on the floor. He knelt
and sniffed at the spot.
"What kind of cargo was stacked here, Whonk?
And where is it now?"
Whonk considered. "There were drums," he
said. "Four of them, quite small, painted an evil
green—the property of the Soft Ones, the Groaci.
They lay here a day and a night. At full dark of the
first period they came with stevedores and loaded
them aboard the barge Moss Rock."
"The VIP boat. Who's scheduled to use it?"
"I know not. But what matters this? Let us dis-
cuss cargo movements after I have settled a score
with certain youths."
"We'd better follow this up first, Whonk.
There's only one substance I know of that's trans-
ported in drums and smells like that blot on the
floor. That's titanite: the hottest explosive this
side of a uranium pile."
Beta was setting as Retief, with Whonk puffing
at his heels, came up to the sentry box beside the
gangway leading to the plush interior of the Offi-
cial Barge Moss Rock.
"A sign of the times," Whonk said, glancing
inside the empty shelter. "A guard should stand
here, but I see him not. Doubtless he crept away to
sleep."
"Let's go aboard, and take a look around."
They entered the ship. Soft lights glowed in
utter silence. A rough box stood on the floor,
rollers and pry-bars beside it—a discordant note

AIDE MEMOIRE
59
in the muted luxury of the setting. Whonk rum-
maged through its contents.
"Curious," he said. "What means this?" He
held up a stained Fustian cloak of orange and
green, a metal bracelet, and a stack of papers.
"Orange and green," Retief muttered. "Whose
colors are those?"
"I know not. . . ." Whonk glanced at the arm-
band. "But this is lettered." He passed the metal
band to Retief.
"SCARS," Retief read. He looked at Whonk. "It
seems to me I've heard the name before," he mur-
mured. "Let's get back to the Embassy—fast."
Back on the ramp Retief heard a sound . . . and
turned in time to duck the charge of a hulking
Fustian youth who thundered past him, and
fetched up against the broad chest of Whonk, who
locked him in a warm embrace.
"Nice catch, Whonk. Where'd he sneak out of?"
"The lout hid there by the storage bin," Whonk
rumbled. The captive youth thumped his fists and
toes futilely against the oldster's carapace.
"Hang on to him," Retief said. "He looks like
the biting kind."
"No fear. Clumsy I am, yet I am not without
strength."
"Ask him where the titanite is tucked away."
"Speak, witless grub," Whonk growled, "lest I
tweak you in two."
The youth gurgled.
"Better let up before you make a mess of him,"
Retief said.
Whonk lifted the youth clear of the floor, then
flung him down with a thump that made the
ground quiver. The younger Fustian glared up at

60
RETIEF UNBOUND
the elder, his mouth snapping.
"This one was among those who trussed me and
hid me away for the killing," said Whonk. "In his
repentance he will tell all to his elder."
"He's the same one that tried to strike up an
acquaintance with me on the bus," Retief said.
"He gets around."
The youth, scrambling to his hands and knees,
scuttled for freedom. Retief planted a foot on the
dragging cloak; it ripped free. He stared at the bare
back of the Fustian.
"By the Great Egg!" Whonk exclaimed, tripping
the captive as he tried to rise. "This is no youth!
His carapace has been taken from him."
Retief looked at the scarred back. "I thought he
looked a little old. But I thought—"
"This is not possible," Whonk said wonder-
ingly. "The great nerve trunks are deeply in-
volved; not even the cleverest surgeon could ex-
cise the carapace and leave the patient living."
"It looks like somebody did the trick. But let's
take this boy with us and get out of here. His folks
may come home."
"Too late," said Whonk. Retief turned. Three
youths came from behind the sheds.
"Well," Retief said. "It looks like the SCARS are
out in force tonight. Where's your pal?" he said to
the advancing trio, "the sticky little bird with the
eye-stalks? Back at his Embassy, leaving you suc-
kers holding the bag, I'll bet."
"Shelter behind me, Retief," said Whonk.
"Go get 'em, old-timer." Retief stooped and
picked up one of the pry-bars. "I'll jump around
and distract them."
Whonk let out a whistling roar and charged for

AIDE MEMOIRE
61
the immature Fustians. They fanned out . . . one
tripped, sprawling on his face. Retief, whirling
the metal bar that he had thrust between the Fus-
tian's legs, slammed it against the skull of another,
who shook his head, then turned on Retief... and
bounced off the steel hull of the Moss Rock as
Whonk took him in full charge.
Retief used the bar on another head; his third
blow laid the Fustian on the pavement, oozing
purple. The other two club members departed
hastily, dented but still mobile.
Retief leaned on his club, breathing hard.
"Tough heads these kids have got. I'm tempted to
chase those two lads down, but I've got another
errand to run. I don't know who the Groaci in-
tended to blast, but I have a suspicion somebody
of importance was scheduled for a boatride in the
next few hours, and three drums of titanite is
enough to vaporize this tub and everyone aboard
her."
"The plot is foiled," said Whonk. "But what
reason did they have?"
"The Groaci are behind it. I have an idea the
SCARS didn't know about this gambit."
"Which of these is the leader?" asked Whonk.
He prodded a fallen youth. "Arise, dreaming
one."
"Never mind him, Whonk. We'll tie these two
up and leave them here. I know where to find the
boss."
A stolid-looking crowd filled the low-ceilinged
banquet hall. Retief scanned the tables for the pale
blobs of Terrestrial faces, dwarfed by the giant
armored bodies of the Fustians. Across the room

62
RETIEF UNBOUND
Magnan fluttered a hand. Retief headed toward
him. A low-pitched vibration filled the air, the
rumble of sub-sonic Fustian music.
Retief slid into his place beside Magnan. "Sorry
to be late, Mr. Ambassador."
"I'm honored that you chose to appear at all,"
Magnan said coldly. He turned back to the Fustian
on his left.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Minister," he said. "Charming,
most charming. So joyous."
The Fustian looked at him, beady-eyed. "It is
the Lament of Hatching," he said, "our National
Dirge."
"Oh," said Magnan. "how interesting. Such a
pleasing balance of instruments."
"It is a droon solo," said the Fustian, qyeing the
Terrestrial Ambassador suspiciously.
"Why don't you just admit you can't hear it,"
Retief whispered loudly. "And if I may interrupt a
moment—"
Magnan cleared his throat. "Now that our Mr.
Retief has arrived, perhaps we could rush right
along to the sponsorship ceremonies . . ."
"This group," said Retief, leaning across Mag-
nan to speak to the Fustian, "the SCARS . . . how
much do you know about them, Mr. Minister?"
"Nothing at all," the huge Fustian elder rum-
bled. "For my taste, all youths should be kept
penned with the livestock until they grow a
carapace to tame their irresponsibility."
"We mustn't lose sight of the importance of
channeling youthful energies," said Magnan.
"Labor gangs," said the minister. "In my youth
we were indentured to the dredge-masters. I my-
self drew a muck-sledge."

AIDE MEMOIRE
63
"But in these modern times," put in Retief,
"surely it's incumbent on us to make happy these
golden hours."
The minister snorted. "Last week I had a golden
hour: they set upon me and pelted me with over-
ripe dung-fruit."
"But this was merely a manifestation of normal
youthful frustrations," cried Magnan. "Their es-
sential tenderness—"
"You'd not find a tender spot on that lout yon-
der," the minister said, pointing with a fork at a
newly arrived youth, "if you drilled boreholes
and blasted."
"Why, that's our guest of honor," said Magnan,
"a fine young fellow, Slop I believe his name is—"
"Slock," said Retief. "Nine feet of armor-plated
orneriness. And—"
Magnan rose, tapping on his glass. The Fustians
winced at the, to them, supersonic vibrations, and
looked at each other muttering. Magnan tapped
louder. The minister drew in his head, his eyes
closed. Some of the Fustians rose and tottered for
the doors; the noise level rose. Magnan redoubled
his efforts. The glass broke with a clatter, and
green wine gushed on the tablecloth.
"What in the name of the Great Egg," the minis-
ter muttered. He blinked, breathing deeply.
"Oh, forgive me," Magnan blurted, dabbing at
the wine.
"Too bad the glass gave out," Retief said. "In
another minute you'd have cleared the hall—and
then maybe I could have gotten a word in. You see,
Mr. Minister," he said, turning to the Fustian,
"there is a matter you should know about. . . ."
"Your attention, please," Magnan said, rising.

64
RETIEF UNBOUND
"I see that our fine young guest of honor has ar-
rived, and I hope that the remainder of his com-
mittee will be along in a moment. It is my pleasure
to announce that our Mr. Retief has had the good
fortune to win out in the keen bidding for the
pleasure of sponsoring this lovely group, and—"
Retief tugged at Magnan's sleeve. "Don't intro-
duce me yet," he said. "I want to appear
suddenly—more dramatic, you know."
"Well," Magnan murmured, glancing down at
Retief, "I'm gratified to see you entering into the
spirit of the event at last." He turned his attention
back to the assembled guests. "If our honored
guest will join me on the rostrum . . ." he said.
"The gentlemen of the press may want to catch a
few shots of the presentation."
Magnan moved from his place, made his way
forward, stepped up on the low platform at the
center of the wide room, took his place beside
the robed Fustian youth, and beamed at the
cameras.
"How gratifying it is to take this opportunity to
express once more the great pleasure we have in
sponsoring SCARS," Magnan said, talking slowly
for the benefit of the scribbling reporters. "We'd
like to think that in our modest way we're to be a
part of all that the SCARS achieve during the
years ahead. . . ."
Magnan paused as a huge Fustian elder heaved
his bulk up the two low steps to the rostrum and
approached the guest of honor. He watched as the
newcomer paused behind Slock, who was busy
returning the stares of the spectators and did not
notice the new arrival.
Retief pushed through the crowd and stepped

AIDE MEMOIRE
65
up to face the Fustian youth. Slock stared at him,
drawing back.
"You know me, Slock," Retief said loudly. "An
old fellow named Whonk told you about me, just
before you tried to saw off his head, remember? It
was when I came out to take a look at that battle
cruiser you're building."
With a bellow Slock reached for Retief—and
choked off in mid-cry as Whonk pinioned him
from behind, lifting the youth clear of the floor.
"Glad you reporters happened along," Retief
said to the gaping newsmen. "Slock here had a
deal with a sharp operator from the Groaci Em-
bassy. The Groaci were to supply the necessary
hardware and Slock, as foreman at the shipyards,
was to see that everything was properly installed.
The next step, I assume, would have been a local
take-over, followed by a little interplanetary war
on Flamenco or one of the other nearby worlds .. .
for which the Groaci would be glad to supply
plenty of ammo."
Magnan found his tongue. "Are you mad, Re-
tief?" he screeched. "This group was vouched for
by the Ministry of Youth."
"That Ministry's overdue for a purge," Retief
said. He turned back to Slock. "I wonder if you
were in on the little diversion that was planned
for today. When the Moss Rock blew, a variety of
clues were to be planted where they'd be easy to
find . . . with SCARS written all over them. The
Groaci would thus have neatly laid the whole
affair squarely at the door of the Terrestrial Em-
bassy . . . whose sponsorship of the SCARS had
received plenty of publicity."
"The Moss Rock?" Magnan said. "But that

66
RETIEF UNBOUND
was—Retief! This is idiotic. The SCARS them-
selves were scheduled to go on a cruise tomor-
row."
Slock roared suddenly, twisting violently.
Whonk teetered, his grip loosened . . . and Slock
pulled free and was off the platform, butting his
way through the milling oldsters on the dining
room floor. Magnan watched, openmouthed.
"The Groaci were playing a double game, as
usual," Retief said. "They intended to dispose of
these lads after they got things under way."
"Well, don't stand there," Magnan yelped. "Do
something! If Slop is the ringleader of a delin-
quent gang—" He moved to give chase himself.
Retief grabbed his arm. "Don't jump down
there," he called above the babble of talk. "You'd
have as much chance of getting through there as a
jack rabbit through a threshing contest. Where's a
phone?"
Ten minutes later the crowd had thinned
slightly. "We can get through now," Whonk
called. "This way." He lowered himself to the
floor and bulled through to the exit. Flash bulbs
popped. Retief and Magnan followed in Whonk's
wake.
In the lounge Retief grabbed the phone, waited
for the operator, and gave a code letter. No reply.
He tried another.
"No good," he said after a full minute had
passed. He slammed the phone back in its niche.
"Let's grab a cab."
In the street the blue sun, Alpha, peered like an
arc light under a low cloud layer. Flat shadows lay
across the mud of the avenue. The three mounted
a passing flat-car. Whonk squatted, resting the

AIDE MEMOIRE
67
weight of his immense shell on the heavy plank
flooring.
"Would that I, too, could lose this burden, as
has the false youth we bludgeoned aboard the
Moss Rock," he sighed. "Soon will I be forced into
retirement; and a mere keeper of a place of papers
such as I will rate no more than a slab on the
public strand, with once-daily feedings. Even for
a man of high position retirement is no pleasure.
A slab in the Park of Monuments is little better. A
dismal outlook for one's next thousand years."
"You two continue on to the police station,"
Retief said. "I want to play a hunch. But don't take
too long. I may be painfully right."
"What—?" Magnan started.
"As you wish, Retief," Whonk said.
The flat-car trundled past the gate to the ship-
yard and Retief jumped down and headed at a run
for the VIP boat. The guard post still stood vacant.
The two youths whom he and Whonk had left
trussed were gone.
"That's the trouble with a peaceful world," Re-
tief muttered. "No police protection." Stepping
down from the lighted entry, he took up a position
behind the sentry box. Alpha rose higher, shed-
ding a glaring white light without heat. Retief
shivered.
There was a sound in the near entrance like two
elephants colliding. Retief looked toward the
gate. His giant acquaintance, Whonk, had reap-
peared and was grappling with a hardly less mas-
sive opponent. A small figure became visible in
the melee, scuttled for the gate, was headed off by
the battling titans, turned and made for the oppo-
site side of the shipyard. Retief waited, jumped

68
RETIEF UNBOUND
out and gathered in the fleeing Groacian.
"Well, Yith," he said, "how's tricks. . . ? you
should pardon the expression."
"Release me, Retief!" the pale-featured creature
lisped, his throat bladder pulsating in agitation.
"The behemoths vie for the privilege of dismem-
bering me."
"I know how they feel. I'll see what I can do ...
for a price."
"I appeal to you," Yith whispered hoarsely, "as
a fellow diplomat, a fellow alien, a fellow soft-
back."
"Why don't you appeal to Slock, as a fellow
conspirator?" Retief said. "Now keep quiet... and
you may get out of this alive."
The heavier of the two struggling Fustians
threw the other to the ground. The smaller Fus-
tian lay on its back, helpless.
"That's Whonk, still on his feet," Retief said. "I
wonder who he's caught—and why."
Whonk came toward the Moss Rock dragging
the supine Fustian. Retief thrust Yith down well
out of sight behind the sentry box. "Better sit
tight, Yith. Don't try to sneak off; I can outrun you.
Stay here and I'll see what I can do." Stepping out,
he hailed Whonk.
Puffing like a steam engine, Whonk pulled up
before him. "Hail, Retief!" he panted. "You fol-
lowed a hunch; I did the same. I saw something
strange in this one when we passed him on the
avenue. I watched, followed him here. Look! It is
Slock, strapped into a dead carapace! Now many
things become clear."
Retief whistled. "So the youths aren't all as
young as they look. Somebody's been holding out

AIDE MEMOIRE
69
on the rest of you Fustians."
"The soft one," Whonk said. "You laid him by
the heels, Retief. I saw. Produce him now."
"Hold on a minute, Whonk. It won't do you any
good to—"
Whonk winked broadly. "I must take my re-
venge!" he roared. "I shall test the texture of the
Soft One! His pulped remains will be scoured up
by the ramp-washers and mailed home in bot-
tles."
Retief whirled at a sound, caught up with the
scuttling Yith fifty feet away, and hauled him back
to Whonk.
"It's up to you, Whonk," he said. "I know how
important ceremonial revenge is to you Fustians."
"Mercy!" Yith hissed, his eye-stalks whipping
in distress. "I claim diplomatic immunity."
"No diplomat am I," Whonk rumbled. "Let me
see; suppose I start with one of those obscenely
active eyes." He reached . . .
"I have an idea," Retief said brightly. "Do you
suppose—just this once—you could forego the
ceremonial revenge if Yith promised to arrange
for a Groacian Surgical Mission to de-carapace
you elders?"
"But," Whonk protested, "those eyes; what a
pleasure to pluck them, one by one—"
"Yess," Yith hissed, "I swear it; our most expert
surgeons . . . platoons of them, with the finest of
equipment."
"I have dreamed of how it would be to sit on this
one, to feel him squash beneath my bulk. . . ."
"Light as a whissle feather shall you dance,"
Yith whispered. "Shell-less shall you spring in
the joy of renewed youth. ..."

70
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Maybe just one eye," Whonk said. "That
would leave him four. . . ."
"Be a sport," said Retief.
"Well."
"It's a deal then," Retief said. "Yith, on your
word as a diplomat, an alien and a soft-back,
you'll set up the mission. Groaci surgical skill is
an export that will net you more than armaments.
It will be a whissle feather in your cap—if you
bring it off. And in return, Whonk won't sit on
you. In addition, I won't prefer charges against
you of interference in the internal affairs of a free
world."
Behind Whonk there was a movement. Slock,
wriggling free of the borrowed carapace, strug-
gled to his feet... in time for Whonk to seize him,
lift him high, and head for the entry to the Moss
Rock.
"Hey," Retief called. "Where are you going?"
"I would not deny this one his reward," Whonk
called. "He hoped to cruise in luxury; so be it."
"Hold on," Retief said. "That tub is loaded with
titanite!"
"Stand not in my way, Retief. For this one in
truth owes me a vengeance."
Retief watched as the immense Fustian bore his
giant burden up the ramp and disappeared within
the ship.
"I guess Whonk means business," he said to
Yith, who hung in his grasp, all five eyes gog-
gling. "And he's a little too big for me to stop, once
he sets his mind on something. But maybe he's
just throwing a scare into him."
Whonk reappeared, alone, and climbed down.

AIDE MEMOIRE
71
"What did you do with him?" Retief said.
"We had best withdraw," Whonk said. "The
killing radius of the drive is fifty yards."
"You mean—"
"The controls are set for Groac. Long may he
sleep."
"It was quite a bang," Retief said, "but I guess
you saw it too."
"No, confound it," Magnan said. "When I re-
monstrated with Hulk, or Whelk—"
"Whonk."
"—the ruffian thrust me into an alley, bound in
my own cloak. I'll most certainly mention the
indignity in a note to the Minister." He jotted on a
pad.
"How about the surgical mission?"
"A most generous offer," Magnan said.
"Frankly, I was astonished. I think perhaps we've
judged the Groaci too harshly."
"I hear the Ministry of Youth has had a rough
morning of it," Retief said. "And a lot of rumors
are flying to the effect that Youth Groups are on
the way out."
Magnan cleared his throat and shuffled papers.
"I—ah—have explained to the press that last
night's ahh ..."
"Fiasco."
"—affair was necessary in order to place the
culprits in an untenable position. Of course, as to
the destruction of the VIP vessel and the pre-
sumed death of the fellow, Slop—"
"The Fustians understand," Retief said.

72
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Whonk wasn't kidding about ceremonial
vengeance. Yith was lucky: he hadn't actually
drawn blood. Then no amount of dickering would
have saved him."
"The Groaci have been guilty of gross misuse of
diplomatic privilege," Magnan said. "I think that
a note—or perhaps an aide memoire; less for-
mal	"
"The Moss Rock was bound for Groac," Retief
said. "She was already in her transit orbit when
she blew. The major fragments should arrive on
schedule in a month or so. It should provide quite
a meteorite display. I think that should be all the
aid the Groaci's memoires will need to keep their
tentacles off Fust."
liBut diplomatic usage—"
"Then, too, the less that's put in writing, the
less they can blame you for, if anything goes
wrong."
"There's that, of course," Magnan said, his lips
pursed. "Now you're thinking constructively, Re-
tief. We may make a diplomat of you yet." He
smiled expansively.
"Maybe. But I refuse to let it depress me." Retief
stood up. "I'm taking a few weeks off . . . if you
have no objections, Mr. Ambassador. My pal
Whonk wants to show me an island down south
where the fishing is good."
"But there are some extremely important mat-
ters coming up," Magnan said. "We're planning to
sponsor Senior Citizen Groups."
"Count me out. Groups give me an itch."
"Why, what an astonishing remark, Retief.
After ail, we diplomats are ourselves a group."

AIDE MEMOIRE
73
"Uh, huh," Retief said.
Magnan sat quietly, his mouth open, and
watched as Retief stepped into the hall and closed
the door gently behind him.

. . . No jackstraws to be swayed by superficial
appearances, dedicated career field personnel
of the Corps unflaggingly administered the en-
lightened concepts evolved at Corps HQ by
high-level deep-think teams toiling unceas-
ingly in underground caverns to weld the spirit
of Inter-Being amity. Never has the efficacy of
close cultural rapport, coupled with Mission
teamwork, been better displayed than in the
loyal performance of Administrative Assistant
Yolanda Meuhl, Acting Consul at Groac, in
maintaining the Corps posture laid down by her
predecessor, Consul Whaffle . . .
Vol VII, reel 98. 488 A. E. (AD 2949)
POLICY
"The Consul for the Terrestrial States," Retief
said, "presents his compliments, et cetera, to the
Ministry of Culture of the Groacian Autonomy,
and, with reference to the Ministry's invitation to
attend a recital of interpretive grimacing, has the
honor to express regret that he will be unable—"
"You can't turn down this invitation," Ad-
ministrative Assistant Meuhl said flatly. "I'll
make that 'accepts with pleasure.' "
Retief exhaled a plume of cigar smoke.

76
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Miss Meuhl," he said, "in the past couple of
weeks I've sat through six light concerts, four
attempts at chamber music, and God knows how
many assorted folk-art festivals. I've been tied up
every off-duty hour since I got here."
"You can't offend the Groaci," Miss Meuhl said
sharply. "Consul Whaffle would never have—"
"Whaffle left here three months ago," Retief
said, "leaving me in charge."
"Well," Miss Muehl said, snapping off the dic-
typer. "I'm sure I don't know what excuse I can
give the Minister."
"Never mind the excuses. Just tell him I won't
be there." He stood up.
"Are you leaving the office?" Miss Meuhl ad-
justed her glasses. "I have some important letters
here for your signature."
"I don't recall dictating any letters today, Miss
Meuhl," Retief said, pulling on a light cape.
"I wrote them for you. They're just as Consul
Whaffle would have wanted them."
"Did you write all Whaffle's letters for him, Miss
Meuhl?"
"Consul Whaffle was an extremely busy man,"
Miss Meuhl said stiffly. "He had complete confi-
dence in me."
"Since I'm cutting out the culture from now on,
I won't be so busy."
"Well! May I ask where you'll be if something
comes up?"
"I'm going over to the Foreign Office Archives."
Miss Meuhl blinked behind thick lenses.
"Whatever for?"
Retief looked at her thoughtfully. "You've been
here on Groac for four years, Miss Meuhl. What

POLICY
77
was behind the coup d'6tat that put the present
government in power?"
"I'm sure I haven't pried into—"
"What about that Terrestrial cruiser, the one
that disappeared out this way about ten years
back?"
"Mr. Retief, those are just the sort of questions
we avoid with the Groaci. I certainly hope you're
not thinking of openly intruding—"
"Why?"
"The Groaci are a very sensitive race. They
don't welcome outworlders raking up things.
They've been gracious enough to let us live down
the fact that Terrestrials subjected them to deep
humiliation on one occasion."
"You mean when we came looking for the
cruiser?"
"I, for one, am ashamed of the high-handed
tactics that were employed, grilling these inno-
cent people as though they were criminals. We try
never to reopen that wound, Mr. Retief."
"They never found the cruiser, did they?"
"Certainly not on Groac."
Retief nodded. "Thanks, Miss Meuhl," he said.
"I'll be back before you close the office." Miss
Meuhl's thin face was set in lines of grim disap-
proval as he closed the door.
Peering through the small grilled window, the
pale-featured Groacian vibrated his throat-
bladder in a distressed bleat.
"Not to enter the Archives," he said in his faint
voice. "The denial of permission. The deep regret
of the Archivist."
"The importance of my task here," Retief said,

78
RETIEF UNBOUND
enunciating the glottal language with difficulty.
"My interest in local history."
"The impossibility of access to outworlders. To
depart quietly."
"The necessity that I enter."
"The specific instructions of the Archivist."
The Groacian's voice rose to a whisper. "To insist
no longer. To give up this idea!"
"Okay, skinny, I know when I'm licked," Retief
said in Terran. "To keep your nose clean."
Outside, Retief stood for a moment looking
across at the deeply carved windowless stucco
facades lining the street, then started off in the
direction of the Terrestrial Consulate General. The
few Groacians on the street eyed him furtively,
and veered to avoid him as he passed. Flimsy
high-wheeled ground cars puffed silently along
the resilient pavement. The air was clean and
cool. At the office Miss Meuhl would be waiting
with another list of complaints. Retief studied the
carving over the open doorways along the street.
An elaborate one picked out in pinkish paint
seemed to indicate the Groacian equivalent of a
bar. Retief went in.
A Groacian bartender dispensing clay pots of
alcoholic drink from the bar-pit at the center of the
room looked at Retief, then froze in mid-motion, a
metal tube poised over a waiting pot.
"A cooling drink," Retief said in Grocian,
squatting down at the edge of the pit. "To sample a
true Groacian beverage."
"Not to enjoy my poor offerings," the Groacian
mumbled. "A pain in the digestive sacs. To ex-
press regret."
"Not to worry," Retief replied. "To pour it out

POLICY
79
and let me decide whether I like it."
"To be grappled in by peace-keepers for poison-
ing of... foreigners." The barkeep looked around
for support, but found none. The Groaci custom-
ers, eyes elsewhere, were drifting out.
"To get the lead out," Retief said, placing a
thick gold-piece in the dish provided. "To shake a
tentacle."
"To procure a cage," a thin voice called from the
sidelines. "To display the freak."
Retief turned. A tall Groacian vibrated his man-
dibles in a gesture of contempt. From his bluish
throat coloration it was apparent the creature was
drunk.
"To choke in your upper sac," the bartender
hissed, extending his eyes toward the drunk. "To
keep silent, litter-mate of drones."
"To swallow your own poison, dispenser of
vileness," the drunk whispered. "To find a proper
cage for this zoo-piece." He wavered toward Re-
tief. "To show this one in the streets, like all
freaks."
* "Seen a lot of freaks like me, have you?" Retief
asked interestedly.
"To speak intelligibly, malodorous outworld-
er," the drunk said. The barkeep whispered some-
thing and two customers came up to the drunk,
took his arms, and helped him to the door.
"To get a cage," the drunk shrilled. "To keep the
animals in their place . . ."
"I've changed my mind," Retief said to the bar-
tender. "To be grateful as hell, but to have to hurry
off now." He followed the drunk out the door. The
other Groaci, releasing the heckler, hurried back
inside. Retief looked at the weaving creature.

80
RETIEF UNBOUND
"To begone, freak," the Groacian whispered.
"To be pals," Retief said. "To be kind to dumb
animals."
"To have you hauled away to a stockyard, ill-
odored foreign livestock."
"Not to be angry, fragrant native," Retief said.
"To permit me to chum with you."
"To flee before I take a cane to you!"
"To have a drink together."
"Not to endure such insolence." The Groacian
advanced toward Retief. Retief backed away.
"To hold hands," he said. "To be buddies—"
The Groacian reached for him, but missed. A
passer-by stepped around him, head down, and
scuttled away. Retief, backing into the opening to
a narrow cross-way, offered further verbal
familiarities to the drunken local, who followed,
furious. Retief stepped around him, seized his
collar and yanked. The Groacian fell on his back.
Retief stood over him. The downed native half
rose; Retief put a foot against his chest and
pushed.
"Not to be going anywhere for a few minutes,"
he said. "To stay right here and have a nice long
talk."
"There you are!" Miss Meuhl said, eyeing Re-
tief over her lenses. "There are two gentlemen
waiting to see you. Groacian gentlemen."
"Government men, I imagine. Word travels
fast." Retief pulled off his cape. "This saves me
the trouble of paying another call at the Foreign
Ministry."
"What have you been doing? They seem very
upset, I don't mind telling you."

POLICY
81
"I'm sure you don't. Come along—and bring an
official recorder."
Two Groaci, wearing heavy eye-shields and
elaborate crest ornaments indicative of rank, rose
as Retief entered the room. Neither offered a
courteous snap of the mandibles, Retief noted;
they were mad, all right.
"I am Fith, of the Terrestrial Desk, Ministry of
Foreign Affairs," the taller Groacian said, in lisp-
ing Terran. "May I present Shluh, of the Internal
Police."
"Sit down, gentlemen," Retief said. They re-
sumed their seats. Miss Meuhl hovered ner-
vously, then sat down on the edge of a chair.
"Oh, it's such a pleasure—" she began.
"Never mind that," Retief said. "These gen-
tlemen didn't come here to sip tea today."
"True," Fith rapsed. "Frankly, I have had a most
disturbing report, Mr. Consul. I shall ask Shluh to
recount it." He nodded to the police chief.
"One hour ago," Shluh said, "a Groacian na-
tional was brought to hospital suffering from seri-
ous contusions. Questioning of this individual
revealed that he had been set upon and beaten by a
foreigner; a Terrestrial, to be precise. Investiga-
tion by my Department indicates that the descrip-
tion of the culprit closely matches that of the
Terrestrial Consul. ..."
Miss Meuhl gasped audibly.
"Have you ever heard," Retief said, looking
steadily at Fith, "of a Terrestrial cruiser, the ISV
Terrific, which dropped from sight in this sector
nine years ago?"
"Really!" Miss Meuhl exclaimed, rising, "I
wash my hands—"

82
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Just keep that recorder going," Retief snapped.
"I'll not be a party—"
"You'll do as you're told, Miss Meuhl," Retief
said quietly. "I'm telling you to make an official
sealed record of this conversation."
Miss Meuhl sat down.
Fith puffed out his throat indignantly. "You
re-open an old wound, Mr. Consul. It reminds us
of certain illegal treatment at Terrestrial hands."
"Hogwash," Retief said. "That tune went over
with my predecessors, but it hits a sour note with
me."
"All our efforts," Miss Meuhl said, "to live
down that terrible episode; and you—"
"Terrible? I understand that a Terrestrial Peace
Enforcer stood off Groac and sent a delegation
down to ask questions. They got some funny an-
swers and stayed on to dig around a little. After a
week, they left. Somewhat annoying to you
Groaci, if you were innocent—"
"If!" Miss Meuhl burst out.
"If, indeed," Fith said, his weak voice trem-
bling. "I must protest your—"
"Save your protests, Fith. You have some ex-
plaining to do, and I don't think your story will be
good enough."
"It is for you to explain; this person who was
beaten—"
"Not beaten; just rapped a few times to loosen
his memory."
"Then you admit—"
"It worked, too. He remembered lots of things,
once he put his mind to it."
Fith rose; Shluh followed suit.
"I shall ask for your immediate recall, Mr. Con-

POLICY
83
sul. Were it not for your diplomatic immunity, I
should—"
"Why did the Government fall, Fith, just after
the Task Force paid its visit, and before the arrival
of the first Terrestrial diplomatic mission?"
"This is an internal matter," Fith cried, in his
faint Groacian voice. "The new regime has shown
itself most amiable to you Terrestrials; it has out-
done itself—"
"—to keep the Terrestrial Consul and his staff in
the dark," Retief said, "and the same goes for the
few Terrestrial businessmen you've given visas.
This continual round of culture; no social con-
tacts outside the diplomatic circle; no travel per-
mits to visit outlying districts or your satellite—"
"Enough!" Fith's mandibles quivered in dis-
tress. "I can talk no more of this matter."
"You'll talk to me, or there'll be a squadron of
Peace Enforcers here in five days to do the talk-
ing," Retief said.
"You can't—" Miss Meuhl gasped.
Retief turned a steady look on Miss Meuhl. She
closed her mnnth. The Groaci sat down.
"Answer me this one," Retief said, looking at
Shluh. "A few years back—nine, to be exact—
there was a little parade held here. Some curious-
looking creatures were captured, and after being
securely caged, were exhibited to the gentle Groa-
cian public. Hauled through the streets. Very edu-
cational, no doubt. A highly cultural show.
"Funny thing about these animals: they wore
clothes, seemed to communicate with each other.
Altogether a very amusing exhibit.
"Tell me, Shluh, what happened to those six
Terrestrials after the parade was over?"

84
RETIEF UNBOUND
Fith made a choked noise, then spoke rapidly to
Shluh in Groacian. Shluh, retracting his eyes,
shrank down in his chair. Miss Meuhl opened her
mouth, then closed it.
"How did they die?" Retief snapped. "Did you
cut their throats, shoot them, bury them alive?
What amusing end did you figure out for them?
Research, maybe. Cut them open to see what made
them yell. . . ."
"No," Fith gasped. "I must correct this terrible
false impression at once."
"False impression, hell," Retief said. "They
were Terrans; a simple narco-interrogation would
get that out of any Groacian who saw the parade."
"Yes," Fith said weakly. "It is true, they were
Terrestrials. But there was no killing—"
"They're alive?"
"Alas, no. They . . . died."
"I see," Retief said. "They died."
"We tried to keep them alive, of course; but we
did not know what foods—"
"Didn't take the trouble to find out."
"They fell ill," Fith said. "One by one . . ."
"We'll deal with that question later," Retief
said. "Right now, I want more information. Where
did you get them? Where did you hide the ship?
What happened to the rest of the crew? Did they
'fall ill' before the big parade?"
"There were no more! Absolutely, I assure
you!"
"Killed in the crash landing?"
"No crash landing. The ship descended intact, east
of the city. The . . . Terrestrials . . . were unharmed.
Naturally, we feared them; they were strange to us.
We had never before seen such beings."

POLICY
85
"Stepped off the ship with guns blazing, did
they?"
"Guns? No, no guns—"
"They raised their hands, didn't they, asked for
help? You helped them; helped them to death."
"How could we know?" Fith moaned.
"How could you know a flotilla would show up
in a few months looking for them, you mean? That
was a shock, wasn't it? I'll bet you had a brisk time
of it hiding the ship, and shutting everybody up.
A close call, eh?"
"We were afraid," Shluh said. "We are a simple
people. We feared the strange creatures from the
alien craft. We did not kill them, but we felt it was
as well that they . . . did not survive. Then, when
the warships came, we realized our error, but we
feared to speak. We purged our guilty leaders,
concealed what had happened, and ... offered our
friendship. We invited the opening of diplomatic
relations. We made a blunder, it is true, a great
blunder. But we have tried to make amends . . ."
"Where is the ship?"
"The ship?"
"What did you do with it? It was too big to just
walk off and forget. Where is it?"
The two Groacians exchanged looks.
"We wish to show our contrition," Fith said.
"We will show you the ship."
"Miss Meuhl," Retief said. "If I don't come back
in a reasonable length of time, transmit that re-
cording to Sector Headquarters, sealed." He stood
and looked at the Groaci.
"Let's go," he said.
* * *

86
RETIEF UNBOUND
Retief stooped under the heavy timbers shoring
the entry to the cavern and peered into the gloom
at the curving flank of the space-burned hull.
"Any lights in here?" he asked.
A Groacian threw a switch and a weak bluish
glow sprang up. Retief walked along the raised
wooden catwalk, studying the ship. Empty
emplacements gaped below lenseless scanner
eyes. Littered decking was visible within the
half-open entry port. Near the bow the words 'IVS
Terrific B7 New Terra' were lettered in bright
chrome duralloy.
"How did you get it in here?" Retief asked.
"It was hauled here from the landing point,
some nine miles distant," Fith said, his voice
thinner than ever. "This is a natural crevasse; the
vessel was lowered into it and roofed over."
"How did you shield it so the detectors didn't
pick it up?"
"All here is a high-grade iron-ore," Fith said,
waving a member. "Great veins of almost pure
metal."
"Let's go inside."
Shluh came forward with a hand-lamp. The
party entered the ship. Retief clambered up a nar-
row companionway and glanced around the inte-
rior of the control compartment. Dust was thick
on the deck, the stanchions where acceleration
couches had been mounted, the empty instrument
panels, the litter of sheared bolts, and on scraps of
wire and paper. A thin frosting of rust dulled the
exposed metal where cutting torches had sliced
away heavy shielding. There was a faint odor of
stale bedding.
"The cargo compartment—" Shluh began.

POLICY
87
"I've seen enough," Retief said. Silently, the
Groacians led the way back out through the tun-
nel and into the late afternoon sunshine. As they
climbed the slope to the steam car, Fith came to
Retief's side.
"Indeed I hope that this will be the end of this
unfortunate affair," he said. "Now that all has
been fully and honestly shown."
"You can skip all that," Retief said. "You're nine
years late. The crew was still alive when the Task
Force called, I imagine. You killed them—or let
them die—rather than take the chance of admit-
ting what you'd done."
"We were at fault," Fith said abjectly. "Now we
wish only friendship."
"The Terrific was a heavy cruiser, about twenty
thousand tons." Retief looked grimly at the slen-
der Foreign Office official. "Where is she, Fith? I
won't settle for a hundred-ton lifeboat."
Fith erected his eye stalks so violently that one
eye-shield fell off.
"I know nothing of . . . of . . ." He stopped. His
throat vibrated rapidly as he struggled for calm.
"My government can entertain no further ac-
cusations, Mr. Consul," he said at last. "I have
been completely candid with you, I have over-
looked your probing into matters not properly
within your sphere of responsibility. My patience
is at an end."
"Where is that ship?" Retief rapped out. "You
never learn, do you? You're still convinced you
can hide the whole thing and forget it. I'm telling
you you can't."
"We return to the city now," Fith said. "I can do
no more."

88
RETIEF UNBOUND
"You can and you will, Fith," Retief said. "I
intend to get to the truth of this matter."
Fith spoke to Shluh in rapid Groacian. The
police chief gestured to his four armed constables.
They moved to ring Retief in.
Retief eyed Fith. "Don't try it," he said. "You'll
just get yourself in deeper."
Fith clacked his mandibles angrily, his eye
stalks canted aggressively toward the Terrestrial.
"Out of deference to your diplomatic status,
Terrestrial, I shall ignore your insulting implica-
tions," Fith said in his reedy voice. "We will now
return to the city."
Retief looked at the four policemen. "Sure," he
said. "We'll cover the details later."
Fith followed him into the car and sat rigidly at
the far end of the seat.
"I advise you to remain very close to your Con-
sulate," Fith said. "I advise you to dismiss these
fancies from your mind, and to enjoy the cultural
aspects of life at Groac. Especially, I should not
venture out of the city, or appear overly curious
about matters of concern only to the Groacian
government."
In the front seat, Shluh looked straight ahead.
The loosely-sprung vehicle bobbed and swayed
along the narrow highway. Retief listened to the
rhythmic puffing of the motor and said nothing.
"Miss Meuhl," Retief said, "I want you to listen
carefully to what I'm going to tell you. I have
to move rapidly now, to catch the Groaci off
guard."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking
about," Miss Meuhl snapped, her eyes sharp
behind the heavy lenses.

POLICY
89
"If you'll listen, you may find out," Retief said.
"I have no time to waste, Miss Meuhl. They won't
be expecting an immediate move—I hope—and
that may give me the latitude I need."
"You're still determined to make an issue of that
incident." Miss Meuhl snorted. "I really can
hardly blame the Groaci; they are not a sophisti-
cated race; they had never before met aliens."
"You're ready to forgive a great deal, Miss
Meuhl. But it's not what happened nine years ago
I'm concerned with. It's what's happening now.
I've told you that it was only a lifeboat the Groaci
have hidden out. Don't you understand the impli-
cation? That vessel couldn't have come far; the
cruiser itself must be somewhere nearby. I want to
know where."
"The Groaci don't know. They're a very cul-
tured, gentle people. You can do irreparable harm
to the Terrestrial image if you insist—"
"We're wasting time," Retief said, as he crossed
the room to his desk, opened a drawer, and took
out a slim-barreled needier.
"This office is being watched; not very effi-
ciently, if I know the Groaci. I think I can get past
them all right."
"Where are you going with . . . that?" Miss
Meuhl stared at the needier. "What in the
world—"
"The Groaci won't waste any time destroying
every piece of paper in their files relating to this
affair. I have to get what I need before it's too late.
If I wait for an official Enquiry Commission,
they'll find nothing but blank smiles."
"You're out of your mind!" Miss Meuhl stood
up, quivering with indignation. "You're like a . . .
a . . ."

90
RETIEF UNBOUND
"You and I are in a tight spot, Miss Meuhl. The
logical next move for the Groaci is to dispose of
both of us. We're the only ones who know what
happened. Fith almost did the job this afternoon,
but I bluffed him out—for the moment."
Miss Meuhl emitted a shrill laugh. "Your fan-
tasies are getting the better of you," she gasped.
"In danger, indeed! Disposing of me! I've never
heard anything so ridiculous."
"Stay in this office. Close and safe-lock the
door. You've got food and water in the dispenser.
I suggest you stock up, before they shut the
supply down. Don't let anyone in, on any pretext
whatever. I'll keep in touch with you via hand-
phone."
"What are you planning to do?"
"If I don't make it back here, transmit the sealed
record of this afternoon's conversation, along
with the information I've given you. Beam it
through on a Mayday priority. Then tell the
Groaci what you've done and sit tight. I think
you'll be all right. It won't be easy to blast in here
and anyway, they won't make things worse by
killing you in an obvious way. A Force can be here
in a week."
"I'll do nothing of the sort! The Groaci are very
fond of me! You . . . Johnny-come-lately!
Roughneck! Setting out to destroy—"
"Blame it on me if it will make you feel any
better," Retief said, "but don't be fool enough to
trust them." He pulled on a cape, and opened the
door.
"I'll be back in a couple of hours," he said. Miss
Meuhl stared after him silently as he closed the
door.

POLICY
91
•k ie -k
It was an hour before dawn when Retief keyed
the combination to the safe-lock and stepped into
the darkened Consular office. Miss Meuhl, dozing
in a chair, awoke with a start. She looked at Retief,
rose, snapped on a light, and turned to stare.
"What in the world—Where have you been?
What's happened to your clothing?"
"I got a little dirty—don't worry about it." Re-
tief went to his desk, opened a drawer, and re-
placed the needier.
"Where have you been?" Miss Meuhl de-
manded. "I stayed here."
"I'm glad you did," Retief said. "I hope you
piled up a supply of food and water from the
dispenser, too. We'll be holed up here for a week,
at least." He jotted figures on a pad. "Warm up the
official sender. I have a long transmission for Sec-
tor Headquarters."
"Are you going to tell me where you've been?"
"I have a message to get off first, Miss Meuhl,"
Retief said sharply. "I've been to the Foreign Minis-
try," he added. "I'll tell you all about it later."
"At this hour? There's no one there."
"Exactly."
Miss Meuhl gasped. "You mean you broke in?
You burgled the Foreign Office?"
"That's right," Retief said calmly. "Now—"
"This is absolutely the end," Miss Meuhl said.
"Thank heaven I've already—"
"Get that sender going, woman! This is impor-
tant."
"I've already done so, Mr. Retief!" Miss Meuhl
said harshly. "I've been waiting for you to come
back here." She turned to the communicator and

92
RETIEF UNBOUND
flipped levers. The screen snapped aglow, and a
wavering long-distance image appeared.
"He's here now," Miss Meuhl said to the screen.
She looked at Retief triumphantly.
"That's good," said Retief. "I don't think the
Groaci can knock us off the air, but—"
"I have done my duty, Mr. Retief; I made a full
report of your activities to Sector Headquarters
last night, as soon as you left this office. Any
doubts I may have had as to the Tightness of my
decision have been completely dispelled by what
you've just told me."
Retief looked at her levelly. "You've been a busy
girl, Miss Meuhl. Did you mention the six Terres-
trials who were killed here?"
"That had no bearing on the matter of your wild
behavior. I must say, in all my years in the Corps,
I've never encountered a personality less suited to
diplomatic work."
The screen crackled, the ten-second transmis-
sion lag having elapsed. "Mr. Retief," the face on
the screen said sternly, "I am Counselor Nitworth,
DSO-1, Deputy Under-Secretary for the Sector. I
have received a report on your conduct which
makes it mandatory for me to relieve you adminis-
tratively. Pending the findings of a Board of In-
quiry, you will—"
Retief reached out and snapped off the com-
municator. The triumphant look faded from Miss
Meuhl's face.
"Why, what is the meaning—"
"If I'd listened any longer, I might have heard
something I couldn't ignore. I can't afford that, at
this moment. Listen, Miss Meuhl," Retief went on
earnestly, "I've found the missing cruiser. It's—"

POLICY
93
"You heard him relieve you!"
"I heard him say he was going to, Miss Meuhl.
But until I've heard and acknowledged a verbal
order, it has no force. If I'm wrong, he'll get my
resignation. If I'm right, that suspension would be
embarrassing all around."
"You're defying lawful authority. I'm in charge
here now." Miss Meuhl stepped to the local com-
municator.
"I'm going to report this terrible thing to the
Groaci at once, and offer my profound—"
"Don't touch that screen," Retief said. "You go
sit in that corner where I can keep an eye on you.
I'm going to make a sealed tape for transmission to
Headquarters, along with a call for an armed Task
Force. Then we'll settle down to wait."
Retief, ignoring Miss Meuhl's fury, spoke into
the recorder.
The local communicator chimed. Miss Meuhl
jumped up and stared at it.
"Go ahead," Retief said. "Answer it."
A Groacian official appeared on the screen.
"Yolanda Meuhl," he said without preamble,
"for the Foreign Minister of the Groacian Au-
tonomy, I herewith accredit you as Terrestrial
Consul to Groac, in accordance with the advices
transmitted to my Government direct from the
Terrestrial Headquarters. As Consul, you are re-
quested to make available for questioning Mr. J.
Retief, former Consul, in connection with the as-
sault on two Peace Keepers, and illegal entry into
the offices of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs."
"Why . . . why," Miss Meuhl stammered. "Yes,
of course, and I do want to express my deepest
regrets—"

94
RETIEF UNBOUND
Retief rose, went to the communicator, and as-
sisted Miss Meuhl aside.
"Listen carefully, Fith," he said. "Your bluff has
been called. You don't come in and we don't come
out. Your camouflage worked for nine years, but
it's all over now. I suggest you keep your heads
and resist the temptation to make matters worse."
"Miss Meuhl," Fith replied, "a Peace Squad
waits outside your Consulate. It is clear you are in
the hands of a dangerous lunatic. As always, the
Groaci wish only friendship with the Terrestrials,
but—"
"Don't bother," Retief cut in. "You know what
was in those files I looked over this morning."
Retief turned at a sound behind him. Miss
Meuhl was at the door reaching for the safe-lock
release.
"Don't!" Retief jumped . . . too late. The door
burst inward, a crowd of crested Groaci pressed
into the room, pushed Miss Meuhl back, and
aimed scatter guns at Retief. Police Chief Shluh
pushed forward.
"Attempt no violence, Terrestrial," he said. "I
cannot promise to restrain my men."
"You're violating Terrestrial territory, Shluh,"
Retief said steadily. "I suggest you move back out
the same way you came in."
"I invited them here," Miss Meuhl spoke up.
"They are here at my express wish."
"Are they? Are you sure you meant to go this
far, Miss Meuhl? A squad of armed Groaci in the
Consulate?"
"You are the Consul, Miss Yolanda Meuhl,"
Shluh said. "Would it not be best if we removed
this deranged person to a place of safety?"

