A warring image formed on the tube,
steadied into the form of a shiny, purplish-
red cranium, long and narrow, knobbed and
spiked. "I outrage! I do not endure! You are
gave one minutes, Eastern Standard Time,
for total abandon of vicinity!"
"Gentlemen, don't get carried away,"
Magnan called out over the hiss of static.
"I'm sure this can all be worked out
equitably—"
"Such indignant my language lack! My
goodness! Drat! Other obscenity as re-
quired!"
"It will not avail you to rant," Slith whis-
pered in a venemous tone. "My guns stand
ready to answer your slurs."
"My frustrate!" Okkyokk yelled and
brandished a pair of anterior limbs tipped
with complicated shredding devices.
"Gosh, such wish to know sensation of plait
all five eyes into single superocular, fol-
lowed by pluck like obscene daisy—"
"To wait in patience until the happy
moment when I officiate at your burial,
head-down, in the ceremonial sand-box,"
Slith countered.
. . . AND TERRAN DIPLOMACY
"Well, at least they're still speaking to
each other," Magnan said as the exchange
raged on. "That's something."
ALIEN MEETINGS
It's a good thing Retief was there!

RETIEF
AT
LARGE
KEITH
LAUMER
ace books
A Division of Charter Communications Inc.
A GROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY
360 Park Avenue South
New York, New York 10010

RETIEF AT LARGE
Copyright © 1978 by Keith Laumer.
An Ace Book. All rights reserved.
"Cultural Exchange," copyright © 1962 by Digest Productions
Corp.
"Saline Solution," copyright © 1963 by Digest Productions
Corp.
"The Castle of Light," copyright © 1964 by Galaxy Publishing
Corp.
"Wicker Wonderland," copyright© 1964 by Galaxy Publishing
Corp.; first published in If under the title "The City thatGrew in the
Sea."
"The Brass God," copyright © 1964 by Galaxy Publishing
Corp.; first published in If under the title "Retief, God-Speaker."
"Mechanical Advantage," copyright © 1966 by Galaxy Publish-
ing Corp.; first published in //under the title "Retief, the Long-
Awaited Master."
"DamNuisance," copyright© 1966 by Galaxy Publishing Corp.
"Grime and Punishment," copyright © 1967 by Galaxy Publish-
ing Corp.; first published in If under the title "Clear as Mud."
"The Forbidden City," copyright © 1967 by Galaxy Publishing
Corp.; first published in If under the title "Retief, WarCriminal."
"The Piecemakers," copyright © 1970 by Universal Publishing
and Distributing Corp.
"Ballot and Bandits," copyright© 1970 by Universal Publishing
and Distributing Corp.
"Pime Doesn't Cray," copyright © 1971 by Universal Publish-
ing and Distributing Corp.
Cover Art by Bob Adragna
First Ace Printing: August 1978
Second Ace Printing: January 1980
Printed in U.S.A.

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Cultural Exchange	1
Saline Solution	28
The Castle of Light	54
Wicker Wonderland	97
The Brass God	131
Mechanical Advantage	179
Dam Nuisance	215
Grime and Punishment	245
The Forbidden City	278
The Piecemakers	318
Ballot and Bandits	358
Pime Doesn't Cray	400

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
I
SECOND SECRETARY MAGNAN took his green-
lined cape and orange-feathered beret from the clothes
tree. "I'm off now, Retief," he said. "I hope you'll
manage the administrative routine during my absence
without any unfortunate incidents."
"That seems a modest enough hope," Retief said.
"I'll try to live up to it."
"I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this
Division," Magnan said testily. "When I first came
here, the Manpower Utilization Directorate, Division
of Libraries and Education was a shambles. I fancy I've
made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question
the wisdom of placing you in charge of such a sensitive
desk, even for two weeks. But remember. Yours is
purely a rubber-stamp function."
"In that case, let's leave it toMissFurkle. I'll take a
couple of weeks off myself. With her poundage, she
could bring plenty of pressure to bear."
1

RETIEF AT LARGE
"I assume you jest, Retief," Magnan said sadly. "I
should expect even you to appreciate that Bogan par-
ticipation in the Exchange Program may be the first step
toward sublimation of their aggressions into more cul-
tivated channels."
"I see they're sending two thousand students to
d'Land," Retief said, glancing at the Memo for Rec-
ord. "That's a sizable sublimation."
Magnan nodded. "The Bogans have launched no
less than four military campaigns in the last two dec-
ades. They're known as the Hoodlums of the Nicode-
mean Cluster. Now, perhaps, we shall see them break-
ing that precedent and entering into the cultural life of
the Galaxy."
"Breaking and entering," Retief said. "You may
have something there. But I'm wondering what they'll
study on d'Land. That's an industrial world of the poor
but honest variety."
"Academic details are the affair of the students and
their professors," Magnan said. "Our function is
merely to bring them together. See that you don't
antagonize the Bogan representative. This will be an
excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplo-
matic restraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll
agree."
A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. "What
is it, Miss Furkle?"
"That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here
again." On the small desk screen, MissFurkle's meaty
features were compressed in disapproval.
"This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to
you, Retief," Magnan said. "Tell him something. Get
2

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
rid of him. And remember: here at Corps HQ, all eyes
are upon you."
"If I'd thought of that, I'd have worn my other suit,"
Retief said.
Magnan snorted and passed from view. Retief
punched Miss Furkle's button.
"Send the bucolic person in."
A tall broad man with bronze skin and gray hair,
wearing tight trousers of heavy cloth, a loose shirt open
at the neck and a short jacket, stepped into the room. He
had a bundle under his arm. He paused at sight of
Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced
and held out his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the
two big men stood, face to face. The newcomer's jaw
muscles knotted. Then he winced.
Retief dropped his hand and motioned to a chair.
"That's nice knuckle work, mister," the stranger
said, massaging his hand. "First time anybody ever did
that to me. My fault though. I started it, I guess." He
grinned and sat down.
"What can I do for you?" Retief said.
"You work for this Culture bunch, do you?Funny. I
thought they were all ribbon-counter boys. Never
mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer. What I
wanted to see you about was—"He shifted in his chair.
"Well, out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem.
The wine crop is just about ready. We start picking in
another two, three months. Now I don't know if you're
familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow . . . ?"
"No," Retief said. "Have a cigar?" He