POLICY
95
"Yes," Miss Meuhl said. "You're quite right, Mr.
Shluh. Please escort Mr. Retief to his quarters in
this building."
"I don't advise you to violate my diplomatic
immunity, Fith," Retief said.
"As Chief of Mission," Miss Meuhl said
quickly, "I hereby waive immunity in the case of
Mr. Retief."
Shluh produced a hand recorder. "Kindly re-
peat your statement, Madam, officially," he said.
"I wish no question—"
"Don't be a fool, woman," Retief said. "Don't
you see what you're letting yourself in for? This
would be a hell of a good time for you to figure out
whose side you're on."
"I'm on the side of common decency!"
"You've been taken in. These people are
concealing—"
"You think all women are fools, don't you, Mr.
Retief?" She turned to the police chief and spoke
into the microphone he held up.
"That's an illegal waiver," Retief said. "I'm
Consul here, whatever rumors you've heard. This
thing's coming out into the open, in spite of any-
thing you can do; don't add violation of the Con-
sulate to the list of Groacian atrocities."
"Take the man," Shluh said. Two tall Groaci
came to Retief's side, guns aimed at his chest.
"Determined to hang yourselves, aren't you?"
Retief said. "I hope you have sense enough not to
lay a hand on this poor fool here." He jerked a
thumb at Miss Meuhl. "She doesn't know any-
thing. I hadn't had time to tell her yet. She thinks
you're a band of angels."
The cop at Retief's side swung the butt of his

96
RETIEF UNBOUND
scatter gun and connected solidly with Retief's
jaw. Retief staggered against a Groacian, was
caught and thrust upright, blood running down
onto his shirt. Miss Meuhl yelped. Shluh barked
at the guard in shrill Groacian, then turned to
stare at Miss Meuhl.
"What has this man told you?"
"I—nothing. I refused to listen to his ravings."
"He said nothing to you of . . . some alleged . . .
involvement."
"I've told you," Miss Meuhl said sharply. She
looked at the expressionless Groaci, then back at
the blood on Retief's shirt.
"He told me nothing," she whispered. "I swear
it."
"Let it lie, boys," Retief said, "before you spoil
that good impression."
Shluh looked at Miss Meuhl for a long moment.
Then he turned.
"Let us go," he said. He turned back to Miss
Meuhl. "Do not leave this building until further
advice."
"But ... I am the Terrestrial Consul."
"For your safety, madam. The people are
aroused at the beating of Groacian nationals by
an . . . alien."
"So long, Meuhlsie," Retief said. "You played it
real foxy."
"You'll . . . lock him in his quarters?" Miss
Meuhl said.
"What is done with him now is a Groacian af-
fair, Miss Meuhl. You yourself have withdrawn
the protection of your government."
"I didn't mean—"
"Don't start having second thoughts," Retief

POLICY
97
said. "They can make you miserable."
"I had no choice. I had to consider the best
interests of the Service."
"My mistake, I guess. I was thinking of the best
interests of a Terrestrial cruiser with three
hundred men aboard."
"Enough," Shluh said. "Remove this criminal."
He gestured to the Peace Keepers.
"Move along," he said to Retief. He turned to
Miss Meuhl.
"A pleasure to deal with you, Madam."
The police car started up and pulled away. The
Peace Keeper in the front seat turned to look at
Retief.
"To have some sport with it, and then to kill it,"
he said.
"To have a fair trial first," Shluh said. The car
rocked and jounced, rounded a corner, and puffed
along between ornamented pastel facades.
"To have a trial and then to have a bit of sport,"
the Peace Keeper said.
"To suck the eggs in your own hill," Retief said.
"To make another stupid mistake."
Shluh raised his short ceremonial club and
cracked Retief across the head. Retief shook his
head, tensed—
The Peace Keeper in the front seat beside the
driver turned and rammed the barrel of his scatter
gun against Retief's ribs.
"To make no move, outworlder," he said. Shluh
raised his club and carefully struck Retief again.
He slumped.
The car, swaying rounded another corner. Re-
tief slid over against the police chief.

98
RETIEF UNBOUND
"To fend this animal—" Shluh began. His weak
voice was cut off short as Retief's hand shot out,
took him by the throat, and snapped him down
onto the floor. As the guard on Retief's left lunged,
Retief uppercut him, slamming his head against
the door post. Retief grabbed the guard's scatter
gun as it fell, and pushed it into the mandibles of
the Groacian in the front seat.
"To put your pop-gun over the seat—
carefully—and drop it," he said.
The driver slammed on his brakes, then whirled
to raise his gun. Retief cracked a gun barrel
against the head of the Groacian.
"To keep your eye-stalks on the road," he said.
The driver grabbed at the tiller and shrank against
the window, watching Retief with one eye, driv-
ing with another.
"To gun this thing," Retief said. "To keep mov-
' 	 »»
ing.
Shluh stirred on the floor. Retief put a foot on
him, pressing him back. The Peace Keeper beside
Retief moved. Retief pushed him off the seat onto
the floor. He held the scatter gun with one hand
and mopped at the blood on his face with the
other. The car bounded over the irregular surface
of the road, puffing furiously.
"Your death will not be an easy one, Terrest-
rial," Shluh said in Terran.
"No easier than I can help," Retief said. "Shut
up for now, I want to think."
The car, passing the last of the relief-encrusted
mounds, sped along between tilled fields,
v "Slow down," Retief said. The driver obeyed.
"Turn down this side road."
The car bumped off onto an unpaved surface,

POLICY
99
then threaded its way back among tall stalks.
"Stop here." The car stopped, blew off steam,
and sat trembling as the hot engine idled.
Retief opened the door, taking his foot off
Shluh.
"Sit up," he ordered. "You two in front listen
carefully." Shluh sat up, rubbing his throat.
"Three of you are getting out here. Good old
Shluh is going to stick around to drive for me. If I
get that nervous feeling that you're after me, I'll
toss him out. That will be pretty messy, at high
speed. Shluh, tell them to sit tight until dark and
forget about sounding any alarms. I'd hate to see
you split open and spill all over the pavement."
"To burst your throat sac, evil-smelling beast!"
Shluh hissed in Groacian.
"Sorry, I haven't got one." Retief put the gun
under Shluh's ear. "Tell them, Shluh; I can drive
myself, in a pinch."
"To do as the foreign one says; to stay hidden
until dark," Shluh said.
"Everybody out," Retief said. "And take this
with you." He nudged the unconscious Groacian.
"Shluh, you get in the driver's seat. You others
stay where I can see you."
Retief watched as the Groaci silently followed
instructions.
"All right, Shluh," Retief said softly. "Let's go.
Take me to Groac Spaceport by the shortest route
that doesn't go through the city, and be very care-
ful about making any sudden movements."
Forty minutes later Shluh steered the car up to
the sentry-guarded gate in the security fence sur-
rounding the military enclosure at Groac
Spaceport.

100
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Don't yield to any rash impulses," Retief
whispered as a crested Groacian soldier came up.
Shluh grated his mandibles in helpless fury.
"Drone-master Shluh, Internal Security," he
croaked. The guard tilted his eyes toward Retief.
"The guest of the Autonomy," Shluh added.
"To let me pass or rot in this spot, fool?"
"To pass, Drone-master," the sentry mumbled.
He was still staring at Retief as the car moved
jerkily away.
"You are as good as pegged-out on the hill in the
pleasure pits now, Terrestrial," Shluh said in Ter-
ran. "Why do you venture here?"
"Pull over there in the shadow of the tower and
stop," Retief said.
Shluh complied. Retief studied a row of four
slender ships silhouetted against the early dawn
colors of the sky.
"Which of those boats are ready to lift?"' Retief
demanded.
Shluh swivelled a choleric eye.
"All of them are shuttles; they have no range.
They will not help you."
"To answer the question, Shluh, or to get
another crack on the head."
"You are not like other Terrestrials, you are a
mad dog."
"We'll rough out a character sketch of me later.
Are they fueled up? You know the procedures
here. Did those shuttles just get in, or is that the
ready line?"
"Yes. All are fueled and ready for take-off."
"I hope you're right, Shluh. You and I are going
to drive over and get in one; if it doesn't lift, I'll kill

POLICY
101
you and try the next one. Let's go."
"You are mad. I have told you: these boats have
not more than ten thousand ton-seconds capacity;
they are useful only for satellite runs."
"Never mind the details. Let's try the first in
line."
Shluh let in the clutch and the steam car
clanked and heaved, rolling off toward the line of
boats.
"Not the first in line," Shluh said suddenly.
"The last is the most likely to be fueled. But—"
"Smart grasshopper," Retief said. "Pull up to
the entry port, hop out, and go right up. I'll be
right behind you."
"The gangway guard. The challenging of—"
"More details. Just give him a dirty look and say
what's necessary. You know the technique."
The car passed under the stern of the first boat,
then the second. There was no alarm. It rounded
the third and shuddered to a stop by the open port
of the last vessel.
"Out," Retief said. "To make it snappy."
Shluh stepped from the car, hesitated as the
guard came to attention, then hissed at him and
mounted the steps. The guard looked wonder-
ingly at Retief, mandibles slack.
"An outworlder!" he said. He unlimbered his
scatter gun. "To stop here, meat-faced one."
Up ahead, Shluh turned.
"To snap to attention, litter-mate of drones,"
Retief rasped in Groacian. The guard jumped,
waved his eye stalks, and came to attention.
"About face!" Retief hissed. "To hell out of
here—march!"

102
RETIEF UNBOUND
The guard tramped off across the ramp. Retief
took the steps two at a time, slammed the port shut
behind himself.
"I'm glad your boys have a little discipline,
Shluh," Retief said. "What did you say to him?"
"I but—"
"Never mind. We're in. Get up to the control
compartment."
"What do you know of Groacian Naval vessels?"
' 'Plenty. This is a straight copy from the life boat
you lads hijacked. I can run it. Get going."
Retief followed Shluh up the companionway
into the cramped control room.
"Tie in, Shluh," Retief ordered.
"This is insane. We have only fuel enough for a
one-way transit to the satellite; we cannot enter
orbit, nor can we land again! To lift this boat is
death. Release me. I promise you immunity."
"If I have to tie you in myself, I might bend your
head in the process."
Shluh crawled onto the couch, and strapped in.
"Give it up," he said. "I will see that you are
re-instated—with honor. I will guarantee a safe-
conduct—"
"Count-down," Retief said. He threw in the au-
topilot.
"It is death!" Shluh screeched.
The gyros hummed, timers ticked, relays
closed. Retief lay relaxed on the acceleration pad.
Shluh breathed noisily, his mandibles clicking
rapidly.
"That I had fled in time," he said in a hoarse
whisper. "This is not a good death."
"No death is a good death," Retief said, "not for
a while yet." The red light flashed on in the center

POLICY
103
of the panel, and sound roared out into the break-
ing day. The ship trembled, then lifted. Retief
could hear Shluh's whimpering even through the
roar of the drive.
"Perihelion," Shluh said dully. "To begin now
the long fall back."
"Not quite," Retief said. "I figure eight-five sec-
onds to go." He scanned the instruments, frown-
ing.
"We will not reach the surface, of course,"
Shluh said. "The pips on the screen are missiles.
We have a rendezvous in space, Retief. In your
madness, may you be content."
"They're fifteen minutes behind us, Shluh. Your
defenses are sluggish."
"Nevermore to burrow in the grey sands of
Groac," Shluh mourned.
Retief's eyes were fixed on a dial face.
"Any time now," he said softly. Shluh canted
his eye stalks.
"What do you seek?"
Retief stiffened. "Look at the screen," he said.
Shluh looked. A glowing point, off-center, mov-
ing rapidly across the grid . . .
"What—?"
"Later—"
Shluh watched as Retief's eyes darted from one
needle to another.
"How . . ."
"For your own neck's sake, Shluh, you'd better
hope this works." He flipped the sending key.
"2396 TR-42 G, this is the Terrestrial Consul at
Groac, aboard Groac 902, vectoring on you at an
MP fix of 91/54/942. Can you read me? Over."

104
RETIEF UNBOUND
"What forlorn gesture is this?" Shluh whis-
pered. "You cry in the night to emptiness."
"Button your mandibles," Retief snapped, lis-
tening. There was a faint hum of stellar back-
ground noise. Retief repeated his call.
"Maybe they hear but can't answer," he mut-
tered. He flipped the key.
"2396, you've got forty seconds to lock a tractor
beam on me, before I shoot past you."
"To call into the void," said Shluh. "To—"
"Look at the DV screen."
Shluh twisted his head and looked. Against the
background mist of stars, a shape loomed, dark
and inert.
"It is ... a ship," he said, "a monster ship . . ."
"That's her," Retief said. "Nine years and a few
months out of New Terra on a routine mapping
mission; the missing cruiser, IVS Terrific."
"Impossible," Shluh hissed. "The hulk swings
in a deep cometary orbit."
"Right, and now it's making its close swing past
Groac."
"You think to match orbits with the derelict?
Without power? Our meeting will be a violent
one, if that is your intent."
"We won't hit; we'll make our pass at about five
thousand yards."
"To what end, Terrestrial? You have found your
lost ship; what then? Is this glimpse worth the
death we die?"
"Maybe they're not dead," Retief said.
"Not dead?" Shluh lapsed into Groacian. "To
have died.in the burrow of one's youth. To have
burst my throat sac before I embarked with a mad
alien to call up the dead."
"2396, make it snappy," Retief called. The

POLICY
105
speaker crackled heedlessly. The dark image on
the screen drifted past, dwindling now.
"Nine years, and the mad one speaking as to
friends," Shluh raved. "Nine years dead, and still
to seek them."
"Another ten seconds," Retief said softly, "and
we're out of range. Look alive, boys."
"Was this your plan, Retief?" Shluh reverted to
Terran. "Did you flee Groac and risk all on this
slender thread?"
"How long would I have lasteckin a Groaci
prison?"
"Long and long, my Retief," Shluh hissed,
"under the blade of an artist."
Abruptly the ship trembled, seemed to drag,
rolling the two passengers in their couches. Shluh
hissed as the restraining harness cut into him. The
shuttle boat was pivoting heavily, up-ending.
Crushing acceleration forces built. Shluh gasped,
crying out shrilly.
"What . . . is . . . it. . . ?"
"It looks," said Retief, "like we've had a little bit
of luck."
"On our second pass," the gaunt-faced officer
said, "they let fly with something. I don't know
how it got past our screens. It socked home in the
stern and put the main pipe off the air. I threw full
power to the emergency shields, and broadcast
our identification on a scatter that should have hit
every receiver within a parsec; nothing. Then the
transmitter blew. I was a fool to send the boat
down, but I couldn't believe, somehow . . ."
"In a way it's lucky you did, captain. That was
my only lead."
"They tried to finish us after that. But, with full

106
RETIEF UNBOUND
power to the screens, nothing they had could get
through. Then they called on us to surrender."
Retief nodded. "I take it you weren't tempted?"
"More than you know. It was a long swing out
on our first circuit. Then coming back in, we
figured we'd hit. As a last resort I would have
pulled back power from the screens and tried to
adjust the orbit with the steering jets, but the
bombardment was pretty heavy. I don't think
we'd have made it. Then we swung past and
headed out again. We've got a three-year period.
Don't think I didn't consider throwing in the
towel."
"Why didn't you?"
"The information we have is important. We've
got plenty of stores aboard, enough for another ten
years, if necessary. Sooner or later I knew a Corps
search vessel would find us."
Retief cleared his throat. "I'm glad you stuck
with it, Captain. Even a backwater world like
Groac can kill a lot of people when it runs amok."
"What I didn't know," the captain went on,
"was that we're not in a stable orbit. We're going to
graze atmosphere pretty deeply this pass, and in
another sixty days we'd be back to stay. I guess the
Groaci would be ready for us."
"No wonder they were sitting on this so tight.
They were almost in the clear."
"And you're here now," the captain said. "Nine
years, and we weren't forgotten. I knew we could
count on—"
"It's over now, captain. That's what counts."
"Home . . . After nine years . . ."

POLICY
107
"I'd like to take a look at the films you men-
tioned," Retief said. "The ones showing the in-
stallations on the satellite."
The captain complied. Retief watched as the
scene unrolled, showing the bleak surface of the
tiny moon as the Terrific had seen it, nine years
before. In harsh black and white, row on row of
identical hulls cast long shadows across the pit-
ted metallic surface of the satellite.
"They had quite a little surprise planned; your
visit must have panicked them," Retief said.
"They should be about ready to go, by now.
Nine years ..."
"Hold that picture," Retief said suddenly.
"What's that ragged black line across the plain
there?"
"I think it's a fissure. The crystalline
structure—"
"I've got what may be an idea," Retief said. "I
had a look at some classified files last night, at the
Foreign Office. One was a progress report on a
fissionable stock-pile. It didn't make much sense
at the time. Now I get the picture. Which is the
north end of that crevasse?"
"At the top of the picture."
"Unless I'm badly mistaken, that's the bomb
dump. The Groaci like to tuck things under-
ground. I wonder what a direct hit with a 50 mega-
ton missile would do to it?"
"If that's an ordnance storage dump," the cap-
tain said, "it's an experiment I'd like to try."
"Can you hit it?"
"I've got fifty heavy missiles aboard. If I fire

108
RETIEF UNBOUND
them in direct sequence, it should saturate the
defenses. Yes, I can hit it."
"The range isn't too great?"
"These are the deluxe models." The captain
smiled balefully. "Video guidance. We could steer
them into a bar and park 'em on a stool."
"What do you say we try it?"
"I've been wanting a solid target for a long
time," the captain said.
Half an hour later, Retief propelled Shluh into a
seat before the screen.
"That expanding dust cloud used to be the
satellite of Groac, Shluh," he said. "Looks like
something happened to it."
The police chief stared at the picture.
"Too bad," Retief said. "But then it wasn't of
any importance, was it, Shluh?"
Shluh muttered incomprehensibly.
"Just a bare hunk of iron, Shluh, as the Foreign
Office assured me when I asked for information."
"I wish you'd keep your prisoner out of sight,"
the captain said. "I have a hard time keeping my
hands off him."
"Shluh wants to help, captain. He's been a bad
boy and I have a feeling he'd like to co-operate
with us now, especially in view of the eminent
arrival of a Terrestrial ship, and the dust cloud out
there," Retief said.
"What do you mean?"
"Captain, you can ride it out for another week,
contact the ship when it arrives, get a tow in, and
your troubles are over. When your films are shown
in the proper quarter, a Peace Force will come out

POLICY
109
here and reduce Groac to a subtechnical cultural
level and set up a monitor system to insure she
doesn't get any more expansionist ideas—not that
she can do much now, with her handy iron mine
in the sky gone."
"That's right, and—"
"On the other hand, there's what I might call the
diplomatic approach ..."
He explained at length. The captain looked at
him thoughtfully.
"I'll go along," he said. "What about this fel-
low?"
Retief turned to Shluh. The Groacian shud-
dered, retracting his eye stalks.
"I will do it," he said faintly.
"Right," Retief said. "Captain, if you'll have
your men bring in the transmitter from the shut-
tle, I'll place a call to a fellow named Fith at the
Foreign Office." He turned to Shluh. "And when I
get him, Shluh, you'll do everything exactly as
I've told you—or have Terrestrial monitors dictat-
ing in Groac City."
"Quite candidly, Retief," Counselor Nitworth
said, "I'm rather nonplussed. Mr. Fith of the
Foreign Office seemed almost painfully lavish in
your praise. He seems most eager to please you. In
the light of some of the evidence I've turned up
of highly irregular behavior on your part, it's
difficult to understand."
"Fith and I have been through a lot together,"
Retief said. "We understand each other."
"You have no cause for complacency, Retief,"
Nitworth said. "Miss Meuhl was quite justified in
reporting your case. Of course, had she known

110
RETIEF UNBOUND
that you were assisting Mr. Fith in his marvelous
work, she would have modified her report some-
what, no doubt. You should have confided in her."
"Fith wanted to keep it secret, in case it didn't
work out. You know how it is."
"Of course. And as soon as Miss Meuhl recovers
from her nervous breakdown, there'll be a nice
promotion awaiting her. The girl more than de-
serves it for her years of unswerving devotion to
Corps policy."
"Unswerving," Retief said. "I'll go along with
that."
"As well you may, Retief. You've not acquitted
yourself well in this assignment. I'm arranging for
a transfer; you've alienated too many of the local
people."
"But as you said, Fith speaks highly of me . . ."
"True. It's the cultural intelligentsia I'm refer-
ring to. Miss Meuhl's records show that you delib-
erately affronted a number of influential groups
by boycotting—"
"Tone deaf," Retief said. "To me a Groacian
blowing a nose-whistle sounds like a Groacian
blowing a nose-whistle."
"You have to come to terms with local aesthetic
values. Learn to know the people as they really
are. It's apparent from some of the remarks Miss
Meuhl quoted in her report that you held the
Groaci in rather low esteem. But how wrong you
were. All the while they were working unceas-
ingly to rescue those brave lads marooned aboard
our cruiser. They pressed on, even after we our-
selves had abandoned the search. And when they
discovered that it had been a collision with their
satellite which disabled the craft, they made that

POLICY
111
magnificent gesture—unprecedented. One
hundred thousand credits in gold to each crew
member, as a token of Groacian sympathy."
"A handsome gesture," Retief murmured.
"I hope, Retief, that you've learned from this
incident. In view of the helpful part you played in
advising Mr. Fith in matters of procedure to assist
in his search, I'm not recommending a reduction
in grade. We'll overlook the affair, give you a clean
slate. But in the future, I'll be watching you
closely."
"You can't win 'em all," Retief said.
"You'd better pack up; you'll be coming along
with us in the morning." Nitworth shuffled his
papers together. "I'm sorry that I can't file a more
flattering report on you. I would have liked to
recommend your promotion, along with Miss
Meuhl's."
"That's okay," Retief said. "I have my
memories."

... Ofttimes, the expertise displayed by expe-
rienced Terrestrial Chiefs of Mission in the
analysis of local political currents enabled
these dedicated senior officers to secure accep-
tance of Corps commercial programs under
seemingly insurmountable conditions of ad-
versity. Ambassador Crodfoller's virtuoso per-
formance in the reconciliation of rival elements
at Petreac added new lustre to Corps prestige...
Vol VIII, reel 8. 489 A. E. (AD 2950)
PALACE REVOLUTION
RETIEF PAUSED before a tall mirror to check the
overlap of the four sets of lapels that ornamented
the vermilion cut-away of a First Secretary and
Consul.
"Come along, Retief," Magnan said. "The am-
bassador has a word to say to the staff before we go
in."
"I hope he isn't going to change the spontane-
ous speech he plans to make when the Potentate
impulsively suggests a trade agreement along the
lines they've been discussing for the last two
months."

114
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Your derisive attitude is uncalled for, Retief,"
Magnan said sharply. "I think you realize it's de-
layed your promotion in the Corps."
Retief took a last glance in the mirror. "I'm not
sure I want a promotion. It would mean more
lapels."
Ambassador Crodfoller pursed his lips, waiting
until Retief and Magnan took places in the ring of
Terrestrial diplomats around him.
"A word of caution only, gentlemen. Keep al-
ways foremost in your minds the necessity for our
identification with the Nenni Caste. Even a hint of
familiarity with lower echelons could mean the
failure of the mission. Let us remember: the Nenni
represent authority here on Petreac; their tra-
ditions must be observed, whatever our personal
preferences. Let's go along now; the Potentate will
be making his entrance any moment."
Magnan came to Retief's side as they moved
toward the salon.
"The ambassador's remarks were addressed
chiefly to you, Retief," he said. "Your laxness in
these matters is notorious. Naturally, I believe
firmly in democratic principles myself."
"Have you ever had a feeling, Mr. Magnan, that
there's a lot going on here that we don't know
about?"
Magnan nodded. "Quite so; Ambassador Crod-
foller's point exactly. Matters which are not of
concern to the Nenni are of no concern to us."
"Another feeling I get is that the Nenni aren't
very bright. Now suppose—"
"I'm not given to suppositions, Retief. We're
here to implement the policies of the Chief of
Mission. And I should dislike to be in the shoes of

PALACE REVOLUTION
115
a member of the Staff whose conduct jeopardized
the agreement that's to be concluded here to-
night."
A bearer with a tray of drinks rounded a fluted
column, shied as he confronted the diplomats,
fumbled the tray, grabbed, and sent a glass crash-
ing to the floor. Magnan leaped back, slapping at
the purple cloth of his pants leg. Retief's hand shot
out and steadied the tray. The servant rolled his
terrified eyes.
"I'll take one of those, now that you're here,"
Retief said easily, lifting a glass from the tray. "No
harm done. Mr. Magnan's just warming up for the
big dance."
A Nenni major-domo bustled up, rubbing his
hands politely.
"Some trouble here? What happened, Honora-
bles, what, what . . ."
"The blundering idiot," Magnan spluttered.
"How dare—"
"You're quite an actor, Mr. Magnan," Retief
said. "If I didn't know about your democratic
principles, I'd think you were really angry."
The servant ducked his head and scuttled away.
"Has this fellow given dissatisfaction... ?" The
major-domo eyed the retreating bearer.
"I dropped my glass," Retief said. "Mr. Mag-
nan's upset because he hates to see liquor
wasted."
Retief turned and found himself face-to-face
with Ambassador Crodfoller.
"I witnessed that," the ambassador hissed. "By
the goodness of Providence the Potentate and his
retinue haven't appeared yet, but I can assure you
the servants saw it. A more un-Nenni -like display

116
RETIEF UNBOUND
I would find it difficult to imagine."
Retief arranged his features in an expression of
deep interest. "More un-Nenni-like, sir? I'm not
sure I—"
"Bah!" The ambassador glared at Retief. "Your
reputation has preceded you, sir. Your name is
associated with a number of the most bizarre inci-
dents in Corps history. I'm warning you; I'll toler-
ate nothing." He turned and stalked away.
"Ambassador-baiting is a dangerous sport, Re-
tief," Magnan said.
Retief took a swallow of his drink. "Still, it's
better than no sport at all."
"Your time would be better spent observing the
Nenni mannerisms; frankly, Retief, you're not fit-
ting into the group at all well."
"I'll be candid with you, Mr. Magnan; the group
gives me the willies."
"Oh, the Nenni are a trifle frivolous, I'll con-
cede. But it's with them that we must deal. And
you'd be making a contribution to the overall mis-
sion if you abandoned that rather arrogant man-
ner of yours." Magnan looked at Retief critically.
"You can't help your height, of course, but
couldn't you curve your back just a bit—and pos-
sibly assume a more placating expression? Just act
a little more . . ."
"Girlish?"
"Exactly." Magnan nodded, then looked
sharply at Retief.
Retief drained his glass and put it on a passing
tray.	,
"I'm better at acting girlish when I'm well
juiced," he said. "But I can't face another sorghum
and soda. I suppose it would be un-Nenni-like to

PALACE REVOLUTION
117
slip one of the servants a credit and ask for a
Scotch and water."
"Decidedly." Magnan glanced toward a sound
across the room.
"Ah, here's the Potentate now ..." He hurried
off.
Retief watched the bearers coming and going,
bringing trays laden with drinks, carrying off
empties. There was a lull in the drinking now, as
the diplomats gathered around the periwigged
chief of state and his courtiers. Bearers loitered
near the service door, eyeing the notables. Retief
strolled over to the service door and pushed
through it into a narrow white-tiled hall filled
with kitchen odors. Silent servants gaped as he
passed and watched him as he moved along to the
kitchen door and stepped inside.
A dozen or more low-caste Petreacans, gathered
around a long table in the center of the room,
looked up, startled. A heap of long-bladed bread
knives, carving knives and cleavers lay in the
center of the table. Other knives were thrust into
belts or held in the hands of the men. A fat man in
the yellow sarong of a cook stood frozen in the act
of handing a twelve-inch cheese-knife to a tall
one-eyed sweeper.
Retief took one glance, then let his eyes wander
to a far corner of the room. Humming a careless
little tune, he sauntered across to the open liquor
shelves, selected a garish green bottle, then
turned unhurriedly back toward the door. The
group of servants watched him, transfixed.
As Retief reached the door, it swung inward.
Magnan stood in the doorway, looking at him.
"I had a premonition," he said.

118
RETIEF UNBOUND
"I'll bet it was a dandy. You must tell me all
about it—in the salon."
"We'll have this out right here," Magnan
snapped. "I've warned you—" His voice trailed
off as he took in the scene around the table.
"After you," Retief said, nudging Magnan to-
ward the door.
"What's going on here?" Magnan barked. He
stared at the men and started around Retief. A
hand stopped him.
"Let's be going," Retief said, propelling Mag-
nan toward the hall.
"Those knives!" Magnan yelped. "Take your
hands off me, Retief! What are you men—"
Retief glanced back. The fat cook gestured sud-
denly, and the men faded back. The cook stood,
arm cocked, a knife across his palm.
"Close the door and make no sound," he said
softly.
Magnan pressed back against Retief. "Let's . . .
r-run ..." he faltered.
Retief turned slowly, put his hands up.
"I don't run very well with a knife in my back,"
he said. "Stand very still, Mr. Magnan, and do just
what he tells you."
"Take them out through the back," the cook
said.
"What does he mean," Magnan spluttered.
"Here, you—"
"Silence," the cook said, almost casually. Mag-
nan gaped at him, then closed his mouth.
Two of the men with knives came to Retief's
side, gestured, grinning broadly.
"Let's go, peacocks," said one.
Retief and Magnan silently crossed the kitchen,

PALACE REVOLUTION
119
went out the back door, stopped on command,
and stood waiting. The sky was brilliant with
stars and a gentle breeze stirred the tree-tops be-
yond the garden. Behind them the servants talked
in low voices.	,
"You go too, Illy," the cook was saying.
"Do it here," said another.
"And carry them down?"
"Pitch 'em behind the hedge."
"I said the river. Three of you is plenty for a
couple of Nenni dandies."
"They're foreigners, not Nenni. We don't
know—"
"So they're foreign Nenni. Makes no difference.
I've seen them. I need every man here; now get
going."
"What about the big guy?"
"Him? He waltzed into the room and didn't
notice a thing. But watch the other one."
At a prod from a knife point, Retief moved off
down the walk, two of the escort behind him and
Magnan, another going ahead to scout the way.
Magnan moved closer to Retief.
"Say," he said in a whisper, "that fellow in the
lead—isn't he the one who spilled the drink? The
one you took the blame for?"
"That's him, all right. He doesn't seem nervous
any more, I notice."
"You saved him from serious punishment,"
Magnan said. "He'll be grateful; he'll let us
go. . . ."
"Better check with the fellows with the knives
before you act on that."
"Say something to him," Magnan hissed, "re-
mind him."

120
RETIEF UNBOUND
The lead man fell back in line with Retief and
Magnan.
"These two are scared of you," he said, grinning
and jerking a thumb toward the knife-handlers.
"They haven't worked around the Nenni like me;
they don't know you."
"Don't you recognize this gentleman?" Magnan
said. "He's—"
"He did me a favor," the man said. "I re-
member."
"What's it all about?" Retief asked.
"The revolution. We're taking over now."
"Who's 'we'? "
"The People's Anti-Fascist Freedom League."
"What are all the knives for?"
"For the Nenni; and for you foreigners."
"What do you mean?" gasped Magnan.
"We'll slit all the throats at one time; saves a lot
of running around."
"When will that be?"
"Just at dawn—and dawn comes early, this
time of year. By full daylight the PAFFL will be in
charge."
"You'll never succeed," Magnan said. "A few
servants with knives; you'll all be caught and exe-
cuted."
"By who; the Nenni?" The man laughed. "You
Nenni are a caution."
"But we're not Nenni—"
"We've watched you; you're the same. You're
part of the same blood-sucking class."
"There are better ways," Magnan said. "This
killing won't help you. I'll personally see to it that
your grievances are heard in the Corps Courts. I
can assure you that the plight of the down-

PALACE REVOLUTION
121
trodden workers will be alleviated. Equal rights
for all."
"Threats won't help you," the man said. "You
don't scare me."
"Threats? I'm promising relief to the exploited
classes of Petreac."
"You must be nuts. You trying to upset the sys-
tem or something?"
"Isn't that the purpose of your revolution?"
"Look, Nenni, we're tired of you Nenni getting
all the graft. We want our turn. What good it do us
to run Petreac if there's no loot?"
"You mean you intend to oppress the people?
But they're your own group."
"Group, schmoop. We're taking all the chances;
we're doing the work. We deserve the pay-off. You
think we're throwing up good jobs for the fun of
it?"
"You're basing a revolt on these cynical prem-
ises?"
"Wise up, Nenni; there's never been a revolu-
tion for any other reason."
"Who's in charge of this?" Retief said.
"Shoke, the head chef."
"I mean the big boss; who tells Shoke what to
do?"
"Oh, that's Zorn. Look out, here's where we start
down the slope. It's slippery."
"Look," Magnan said. "You. This—"
"My name's Illy."
"Mr. Illy, this man showed you mercy when he
could have had you beaten."
"Keep moving. Yeah, I said I was grateful."
"Yes," Magnan said, swallowing hard. "A noble
emotion, gratitude."

122
RETIEF UNBOUND
"I always try to pay back a good turn," Illy said.
"Watch your step now on this sea-wall."
"You'll never regret it."
"This is far enough." Illy motioned to one of the
knife men. "Give me your knife, Vug."
The man passed his knife to Illy. There was an
odor of sea-mud and kelp. Small waves slapped
against the stones of the sea-wall. The wind was
stronger here.
"I know a neat stroke," Illy said. "Practically
painless. Who's first?"
"What do you mean?" Magnan quavered.
"I said I was grateful; I'll do it myself, give you a
nice clean job. You know these amateurs: botch it
up and have a guy floppin' around, yellin' and
splatterin' everybody up."
"I'm first," Retief said. He pushed past Magnan,
stopped suddenly, and drove a straight punch at
lily's mouth.
The long blade flicked harmlessly over Retief's
shoulder as Illy fell. Retief took the unarmed ser-
vant by the throat and belt, lifted him, and
slammed him against the third man. Both
screamed as they tumbled from the sea-wall into
the water with a mighty splash. Retief turned back
to Illy, pulled off the man's belt, and strapped his
hands together.
Magnan found his voice. "You . . ,'we . . .
they . . ."
"I know."
"We've got to get back," Magnan said. "Warn
them."
"We'd never get through the rebel cordon
around the palace. And if we did, trying to give an
alarm would only set the assassinations off early."

"We can't just . . ."
"We've got to go to the source: this fellow Zorn.
Get him to call it off."
"We'd be killed. At least we're safe here."
Illy groaned and opened his eyes. He sat up.
"On your feet, Illy," Retief said.
Illy looked around. "I'm sick."
"The damp air is bad for you. Let's be going."
Retief pulled the man to his feet. "Where does
Zorn stay when he's in town?"
"What happened? Where's Vug . . ."
"They had an accident. Fell in the pond."
Illy gazed down at the restless black water.
"I guess I had you Nenni figured wrong."
"We Nenni have hidden qualities. Let's get mov-
ing before Vug and Slug make it to shore and start
it all over again."
"No hurry," Illy said. "They can't swim." He
spat into the water. "So long, Vug. So long, Tos-
cin. Take a pull at the Hell Horn for me." He
started off along the sea wall toward the sound of
the surf.
"You want to see Zorn, I'll take you see Zorn. I
can't swim either."
"I take it," Retief said, "that the casino is a front
for his political activities."
"He makes plenty off it. This PAFFL is a new
kick. I never heard about it until maybe a couple
months ago."
Retief motioned toward a dark shed with an
open door.
"We'll stop here," he said, "long enough to strip
the gadgets off these uniforms."
Illy, hands strapped behind his back, stood by

124
RETIEF UNBOUND
and watched as Retief and Magnan removed med-
als, ribbons, orders, and insignia from the formal
diplomatic garments.
"This may help some," Retief said, "if the word
is out that two diplomats are loose."
"It's a breeze," Illy said. "We see cats in purple
and orange tailcoats all the time."
"I hope you're right," Retief said. "But if we're
called, you'll be the first to go, Illy."
"You're a funny kind of Nenni," Illy said, eye-
ing Retief. "Toscin and Vug must be wonderin'
what happened to 'em."
"If you think I'm good at drowning people, you
ought to see with a knife. Let's get going."
"It's only a little way now. But you better untie
me. Somebody's liable to notice it and start askin'
questions and get me killed."
"I'll take the chance. How do we get to the
casino?"
"We follow this street. When we get to the
Drunkard's Stairs we go up and it's right in front of
us. A pink front with a sign like a big luck wheel."
"Give me your belt, Magnan," Retief said.
Magnan handed it over.
"Lie down, Illy."
The servant looked at Retief.
"Vug and Toscin will be glad to see me. But
they'll never believe me." He lay down. Retief
strapped his feet together and stuffed a handker-
chief in his mouth.
"Why are you doing that?" Magnan asked. "We
need him."
"We know the way now and we don't need
anyone to announce our arrival." Magnan looked

PALACE REVOLUTION
125
at the man. "Maybe you'd better—ah, cut his
throat."
Illy rolled his eyes.
"That's a very un-Nenni-like suggestion, Mr.
Magnan," Retief said. "But if we have any trouble
finding the casino following his directions, I'll
give it serious thought."
There were few people in the narrow street.
Shops were shuttered, windows dark.
"Maybe they heard about the coup," Magnan
said. "They're lying low."
"More likely they're at the palace checking out
knives."
They rounded a corner, stepped over a man
curled in the gutter snoring heavily, and found
themselves at the foot of a long flight of littered
stone steps.
"The Drunkard's Stairs are plainly marked,"
Magnan sniffed.
"I hear sounds up there . . . sounds of merry-
making."
"Maybe we'd better go back."
"Merrymaking doesn't scare me. Come to think
of it, I don't know what the word means." Retief
started up, Magnan behind him.
At the top of the long stair a dense throng milled
in the alley-like street.
A giant illuminated roulette wheel revolved
slowly above them. A loud-speaker blared the
chant of the croupiers from the tables inside.
Magnan and Retief moved through the crowd to-
ward the wide-open doors.
Magnan plucked at Retief's sleeve. "Are you
sure we ought to push right in like this? Maybe we
ought to wait a bit, look around."

126
RETIEF UNBOUND
"When you're where you have no business be-
ing," Retief said, "always stride along purpose-
fully. If you loiter, people begin to get curious."
Inside, a mob packed the wide low-ceilinged
room and clustered around gambling devices in
the form of towers, tables, and basins.
"What do we do now?" Magnan asked.
"We gamble. How much money do you have in
your pockets?"
"Why ... a few credits . .." Magnan handed the
money to Retief. "But what about the man Zorn?"
"A purple cutaway is conspicuous enough,
without ignoring the tables. We'll get to Zorn in
due course."
"Your pleasure, gents," a bullet-headed man
said, eyeing the colorful evening clothes of the
diplomats. "You'll be wantin' to try your luck at
the Zoop tower, I'd guess. A game for real sporting
gents."
"Why . . . ah . . ." Magnan said.
"What's a Zoop tower?" Retief asked.
"Out-of-towners, hey?" The bullet-headed man
shifted his dope-stick to the other corner of his
mouth. "Zoop is a great little game. Two teams of
players buy into the pot; each player takes a lever;
the object is to make the ball drop from the top of
the tower into your net. Okay?"
"What's the ante?"
"I got a hundred-credit pot workin' now, gents."
Retief nodded. "We'll try it."
The shill led the way to an eight-foot tower
mounted on gimbals. Two perspiring men in
trade-class pullovers gripped two of the levers
that controlled the tilt of the tower. A white ball

PALACE REVOLUTION
127
lay in a hollow in the thick glass platform at the
top. From the center an intricate pattern of
grooves led out to the edge of the glass. Retief and
Magnan took chairs before the two free levers.
"When the light goes on, gents, work the lever
to jack the tower. You got three gears; takes a good
arm to work top gear. That's this buttoji here. The
little little knob controls what way you're goin'.
May the best team win. I'll take the hundred
credits now."
Retief handed over the money. A red light
flashed on, and Retief tried the lever. It moved
easily, with a ratcheting sound. The tower trem-
bled, slowly tilted toward the two perspiring
workmen pumping frantically at their levers.
Magnan started slowly, accelerating as he saw the
direction the tower was taking.
"Faster, Retief," he said. "They're winning."
"This is against the clock, gents," the bullet-
headed man said. "If nobody wins when the light
goes off, the house takes all."
"Crank it over to the left," Retief said.
"I'm getting tired."
"Shift to a lower gear."
The tower leaned. The ball stirred and rolled
into a concentric channel. Retief shifted to middle
gear and worked the lever. The tower, creaking to
a stop, started back upright.
"There isn't any lower gear," Magnan gasped.
One of the two on the other side of the tower
shifted to middle gear; the other followed suit.
They worked harder now, heaving against the
stiff levers. The tower quivered, then moved
slowly toward their side.

128
RETIEF UNBOUND
"I'm exhausted," Magnan gasped. Dropping
the lever, he lolled back in the chair, gulping air.
Retief, shifting position, took Magnan's lever with
his left hand.
"Shift it to middle gear," he said. Magnan
gulped, punched the button and slumped back,
panting.
"My arm," he said. "I've injured myself."
The two men in pullovers conferred hurriedly
as they cranked their levers; then one punched a
button, and the other reached across, using his left
arm to help.
"They've shifted to high," Magnan said. "Give
up, it's hopeless."
"Shift me to high. Both buttons."
Magnan complied. Retief's shoulders bulged.
He brought one lever down, then the other, alter-
nately, slowly at first, then faster. The tower
jerked, tilted toward him, farther. . . . The ball
rolled in the channel, found an outlet—
Abruptly, both Retief's levers froze. The tower
trembled, wavered, and moved back. Retief
heaved. One lever folded at the base, bent down,
and snapped off short. Retief braced his feet, grip-
ped the other lever with both hands and pulled.
There was a squeal of metal, a loud twang. The
lever came free, a length of broken cable flopping
into view. The tower fell over as the two on the
other side scrambled aside.
"Hey!" the croupier yelled, appearing from the
crowd. "You wrecked my equipment!"
Retief got up and faced him.
"Does Zorn know you've got your tower rigged
for suckers?"
"You tryin' to call me a cheat?"

PALACE REVOLUTION
129
The crowd had fallen back, ringing the two
men. The croupier glanced around. With a light-
ning motion he pulled out a knife.
"That'll be five hundred credits for the equip-
ment," he said. "Nobody calls Kippy a cheat."
Retief picked up the broken lever.
"Don't make me hit you with this, Kippy."
Kippy looked at the bar.
"Comin' in here," he said indignantly, looking
to the crowd for support, "bustin' up my rig,
threatenin' me . . ."
"I want a hundred credits," Retief said. "Now."
"Highway robbery!" Kippy yelled.
"Better pay up," somebody said.
"Hit him, mister," another in the crowd yelled.
A broad-shouldered man with greying hair
pushed through the crowd and looked around.
"You heard him, Kippy. Give."
The shill growled, tucked his knife away, reluc-
tantly peeled a bill from a fat roll and handed it
over.
The newcomer looked from Retief to Magnan.
"Pick another game, strangers," he said.
"Kippy made a little mistake."
"This is small-time stuff," Retief said. "I'm in-
terested in something big."
The broad-shouldered man lit a perfumed dope
stick, then sniffed at it.
"What would you call big?" he said softly.
"What's the biggest you've got?"
The man narrowed his eyes, smiling. "Maybe
you'd like to try Slam."
"Tell me about it."
"Over here." The crowd opened up and made a
path. Retief and Magnan followed across the room

130
RETIEF UNBOUND
to a brightly-lit glass-walled box. There was an
arm-sized opening at waist height, and inside was
a hand grip. A four-foot clear plastic globe a quar-
ter full of chips hung in the center. Apparatus was
mounted at the top of the box.
"Slam pays good odds," the man said. "You can
go as high as you like. Chips cost you a hundred
credits. You start it up by dropping a chip in here."
He indicated a slot.
"You take the hand grip. When you squeeze, it
unlocks and starts to turn. Takes a pretty good grip
to start the globe turning. You can see, it's full of
chips. There's a hole at the top. As long as you
hold the grip, the bowl turns. The harder you
squeeze, the faster it turns. Eventually it'll turn over
to where the hole is down, and chips fall out. If you
let up and the bowl stops, you're all through.
"Just to make it interesting, there's contact
plates spotted around the bowl; when one of 'em
lines up with a live contact, you get a little jolt—
guaranteed non-lethal. But if you let go, you lose.
All you've got to do is hold on long enough, and
you'll get the pay-off."
"How often does this random pattern put the
hole down?"
"Anywhere from three minutes to fifteen, with
the average grip. Oh, by the way, one more thing.
That lead block up there ..." The man motioned
with his head toward a one-foot cube suspended
by a thick cable. "It's rigged to drop every now and
then: averages five minutes. A warning light
flashes first. You can set the clock back on it by
dropping another chip—or you can let go the
grip. Or you can take a chance; sometime's the
light's a bluff."

PALACE REVOLUTION
131
Retief looked at the massive block of metal.
"That would mess up a man's dealing hand,
wouldn't it?"
"The last two jokers who were too cheap to feed
the machine had to have 'em off; their arm, I mean.
That lead's heavy stuff."
"I don't suppose your machine has a habit of
getting stuck, like Kippy's?"
The broad-shouldered man frowned.
"You're a stranger," he said. "You don't know
any better."
"It's a fair game, mister," someone called.
"Where do I buy the chips?"
The man smiled. "I'll fix you up. How many?"
"One."
"A big spender, eh?" The man snickered and
handed over a large plastic chip.
Retief stepped to the machine and dropped the
coin.
"If you want to change your mind," the man
said, "you can back out now. All it'll cost you is
the chip you dropped."
Retief, reaching through the hole, took the grip.
It was leather-padded, hand-filling. He squeezed
it. There was a click and bright lights sprang up.
The globe began to twirl lazily. The four-inch hole
at its top was plainly visible.
"If ever the hole gets in position, it will empty
very quickly," Magnan said.
Suddenly, a brilliant white light flooded the
glass cage. A sound went up from the spectators.
"Quick, drop a chip," someone yelled.
"You've only got ten seconds . . ."
"Let go!" Magnan pleaded.
Retief sat silent, holding the grip, frowning up

132
RETIEF UNBOUND
at the weight. The globe twirled faster now. Then
the bright white light winked off.
"A bluff!" Magnan gasped.
"That's risky, stranger," the grey-templed man
said.
The globe was turning rapidly now, oscillating
from side to side. The hole seemed to travel in a
wavering loop, dipping lower, swinging up high,
then down again.
"It has to move to the bottom soon," Magnan
said. "Slow it down, so it doesn't shoot past."
"The slower it goes, the longer it takes to get to
the bottom," someone said.
There was a crackle, and Retief stiffened. Mag-
nan heard a sharp intake of breath. The globe
slowed, and Retief shook his head, blinking.
The broad-shouldered man glanced at a meter.
"You took pretty near a full jolt, that time," he
said.
The hole in the globe was tracing an oblique
course now, swinging to the center, then below.
"A little longer," Magnan said.
"That's the best speed I ever seen on the Slam
ball," someone said. "How much longer can he
hold it?"
Magnan looked at Retief's knuckles. They
showed white against the grip. The globe tilted
farther, swung around, then down; two chips fell
out, clattered down a chute and into a box.
"We're ahead," Magnan said. "Let's quit."
Retief shook his head. The globe rotated,
dipped again; three chips fell.
"She's ready," someone called.
"It's bound to hit soon," another voice added

PALACE REVOLUTION
133
excitedly. "Come on, mister!"
"Slow down," Magnan said. "So it won't move
past too quickly."
"Speed it up, before that lead block gets you,"
someone called.
The hole swung high, over the top, then down
the side. Chips rained out, six, eight . . .
"Next pass," a voice called.
The white warning light flooded the cage. The
globe whirled; the hole slid over the top, down
down ... a chip fell, two more . . .
Retief half rose, clamped his jaw, and crushed
the grip. Sparks flew, and the globe slowed, chips
spewing. It stopped and swung back. Weighted by
the mass of chips at the bottom, it stopped again
with the hole centered. Chips cascaded down the
chute, filled the box and spilled on the floor. The
crowd yelled.
Retief released the grip and withdrew his arm at
the same instant that the lead block slammed
down.
"Good lord," Magnan said. "I felt that through
the floor."
Retief turned to the broad-shouldered man.
"This game's all right for beginners," he said.
"But I'd like to take a really big gamble. Why don't
we go to your office, Mr. Zorn?"
"Your proposition interests me," Zorn said, an
hour later. "But there's some angles to this I
haven't mentioned yet."
"You're a gambler, Zorn, not a suicide," Retief
said. "Take what I've offered. Your dream of revo-
lution was fancier, I agree, but it won't work."

134
RETIEF UNBOUND
"How do I know you birds aren't lying?" Zorn
snarled. He stood up and strode up and down the
room. "You walk in here and tell me I'll have a
squadron of Corps Peace Enforcers on my neck,
that the Corps won't recognize my regime. Maybe
you're right; but I've got other contacts. They say
different." Whirling, he stared at Retief.
"I have pretty good assurance that once I put it
over, the Corps will have to recognize me as the
legal de facto government of Petreac. They won't
meddle in internal affairs."
"Nonsense," Magnan spoke up, "the Corps will
never deal with a pack of criminals calling
themselves—"
"Watch your language, you!" Zorn rasped.
"I'll admit Mr. Magnan's point is a little weak,"
Retief said. "But you're overlooking something.
You plan to murder a dozen or so officers of the
Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne along with the
local wheels. The Corps won't overlook that. It
can't."
"Their tough luck they're in the middle," Zorn
muttered.
"Our offer is extremely generous, Mr. Zorn,"
Magnan said. "The post you'll get will pay you
very well indeed; as against certain failure of your
coup, the choice should be simple."
Zorn eyed Magnan. "I thought you diplomats
weren't the type to go around making deals under
the table. Offering me a job—it sounds phony as
hell."
"It's time you knew," Retief said. "There's no
phonier business in the galaxy than diplomacy."
"You'd better take it, Mr. Zorn," Magnan said.
"Don't push me," Zorn said. "You two walk into

PALACE REVOLUTION
135
my headquarters empty-handed and big-
mouthed. I don't know what I'm talking to you for.
The answer is no. N-i-x, no!"
"Who are you afraid of?" Retief said softly.
Zorn glared at him.
"Where do you get that 'afraid' routine? I'm top
man here. What have I got to be afraid of?"
"Don't kid around, Zorn. Somebody's got you
under his thumb. I can see you squirming from
here."
"What if I let your boys alone?" Zorn said sud-
denly. "The Corps won't have anything to say
then, huh?"
"The Corps has plans for Petreac, Zorn. You
aren't part of them. A revolution right now isn't
part of them. Having the Potentate and the whole
Nenni caste slaughtered isn't part of them. Do I
make myself clear?"
"Listen," Zorn said urgently, "I'll tell you guys
a few things. You ever heard of a world they call
Rotune?"
"Certainly," Magnan said. "It's a near neighbor
of yours, another backward—that is emergent."
"Okay," Zorn said. "You guys think I'm a piker,
do you? Well, let me wise you up. The Federal
Junta on Rotune is backing my play. I'll be recog-
nized by Rotune; and the Rotune fleet will stand
by in case I need any help. I'll present the CDT
with what you call a fait accompli."
"What does Rotune get out of this? I thought
they were your traditional enemies."
"Don't get me wrong. I've got no use for Rotune;
but our interests happen to coincide right now."
"Do they?" Retief smiled grimly. "You can spot
a sucker as soon as he comes through that door out

136
RETIEF UNBOUND
there—but you go for a deal like this."
"What do you mean?" Zorn looked angrily at
Retief. "It's fool-proof."
"After you get in power, you'll be fast friends
with Rotune, is that it?"
"Friends, hell. Just give me time to get set, and
I'll square a few things with that—"
"Exactly. And what do you suppose they have
in mind for you?"
"What are you getting at?"
"Why is Rotune interested in your take-over?"
Zorn studied Retief's face. "I'll tell you why," he
said. "It's you birds; you and your trade agree-
ment. You're here to tie Petreac into some kind of
trade combine. That cuts Rotune out. They don't
like that. And anyway, we're doing all right out
here; we don't need any commitments to a lot of
fancypants on the other side of the galaxy."
"That's what Rotune has sold you, eh?" Retief
said, smiling.
"Sold, nothing—" Zorn ground out his dope
stick, then lit another. He snorted angrily.
"Okay—what's your idea?"
"You know what Petreac is getting in the way of
imports as a result of the trade agreement?"
"Sure, a lot of junk. Clothes washer, tape pro-
jectors, all that kind of stuff."
"To be specific," Retief said, "there'll be 50,000
Tat one B-3 dry washers; 100,000 Glo-float motile
lamps; 100,000 Earthworm Minor garden cul-
tivators; 25,000 Veco space heaters; and 75,000
replacement elements for Ford Monomeg drives."
"Like I said: a lot of junk," Zorn said.
Retief leaned back, looking sardonically at
Zorn. "Here's the gimmick, Zorn," he said. "The

PALACE REVOLUTION
137
Corps is getting a little tired of Petreac and Rotune
carrying on their two-penny war out here. Your
privateers have a nasty habit of picking on inno-
cent bystanders. After studying both sides, the
Corps has decided Petreac would be a little easier
to do business with; so this trade agreement was
worked out. The Corps can't openly sponsor an
arms shipment to a belligerent; but personal
appliances are another story."
"So what do we do—plow 'em under with
back-yard cultivators?" Zorn looked at Retief,
puzzled. "What's the point?"
"You take the sealed monitor unit from the
washer, the repeller field generator from the lamp,
the converter control from the cultivator, et cet-
era, et cetera. You fit these together according to
some very simple instructions; presto! you have
one hundred thousand Standard-class Y hand
blasters; just the thing to turn the tide in a stale-
mated war fought with obsolete arms."
"Good Lord," Magnan said. "Retief, are you—"
"I have to tell him. He has to know what he's
putting his neck into."
"Weapons, hey?" Zorn said. "And Rotune
knows about it . . . ?"
"Sure they know about it; it's not too hard to
figure out. And there's more. They want the CDT
delegation included in the massacre for a reason;
it will put Petreac out of the picture; the trade
agreement will go to Rotune; and you and your
new regime will find yourselves looking down the
muzzles of your own blasters."
Zorn threw his dope-stick to the floor with a
snarl.
"I should have smelled something when that

138
RETIEF UNBOUND
Rotune agent made his pitch." Zorn looked at the
clock on the wall.
"I've got two hundred armed men in the palace.
We've got about forty minutes to get over there
before the rocket goes up."
In the shadows of the palace terrace, Zorn
turned to Retief. "You'd better stay here out of the
way until I've spread the word. Just in case."
"Let me caution you against any . . . ah . . .
slip-ups, Mr. Zorn," Magnan said. "The Nenni are
not to be molested."
Zorn looked at Retief. "Your friend talks too
much. I'll keep my end of it; he'd better keep his."
"Nothing's happened yet, you're sure?" Mag-
nan said.
"I'm sure," Zorn said. "Ten minutes to go;
plenty of time."
"I'll just step into the salon to assure myself that
all is well," Magnan said.
"Suit yourself. Just stay clear of the kitchen, or
you'll get your throat cut." Zorn sniffed at his
dope-stick. "I sent the word for Shoke," he mut-
tered. "Wonder what's keeping him?"
Magnan stepped to a tall glass door, eased it
open, and poked his head through the heavy
draperies. As he moved to draw back, a voice was
faintly audible. Magnan paused, his head still
through the drapes.
"What's going on there?" Zorn rasped. He and
Retief stepped up behind Magnan.
". . . breath of air," Magnan was saying.
"Well, come along, Magnan!" Ambassador
Crodfoller's voice snapped.
Magnan shifted from one foot to the other, then

PALACE REVOLUTION
139
pushed through the drapes.
"Where've you been, Mr. Magnan?" The am-
bassador's voice was sharp.
"Oh ... ah ... a slight accident, Mr. Ambas-
sador."
"What's happened to your shoes? Where are
your insignia and decorations?"
"I—ah—spilled a drink on them. Maybe I'd
better nip up to my room and slip into some fresh
medals."
The ambassador snorted. "A professional dip-
lomat never shows his liquor, Magnan. It's one of
his primary professional skills. I'll speak to you
about this later. I had expected your attendance at
the signing ceremony, but under the circum-
stances I'll dispense with that. You'd better depart
quietly through the kitchen."
"The kitchen? But it's crowded ... I mean .. ."
"A little loss of caste won't hurt at this point,
Mr. Magnan. Now kindly move along before you
attract attention. The agreement isn't signed yet."
"The agreement..." Magnan babbled, sparring
for time, "very clever, Mr. Ambassador. A very
neat solution,"
The sound of an orchestra came up suddenly,
blaring a fanfare.
Zorn shifted restlessly, his ear against the glass.
"What's your friend pulling?" he rasped. "I don't
like this."
"Keep cool, Zorn. Mr. Magnan is doing a little
emergency salvage on his career."
The music died away with a clatter.
"... my God." Ambassador Crodfoller's voice
was faint. "Magnan, you'll be knighted for this.
Thank God you reached me. Thank God it's not too

140
RETIEF UNBOUND
late. I'll find some excuse. I'll get off a gram at
once."
"But you—"
"It's all right, Magnan. You were in time.
Another ten minutes and the agreement would
have been signed and transmitted. The wheels
would have been put in motion. My career would
have been ruined. ..."
Retief felt a prod at his back. He turned.
"Double-crossed," Zorn said softly. "So much
for the word of a diplomat."
Retief looked at the short-barreled needier in
Zorn's hand.
"I see you hedge your bets, Zorn."
"We'll wait here until the excitement's over in-
side. I wouldn't want to attract any attention right
now."
"Your politics are still lousy, Zorn. The picture
hasn't changed. Your coup hasn't got a chance."
"Skip it. I'll take up one problem at a time."
"Magnan's mouth has a habit of falling open at
the wrong time."
"That's my good luck I heard it. So there'll be no
agreement, no guns, no fat job for Tammany Zorn,
hey? Well, I can still play it the other way. What
have I got to lose?"
With a movement too quick to follow, Retief's
hand chopped down across Zorn's wrist. The need-
ier clattered to the ground as Retief's hand
clamped on Zorn's arm, whirling him around.
"In answer to your last question," Retief said,
"your neck."
"You haven't got a chance, double-crosser,"
Zorn gasped.

PALACE REVOLUTION
141
"Shoke will be here in a minute. Tell him it's all
off."
"Twist harder, mister. Break it off at the shoul-
der. I'm telling him nothing."
"The kidding's over, Zorn. Call it off or I'll kill
you."
"I believe you. But you won't have long to re-
member it."
"All the killing will be for nothing. You'll be
dead and the Rotunes will step into the power
vaccum."
"So what? When I die, the world ends."
"Suppose I make you another offer, Zorn?"
"Why would it be any better than the last one?"
Retief released Zorn's arm, pushed him away,
stooped and picked up the needier.
"I could kill you, Zorn; you know that."
"Go ahead."
Retief reversed the needier and held it out.
"I'm a gambler too, Zorn. I'm gambling you'll
listen to what I have to say."
Zorn snatched the gun and stepped back. He
looked at Retief. "That wasn't the smartest bet you
ever made, but go ahead. You've got maybe ten
seconds."
"Nobody double-crossed you, Zorn. Magnan
put his foot in it; too bad. Is that a reason to kill
yourself and a lot of other people who've bet their
lives on you?"
"They gambled and lost. Tough."
"Maybe they haven't lost yet—if you don't
quit."
"Get to the point."
Retief spoke earnestly for a minute and a half.
Zorn stood, gun aimed, listening. Then both men

142
RETIEF UNBOUND
turned as footsteps approached along the terrace.
A fat man in a yellow sarong padded up to Zorn.
Zorn tucked the needier in his waistband.
"Hold everything, Shoke," he said. "Tell the
boys to put the knives away; spread the word fast:
it's all off."
"I want to commend you, Retief," Ambassador
Crodfoller said expansively. "You mixed very
well at last night's affair; actually, I was hardly
aware of your presence."
"I've been studying Mr. Magnan's work," Retief
said.
"A good man, Magnan. In a crowd, he's virtu-
ally invisible."
"He knows when to disappear, all right."
"This has been in many ways a model opera-
tion, Retief." The ambassador patted his paunch
contentedly. "By observing local social customs
and blending harmoniously with the court, I've
succeeded in establishing a fine, friendly, work-
ing relationship with the Potentate."
"I understand the agreement has been post-
poned a few days."
The Ambassador chuckled. "The Potentate's a
crafty one. Through ... ah ... a special study I
have been conducting, I learned last night that he
had hoped to, shall I say, 'put one over' on the
Corps."
"Great Heavens," Retief said.
"Naturally, this placed me in a difficult posi-
tion. It was my task to quash this gambit, without
giving any indication that I was aware of its exist-
ence."
"A hairy position indeed."

PALACE REVOLUTION
143
"Quite casually, I informed the Potentate that
certain items which had been included in the
terms of the agreement had been deleted and
others substituted. I admired him at that moment,
Retief. He took it coolly—appearing completely
indifferent—perfectly dissembling his very seri-
ous disappointment. Of course, he could hardly
do otherwise without in effect admitting his
plot."
"I noticed him dancing with three girls each
wearing a bunch of grapes; he's very agile for a
man of his bulk."
"You mustn't discount the Potentate. Re-
member, beneath that mask of frivolity, he had
absorbed a bitter blow."
"He had me fooled." Retief said.
"Don't feel badly; I confess at first I, too, failed to
sense his shrewdness." The ambassador nodded
and moved off along the corridor.
Retief turned and went into an office. Magnan
looked up from his desk.
"Ah, Retief," he said. "I've been meaning to ask
you. About the . . . ah . . . blasters; are you—"
Retief leaned on Magnan's desk and looked at
him. "I thought that was to be our little secret."
"Well, naturally I—" Magnan closed his mouth
and swallowed. "How is it, Retief," he said
sharply, "that you were aware of this blaster busi-
ness, when the ambassador himself wasn't?"
"Easy," Retief said. "I made it up."
"You what!" Magnan looked wild. "But the
agreement—it's been revised. Ambassador Crod-
foller has gone on record."
"Too bad. Glad I didn't tell him about it."
Magnan leaned back and closed his eyes.

144
RETIEF UNBOUND
"It was big of you to take all the . . . blame,"
Retief said, "when the ambassador was talking
about knighting people."
Magnan opened his eyes. "What about that
gambler, Zorn? Won't he be upset when he learns
the agreement is off? After all, I.. . that is, we, or
you, had more or less promised him—"
"It's all right. I made another arrangement. The
business about making blasters out of common
components wasn't completely imaginary. You
can actually do it, using parts from an old-
fashioned disposal unit."
"What good will that do him?" Magnan whis-
pered, looking nervous. "We're not shipping in
any old-fashioned disposal units."
"We don't need to. They're already installed in
the palace kitchen—and in a few thousand other
places, Zorn tells me."
"If this ever leaks ..." Magnan put a hand to his
forehead.
"I have his word on it that the Nenni slaughter
is out. This place is ripe for a change; maybe Zorn
is what it needs."
"But how can we know?" Magnan said. "How
can we be sure?"
"We can't. But it's not up to the Corps to meddle
in Petreac's internal affairs." He leaned over,
picked up Magnan's desk lighter, and lit a cigar.
He blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.
"Right?" he said.
Magnan looked at him and nodded weakly.
"Right."
"I'd better be getting along to my desk," Retief
said. "Now that the ambassador feels that I'm
settling down at last."

PALACE REVOLUTION
145
"Retief," Magnan said, "tonight, I implore you:
stay out of the kitchen—no matter what."
Retief raised his eyebrows.
"I know," Magnan said. "If you hadn't inter-
fered, we'd all have had our throats cut. But at
least. . ." He paused—"we'd have died in accord-
ance with regulations."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
"Monsters?" said First Secretary Magnan of the
Terrestrial delegation to the planetary Peace Con-
ference at Lumbaga. "Where?" He gazed search-
ingly around the crowded bazaar, thronged with
gaily garbed pedestrians. A nine-foot, orange-
skinned local jostled past humming a tune
through a nose set in the middle of his forehead; a
three-legged native with pink and purple spots
haggled vigorously with a stallkeeper distin-
guished by a red- and green-striped epidermis,
seven eyes arranged in random fashion on a
lumpy head further adorned with a handsome
spread of mismatched antlers.
"I see no monsters," Magnan said stuffily.
"Only ordinary Lumbagans. I fear you've been
listening to rumors, my dear colonel."
"I'm not talking about these fellows," the mili-
tary attache' muttered, "I'm referring to the recur-
ring reports of meat-eating magicians, carnivor-
ous cadavers, and ferocious freaks swarming from
the swamps."
"Nonsense." Magnan dismissed the thought,
pausing to admire a merchant's display of chest
wigs, plastic trideos tuned loudly to competing
channels, prosthetic tentacles (the all-purpose
appendage, suitable for sports or formal wear),
native mudwork, and murky carboys of mum-
mified glimp eggs for the luxury trade. "I concede
that only six years ago the locals were little better
than Neolithic savages; but today, thanks to the

148
RETIEF UNBOUND
enlightened policies of the Corps diplomatique
terrestrienne, they're already well into their
Medieval period."
"An acute observation," Second Secretary Re-
tief acknowledged. "Too bad it's so hard to distin-
guish between Neolithic savagery and the
Medieval variety."
"The problem," Colonel Warbutton said, "is
that no two of these ruddy natives look alike!
Everyone on the planet's a member of a minority of
one—and none of the minorities can stand the
sight of another!"
"Pish-tush, Colonel," Magnan chided. "I con-
fess that what with the multiplicity of native ra-
cial strains the problem of prejudice does pose
something of a riddle for our Togetherness Teams,
but I'm sure we'll soon turn up a solution satisfac-
tory to Sector HQ."
"I'm hardly the chap to spook easily," Colonel
Warbutton persisted. "A few riots in front of the
embassy are nothing to get excited about, and the
mud-and-ragweeding of the odd diplomat is par
for the course. But when they run ads in the daily
paper offering bounties for alien heads in good
condition, it's time to start barricading the chan-
cery."
"Mere campaign rhetoric," Magnan dismissed
the objection. "After all, when a people as diverse
as the Lumbagans—with their hallowed tra-
ditions of mutual genocide—set out to choose a
ruler acceptable to all, there's bound to be a mod-
icum of unrest among dissident elements."
"Especially when the dissident elements out-
number the population," Retief agreed. "I have a
feeling that Ambassador Pouncetrifle's decision to

RETIEF'S RANSOM
149
sponsor a planetary government was a trifle over-
zealous."
"A gross understatement," Colonel Warbutton
grunted. "Inasmuch as no two Lumbagans can
agree on so much as the correct time, I suspect
they'll have some difficulty in agreeing on who's
going to tell them what to do."
"Your remarks reflect scant confidence in the
process of democracy, as implemented by Corps
peace enforcers," Magnan said rather sharply.
"You'd do well to recall that firepower outweighs
flowerpower, and a vote in the hand is worth two
in the offing."
"But what more can we do?" the colonel in-
quired plaintively. "We've already fired our big
guns, pacificationwise: saturation leaflet bomb-
ing, nonstop armistice propoals, uni-, bi-, and
multilateral cease-fires, interlocking de-
militarized zones—the works. And they go right
on headhunting—to say nothing of leg-, arm-, and
haunchhunting!" Warbutton's remark was inter-
rupted by the impact of a clay pot against the wall
three feet from his head, accompanied by a sharp
rise in the decibel output of the crowd.
"Maybe we'd better start back," Retief said,
"unless we want to get a closer view of the Satur-
day riot than usual."
"Ridiculous, Retief," the first secretary said a
trifle uneasily. "Merely a display of high spirits.
My analysis of the trends, local unrestwise, indi-
cates today will be utterly peaceful."
Retief glanced across the cobbles toward the
low, irregular buildings at the far side of the plaza,
between which greenish sunlight glinted on a
stretch of open sea dotted with sails, and gleamed

150
RETIEF UNBOUND
chartreuse and orange on the adjacent island of
the equatorial archipelago which constituted the
sole land masses of the world.
"You may be right," he said, "but there seem to
be a remarkable number of spears, spikes, pitch-
forks, swords, and carving knives in evidence."
"Purely decorative, Retief. In spite of splendid
progress toward civilization, the locals seem to
feel more comfy with a symbolic weapon in
hand."
"No doubt—but there's a note in the crowd
noises that reminds me of a beehive just after it's
been poked with a stick."
"They're merely taking a childlike pleasure
in their bargaining, Retief. Heavens, I've heard
shriller haggling in Macy's." Magnan glanced up
severely at his junior. "It's hardly like you to dis-
play such timidity, Retief. I suggest you buck up
now; I don't intend to return until I've secured the
beaded tea cozy I promised Aunt Ninny—"
"Duck!" Retief snapped, and swept Magnan
aside as a broad-headed assegai clanged against
the rough-hewn stone wall behind them. He
caught it on the rebound, grabbed Magnan's arm
and thrust him into a doorway as, with a mass
screech, the mob surging through the narrow way
erupted into violence. Robed locals of wildly
varied skin coloration and wart distribution
brandished suddenly produced weapons in
hands numbering from one to six, and charged
each other with bloodcurdling yells. Glass shat-
tered nearby; smoke boiled from an overturned
toasted-nidnut cart. A tall, blue-faced Lumbagan
with four staring eyes, three pendulous ears, and a
mouth capable of encompassing a tripleburger in

RETIEF'S RANSOM
151
one gulp rushed toward the Terrans, swinging up
a five-foot steelwood cutlass edged with broken
glass. Retief dropped the spearpoint to chest level
and grounded the butt against the plank door
behind him. The alien braked, too late; the
spearhead took him square in the midriff. Magnan
made a squeaking noise as the victim dropped his
sword and grasped the shaft of the spear with
three of four hands, and with a powerful surge,
withdrew it.
"Hey, you loused up a perfectly good
duodenum that time or I miss my guess, Terry,"
the warty local said in a rather barbaric dialect of
the local tongue, fingering the bloodless entry.
"What's the idea? The word was, you Terries don't
fight back."
"Sorry, fellow," Retief said, "Sometimes the
word gets distorted in transmission. How about
passing the new version along to your compat-
riots; it may save wear and tear all around."
"Yeah, 1*11 do that." The alien turned and was
swept away by the crowd.
"I can't think what went wrong with my
analysis," Magnan wailed as a brass-tipped arrow
chipped the lintel above him. "I must have mis-
judged the intensity of the xenophobic
coefficient—or possibly read the seasonal hostil-
ity index from the wrong column!"
"Get the door open!" Warbutton yelled behind
Retief as he parried a thrust by a passerby pausing
to take a slash at the target of opportunity.
"But that would be illegal entry!"
"Getting killed in public without a death per-
mit is a felony punishable by decapitation plus a
year in the local Bastille, according to the local

152
RETIEF UNBOUND
penal code," Retief pointed out. "Take your
choice."
There were rattling sounds behind Retief, fol-
lowed by the creak of rusty hinges. At that mo-
ment, a large Lumbagan burst from the crowd,
whipped a rusty but effective-looking power gun
from under his doublet, took aim at Retief's
head—
A small local sprang at the gunner, entangling
the latter's legs in several of his own, and with a
hearty shove sent him sprawling while the shot
burned harmlessly across the pavement. With a
yell of fury, the fallen assassin leaped up. Retief
felt the draft on his back from the open door be-
hind him.
"This way," he called in the local patois; the
diminutive Lumbagan dived past him through
the opening; Retief jumped through behind him,
slammed the heavy panel. Missiles clattered
against it as he shot the massive bolt. Angry fists
hammered, angry voices screeched threats. Mag-
nan uttered a yelp as he noted the presence of the
alien.
"Help! One of them got in!"
"He's with us," Retief said. "Thanks for the
assist, Mr. . . . ?"
"Ignarp's the handle. Glad to oblige, Terry.
Some of the boys got no use for Terries, but what
do those slobs know? A bunch of Blue-spots and
Four-eyes and Shaggy-feet and War-heads—"
"Corps policy frowns on the use of racial
epithets, Mr. Ignarp," Magnan remonstrated.
"Besides which," he added surveying the Lum-
bagan, "unless I'm very much mistaken you seem
to have a number of warts of your own."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
153
"Oh, yeah; I forgot. I just picked those up on sale
last week."
"It must be confusing," Magnan said sympa-
thetically. "With so many minorities to choose
from, I suppose one hardly knows whom to dis-
criminate against."
"Yeah—you Terries have got the best system;
just check a couple minor details like how many
eyes or what color spots a guy's got, and you know
who your friends are. A lot easier than trying to
pick 'em one at a time."
"What made you pick us?" Retief asked.
"I got a soft spot in my head for foreigners," the
local said. "Come on, I'll show you the way out of
here." He waved them toward the dark, stone-
floored passage leading back into the gloomy re-
cesses of the monolithic structure.
"Well, how lucky you happened along, Mr. Ig-
narp," Colonel Warbutton said, falling in behind
their guide. "By the way, where are we going?"
"You Terries are housed right in the Castle
complex, along with the other foreigners, right?
You're practically there now."
"Heavens, I hope we're not late for the Joint
Staff meeting." Magnan said, glancing at his
thumb watch. "Who'd have thought when we set
out for a short constitutional we'd end threading a
maze with a pack of rabid racists at our figurative
heels?"
"Think of the impact on the ambassador when
you give your eye-witness report," Retief encour-
aged his superior.
"That's a thought," Magnan agreed. "Ah—just
what was it I eye-witnessed?"
"The initiation of the Spring Hostility Rites,"

154
RETIEF UNBOUND
the local called over his shoulder. "The boys cer-
tainly started things off with a bang."
"The spring rites?" Warbutton queried. "I was
under the impression the Winter Mayhem Festi-
val was still on."
"So it is; along with the Ritual of Revolution,
the Symbolic Sacrament of Savagery, and o'
course the Perennial Violence Cycle. With a
crowded schedule, we get a certain amount of
overlap."
"Why—the situation is deteriorating into total
anarchy!" Magnan gasped.
"Not so, Terry," their guide demurred. "We got
rules. Like we always give warning before we
change sides."
"What sort of warning?" Magnan queried.
"Well, a kick in the right spot usually gets the
message across," the Lumbagan confided. "But
we're not particular. A sharp blow on the head
will do in a pinch."
"Or a spear between the ankles?" Retief
suggested.
"I hope Gumrong sees it that way. He's not a bad
fellow; in fact he was my sidekick and loyal
comrade-in-arms. But he holds a slot as my mortal
hereditary enemy for the rites—so naturally when
he jumped you Terries, I stepped in. Lucky you got
that door open, or my component parts would be
strewn all over the jungle by now, rooting for
acorns."
"Which side are they on?" Warbutton inquired
dazedly.
"Luckily, Lumbagan vegetable life is neutral,"
Retief said. "Otherwise the prospects for planetary
pacification would be even dimmer than they are."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
155
"They couldn't be," Magnan groaned. "How in
the world are we going to bring racial tolerance to
a world whose only recreation is mutual mass
murder?"
"If you come up with the answer to that one, Mr.
Magnan, I predict a sharp upward turn in your
career prospects."
"Watch your step, gents," the Lumbagan said,
indicating a narrow stone stair leading down into
pitch darkness. "Just a little farther and there we
are."
As Magnan hesitated, Retief stepped past him.
"You must be a little confused, Ignarp," he said.
"Mr. Magnan doesn't have time right now to
explore any abandoned mine shafts."
"Who's leading this parade, you or me, Terry?"
the Lumbagan said truculently. "I'm the guy that
just saved your necks, remember?"
"Just between us," Retief said, "Why did you
decoy us here?"
Magnan gasped.
"Wh—where'd you get an idea like that?" The
Lumbagan edged sideways, but was restrained by
Retief's quick grab.
"Hey—leggo my neck," he yelped. "I already
told you—"
"Uh-huh. But I happen to know spring rites
don't start for another two days. Somebody went
to a lot of trouble to set up the whole charade,
including the conveniently unlocked door. Why,
Ignarp?"
"No fair, Retief," the local grunted. "I heard you
Terries didn't know a mob killing from a quiet
little domestic knifing—"
"Some of these impressions die hard." Retief

156
RETIEF UNBOUND
gave the local's collar another half-twist. "Come
on, give, Ignarp."
"Retief," Magnan demurred, "are you sure?
After all, if anyone had wanted to do us an injury
they could have done it as well in the street. ..."
"Wrong," the Lumbagan contradicted. "This
was a hush-hush deal. And besides, the orders
were to bring you in whole."
"You admit your duplicity?" Warbutton barked.
"With your chum's knuckles digging into my
medulla oblongata, I got no choice," Ignarp said
aggrievedly.
"Whose orders?"
"The ones that hired me," Ignarp muttered.
"They wanted a Terry in good condition, that's all
I can tell you. I'm just a legman—"
"Hold it," Retief said. From the dark stairwell
came faint sounds as of stealthy feet approaching.
"We'll have to defer our talk until later, Ignarp,"
Retief said. "Lead the way out of here—and this
time get it right."
"I might as well; if the boys see me with your
thumb under my ear, my rep as a slick conniver is
shot anyway. Come on. . . ." He led the Terrans
back along the passage, took a branching
corridor—hardly more than a damp-walled tun-
nel cut through the massive masonry pile—and in
five minutes halted at the foot of a narrow stone
stair leading upward.
"It comes out in the embassy commissary," he
said glumly. "Just don't let on I told you about the
gap in your security. There's a couple dozen
families living high on imported caviar and pate
who'd hate to go back to pulverized nidnuts and
dehydrated frinkfruit."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
157
"Stealing from embassy stores?" Magnan
gasped.
"Relax," the local advised. "It's costing you a
lot less than if we applied for disaster-area status
and welfare handouts. As we see it a self-
respecting life-form ought to make its own way."
"What shall we do with the beggar?" Warbutton
said. "No good turning him over to the local con-
stabulary. Pity we can't do him in out of hand, but
that sort of thing doesn't look at all good when the
yellow press gets hold of it."
"Lemme go now, pal," Ignarp said. "I admit it
was a lousy idea. And to clinch the deal, I'll throw
in a tip for free: Look out when Summer Slaughter
time comes rolling around. I'm assigned to a
Terry-Go-Home team, and those babies play
rough."
"Come along, Retief," Magnan said, starting up
the stairs. "There's no point in escaping death at
the hands of a mob only to face an irate Chief of
Mission."
Retief released his grip on the Lumbagan.
"We'll call it even for now, Ignarp. Go back and
tell your employers that we Terries like a chance
to RSVP our invitations."
"You foreigners are full of surprises," the local
muttered, and darted away.
"Here, Retief," Warbutton remonstrated, "we
should have held the blighter up by the heels until
he'd divulged all the details of the conspiracy."
"I have a feeling he'll talk more freely on his
home ground," Retief said, and glanced at the
finger-marked card he had lifted from the Lumba-
gan's coat pocket. "The Stake and Kidney Tavern,
number twelve Dacoit Street," he read.

158
RETIEF UNBOUND
"I know the spot," Warbutton said. "An unsav-
ory dive across from the scalpfields where the hair
is short."
"It's a date," Retief said.
2
Magnan and Retief were among the last to take
seats at the long table in the conference room,
netting a baleful glance from the protuberant eye
of Ambassador Pouncetrifle, seated at the head of
the table beside Jith, his diminutive Groacian op-
posite number and Joint Chairman of the Lumba-
gan Peace Commission.
"Now, if we're quite ready," his Excellency
began in an ominous tone, "I—"
"A moment, if you please, Harvey," Jith spoke
up in his breathy whisper. "It happens to be my
turn to chair the meeting, so if you don't mind—"
"What's this, one of your little jokes?" Pounce-
trifle barked. "Most amusing, Mr. Ambassador.
Now, as I was saying—"
"Just hand me the gavel, there's a good chap,
and we'll get on with the meeting." Jith plucked
the microphone from before the Terran dignitary.
"Fellow beings—" he started.
"Look here, Jith," the Terran said sharply, "you
know perfectly well you took precedence in the
elevator this morning—and at breakfast, I dis-
tinctly noted the bearer handing you your menu

RETIEF'S RANSOM
159
before so much as whisking the crumbs off my
chair—"
"Doesn't count," Jith cut in tersely, and keyed
the microphone. "This afternoon, I should like to
review our progress in bringing racial equality to
Lumbaga." His amplified voice crackled through
the room.
"—to say nothing of your subtle maneuver in
bribing the chief of the motor pool to repaint your
parking space upwind of mine!" Pouncetrifle's
remonstrance rose above the PA system.
"And in bringing the blessings of noncom-
batant status to the unhappy natives of this be-
nighted world," Jith continued, "no offense to our
native guests intended, of course." The Groaci
inclined three of his five eyestalks in a per-
functory salute to the latter—a pair of observers
squatting silently on a bench by the far wall, both
bulky, multilimbed, and heavily swathed in
beaded robes. They returned the gesture with
stony expressions.
"Now, the past six years during which the In-
terplanetary Peace Tribunal has exercised its good
offices in the search for an avenue of racial rap-
prochement have not been unmarked by prog-
ress," Pouncetrifle stated, leaning across to ad-
dress the microphone. "To date, we've completed
forty-two VIP villas for Class One personnel and
above, a hundred-table billiardium, and a forty-
bed fun house—"
"Frivolities aside," Jith breathed, recomman-
deering the mike, "I direct your attention to the
recent consecration of a hundred-stall cybernetic
confessional, featuring coin-operated holy sand
dispensers, a scourgomat capable of processing

160
RETIEF UNBOUND
one gross of penitents per hour, and a most in-
genious mechanized collection plate, employing
1000-Gauss magnets—"
"On the substantive side," Pouncetrifle's voice
boomed out amid a vicious feedback howl as he
ripped the mike from his rival's grasp, "pacifi-
cation efforts proceed apace. In reply to certain
critics I can report that close statistical analyses
by departmental teams skilled in the detection of
obscure phenomena report that the percentage of
casualties among unemployed frume-leaf gather-
ers between the ages of eighteen and forty-nine
during the daylight hours in alternate months are
down a big, big .0046 percent over a similar
period last year."
Jith ducked under Pouncetrifle's arm to clutch
the microphone.
"While it's quite true that the basis of the racial
conflicts here on Lumbaga have not yet been iso-
lated," he stated breathily, "nor have the precise
ideological battle lines been delimited, nor the
values involved definitely identified, some prog-
ress has been made in the study of native bead-
work, a circumstance which lends substance to
the hope that in the near future—say the next
half-dozen years—we may meet with limited suc-
cess in determining who is fighting whom—or
should I say whom is fighting who—if not why."
"Come to the point," the assistant military at-
tache' muttered. "What it boils down to is that
with all these rival cliques, factions, races, mobs,
unions, congregations, bands, platoons, crews,
and clans constantly involved in squabbles, bick-
erings, pitched battles, bombings, disagreements,
feuds, wrangles, wars, altercations, misun-

RETIEF'S RANSOM
161
derstandings, ruptures, brawls, rows, sit-ins,
shoot-ins, and assorted Donnybrooks, with the
participants changing sides at irregular intervals
according to no known scheme, our chances of
unifying the planet under a single flag are on a par
with the likelihood of my making Light Colonel
by Voom Festival."
"Alas, I fear we're actually losing ground," the
Groaci functionary seated beside him whispered
in tones of deepest pessimism. "Not content with
strewing each other's members in the public
ways, the aborigines now widen the scope of their
hostilities to include us selfless diplomats. Only
yesterday I was savaged by a seeing-eye leg—"
"Heavens, what about me?" Magnan cut in.
"Only minutes ago I was forced to deal sharply
with a chap intent on an audacious diplomat-
napping."
"You didn't lend substance to any potential
charges of Terran intellectual brutality, I trust,
Magnan?" a sharp-eyed cultural attache' said.
"Naturally not," Warbutton spoke up. "I was
present, luckily, and smoothed the incident
over."
"Pah!" the Groaci whispered. "There are plots
afoot here, I feel it in my cartilaginous members!"
"Poppycock," Warbutton snorted. "The natives
may appear to detest our internal integuments,
but down deep they like us."
"About six feet down, preferably," someone
muttered.
"Now, before we can set about establishing
one-world rule on Lumbaga," Pouncetrifle cut
through the chatter, the smooth flow of his diction
somewhat marred by the silent scuffle in which he

162
RETIEF UNBOUND
was engaged for possession of the floor, "it's clear
that until we devise some means of dis-
criminating—pray pardon the expression—
between the wildlife and the population, certain
problems will inevitably crop up in categoriza-
tion of life forms as to vermin, livestock, and con-
stituents. I now call on Mr. Lunchbun, our
xenoecologist, for a brief report on the com-
plexities of Lumbagan biology." The ambassador
favored his Grocian colleague with a frosty smile
and subsided. From his place near the foot of the
table, a sad-faced chap with thinning hair rose,
rattled papers, and cleared his throat.
"As his Excellency so discerningly pointed
out," he began in a nasal drone, "the ecological
situation here on Lumbaga is hardly susceptible
to analysis by conventional means. To begin with,
we've so far identified over two hundred
thousand distinct phyla of basic wild life running
loose on the islands, a circumstance which has
sent our ecological computer into catatonic
withdrawal—"
"Yes, yes, Mr. Lunchbun," Jith prompted impa-
tiently. "If you have nothing further to report—"
". . . we deduce from paleontological evi-
dence," Lunchbun bored on, "that life has spon-
taneously arisen from the primordial Lumbagan
mud on at least a hundred thousand separate
occasions—"
"Fascinating, no doubt," Jith said sibilantly.
"Now to other matters, such as provisions for a
rest and recreational camp for Groaci ladies and
their lovable grubs—"
"While all of the surviving life forms are mutu-
ally infertile," Lunchbun droned on, "—in fact,

RETIEF'S RANSOM
163
reproduction in the conventional sense is not
practiced by Lumbagan life—it seems that sym-
biotic relationships provide the necessary prolif-
eration of ecological niche-holders necessary for
the full exploitation of the environment—"
"Yes, yes, quite so," Jith piped faintly. "Now as
for my proposal for a gift to the Lumbagan masses
of a Bolshoi-type ballet theatre—"
"Now, as for the VH—vital hierarchy, a term
referring to the ascending order of complexity of
competing and cooperating species—it appears
we're faced here with a regular gradation from the
mindless free-living gall bladder and/or medulla
oblongata through the pneumopteryx, or flying
lung, the night-blooming liver, or Hepaticus
noctens—"
"Kindly speak either Terran or Groaci," a repre-
sentative of the latter species whispered irritably,
"as a courtesy to those of us who are not spec-
ialists in arcane linguistic lore."
"—to the subcultural forms such as the Gliding
Leg, Pedis volens, and the Bounding Rib Cage, Os
leapifrons—"
"Splendid," Pouncetrifle said heartily, "I'm
sure we all enjoyed Mr. Lunchbun's most lucid
rundown on the subject on which he has just
presented his briefing. Now, the next item on the
agenda—"
"To continue," Lunchbun cut through the ris-
ing conversation level, "I've recently achieved a
breakthrough, classificationwise." He turned to
pull down a wall chart. "The basic building
blocks of Lumbagan life, which I've designated
here with Chinese ideographs for convenience,
are capable of a large but finite number of cross-

164
RETIEF UNBOUND
combinations, indicated by Egyptian hiero-
glyphics, which compounded forms in turn are
capable of further linkages to create still more
complex entities, shown on the accompanying
schematic by Greek letters, Norse runes, and the
letters A thru Q inclusive. The chart represents
schematically the theoretical relationships of
biological subgroups and groups within the
hyper- or super-groups, in light of the presumed
intergroup taboo structure, the affinity-schemes
implicit in observed pro- and counter-indications
social-mobilitywise, and the mutual interdepen-
dency pattern as deduced from a careful sifting of
rumors from the interior. Naturally, it's only ap-
proximate."
"Yes, yes, we all know the woods are full of
tongues, elbows and less mentionable members,"
Pouncetrifle prompted the speaker. "Get to the
point, man!"
"Well, I'm skipping over the most fascinating
part—but as it happens, Mr. Ambassador, I have a
few slides for you this afternoon," Lunchbun said
hastily. "Freddy . . . ?" He signaled to a local
employee hidden in the wings; the lights dimmed
and a pair of vivid trideo images flickered into
existence above the ornamental fungus cen-
terpiece adorning the long board. One of the be-
ings represented was a seven-foot creature with
an oversized head crowded with sensory appen-
dages in no particular arrangement, surmounting
a cluster of arms of varying lengths, which sprang
directly from a flattened pelvic girdle to which
were attached three long, skinny legs, each end-
ing in a pair of multitoed feet, the whole encased
in a warty hide of a mottled purplish hue. The

RETIEF'S RANSOM
165
other was some four feet in height, with a lumpy
head adorned by antlers, fangs, tusks, eyestalks,
and a bushy magenta crest matching a ruff spring-
ing from the base of a long, limber neck. The
remainder of the creature consisted largely of a
penduluous, leathery paunch of a peculiarly ob-
jectionable yellowish shade, featuring stubby
wings, tentacles, pincers, and a clump of nood-
lelike appendages presumably designed for
locomotion.
"Here we have lab mock-ups of a pair of
hypothetical composites, embodying what ap-
pear to be the most popular elements of what I
term the ABCD and WXYZ forms," Lunchbun
stated in a proprietary tone.
"On the whole," Colonel Warbutton com-
mented, "I think the chap on the left has the more
wholesome look about him. True, he's gone a bit
overboard frequency-of-occurrencewise, but
those are recognizable arms, legs, and the like—"
"I assume the simulacrum on the right repre-
sents the higher form," Ambassador Jith spoke
up, "inasmuch as it has tastefully selected hand-
some stalked oculars, efficient grasping chelae,
and a most soothing pigmentation, reminiscent of
my own."
"Hold it right there," a reedy voice interrupted
the proceedings. One of the local observers was
on his feet—six in number—waving several arms.
"I object! You foreigners are profaning the arcane
mysteries by exhibiting undraped bodies without
throwing in some redeeming entertainment
value. What do those fellows do? Dance? Sing?
Nonstop pray? Juggle zingfruit? No! They just
stand there!"

166
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Why, how remarkable," Magnan whispered to
Retief. "I didn't know the observers spoke Terran.
Heavens, I wonder if we've uttered any indiscre-
tions, racial-prejudicewise. . . ."
"They're full of surprises," Retief agreed. "Not
the least of which is the fact that they've stayed
awake through Lunchbun's lecture."
"Curious," Magnan mused. "I would have
sworn that yesterday the one with the six feet had
three eyes and a half a dozen snoof-organs; today
he's down to two of the latter and only one of the
former."
"Now, now, ah, sir or madam," Pouncetrifle
was soothing the aroused local, "I'm sure no of-
fense to your local mores was intended. I'll see
that it doesn't happen again—"
"Don't do that, sport," the Lumbagan said in a
more expansive tone, producing a tambourine
from beneath his robes. "Just drop a little some-
thing in the old collection box, and on with the
show."
"Why, yes, of course, I suppose a small contri-
bution to a worthy charity would be quite in or-
der," the ambassador agreed hastily.
"Small, nothing, sport! A couple thousand
standard creds would be about right—and don't
try to tell me how to spend it. I'm not in business
for my health. And while I've got the floor, maybe
I can interest some of you gents, Terry and Five-
Eyes alike, in a snappy line of musical spud peel-
ers for which I happen to be sole agent in this end
of the archipelago—"
"What's this? Mercantile endeavor in the midst
of solemn diplomatic proceedings?" Ambassador
Jith whispered. "And a competing line, at that!"

RETIEF'S RANSOM
167
"Look here—you can't conduct yourself as a
peddler," Pouncetrifle said sternly.
"Why not? Anything shameful about honest
merchandising, sport?"
"You were accredited here as an official ob-
server, not a purveyor of novelty items!"
"Nix, sport. That was another fellow
entirely—or almost entirely; I picked up a nice
used clavicle from him on the way out."
"Where did he go?"
"He had to get back home and see to his liver
and lights, you know how it is."
"He was in need of surgery?" Pouncetrifle
gasped.
"Are you kidding? The guy runs a small giblet
ranch two islands over."
"Then—what are you doing here?"
"I came in to get out of the cold wind. Why?"
"What about your, ah, the other one?" Pounce-
trifle demanded, indicating the second local, who
had not stirred during the exchange.
"Him? That's my sidekick, name of Difnog. I
kind of look out for him, you know, since he lost
his wits."
"In an accident?" the press attache inquired
with morbid interest, craning his neck for a better
look at the victim.
"Nope, in a game of nine-handed splung. Dif-
nog was a shrewd player, but he was outclassed;
he only had seven hands at a time."
"Well, I'm sure that's all very interesting, Mr.,
er—"
"Gnudf. Yeah, but I got to be going. If you'll
hand over the cash, I might still be able to make it
down to the body shop before closing time."

168
RETIEF UNBOUND
"The effrontery of the fellow," Magnan sniffed
as the ambassador and the budget-and-fiscal
officer went into a huddle. "It's a well-established
principle that the CDT only gives handouts to
bona fide enemies."
"Maybe he's hoping to qualify," Retief
suggested.
"It's a status much sought after, of course,"
Magnan conceded. "But a seasoned diplomat like
Pouncetrifle will require proof of authentic hostil-
ity, not mere aspiration to the role."
"Maybe Gnudf can establish that he was part of
the gang that broke all the windows out the In-
formation Service Library yesterday."
"Nonsense, Retief, that was merely an expres-
sion of youthful impatience with established so-
cial forms."
"What about the mob that invaded the chancery
at gunpoint last week and threw the classified
files out the window along with the code clerk?"
"A student prank, nothing more."
"And I suppose the fellows who slipped the
stink bombs into the ambassador's kitchen during
the banquet were actually only expressing legiti-
mate minority aspirations."
"Doubtless—although the matter nearly got out
of hand. The ambassador didn't wish to offend the
cook by complaining of what he assumed was the
aroma of native cookery, and the guests were
equally hesitant to appear critical of the ambas-
sadorial cuisine. We might have all stifled in si-
lence if Ambassador Jith hadn't chosen to take it
as a direct affront to the Groacian state."
"Golly, I wish I'd been there," the assistant mil-

RETIEF'S RANSOM
169
itary attache commented. "Old Jith didn't care for
the smell, eh?"
"On the contrary, it seems that the effluvium of
burning hot-water bottles closely resembles that
of sacred Groacian incense. Pouncetrifle had to
promise to book a troop of Groaci ritual grimacers
for the next culturefest before he could placate
him."
"I see your point, Mr. Magnan," Retief con-
ceded. "It's not easy to qualify for enemy status
these days."
"Precisely. It's one of the hopeful signs I like to
point out to those who complain that our culture
is going downhill."
The B-and-F officer having departed with the
two locals to work out a settlement, the ambas-
sador gaveled the meeting back to order.
"Gentlemen," he said firmly, "my predecessors
waged pacification on Lumbaga for six years with
no visible result. The native passion for mutual
mayhem rages unabated. The confounded locals
appear to like to fight! Now, then, it's vital at this
juncture in my career—vital, that is, to the suc-
cess of our mission—that we produce a break-
through, racial-tolerance wise, without further de-
lay. Naturally, I have a vastly effective plan all
ready for implementation, but still, I'd be willing
to listen to suggestions from the floor. Now, who's
first?"
"I propose saturation bombing of the entire
planet," a Groaci attache' proposed in a crisp
whisper, "followed by mop-up squads armed
with flamethrowers, fragmentation grenades, and
other pesticides."

170
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Why—how brutal!" Magnan blurted.
"But effective," the Groaci pointed out. "One
cannot deny: No population—no popular un-
rest!"
"Heavens," Magnan confided to Retief, "it
wouldn't do to say so for the record, but one must
concede there is a certain directness about Groaci
methods."
"Possibly someone can offer a less spectacular
alternative," Pouncetrifle said grimly. "Perhaps
one designed to preserve an electorate for the new
world government to govern!"
"Ah—what about a contest, sir?" Magnan
piped up. "Cash prizes for snappy integration
jingles, say."
"I know," the assistant military attache' cried,
"cash rewards for defectors, deserters, scabs,
AWOLS and turncoats!"
"What about straight cash grants to all who'll
come and stand in line for them?" the senior eco-
nomic attache' proposed grumpily. "If they're
standing in line they can't be out participating in
raids."
"Splendid notion, Godfrey," Colonel Warbut-
ton spoke up. "We can stall them along until we
have the majority of the able-bodied personnel
queued up. Then—a lightning swoop, and we
round up all the troublemakers at a stroke!"
"Don't we run the risk of accidentally scooping
up a percentage of innocent noncombatants?" the
press attache' said doubtfully.
"You can't break eggs without dropping a few
on the floor, or however the old saying goes,"
Warbutton stated curtly. "In any event, since the
majority of the population are activists, part-time

RETIEF'S RANSOM
171
guerillas, undercover commandos, and/or
weekend warriors, the risk is statistically negligi-
ble."
"But—what do we do with them, once we've
clapped them all in concentration camps?"
"Pension 'em off," Warbutton stated firmly.
"There appears, gentlemen," Pouncetrifle cut
in coldly, "to be an emphasis on the materialistic
in your proposals. While I recognize that massive
handouts—monetary aid to the deserving, that is
to say—have long been a staple of Terran policy, I
feel in this instance an approach on a loftier level
is in order."
"Oh-oh," the commercial attache' muttered.
"That sounds like budget-cut to me."
"Gentlemen	" The chief of the Terran delega-
tion looked bleakly along the table. "Unless we
achieve a discernible advance toward planetary
unification within the next thirty days, I suspect a
number of promising diplomatic careers will be
nipped in the bud."
"Frankly, Mr. Ambassador," Magnan spoke up,
"unless the local anti-Terran prejudices can be
overcome in the near future, we may be nipped
before we can be fired. Why, only today—"
"Anti-Terran prejudice? Nonsense, Magnan!
Mere rumor! I've already pointed out how popular
we Terrestrials are—"
With a loud crash, the window on the ambas-
sadorial left burst inward, scattering a shower of
glass chips over the table, while a paper-wrapped
brick thudded to the floor. An eager vice-consul
retrieved the latter.
"Why—it's a message," he exclaimed. "It says:
A GOOD TERRY IS A DEAD TERRY!"

172
RETIEF UNBOUND
"You see?" Pouncetrifle said heartily. "Only a
dear friend would feel free to perpetrate such a
broad practical joke. And now"—he rose
hastily—"we'll adjourn and make ready for to-
night's reception."
"Good idea," Warbutton said sourly as the
meeting broke up. "Before our unknown prank-
ster decides to lob a grenade through and really
bring down the house."
3
Standing before the mirror in his apartment in
the Terran wing, Retief flicked a speck of dust
from the chrome-plated lapel of his celery-top-
green, midevening, hyperformal cutaway and
checked the effect in the rippled surface.
"Wow, Mr. Retief, quel splendor," his valet
commented with an envious sigh. "Jeeze, youse
don't happen to have a old suit like this one you
don't need any more, I guess?"
Retief surveyed the five-foot figure of the local
youth, vaguely humanoid except for the unusual
number and variety of eyes, ears, and snoof-
organs adorning his cranium, plus the circum-
stance that his shoulders seemed to spring di-
rectly from his hips without the intervention of a
torso.
"Not precisely, Fnud," the diplomat replied,
opening the closet door. "But how about a

banana-yellow, demi-informal jumpsuit, appro-
priate for croquet, mah jong, and ouija board ses-
sions during the hours twelve noon to three pee
em inclusive?"
"Gangbusters, Mr. Retief," Fnud fondled the
gleaming garment. "I'll get my tailor to stitch the
sleeves right onto the waistband, and then watch
me shine at the neighborhood booze-and-knife
bust tonight!" He snapped two of the nine fingers
on his right hand. "Say—why don't you drop
around, Mr. Retief? Plenty of straight grain for-
maldehyde and bloodshed—all the markings for a
memorable night on the town. What do you say?"
"Sorry, Fnud. The joint ambassadors are stag-
ing the annual Victory Ball tonight, and I'll have
to be there to keep an eye on the silverware.
Maybe next week."
"It's a date." Fnud studied his employer's six-
foot three-inch physique, wagging his asymmet-
rical head admiringly. "You know, that's kind of a
neat arrangement you Terries use at that, Mr. Re-
tief. A nifty idea, having just the two of every-
thing, like eyes and ears and all. But how come
only one nose?"
"Just for contrast. You can overdo a good thing,
you know."
"Yeah. You know, a nose ain't a bad idea at that.
Maybe I'll invest in one when I get my next step
increase. What does a deluxe job like the ambas-
sador's run?"
"I see you have an eye for a noble organ, Fnud.
I'd say the cost in brandy alone would be well up
into three figures.
"I guess it's outa my reach then. Oh, well—I'll
settle for a more modest shnozz and maybe install

174
RETIEF UNBOUND
a spare kidney. A fellow can't have too many
kidneys, they say."
The valet seemed suddenly to recollect himself.
"But Jeez, Mr. Retief, I don't guess you got time to
waste talking about my development program.
The shindig starts in a few minutes, and I'm due in
the kitchen."
"You go ahead, Fnud. I'll make it on time."
When the door had closed behind the local,
Retief opened the casement window and lifted a
potted jelly-flower from the planting box on the
sill, extracted from beneath it a flat 2mm needier
which he tucked under his gold-satin cummer-
bund. As he turned away, something caught his
eye, dangling just beyond the window. It was a
heavy-gauge rope ladder, swaying slightly in the
breeze. At that moment there was a soft sound
from the direction of the hall door, as of stealthy
fingers examining the latch. Retief turned swiftly
to the open closet, lifted a formal black coverall
from the rod and crossed the room to hang the
garment from the curtain rail above the open win-
dow. He switched off the light and stepped si-
lently behind the bathroom door as the outer door
swung open soundlessly.
A small, spindle-legged Groaci in a drab-
colored hip cloak and plain eye shields slipped
into the room, pushed the door shut, and headed
directly for the closet. He was halfway there when
the wind stirred the empty suit hanging in the
window. The intruder snatched a bulky power
gun from his tunic and aimed it at the grament.
"So—to have mistakenly judged your cham-
bers to be unoccupied, Soft One," the alien hissed
in his native tongue. "To place your manual ex-

RETIEF'S RANSOM
175
tremities above your organ cluster and to prepare
to go quietly!"
The hanging garment stirred. The Groaci
jumped backward. "One more move, Soft One,
and jsssp! to join your forebears in the Happy
Burrowing Ground!"
The suit seemed to edge sideways as the breeze
thrust at it.
"To make no move to escape!" the Groaci
keened. "To turn slowly and mount the ladder
thoughtfully provided by a trusted lackey. ..."
The alien's faint voice faded out as he apparently
noted something amiss with the supposed target.
"Retief . . . ?" he whispered, advancing cau-
tiously. A yard from the window, he uttered a hiss
of annoyance and lowered the gun.
"Not bad technique, Lilth," Retief said, emerg-
ing from concealment, the needier leveled at the
Groaci. "Except that your draw was a little on the
slow side—"
With a soft cry, the startled intruder whirled,
leaped to the window, thrust aside the hanging
coverall and lunged, checked himself too late. For
a moment, he teetered on the sill; then with a
despairing cry he toppled outward and dropped
from view. Retief arrived at the window in time to
observe the splashdown in the moat five stories
below, marked by an imposing column of stag-
nant water and fruit rinds fountaining upward.
The rope ladder, he noted, was gone.
"Too bad," he murmured. "It's getting so you
just can't trust a lackey anymore."
There was a stealthy rap at the door; Retief went
to it, swung it open. The visage of the Groaci
counselor appeared, all five eyes canted alertly to

176
RETIEF UNBOUND
scan the interior of the room.
"Neatly executed, Lilth," he started—and froze
at the sight of Retief, casually puffing a dope stick
alight.
"Evening, Nish," the Terran greeted his infor-
mal caller. "Looking for your code clerk? I'm
afraid he just stepped out."
"You? What—that is, how—I mean to say—
murderer!" Nish rushed to the window to stare
down in dismay at his landsman floundering
among the imported carp. "Mayhem! A wanton
attack on the person of a diplomatic member of
His Groacian Excellency's staff! Seize the mis-
creant!"
A number of persons, both Terran and Groaci,
attracted by the cries of the deputy chief of the
Groaci Mission, were now thrusting their heads
into Retief's apartment. The choleric features of
the Terran counsellor, Career Minister Biteworse,
appeared amid the press.
"What seems to be the trouble here?" the plump
senior officer demanded in a penetrating nasal
tenor.
"I demand the instant arrest of this . . . this
ruffian!" Nish whispered, his feeble voice shaking
with emotion.
"Why, er, certainly," Biteworse agreed. "That is
to say, ah, what's he done this time?"
"This time he's gone too far! His reputation for
the flaunting of the niceties of diplomatic usage is
notorious—but the defenestration of my col-
league, junior rank notwithstanding, is the final
anvil!"
"You mean—he threw someone out the win-
dow?" Biteworse looked disconcerted.

RETIEF'S RANSOM
177
"Even now the unhappy chap sinks for the third
time!" Nish declaimed.
"Hadn't we better, er, throw him a rope?" Col-
onel Warbutton suggested from the window, cran-
ing to observe the still-struggling figure far below.
"Don't seek to alleviate the gravity of the of-
fense by ill-timed salvage efforts!" Nish hissed.
"Clap the criminal in irons! In fact, Biteworse, I
suggest you declare your entire staff under arrest
until a properly constituted Groaci Board of In-
quiry has sifted the matter to the bottom!"
"Now, now, let's not be hasty," Biteworse de-
murred. "Why don't you just settle for Retief for
now, and hold off on the mass incarceration until
our respective chiefs of mission have had time to
review the matter—"
'No quibbling! I'll settle for half the Terran Mis-
sion in durance vile and the remainder stripped of
diplomatic privilege and confined to quarters!"
"Why, that's generous of you, Nish." Biteworse
pursed his lips judiciously. "But I'm not prepared
to go farther than Retief plus a couple of third
secretaries, and the revoking of snack-bar
privileges for all personnel below Class Three
rank—"
"Before you commit yourself, sir," Retief spoke
up casually, "I'd like to point out that Mr. Nish
seems to be laboring under a false impression."
"What?" The Groaci whirled, his throat sac vi-
brating in expression of total indignation. "You
suggest that the spectacle of my underling even
now perishing in the moat is a nonobjective
phenomenon?"
"Oh, he's down there, all right," Retief con-
firmed. "But he couldn't have fallen from this

178
RETIEF UNBOUND
window, as I'm sure you'll agree."
"Indeed? And why could he not?"
"It's my apartment. And my Do Not Disturb sign
is lit. So, obviously, Lilth couldn't have been in
my room—unless, of course, you'd like to stipu-
late that he was guilty of trespass, unauthorized
entry, burglary, and a number of other ir-
regularities."
"Why—the very idea," Nish said weakly.
"Clearly a simple case of mistaken identity,"
Biteworse announced briskly. "Now, if it had
been Retief who fell, it would be logical to assume
he had effected egress through this window. . . ."
His voice trailed off. "By the way, Nish—just how
did it happen that you were on the spot so soon
after Lilth was pushed—fell, that is—out of, ah,
some other window, I mean to say?"
"I but nipped up to borrow a book," the dis-
comfited Groaci snapped.
"Indeed?" Biteworse purred, back in com-
mand. "I wasn't aware Terran literature was a
fancy of yours, my dear Nish. You must drop by
and browse over my modest collection some
evening—when you're not engaged in, ah, other
duties, here in the Terry wing."
"Meanwhile, don't forget your book," Retief
said, offering a fat volume titled How To Tell Your
Friends from Your Enemies with Virtual Ninety-
Percent Accuracy.
"Bah!" Nish muttered, spurning the proffered
tome. "We'll all be late for the gala." He shoul-
dered his way through the crowd.
"Just between us, Retief," Second Secretary
Magnan inquired confidentially, after the others
had left, "What was that little sneak Lilth after?"

RETIEF'S RANSOM
179
"I didn't get a chance to ask him," Retief said.
"However, he left this as a momento of his visit."
He held up a small disk-shaped object dangling
from a strap of imitation alligator hide. "I found it
by the window."
"It looks like an ordinary Mickey Mouse
watch," Magnan said doubtfully. "However, I as-
sume from your enigmatic expression it's some-
thing more arcane. Dare I ask what?"
"That's what I propose to find out, Mr. Magnan,
at the first opportunity."
4
"I don't like it, Retief," Magnan said behind his
hand, half an hour later, surveying the gala crowd
of Terran and alien diplomats thronging the ball-
room from his position near the hundred-gallon
punchbowl, cut from a single crystal of red quartz
mined in the interior.
"It could stand a little more gin," Retief agreed
judiciously.
"Not the punch—the atmosphere!" Magnan
corrected. "And I don't refer to the air condition-
ing; I mean the ominous feeling that something
dreadful is about to happen."
"Relax, Mr. Magnan," Retief said soothingly.
"The ambassador won't be making his speech for
half an hour yet."
"Kindly spare me your ill-timed japes, Retief!
As you know, I'm extremely sensitive to extrasen-

180
RETIEF UNBOUND
sory vibrations of all sorts—a trick I fancy I inher-
ited from my Aunt Prudelia—"
"That is a neat trick," Retief acknowledged,
raising his glass en passant to a well-shaped
stenographer waltzing past in the grip of Colonel
Warbutton.
"Retief! Kindly attend to my remarks! After all,
a diplomat learns to rely on his hunches—"
"A telling point, Mr. Magnan," Retief said, and
deposited his glass on a passing tray. "And I have
a hunch Miss Braswell would be grateful for a few
civilian anecdotes, after two and a half waltzes'
worth of military reminiscences."
"Quite possibly," Magnan said icily. "How-
ever, I suggest you defer your mission of mercy
until we've dealt with the more substantive prob-
lem of incipient skulduggery in the air!"
"If you're referring to the fact that Ambassador
Nith has been in a huddle with his military at-
tache' for the past twenty minutes, I agree it bodes
no good for joint peacemaking efforts," Retief
conceded.
"It's not only that—I've observed that Coun-
selor Lilth seems to be exceptionally clubby with
the Bogan military observer."
"So he does. While Ambassador Pouncetrifle
has been cornered for the past-forty minutes by
three of our guests from the Dames Auxiliary for
Militant Pacifism."
"I doubt that the dowagers have any fell in-
tent," Magnan said. "However, that sneaky little
Groaci cultural attache'—Fink, or Sneak or what-
ever his name is—"
"Snink; he seems unusually absorbed in what-
ever it is that Counselor Biteworse is holding forth

RETIEF'S RANSOM
181
on. He's had him backed in among the potted
frogfronds for the past half hour."
"Ever since the arrival of the provisional Minis-
ter of Illegal Activities, to be precise," Magnan
pointed out. "And at the same time, the pro tern
Chief of Police has been huddling with Captain
Thilth—even among the Groaci, not one whom
one would care to entrust with assisting one's
grand-mere across the street."
"Not if she were carrying more than jelly-bean
money," Retief concurred. "All of which suggests
that there are plans afoot that have nothing to do
with the tranquillity of Lumbaga."
"In that case, how can you stand there ogling
the female clerical help?" Magnan demanded in-
dignantly. "It's perfectly obvious that the Groaci
and their toadies are up to no good!"
"Very probably, Mr. Magnan. However, if we
stand here with our heads together, looking
gloomy, they're likely to deduce that we're onto
them—"
"And a good thing, too! The very idea, plotting
right under our noses!"
"Better there than in some place less easy to
observe," Retief suggested.
"The gall of the scoundrels! Come, Retief—
let's report our suspicions to His Excellency at
once—"
"I suggest we wait a few more minutes, Mr.
Magnan. There are a pair of Groaci administrative
aides edging past the Marine guards over by the
French doors; let's give them time to get in the
clear."
"Whatever for?" Magnan gasped. "So they can
rifle the chancery safe?"

182
RETIEF UNBOUND
"We won't let them get that far. But it would be
interesting to know what they've got in mind."
"But—what if they plant a bomb—or set fire to
the building—or insinuate a set of falsified docu-
ments into the voucher files?"
"That last item is pretty scary," Retief con-
ceded. "Still, maybe we can stop them before any
real damage is done—" He broke off as the drapes
twitched shut behind the aliens whom he had
been observing. "Shall we trail along and see
what they're up to, Mr. Magnan?"
"Well—we really ought to refer the matter to
the appropriate authorities ... still, they'd hardly
dare anything really drastic right here in the
complex—and it would be rather a coup to lay
them by the heels unassisted." Magnan twitched
the multiple lapels of his grapejuice-colored,
early midevening, hyperformal cut-away into
line, assumed a stern expression, and followed
Retief as he made his way through the crowd.
On the terrace, they caught a glimpse of their
quarry just disappearing over the balustrade into
the shrubbery below.
"Just as I thought!" Magnan gasped. "And
there's a Keep Off the Grass sign in plain view! I'll
report them at once, and—"
"Wait." Retief motioned Magnan back. There
were sounds of threshing in the bushes, then soft
footfalls along a flagstoned path. Suddenly a bril-
liant beam of greenish light sprang up, shining
vertically up through the foliage. It blinked once,
twice, three times. There was a pause; then the
signal was repeated.
"The plot thickens," Retief said softly as Mag-
nan clutched his arm. "Let's see what's next."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
183
Again they heard footfalls, this time approach-
ing. The shrubbery rustled. A pale Groaci visage
appeared over the balustrade. A moment later the
two aliens had regained the terrace and were
sauntering casually back toward the French
doors, puffing dope sticks in an insouciant man-
ner.
"Why, the very idea," Magnan whispered from
the shadow of the pilaster where he and Retief
were concealed. "They're rejoining the party just
as though nothing at all had happened!"
"You'd hardly expect them to skulk back in just
because they skulked out," Retief pointed out.
"Also, nothing much has happened—yet."
"You mean—you think there'll be more?"
"I suspect that what we saw was a modulated
light signaler. They could have conveyed an un-
abridged set of Corps regulations in the time they
had."
"But—whatever would they want with a set of
CDT regs?"
"A figure of speech, Mr. Magnan—" Retief
broke off as a faint Bee-beep! sounded from his
wrist. He turned back his cuff; the tiny figure of
Mickey was glowing softly in the dark; his arms
whirled against the disc, semaphoring frantically.
"Come in, Lilth!" a tiny, harsh voice rasped in
badly accented Lumbagan. "Why haven't you re-
ported in as scheduled?"
Retief brought the device close to his face.
"Alas," he whispered in a passable imitation of
the Groaci's breathy tones, "I was detained by
certain unscheduled natatorial exertions—"
"You've been advised how important split-
second timing is! Where are you now?"

184
RETIEF UNBOUND
"On the south terrace, catching a breath of re-
vivifying night air from the rigors of the receiving
line," Retief hissed.
"Cretin! To the roof at once! It's now M-minute
minus four! Get going!"
"Roger and out," Retief breathed.
"Just a minute! You're not Lilth!" The glow died
from the watch face. Mickey's hands came to rest
at twenty fifty-six.
"It was useful while it lasted," Retief said, and
tossed the deactivated communicator aside.
"Let's go, Mr. Magnan. It looks like we're running
late for a hot date."
Two and a half minutes later, after a dizzying
run up a tight spiral stair cut into the thick stone of
the keep walls, Retief and Magnan stepped si-
lently out onto the complex roof. The bright pink
light of the two moons cast double shadows across
the rough, tarred planks.
"Looks like we're first on the scene," Retief
noted. "Let's pick an inconspicuous spot and wait
for developments."
"Retief," Magnan gasped, breathing hard from
his exertions. "What in the world do you sup-
pose . . . ?"
"This afternoon someone hired Ignarp to gather
us in. Later on, Lilth seemed to have the same
idea. Somebody seems to have an urgent desire to
own a Terry."
"But—if that's true—aren't we playing into
their hands?"
"Sometimes it's the only way to get a look at the
other fellow's cards."
"But what if they catch us here! I suggest we go
back at once and file a written report—"

RETIEF'S RANSOM
185
"Too late now," Retief said softly as the door
through which they had emerged was thrust
rudely open. A short, plump figure emerged, sput-
tering, closely accompanied by a trio of hefty in-
dividuals in floppy hats and trailing hemlines.
"Why—it's the ambassador—and the ladies
from DAMP!" Magnan chirped. "Gracious, what a
relief—" As he started to step out, Retief pulled
him back.
"One more sound out of you, Terry, and we
deliver you in do-it-yourself-kit form," one of
Pouncetrifle's escorts barked at the Chief of Mis-
sion in the native tongue.
".Why—they're not DAMP members at all!"
Magnan whispered. "They're not even ladies! In
fact"—-he gulped as one of the trio tossed aside a
voluminous frock and followed it with the hat—
"they're not even human!"
"Sit tight, Mr. Magnan," Retief said, "the par-
ty's not complete yet. ..."
Overhead a soft whap-whap-whap became au-
dible, grew swiftly louder. A dark shadow floated
acioss the lesser moon; dust swirled up as a small
copter settled gently in at the far side of the roof.
, "No navigation lights!" Magnan blurted.
/That's a violation of the provisional traffic code!"
As the bogus pacifists hustled the ambassador
toward the copter there was a clatter from the
door, accompanied by a clink of medals. Colonel
Warbutton appeared,turnedbacktoassist a slight-
er figure through.
"Remarkable view from up here, my dear," the
military attache' said expansively. "Just savor a
lungful of that fresh air!"
"It smells like turbo fumes to me," Miss Bras-

186
RETIEF UNBOUND
well's voice replied. "But I thought you said we
were going up to your office for some emergency
dictation. . . ." Her voice trailed off into a yelp as
two dark shapes loomed suddenly beside her and
her escort.
"Here, what's the meaning of this!" Warbutton
boomed, struggling in the grip of what appeared
to be a portly matron. "Are you ladies out of your
minds? Attacking a military man is no way to
wage pacifism!"
"It's an ambush," a Lumbagan voice yelled.
"Over the side with the both of 'em!"
"Don't shoot, Retief!" Magnan blurted as Retief
stood and snapped his needier into his hand.
"You'll hit His Excellency!"
As the kidnappers thrust Warbutton toward the
parapet, Retief jumped toward the lone alien
manhandling the ambassador toward the copter.
The ersatz dowager whirled to intercept him; he
palmed the gun and rammed a right hook into the
local's midsection, grabbed the ambassador's arm
and spun him toward the open door. One of War-
button's captors whirled with a yell and dived
after the escaping dignitary, only to trip over
Magnan's outthrust foot. Warbutton wrenched
himself from the grasp of the other, dived for the
door, bulldozing Miss Braswell aside into the em-
brace of the first of the three thugs, now back on
his feet; he lifted her, sprang toward the parapet as
the second Lumbagan caught Warbutton's ankle,
bringing the military man down with a resound-
ing crash. Retief reached the parapet in the same
instant that Miss Braswell's captor, with a hearty
heave, tossed her over the side. He dived, caught
her hand as she fell, her weight dragging him half

RETIEF'S RANSOM
187
across the parapet. Instantly, horny hands seized
his ankles, lifted, and shoved. As he went over,
Retief grabbed for the coping, hooked his fingers
over the edge. With a bone-wrenching shock, he
was brought up short, the girl dangling below
him. The Lumbagan appeared above him, fist
raised to smash at his fingers; then Magnan's nar-
row features were visible over the alien's shoulder
as he brought an elevator shoe down on the local's
skull.
As the Lumbagan crumpled, Retief pulled him-
self up, hauling Miss Bras well over the parapet
beside him, to see the other two Lumbagans
wrestling Warbutton toward the copter. He
charged them, hurled one aside—and collided
with Warbutton as the colonel tore free and
dashed for freedom.
"Help!" Warbutton yelled, grappling Retief. "I
demand protection!
Retief thrust him aside, lunged for the copter as
it lifted suddenly, rotors beating furiously. He was
too late; the machine rose swiftly, bore away to the
west across the dark rooftops. As he turned back,
the two still-present Lumbagans plunged through
the door a scant inch in advance of Warbutton.
Retief caught the colonel by the collar and
dragged him back, too late. The fugitives were
gone.
"I'll have you court-martialed for this, you
whippersnapper!" Warbutton yelled.
"Oh, Mr. Retief, you were wonderful!" Miss
Braswell sighed, and sagged against him.
"I'd have nabbed the lot of them if you hadn't
interfered with my pursuit just now!" Warbutton
ranted. "Actually, I've been well aware of the ruf-

188
RETIEF UNBOUND
fians' plans for some weeks now—"
"In that case, maybe you know where they're
taking him," Retief cut in.
"Taking who?" the colonel snorted.
"Magnan," Retief said. "They got him."
5
"out of the question, Mr. Retief," Ambassador
Pouncetrifle snorted, yanking his rumpled lapels
into line. "No one leaves the embassy until the
present crisis is past! Having lost one diplomat,
through no fault of my own, I have no intention of
blotting my copybook further!"
"Why, even while I was manning the barricades
on the roof," Warbutton stated indignantly, "a
coup, by the way, which would have succeeded
brilliantly but for the interference of Retief—even
as I manned the barricades, I say, a mob of irres-
ponsibles invaded the courtyard and pelted the
chancery's north facade with overripe frinkfruit!"
"It would be as much as our lives were worth to
sally forth in the midst of the disorders," an In-
formation Service man spoke up. "I say let's ac-
knowledge the failure of the mission and get busy
concocting an alibi—"
"Conducting an analysis in depth of the unfore-
seen factors necessitating a rethinking of Corps
policy anent the timetable for Lumbagan unifica-
tion, I presume you mean," Biteworse amended.

RETIEF'S RANSOM
189
"Make a note of that phrase, Miss Braswell. It will
do nicely as a title for my report."
"I'll handle the report end, Fenwick," Pounce-
trifle snapped. "I hereby assign you the chairman-
ship of a task force to turn up evidence proving me
blameless in the fiasco."
"I think you're all mean," Miss Braswell spoke
up, netting shocked stares from the great men
present. "Poor Mr. Magnan was just marvelous
when he conked that big, ugly brute over the
head—"
"He assaulted Colonel Warbutton?" Pounce-
trifle barked. "Obviously the man's in the pay of
the enemy!"
"How perfectly silly!" Miss Braswell
exclaimed. "Those big bullies dragged him into
that copter and took off while Mr. Retief was try-
ing to unglue the colonel from his neck! He—"
"That will do, Miss Braswell!" Pouncetrifle
barked. "The situation is deteriorating hourly,
gentlemen." He turned a choleric gaze on his staff.
"And if Mr. Retief's to be believed, the Groaci are
back of the skulduggery, as usual—"
"Don't believe a word of it," Warbutton
snapped. "The fellow's making a transparent at-
tempt to cover up—"
"Be that as it may, Colonel—I decree no further
contact with our Groaci colleagues. Also, no con-
tact with Lumbagans. In addition, no contact with
offworld representatives of any stripe!"
"W-will it be all right if I cable Sector?" the
communications officer inquired diffidently.
"Just to keep them informed?"
"Better not," Warbutton said. "We don't know
how far the rot has spread."

190
RETIEF UNBOUND
"I'm not certain I'd go that far," Pouncetrifle
said sternly. "However, I see no point in unduly
alarming the department with premature reports
which my critics might distort so as to imply some
culpability on my part. We'll wait for cheerier
tidings."
"B-but if the embassy is surrounded by hostile
mobs . . . and under air attack by native comman-
dos . . . and threatened from within by fifth col-
umnists . .. and we can't even tell anyone .. . how
in the world are we going to get any cheery
tidings—to say nothing of getting ourselves out of
this pickle?" the political officer queried.
"We'll employ a wait-and-see strategy,"
Pouncetrifle decreed. "We'll retire to the air-raid
shelters and wait a few days, and see if they'll go
away. Possibly not the most dynamic program
open to us"—lie forestalled objections with a
plump palm—"but one hallowed by centuries of
bureaucratic tradition. Now. . . ." He favored the
assembled staff with a frosty twinkle. "I've de-
cided to advance the schedule for the checkers
tournament so as to fully occupy our time under-
ground. And as an added fillip, I personally will
make available to the winner an autographed
photo of myself admiring my plastic doily collec-
tion for a modest charge barely covering ex-
penses." He fixed Retief with an icy glare. "And as
for you, sir—you may regard yourself as under
close house arrest pending a full investigation by
Colonel Warbutton into your conduct during the
raid."
"The old meany," Miss Braswell commiserated
with Retief after the meeting had dispersed. "He's
going to let poor Mr. Magnan fend for himself

RETIEF'S RANSOM
191
without lifting one of his pudgy little fingers to
help him—and blaming it all on you!"
"His Excellency is a bit distraught at the mo-
ment," Retief soothed the girl. "I suspect he'll
revise this morning's pronouncements in his dis-
patch to Sector after this is all over."
"But—what good will that do Mr. Magnan?"
"I agree something needs to be done in the
meantime to lend substance to his retrospections.
Actually, I have one or two errands to run in that
connection. Will you convey my regrets to the
checker team?"
"But—he put you under house arrest! Doesn't
that mean you can't leave the complex?"
"Not quite; it just gives him grounds to disavow
me in case things don't work out."
"You mean—he expects you to go AWQL?"
"Let's just say he's prepared to risk it."
"But you—you're risking your life, going out
there! You can hear the mob howling around the
front entrance!"
"I'll use another route to avoid the autograph
fans."
"Mr. Retief—take care," Miss Braswell whis-
pered; she kissed him quickly on the cheek and
fled.
Five minutes later, wrapped in a dark cloak,
Retief opened the hidden door behind the
dumbwaiter and descended into the catacombs.
6
Dacoit Street was deserted. The yells of the
demonstrators gathered before the grand entrance

192
RETIEF UNBOUND
to the Castle complex were a dull surf-roar here.
The shops were shuttered and dark; scattered
brickbats and broken spears attested to the ac-
tivities of the day, but only a few candy wrappers
and old newspapers blowing across the oily cob-
bles lent movement to the scene, pitch dark but for
a weak glow from a spluttering flambeau at the
next corner.
Retief made his way unmolested through the
narrow ways; five minutes' brisk walk brought
him to a corner half a block from a rough-hewn
door under a swinging signboard adorned with a
lumpy purplish shape pierced by a pointed length
of wood. Yellow light leaked from a small
leaded-glass window. As Retief took up his post
under the spreading branches of a music tree, a
gust stirred the leaves, evoking a rippling arpeg-
gio of crystalline sound that mingled mournfully
with the fluting of the night wind.
A small wild creature resembling a disem-
bodied blue eyeball with tiny bird feet hopped
along a twig overhead, goggling at the Terran with
an appearance of intentness heightened by the
absence of an eyelid. A second free-lance ocular
appeared, peeping from among glassy, needle-
shaped leaves. Nearer at hand, another variety of
the local fauna—this one a convoluted three-inch
ellipsoid bearing a remarkable resemblance to an
oversized ear—perched in a froomble bush, pivot-
ing slowly from left to right and back again as if
tuning in on a faint sound in the distance.
"You boys ought to get together with a nose and
form a corporation," Retief murmured. "You'd be
a dynamite vaudeville act."
Both eyeballs whipped out of sight; the ear

RETIEF'S RANSOM
193
jerked and began to crawl hastily down the stem.
A faint footfall sounded from the direction of the
nearby alley mouth. Retief faded back against the
bole of the ancient tree and eased his 2mm gun
into his hand. A furtive five-foot figure wrapped
in an ankle-length djellaba emerged into view.
"Ignarp," Retief called softly. The newcomer
jumped and emitted a sharp yelp.
"Galloping gastropods!" he hissed. "You nearly
scared me out of my epidermis!" He advanced
another step to peer closely at Retief with three
large, watery eyes not unlike those concealed in
the foliage above.
"Aren't you the Terry I did the big favor for
this afternoon?" he queried. "Frankly, all you
foreigners look alike to me."
"An accusation I can't level against you, Ig-
narp," Retief said. "Didn't you have four eyes and
a purple hide this afternoon?"
"Yeah; I stopped by my place for a shower and
change." Ignarp gave his rattling sigh. "I didn't
know it was going to be such a rough evening.
What are you doing out in the streets? The rally-
ing cry of the mob is 'Get Terry.'
"It does seem the incidence of violence is es-
calating since the peace talks have been under
way. Any idea why?"
"We got a few ideas—but maybe it's not time to
spill 'em."
"Who's 'we'? "
"I guess it won't hurt to tell you; I'm a member
of an undercover organization known as the
Goody Redistribution Action Bunch. But why
pump me? I'm just an average citizen, trying to get
along—"

194
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Don't kid me, Ignarp. Conditions have
changed since this afternoon. They got Magnan."
"Why, the lousy, sneaky, double-crossing—"
"Don't take it so hard; you can still earn a nice
fee. Just tell me who hired you and why."
"Well—that sounds like a gracious offer. But
let's get out of sight. I've got the feeling unfriendly
eyes are upon us."
"After you, Ignarp."
"Come on," he said. "The Stake and Kidney's a
discreet bistro, if not too clean. All the regulars
will be out rioting, so we'll have a modicum of
privacy."
The local led the way past the shuttered fronts
of darkened shops to the heavy door, rapped a
complicated tattoo, shifting from one of his six
large feet to another and casting worried glances
along the avenue until the door rattled and swung
inward with a lugubrious creak. An undersized
cranium adorned with an odd assortment of sen-
sory organs poked out at belt level to look the
callers up and down.
"For Greep's sake, Fudsot, let us in before the
City Guard sees us," Ignarp hissed. "This Terry's
got diplomatic immunity, but those dupes of the
power structure would like nothing better than to
rearrange my internal components along more
conventional lines."
Grumbling, the landlord ushered them down
three crooked steps into a long, low-ceilinged
room smelling of fried zintx patties and sour
wine. He locked the door behind them, and indi-
cated a five-legged table in the corner.
"Too conspicuous," Ignarp demurred. "How
about the back room?"

"That'll run you an extra five xots."
"Five xots? You're as bad as the entrenched
exploiters!"
"Except they'd charge you ten—and then re-
port you. Pay up or get out, you and your offworld
chum. It's all the same to me."
"OK. OK. The Bunch will get around to you,
vou tool of the establishment!" Ignarp extracted a
small-mouthed purse from beneath his volumi-
nous robes and handed over a triangular coin of
green plastic. Fudsot subjected it to close exami-
nation under what seemed to be an olfactory
organ before using a six-inch key to unlock the
small door at the back.
"It's all yours, gents," he grunted. "For the next
half hour, anyways. After that it'll cost you
another five xots."
"Bring us wine," Ignarp ordered as he dusted
off a three-legged stool.
"Sure. Four xots for a quarter-zub o' the house
brew. Six xots for bottled-in-bond. And I can give
you a special deal on some aged Pepsi; I happened
to get aholt of a small consignment through a
special contact down south. Five xots the flask,
uncut."
"Smuggler," Ignarp snapped. "Profiteer! Rob-
ber! We'll take the Pepsi—in sealed bottles, mind
you!"
"Sure—whatta you think I am, one o' these
chiselers?"
Ignarp waited in glowering silence until the
landlord had delivered the refreshments and
withdrawn.
"That's what we're up against," he said gloom-
ily. "You'd think Fudsot would be a loyal sup-

196
RETIEF UNBOUND
porter of the movement—but no, he's out for the
fast xot!"
"What's this movement all about?" Retief
asked.
"I should think it was obvious," Ignarp said
sharply. "Even a foreigner can see that the entire
planet's in the grip of an elite corps of self-serving
reactionaries!"
"Curious," Retief said, puffing a Chanel dope
stick alight. "I had the impression that anarchy
was complete. In fact, that's why we Terries are
here—"
"I know «|11 about your so-called Peace Commis-
sion, Retief. You Terries and those main-chance
Groaci are all spinning your wheels. Sure, we
fight a lot—we have ever since the dawn of re-
corded history, six years ago. And even before, if
the old tribal legends mean anything. And that's
jake—except lately it's taken a nasty turn. The old
system of you break my back, I'll break yours, is
falling apart!"
"Uh huh." Retief sampled his drink. "And
where does your Bunch come into the picture?"
"We've formed a third force to combat the spe-
cial privilege groups. Of course, we're just getting
started—only thirteen members at present—but
we won't stop until the gross inequities of the
system have been corrected!"
"You intend to divide up the wealth, an equal
share for everyone?"
"You think we're out of our brainpans? We'll
keep the loot for ourselves, naturally!"
"That's your idea of an equitable arrangement?"
Retief inquired mildly.
"Of couse not!" Ignarp looked puzzled. "It's just

RETIEF'S RANSOM
197
simple, old-fashioned greed, the noblest of emo-
tions."
"Sounds like a highly realistic program," Retief
said. "And what about the rest of the popula-
tion?"
"We're planning on selling them into slavery,
naturally. And say—maybe you Terries would
like a slice of the action!"
"What makes you think so?"
"Well—aside from the fact that the mob is out to
get both of us—I've heard you Terries get your
jollies out of taking things away from the original
owners and handing them over to new manage-
ment. I could never figure out why, but we mem-
bers of GRAB are perfectly willing to get in on the
redistribution."
"That's a fair assessment of our foreign-aid pol-
icy, Ignarp; but sometimes it's a little difficult to
determine who the deserving parties are."
"Simple enough: Possession is prima facie evi-
dence of moral leprosy; have-nots are pure in
heart by definition."
"But if we hand the planet over to you fellows,
then you'll be the haves—"
"That's different," Ignarp stated crisply. "Now,
when can we expect the first consignment of guns,
tanks, bombers, zip guns, poisoned bodkins and
the rest?"
"Well, there may be a few administrative de-
lays, Ignarp. Even a bureaucrat as dedicated to the
spread of enlightenment as Ambassador Pounce-
trifle may have some difficulty picturing a baker's
dozen of malcontents as the authentic inheritors
of the mantle of planetary dictatorship."
"I had an idea you might try to stall," Ignarp

198
RETIEF UNBOUND
said accusingly. "Fortunately, we have a telling
ideological point in reserve." He leaned toward
Retief confidentially. "The situation," he stated
solemnly, "has a very nasty—are you ready?—
racial angle."
"Tell me about it."
"You don't sound very excited." Ignarp said in
tones reflecting disappointment. "I heard all a
fellow had to do was mention the word and you
Terries automatically started writing checks."
"A mild exaggeration. In any event, the syn-
drome hardly applies to Lumbaga. You fellows
don't have any races."
"Hey, what kind of a crack is that?"
"I've noticed," Retief said, "that the eyeballs
and lower lips hopping around in the underbrush
don't look much different than the ones you and
your fellow citizens employ in your daily
activities—"
"Now, hold it right there, Retief! I don't like the
turn the conversation's taking—"
"In fact," Retief went on unperturbed, "it seems
that the higher forms of Lumbagan life are all
evolved from the lower forms by combination—"
"Don't come preaching your godless evolu-
tionary doctrines around here!" Ignarp snapped.
"Don't worry, I'm just making it up as I go
along," Retief said soothingly. "If my theory is
correct, you, for example, represent the end prod-
uct of a whole series of combinations—"
"Let's not get personal, Terry!"
"Just getting a few facts straight, Ignarp, no
offense intended. Tell me, how old are you?"
"That's none of your blasted business, Retief!"
"I thought you wanted Terran backing in your
scheme to take over the world."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
199
"Yeah, that's right, but—"
"Then it's my business."
"Well ... I don't know exactly," Ignarp mut-
tered. "But the best theories give a figure around a
quarter of a million. That's average, of course.
After all, by the time you go back a couple of
centuries, things get kind of vague." The Lumba-
gan looked embarrassed, as attested by the
purplish tinge mounting his wattles.
"I think I understand," Retief said. "When a
Lumbagan has a bad heart or a broken arm, he
trades the injured member in on a new one. In
time, he's completely replaced. Is that it?"
"That covers most of it," Ignarp said hastily.
"Now, back to practical politics—"
"So in effect, a Lumbagan never dies. The ques-
tion is, how does he get started?"
"Cripes, Retief, is nothing sacred to you
foreigners?"
"My interest is purely scientific, Ignarp."
"This racy conversation gets me all stirred up,"
the local said. "However, I guess it's for the cause.
You've got it right as it goes, but there's a few
points you missed. Like the fact that the
Singletons—you know, the free-living eyeballs
and pituitary glands and the like—can only get
together in bunches of up to ten. An ear might
team up with a tentacle for mutual security, you
know, and then later add on an esophagus—
strictly by instinct, natch. Not all these teams
work out, of course. Evolutionary dead ends, you
might say. They break up again, no hard feelings,
and maybe later the different parts join another
accretion. In the end, after a few million years,
you get quite a large number of working accre-
tions swinging through the jungle or creeping

200
RETIEF UNBOUND
around in the underbrush, as happy as clams. So
OK. A tenner Singleton can't add any more free
units—but what can happen is that two Single-
tons can link up to form a Dubb. Got it?"
"I'm trying, Ignarp. Pray continue."
"Right. Now, that's not the end of the trail. Two
well-established Dubbs can get together, and
make up a Trip. Now, a Trip's a pretty complicated
life-form; most of 'em don't work out, but with up
to forty basic units to play around with, you can
come up with some pretty successful combos. But
Trips are a lot rarer than Dubbs, naturally."
"Naturally. And I suppose two congenial Trips
can join forces, to continue the process?"
"Right! And when that happens, you get a
Quad." Ignard looked at Retief expectantly.
"And two Quads can combine to make a still
more complicated creature?"
"Huh? Where'd you get an obscene idea like
that!" Ignarp looked shocked, an effect achieved
by rotating his eyeballs rapidly. "A four-decker is
the ultimate produce of evolution—a Lum-
bagan—like me!"
"I won't say it's clear, Ignarp, but it's not quite as
opaque as it was. But you still haven't explained
why you Furtheronians spend so much time dis-
assembling each other—or just how you decide
who's against whom."
"That's where the racial angle comes in. Now
it's perfectly natural and wholesome when every-
body is out to get everybody else; but when dis-
crimination rears its ugly head—that's different.
And even that wouldn't bother me," Ignarp
added, "except I happen to be a member of the
persecuted minority."
"A minority usually implies at least two people

RETIEF'S RANSOM
201
with a few characteristics in common,"
Retief pointed out. "Since every Lumbagan is
unique—"
"Except my kind," Ignarp said gloomily.
"Somehow, due to a component nobody's isolated
yet, we've got something nobody else has got."
"A disability?"
"Heck, no, Retief! They'd forgive us that! We're
vastly superior, that's what gravels 'em! Just a hint
of our special skill, and the witch-hunt is on!"
"And just what is this trait that gives you the
advantage—"
"Aha! That's our big secret! You see—"
There was a sudden sound of disturbance in
the outer room: a dull clatter, a yelp, a thump
that rattled the cups on the table. Something
crashed against the door hard enough to splinter
wood.
"I might have known," Ignarp cried, leaping
up. "Sold out by the vested interests!"
Retief came to his feet, looking around the
small, dim-lit room. The only visible opening was
a small ventilator grill.
"So long, Retief!" Ignarp yelled. "I'll be in
touch. . . ."
With a rending crash, the door burst inward.
The creature which bounded through the opening
was seven feet tall, with sour yellowish skin
blotched with black and purple. Three gaunt,
bristly, knob-kneed legs terminating in broad
rubbery webbed feet made up two thirds of its
height. Four left and two right arms of graduated
lengths sprang from the hunched shoulders, pro-
tected by a carapace resembling the shell of a
turtle adorned with twisted spikes. Atop a short,
thick, tendon-corded neck rested a pointed head

202
RETIEF UNBOUND
given over largely to a foot-wide, purple-lipped
mouth crowded with needlelike fangs, below a
pair of wide-set eyes the size of tennis balls, a
bloodshot yellowish white except for the off-
centered metallic black pupils. A thick, powerful
prehensile tail ending in a three-fingered hand
waved-a gnarled steelwood club aloft.
With a bellow, the monstrosity charged. Retief
spun the table into its path, ducked a wild swing
as the giant crashed into the obstacle with a
plank-splintering impact. At the open door he
turned; the intruder was threshing its way clear of
the remains of the boards, but of the GRAB
member there was no sign. Retief had time only to
notice that the grill was missing from the register
before the monster tossed aside a shattered timber
and leaped toward him. Retief stepped through
and slammed the door, dropping the heavy bar in
place as the armored alien crashed against it.
In the gloom of the outer room, the squat figure
of the landlord was dimly visible, scrambling for
cover. Retief reached him in two strides, caught
the back of his coarse-weave tunic, lifted him to
tippy-toes.
"A slight double cross, eh, Fudsot? Who paid
you?" he inquired genially, as the door behind
him resounded to the berserker's blows.
"Leave me go, Terry, or I'll see to it you're bro-
ken down into surgical spares—"
"What was the idea? Were you out to get me, or
was it Ignarp you were after—or both?"
"You know so much—you tell me," Fudsot
grunted.
"But Ignarp fooled you," Retief said. "He sepa-
rated into subassemblies of a convenient size and
went out the ventilator, right?"

"You Terries aren't supposed to know about
that," Fudsot muttered. "A lousy fate, even for a
troublemaker like Ignarp."
"So that's the last of Ignarp, eh?"
"As Ignarp, yeah. His sweetbreads and tonsils
are back where they started ages ago—free-living
Freebies looking around for a partner to start up a
new tenner." Fudsot wagged his head mourn-
fully.
"A sad end for a social reformer of his zeal,"
Retief said. "Still, there's much to be said for the
carefree life of an adenoid. I'll be on my way now,
Fudsot, but before I go—just what was that that
broke up our drinking party? I've gotten accus-
tomed to a certain pleasing variety in the local
citizenry, but that chap was in an entirely new
category."
"I heard rumors, but—" Fudsot broke off.
"But what?"
"But it would be bad for my health to spread
'em. How's about getting him outa my back room
now, Terry? I got to set the place to rights for the
pre-dawn dustup crowd."
"No thanks, I can't use him."
"You mean—you're leaving that monstrosity
on my hands?"
"Certainly. Mind if I use the back entrance?"
"No! That's where ... I mean, there isn't one,"
the landlord finished sullenly.
"That's where they're waiting to make the
pickup, eh? Thanks for the tip." Retief pushed
through a greasy door behind the bar, crossed a
kitchen reeking of stale fat, slipped out into a
narrow alleyway decorated with neglected gar-
bage containers. There was a soft rustling from a
dense patch of shadow. A small, spindle-legged

204
RETIEF UNBOUND
figure swathed in a dark cloak stepped forth. From
the folds of the garment a gloved grasping
member protruded, gripping a small power gun.
"So—success attends my efforts! The moose
has taken the bait, and sprung the trap!"
"Mouse, I think you mean, Wilth," Retief cor-
rected. "What brings you out in the damp night
air?"
"Drat," the Groaci hissed. "Who informed you
of my identity?"
"Don't you remember? The ambassador intro-
duced us last week, at the Mother-in-Law's Day
Pepsi bust."
"I refer to the treacher who betrayed my dis-
guise."
"Oh, he's the same fellow who's standing be-
hind you now with a crater gun aimed at your
dorsal suture."
Wilth started violently, causing one of his
government-issue eye shields to clatter to the
cobbles. "Undone!" he keened, as Retief stepped
forward to relieve him of his weapon. "Unhappy
Wilth! I rue the day the mound burst to expose me
to the harsh external world!"
"By the way, what did you have in mind doing
with this?" Retief inquired, aiming the gun negli-
gently at its former owner.
"My instructions—I assure you, my dear Retief,
nothing personal was intended—were to intimi-
date you with the firearm, thereby causing you to
accompany me to a designated place for an unin-
hibited interview with a Most Highly Placed Per-
son."
"Most highly placed in the Groaci hierarchy, I
assume?"

RETIEF'S RANSOM
205
"But of course. Do you imagine I'm in the habit
of trepanning fellow diplomats—even Soft
Ones—for the convenience of members of lesser
races?"
"I shouldn't have asked. And what was to be the
subject of this conference?"
"Do you further imagine I am privy to the
machinations of MHPP's?" Wilth glanced ner-
vously behind him. "As a courtesy to a colleague,
would you kindly instruct your toady to point his
piece elsewhere. ..." His faint voice faded.
"Wh-where is the creature?"
"He couldn't make it," Retief said. "Liquor in-
ventory, you know—but the intention was there.
Now—"
"Hoaxed!" Wilth whistled. "Hoodwinked by
vile Terran duplicity!"
"Don't take it so hard, Wilth. No harm done; it's
always a rewarding experience to make the ac-
quaintance of an MHPP of whatever persuasion.
I'll go with you."
"You'll. .. ah ... accompany me to the rendez-
vous as planned?" Wilth goggled all five eye-
stalks at Retief.
"Why not? The evening is still young." Retief
snapped open the butt of the power gun and re-
moved the energy cell, handed the disarmed
weapon back to the Groaci.
"Why, this is quite decent of you, Retief," Wilth
whispered breathlessly. "What a pity all Groaci-
Terran relations can't be conducted in the same
spirit of amity."
"They are, Wilth, they are," Retief said sooth-
ingly. "Shall we go? I wouldn't like to keep the
MHPP waiting."

206
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Good notion. But no tricks, Retief. I trusted
you once, to my sorrow. . . ."
"Don't worry, Wilth. I wouldn't want to miss an
opportunity to hobnob with the great."
"I wasn't aware you were a climber, Retief,"
Wilth said as he motioned the Terran ahead.
"Luckily your social aspirations coincide with
my own plans for career advancement, to our
mutual advantage. Straight ahead; I'll follow with
the gun, for the sake of appearances."
It was a brisk ten-minute walk through the tor-
tuously winding streets—hardly more than tun-
nels threading through the monumental jumble of
Lumbagan architecture. Wilth halted at a small
but massive door set in a deeply recessed niche,
pounded stealthily on the dark panels. Weak
grayish light leaked out as the door opened. A
Groaci in the uniform of a peacekeeper peered out.
"Inside, Soft One," Wilth ordered curtly. Retief
preceded his putative captor along a cramped
passage papered in a pattern of puce and mustard
lozenges to a highly varnished bile-green door
that reflected the watery glow of the ceiling dim-
strip. The guard rapped. At a faint response, he
thrust the door wide and motioned Retief
through.
A Groaci in jeweled eye shields was seated be-
hind a wide desk. He waved a negligent three-
fingered hand at Retief, indicating a stool.
"Any difficulties?" he inquired of his underling
in Terran.
"Your Excellency would be amazed at how easy
it was," Wilth replied glumly. "I was even as-
tonished myself."
"To not accept the legends of Terry invincibil-

RETIEF'S RANSOM
207
ity," the senior alien snapped, switching to the
Groacian tongue, "lest you predispose yourself to
quail in the breech!" He turned three eyes on
Retief while holding the glare of the other two on
Wilth. "I," he announced, "am Hivemaster
Shlush. You, I believe, are the fellow Retief?"
"A pleasure, Your Excellency." Retief acknowl-
edged his identity with a nod and seated himself.
"You," Shlush continued ominously, "are not
unknown to me by repute."
"I'm flattered."
"Don't be," Shlush hissed. "Your name, Soft
One, is a byword for the Terran duplicity and
meddling that have plagued Groaci foreign policy
since the first intimations of our manifest Galactic
destiny!"
"That's a rather uncharitable description of
Corps policy, Hivemaster," Retief commented.
"By the way, what brings you here? I don't recall
seeing your name on the last embassy list—"
"Not to pry into matters of no concern to for-
eigners!" Shlush hissed.
"In fact," Retief went on, "I seem to recall that
you were rather suddenly retired to civilian life
after that fiasco on Grab nark IV—"
Shlush jabbed a digit at Retief, all five eyes
canted alertly in his guest's direction now. "Your
role in the humbling of the great is not forgotten,
Retief! But now the era of Terry domination comes
to an end! No more will we Groaci suffer gra-
ciously the intolerable interposition of foreigners
between ourselves and the objects of our desires!"
"Go on." Retief puffed a cigar to life, blew aro-
matic smoke across the desk.
"You," Shlush hissed, "have the honor of being

208
RETIEF UNBOUND
the first Terry to learn the fate of all inferiors who
seek to impede the path of Groaci expansion!"
"I hope I prove worthy of the distinction," Re-
tief said pleasantly.
"Ah, you have done so long since, my Retief—
on the first occasion when you laid violent hands
on the person of an Exalted One! And as soon as
certain specialty devices I have caused to be in-
stalled in the vaults beneath my present humble
quarters reach operating rpm, you shall reap your
reward!"
"In the meantime," Retief suggested mildly, "I
take it you'd like to have a little talk."
"Indeed yes," Shlush whispered. "How percep-
tive of you, Retief."
"Not at all," the Terran demurred. "Wilth told
me."
"To have babbled of state secrets littermate of
drones?" The hivemaster hissed the question at
his underling.
"Whom, I, Excellency? Why, to have but hinted
he'd best be on his metacarpals—"
"To commit another indiscretion, and to find
yourself trussed by the policies alongside the Soft
One!" Shlush turned back to Retief. "But I'm
slighting my hostly obligations," he said
smoothly. "Would you care for a little something
whilst we chat?"
"Brandy, thanks," Retief said comfortably.
"You," Shlush addressed the guard still hover-
ing by the door. "To fetch brandy at once. Black
Bacchus will do."
"To congratulate Your Excellency on Your Ex-
cellency's taste," the peacekeeper hissed unc-
tiously. "But to wonder if Your Excellency would

RETIEF'S RANSOM
209
amplify Your Excellency's instructions to include
data as to where I'm supposed to fetch it from."
"The usual source, hivefellow of defectives!"
"To do as commanded, Exalted One—but don't
you inkthay the errytay ightmay recognize the
abellay?"
"To assume you have itway enough to ourpay it
in the itchenkay!" Shlush favored Retief with the
Groaci equivalent of a sour smile. "I've instructed
the fellow to serve our refreshments in a VIP de-
canter reserved for important guests," he trans-
lated.
"I'm sensible of the honor," Retief said. "Now,
what was it you wanted to tell me?"
"Tell you? My dear Terry, you fail to grasp the
full implications of the situation. It is you who are
going to tell me!"
"What would you like to know first?" Retief
said promptly.
"You may begin with full details of secret Ter-
ran armament schemes, overall invasion strategy,
D-day tactical plans, and close-support logistical
arrangements," Shlush said crisply.
"I can cover that in a very few words," Retief
said. "There aren't any."
"Pah! You expect me to believe that an organi-
zation of the sophistication of the CDT intends to
play it by ear?"
"Play what by ear?" Retief inquired interes-
tedly.
"The take-over. What else?"
"The take-over?" Retief tipped an inch of cigar
ash onto Shlush's polished desk top. "What of?"
"Of this plague spot known as Lumbaga, natu-
rally!"

210
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Who's taking it over?" Retief inquired interes-
tedly.
"We are! That is to say, you are! I mean to say, of
course, having gotten wind of the perfidious
schemes laid by you treacherous Soft Ones under
the cynical guise of pretended participation in
bogus peace talks, we Groaci have naturally been
compelled to take appropriate steps to safeguard
the endangered lives, property, and sacred self-
determination of the indigenous autochthones."
"Remarkable," Retief said. "And I suppose that
to properly protect the Lumbagans, it will be
necessary for Groac to temporarily garrison a few
troops here. And perhaps to take over a certain
number of islands for official use. And possibly to
requisition a modest percentage of the planetary
production and manpower for the fight against
foreign exploitation. And a reasonable tax levy to
support a portion of the expense of this selfless
action is to be expected."
"I see you have a grasp of the realities of in-
terplanetary do-goodism," Shlush acknowl-
edged. "Now, as beings of the world, why not just
give me a brief rundown on your own develop-
ment plans? Don't bother going into detail; I have
specialists on my staff who'll assist you later in
dredging up the odd unremembered trifle from
the depths of the subconscious. For now, just
limit your exposition to the high points."
"You're too shrewd for me, Hive master," Retief
conceded. "Did you think up this scheme your-
self?"
"Ah-ah," Shlush chided his prisoner. "No pry-
ing, Retief. Not that it matters, of course, inas-
much as you'll soon be occupying a shallow exca-
vation under the dungeon floor—but it's bad form

RETIEF'S RANSOM
211
tipping one's opponents off to the details of one's
operations, particularly as I have no time to waste.
Now—"
"On a tight schedule, eh? Tell me, Hivemaster,
is Ambassador Jith in on the plan?"
"Jith is a dependable civil servant of consider-
able seniority," Shlush said smoothly. "It was
deemed unwise to burden him with excessive de-
tail regarding operations outside the sphere of his
immediate concerns."
"Just who is your boss in this operation,
Shlush?"
"Ah-ah—mustn't pry, Retief," the Groaci
wagged an admonitory digit at the Terran.
"Suffice it to say he's a most unusual chap, a
virtual super-Groaci of most uncompromising
kidney, not the sort, as he himself declares, to
stand idly by while Groac is cheated of her Lum-
bagan patrimony! You'll meet him soon enough."
"Let me see," Retief mused aloud. "As I recall, it
was a Terry tramp captain who first put Lumbaga
on the star maps. He stayed long enough to peddle
a few gross of glass beads and take on a cargo
of salted glimp eggs; oddly enough, his report
made no mention of the natives' warlike tenden-
cies."
"Doubtless he fortuitously happened along be-
tween massacres," Shlush said tersely. "But—"
"The next time Lumbaga cropped up in an offi-
cial dispatch, ten years later, was on the occasion
of a run-in between a Terry survey crew and a
Groaci gunboat. It appears your people were
well-established here by then."
"Yes, yes—and naturally enough, they took ap-
propriate action to discourage unauthorized
tourism. Now—"

212
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Shooting up an unarmed survey craft was the
wrong way to go about it, I'm afraid," Retief said
philosophically. "Our sociological teams
couldn't pass up a challenge like that. They came
swarming in—with suitable escorts of Peace En-
forcers, of course—to ferret out the unhappy inci-
dents in the collective Groaci childhood that were
responsible for your aggressions, and—"
"I well recall the incident; an unexampled in-
stance of Groaci restraint in the face of Terran
provocation—"
". . . and found a planetwide riot in progress,"
Retief continued. "They also turned up the fact
that your boys were running a rather dubious
traffic in hearts, lungs, and other negotiable
commodities—"
"Specimens destined for Groaci zoos," Shlush
snapped. "Our Groacian interest in exotic wildlife
is well-known—"
"—which raised certain questions among the
coarse-minded. There was even a theory afoot that
you were disassembling the natives, shipping
them out as Freebies, and putting them back to-
gether for use in the sand mines."
"A baseless allegation! Besides which, the
practice was at once discontinued out of defer-
ence to the prejudices of the unenlightened."
"A far-sighted move, in view of the number of
guns lined up on you at the time. The Interplane-
tary Tribunal for the Curtailment of Hostilities
moved in then, and war has raged ever since."
"I am not in need of a toenail sketch of recent
Lumbagan history!" Shlush hissed. "The
manifold iniquities of the CDT are well known to

RETIEF'S RANSOM
213
me!" The excited hivemaster broke off as the door
opened abruptly.
"To forgive this intrusion, Exalted One," the
underling who had gone to fetch brandy hissed.
"But—"
"To better have an explanation of surpassing
eloquence," Shlush screeched, "or to dangle in-
verted from a torture frame ere tiffin time!"
"The best, Excellency," the unfortunate fellow
whispered, advancing into the room, closely fol-
lowed by a hulking Lumbagan with a single eye,
three legs, an immense grin, and a large, primitive
needle gun in his fist.
"To shoot him down!" Shlush hissed in his
native tongue to Wilth, who stood frozen against
the wall.
"To .. . to .. . have apparently forgotten to load
my piece," the latter whispered, and let the impo-
tent weapon fall with a clatter.
"Which one of you aliens is the head Groaci
around here?" the newcomer demanded.
Wilth's eyestalks tilted toward his chief. The
latter scronched back in his chair, eyeing the
aimed pistol. "Ah—why do you ask?" he in-
quired cautiously.
"On account of there's a big shot that wants to
see him," the Lumbagan stated, studying the four
foreigners in turn.
"Better hurry; I don't know what assorted in-
nards are bringing in the open market, but it will
be less if they're full of steel splinters."
"Merely a, er, social call, I assume?" Shlush
said hopefully.
"Assume whatever you like—only snap it up.

214
RETIEF UNBOUND
The big boy don't like to be kept waiting." The
caller glanced at the Dale Evans watch strapped to
his lower left wrist. "Anyway, I change sides in
half an hour, and I don't like unfinished business
hanging around."
"Well, I suppose one must observe the
amenities," Shlush said with a certain lack of
conviction, rising slowly.
"It's all right, Shlush," Retief spoke up. "It's
noble of you to cover for me, but we can't fool this
fellow. I'll go quietly."
"Ha! Trying to pull a fast one, hah?" The Lum-
bagan pointed the gun at the hivemaster's head
and squinted his lone eye along the barrel. "I've
got a good mind to plug you for that. But to heck
with it. I got to make my own loads for this pop-
per, so why waste one?" He motioned with the
bulky weapon at Retief.
"Let's go, big boy." He paused. "Hey, you aliens
all look alike to me, but it seems like you got a
little different look to you, somehow." He studied
Retief, comparing him with Wilth and the guard
with quick-side-glances.
"Two legs," he muttered. "One torso, one
head—ah! Got it! They got five eyes each, and you
only got two, kind of sunk-in ones. How come?"
"Birth defect," Retief said.
"Oh, excuse me all to heck, pal. No offense. OK,
pick 'em up. We got a brisk walk ahead, and the
streets are full of footpads."
7
Two of lumbaga's small pink moons were in the
sky when Retief and his captor, after traversing a

RETIEF'S RANSOM
215
passage hollowed in the thick walls of the pile
housing secret Groaci Headquarters, emerged into
the street.
"This seems to be my night for meeting the
local civic leaders," Retief commented as they
turned west, toward the waterfront. "Who is it
you're taking me to?"
"You'll find out," his guide said shortly, swivel-
ing his asymmetrical head from side to side so as to
bring his single eye to bear first on one side of the
route ahead, then the other. "If anybody jumps us,
it's every guy for hisself," he notified the Terran.
"You expecting to be attacked?" Retief inquired
easily.
The alien nodded. "Naturally," he said glumly.
"Why should tonight be any different than any
other time?"
"I understand street battles are the Lumbagan
national pastime," Retief commented. "You
sound a little unenthusiastic."
"Oh, a little rumble now and then, a friendly
fight in a bar, a neighborly clash in the alley, sure.
I'm as normal as the next guy. But the pace is
getting me down. Frankly, Mr.—what was that
handle again?"
"Retief."
"I'm Gloot. Like I was saying, Retief, between
you and me I'd as lief take a break—a long
break—from the fray. I got enough lumps to last
me, you know? And there's plenty others feel the
same."
"Then why do you go on squabbling?"
"That's kind of hard to explain, to a foreigner.
I'm just sashaying along, minding my own busi-
ness, and all of sudden—zop! The old fighting
frenzy hits me, you know what I mean?"

216
RETIEF UNBOUND
"I'm striving to grasp it," Retief said. "By the
way, does that gun work?"
Gloot looked at the heavy pistol. "Sure. Don't
worry, the first guy that jumps us will be out
shopping in the morning for a new navel and a
few other accessories." He shook his head mourn-
fully. "Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the
second guy."
"Single shot, eh? How's your aim?"
"Well, I ain't bragging, but I usually hit what I
shoot at."
"Five xots you can't hit that sign," Retief chal-
lenged, pointing to a board swinging in the wind
ahead.
"You kidding? I could drill it dead center with
one eye closed—at least I could up to last week
when I misplaced my best eye."
"Phooey. I heard you Lumbagans couldn't
shoot your way out of a greenhouse."
"Oh, yeah?" Gloot brought the gun up, took his
stance, squeezed. . . .
The Boom echoed along the canyonlike street
like a bomb burst. As the reverberations faded, a
voice somewhere ahead shouted an angry in-
quiry; a door slammed. Feet clattered, approach-
ing from both directions.
"Now look what you made me go and do!"
Gloot wailed. "Come on, let's get out of here!" He
turned and galloped back the way they had come,
ducked down an intersecting alley as a party of
mismatched vigilantes in red cloaks surged into
view around a turn.
"There they go!" a hoarse voice yelled. "Get the
disturbance-creating rascals!"
Retief followed the sprinting Lumbagan along

RETIEF'S RANSOM
217
the noisome way, skidded to a stop as the other's
dark bulk loomed ahead.ahead.
"Up there!" Gloot croaked. "Make it quick!"
Retief found the rungs of a ladder mounting the
rough masonry wall; he went up it swiftly,
negotiated an overhanging cornice, pulled him-
self up on a slanted roof of curled tiles. A moment
later Gloot scrambled up beside him. Seconds la-
ter, their pursuers blundered past below in full
cry.
"Wow, that was close," Gloot breathed as si-
lence descended again. "Those boys are the City
Guard. They don't mess around."
"Permanent cadre?" Retief asked.
"Right. Eight on, eight off. Of course, most of
'em got off-duty jobs with the major mobs; but
when shift time arrives they fall in for duty, even
if the mob happens to be in the middle of a shoot-
out with the guard at the time."
"That could be a trifle confusing."
"Yeah, but they got ground rules. When the
whistle blows, there's a five-minute time-out
while the cops and robbers change sides."
"A civilized system," Retief conceded.
"I guess the coast is clear—but—" Gloot looked
at his watch and uttered a coarse expletive. "Now
looky what you made me do, Retief! I've run over
shift-end! And I would of scored a nice bonus if I
would of brought you in in one major piece!"
"You could explain you were unavoidably
detained—"
"What—and hand a negotiable piece of mer-
chandise like you over to the bums I used to be
teamed up with? Besides, if they saw me now
they'd set on me in a trice!"

218
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Don't your former associates change sides at
the same time you do?"
"Sure—but they go their way, I go mine. I got to
agree, it's enough to confuse a foreigner. Heck,
even I get mixed up sometimes." Gloot sighed as
he crawled up the sloping roof to scan the view
beyond. "Seems like things are getting kind of out
of hand," he said sadly. "A fellow can't hardly
keep track of his own affiliations these days."
"What about us aliens?" Retief asked. "How do
we fit into the hostility pattern?"
"You don't. My grabbing you was strictly busi-
ness. Now that I've changed sides, all bets are off.
It was nice meeting you, Retief. Frankly, I'd heard
you Groaci were kind of creepy little characters,
but you seem like a pretty good sport. Well,
cheers, I've got to try to make it down to the port
now without getting my sweetbreads scrambled.
Time-out's almost over, and I'll be fair game."
"Who were you taking me to, Gloot?"
"Some bum over on Groo-groo Island. Why?"
"I'd like to meet him."
"No dice. I got a previous engagement. I'm part
of a harbor hijack crew now and we've got a big
heist scheduled."
"Suppose I go with you?"
"Sorry, I got no time to show tourists the
sights," Gloot rose and started over the ridgepole;
as he did, three figures in the red cloak of the City
Guard appeared, clambering over the parapet op-
posite.
"There they are!" a muffled voice barked. "Get
'em!" Without hesitation, Gloot charged
downslope, dealt one of the three a terrific buffet
on the side of the head, sending him sprawling;

RETIEF'S RANSOM
219
but before he could regain his balance, the other
two cops had grappled him and wrestled him
toward the edge. Thus occupied, they failed to
notice Retief until he had secured a firm grip on
both capes, and with a vigorous pull, tumbled
their owners backwards. Recovering quickly,
Gloot upended the nearer guardsman over the
parapet. The last of the three dived for Retief, met
a knee under the jaw, and collapsed in a limp
heap.
"Say," Gloot said, breathing hard, "that was
real friendly of you, Retief."
"Or unfriendly, depending on the viewpoint,"
Retief pointed out.
"Right. And from my viewpoint right now you
came through like a champ. Well, so long, Retief.
See you across the barricades." Gloot swung over
the side of the roof; Retief followed him to the
ground, clambering down the rough-laid
masonry to the dark street below.
"Maybe you'll reconsider that invitation to
come along and meet your friends," he suggested.
"Nope. We've got a full crew already."
"Just as a diplomatic observer," Retief reas-
sured the local. "Naturally, I couldn't participate
in anything violent."
Gloot shook his head. "Those boys upstairs are
going to be kind of irritated when they come to. Us
hijackers have got enough troubles without taking
on a foreigner, with or without a police record. If I
was you, I'd kind of drop out of sight for a few
hours."
"Good idea. Aboard your boat would be a good
place to be inconspicuous."
Gloot lifted his gun from its holster and

220
RETIEF UNBOUND
thumbed back the hammer. "I ain't going to have
to get rough, I hope?" he said, rather sadly.
"Not with that," Retief said. "Single-shot, re-
member?"
"Oh, barfberries," Gloot exclaimed, eyeing the
bulky weapon in irritation. "I should of known
you didn't gull me into shooting it off for
nothing." He studied Retief appraisingly. "I don't
feel like tangling with you, not after the way you
handled those bums on the roof. And besides, I'm
short an arm right now, on account of a chum
asked me to lend him a hand and forgot to return
it. Why not just go your way and I'll go mine."
"I want to know who's been trying to kidnap
me, Gloot. You can still take me along to this big
shot, and demand a nice ransom for me."
"Hey—the idea ain't without merit. . . ." Gloot
said with cautious enthusiasm. "But don't look
for any favors. The boys play rough, and this is
their night to chew stones and spit gravel."
"I'll try to stay out of harm's way."
"A sixty-foot pirate sloop's kind of a funny
place for that," Gloot said. "But—that's your
problem, not mine—just so you stay alive long
enough for me to collect."
8
An odor of ripe seafood and rotting wood rose
from the lateen-rigged junk wallowing as it half

RETIEF'S RANSOM
221
sunk at the sagging wharf. A bulky Lumbagan
with the usual random placement of facial fea-
tures stepped out of the shadows to bar Gloot's
way as he approached.
"Hi, Snult," the latter called in guarded tones.
"This here is Retief. He came along to get an
alien's-eye view of the operation."
"Yeah?" Snult replied without detectable en-
thusiasm. He barked a command over his shoul-
der; two large locals with exceptional tricep
development stepped forward.
"Dump this spy in the drink," Snult grunted,
pointing to Retief. "And then hang Gloot to the
yardarm for half an hour for reporting in late." He
turned his back and sauntered off. The two
bullyboys advanced, reaching for Retief in a busi-
nesslike way. He leaned aside, caught the prof-
fered arm of the nearer and gave it a half twist,
causing its owner to spin around and bow from
the waist, at which point an accurately placed foot
propelled the unfortunate chap off the pier. The
second enforcer lunged, met a chop to the neck,
followed by a set of stiffened fingers to the midriff.
As he doubled over, Retief turned him gently by
the elbow and assisted him over the side, where
his splash mingled with that of his partner. Ten
feet away, Snult paused.
"Quick work," he said over his shoulder.
"But ... two splashes . . . ?"
Gloot stepped to his departing chief, seized him
by the back of the neck and unceremoniously
pitched him into the water.
"Three," he corrected, and thrust out a large,
six-fingered hand to Retief. "The cruise is off to a
good start. We've been needing a change of ad-
ministration around here. Come on, let's hoist an-

222
RETIEF UNBOUND
chor before a platoon of cops come pelting down
the dock looking for you." He swaggered down
the gangplank bawling orders.
There were a few questions from the crew who,
however, quickly adjusted to the change in man-
agement, assisted by a number of sharp blows
from a belaying pin wielded by the new captain.
In a matter of minutes the ancient vessel had cast
off and was threading her way out across the
garbage-strewn waters of the bay.
"The target for tonight is a shipment of foof
bark," Gloot advised his guest as they relaxed on
the high poop deck at the stern an hour later,
quaffing large mugs of native ale and admiring the
view of the moonlit jungle isle past which they
were sailing. "It comes from Delerion, another
few islands to the west. Potent stuff, too. A pinch
of foof in your hookah and you're cruising at fifty
thousand feet without oxygen."
"Dope traffic, eh? Is that legal?"
"No law on the high seas," Gloot said. "And
damn little on land. I guess you'd call the foof
trade semilegit. They pay taxes—if the free-lance
customs boys are sharp enough to collect 'em.
And they place a few bribes here and there. How-
ever, they overlooked the good ship Peccadillo
and her merry crew, which makes 'em fair game."
He peered across the oily ripples. "She ought to
be rounding the point of that next island
and weathering right into your trap any minute
now."
"You seem to know a lot about the opposition's
movements," Retief commented.
"I ought to—I heard all about it last week when
I was a/oof-gatherer."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
223
"I didn't know you Lumbagans changed islands
as well as affiliations."
"I was a prisoner of war down there. I managed
an escape during the changing of the guard. By
the way, keep a few sharp eyes out for a low-slung
boat with a big carbon arc light on deck. Inter-
island Police. They're supposed to be up at the
other end of the line now, but you never can tell."
"I can see you've done your homework, Gloot."
"Sure; I got the schedules down pat last time I
was on the force."
"Don't these rapid changes of allegiance get
confusing?" Retief inquired. "I'd think you'd run
the risk of accidentally shooting yourself under
the impression you were on the opposite side."
"I guess you can get used to anything," Gloot
said philosophically.
"There's Groo-groo coming up on the starboard
bow," Retief said. "Isn't it about time to start tack-
ing in?"
Gloot yawned. "Later, maybe," he said. "I de-
cided maybe it's too much trouble trying to ran-
som you. I prefer life on the briny deep to floun-
dering around in the creepers—" He was inter-
rupted by a shout from the masthead; jumping up,
he aimed a spyglass toward a dimly seen shape
gliding closer across the dark water.
"Oh-oh—get set. That looks like . . . yep—it's
them! Hey, Blump!" Gloot sprang to the com-
panionway. "Hard aport! And keep it quiet!"
As the unwieldy craft came sluggishly about, a
dazzling yard-wide shaft of smoky blue light
lanced across the water, etching the privateer's
crew in chalky white against the velvet black of
shadows.

224
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Heave to, you bilge scum!" an amplified voice
bellowed from the direction of the light, "before I
put a solid shot into your waterline!"
"We're in trouble," Gloot rapped. "That's old
Funge on the bullhorn; I'd know his voice any-
where. One of the best pirate captains around,
when he's working the other side of the street."
"Do we strike, Cap'n?" a crewman cried from
amidships.
"Remind me to keelhaul you when this is over!"
Gloot roared. "Strike nothing! Swing our stern
chaser around and run it out over the port rail!"
He charged across the deck, sharply canted by the
abrupt maneuver in which the elderly tub was
engaged, as the sailors dragged the small wheeled
cannon into position.
"Load with cannister; double-charge!" he
yelled. "Get a firepot up here! Hold her steady on a
coarse of one-eight-oh, and stand by to come
about fast!" He turned to Retief who was standing
nearby, observing the preparations for action.
"Better get below, Mister," he snapped. "This is
no place for noncombatants!"
"If you don't mind, I'll stick around on deck.
And if I may make a suggestion, it might be a good
idea to steer for shore."
"For shore? You must be hysterical with panic!
Everybody knows Groo-groo is swarming with
carnivores that are all stomach and teeth, with just
enough legs to let 'em leap on their prey from forty
feet away."
"In that case, I hope you're a strong swimmer."
"Don't worry, Retief, those revenue agents are
lousy shots—" Gloot's reassurances were inter-
rupted by a flash and a Boom! and the whistling

RETIEF'S RANSOM
225
passage of a projectile that sailed high overhead to
raise a column of water a hundred yards to star-
board.
"I see what you mean," Retief said. "Neverthe-
less, I think you're about to lose your command."
He pointed with his cigar at the water sluicing
across the buckled planks of the deck. "We're
sinking."
As he spoke, cries rose from the crew, who
suddenly found themselves ankle-deep in sea-
water. Gloot groaned.
"I guess I took that last corner too fast; she's
opened her seams!"
A breaker rolled across the deck. A crewman,
swept off his feet, went under with a despairing
cry. As the vessel wallowed, the waters surged,
rushed back across the half-submerged planking,
swirling around Retief's shins. The crewman was
no longer in evidence; instead, a swarm of disas-
sociated parts splashed in the brine, as the Lum-
bagan's formerly independent components re-
sumed their free-swimming status, making in-
stinctively for shore.
"Well, so long, Retief," Gloot cried. "Maybe our
various limbs and organs will meet up again in
some future arrangement—" he broke off. "Ah—
sorry, I forgot your hookup is a one-time deal.
Tough lines, Retief. Take a last look around, here
we go. . . ."
"Let's swim for it, it's not far."
"Well, I guess you could do that if you want to
prolong the process. As for me, I'd as soon get it
over with—"
"And miss finding out if the superstitions are
true? Come on, Gloot, last one ashore's an ampu-

226
RETIEF UNBOUND
tated leg." Retief dived over the side. He stroked
hard against the suction created by the sinking
hulk, surfaced in time to see the tip of the mast
descend slowly from sight amid a vigorous boil-
ing of water strewn with flotsam from the ill-fated
Peccadillo. Multitudes of Singletons which had
formerly constituted the privateer's complement
churned the waves, heading instinctively for
shore. A ragged cheer went up from the revenue
cutter.
Gloot bobbed up a few yards away. "She was my
first command," he said sadly. "I guess maybe she
was put together a little too much like us Lumba-
gans."
"A melancholy moment," Retief acknowl-
edged. He shrugged out of his jacket, pulled off
his shoes and thrust them into his side pockets
and set off at an easy crawl, Gloot dog-paddling
beside him. It was a cool evening, but the water
was pleasantly warm, mildly saline. Groo-groo
congealed from the darkness ahead, resolving it-
self into a cluster of rhubarb-shaped trees above a
pale streak which widened into a curving beach.
They rode the breakers in, grounding on coarse
coral sand, and waded in through tidal pools to
shore. Ahead dark jungle loomed, impenetrable
in the dim light of the moons, now obscured by
ragged clouds.
The Lumbagan tested the wind, all ears angled
to attitudes of total alertness.
"Hear something?" Retief asked.
"Yeah," the Lumbagan breathed. "Kind of a
stealthy slosh."
"That's just the water running out of your
boots," Retief pointed out.

RETIEF'S RANSOM
227
"Huh? Oh, yeah."
The lesser moon emerged from behind the
clouds. Retief scanned the beach, noted a small
keg half-buried in the pink sand, the word RUM
stenciled on the end.
"At least we won't want for basic supplies," he
commented as he extricated the container.
"You're about to sample Terry booze, Gloot."
"Not bad," the local commented five minutes
later, after the puncheon had been broached with
a lump of coral and the contents sampled. "It kind
of burns, but my stomach kind of likes it. In
fact"—he paused to hiccup—"I like it all over.
Actually, I just suddenly realized life is just a bowl
of bloopberries, now that my vision has
improved—"
"I see you're one of those affectionate drunks,"
Retief said as Gloot flung an arm about his shoul-
ders. "Better take it easy, Gloot. You may need all
your faculties intact for the evening ahead."
"Take it easy? I only had one li'l old swallow.
And what's scheduled for the evening? Fun? Gai-
ety? Wine, song, and crossword puzzles?"
"More of a cross-track puzzle," Retief corrected.
"Look." He pointed to a three-toed footprint
deeply impressed in the sand.
Gloot studied the impressions. "Ha! I've got it!"
he caroled. "Terries—just like my old buddy
Shlush!"
"I doubt it," Retief said. "Aside from the fact
that they're eighteen inches long—"
"So they're big Terries!" Gloot held a large, flat
hand over his head. "This high!" He glanced up at
the hand and seemed to sober abruptly. "This
high?"

228
RETIEF UNBOUND
"That's a little high for a Terry, especially the
kind you have in mind," Retief said. He followed
the tracks, which led up across the wet sand to the
edge of the forest.
"Let's go find the big Terries and have a li'l
party," Gloot proposed cheerfully. "All palsies
together."
"I understood you didn't care for Terries,
Gloot."
"That was then," Gloot cried gaily. "This is
now. Terries are my pals, the Groaci are my
pals—everybody's my pals, even this little fel-
low," he added as a small free-flying pineal gland
fluttered about his head. "Kootchie-koo—ain't it
cute, Retief?" he added as it landed on his head.
"A most appealing organ," Retief agreed. "But I
think you'd better lower your voice."
"What for? Somebody snoozing?" Gloot stood,
weaving slightly. "Tell the little guys with the
hammers to go away," he mumbled, groping at his
scalp; there was a sudden flutter as th« visitor
departed hurriedly. Gloot sat down hard on the
sand.
"Tell 'em to turn off the sireens and the bright
lights," he moaned, "and take the stewed gym
shoes out of my mouth. ..."
"Congratulations, Gloot," Retief said. "I think
you broke the galactic speed record for hang-
overs."
" Wha? Oh, it's you, Retief. Lucky you happened
along. I just been set upon by a strong-arm mob
and worked over with lead pipes. Which way'd
they go?" Gloot staggered to his feet.
"You were too much for them," Retief reassured
his companion. "They fled in various directions."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
229
"Yah. the yellowbellies," Gloot muttered. "Oh,
my skull."
"Where on the island does this big shot hang
out?" Retief asked.
"Beats me. I was to of been met on the beach."
"Let's take a look around," Retief suggested,
studying the looming woods above them. "You
check that way"—he pointed to the south—"and
I'll have a look up here."
Gloot grunted assent and moved off. Retief fol-
lowed the curve of the shore for a distance of a
hundred yards before the beach narrowed and
was pinched out by a rocky ridge extending down
from the forest-clad slope above. There were no
tracks, no empty beer bottles, no signs of animate
life. He returned to the starting point. Gloot was
nowhere in sight. He followed the Lumbagan's
bootprints as they wove unsteadily across the
sand, then turned toward the nearest tongue of
forest. Directly under a stout branch extending
from the mass of foliage, the trail ended. Above,
barely visible among the obscuring leaves, was
the freshly cut end of a coarsely woven rope.
9
Retief studied the ground. Other footprints were
visible here, but Gloot's were not among them.
The marks leading away from the spot, he noted,
were deeply impressed in the sand, as if the

230
RETIEF UNBOUND
owners had been burdened by a heavy weight—
presumably that of the Lumbagan.
Retief started off along the clearly marked spoor
leading up into the deep woods. The darkness
here was almost total. Creatures of the night
creaked, chirred, and wailed in the treetops. An
intermittent wind made groaning sounds among
the boughs. Nearer at hand, something creaked
faintly. Retief h ilted, faded back against the
knobby-barked bole of a giant tree.
A minute passed in silence. Just ahead, a small
figure emerged cautiously from the underbrush; a
curiously truncated Lumbagan, advancing in a
stealthy crouch. Gripping a stout club in a cluster
of fists, the native advanced cautiously, peering
under bushes and behind trees as he came. Retief
silently circled the sheltering trunk, stepped out
behind the stranger and cleared his throat. With a
thin yell, the native sprang straight into the air
and struck the ground running, but with a quick
grab Retief snared him by the garland of teeth
encircling his neck.
"I'm looking for a friend of mine," Retief said in
the native tongue. "I don't suppose you've seen
him."
"Him monster like you?" the terrified captive
squeaked, hooking a finger under his necklace to
ease the strain.
"Another type of monster entirely," Retief said;
he gave a succinct description of his traveling
companion.
"Negative, Sahib. Tribe belong me not nab
monster fitting that description. By the way, how
about letting go ceremonial collar before I suffer
embarrassment of bite own head off."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
231
"You'd be more comfortable if you'd stop tug-
ging," Retief pointed out.
"Against instinct not try get away from mon-
ster," the native explained.
"Curious; a moment ago I had the distinct im-
pression you were trying to get closer to me."
"Iron maiden on other foot now. You eat now, or
save for snack?"
"I'll wait, thanks. Is your village near here?"
"Usually don't stop to chat with stranger," the
captive muttered, "but in this case looks like best
bet to increase longevity. Monster right, I citizen
of modest town half mile up trail."
"I'd like to pay it a visit. How about acting as
guide?"
"I got choice in matter?"
"Certainly," Retief said. "You can either lead
me there or take the consequences."
"Most likely lead monster there and take con-
sequences. Chief Boobooboo not like stranger
poking around."
"In that case you can introduce me. Retief's the
name. What's yours?"
"Zoof; but probably change to Mud, once chief
get eyeful of humiliating circumstances attending
surprise visit."
"Actually, Zoof, it's not absolutely necessary
that I lead you there by the neck, if you'll promise
not to run out on me."
"Got funny feeling monster run faster than me
anyway. OK, it's deal. I lead you to village; when
you get there, you look over menu, maybe pick
choicer specimen."
"It's a promise." Retief said. "Nice teeth," he
added as he disengaged his hand from the

232
RETIEF UNBOUND
necklace. "Local product?"
"Nope, fancy imported, guaranteed solid plas-
tic." Zoof started through the dense woods, Retief
close behind. "No catchum real tooth these days.
Life in woods going to hell in handcart. Monsters
ruin hunting, lucky make deal with Five-eyes
monster for steady supply grits and gravy."
"The Five-eyes you refer to wouldn't by any
chance be Groaci?"
"Could be. Shiny-leg city slicker, same big like
me, all time whisper, like offer deal on hot canoe."
"That's Ambassador Jith to the life. But I wasn't
aware his interests extended this far back into the
brush."
"Sure, small monster go everywhere, do every-
thing. All time ride giant bird, make stink, noise,
pile up stone, while big monster trample under-
brush, rig net, hunt, eat—"
"What do these big monsters look like?" Retief
inquired.
"Take look in mirror sometime, see for self."
"They're Terrans—like me?"
Zoof twisted his head to study Retief. "Nope,
not exact same, maybe. Not so much eyes. Some
got more. Some two time so big like you, tear head
off, eat one bite—"
"Have you seen the monsters yourself?"
"You bet; see you, see Five-eyes, hear plenty
rumor fill in gaps in information."
"Are there any Groaci at your village now?"
"We find out," Zoof said. "Home town just
ahead." He led the way another fifty feet and
halted.
"Well, what monster think of place?"
Retief studied the gloomy forest around him,
insofar as he could see in no way different from

the previous half mile of woods.
"It's unspoiled, I'll say that for it," he com-
mented. "Is this Main Street?"
"Monster kidding? Is snazzy residential sec-
tion, plenty tight zoning, you bet. Come on, we
find chief and boys over at favorite hangout, Old
Log."
"A bar?"
"Nope, just swell place root for grubs."
"I take it the Grubs aren't a ball team?"
"More of hors d'oeuvre," Zoof corrected. He led
the way through a dense stand of forest patriarchs,
emerged in a small, open glade where half a dozen
Lumbagans, differing wildly in detail, wandered
apparently aimlessly, gazing at the ground. With
a sharp cry, one pounced, came up with a wrig-
gling creature which he thrust into a sack at his
waist.
"My grasp of Lumbagan zoology is somewhat
hazy," Retief said. "How do these grubs fit into
the general biological picture?"
"Play essential role," Zoof replied. "Grub grow
up be kidney, jawbone, kneecap, you name it."
"So much for future generations. Still, it's no
worse than eating eggs, I suppose."
"Not eat 'em," Zoof corrected. "Collect, sell to
skinny-leg monster, get plenty Colonel Sanders
fried chicken and other exotic chow, you bet."
The grub hunters had interrupted their search
to stare inhospitably at Retief.
"Hey, Chief," Zoof greeted his leader, "this
monster name Retief, express desire meet jungle
big shot. Retief, shake grasping member of Chief
Boobooboo, son of Chief Booboo, son of Chief
Boob."
"Grandpa name Boo, not Boob," the chief cor-

234
RETIEF UNBOUND
rected sternly. "Why you want me, monster? Zoof
not look tender?"
"Actually I was looking for a friend—"
"Hmm, neat switch. Usual custom eat enemy,
but after all, why be prejudice? Eat chum too, get
varied diet." Boobooboo looked appraisingly at
Zoof.
"As it happens, I've already eaten," Retief said.
"The friend I'm looking for seems to have been
involved in an incident involving a rope."
"Monster bark up wrong flagpole," the Chief
stated. "Unsophisticated aborigine unequal to
technical challenge of make rope."
"Any idea who might have snared him?"
"Sure."
"Possibly you'd confide in me."
"Why?"
"I don't suppose the simple desire to do a good
turn would be sufficient motivation?"
"Not that unsophisticated," Boobooboo said
flatly. "Good time remember ancient folk wisdom
embodied in old tribal saying: What's In It For
Me?"
"What about a firm promise of a year's supply of
pizza pies?"
"Not much nourishment in promise," the Chief
pointed out. "Got better idea. . . ." Boobooboo
lowered his voice. "Know where big supply eat-
ables located; you help collect, maybe I get
bighearted and tell all."
"I think I'd prefer a more definite commit-
ment," Retief said. "Strike out the 'maybe' and we
might be able to get together."
"Sure; just stuck 'maybe' in so have something
to concede."
"I see I'm dealing with a pro," Retief acknowl-

RETIEF'S RANSOM
235
edged. "En passant, where is this food supply
located?"
"Half mile that direction." The chief pointed.
"Enough chow for whole tribe from now to next
St. Swithin's Day."
"I take it you've actually seen the groceries for
yourself?"
"Sure, same time deliver."
"I see: you plan to hijack the supplies you've
been selling to the Graoci."
"Hijack loaded word. Just say decide to share
wealth with underprivileged. Monsters got
wealth, we got underprivileged'
"At the present rate, Chief, I predict your sup-
ply of unsophistication won't last out the winter.
But why do you need my help? You have enough
troops to stage a raid on your own."
"Monster not get big picture. Skinny-legs
spoilsport hide comestibles away inside magic
cave, patrol perimeter with plenty fearsome
monster, tear a simple tribesman apart with two
hands while hunt fleas with rest."
"And you think I can penetrate this fortress?"
"Maybe not; but better you than me and boys;
we just simple pastoral types; hunt, fish, steal, not
go in for heavy work."
"On the whole, Chief Boobooboo, the proposi-
tion doesn't sound overwhelmingly attractive."
"I figure maybe you feel that way; so save snap-
per for end: you come here ask about missing
buddy? Monster in luck; get economical combina-
tion deal. Kidnapped pal same place victuals. Get
two for price of one."
"I think," Retief said, "I've been outmaneu-
vered."
A quarter of an hour later, Retief and Chief

236
RETIEF UNBOUND
Boobooboo, attended by Zoof and the bulk of the
truncated tribesmen, stood in the shelter of a giant
mumble tree, the soft mutterings of its foliage
covering the sound of their conversation.
"Straight ahead, can't miss it," Boobooboo was
saying. "But watch snares; you get caught same
way absent chum, deal off."
"Understood, Chief. And you'll keep your
people posted in position to create a diversion in
the event I have to leave the vicinity in haste."
"Correct; we stand by, catch any wandering
grub come galloping past."
"It's been a pleasure dealing with you, Chief. If
you ever decide to give up the rural way of life,
drop me a line. The Corps could use your talents
instructing a course in naivete."
"Thanks, Retief. Keep offer in mind in case
present caper not pan out."
The forest was silent as Retief made his way
along the dimly marked trail, but for a stealthy
rustling in the undergrowth which ceased when
he halted, began again when he went on. He had
covered perhaps a hundred and fifty yards when
he rounded an abrupt turn and was face to face
with twelve feet of tusked nightmare.

10
for a moment Retief stood unmoving, studying
the monstrosity looming gigantic ten feet away.
Its bleary, pinkish eyes, three in number, stared
unwinking at him from a lumpy face equipped
with tufted whiskers placed at random around a
vast, loose-lipped mouth and a scattering of gap-
ing nostrils. From its massive shoulders, immense
arms hung almost to the ground; three bowed legs
supported the weight of a powerfully muscled
torso. The big fellow's generous pedal extremities
were housed in gigantic sneakers with round
black reinforcing patches over the anklebones. A
long tail curled up over one clavicle, ending in a
seven-fingered hand with which the creature was
exploring the interior of a large, pointed ear.
Other hands gripped a naked two-edged sword at
least nine feet in length.
Retief took a hand-rolled Jorgenson's cigar from
an inside pocket, puffed it alight, blew out pale
violet smoke.
"Nice night," he said.
The monster drew a deep breath.
"AHHHrrrghhh!" it bellowed.
"Sorry," Retief said, "I didn't quite catch that
remark."
"AHHHrrrghhh!" the creature repeated.
Retief shook his head. "You're still not getting
through."

238
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Ahhrrgh?"
"You do it well," Retief said. "Exceptionally
nice timbre. Real feeling."
"You really like it?" the giant said in a surpris-
ingly high-pitched voice. "Gee, thanks a lot."
"I don't know when I've seen it done better. But
is that all there is?"
"You mean it ain't enough?"
"I'm perfectly satisfied," Retief assured his new
acquaintance. "I just wanted to be sure there
wasn't an encore."
"I practiced it plenty," the oversized Lumbagan
said. "I wouldn't of wanted to of did it wrong."
"Certainly not. By the way, what does it mean?"
"How do I know? Who tells me anything? I'm
just old Smelch, which everybody pushes me
around on account of I'm easygoing, you know?"
"I think I met a relative of yours in town,
Smelch. Unfortunately I had to rush away before
we really had a chance to chat."
"Yeah? Well, I heard a few of the boys was to of
been took for a glom at the bright lights. But not
me. No such luck."
"You don't happen to know who's been down
for a barefoot stroll on the shore do you, Smelch?"
the Terran inquired casually. "A party with
three-toed feet."
"Three? Lessee." Smelch's tail-mounted hand
scratched at his mottled scalp with a sound
reminiscent of a spade striking marl. "That'd be
more'n one, and less than nine, right?"
"You're narrowing the field," Retief said en-
couragingly.
"If I just knew how many nine was, I'd be in
business," Smelch muttered. "That ain't nothing
like say, six, fer example?"

"Close, but no dope stick. Skip that point,
Smelch, I didn't mean to get technical. Were
you waiting for anything special when I came
along?"
"You bet: my relief."
"When's he due?"
"Well, lessee: I come out here a while back, and
been here for quite a time, so what does that leave?
Say—half a hour?"
"More like a jiffy and a half, give or take a few
shakes of a lamb's tail. What's up at the top of the
trail?"
"That's what nobody ain't supposed to know."
"Why not?"
"On account of it's like a secret, see?"
"I'm beginning to get a glimmering. Who says
it's a secret?"
Smelch's fingernail abraded his chin with a
loud roaching sound.
"That's supposed to be another secret."
Smelch's features rearranged themselves in what
might have been a puzzled frown. "What I can't
figure is—if it's a secret, how come you know
about it?"
"Word gets around," Retief said reassuringly.
"OK if I go up and have a look?"
"Maybe you ought to identify yourself first. Not
that I don't trust you, but you know how it is."
"Certainly. I'm Retief, Smelch." He shook the
hand at the end of the tail, which returned the grip
firmly.
"Sorry about the routine, Retief, but these days
a guy can't be too careful."
"What about?"
Smelch blinked all three eyes in rotation, a ver-
tiginous effect.

240
RETIEF UNBOUND
"I get it," he said, "that's what you call a joke,
right? I'm nuts about jokes; only the trouble is
usually nobody tells me about 'em in time to
laugh."
"It's a problem that often plagues ambassadors,
Smelch. But don't worry; I'll be sure to tip you off
in advance next time."
"Gee, you're a all-right guy, Retief, even if you
are kind of a runt and all, no offense."
The sound of heavy feet came from uptrail; a
squat, five-foot figure lumbered into view, as sol-
idly built as Smelch but less beautiful, his various
arms, legs, and ears having been arranged with a
fine disregard for standard patterns. One of his
five hands gripped a fifteen-foot harpoon; his four
eyes, on six-inch stalks, goggled atop a flattened
skull which gave the appearance of having been
matured inside a hot-water bottle.
"About time, Flunt," Smelch greeted the new-
comer. "You're a shake and a half late."
"Spare me any carping criticisms," Flunt re-
plied in a tone of long-suffering weariness. "I've
just come from an interview with that bossy
little—" He broke off, looking Retief up and
down. "Well, you might at least offer an introduc-
tion," he said sharply to Smelch, extending a
hand to the diplomat. "I'm Flunt. Pardon my
appearance—" He indicated two uncombed
fringes of purplish-blue filaments springing from
just below his cheekbones. "But I just washed my
hide and I can't do a thing with it."
"Not at all," Retief said ambiguously, giving
Flunt's feet a quick glance: they were bare, and
remarkably human-looking. "My name's Retief."
"Goodness, I hope I'm not interrupting any-

RETIEF'S RANSOM
241
thing," Flunt said, looking questioningly from
one to the other.
"Not at all. Smelch and I were just passing the
time of night. Interesting little island, Flunt. See
many strangers here?"
"Gracious, I hope not. I'm supposed to do
dreadful things if I do—" Flunt broke off, gave
Retief a startled look. "Ah, you aren't by any
chance a stranger . . . ?"
"Are you kidding?" Smelch spoke up. "He's
Retief, like I told you."
"Just so you're sure. Little Sir Nasty-nice
wouldn't like it a bit if any outsiders sneaked a
peek at his precious whatever-it-is. Really, for this
job one needs eyes in the back of one's head!"
"Yeah," Smelch said. "Lucky you got 'em."
"Flunt, do you know anyone with three-toed
feet in these parts?" Retief asked.
"Three-toed feet? Hmmm. They're a bit passe'
this season, of course—but I think I've seen a few
around. Why?" His voice lowered confidentially.
"If you're interested in picking up half a dozen at a
bargain price, I think I may be able to put you onto
a good thing."
"I might be," Retief said. "When could I meet
the owners?"
"Oh, I don't think you'd like that," Flunt said
soberly. "No, I don't think you'd like that at all, at
all. And neither would little Mr. Sticky-fingers,
now that I reflect on it. Actually, I shouldn't have
mentioned the matter. My blunder. Forget I said
anything about it."
"Come on, Retief," Smelch said loudly. "Me
and you'll just take a little ankle up the trail,
which I'll point out the points of interest and like

242
RETIEF UNBOUND
that." He gave the Terran an elaborate three-eyed
wink.
"Capital idea, Smelch," Retief agreed.
"Look here, Smelch," Flunt said nervously,
"you're not going to go sneaking around you-
know-where and getting you-know-who all upset
about you-know-what?"
"I do?" Smelch looked pleased.
"Maybe you don't; it's been dinned into your
head hourly all your life, but then you've only
been around for a week. ..." Flunt turned to
Retief.
"I hate to sound finicky, Retief, but if this um-
myday tries to ipslay you into, well, anyplace you
shouldn't eebay, well.. . one has one's job to do."
He fingered the barbed head of his harpoon mean-
ingfully.
"I can give you a definite tentative hypothetical
assurance on that," Retief said crisply. "But don't
hold me to it."
"Well, in that case	" Retief felt Flunt's eyes
on him as he and Smelch moved up the trail to-
ward whatever lay above.
11
For the first hundred yards, nothing untoward
disturbed the silence of the forest at night-—
nothing other than the normal quota of chirps,
squeaks, and scuttlings that attested to the ac-
tivities of the abundant wildlife of the region.

Then, without warning, a gigantic shape charged
from the underbrush. Smelch, in the lead, late in
swinging his broad-headed spear around, took the
brunt of the charge solidly against his chest. His
explosive grunt was almost drowned in the sound
of the collision, not unlike that of an enraged
rhino charging a Good Humor wagon. The an-
tagonists surged to and fro, trampling shrubbery,
shaking trees, grunting like beached walruses.
Suddenly the stranger bent his knees, rammed his
head into Smelch's midriff, and rose, Smelch
spread-eagled across his shoulders. He pivoted
sharply, went into a dizzying twirl, and hurled the
unfortunate victim from him to hurtle into the
undergrowth, snapping off a medium-sized tree
in the process. The victor paused only long
enough to beat out a rapid tattoo on his chest and
wait until a brief coughing fit passed before whirl-
ing on Retief. The Terran sidestepped the dimly
seen monster's first rush, which carried the latter
well into the thicket beside the path. As he
threshed about there, roaring, Smelch reemerged
from the opposite side of the route, shaking his
head and muttering. The stranger came crashing
back onto the scene only to be met by two lefts and
a right haymaker that halted him in his tracks.
"Sorry about that, Retief," Smelch said con-
tritely, as his antagonist toppled like a felled oak.
"But the mug got my dander up, which he
shouldn't ought to of come out leading with his
chin anyways."
"A neat one-two-three," Retief commented,
blowing a plume of smoke toward the fallen
fighter. "Let's take a closer look." He parted the
brush to look down at the casualty who lay

sprawled on his back, out cold. The ten-foot-tall
figure was remarkably conservative for a Lumba-
gan, he thought: only two legs and arms, a single
narrow head with close-set paired eyes, a lone
nose and mouth, an unimpressive chin. The feet,
clearly outlined inside rawhide buskins, featured
five toes each, matching the hands' ten fingers.
"What's the matter?" Smelch said. "You know
the mug?"
"No, but he bears a certain resemblance to a
colleague of mine."
"Jeez, the poor guy. Well, beauty ain't every-
thing. Anyways, here's your chance to pick up a
set of dogs at a steal, if you know what I mean." He
rammed an elbow toward Retief's ribs, a com-
radely gesture capable of collapsing a lung had it
landed.
"I think I'll pass up the opportunity this time,"
Retief said, stepping forward to investigate a
strand of barbed wire vaguely discernible in the
gloom. It was one of three, he discovered, running
parallel to the trail, firmly attached to stout posts.
"Retief, we better blow," Smelch said. "Like
Flunt said, nobody but nobody don't want to poke
his noses and stuff in too close around you-
know-where."
"Actually, I don't think I do," Retief corrected
his massive acquaintance. "Know where, I
mean."
"Good," Smelch said in a relieved tone. "You're
safer that way."
"Not afraid, are you?"
"Yeah." Smelch nodded his head vigorously. "I
hear they got ways of making a guy regret the day
his left leg met up with his right."

"Who says so?"
"Everybody, Retief! All the boys been warned
to stay clear, once they was outside. ..."
"You mean you've been inside?"
"Sure." Smelch looked puzzled, an expression
involving a rapid twitching of his ears. "How
could I of not been?"
"Flunt's been there too?"
"Natch. You don't figure the moomy-bird brung
him, do you? That's a little joke, Retief. I know you
know the moomy-bird didn't bring him."
"How about this fellow?" Retief indicated the
unconscious Lumbagan stretched at his feet. "He
came from inside too?"
Smelch clucked sympathetically. "I guess they
must of left out some o' your marbles, Retief.
Where else would Zung of come from? In fact"—
he lowered his voice confidentially—"he ain't
never graduated, poor sucker."
"Maybe you'd care to amplify that remark a
little, Smelch."
"Zung is one of the boys which they ain't been
allowed out in the big, wonderful world like you
and me." Smelch spread several hands expan-
sively. "Except only maybe a few feet to clobber
anybody that comes along. What I figure is. . . ."
He lowered his voice to a solemn hush. "Him and
the other ones, they ain't all there, you know?
Rejects, like."
"Rejects from what, Smelch?"
"Shhh." Smelch looked around worriedly. "I
don't like the trend of the conversation, which
we're treading on shaky ground, especially this
close to you-know-what."
"No, but I think it's time I found out."

246
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Hey—you ain't planning on climbing the
fence?"
"Unless you know where the gate is."
"Sure—right up the trail about a hundred
yards, or maybe ten. I ain't too precise on the fine
detail work."
"Then I'll be off, Smelch; give my regards to
Flunt when you see him."
"You're really going to sneak back into you-
know-where and grab a peek at you-know-what?
Boy oh boy, if you-know-who sees you—"
"I know. Thanks for clarifying matters. By the
way, if you should run into a fellow with three
legs who answers to the name of Gloot, I'd ap-
preciate any help you could give him."
"Sure; you let me know if we see him."
"We?"
"Heck, yes. You don't think I'm going in there
alone, do you? And we better get moving. Zung's
starting to twitch."
As they proceeded silently up the path, Retief
was again aware of the soft rustlings and snuf-
flings he had noted on and off since his arrival on
the island. Through a gap in the shrubbery he
caught a fleeting glimpse of a stealthy figure
which ducked out of sight as he paused. He went
on; the rustling progress of his shadower re-
sumed.
The gate—a wide construction of aluminum
panels and barbed wire—blocked the trail a
hundred feet above the point where they had en-
countered Zung. A green-shaded spotlight out-
lined it starkly against the foliage. A padlock the
size of an alarm clock dangled from a massive
hasp.

RETIEF'S RANSOM
247
"Any more guards hidden out around the
area?" Retief asked.
"Naw—with Flunt and me doing a tight secu-
rity job down below, and the other bum working
in close, who needs it?"
"An incisive point." Retief conceded. They
walked boldly up to the gate. Smelch tried it,
seemed surprised when it failed to swing open.
"Looks like it's stuck," he commented, and
ripped it from its hinges, lock and all, tossing the
crumpled panels aside with a metallic crash.
"Nothing like direct action," Retief said admir-
ingly. "But from this point on I suggest we ob-
serve a trifle more caution, just in case there's
anyone up there whose suspicions might be
aroused by the sound of a three-car collision this
far from the nearest highway."
"Say, pretty shrewd," Smelch said admiringly.
"I always wanted to team up with a guy which he
could figure the angles."
Beyond the former gate, the path continued a
few yards before debouching into a wide cleared
strip adjoining a high board fence that extended
for some distance in each direction.
"Home, sweet home," Smelch said nostalgi-
cally. "The old place sure has changed since I
ventured out into the great world."
"Has it?"
"Sure. After all, that was a couple hours ago."
"This is where you were born and raised, in
other words."
"Yeah—inside the fence is where I spent my
happy childhood, all four days of it."
"I'd like to see the old place."
"Well, old Sneakyfeet won't like it—but to heck

248
RETIEF UNBOUND
with him and his dumb rules. Who but a alumnus
would want to look inside anyways? Come on,
Retief." Smelch led the way to an inconspicuous
gate which yielded to his efforts, not without a
certain amount of splintering. Retief propped the
door back in place and turned to regard an exten-
sive array of ranked cages stacked in long aisles
that led away in the moonlight to the far line of the
fence. A dispirited yammering chorus of sound
started up nearby, reminiscent of visiting day at a
pet hospital. A vaguely zoolike odor hung in the
air.
Retief approached the nearest row of cages. In
the first, a creature resembling a rubber rutabaga
with spidery legs slumped dolefully against the
bars. Adjacent, a pair of apprehensive-looking
ankles huddled together for warmth.
"Freebies," Smelch said. "Just in from the
jungle. Little do the poor little fellers dream what
a high class destiny's in store for 'em."
"What destiny is in store for them, Smelch?"
"Right this way," the Lumbagan invited, indi-
cating the next rank of cages. These were some-
what larger than those in the first section, each
containing a creature giving the appearance of
having been assembled from spare parts. Here a
spindly leg drummed the fingers of a lone hand
springing from where a foot might have been ex-
pected; there a bored-looking lower lip, flanked
by a pair of generous ears, sprang directly from an
unmistakable elbow. In the next echelon, the
cages were still larger, occupied by specimens of a
more sophisticated appearance. A well-
developed paunch with a trio of staring brown
eyes at the top squatted on four three-toed feet,

RETIEF'S RANSOM
249
watching the visitors incuriously. A remarkably
human-looking head with a full beard swung
from the roof of its prison by the muscular arm
that was its sole appendage.
"Uh, some o' the boys look a little weird,"
Smelch said apologetically, "but in the end they
mostly turn out handsome devils, like me."
"Someone seems to have gone to considerable
trouble to set up this lonelyhearts farm," Retief
commented. "In the natural state, I understand,
matches among Freebies take place at rare inter-
vals. This looks like mass production. Any idea
why, Smelch?"
"Nope. I ain't one of them guys which he asts
questions all the time, you know what I mean? I
mean, why poke the old nostrils in and maybe get
'em stuffed full of lint, right?"
"It's a philosophy without which bureaucracy
as we know it would soon wither away," Retief
conceded. "What was your job when you were
here, Smelch?"
"Well, lessee, there was eating. That took a lot o'
my time. Then there was sleeping. I like that
pretty good. Then . . . lessee ... I guess that just
about wraps it up. Why?"
"You must have a strong union," Retief said.
"Why were you here?"
"Jeez, you know that's a question which a guy
could wonder about it a long time if he wouldn't
drop off to sleep first. Personally, I got like a
theory that before we can attack the problem of
transcendentalism, we got to examine the nature
of knowledge and its limitations, making a ap-
propriate distinction between noumena and
phenomena. I figure by coordinating perceptions

250
RETIEF UNBOUND
by means of rationally evolved concepts of under-
standing we can proceed to the analysis of experi-
ence and arrive at the categorical imperative, with
its implicit concomitants. Get what I mean?"
"I think possibly I've been underestimating
you, Smelch. I didn't know you read Kant."
"Can't read, you mean," Smelch corrected.
"Nope, I never had the time for no idle pursuits,
what with that heavy schedule I told you about."
"Quite understandable, Smelch. By the way,
Flunt mentioned you'd only been here a week.
Where were you before that?"
"Well, now we're getting into the area o' the
metaphysical, Retief, which when you examine
material phenomena by inductive processes you
arrive at a philosophical materialism, not to
exclude ontological and epistemological con-
siderations, which in general could be assumed to
deny metaphysics any validity in the context o'
Aristotelian logic. Or am I just spinning my
wheels?"
"Did you work that out for yourself, Smelch, or
did somebody tip you off?"
"Never mind. I don't think I'd grasp the full
significance of the answer anyway."
They passed the last of the cages, these oc-
cupied by a bewildering variety of Lumbagan life
forms in a wide range of colors and shapes, and
displaying a remarkably diverse endowment of
limbs, sensory equipment, and other somatic
elements.
"They look vigorous enough," Retief com-
mented as one hefty specimen gripped the bars
and drooled at him. "But I get an impression
they're not too bright."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
251
"Well, sure, first they got to go through the
indoctrination center. You can't except a agglom-
eration which last week it was grubbing roots in
the woods to be a instant intellectual. That takes a
couple days."
"I see. Where do we go from here, Smelch?"
"How about the cafeteria? I got a yen for some
good old home cooking."
"Let's save that until after I've met you-know-
who," Retief suggested.
"Mondays they usually got mud-on-a-
mortarboard," Smelch said nostalgically, testing
the air through his multiple nostrils. "Also on
Wednesday, Saturday, and all the other days.
Lucky it's my favorite. But I guess you're right,
Retief. We got to make our courtesy calls before we
chow down. I guess old Sneaky-feet. . . ." Smelch
paused. "Hey, talking about sneaky feet, old you-
know-who has got three toes on each foot; I barged
in on him once when he was climbing out of a tub
of hot sand. Wow, if language was skinning hooks,
I'd of been flayed to the ribs in no time. That's
when I seen 'em. His feet, I mean. . . ."
He broke off as a faint, rhythmic sound became
audible, swiftly growing louder. The running
lights of a copter appeared above the treetops,
winking in a complicated pattern. The machine
sank out of sight beyond the fence.
"What do you know, Retief—that's old Whatzis
himself," Smelch cried delightedly. "But now
that it's time to make the introductions," he added
with sudden doubt, "I kind of wonder if it's a good
idea. If he's in a bad mood he could maybe inter-
pret it as me not doing my job of keeping outsiders
on the outside."

252
RETIEF UNBOUND

"Let's hope he doesn't take a narrow-minded
approach," Retief said encouragingly. He had
reached the section of fence opposite the point
where the copter had descended. He jumped,
caught the top, pulled himself up in time to see a
hurrying figure in a dark cloak and pale headgear
disappear into a small structure at the edge of the
clearing.
He pulled himself over and dropped to the
ground. A moment later Smelch joined him.
"That copter's been busy tonight," Retief said.
"What's in the building?"
"All kinds of neat stuff, like the cafeteria,"
Smelch said. "Did I mention they got mud-on-a-
mortarboard?"
"You did. Let's go take a closer look."
They reached the door through which the heli's
passenger had disappeared. It opened, and they
stepped into a brightly lit corridor. At the far end,
light gleamed through a glass-paneled door.
When they reached it, muffled sounds were audi-
ble from the room beyond.
Retief took a small button-shaped object from
his pocket, pressed it to the door, put his ear to it.
". . . you still hesitate?" a suave voice said.
"Possibly you are deterred by ethical con-
siderations, a reluctance to betray those who
have placed their trust in you. Dismiss the
thought, fellow! What harm to honor if nobody
blabs, eh?"
Snorting and threshing sounds followed.
"Ah . . . Exalted One," a breathy Groaci voice
whispered, "to offer a suggestion: the removal of
the gag to facilitate compliance with instruc-
tions."
"Um. I was just about to order. Guard!"

RETIEF'S RANSOM
253
Heavy footsteps sounded, followed by a ripping
sound and a hoarse yell, then a shuddering sigh.
"Just one," Gloot's voice said yearningly. "Just
one little old ocular, right by the roots. ..."
A faint buzz sounded, eliciting a grunt of an-
noyance.
"Cretin!" the Groaci hissed. "The unwarranted
interruption of His Unutterableness' virtuoso per-
formance!"
"To regret—but to report untoward circum-
stances without," a second Groaci whispered in
agitation.
"Begone, imbecile. This taciturn wretch is just
on the point of divulging all!"
"Ah—Eminent One—the desirability of com-
pleting my report."
"What report?"
"The one which prompted this lowly one to
intrude on Your Loftiness' deliberations: namely
and to wit: the discovery that the security of this
installation has been breached."
"Indeed?" the Groaci hissed. "To imply you
failed to see to the complete combustion of file
copies of certain special requisitions? To attend to
it at once, thus forestalling any possible criticism
by the small-minded—"
"To entreat your pardon, Your Greatness—but
to correct a misapprehension: the breach to which
I had reference is the unauthorized presence in-
side the station of certain intruders—"
"Intruders! Why wasn't I notified at once!" the
non-Groaci voice barked.
"To have sought in vain to get a word in
edgeways—"
"To skip the apologies! To dispose of the inter-
lopers instanter!"

254
RETIEF UNBOUND
"To regretfully report their precise whereabouts
is not yet known!"
"To find them at once and to dispatch them out
of hand!"
"I don't like this," the order voice said in Lum-
bagan. "Flabby security is something I can't afford
at this point. I'm off to Omega Station, Nith. Carry
on with the interrogation."
Retief tried the doorknob, found it locked. He
quickly extracted a small but complicated device
from an inner pocket, applied it to the latch. There
was a soft click. The door opened silently on a
small dark room lined with coat hooks; beyond
was a second room, clinically furnished in white.
Under a ceiling glare panel, Gloot sat in a steel
chair, strapped in position by heavy bands of wire
mesh. An elaborate network of color-coded wires
led from a cap-like device clamped to his head to a
gray steel cabinet resembling a ground-car tune-
up console.
A Lumbagan, if anything larger and more
baroque than Smelch, leaned against the wall. A
uniformed Groaci stood by a door in the opposite
wall. Before the captive stood a slight figure nat-
tily attired in bile-green Bermuda shorts, an aloha
shirt in clashing pinks, and orange and violet
Argyles.
"Well, my old friend Nith, formerly of the
Groaci Secret Police," Retief said softly to Smelch.
"I wasn't aware his duties had brought him to
these shores."
"Hey—for a couple minutes I thought that was
Whatchamacallit," the Lumbagan whispered.
"But I guess not ... he ain't yelling."
"He looks like him, does he?"

RETIEF'S RANSOM
255
"Who?"
"You know."
"Oh, him."
"You didn't answer the question."
"Uh—what was the question?"
"On second thought I withdraw it."
"Now," the Groaci addressed Gloot eagerly,
"there are none here but you and I and Leftenant
Chish, and a lone guard unequipped with the
higher cerebral centers, so there can be no thought
of repercussions arising from your master's misin-
terpretation of events. Now, speak up, fellow. Tell
all!"
Gloot struggled against his bonds, "Oh boy oh
boy oh boy," he said. "If I just had a couple hands
free, or maybe a prehensile tail, if I had a prehen-
sile tail—"
"Bah! My lone chance to acquire glory in the
absence of his Pushiness—"
"You mean his Puissance?"
"You heard me. Now, whilst he's absent,
quickly spill the legumes, fellow! I'll see to it
you're awarded the Order of Groac, with bladder!"
"Go soak your organ cluster in concentrated
sulphuric acid."
"I have no time now for such indulgences, reti-
cent one! You force me to extreme measures, en-
tered into the more reluctantly in the light of
certain prohibitions promulgated by His Ex-
tremeness regarding unauthorized use of equip-
ment! But you leave me no choice, if I'm to score
a badly needed point or two!" Nith turned to
the knob-studded console, twiddled controls.
"Now to administer a stimulus which will unlock
your mandibles, producing a veritable torrent of

256
RETIEF UNBOUND
data. . . ." He pushed a button; Gloot leaped
against his restraints, yodeling enthusiastically.
Nith pushed another button. Gloot slumped in his
chair.
"Ah, you see?" Nith whispered. "Already you
feel better: the cathartic effect of unburdening
oneself of baseless hostilities. Now, you may
begin with the designation of your employers.
Whose hireling are you, fellow?"
"Nobody's," Gloot muttered.
"Shall I be forced to consign you to the parts
bins after all?" Nith hissed ominously.
"Ah . . . Uplifted One," the bystanding Groaci
officer offered diffidently, "to note that the
veracitometer indicates the inferior one is speak-
ing the truth."
"Eh? Impossible!" Nith whipped his eyestalks
around to focus on the panel. "The impossibility,
that is, that you should imagine me to be unaware
of that circumstance." He twiddled knobs on the
panel, then addressed himself again to Gloot:
"Who sent you here!"
"Nobody sent me; me and a chum came to-
gether."
"Aha! This chum! What power does he repre-
sent?"
"He's a Groaci," Gloot said sullenly.
"A . . . Groaci?"
"You heard me, Five-eyes! And a big wheel at
that!"
"The indication of the instruments," the lesser
Groaci whispered. "The possibility of a malfunc-
tion?"
"To not descend to the fatuous, Leftenant
Chish! I myself to have overseen the installation!
The acceptance of the preposterous: the

RETIEF'S RANSOM
257
hobbledehoy's truthfulness!"
"Amplified One!" Chish hissed. "To begin to
see the light! Lackaday! To have accidentally ab-
ducted a member of the personal staff of a Groa-
cian MHPP!"
Nith waggled his eyes at Gloot playfully. "In
your report to your superior, I'm sure you won't
find it necessary to mention this little con-
tretemps, eh? Just look upon it as a slight misun-
derstanding easily mended—"
"Upthrust One," Lt. Chish interrupted. The
possibility that though this one's companion is of
the noble Groacian stock, he himself might yet be
in the pay of inferior races—"
"To be sure, Leftenant," Nith said smoothly.
"To have been about to raise precisely that issue."
He faced Gloot. "Confess all, unfortunate dupe!
You were the prisoner of the Groacian noblebeing,
correct?"
"Well—technically he was my prisoner. But be-
tween you and me, Five-eyes, I was beginning to
wonder who was in charge."
"You dared impede the freedom of a High Born
One? You abducted him here against his will?"
"Naw, it wasn't that way," Gloot said. "It was
kind of a joint venture, like."
"Joint venture? I fail to postulate any conceiva-
ble circumstance under which the interests of
Groac and of an aboriginal would coincide!"
"Dough," Gloot said succinctly. "Mazoola.
Bread. You know."
"You shared an interest in gourmet cookery?"
"Cripes, how'd you know that?"
"Further association with us Groaci will accus-
tom you to such casual displays of omniscience,"
Nith said smoothly.

258
RETIEF UNBOUND
"But—to have implied that it occupied the
status of coequal with its Groaci companion,"
Chish objected.
"To have spoken allegorically, as is customary
with artists! To have implied only His Supernal-
ness' shared interest in matters gastronomic. But
now to wonder—what brings Groaci brass to this
dismal backwater, checking up unannounced?
The possibility that Supreme HQ is checking up
on me."
"The possibility of inquiring subtly of His
Supremacy's cook," Chish whispered.
"To try to curb your tendency to get into the act,
Leftenant," Nith hissed. "Tell me, fellow," he ad-
dressed Gloot, "what was the purpose of your
Groaci master's visit to these remote environs?"
"To see what was cooking, what else?"
"Yes, yes, of course—a clever cover story. But in
addition to his culinary researches, what was the
mission of the High Born?"
"If he had one, he never told me," Gloot said.
"To be expected that His Grandeur would not
confide in an underling," Nith murmured.
"Estimable Broodmaster," the Leftenant
hissed. "To hypothesize: Might not these same
intruders be a veritable inspection team, dis-
patched by Ambassador Jith, who, jealous of his
prerogatives, may have introduced them here by
devious means, the better to check up on your
operation unheralded?"
"Exactly what I had deduced!" Nith whispered
and started for the door. "Certain reactionary
elements have long desired my downfall. What
better time than now to bring long schemes to
naught by meddlesome probing, thereafter to cry

me culpable! Forewarned, I'll see to certain mat-
ters regarding the voucher files; meantime, dis-
patch the prisoner instanter, lest he level feckless
charges against my person!" Nith skittered
through the door and was gone. The Leftenant
made a rude gesture at the closed door and turned
to Gloot, drawing his pistol.
"No violence, now," he cautioned the Lumba-
gan as he removed the cranial attachments of the
veracitometer. "And remember to mention my
name in glowing terms to your master. That's
Chish: C-H-I-S-H, by a gross miscarriage of justice
a mere leftenant—" He broke off as Retief stepped
through the door, Smelch behind him. Uttering a
faint cry, the officer whirled toward the door by
which his superior had just departed. The Terran
reached it first.
"Guard! To me!" Chish keened, but as the Lum-
bagan behemoth lumbered into action, Smelch
stepped behind him, gripped hands with himself,
raised the resultant picnic-ham-size aggregation
of bone and muscle overhead and brought it down
atop the fellow's cranium with a resounding
thump, felling him in his tracks.
"Poor old Vump, he always had a glass head,"
Smelch commented.
"Nice one!" Gloot yelled. "But save old Nith for
me!"
"Unhand me, Terran!" Chish whispered, trying
unsuccessfully to dodge past Retief, "To have im-
portant business requiring my urgent attention!"
"You're confused, Leftenant," Retief said. "It
was Broodmaster Nith who had the pressing ap-
pointment."
"Indeed? To have never heard of him."

260
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Too bad. I was hoping you could tell me who
he works for."
"Never, vile Soft One!"
"I'd avoid those long-term predictions if I were
you, Chish. They have a tendency to unravel at the
edges." Retief looked past the Groaci to Gloot,
busily freeing himself from the last of his entan-
glements.
"Don't break anything, Gloot; we wouldn't
want to short the leftenant's wiring."
"What's this?" Chish hissed. "My w-wiring?"
"Where'd the other one go?" Gloot demanded.
"That's the one I want. I want to pluck those eyes
one at a time, like picking ripe froomfruit! How
about it, you?" he glowered at Chish, who re-
coiled from the menacing figure towering over
him. "Where's the other Terry?"
"The . . . the other Terry?" the Groaci hissed in
agitation. "What other Terry?"
"You know what other Terry!" Gloot roared.
"Oh, that Terry," Chish said hurriedly. "Why, I
do believe he's occupying the, er, guest suite, just
across the passage."
"Yeah!" Gloot looked baffled. "What's he doing
there?"
"He was, ah, assisting me in certain experimen-
tal activities," Chish replied. "Which reminds
me, I'm overdue for my saline infusion, so if you'll
kindly unhand me. . . ."
Gloot pushed the Groaci away and went across
the room and into the passage. He paused before
the door across the hall and rapped. A faint, un-
certain cry answered him.
"Whattya know?" he said. "He's in there." He
tried the knob, then stepped back and kicked the

RETIEF'S RANSOM
261
stout panel; the plastic cracked. A second kick
shattered the lock, and the door banged inward. A
slight figure appeared in the opening, checked at
the sight of the Lumbagan.
"Hey," Gloot said weakly as Retief came up
behind him.. "That's not—"
"Well, there you are at last, Retief," First Secre-
tary Magnan gasped. "Heavens, I thought you'd
never turn up!"
12
"I don't get it," Gloot said, looking from Magnan
to Retief. "Another Graoci with only two eyes, just
like you, Retief—and I just noticed that Terry
you're holding onto is wearing three fakes, just
like that other Terry, Chish. What gives?"
"Duplicity on a vast scale," Retief said. "It's
creeping in everywhere these days."
"You labor under a misappreheninsion, dull-
witted bucolic!" the Groaci began, subsiding in
midword at a minatory tweak.
"What's this person referring to?" Magnan in-
quired, favoring Gloot with a distasteful look. "Is
he somehow under the impression—"
"He's a great admirer of the Groaci, Mr. Magnan.
Naturally, he leaped to the conclusion that you
enjoyed that status, since you resemble me so
closely." Retief gave Chish's collar an extra half-
twist as the latter attempted to speak.
"I resemble you?" Magnan echoed. "Oh, really?

Well, actually, the press of other duties has pre-
cluded undue emphasis in my case on gross mus-
cular development, but I fancy I cut a rather im-
posing figure in any case. But I fail to see the
connection—"
"How come," Gloot asked bluntly, "this
Groaci's got the same shortage of eyes as you,
Retief?"
"Quite simple, Gloot. He's a relative; we're both
members of the ape family."
"Oh. But what's he doing here, palling around
with these foreigners?"
"Simplicity itself," Magnan said. "Though I
was far from palling around, as you so crudely put
it. I was seized by a brace of brigands and whisked
here for some obscure purpose unconnected with
normal diplomatic procedures." The first secre-
tary looked severely at Chish. "Perhaps you have
some explanation?"
"I'm sure he does." Retief assisted the strug-
gling Groaci to the chair, and with Gloot's en-
thusiastic aid strapped him in position, fitting the
cranial attachments in place atop his cartilagin-
ous skull amid his eyestalks, which drooped de-
jectedly now.
"Alas for lost opportunities," the officer
mourned. "Had I but blown of the imminence of
my downfall, I might at least have had the pleas-
ure of making plain to the abominable Nith my
true assessment of his worth!"
"Too bad, Chish. Maybe I'll find a chance to
make it up to you," Retief said. "Now, I believe
this model has the automatic prevarication-
suppressor, which shoots a nice jolt through your
trigeminal nerve if you accidentally stray into in-

RETIEF'S RANSOM
263
accuracy. Just set it at max, Gloot, to save time."
"Base alien, thus to serve an innocent official,
harmlessly engaged in the performance of his
duties—"
"Later, Chish. Who was the big shot?"
"One Swarmmaster Ussh, a most prestigious
official. You'll rue the day—"
"Probably. Where's Omega Station?"
"I haven't the faintest—yip! the faintest inten-
tion of lying, I was about to say—eek! On a desert
isle some leagues from here, drat all Soft Ones!"
"Which one?" Gloot demanded. "Rumboogy?
Delerion?"
"Sprook!" Chish whispered. "I could wish you
no more dolorous fate than to set foot in its mias-
mic swamps!"
"The needles say he's telling the truth," Gloot
said.
"As he sees it," Retief said. "Unfortunately,
false information doesn't register as long as he
believes it. I have a feeling his boss wasn't keeping
him fully informed."
"It is you, vile counterfeit—" Chish started, and
broke off, listening. Faintly from afar a clattering
sounded. "Ha!" the Groaci hissed in triumph. "In
instants a squad of peacekeepers will be upon
you, to put an end to your presumptuous invasion
of sacred Groacian symbolic soil, as well as to
your grotesque imposture!"
"What's he talking about?" Gloot demanded.
"I refer to the understandable aspirations of
lesser races to the lofty status of Groacihood—"
"He also means the cops will be here any min-
ute," Retief cut in. "I wonder if you'd be kind
enough, Chish, to direct us to the nearest exit."

"A door—at the end of the passage there. A
passage leads thence to a hidden egress—and
good riddance to you!"
"Well, we'll have to be saying good night now,
Leftenant. When Vump comes to perhaps he'll
unstrap you. In the meantime, you can while
away the time by planning what you should have
said to Nith when you had the chance."
"True," Chish whispered. "Gone are my dreams
of early advancement. But I may yet get a crack at
that lousy civilian."
"Let that thought sustain you in your hour of
trial," Retief said.
Ten minutes later, after carefully skirting the
spot where Flunt guarded the trail, humming
tunelessly to himself in the moonlight, the party
reached the rendezvous where Boobooboo and his
villagers had lain in wait. A long-legged native
materialized from the mist.
"Well, you got one," Zoof said, eyeing Smelch
appraisingly. "Two if you count skinny one." He
prodded Magnan. "Hey—this one inedible like
you, Retief. Not count!"
"These are just samples," Retief said. "The
main course is right behind us."
In the pause in the conversation, faint cries
were audible from the rear.
"Well, delivery to figurative door, real deluxe
service, Retief," Chief Boobooboo said. "Maybe
you not bad monster deal with after all."
"Nothing like a satisfied customer, Chief. And
now I think we'd better be off and leave you to
your celebration. Which way to Sprook Island?"
"Funny time decide end it all," Boobooboo
said. "But to each his own. Just head for river,

RETIEF'S RANSOM
265
follow down to shore. Sprook just across way,
nice swim, give time to reflect on misspent life
before end. But look out for monsters, patrol river
mouth every hour on hour in magic fish."
"What's a magic fish?" Gloot demanded.
"Local name for light-weight straked dory with
V transom."
"Boy, you natives sure talk funny," Gloot com-
mented.
The hue and cry had drawn near by the time the
refugees found the stream. They followed its
course as it wound across mud flats to the north
shore of the island. A mile across the water, the
low shape of the next land mass was barely visible
in the pink moonlight.
"Surely you aren't thinking of going there?"
Magnan said querulously. "At this hour of the
night?" »
"Just long enough to keep an appointment with
a MHPP," Retief reassured his superior.
"Well, in that case—but how will we get
there?"
"I expect our transportation will be along
soon."
"Hey, I just remembered," Smelch said.
"Sprook Island is where the wizards hang out.
Guys which they can be in two places at once—or
so the older boys told me."
"Nuts," Gloot scoffed. "Everybody knows
Sprook is where the walking dead get their exer-
cise."
"H-how do you know that?" Magnan said.
"I got a uncle that's an eye, ear, nose, and throat
man over there."
"He cures them?"

266
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Naw, he sells 'em."
"I understood you Lumbagans didn't die in an
ordinary sense," Retief said.
"Yeah—but when spare parts go west, Sprook is
where they get together and make new friends.
Picture it, Retief: phantom Lumbagans, made out
of the odd ectoplasmic leg and the discarded
ghostly elbow, prowling around in the mist look-
ing for a spectral pancreas to make up a complete
set."
"A curious superstition," Magnan commented
with a shudder. "One might almost wonder if it's
home-grown or imported."
"Superstition nothing," Smelch said. "I know a
guy who saw a familiar face peeking out of the
stranglemoss one time when a squall blew him
aground off Sprook. It was a face he wouldn't
likely forget, he said, on account of he chopped it
off a stranger in a barroom brawl the week before."
"Maybe it was lucky enough to strike up a new
friendship with a lonely head—"
"It don't work that way, Retief. Once a Four-
Decker breaks up, it's all the way back to Freebies:
eyes, ears, cerebellum, the works—and the whole
lousy job to do over again."
"Presumably Nith's alien components won't
interest the local haunts."
"Yeah—it's OK for you foreigners," Gloot said.
"But us Lumbagans are fair game."
"Then it looks as if Mr. Magnan and I will be
going alone," Retief said. "Thanks for your help,
fellows—"
"Hey—what's the idea? What about my invest-
ment?" Gloot protested. "Besides, I got no par-
ticular hankering to hang around this place for

RETIEF'S RANSOM
267
those five-eyed little devils and their overgrown
hatchetmen to beat the brush for, come sunup!"
"Gosh, I'd sure like to go on a sea voyage,"
Smelch said. "I always wanted to see the bright
lights and all. But I got a feeling if I don't get back
to my post my career as a alert sentry is at a end."
"The brightest light we're likely to see on
Sprook is a will-o'-the-wisp, or maybe a little
burning swamp gas," Gloot said gloomily. "But I
guess even that's better'n the one Chish'll put you
under when he gets his mitts on you."
"Yeah," Smelch sighed. "Well, so long, fellers. I
hope you enjoyed your stay. Drop in again some-
time."
"It was a pleasure, Smelch," Retief said. "I don't
know when I've been as efficiently guarded."
"Gee, thanks, Retief. If you'd drop a line to my
boss, I might get a pay raise out of it."
"I'll keep that thought in mind, Smelch."
As the oversized Lumbagan moved off, Retief,
Magnan and Gloot made their way out through a
dense stand of reeds sprouting from the mud to a
hummock giving a clear view of the creek mouth.
Ten slow minutes passed.
"Get set, gentlemen—here it comes," Retief
said. A dark shape came into view downstream: a
boat, crowded with oversized Lumbagans sliding
silently toward them across the black water.
Retief moved quietly forward, wading out into
the stream until the waters rose neck-deep, the
reeds rising well above his head. Through the
thickly scattered stems he could catch only
glimpses of the approaching craft. Quite suddenly
it was directly above him, sliding past. He ducked
under water, rose noiselessly just aft the rowers'

268
RETIEF UNBOUND
station, grasped the gunwale of the overloaded
skiff, and heaved hard. With startled yells, the
near-side passengers grabbed for support, missed,
and struck the water with resounding splashes.
On the return oscillation, Retief thrust upward,
sending the remaining passengers over the far
side. Bubbling sounds rose all around him; ab-
ruptly a swarm of Freebies were making for shore.
Half a minute later, the refugees were aboard the
craft, Gloot manning the sweeps, Retief in the bow
scanning the open sea ahead, Magnan crouched
shivering in the sterm.
"Heavens, I'm sure I've caught a chill," the First
Secretary said. "Can't this appointment wait, Re-
tief? As vou know. I'm a stickler for punctuality,
but	"
"So is our host, I suspect," Retief said. "And we
wouldn't want him to start without us."
Twenty minutes' brisk effort brought the boat
within a hundred yards of the light surf breaking
on Sprook's windward shore.
"We'll take her around to the far side," Retief
said. "No use making it too easy for the leftenant."
Gloot eyed the dark shore without pleasure. "In
there, a guy would be lucky to find his head with
both hands—if he once happened to drop it, I
mean. How're we supposed to get a line on which
way the bum went?"
"I suspect we'll encounter a clue," Retief said.
"Gracious!" Magnan said excitedly. "I see the
bright lights, way up in the middle of the air!"
"Yeah—there's a lone peak sticking up from the
middle of the island," Gloot said gloomily, turn-
ing to stare at the faint glow shining through the
mist. "According to rumor, that's ghost headquar-
ters."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
269
They rounded a low headland, saw a shallow
bay ahead. At Retief's suggestion, they steered for
shore at a point where the mangrovelike water
trees seemed thinnest. Rubbery stems bent and
snapped with damp popping sounds as they
forced the boat through. When it grounded on
mud, the three passengers stepped out, waded
through ankle-deep water to shore.
"Well," Gloot said dubiously, "we could sure
use that clue about now . . ."
A sharp click sounded from the darkness ahead.
"All right, just stand still until the moon comes
out," a coarse voice ordered from the shadows,
"so I can see to shoot you."
13
"Well, there's our clue, right on schedule,"
Gloot said in an undertone to Retief. "But I never
heard of a zombie needing a gun." He raised his
voice: "What do you mean, shoot us? How do you
know we're not friends?"
"Easy. We don't have any."
"You're likely to get yourself in a peck of trou-
ble," Gloot said, edging closer to the source of the
voice. "I happen to be a pretty influential
fellow—"
"One more teeny little step and you'll influence
to blaze away ready or not. With the spread I
get with this sawed-off, there won't be a piece of
you that'll survive long enough to stomp on."

270
RETIEF UNBOUND
With dramatic suddenness, the larger moon
swam clear of the obscuring cumulonimbus. The
Lumbagan who stood twenty feet away, aiming a
large and efficient-looking gun, was of medium
height, equipped with four arms, two legs, two
eyes, a single mouth of modest dimensions. Be-
hind him stood a second Lumbagan of identical
aspect, clothed in an identical tunic of dun and
chicle drab, differing only in its simple ornamen-
tation.
"Jeez—old Smelch said you wizards could be
in two places at once," Gloot muttered. " But I
didn't expect it to be the same place."
"Don't bother your misshapen head," the gun-
ner snapped. "Stand closer together, no use wast-
ing a round." He gestured impatiently with the
gun.
"Now, just a minute," Gloot temporized, point-
ing to Retief and Magnan. "You don't want to
shoot these foreigners here. They got diplomatic
immunity."
"Does that mean bullets won't punch holes in
them?"
"It means anybody that tries it gets the whole
Groaci Navy landing on him with a barge-load of
chopped liver!"
"Did you say—Groaci?"
"Right. This here one is, ah, Superhivemaster
Retief, head Yumpity-yump of the whole Groaci
show!"
"Well, that's different." The receptionist low-
ered the brak-gun. "Why didn't you say so? We've
been expecting a MHHP visit-^-"
"Because it's a secret, Dum-dum!" Gloot ex-
plained.

RETIEF'S RANSOM
271
"Oh. Well then, why'd you tell me?" the captain
challenged.
"If you shot us it would spoil the surprise."
"Yeah—that figures. I guess you want to see
Colonel Suash, eh, sir?" the Lumbagan inquired
of Retief.
"I couldn't have phrased it better myself," Re-
tief said. "How is the colonel these days?"
"Just like me," the greeter replied. "How else?"
"And naturally, I got to go along as interpreter,"
Gloot said.
"What for? The Groaci gent speaks pretty fair
Lumbagan."
"He only speaks the diplomatic dialect. Every-
thing he says means something else."
"Oh, well, in that case I guess you better come
too." The local stepped back and motioned them
past. A narrow trail became visible ahead, a raised
causeway between dark pools thick with rank
growth. Two more identical Lumbagans emerged
into view, fell in at the rear of the column.
"Weirdest thing I ever saw," Gloot muttered to
Retief. "Boy, it must be confusing, having every-
body in sight with the same number of every-
thing. A guy could get mixed up and wander into
the wrong bedroom even."
"It happens," Retief confirmed.
"Say, that's right, you Groaci come all of a pat-
tern too," Gloot said. "Except for you getting a
little short-changed on eyes, of course. Funny, I
keep forgetting you're a foreigner and an alien,
Retief; you seem just like a regular fellow."
"Thanks, Gloot. I take it twins are a rarity on
Lumbaga, to say nothing of octuplets?"
"Hey, no more talking," the officer barked.

272
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Trying to figure out what's the opposite of every-
thing the Groaci says is giving me a swift pain in
the parietal lobes."
"Don't even try, rube," Gloot said callously
"Decoding diplomatic conversations is a job for
experts—and even they can't do it."
The trail debouched into a wide clearing, lined
with neatly pitched tents, before one of which,
larger than the others, a gay-colored banner hung
limp in the still air. In the ruddy glow of a camp-
fire were gathered a dozen more soldiers, all
carbon copies of the reception committee.
"Wow!" Gloot exclaimed, "I heard of putting
troops in uniforms, but this is fantastic!"
"Retief!" Magnan said behind his hand. "We've
had no reports of any organized native militia here
on Lumbaga! Heavens, I shudder to contemplate
what effect this development might have, law-
and-orderwise!"
"A thought-provoking spectacle," Retief
agreed.
"Wait here," their captor ordered, and stepped
inside the oversized tent. A moment later he
reemerged, followed by still another duplicate of
himself, this one wearing a gaudy cummerbund
and braided shoulder tabs. The newcomer stared
at the Terran, then jerked a power gun of foreign
manufacture from a holster at his hip.
"What's this, a hoax?" he demanded sharply.
"You're not Swarmmaster Ussh!"
"Of course not," Retief said briskly. "For a mis-
sion of this importance I thought I'd better come
personally."
"You don't even look like the other ones," the
officer barked. "Not enough eyes—"

"Lay off," Gloot spoke up sharply. "The poor
guy was born that way."
"Born? Born? What's that?"
"It's kind of hard to explain," Gloot said. "It's
kind of like you start from scratch, and one day—
bloop! There you are. Get the idea?"
"Hmmphfff, do you take me for a nincompoop?
I've heard rumors that foreigners come into exist-
ence in some such miraculous fashion, but I don't
believe in spontaneous generation! Now: what
did you expect to accomplish here? Sabotage?
Espionage? Assassinations?"
"Keep going," Gloot muttered. "You'll hit
something yet."
"I'm afraid we're wasting time, Colonel," Retief
said. "Shall we go inside? What I have is con-
fidential."
"Well," the commander started, but Retief had
already brushed past him, Gl°°t at his heels,
Magnan bringing up the rear. The interior of the
headquarters tent was spacious, comfortably fur-
nished with chairs, tables, straw cushions, beaded
hangings.
"Pretty plush," Gloot commented to Retief.
"You Groaci do all right by your chums."
"Lots of people would be surprised to know just
how far Groaci chumship has penetrated into the
jungle," Retief commented.
Their host bustled past, waved them to seats,
rang for an orderly who quickly produced drinks
all around.
"Now, what's all this about a confidential mis-
sion?" Suash said ill-temperedly. "I thought all
that was settled."
"It's a matter of adjusting to fluctuating condi-

274
RETIEF UNBOUND
tions," Retief advised the officer coolly.
"You mean — the Terries are getting suspi-
cious?"
"There is that possibility."
"But I was assured they were a pack of self-
serving incompetents, who wouldn't realize what
was going on until they found themselves stacked
in a parts bin."
"A slight exaggeration, Colonel," Magnan said
icily. "Not that we Groaci care one way or another
what sort of base canards you spread," he added
quickly as the officer frowned.
"I don't like that." The colonel shifted in his
chair. "Do they know we're here?"
"They just found out."
"That's bad! But surely they're not aware of the
secret installation in the interior?"
"The word is out," Retief admitted.
"This is terrible!" Colonel Suash cried. "Do
they know our role on D-day?"
"Not yet," Retief said. "But they're hoping to
learn any time now."
"How?" Suash flapped his arms in agitation.
"It's the most closely guarded military secret in
Lumbagan history. In fact, it's the only military
secret in Lumbagan history!"
"Simple," Gloot spoke up. "You got a spy in
your midst."
"A spy. Impossible!"
"Oh, yeah? Nothing easier. After all, all you
birds look alike. All a spy has to do is disguise
himself to look like one of you—and zingo, he's
invisible."
"Diabolical!"
"It's just the old needle-in-a-froomstack princi-

pie," Gloot said carelessly. "With a new twist."
"No wonder you were sent to warn me." Suash
groaned. "What can I do?"
"Easy," Gloot volunteered. "Stage a showdown
inspection."
"How . . . how do you mean?"
"Call your troops in one at a time, and order 'em
to disassemble. The one that's a Terry in disguise
won't be able to do it."
"What? Order my lads to destroy themselves?"
"Got any better ideas, Suash? Anyway, the odds
are you won't work more'n halfway through the
roster before you hit paydirt."
"You concur?" Suash looked anxiously at Re-
tief.
"It ought to be interesting to see what hap-
pens."
"I... I suppose I haven't any choice. Not after
the demonstration Shlush gave me of the fate in
store for failures." The colonel tinkled his bell
again. An orderly promptly appeared.
"Ah—Private Spub. I have, er, to inform you
that your nation, ah, requires of you the, er, su-
preme sacrifice."
"You're not cancelling my furlough?" Spub
said aggrievedly.
"By no means. As a matter of fact, you're about
to enjoy a type of freedom you've not known for
some time—"
"You mean—my discharge came through?
Yipeeee!"
"Private Spub! You're at attention! I suppose in
a sense one might say you're about to be dis-
charged. At any rate, after tonight you'll no longer
be a member of my command. I'd like to say that

you've been a satisfactory soldier, except for a
slight tendency toward insubordination,
goldbricking, and slovenliness in dress—"
"I get it," Spub said. "You're resigning. Can't
say that I blame you, Suash—"
"Colonel Suash, Private!"
"Not if you've resigned. Make up your mind,"
Spub said sullenly.
"Spub, I order you to . . . to . . . disassemble
yourself."
"You mean—?"
"I mean disassociate! Into Freebies!"
Spub took a step backward, whirled, and darted
from the tent.
"Head for the tall timber, boys!" he yelled. "Old
Suash has finally blown his rug! He's on a
suicide-pact kick!"
"Here, fall in for inspection!" Suash roared,
plunging through the tent fly. "Sergeant! Come
back here. . . ."
"It appears the colonel has a slight discipline
problem," Magnan sniffed as he and Retief followed
their host outside. The encampment was already
deserted but for the irate officer and a lone private
who loitered near the campfire, staring into the
woods where his comrades had disappeared.
"Well, I'm glad to see I have one loyal subordi-
nate," Suash cried. "Fall in, you!"
"I wonder why he didn't depart with the
others," Magnan said.
"Maybe because he had reason to stick around,"
Retief conjectured.
"Well, Private," Suash addressed the fellow, "it
was a pleasure to have you in my outfit."
"Was?" the private inquired in a shy whisper.

RETIEF'S RANSOM
277
"It's now my sad duty to order you to disincor-
porate," Suash went on. "Seems a shame, with
you the only loyal trooper in the group. But such
are the fortunes of war."
"Ah . . . I'm afraid that won't be convenient,"
the soldier demurred feebly.
"What's this, mutiny?"
"Aha!" Gloot said to Retief. "We're on to some-
thing. Watch this." He stepped forward, shoul-
dered Suash aside, and rammed a stiffened finger
into the private's midsection. The latter doubled
over, emitting hoarse wheezing sounds.
"I told you so!" Gloot cried. "Grab him!" he
added as the assaulted private ducked suddenly
and sprang past him, only to be brought down in a
flying tackle by the colonel.
"A dead giveaway, Retief," Gloot explained
happily. "Any genuine Lumbagan will break
down into Freebies if you land a solid poke in his
lunar plexus."
"So," Suash growled, dusting himself off and
glaring down at the unfortunate impostor. "A
Terry spy, eh?"
"By no means," the bogus private gasped, tot-
tering to his feet.
"I happen to know better!" Suash barked.
"Luckily, this Groaci civilian, Mr. Retief, tipped
me off—"
"Retief? Groaci?" the accused spy fumbled at
his head, stripped away a rubber mask to reveal
five stalked oculars in a pale gray visage.
"I happen to be one Pilth, Groaci observer as-
signed to undercover surveillance duty!" he
hissed. There" — he pointed at Retief — "is the
Terry spy!"

278
RETIEF UNBOUND
Suash looked uncertainly from Retief to the
Groaci, gave Gloot a sharp look as the latter guf-
fawed.
"Nice try, Terry," Gloot said. "But it so happens
I can vouch for Retief. I collected him personally
from Groaci secret HQ in Dacoit Street. He and
Shlush were just like that."
"Cretins! Assassins! Dumbbells! Are you so ig-
norant of aesthetics as to be unaware of the
characteristics defining the noble Groaci race?
Where, may I ask, are this impostor's handsome
stemmed oculars, five in number? And—"
"That again," Gloot said wearily. "OK, so the
guy's deformed, but in spite of the handicap he
does OK. How about you, Terry? I got a hunch
about three o' those eyeballs you're waggling at
me are phonies	"He reached for Pilth's twitch-
ing eyestalks, but with a sharp cry, the Groaci
dodged aside.
"Unhand me, vile aborigine!" he keened.
"I'll just give 'em an easy yank or two," Gloot
assured the terrified captive, making another grab
for his eyes.
"I confess!" Pilth squeaked, cowering behind
Suash. "I throw myself on your mercy! Just don't
let that great uncouth bruiser lay hands on me!"
"The effrontery of it!" Suash exclaimed. "Try-
ing to pass yourself off as one of my good friends,
the Groaci—as if you could fool me—while spy-
ing on my operation!"
"Better find out how much he's learned," Retief
suggested.
Suash glowered at the culprit. "How many of
our secrets have you ferreted out?"
"Colonel—might I have a word with you in

RETIEF'S RANSOM
279
private," Pilth entreated earnestly, "ere a gross
miscarriage of justice takes place, as well as a
disaster to the common cause?"
"Don't listen to him, Colonel," Gloot urged.
"Anything this Terry has got to say he can say in
front of us Groaci.""You're claiming to be a Groaci
too now?" Suash exclaimed in startlement.
"Well, an honorary one, sort of. On account of
me and Retief being pals and all."
Suash grunted, turned back to Pilth. "Start talk-
ing."
"And reveal Groacian state secrets to this vile
Terry who has the audacity to bogusly claim
Groacihood?"
"Back to that, huh?" Gloot said, and reached for
an eye. Pilth screeched breathily and dived for
cover behind Retief.
"I know nothing!" he whispered frantically.
"Actually, I slept through the orientation
lectures—"
"He's lying!" Suash cried. "I'll bet you know
about the secret recognition signal, two long and
three short—and the reinforcements we're ex-
pecting from Rumboogie and Hylerica and
Slovenger—and—"
"Very well, I confess, all that and more," Pilth
confirmed hastily. "No need to spell out the
particulars—"
"But surely you haven't yet tipped them off
about the plan for a coordinated police action a
week from Tuesday, under cover of the Spring
Rites?"
"Assume the worst!" Pilth hissed.
"This is a disaster!" Suash cried, clapping vari-
ous hands to his forehead. "The pernicious little

280
RETIEF UNBOUND
sneak has blown the operation wide open!"
"I wonder how he got the word back?" Gloot
inquired. "Him still being here and all."
"Yes—how did you get the word back to your
Terran masters?" Suash echoed. "No one's left this
island for weeks!"
"Ah ... I employed a variety of clever ruses, no
need to burden you with such trivia," Pilth tem-
porized.
"I'll bet the little villain has spilled the beans
about our Galactic Ultimate Top Secret weapon,
too!" Suash yelped. "Let me at him!" Retief re-
strained the outraged officer as he lunged for the
trembling spy.
" Colonel," he said soothingly. "We may be able
to turn this situation to advantage."
"How? The rascally knave has probably re-
ported everything to the Terran ambassador! He
must have sent off his dispatches via the bakery
man, now that I think of it! He calls every morning
in a sampan that's probably a fast courier boat in
disguise!" Suash groaned. "And while I was
dunking jelly doughnuts, news of every move I
made was being whisked off under my very
noses!"
"Well, what are we going to do about it?" Gloot
demanded. "Call the whole thing off?"
"There's only one thing we can do," Suash de-
clared, and smacked several fists into an appro-
priate number of palms. "Move D-day forward!
We attack at once! Now! Today!"
"Impossible!" Pilth screeched. "We're not
ready!"
"All the better!" Suash barked. "I'll catch you
Terries off-balance, and—"

RETIEF'S RANSOM
281
"I mean you're not ready! Your noble Groaci
allies have not yet completed all arrangements
necessary to bring off the coup with the flawless
timing that will leave no treacherous Terran alive
to carry exaggerated tales of perfidy and be-
trayal!"
"That's their lookout!"
"Then, too," Pilth whispered acidly, "there is
the problem of your loyal troops, now dispersed
through the woods like so many strayed kine,
aquiver with apprehension lest their beloved
commandant run amok amongst them!"
"Hmm. You've put your finger on a problem
area," Suash conceded. "But forget those shirk-
ers! There are plenty more where they come
from—and you and I know where that is, eh, Re-
tief?"
"One of us does," the Terran agreed.
"Oh, you think I'm not in on the top-level plan-
ning, eh?" the colonel bridled. "Well, as it hap-
pens I'm well aware that the location of the repo
depot is—" he broke off. "But I won't mention the
name in front of the Terry spy, just in case he
doesn't already know. Not that it matters much."
Suash drew his pistol. "Stand aside, Retief, and
I'll finish off the sly little devil before we go."
"Wait!" Pilth whispered in Groaci. "Retief! To
appeal to you as a fellow alien, to stay the hand of
the barbarian ere he commits a tactical error of
incalculable dimensions!"
"To propose a deal," Retief replied in the same
tongue. "To give me details of the secret weapon,
and then to put in a good word for you."
"To suggest that I, a trusted minion of the Groa-
cian autonomy, would divulge information bear-

282
RETIEF UNBOUND
ing a GUTS classification? Fie, Terran! To do your
worst!"
"I was afraid you'd feel that way," Retief said.
"Here, what are you aliens gossiping about?"
Suash demanded suspiciously. "Speak plain
Lumbagan!"
"Pilth was just saying a few last words," Retief
explained.
"But on the other hand," Pilth added quickly,
"why make an issue of a few dry data? The supply
of cannon fodder will be adequate to compensate
for any modest foreknowledge that might leak to
the enemy camp—"
"Hey," Gloot cut in, "do you hear something,
Retief?" He cocked a pair of ears toward the forest
trail.
"Yes, but I hesitated to interrupt at this point.
You were saying, Pilth?"
"Wait a minute," Suash barked. "I'll bet that's
my boys coming back to report for company
punishment and then back into harness with no
hard feelings!"
"Ha! Doubtless succor approaches!" Pilth
hissed. "Now will your crimes be visited on your
head, insidious Terry impostor!"
There was a flash of blue light from the dark-
ness, a simultaneous sharp report; Suash yelled as
the gun flew from his grasp.
"Keep your hands in sight and don't make a
move," an authoritative voice barked. "I'm En-
sign Yubb of the Harbor Patrol, and all you
smugglers are under arrest!"

RETIEF'S RANSOM
283
14
"well, quite a haul," the Lumbagan, neat in a
dark blue uniform, commented as his variegated
detachment of marines closed in, aiming guns of
unmistakable Terran design. He was of medium
height and unexceptional appearance, having
three arms, four legs, and a random distribution of
other members. "A couple of renegades, I see,
plus a pair of foreigners."
"See here, fellow," Pilth hissed, "if you will
employ your good offices to eliminate the Terry
and his toady, as well as their dupe, Colonel
Suash, you will find the Groacian Autonomy not
ungrateful."
"Don't let this trickster delude you, Admiral,"
Suash spoke up, "for some reason he's trying to
pose as a Groaci—"
"A Groaci, you say? Is that a fact?" Yubb looked
Pilth up and down. "Got any proof?"
"Proof? I invite you, Ensign, to observe for
yourself! I exhibit in classic form those charac-
teristics which alone endow the owner with the
peculiar beauty of Groacihood!"
"Peculiar is right," Gloot commented. "Just
grab his eyes and pull. They're plastic, stuck on
with rubber cement. I spotted 'em the minute I
saw 'em. This here"—he indicated Retief—"is
the genuine article."
"Then I guess that makes this one a Terry," the
officer deduced, eyeing Pilth unenthusiastically.
"Not too impressive looking, but what the heck.

284
RETIEF UNBOUND
Mine not to reason why, mine but to shoot the
guy."
"Wouldst cut down a helpless prisoner on the
strength of a mere literary allusion?" Pilth
screeched. "And a garbled allusion at that."
"I don't have much choice," Yubb assured the
alien. "I've got orders to drill at Groaci on sight."
"Unconscionable!" Pilth hissed. "I warn you,
sir, any such thoughtless act will earn you a re-
grettable fate at the hands of vengeful Groaci
hordes, soon to sweep clean the infected real es-
tate of this pestilential world!"
"For a Terry, you come on kind of ambiguous,"
Yubb said. "You'd think I was about to plug
you"—he swiveled to cover Retief with the
gun—"Instead of him."
"Ah ... to be sure," Pilth recovered. "It was
merely my kindly instinct at work at the prospect
of seeing a fellow alien dispatched before my
eyes. However, in the interest of interplanetary
amity, I withdraw my objection."
"Gee, the sentiment does you credit," Yubb
said. "In fact, out of deference to the nobility of
the gesture, I'll spare the Groaci scoundrel for the
nonce." He gave Retief a look designed to intimi-
date. "But don't let it go to your head, fellow. I've
heard about you Groaci, always on the lookout for
a way to repay a charitable act with a knife in the
ribs."
"An exaggeration," Pilth snapped. "There are
occasions, of course, when expediency requires
the sacrifice of the softer principles, but I can
assure you that there are compensating virtues in
the Groaci makeup, not the least of which is a
commendable tenacity in the avenging of af-
fronts."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
285
"Sure, don't get carried away," Yubb said.
"You'd think the Groaci were you Terries' best
pals. Don't worry, I'll watch him. Now let's get
moving. If I can get this Groaci and these two
smugglers back to port before shift change, I'll net
a nice bonus—"
"One moment," Pilth interrupted hastily. "I
must protest your apparent intention to include
my person in your party. As it happens, I have
urgent business here, rudely interrupted when
these miscreant locals, assisted by their, ah,
Groaci henchmen, set upon me."
"What business?"
"That," Pilth whispered, "is my affair."
"For a foreigner you're throwing a lot of weight
around, Terry," Yubb retorted. "My orders were to
chase down these foof smugglers and clean out
their base of operations. Maybe you're just an
innocent bystander, but that's for higher authority
to figure out. Let's go; we're wasting time."
"If you're after smugglers, you're scaling the
wrong molehill," Colonel Suash demurred. "I
happen to be a legitimate rebel leader, and my
work is here. Beside which, I outrank you."
Yubb cocked his pistol. "I hate these jurisdic-
tional disputes," he sighed. "But fortunately for
the triumph of democratic processes, I happen to
have the firepower. So—"
"I wouldn't if I were you, Ensign," Retief said as
Yubb's finger tightened on the trigger.
"Why not?" the officer inquired.
"Because if you do," a new voice explained
from the underbrush, "then I will."
"My loyal lads, back on duty!" Suash cried.
"Yubb, surrender instantly and I'll try to prevent
them from committing any excesses!"

286
RETIEF UNBOUND
"At the first sign of an excess, they'll be looking
for a new boss." Yubb held the pistol firm on
Suash's cummerbund.
"Hold your fire!" Suash yelped to his troops.
"You bet we will," the reply came from the
darkness. "We're not letting this stranger plug
you, Colonel; we want to do the job ourselves!"
"The rot's struck deeper than I thought," Suash
muttered. "Well, Ensign, it looks like a standoff.
Just give me and my Groaci advisors a modest
head start over my chaps, and—"
"The Groaci are my prisoners," Yubb cut in
curtly. "You can have the Terry."
"Who wants him?" Suash exploded. "The
creepy little spy's already blown my security
sky-high!"
One of Yubb's patrolmen edged forward. "Why
don't we draw straws?" he suggested with a
glance over his shoulder at the shrubbery conceal-
ing the rebel troops. "We wouldn't want any un-
fortunate incident to take place—"
"At the first shot, rake the woods with fire!"
Yubb yelled. "I'm taking the Groaci, and that's
that!"
"I'm keeping him, and that's that!" Suash
shouted.
"Just my luck," Gloot said lugubriously.
"Square in the middle of the crossfire."
"By the way, which one's the Groaci?" Yubb's
second-in-command wondered aloud.
"The little one with the five wiggly eyes,"
someone called from the darkness.
"Wrong, it's the big ones with only two arms,"
someone else contradicted.
"Are you nuts? Everybody knows Groaci have
got five eyes—"

RETIEF'S RANSOM
287
"They're fakes! I heard—"
"I happen to know—"
"My brother-in-law had it on good authority—"
"Your brother-in-law wears ankle socks!"
"Oh, yeah?" One of Suash's mutinous troops
emerged from concealment to confront his verbal
adversary. A second rebel followed; a trio of
Yubb's marines drew together to confront them. A
sailor pushed a soldier; a soldier shoved a sailor.
"Now, lads, no fighting, it's unmilitary," Suash
called.
"Sink the Navy!" someone shouted, a proposal
followed Instantly by the smack of a fist on leath-
ery hide; at once, the underbrush erupted into a
free-for-all; fists flew, some, Retief noted, well into
the woods. Yubb and Suash danced about the
periphery of the fray, bellowing orders, then fell
on each other with flailing arms. Unnoticed by the
combatants, Pilth whirled and scuttled off down
the trail leading to the interior.
"Nice night for a riot," Retief said over the
clamor. "I suppose they'll be happily occupied for
some time, so we may as well be on our way."
"Jeez, I'd sure like to join in," Gloot sighed,
eyeing the battle enviously and massaging a
number of lumpy fists. "But i guess you're right;
We better steal down to the beach while the steal-
ing's good."
"A splendid notion," Magnan said quickly.
"Speaking of stealing, if we hurry we might be
able to borrow the patrol boat; much faster than
rowing, and far less conducive to blisters."
"On the other hand," Retief pointed out, "I sus-
pect Colonel Suash and his troops are stationed
here for a reason—presumably guard duty. If we
knew what he was guarding, it would spice up

288
RETIEF UNBOUND
our report on our field trip."
"Yes, but in this wilderness. . . ." Magnan said
indecisively.
"I'm curious as to where Pilth was headed in
such haste. If we follow him, we might find an-
swers to both questions."
"He's gone nuts is all," Gloot explained. "He
panicked and headed for the deep swamp. Forget
the Terry; we can still make it back to town in time
to get in on the Midnight Melee."
"I have a feeling a somewhat larger melee is in
the making, nearer at hand."
"A rumble in town is worth two in the bushes,
as the old saying goes," Gloot said. "On the other
hand, I kind of like your style, Retief. You don't
say much, but where you are is where stuff seems
to happen. I'm with you!"
Together, Retief, Magnan, and Gloot set off in
the wake of the Groaci agent provocateur. The
path, while narrow, was high and dry, twisting
and turning to avoid the boles of giant, moss-hung
trees rising from the dark water, skirting the
deeper pools. In a small, open patch of spongy
ground the trail ended abruptly. There was no
sign of Pilth.
"Well, whattaya know," Gloot commented,
peering into the surrounding darkness. "Who
would of thought the little Terry was that fast on
his feet? He's gone and got clean away, so I guess
we might as well get started back—"
"Listen," Retief said softly. From somewhere
ahead, a faint cry rang out. He started off at a run,
picking a route from one root-clump to another. A
hundred feet farther on, he emerged into the open
to witness a curious sight; from a sturdy bough

RETIEF'S RANSOM
289
overhanging the path, Pilth dangled by one leg in
midair, supported in an inverted position by a
length of stout rope.
"Good of you to wait, Pilth," Retief said. "An
excellent spot for a confidential talk."
"To cut me down at once and to enjoy the eter-
nal gratitude of the Groacian state, renewable an-
nually at a modest fee," the snared alien whis-
pered.
"Stumbled over one of your own trip wires,
eh?" Retief said sympathetically. "It's one of the
hazards of the diplomatic way of life."
"What is this talk of diplomatic wiles? As it
happens, I am a simple scientist, here to observe
the nest-building habits of the Lesser Tufted
Adam's Apple—"
"Sorry, Pilth, an ingenious cover, but blown,
I'm afraid. We met a few years back, when you
were number two to General Fiss, the time he tried
to take over Yale."
"Tour Director Fiss and I were interested only
in the excavation of artifacts of the Yalcan cul-
ture!" Pilth protested.
"You Groaci have pioneered the science of in-
stant archaeology, true," Retief conceded, "but
good form requires that you wait until the owners
aren't using the bones any longer before you try to
wire them together in a glass case. However, we
have more immediate matters to discuss at the
moment. Let's begin with where you were headed
in such haste."
"I find it singularly difficult to marshal my rec-
ollective faculties while suspended in this un-
seemly position," the Groaci hissed.
"You'd find it even more difficult if the point of

290
RETIEF UNBOUND
attachment were your third thoracic vertebra,"
Retief pointed out.
"Long will this day live in infamy," Pilth
wailed. "Very well, Terry, I'll reveal my destina-
tion, but only under protest. As it happens, I main-
tain a modest retreat in the foothills above, to
which I retire on occasion to meditate. Now cut
me down promptly and in my report I'll do my
best to minimize the shabby role you played in
this sorry contretemps!"
"Too late for secrecy now," Retief said as Gloot
and Magnan arrived panting, splashed with mud
and festooned with algae.
"Well," the first secretary said as he spied the
dangling alien, "at least he had the decency to
attempt suicide—though one might have known
he'd bungle it."
"You speak of suicide, Soft One?" Pilth keened.
"Such indeed is the fate of those who would in-
vade the sacrosanct precincts of, ah, my bucolic
hideaway," he finished weakly.
"Don't imagine for a moment that your threats
intimidate me," Magnan replied loftily. "It's just
that we happen to be leaving now anyway. Come,
Retief, suitably padded—discussed in adequate
detail, that is—my report of the disasters we've
encountered up to this point will serve adequately
to impress the ambassador with my zeal."
"An inspiring thought, Mr. Magnan. Just pic-
ture his expression when you tell him you've dis-
covered there may be a plot afoot to take over
Lumbaga, and that you hurried back to let him
know what, without wasting time finding out
when, where, why, and how."
"But, as I was about to say," Magnan said
quickly, "why dash off just when we're on the

RETIEF'S RANSOM
291
verge of achieving a coup of such stunning pro-
portions?"
"Now, just how would one go about finding this
weekend cottage of yours?" Retief queried Pilth.
"You imagine, presumptuous alien, that I
would reveal details of my personal affairs to such
as you?"
"My mistake, Pilth." Retief turned to Magnan
and Gloot. "It seems we'll have to find it on our
own. Shall we go, gentlemen?"
"What—and leave me here suspended, prey to
any passing appetite, to say nothing of the risk of
incipient apoplexy?" Pilth shrilled in protest.
"Yeah, that would be cruel," Gloot said and
drew his knife. "I'll just slit the sucker's throat—"
"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary," Mag-
nan said judiciously, as Pilth uttered a yelp of
dismay. "Just cut him down, truss him securely,
and tuck him under a bush well out of sight."
"There to starve, assuming the unlikely eventu-
ality that I'm overlooked by predators?"
"We'll leave the details to you, churn," Gloot
said callously.
"I capitulate!" the Groaci hissed. "Proceed
northeast by east to a lone foof tree, take a right,
proceed another hundred paces upslope, and you
will confront my confidential lair. I appeal to your
better natures to pry then no more, but to betake
yourselves in haste to more congenial surround-
ings, there to report favorably on this concrete
evidence of the importance of the reflective life in
the philosophy of the benign Groaci!"
"I don't get it," Gloot said. "How come this
Terry's all the time putting in a plug for you
Groaci?"
"Conscience," Magnan said crisply. "I suppose

292
RETIEF UNBOUND
you may as well cut him loose now—provided he
promises not to go scuttling ahead and spoil our
surprise."
"I assure you I will scuttle in another direction
entirely," Pilth whispered as Gloot slashed the
rope, allowing him to drop to the ground with a
painful impact. He sprang up and disappeared
along the backtrail.
"I'm not sure that was the best move we've
made all evening," Retief said. "But I suspect
we'll know for sure very soon. Meanwhile, let's go
take a look."
15
A dim light glowed from a point high above, shin-
ing down through the trees dotting the steeply
rising slope.
"Well, whattaya know," Gloot said. "I thought
the little runt was lying, but here's his meditation
parlor, just like he said."
"Why, the very idea," Magnan whispered.
"Ambassador Jith never mentioned funding any R
and R facilities in the hustlings."
They emerged onto a talus slope. From here
they were able to make out the silhouette of a
cluster of towers rising from the crest of the peak.
The lighted window went dark; a moment later a
glow sprang up at another.

RETIEF'S RANSOM
293
"Apparently Pilth doesn't do his thinking
alone," Retief said.
"If the place is full o' Terries," Gloot said,
"what's supposed to keep 'em from blasting us
into Freebies before you can say 'oops'?"
"Nothing much; accordingly, I recommend ex-
treme stealth from this point on."
Twenty feet higher, they encountered a flight of
narrow steps cut into the stone. Retief climbed
over the handrail, beaded with moisture in the
damp air, and led the way upward, Gloot and
Magnan close behind him. At a landing twenty
feet higher the steps took a right-angled turn. The
drop below was vertical now; the tops of trees
rustled in the faint breeze. Far below a cluster of
lanterns moved on the shore. Far across the water,
the lights of the capital floated on blackness.
"Hey, Retief," Gloot whispered, "I get dizzy
when I get this high. I would have told you sooner,
only I never got this high before."
"Compared with the roofs we were negotiating
a few hours ago, this is nothing," Retief said.
Gloot groaned. "Was that this year? It seems like
something out of my early youth."
Gloot started to speak, then changed his mind.
"Never mind," he muttered. "The more I know,
the less I like it. I'm even beginning to get a funny
feeling it was your idea and not mine to grab you
from Groaci HQ."
At the next landing, by leaning far out over the
rail to look up, Retief was able to see a row of
shuttered windows set in a squat, thick-walled
structure of a bilious ocher color. The building
appeared to consist of several wings, set at
slightly different levels in accommodation to the

294
RETIEF UNBOUND
contours of the rugged peak on which it was built.
"Quite a layout," Gloot started, and broke off as
feet clacked above. A spindly figure in a flaring
helmet and a spined hip-cloak leaned over the
railing of a terrace, peering down the barrel of a
blast-rifle with five alertly canted oculars.
"Hssst! To advance and give the password!" a
thin voice whispered sibilantly.
"To contain yourself in patience, hivemate of
brood foulers," Retief whispered sharply in
Groaci. "To have had a brisk trot to report the
failure of the incompetent Nith! To require a mo-
ment in which to respire!" He motioned to Gloot.
"You go first," he whispered softly. "Pretend to be
scared."
"Pretend?" The Lumbagan choked. "I'm pet-
rified! But what the heck, I don't aim to show the
purple glimp feather. Here goes."
"The impropriety of your nattering—and my
curiosity as to whom you natter with!" the Groaci
peacekeeper hissed.
"The prompt satisfaction of your curiosity," Re-
tief whispered back, motioning Gloot past. He
followed up the final flight of steps. As the Lum-
bagan reached the sentry's terrace, the latter his-
sed and swung the gun to cover him.
"The impropriety of taking hasty action," Re-
tief said sharply. The guard swiveled a pair of eyes
toward him, and uttered a faint Groaci yelp of
dismay.
"A Soft One—" he started, but his feeble cry
was cut off abruptly by a smart rap to the side of
the jaw delivered by Gloot. Retief deftly caught
the victim's helmet as he collapsed.
Retief quickly scouted the narrow gallery on

RETIEF'S RANSOM
295
which they now found themselves. From the plat-
form at the end, a complicated system of rods was
visible atop a tower.
"Curious," Magnan whispered. "Trideo anten-
nae here? I wasn't aware Lumbaga boasted trans-
mission facilities."
"I have an idea the transmitter hasn't gone into
full service yet," Retief said. Further discussion
was interrupted by a faint whop-whop-whop
which grew swiftly louder. A copter came sweep-
ing in low over the treetops, made a sliding turn,
and came back to hover for a moment before set-
tling gently to the roof of the building. Before the
rotors had stopped, the pilot—a small, thin-
legged individual wrapped in a black cloak and
wearing a solar topi—hopped down and disap-
peared into the shadows. A moment later, light
shone from an opened hatch in the roof, into
which the new arrival descended, closing the
panel behind him.
"I believe that was the same chap we just
missed meeting back on Groo-groo," Retief said.
"An omission I'd like to correct."
"Too bad it's impossible," Magnan said crisply.
"Still, if we hasten back now, we may be able to
see the ambassador and persuade him to request
departmental approval for authorizing an inquiry
into the possibility of considering the appoint-
ment of a committee to look into a proposal for
asking Jith some rather pointed questions."
"A dynamic program, Mr. Magnan," Retief
said. "But we might save a little time by some
judicious eavesdropping right here on the spot."
"Hmmm. An interesting theoretical point. A
pity we didn't bring snoop gear, but who would

296
RETIEF UNBOUND
have imagined any occasion for diplomatic ac-
tivities this far from the nearest cocktail party?"
"An unfortunate oversight; but possibly we can
rectify it by shinnying up the drain pipe."
"Drat it, Retief, I'm beginning to suspect that
the hazards of being rescued by you exceed those
threatened by the kidnappers!"
"Give me a leg up, Gloot," Retief said.
"Anything for you, pal," the local said dubi-
ously, grasping his shin firmly. "But are you sure
you can use it?"
"On second thought, just a boost will do," Re-
tief amended. Gloot offered linked hands as a stir-
rup; Retief went up the pipe. The roof was de-
serted but for the silent copter squatting inside a
yellow-painted circle. He leaned back to lend a
hand to Magnan, then to Gloot. Together they
crossed to the trapdoor. It opened soundlessly.
Steep steps led down into deep gloom.
"I dunno," Gloot said, looking dubiously down
into the dark recess below. "What if it's booby-
trapped? What if they're waiting down there with
skinning knives? What if the whole thing is a
fancy scheme to feed fresh spares into the black
market? What if—"
"If so, it's working perfectly," Retief said, and
started down the steps. At the bottom, he used his
pocket flash to quickly check the room; it was
empty but for stacked crates and cartons bearng
stenciled markings.
"Electronic gear," Retief said. "And surgical
supplies."
"Here's one labeledAcme Theatrical Services,"
Magnan whispered. "Curious; I never suspected
the Groaci had an interest in amateur dramatics."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
297
"I suspect they may have entered the field at a
professional level," Retief said.
The storeroom opened into a narrow, dimly lit
passage. Faint murmurings sounded from behind
a door along the way. Retief went to it, put his ear
against the panel:
"... to have come within an ace of discovery!"
hissed a breathy Groaci voice. "To make all haste
now—"
"The inadvisability of rushing the cadence!"
another voice replied. "To not louse up the trium-
phant culmination of my researches!"
"Yes, yes, to get on with it. To have a tight
schedule."
A muted humming sound started up; a faint
odor of ozone filtered past the closed door.
"Sounds like an illegal transmitter," Retief
said.
"What's illegal about a transmitter?" Gloot de-
manded.
"Let's find out." Retief turned the doorknob si-
lently, eased the door open an inch. Two Groaci,
one in bile-green shorts and orange and violet
Argyles, the other in a stained white laboratory
smock, and holding a clipboard, stood before a
wide panel with a puce crackle finish thickly set
with dials, switches, oscilloscope tubes, and
blinking indicator lights. One side of the room
was given over to stacked cages in which eyeballs,
kidneys, adenoids, and other forms of Lumbagan
wildlife perched disconsolately on twigs moped
glumly in corners amid scattered straw.
"... the completion of preliminary testing," the
technician was whispering, "to be ready now to
conduct field trials of limited range, after which,

298
RETIEF UNBOUND
on to the final stage in the fulfilment of selfless
Groaci objectives with all deliberate haste!"
"To spare me the propaganda," the other
snapped. "To have read the official handouts. To
now tellingly demonstrate the effectiveness of the
device without further procrastination."
"The eagerness with which I confirm the accu-
racy of my theoretical predictions," the white-
smocked Groaci hissed sharply. "To anticipate
the prompt material gratitude of our govern-
ment."
"To deliver the goods in accordance with specs,
or to promptly adorn the Wall of Hooks as an
example to other boasters!" the other whispered
harshly.
The technician wiggled his oculars in expres-
sion of righteous fury courteously restrained, and
turned to the control panel, began setting dials in
a complicated sequence, referring frequently to
the clipboard.
"Haste, haste," the other Graoci muttered. "To
not procrastinate in the eye of the metaphorical
cannon—or is it the mouth of the needle?"
"To be unfamiliar with Terry saws," the white-
smocked alien hissed, continuing with the check
list. The observer watched for a moment in sour
silence; then: "Pah!" he burst out. "To reject out of
hand this transparent hoax! To perceive that you
stall the proceedings in order to extort even more
golden promises of future emoluments!"
"To commit a wrong of vast proportions, thus to
accuse me!" the technician cried. "To underesti-
mate the insidious sublety of the mechanism—"
"To have penetrated your deception—and to
remind you of the redundance of mere technical

RETIEF'S RANSOM
299
personnel after completion of their function!"
"The inadvisability of threats to my person! My
indispensability to the scheme—"
"Is at an end! To point out that even a cretinous
underling is fully capable of closing a switch!"
The Groaci stepped forward and before the other
could intercept him, pushed the largest button on
the panel.
With a hoarse bellow, Gloot plunged past Retief
into the room. The two Groaci whirled, uttered
shrill yelps and dived in opposite directions. The
small creatures in their cages had gone into a
flurry of activity, Retief noted peripherally, hurl-
ing themselves against the wire mesh as if frantic
to come to grips with their neighbors. The
momentum of Gloot's charge carried him full tilt
against the button-studded console. Lights
flashed; harsh buzzings sounded, ending in a
crackle of arcing electricity. Gloot staggered back
and sat down hard. The lab animals subsided as
abruptly as they had leaped into motion. Retief
jumped forward in time to nab the technician as
he dithered, unsure which way to run. A door
slammed at the back of the room.
"Retief! What in the world . . . ?" Magnan qua-
vered, peering into the room.
"Oh boy," Gloot muttered, fingering his head
with all three hands as he sat weaving in the
middle of the room. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy. . . ."
"Would you care to amplify that remark?" Re-
tief said, holding the struggling Groaci.
"I guess I blew it, huh?" the Lumbagan said
blurrily. "I don't know what come over me, Retief.
It was like festival time and spring rites and the
fall offensive all hit me at once! All of a sudden I

300
RETIEF UNBOUND
was raring to go! Too bad that Terry got away, I
would have liked to field-strip the little rascal, just
to see what color juice ran out of him." He eyed
Retief's prisoner wistfully. "The fit's passed—but
I still got kind of a lingering urge to pull that Terry
apart, one skiimy leg at a time."
"I thought you Lumbagans saved all your hos-
tilities for each other, with none left over for
tourists," Retief said.
"Yeah—me too. But somehow, all of a sudden it
was open season on Terries. Funny, huh? I never
been nuts about 'em, but this is the first time I
appreciated to the full what a really swell sensa-
tion it would be to rip 'em to shreds—"
Far away, an alarm bell clanged harshly.
"Now are you undone, abominable intruders,"
the Groaci hissed. "In moments my well-trained
bullies will fall upon you, your misshapen mem-
bers to distribute over the immediate landscape!"
"Retief, we have to get out of here at once!"
Magnan yelped. "If a platoon of peacekeepers
should get their nasty little digits on us ... !"
"Yeah, let's blow," Gloot agreed. "Me and cops
never did get on too good together."
Retief released the Groaci, who at once darted
for cover behind the nearest rank of cages. The
hall was empty; a lone peacekeeper appeared at
the far end of the corridor and set up a weak shout
as they dashed for the storeroom. Inside, Retief
and Gloot paused long enough to stack half a
dozen crates against the door before ascending to
the roof. Magnan was at the parapet, staring down
into the darkness.
"Trapped!" he hissed. "Retief—the grounds
are swarming with them! And—" he uttered a

stifled exclamation. "Retief! Look!"
In the gloom below, Retief could discern the
forms of several dozen armed troops in flaring
helmets, polished greaves, and spined hip-cloaks
moving efficiently out to surround the building.
"Retief! What does it mean? This laboratory,
hidden in the wilds; that insane monster farm,
and that horrible little Nith—and his obscure
experiments—and now Groaci troops secretly
garrisoned in the boondocks!"
"It means we know enough now for a prelimi-
nary report. If you'll give Ambassador Pounce-
trifle the details of what we've learned—"
"But—Retief—what have we learned?"
"That the Groaci have worked out a method of
controlling Lumbagan evolution, plus a method
of selectively stimulating the natives' natural love
of hostilities."
"But—whatever for?"
"You'd better get going now, Mr. Magnan; I
seem to hear the sounds of a posse pounding on
the door down below."
"Get going? You sp-speak as though I we-were
expected to descend alone into that lion's den!"
"Not descend; ascend. The copter is a standard
Groaci export model—"
"Yes, but—but I don't have my driver's license
with me!"
A loud thumping sound from below as the
stacked cases toppled. Gloot slammed the trap
door and stood on it.
"Better hurry, Mr. Magnan," Retief said. "Head
due west, and stay clear of the peaks."
Magnan made vague sounds of protest, but
scrambled awkwardly into the copter. He pressed

302
RETIEF UNBOUND
the starter; the rotors turned, spun quickly up to
speed.
"It seems a trifle irresponsible, dashing off and
leaving you here alone, Retief," he said, and
winced as thunderous pounding shook the trap-
door.
"I hope them Terries don't take a notion to send
a few rounds of explosive slugs through this
hatch," Gloot said, struggling for balance as it
heaved under him.
"—but as you point out, duty calls," Magnan
added quickly, and with a hasty wave, lifted off
into the night.
"I don't get it," Gloot said as the sound of the
machine faded. "You said Ambassador Pounce-
trifle? I thought he was the head Terry."
"I think it's time for me to clear up a slight
missapprehension you've been laboring under,
Gloot," Retief said. "Those aren't actually Terries
down there; they're Groaci."
"Huh? But they look just like what's-his-face,
Nith, only bigger!"
"Correct. That's because Nith is a Groaci, too."
"But if he's a Groaci—then what about
whozis—the one that just ran out on us?"
"Mr. Magnan," Retief confided, "is actually a
Terry."
"Aha! I should have known! Talk about masters
of disguise! Pretty slick, the way you got rid of
him. . . ." Gloot paused reflectively. "But—if
they're Groaci down there, how come we don't
just open up, and shake hands all around?"
"They think I'm a Terry."
"Oh, boy, that complicates things. How come
you don't tell 'em who you really are, and—"
"Undercover operation."

"Oh, I get it. Or do I?"Gloot said vaguely. "But I
guess I can worry about that later, after we get out
of this mess. What nifty trick are you going to pull
out of the hat now? Frankly, if I didn't have lots of
confidence in you, Retief, I'd be getting worried
about now."
"I think you may as well go ahead and worry,
Gloot," Retief said. "On this occasion, I'm fresh
out of hats."
"You mean ... ?" At the words, the hatch gave a
tremendous lurch, sending the Lumbagan stag-
gering. It flew open, and a Groaci warrior bounded
forth, power gun aimed, his fellows crowding out
behind him.
"He means, nocuous encroacher, that now in-
deed is your fate upon you!" the white-jacketed
Groaci technician hissed, thrusting forward.
"How about it, Retief," Gloot said from the
corner of his mouth. "We could jump 'em—but
what I say is, why give 'em the fun of blowing us
into sausage?"
"Wait!" a piercing, yet curiously timbreless
voice called from the rear. The Groaci soldiery fell
back, came to rigid attention. In the sudden si-
lence, the technician ducked his head servilely,
stepping aside as an impressive figure wrapped in
a black cloak with a twist of gold braid adorning
the stiff collar strode forward. Typically Groacian
except for his near six-foot height, the newcomer
stared Retief up and down, ignoring Gloot.
"So, impetuous Terry," he rasped in a voice
surprisingly vigorous for a Groaci. "We meet at
last."
"Swarmmaster Ussh, I presume?" Retief said.
"Your Ultimateness has led us an interesting
chase."

304
RETIEF UNBOUND
"And one pursued to your indescribable sor-
row," Ussh grated.
"I agree it's saddening to see so much effort
wasted," Retief agreed. "Yours, I mean—not ours."
"Wasted effort is for lesser creatures, Terran!"
Ussh waggled his oculars in token of amusement.
"For all the diligence of your prying, you have
failed, naturally, to correctly assess the full scope
of my genius."
"Possibly," Retief said. "But I think you've
failed to correctly assess CDT policy on sensitive
issues like genocide, slavery, and vivisection—"
"Pah—what care I for a gaggle of diplomats? I
happen to be the forerunner of a superrace, to
whom ordinary values have no application!"
"I've seen your experimental monster farm,"
Retief said. "The woods seemed to be full of un-
successful experiments in forced evolution—"
"True, there were a certain number of failures
before I was able to reproduce the precise forms
needed in the Great Plan, but even those had their
uses—"
"And I've seen your matched sets of garrison
troops. Not bad, except that they didn't seem
to be a great deal brighter than armies usually
are—"
"As I suspected, the true implications of their
existence were lost on your limited imagination.
Soon, however—"
"I think I got it. Manipulating Lumbagans at
random is all very well, but it would be a bit
difficult to stage anything more organized than a
free-for-all unless you could elicit uniform re-
sponses. Ergo—uniform puppets."
"You've correctly gauged the more pedestrian

RETIEF'S RANSOM
305
portions of my plot, Terran dupe! But you've
failed utterly to grasp the incredible scope of my
true greatness! While you dashed hither and
thither, assembling your trifling clues, my giant
intellect has been coolly completing the final de-
tail work. And now—tonight!—the New Age
dawns, ushered in by the successor to all previous
life forms, namely myself!"
"What is this guy, nuts or something?" Gloot
muttered. "If he's so busy, why's he standing
around making speeches?"
"He's trying to find out how much we know,"
Retief said.
Swarmmaster Ussh waved a negligent hand.
"Petty minds can but ascribe petty motives," he
hissed. "What you may or may not know is a
matter of supreme indifference—and I include
any fragmentary facts in the possession of your
flown accomplice, for whose absence from this
cozy group certain incompetents will suffer. In
fact, I freely confide in you: Tonight, I assume
planetary rule. Tomorrow, I issue my ultimatum
to the Galaxy. Next week—but contain yourself in
patience. You yourself—in chains, of course—
shall serve as my emissary to carry the terms to
your former masters! As for the Untouchable, you
may retain him as your personal menial."
"I assumed you had a reason for not shooting us
immediately," Retief said.
"I do nothing without a supremely practical
motive," Ussh stated flatly. "And now—will you
go to your durance peacefully, or will it be neces-
sary for me to have you dragged by the heels, a
most undignified progress for a future Slave Am-
bassador."

306	RETIEF UNBOUND
"I think a period of quiet contemplation may be
just what we need at this point," Retief said.
16
THE dungeon into which Retief and Gloot were
conducted, cut deep into the rock beneath the
secret Groaci lab, was a damp chamber six feet by
eight, without lights, furniture, or other
amenities. The narrow portal through which they
had entered was barred by a foot-thick door of
solid iron. The ceiling was a seamless surface of
rough-hewn stone, as were the walls and floor.
"At least we got a drain hole," Gloot com-
mented after they had conducted an examination
of their prison by the light of Retief's cigar lighter.
"If worst gets to worst, I can always flush myself
down the sewer; but don't worry, pal, I'll stick
around and keep you company until you starve to
death before I split—and I do mean split."
"That's thoughtful, Gloot; but maybe it won't
come to that."
"Aha! So you have got a couple aces up your
sleeve! I figured; come on, Retief: Let me in on the
scheme! How are we going to hoist these
Terries—"
"Groaci."
"Whatever you call 'em, I still don't like 'em.
What dramatic stroke are we going to bring off
now, which they'll be caught by surprise with
their kilts up?"

"First we find a comfortable spot on the floor,"
Retief said.
"Yeah? OK, I'm with you so far."
"Then we wait."
"I'll be frank with you, Retief: Somehow the
program don't sound too promising."
"It's all I have to offer at the moment."
"Oh." There was a pause. "Are we, ah, waiting
for anything in particular?"
"I'd be inclined to jump at anything that comes
along."
"You must be joshing, Retief. How can anything
come along to jump at, seeing that we're locked up
in an underground dungeon with only one hole in
it, namely the one the bilge runs out of?"
"That narrows it down," Retief conceded.
"You mean . . . ?"
"Shhh . . . listen!"
In the utter silence, a faint rustling sound was
audible. Retief thumbed his lighter; the pale flame
cast a feeble glow across the slimy floor.
Below the four-inch drain orifice, something
stirred.
An eyeball crept into view on spidery legs,
swiveling to look around the cell before emerging
onto the floor. Behind it, an ear fluttered up the
shaft, circled the chamber, came to rest in a far
corner. A hand crawled into view, paused to hold
up two fingers in a V, then turned to assist a couple
of gallbladders over the coping.
"Cripes," Gloot muttered as more and more
Freebies swarmed into the cell. "What is this, a
convention? The place is crawling with vermin!"
"Steady, Gloot," Retief cautioned. "When I said
jump, I didn't mean literally."

"It figures the crumbums would stick us in a
hole infested with parasites!"
"Keep your voice down, Gloot. If our jailors
suspect we have guests, they'll soon be along to
break up the party."
"Yeah—even a bunch o' Terries—or Groaci—
foreigners, anyway—ought to have the decency to
fumigate the place if we put up a howl—" Gloot
broke off, his mouth hanging open in an expres-
sion of horrified outrage. "Why, the lousy, dirty,
obscene little buggers!" he gasped. "Right out in
public, too."
Under the feeble beam of the lighter, the eyeball
had edged close to a generously proportioned
nose which waited coyly for its advance. They
touched, groped—and melted into a close em-
brace. A second eye appeared from the drain,
glanced around, rushed to the conjoining couple
and promptly took up a position on the opposite
side of the nose. An upper lip linked with them, as
other candidates crowded around, while more
and more streamed up from the depths.
"It's—it's a regular orgy, like I heard about but
never got in on!" Gloot blurted, and raised a large,
booted foot to stamp out the objectionable specta-
cle; Retief caught his ankle barely in time,
dumped him on his back.
"Easy, Gloot," he said. "It's time you faced up to
the facts of life."
"Just wait until I get my other lung in place," a
breathy voice squeaked from the direction of the
congregating singletons, "and I'll give that big
hypocrite a piece of my mind! Maybe that'll raise
his IQ to the moron level so he can understand me
when I tell him what I think of him!"

"I thought maybe it was you who's been dog-
ging my footsteps," Retief said. "Welcome aboard,
Ignarp. You couldn't have come at a better time."
17
"SO that's OUR Big Secret, Retief," Ignarp said
five minutes later. He was completely reassem-
bled now, his component parts having settled into
position and accommodated themselves so per-
fectly that the lines of juncture were barely visi-
ble. "Being able to reassemble gives us a big ad-
vantage; that's why the rest of 'em are out to get
us."
"The reasons normal Lumbagans got no use for
these degenerates," Gloot stated with contempt,
"is on account of they got no finer feelings. When
they put theirselves together thataway, they as
good as admit all us Lumbagans evolved from
lower forms!"
"Ontogeny recapitulates philogeny," Ignarp
said smugly. "Everybody knows that."
"Sure—but decent folks don't admit it!"
"Which brings us to the question of why you
trailed me here," Retief said.
"I told you I'd keep an eye on you—"
"Yes, I saw it fluttering in the middle distance."
"And it looks to me like maybe things are even
worse than we thought. And you're the only one
that maybe can do something about it. Ergo—here
I am. What can I do? Get you some light reading

310
RETIEF UNBOUND
matter? Take last messages to loved ones?"
"Better yet, you can get us out of here."
"I don't know, Retief," Ignarp said, eyeing
Gloot, who stood at the far side of the cell, arms
folded, a sullen expression on his face. "Why
should I go to the trouble to bail this clod out of
stir?"
"Because without him, I'm afraid my plan
won't work out," Retief said.
"Who needs him?" Ignarp challenged. "All I
have to do is slide back out the way I came in—"
"I still don't believe it/' Gloot muttered.
"Me—associating with this degenerate. Having
to stand here and listen to him talk about it."
"—infiltrate the building and reassemble in-
side. Then, when you pound on the door and yell
and the guard comes to work you over with the
rubber hoses, I jump out and nail him."
"I got a better idea," Gloot said. "Retief, you
lend your coat to this deviate; we set up a yell, and
when the bums come running, they open the door
and see the two of you up against the wall thumb-
ing your noses. Naturally, they come charging in,
and I jump out behind 'em and lay 'em low."
"Some plan," Ignarp commented. "They see
Retief without his coat and a total stranger wear-
ing it, and that's supposed to lull their suspi-
cions?"
"Ok, then I borrow his coat—"
"So they see him without a coat, and me
naked—and they figure I'm you, only two feet
shorter and better looking—"
"No, I got it: Retief borrows my coat—"
"You're not wearing one, dummy."
"So he keeps his coat! You get back of the
door—"

RETIEF'S RANSOM
311
"Don't tell me what to do, tall, spotted, and
grotesque!"
"You got a nerve, short, blotchy, and depraved! I
got a good mind—"
"Want to bet? We do it my way.. See you later,
Retief—"
"How about waiting long enough to hear my
proposal, Ignarp?"
"Well—OK. Who wears your coat?"
"I do. It's you two fellows who have some
changes to make."
"Huh?" Gloot said uneasily.
"What you got in mind?" Ignarp said suspi-
ciously.
"Something far worse than you think," Retief
said. "Tell me, Ignarp, how would you like to see
Lumbaga pacified by a dictator?"
"You kidding? We like to fight amongst our-
selves. Having all the fat in the hands of the
exploiting classes is bad enough, without some
spoilsport depriving us of our national pastime.
Forget it, Retief—"
"I'd be glad to, but I'm afraid a fellow named
Ussh has a more tenacious memory. Unless we do
something to stop it, by this time tomorrow, Lum-
baga will be at peace—permanently."
"Well, what are we hanging around here for?"
Ignarp demanded. "Let's try my plan, and—"
"All the more reason to get going on my plan!"
Gloot cut in.
"Gentlemen," Retief interrupted, "there comes
a time in any friendly fight when it's wise to pause
and give a thought to consequences. At this mo-
ment, the opposition is busy putting the finishing
touches on a plan that's been years in the making.
The occupying armies are already on the march

312
RETIEF UNBOUND
for the capital—and we're sealed in a vault forty
feet underground, engaged in a jurisdictional
dispute."
"Oh . . . well ..." Gloot said.
"It doesn't look good, does it?" Ignarp said so-
berly.
"The proposals now before us," Retief said,
"would afford a few satisfying cracks at the heads
of our captors, and might even get us as far as the
end of the hall before the inevitable end. What's
required is a plan with sufficient scope to carry us
through to a successful conclusion."
"I'll buy that," Gloot said. "But—"
"Out with it, Retief," Ignarp said. "I've got a
funny feeling I'm not going to like this."
"Probably not," Retief agreed. In a few brief
words, he outlined his proposal.
A stunned silence followed.
"Retief! And I thought you were a fine, upstand-
ing fellow—for a foreigner!" Ignarp said weakly.
"If I wouldn't of heard it, I wouldn't of believed
it," Gloot said in a choked voice.
"Well, how about it, gentlemen?" Retief said.
"We don't have much time."
"You expect me to lend countenance to a thing
like that?" Ignarp protested. "It's enough to make
your eyebrows crawl!"
"What if my friends heard about it?" Gloot mut-
tered.
"It's not traditional!" Ignarp complained.
"It's against nature!"
"Mongrelization!"
"I'll be dragged down to his level!"
"It'll never work!"
"Couldn't we talk about it first? For a few years,

RETIEF'S RANSOM
313
say—or maybe a century or so?"
"It's now or never, fellows," Retief said. "After
tomorrow, every Lumbagan on the planet will be
herded into a Freeby farm and integrated forcibly,
regardless of his sensitivities."
"Me?" Gloot said. "And that. . . that. . . dilet-
tante?"
"That . . . that oaf—and me?" Ignarp wailed.
"It's that—or something worse," Retief said
with finality.
"Could you at least. .. douse the light?" Ignarp
said.
"I need a shot o' rum," Gloot said.
"Of course." Retief handed over his flask and
switched off; the dim glow faded. In the darkness
there were soft, tentative scufflings, faint mutter-
ings; Retief paced the cell, three paces, back
three paces, whistling softly to himself. Time
passed. . . .
Silence fell. Retief paused.
"Ready, gentlemen?"
"We ... I... guess so," a curiously mellow voice
answered. Then, more strongly: "Yes, ready, Re-
tief."
He flicked on the lighter. In its glow stood not
the dumpy Ignarp nor the lanky Gloot, but a tall,
superbly muscled figure, brawny arms folded
over a mighty chest, four golden eyes glowing
from a broad and noble brow alight with intellect.

18
"How DO I... we look?" the idealized Lumbagan
inquired.
"Ready for anything," Retief said. "By the way,
what do I call you now? Somehow neither Ignoop
nor Glarp seems to fit the new you."
"What about . . . Lucael?"
"It's better than Michifer. Now, Luke—if you'll
pardon the familiarity—I think we'd best go on
with the. next phase without delay."
"The next phase being . . . ?"
"As the first Octuple Lumbagan in history, I
assume you have unique abilities. Let's find out
what they are."
"Yes—I see. The conclusion is logical. By intro-
spection, I note that I have, of course, enhanced
physical strength and endurance, exceptionally
keen hearing and vision. . . ." Lucael paused. "A
most interesting effect," he said. "By bringing
either pair of eyes to bear on an object, I of course
achieve the familiar stereoscopic effect: three-
dimensional sight—a vast improvement over the
monocular vision of the former Gloot identity. But
when I bring both pairs into play simultaneously,
channeling the impression through my com-
pound occipital lobes, there is an exponential im-
provement. I can clearly perceive nine dimen-
sions: five spatial, two temporal, and two more the
nature of which will require careful analysis.. . •"
The resonant baritone faded off as Lucael stared,

RETIEF'S RANSOM
315
somewhat crosseyed, at the corner of the room.
"You'll have plenty of time later for research in
depth, Luke. For the moment we'd better stick to
the practical applications."
"Of course. The first order of business, clearly,
is to adjust spatial coordinates in such fashion
that our loci lie external to the enclosure by which
we are at present circumscribed."
"Unequivocally, if not succinctly put. Any
suggestions?"
"Hmmm." Lucael glanced at each of the four
walls in turn. "Solid rock to a depth of several
hundred feet on all sides." He stared at the floor.
"Twenty-five miles of rock, underlain by a viscous
fluid at high temperature and pressure. Fascinat-
ing!"
"That leaves the ceiling," Retief prompted.
"To be sure," Lucael glanced up. "Yes, this is
the simplest route." He glanced at Retief. "Shall
we go?"
"After you."
The super-Lumbagan nodded, folded his
arms—both pairs—and rose gently from the floor.
In the moment before his head would have con-
tacted the ceiling, the rocky surface seemd to
shimmer, fading suddenly to invisibility. With-
out pausing, Lucael rose steadily up, waist, knees,
ankles, to disappear from sight. A moment later, a
sharp, breathy cry sounded, followed by a dull
thump.
Retief crouched, jumped, caught the edge of the
circular opening now miraculously existing in
the stone slab, and pulled himself up into what
appeared to be a guardroom. A lone Groaci lay
stretched on the floor, peacefully snoring.

316
RETIEF UNBOUND
"It was necessary to numb his cortical
synapses—temporarily, of course," Lucael said
apologetically. "Poor little creature, so full of vain
plans and misconceptions."
"Aren't we all," Retief said. "Luke, let's see how
good you are at finding things at a distance. We
need fast transportation."
"Let me see. . . . Hmmm. I detect a boat at a
distance of three hundred yards on an azimuth of
181° 24°."
"What kind of boat?"
"A hand-hewn canoe sunk in four fathoms of
water. There's a large hole in the bottom."
"Skip that one, Luke. How about a nice two-
man copter?"
"No . . . nothing like that. However, I note a
modest power launch lying at anchor some two
miles to the east."
"Ensign Yubb must still be busy pacifying the
army. I believe his boat was powered by a small
fusion jet. I don't suppose . . . ?"
"I've already started it," Lucael said. "Just a
moment while I lift the anchor ... there. Now, let
me see: Which is reverse? Oh, yes. Now, all ahead,
half speed until she's past the bar. . . ."
"Nice work, Luke. While you're bringing her
around to this side of the island, take a quick scan
of the building."
"Very well. ... A guard or two dozing in the
keep. . . .Two Groaci in sick bay with contu-
sions. ... Half a dozen unfortunates lodged in the
brig. Ussh seems to be gone. Yes, I detect his
aura—a most powerful one—some ten miles to
the east, traveling fast."
"It's time we emulated him. Let's go, Luke; we

don't want to miss all the excitement."
"You refer to the moment when Ussh an-
nounces his assumption of power and his pro-
gram of Galactic conquest?"
"No," Retief said. "I mean the moment when he
discovers that Newton's Third Law applies to
politicians as well as ping-pong balls."
1 They met no opposition as they left the now
almost-deserted building. Lucael picked a route
down the hill through the dense woods to emerge
on the beach just as the unmanned power launch
rounded the curve of the shore and headed in
toward the beach. They splashed out through the
shallows as the engine cut; the boat glided si-
lently up to them. Aboard, Lucael restarted the
engines, and Retief took the helm.
"Ussh's first column has just entered the city
from the west," Lucael announced. "He himself is
at this moment leading a procession along
Brigand Street toward the palace. Rioting seems
to be proceeding as usual."
"Let's be grateful for His Ultimateness's fond-
ness for dramatic gestures," Retief said. "If he'll
occupy himself with his victory parade for an
hour or so, we may be in time."
"In time to thwart his coup?"
"Probably not. But with luck, in time to stage a
small coup of our own." He opened the throttles
and the powerful boat surged ahead across the
dark water toward the city lights fifteen miles to
the east.
The shadowy shapes of Groo-groo and Delerion
and Rumboogie rose in turn from the darkness,
slid past on the port side, dwindled astern, none
showing any signs of life with the exception of a

few small campfires glowing high on their
forested slopes. Ahead, the lights of Thieves' Har-
bor spread wider, reaching out to enclose them as
they passed the breakwater. The wharves were
deserted as the sleek craft nosed up to the Munic-
ipal Pier.
Retief cut the power, tossed a line around a
piling and jumped down onto the wharf.
"The place looks strange without at least one
small street fight in progress," he said. "Appar-
ently it takes a war to bring peace to Lumbaga."
"The crowds have gathered near the Castle
complex," Lucael said. "A cordon of armed troops
surround the area. Ussh is in the ballroom, in
company with a number of off-worlders."
"Is Ambassador Pouncetrifle among those pres-
ent?" Retief described the Terran Plenipotentiary.
Lucael confirmed that he was included in the
group.
"They seemed to be linked together," the
super-Lumbagan added, "by means of a chain at-
tached to a series of metal collars which in turn
encircle their necks."
"Apparently Ussh intends to establish a no-
nonsense foreign policy," Retief commented.
"The idea has merit, but in the present case we'll
have to try to introduce a little nonsense after all."
"Interference may prove difficult. All entrances
are blocked by the crowd. I can of course levitate
myself to any desired point within the atmos-
phere, but the amount of extra weight I'm capable
of carrying is limited."
"Piggyback is out, then. Let's try the back door
where your Ignarp segment and I first met."
Retief led the way across the plaza and down

RETIEF'S RANSOM
319
Dacoit Street, poorly lit by the widely spaced gas
lamps, deserted now, littered with the forlorn
trash crowds leave behind. They were within a
hundred feet of the inconspicuous door when a
small party of helmeted and greaved Groaci sol-
diers emerged suddenly from a narrow cross
street ahead. The officer in charge hissed an order;
his troops spread out to block the way, then one by
one crumpled to the cobblestones. The officer, the
last on his feet, stared uncomprehendingly at his
collapsing command, then belatedly jerked his
pistol from its sequinned holster only to drop it,
totter two steps, and fall.
Lucael staggered back against the wall of the
building beside them, his face working like yeast.
"Jeez ... I just had the screwiest nightmare," he
muttered, almost in Gloot's voice. "Another . . .
lousy trick by . . . unprincipled exploiters, I'll
wager," he added in Ignarp's petulant tones.
"Luke! Pull yourself together!" Retief snapped.
"You can't afford to go to pieces now!"
Lucael's features twitched and subsided. The
four golden eyes settled back into position.
"I . . . find that . . . there are limitations to my
power output," he said weakly.
"Come on, Luke. Just a little farther." They cov-
ered the remaining yards to the doorway. The
heavy door opened on the musty passage.
"From now on, save your strength for emergen-
cies," Retief said. "I think I can guarantee there'll
be a steady supply."
They threaded the route through the dusty pas-
sages, ascended the stairs to the kitchens, which
they found deserted, showing signs of rapid
evacuation. A cramped spiral service stair led

from ail alcove beside the dumbwaiter to the
upper stories. At the top, faint voices muttered
beyond the door which opened into the private
apartment wing.
"A party of minor Groaci officials," Lucael said,
speaking with his eyes closed. "They seem to be
placing wagers as to whether Terra will be granted
colony status, or merely regarded as conquered
territory." He paused. "They're gone now."
Retief eased the door open half an inch; crimson
carpet led to a pair of massive, carved purplewood
doors, just closing behind the bet-laying aliens.
Retief went swiftly forward, got a foot in it before
it closed. The anteroom beyond was empty;
through a low, arched opening the barbarically
splendid ballroom was visible, crowded with a
mixed throng of locals and aliens. In an elabo-
rately carved chair at the far end of the room sat a
towering Lumbagan draped in a robe of Imperial
purple, flanked on one side by Colonel Suash at
the head of an honor guard of matched native
troops in shining cuirasses and polished helms,
power guns at present arms, impressive in spite of
a number of black eyes and Band-Aids in evi-
dence. At the other side of the throne stood a
detachment of Groaci peacekeepers in full uni-
form. A gaggle of Groaci functionaires, including
Ambassador Jith, stood nearby. Ambassador
Pouncetrifle, leaning sideways due to the weight
of the chain on his neck, stood before the throne; a
dozen or so members of his staff huddled behind
him in a tight group, none apparently craving the
honor of sharing the front rank with the Chief of
Mission.
". . . sensible of the honor and all that, Your

RETIEF'S RANSOM
321
Imperial Highness," the Terran Ambassador was
saying, "but see here, I can't simply offer Terran
recognition of your regime on my own authority!"
"Let's simplify the proposition," a deep bass
voice boomed from the Imperial chair. "Ac-
knowledge our divine right, and sign the treaty,
and we'll allow you to linger to observe our coro-
nation before being whipped back to your ken-
nels!"
"Ah ... if I might venture an observation	"A
faint voice spoke up from the Groaci delegation. It
was Ambassador Jith who stepped forward.
"While one fully appreciates the eminent propri-
ety of the installation of a native Lumbagan re-
gime entertaining kindly sentiments toward the
Groacian state—"
"Yes, yes, get on with it!" the enthroned Lum-
bagan rumbled.
"To be sure, Your Imperial Highness—I merely
meant to suggest that perhaps a less precipitate
approach to the question of recognition—"
"Our photograph, hand-tinted by skilled
coolies, will be distributed to every village, ham-
let, and town in the Eastern Arm! Recognition-
wise, we'll be better known that that fellow What-
zizname who won the noodle-knitting contest on
TV!"
"Doubtless, sire, your fame will be quickly
spread abroad—
"No broads! As an asexual race, we Lumbagans
look with disfavor on any sport we can't get in on!
Now, that's enough of the subject! On with the
formalities!" His Highness favored Pouncetrifle
with a scowl involving three eyes and four eye-
brows.

"Well, what about it, Terran? Do you want to
acknowledge the legitimacy of our gracious rule
and receive an exequatur allowing you to go on
using up our Lumbagan air, or would you prefer to
play a stellar role in the first death sentence we
hand down from our newly established throne?"
"Apparently Your Imperial Highness is having
his little jape," Jith hissed in apparent dismay.
"As Grocian Plenipotentiary, I must advise that
the Groacian state would look with extreme dis-
favor on the establishment of any unfortunate
precedent with regard to informal methods of di-
plomat disposal. A simple declaration of persona
non grata—"
"Nope. Italian food gives us heartburn," the
Imperial figure decreed. "And if we hear any more
static from aliens of any persuasion, we might just
revise our whole plan for Galactic enlightenment
to include you Groaci out!"
An unusually tall and robust Groaci stepped
forward from the rear rank.
"Ussh!" Lucael whispered.
"I'm sure that matters need not come to that,"
Ussh said unctuously. "Doubtless His Excellency,
on further consideration, will wish to withdraw
his objection."
The Emperor-elect, who had slumped rather
vaguely on his throne as the Groaci spoke, sat up
alertly.
"Very well; on with the executions. We'll make
a note to send for a fresh set of Terries more amen-
able to reason—"
"To protest this unwarranted assumption of au-
thority," Jith whispered urgently in his own lan-

guage to Ussh. "To remind you—Special Appoin-
tee or otherwise—that I am ranking Groacian offi-
cial here!"
"I see no reason to coddle Terran spies," the
other replied in Lumbagan. "This is Groac's op-
portunity to get in on the ground floor; why annoy
His Imperial Highness with minor quibbles on
technical points?"
"To point out that once these natives begin lop-
ping alien heads, Groaci organ clusters may be
next to roll!"
Retief's companion was staring at nothing with
his eyes half closed. Ussh stirred uneasily, looked
around the ornate room.
"It appears that I now confront an intellect
equal or superior to my own," Lucael murmured.
"He sensed my touch and instantly erected bar-
riers, the strength of which I cannot assess."
"Enough!" the enthroned Lumbagan spoke up
abruptly, as if returning from a reverie. "Captain!"
He pointed a limber digit at the guard chief. "Es-
cort the condemned to the courtyard, and give
your marksmen some unscheduled target prac-
tice! No need to finish them off in a hurry; just
keep peppering away until they stop twitching."
"Time to move," Retief said. "Luke—stay out of
sight and keep an eye on Ussh. No matter what
happens, stay tuned to him—and don't tip your
hand prematurely."
"What's your plan, Retief? I'm not at all sure I
can control him—"
"No time for plans; we'll have to play it by ear,"
Retief said, and thrust the door wide.
"Hold everything gentlemen," he said as all

324
RETIEF UNBOUND
eyes turned toward him. "There are new dis-
patches just in from the home front that cast a
different complexion on matters."
19
for a moment, a total silence gripped the
chamber. Then:
"Seize him!" Ussh snarled. When the guards
failed to move, he repeated the order, in a shout
this time.
"Don't slip out of character, Ussh," Retief said.
"You're just a Groaci MHHP, remember? The
troops work for His Putative Highness the
Emperor-to-be."
"Retief!" Pouncetrifle blurted hastily in Terran,
"Run for it, man! The official comset is in my
quarters, at the back of the wardrobe under my
golf clubs? Send out a code three-oh-two—"
"Silence!" the Imperial candidate yelled, and
hesitated.
"Uh—what about it, Your Highness?" Colonel
Suash said hesitantly, still standing fast. "Is it
your Imperial command to nab this foreigner?"
The would-be emperor's mouth sagged slightly
open. His expression was that of someone lost in
thought.
"His Highness," Ussh said, and paused. He
seemed to be struggling silently with himself.
"Looking for just the right word, Ussh?" Retief
inquired amiably. He turned to the colonel. "Re-

RETIEF'S RANSOM
325
lax, Suash," he said. "As you can see, His High-
ness is having second thoughts on a number of
matters."
"Take...." the Emperor said. Retief took a swift
step toward Ussh, who recoiled.
"Stand back, Terran!" he hissed.
"Your Highness?" said Colonel Suash, staring
up at the musing figure on the throne.
"Ughhrrr," the royal claimant said, gazing va-
cantly into space.
"Ah—Your Highness?" Suash repeated. "In
the, uh, absence of any new orders, I presume I
carry out the executions?"
"Just a minute, Colonel," Retief said. "You
Lumbagans don't take orders from foreigners, do
you?"
"Not on your second-best toupee I don't," the
officer snapped. "So don't try to give me any!"
"By no means, Colonel. I'm referring to
Swarmmaster Ussh, who represents himself as a
Special Appointee of the Groacian High Council."
"I don't take orders from him either!"
"No," Retief said, and pointed to the throne,
"but His Would-be Highness does."
"Wha—?" The officer half drew his dress sword
and turned to the emperor-elect. "Do you mind if I
chop this foreigner down right here, Your High-
ness, for that crack he just made about you?"
"Ungunggunggg," the enthroned Lumbagan
mumbled. His head lolled on his shoulder; his
mouth hung slackly open. Abruptly, he closed it,
pulled himself upright.
"We were just, ah, pondering our next pro-
nouncement," he said briskly, as Retief took
another step toward Ussh, who stood frozen, two

326
RETIEF UNBOUND
eyes canted tautly toward the throne, the other
three hanging limp. At the Terran's advance, he
spun to face him.
"Now, Colonel...." The emperor-to-be paused,
mouth open.
"Yes, Your Highness?" The Colonel watched in
dismay as his ruler-presumptive's expression re-
laxed into vacuity.
"You might as well address your remarks to
Ussh," Retief advised the officer. "He's the brains
of the operation."
"See here, Retief," Pouncetrifle spoke up. "The
intellectual prowess of the emperor is no concern
of ours—"
"It's the intellectual prowess of Ussh I'm think-
ing of at the moment, Mr. Ambassador. He has a
number of rather unusual capabilities."
"Lies!" Ussh shouted. "Fantasies! The ravings
of a disordered imagination! I'll see you all
hanged for disrespect to His Imperial Highness!
It's all a plot to discredit the people's choice, ele-
vated by acclamation to the Lumbagan throne!"
He was interrupted by a slithering sound, fol-
lowed by a heavy thump as the Emperor slid from
the elaborate chair and sprawled full length on
the dais, snoring gently.
"It's a plot, all right, Ussh—but you're the one
behind it," Retief said. "It wasn't His Imperial
Highness who mobilized the troops and took the
capital by storm; it was you."
"Guards! Shoot them down in their tracks for
aggravated lese-majesty!" Ussh shouted.
"What about it, Colonel?" Retief addressed the
guard chief. "Was it our slumbering host who
gave the order to march on the capital?"
"Well—not personally, of course. General Ussh

RETIEF'S RANSOM
327
notified me—but he was simply relaying His Im-
perial Highness' commands—"
"Wasn't it also Ussh who passed along the in-
structions that organized your unit in the first
place, and handed out the orders regarding the
secret laboratory?"
"Here, that's GUTS classification material
you're discussing!"
"Not any more. You've been taken in, Colonel.
Those were all Ussh's ideas—"
"Mr. Retief!" Ambassador Jith spoke up. "May I
remind you that I am principal officer here, and
that I have given no such instructions to any
member of the Groaci delegation—"
"I'm sure you haven't, Mr. Ambassador," Retief
said. "But Ussh seems to have taken it upon him-
self to use your name."
"Very well!" Ussh hissed suddenly, wheeling
to face the irate Groaci, who shrank back.
"Perhaps I have employed unconventional
methods! But clearly it's to Groac's advantage to
go along with the fait accompli! As soon as the
emperor is safely ensconced on his throne, I'm in a
position to assure you that Groac will be the object
of very special attentions by His Imperial
Majesty!"
"What's that?" Colonel Suash roared. "Are you
suggesting that the Emperor of Lumbaga is
nothing but a tool of foreign interests?"
"Not at all, Suash," Ussh hastened to reassure
the officer. "Merely that the new Lumbagan gov-
ernment can rely on the full support of Groac." He
turned back to Jith. "What about it, Your Excel-
lency?" he said urgently. "You'll agree that it's
clearly your duty to support his Highness'
claim—"

333	RETIEF UNBOUND
"Don't listen to him, Jith," Pouncetrifle blurted.
"You're quite right, Groac has no business what-
ever sticking its olfactory organ into Lumbaga's
affairs, especially when I was right on the verge of
proposing a well-rounded scheme for installing a
provisional governing committee under Terran
sponsorship—"
"You presume to tell me my duties, Harvey?"
Jith cut in chillingly. "As my subordinate
Swarmmaster Ussh so cogently points out, Groa-
cian obligations in support of formerly exploited
peoples require that I put aside ordinary protocols
for the nonce, and—"
"I don't like it," Suash spoke up. "It sounds to
me as if you aliens are getting ready to slice Lum-
baga up among yourselves! Accordingly, as
senior Lumbagan national present, I'm assuming
temporary command! And my first act will be to
order the lot of you to the port to embark inside of
thirty minutes, with or without your suitcases!"
"Fool!" Ussh snarled. "Do you imagine your
feeble native regime can survive for a moment
without the sponsorship of Groac? If it weren't for
His Highness' temporary indisposition, he'd have
your head off for this!"
"And I might add, my dear Colonel," Jith whis-
pered piercingly, "that at a word from me, units of
the Groacian Grand Battle Fleet are prepared, if
necessary, to land and restore order here!"
"You wouldn't dare!" Pouncetrifle quavered,
jowls aquiver.
"Would I not?" Jith contradicted. "I see a great
Groacian triumph in the offing! And now, Col-
onel," he addressed the officer, "you and your
chaps may withdraw. I'm sure that His Highness

RETIEF'S RANSOM
329
will be himself in a moment—"
The Emperor stirred, sat up.
"Well, just felt a short nap coming on," he
mumbled as he scrambled to his feet. "Now, you
just run along as Jith suggested, Suash, and—"
"How do you know what he suggested?" Suash
snapped back. "You were stone cold out on the
floor!"
"Yes, well, as to that—"
"He knows," Retief said, "because Ussh is feed-
ing him his lines."
"Have you taken leave of your senses, Terran
meddler?" Ussh yelled. "Everyone in the room
heard His Imperial Whatsit's cogent comments!"
"Uh-huh—but you were doing his thinking for
him—what there was of it. Unhappily for the fu-
ture of empire, you can't think of two things at
once. Right now, for example, you're busy being
indignant with me—and your candidate for the
crown is relaxing on the job."
Every head but those of Ussh and Retief
swiveled to regard the figure slumped again on
the throne.
"Heavens!" Magnan gasped from the sidelines.
"You mean we were about to offer our credentials
to a ventriloquist's dummy?"
"Not quite. He's alive—but when Ussh assem-
bled him, he carefully left out the more useful
portions of the brain."
Suash stared uncertainly from his potential
sovereign to Ussh, who stood with canted eyes-
talks in a pose of total concentration.
"If that's true	"
"Nonsense, Colonel," the Lumbagan emperor-
elect said firmly. "I repose the fullest confidence

330
RETIEF UNBOUND
in Ussh, a marvelous fellow and my most trusted
advisor. Now I think you'd better run along, as we
have matters of high state policy to discuss."
"Don't go!" Pouncetrifle cried. "Colonel Suash,
I call on you in the name of humanity to remain
present! There's no telling what might happen in
the absence of witnesses!"
"I take orders from His Highness, Terry," Suash
snapped. "And he said go. Accordingly, we're
going!" The colonel barked a command. His
troops right-shouldered arms and marched away
across the polished floor.
"Retief—do something!" Pouncetrifle wailed.
"Do what, Mr. Ambassador?" Ussh inquired in
tones of triumph. "His Highness has spoken! And
now—" he paused until the last of the Lumbagan
soldiers filed from the room and the tall doors
shut behind them—"and now, with those
trouble-makers out of earshot, on to the disposi-
tion of the Terran spies!" With an abrupt motion,
he drew a power pistol from inside his ornate
jacket. "A pity they should happen to be shot
down by accident as they led an attempted assault
on His Highness' person, but such are the tribula-
tions that beset those who would stand in the path
of empire."
"You wouldn't!" Pouncetrifle gasped.
"See here, Ussh," Ambassador Jith whispered.
"You don't actually mean to commit violence on
the persons of the Terrans, I trust? To deport them
in restraining fetters, yes. But I forbid you to do
away with them entirely."
"It will be our little secret, Your Excellency,"
Ussh cut in curtly. "His Imperial Highness has
matters under complete control."
"Are you quite certain of that?" Jith asked, eye-

ing the presumptive ruler, who now stood sway-
ing slightly, gazing into the middle distance.
"Candidly, he presents the appearance of an un-
successful lobotomy case."
"Why not tell him the rest of the secrets, Ussh?"
Retief said. "Let him know how clever you really
are. Describe your discovery of a sure-fire method
for assembling Lumbagans to order, according to
any genetic code desired. Tell him about your
experiments, which produced some rather un-
usual types, some of whom proved useful for spe-
cial purposes, such as terrorizing the populace.
Describe your soldier farm, and let him in on the
secret of the lab on Sprook where you worked out
the details of your hostility transmitter—"
"Silence, spy!" Ussh shouted.
"Don't be modest," Retief urged. "Give the am-
bassador full details on how you plan to manufac-
ture a few million soldiers, modeled after himself
and equipped by Groac, and use them to set up a
modest empire in this end of the Arm, after which
you'll no doubt establish ranches on ail the likely
planets to raise spares for the army. With forced
feeding, you can produce a fully equipped infan-
tryman in a little under three weeks, gun and
all—"
"Ha ha," Ussh said. "You will have your little
jest, eh? Gallows humor, I believe it's called."
"You made your big mistake, of course, Ussh,
when you let Suash and his boys leave," Re-
tief said. "He was your only chance to make it
stick—"
"So you imagine!" Ussh spun to face Jith. "The
time has come for the carrying out of His High-
ness' commands! If you would like to do the job
personally it would be a gracious touch, in keep-

332
RETIEF UNBOUND
ing with the close relations existing between
Lumbaga and Groac!"
"Wouldn't it though?" Retief said. "If you could
con Ambassador Jith into committing himself to
the murder of a covey of Terries, he'd have no
choice but to back your play. Fortunately, he
won't be so foolish—"
"You think not!" Ussh snarled. "Jith—order
them shot—now!"
"Don't you dare, Jith!" Pouncetrifle yelped. "I
absolutely, forbid it!"
"Forbid, you say?" Jith whispered. "You go too
far, Harvey—" The Groaci ambassador faced
Ussh. "If you're quite sure the Terrans planned the
murder of His Highness, it of course becomes my
duty to—"
"To listen to the rest of the story," Retief said.
"There are a couple more things Ussh forgot to
mention—"
"Details, details!" Ussh yelled. "The important
fact is that I, at the head of an army of dedicated
troops, will lead the way to the conquest of vast
new territories, eliminating or enslaving inferior
peoples along the way, and in the end organizing
the entire Galaxy as a single empire under a single
rule!"
"A glowing picture," Retief said. "But of course
Ambassador Jith has no reason to lend support to
the scheme."
"Have I not, Mr. Retief?" Jith whispered. "I
admit Swarmmaster Ussh has employed unor-
thodox methods—but if the end result is a Galac-
tic Empire under Groac—"
"Correction, Mr. Ambassador. Groac will be
among the first victims."

RETIEF'S RANSOM
333
"Victim? Of her own troops, under her own
general Ussh? Preposterous!"
"It's true Ussh and his army will be in position
to cut quite a swath, with Groaci backing and
Groaci materiel. And no doubt in the end the CDT
would come to what's known as an accommoda-
tion with the de facto situation. But you're forget-
ting an important datum. The troops who'll be
doing the conquering won't be Groaci; they'll be
Lumbagans, no matter how many eyes they hap-
pen to have."
"Well—as to that," Jith stalled, looking to Ussh
for counsel. "I assume that as honorary Groaci,
true to their exalted somatype, we may rely on
General Ussh to keep the interests of his mother-
world in the forefront of his mind."
"Exactly," Retief said. "And his motherworld is
Lumbaga."
"Clearly, he's taken leave of his senses," Ussh
grated.
"Granted, he's a most unusual Lumbagan," Re-
tief went on. "Normally, once an accretion of
Freebies reaches the four-decker stage—at which
point intelligence appears—their finer sen-
sibilities prevent them from carrying evolution
any farther. But it appears that General Ussh broke
the taboo."
"What vile allegation is this?" Ussh yelled.
"Careful, Ussh, you'll give yourself away," Re-
tief said. "It doesn't seem vile to anybody but a
Lumbagan."
"This is all nonsense, of course," Ambassador
Jith purred. "But out of curiosity—go on, Mr. Re-
tief."
"Ussh—or whoever the original Lumbagan

personality was who had the idea—overcame his
scruples and integrated himself with another
individual—possibly a Trip; a subintelligent
creature, but of course the combination has
capabilities that exceed those of either of the orig-
inal components. Unfortunately, he used his en-
hanced mental powers to concoct a scheme to take
over first Lumbaga, then the rest of the material
universe. Naturally, he needed help; he made a
study of the foreigners present on his world, and
picked the Groaci as the likeliest partners. With
his abilities, it wasn't hard to readjust his external
appearance to match yours, Mr. Ambassador—"
"He's raving!" Ussh yelled. "How could anyone
possibly—"
"It wasn't easy, at first—but you figured it out.
Some of your practice models are still running
around in the woods, making Groaci tracks to
confuse the trail. But in the end you were able to
palm yourself off on a few malcontents as a Groa-
cian MHPP, and enlist some behind-the-scenes
help in setting things up for your coup—"
"That, Terry, is your final error!" Ussh grated,
and aimed the gun at Retief's ribs.
"Ussh! Control yourself!" Jith keened. "What
simpler than to give the lie to this fantastic allega-
tion!"
"Is it?" Retief said. "Ussh, deny you're a
Lumbagan—but do it in Groaci, just to be certain
your fellow countrybeings don't miss any of the
finer nuances."
"Bah! Prepare to die, witless Terran!"
"Ussh! If you expect my aid and support—do as
he says!" Jith hissed.
Ussh hesitated, then turned to include the

Groaci delegation in his field of fire.
"Think what you like, Jith! You'll do as I bid, or
die with the Terrans! I'll explain to your successor
how you and they slaughtered each other, only
myself surviving; then I'll enlist his support and
on to empire!"
"Why—why, Retief's right," Pouncetrifle
gasped, "Jith—he won't speak Groaci—because
he can't! He's an impostor!"
"Duped!" Jith wailed. "Undone by my credul-
ity! Faked out of position and into unwitting sup-
port of a non-Groaci conquest by an underling,
and a bogus one at that!"
"Don't feel too badly," Retief said. "He only
intended to use you Groaci to finance his first few
local take-overs. As soon as he'd consolidated his
gains, Groaci would have been quietly consoli-
dated into his empire, with the help of a number
of pseudo-Groaci agents who would have infil-
trated Groac by then."
"Rave on, Retief!" Ussh invited. "Familiarize
these fools with the scope of their folly—and
then—" Ussh whirled as the tall double doors
burst wide. Lucael strode forward, his golden eyes
gleaming.
"Yes? What is it?" Ussh barked uncertainly.
"You have dispatches from the field? Or—" He
staggered suddenly, as if struck a heavy blow be-
tween the eyes.
"Treachery!" Ussh gasped—and Lucael
stopped in his tracks, stood swaying. Face to face
the two super-Lumbagans stood, locked in
mortal—though invisible—conflict.
"Ussh!" Retief called. The imitation Groaci
half-turned—and in the momentary distraction,

336
RETIEF UNBOUND
Lucael struck. Ussh gave a hoarse cry, stood
dithering for a moment. . . .
Like a tree struck by lightning, the false Groaci's
body shivered and split. For a moment there was a
wild scramble of parts as the former superbeing's
components, like a mob of troops falling in on
command, regrouped themselves into two sepa-
rate entities, arms and legs and ears scuttling for
their assigned places. In a moment, two short,
sullen individuals stood where Ussh had been,
staring apprehensively around at their astounded
audience.
"Why—it's Difnog and Gnudf, the Lumbagan
observers!" Pouncetrifle gasped.
"And apparently," Jith whispered, "they were
more observant than we suspected!"
20
IT was half an hour later. The Terran diplomats,
freed of their shackles, had huddled with their
Groaci colleagues for an impromptu meeting.
"Well, then," Ambassador Pouncetrifle said
crisply, "since General Ussh seems to have opted
for a return to civilian life, and His Highness is
permanently catatonic, it appears we're left with
the administrative problem of setting up a pro tern
housekeeping government. As Terran emissary,
I'll reluctantly assume the chief role in affairs—"
"Hardly, my dear Harvey," Jith interjected. "In-
asmuch as the present contretemps was produced

RETIEF'S RANSOM
337
in part by Groacian efforts—"
"Pseudo-Groacian efforts, need I remind you!"
"A mere quibble, Mr. Ambassador. Groac will
-rtake to set up a caretaker government, with
the jsistance of Colonel Suash and his native
constabulary—"
"Gentlemen," Retief said. "Aren't you forget-
ting the Emperor?"
"Eh?"
"What's that?" Both plenipotentiaries turned to
survey the imperial figurehead, who stood erect
now, gazing sternly at the assembled foreigners.
"You need not trouble yourselves, gen-
tlebeings," he said curtly. "I'll handle the gov-
ernment of Lumbaga—to the extent that Lumbaga
needs governing." He turned, stepped up on the
dais, and seated himself on the throne.
"Item number one," he said impressively, "Any
foreigner found meddling in, Lumbagan affairs
will be shipped home in a plain wrapper. Item
number two—"
"If we could go back for a moment to item one,
Your Highness—"
"Make that 'Majesty', Pouncetrifle. I've just as-
sumed Imperial dignities for the duration of the
emergency."
"To be sure, Your Majesty. I'm certain that on
reflection you'll want to rescind the restriction on
Terran participation in Lumbagan national life,
inasmuch as, as worded, it would tend to some-
what restrict the free play of diplomacy—"
"Precisely. Item number two: Since that gov-
ernment governs best which governs least, I in-
tend to provide only the best for my people. Ac-
cordingly, all laws are declared illegal, including
this one."

338
RETIEF UNBOUND
"Hmm," Pouncetrifle mused, "since His
Majesty seems clearly to be non compos mentis,
Jith, it's clear that duty requires that responsible
authorities step in, in the interest of the welfare of
the Lumbagan people. I trust you're with me?"
"Assuredly, Harvey," Jith whispered. "I
suggest we find quieter quarters for His Majesty;
possibly space could be found in the former root
cellar—whilst you and I proceed to arrange mat-
ters in consonance with the principle of the
greatest good for the greatest number; and inas-
much as we Groaci breed like flies, I suppose
you'll concede the obvious primacy of Groaci
interests."
"No need for dispute," the emperor cut in deci-
sively. "Inasmuch as neither of you will have any-
thing to say about Lumbagan affairs from now
on."
"He's raving," Pouncetrifle stated flatly. "Jith, I
call you to witness that His Majesty was babbling
incoherently at the time I was forced to have him
restrained. Retief—assist the poor fellow down
from his chair. . . ."
"Curious acoustics in this room," Retief said
blandly. "I thought for a moment your Excellency
was proposing that we lay hands on a foreign
Chief of State."
"Mutiny, eh?" Colonel Warbutton barked.
"Well, fortunately for democracy, I'm here to carry
out the wishes of the people as interpreted by regs
and expressed via appropriate channels!" He ad-
vanced on the throne. Ten feet from it, he found
himself floating an inch off the floor, his feet
paddling vigorously. A brace of underlings
sprang to his side, found themselves adrift, rising

lightly as balloons toward the ceiling. Pounce-
trifle uttered a bellow as he floated up from the
floor, followed by Magnan and the rest of the staff.
Jith uttered a faint cry and drifted upward, at-
tanded by his staff. Only Retief and Lucael re-
mained on their feet.
"Now that you've heard the details of the new
constitution," the Emperor advised the levitating
bureaucrats, "I declare the audience to be at an
end. Don't bother backing from the presence; just
disappear."
At his words, there were a series of sharp plop.'s
as air imploded to fill the vacancies created by the
suddenly absent dignitaries.
"I hope you didn't throw them completely
away," Retief said. "Once they get their feet on
the ground, I have an idea they'll take a realistic
view of the proper role of diplomacy in the
development of Lumbaga."
"They're sorting themselves from among the
tubers in the subbasement," His Majesty said.
"And now ... I declare Parliament dissolved . . .
until . . . the next time ..." He slumped on the
throne and snored. Retief turned quickly to
Lucael.
"Well done, Luke. I was wondering how long
you could hold out."
"If anybody asks," the super-Lumbagan said in
a failing voice, "tell them... their emperor... will
return . . . whenever the situation demands. And
now . . . farewell, Retief . . ."
There was a final sharp implosion, and Retief
was alone in the throne room.

18
"Heavens, Retief," First Secretary Magnan said,
"now that the excitement is over, one wonders if
the entire affair weren't merely the product of
group hysteria." They were sitting at a long plank
table in the Imperial Feast Hall, dining somewhat
meagerly on CDT emergency banquet rations in
company with a cosmopolitan crowd of Terrans,
Groaci, and Lumbagans.
"Frankly, I'd be tempted to dismiss the incident
involving the rutabagas as sheer delirium," Col-
onel Warbotton put in glumly, spooning in caviar,
"if it weren't for the fact that I've suffered a viru-
lent recurrence of an old potato blight." His ex-
pression brightened. "Of course, the condition
will necessitate my being invalided out home for a
few months' convalescent leave, which time I
might spend quite profitably penning a memoir of
recent events, possibly titled: The Importance of
Mass Hallucination in Military Affairs."
"How about The Hallucinatory Importance of
the Military in Mass Affairs?" Magnan proposed
tartly.
"Gosh, Retief," Gloot said as the men of war and
peace sparred verbally. "So you were really a
Terry all along. Makes me feel kind of dumb to of
been chumming around with the enemy. Lucky I
changed sides."
"You claim there's two kinds of Terries, male

and female," Ignarp said. "Frankly, you all look
alike to me."
"Oh, there's a vas deferens between us," Retief
assured his guest.
"And I never got my ransom dough," Gloot said
glumly. "On the other hand, I found out running
things ain't all a bowl of cherries."
"One taste of government was enough for me,"
Ignarp agreed. "I'll settle for good old anarchy any
time."
"Umm," Magnan smiled loftily. "But of course
you chaps know nothing of the intricacies of poli-
tics. Now," he indicated the head of the table,
where Jith and Pouncetrifle huddled, tete-a-tete.
"Notice the resilience with which the ambas-
sadors are coming to grips with the new realities,
or whatever they are, of the situation, working out
the rather complex protocols of establishing for-
mal relations with a nonexistent government."
"As long as they stick to shooting dispatches
back to headquarters and putting on charades for
visiting politicos, OK," Gloot said. "But the first
time they step out o' line—whammo! The Legen-
dary Magical Emperor will be back on the job—
and next time they're liable to wind up digging
their way into the root cellar from below."
"I hardly think the Lumbagan in the street is in
a position to criticize matters of Imperial policy,
Mr. Gloot," Magnan said coolly. "I hope your
association with Mr. Retief on his expedition up-
country hasn't given you a false sense of involve-
ment in matters over your head."
"You must be kidding, Terry," Ignarp said.
"Gloot here is Minister of Imaginary Affairs in the
Lumbagan government-in-exile."

"Government-in-exile?" Magnan frowned.
"The only place for a government to be," Ignarp
confirmed. "And I just accepted a post with the
Department of Education as Commissioner of
Superstitions."
"You're stamping them out?" Magnan queried
confusedly.
"Heck no. I'm starting new ones, in keeping
with a fine old tradition dating back almost
twenty-four hours."
"Speaking of superstitions," Warbutton said
behind his hand to Magnam, "I think we'd do well
to initiate a few of our own devising. For example,
a carefully tailored myth to the effect that Terrans
can work miracles—like turning water into vin-
tage Pepsi, for example. . . ." He broke off, staring
in horror at the glass before him which rose grace-
fully into the air, its contents darkening to deep
purplish red. The colonel followed it with his
eyes as it took up a position directly over his head
and inverted itself, discharging a cooling stream
of effervescent fluid over the officer's startled fea-
tures.
After the colonel had left the table—a departure
noted by all present, accompanied as it was by a
well-directed jet of liquid emanating apparently
from thin air—Magnan dipped a trembling finger
in the puddle on the table and tasted it.
"Pepsi?" Retief inquired.
"Burgundy," Magnan choked. "Romanee-
Conti, '24,1 believe." He rose hastily. "I think I'd
best add a number of emendations to my prelimi-
nary report," he muttered, "lest it appear that I
was so shortsighted as to doubt the existence of
magic." He hurried away.

RETIEF'S RANSOM
343
"I thought you fellows had gone out of the
miracle business pending the next crisis," Retief
addressed Gloot and Ignarp as the two locals
gripped hands across the table. "But since you
haven't, try that last one again. Only this time
don't spill any."A moment later, they raised three
paper-thin goblets of purple wine, touched them
together with a musical clink. At the far end of the
table, Ambassador Jith caught the gesture, raised
his glass in response.
"To a new era in interplanetary relations," he
whispered cheerfully. "To peace and plenty for
almost all, within reasonable limits!"
"That reminds me," Ignarp said, "The boys in
GRAB are going to be wondering why I didn't
redivide the loot along more practical lines while
I was emperor."
"While you were emperor," Gloot retorted.
"While I was letting you go along for the ride, you
mean—"
"You big slob, I was the brains of the outfit!"
"You little creep, I handled all the tricky
parts—"
"Gentlemen," Retief interjected, "we were
about to propose a toast, remember?"
Gloot lifted his glass. "To our friends, the good
guys," he said.
"And to our enemies, the bad guys," Ignarp
added.
"And to the hope," Retief said, "that someday
we'll be able to tell which are which."

THeTHiro
inDusmaL
revoumon
THe eriLLiariT new science FacT book
by c Harry snne
$1.95
reaD aBOUT how we can
maKe nearLY evervrHinc
in space we maKe on
earTH aT a comparaBLe
or Lower price anD
do all this without
Tappinc TerresmaL en-
ercY or POLLuunc THe
environment
"The book's excellent.
I'm going to recommend it'.'
-Arthur C.Clarke
"Stineisoneof the most
provocative and imaginative
thinkers in the area today."
-Gene Roddenberry,
Producer of Star Trek
A ace science Ficnon
avanaBLe wHerever books are sold, or oroer by man From book maiunc service,
box 690, rocxviLLe centre, n.y. 11571. PLease apo 50c For posiace anD Hanounc.

Enter A World Where Crime and
the Occult Walk Hand-In-Hand.
Murderand Magic »
"He has combined the best of the fantasy and
detective genres-and made them work as science
fiction."-Marion Zimmer Bradley 0* qc
Available wherever books are sold, or order by mail from Book Mailing
Service, Box 690, Rockville Centre, N.Y.11571. Please add 50® postage and
handling.	A	m
A
ACE SCIENCE FICTION
360 PARK AVENUE SOUTH -NEW YORK, N.Y. 10010

Zero Population Growth Achieved!
But at what cost? The world now exists with a
mandatory abortion law and sexual freedom reigns.
Is this truly a world where.. .LOVE CONQUERS ALL
$1.95
Available wherever books are sold, or order by mail from Book Mailing
Service, Box 690, Rockville Centre, N.Y.11571. Please add 500, postage and
handling.	A	110
A
ACE SCIENCE FICTION
360 PARK AVENUE SOUTH 'NEW YORK, N.Y. 10010

Brilliant New Novel from Award-
Winning Author of Alien Embassy!
In MIRACLE VISITORS, Ian Watson has created a
fascinating novel that explores the UFO phenome-
non, a novel that will endlessly intrigue and envelop
the reader.	51 gij
Available wherever books are sold, or order by mail from Book Mailing
Service, Box 690, Rockville Centre, N.Y.11571. Please add 500 postage and
handling.	A	109
	A	
ACE SCIENCE FICTION
360 PARK AVENUE SOUTH -NEW YORK, N.Y. 10010

Flandry Is Back!
In February, Ace Science Fiction celebrates the
return of Paul Anderson's incomparable ENSIGN
FLANDRY.
Catch the Flandry fever- read Book I of the Saga of
Dominic Flandry: ENSIGN FLANDRY. §1 95
Available wherever books are sold, or order by mail from Book Mailing
Service, Box 690, Rockville Centre, N.Y. 11571. Please add 50® postage and
handling.	A	108
	A	
ACE SCIENCE FICTION
360 PARK AVENUE SOUTH -NEW YORK, N.Y 10010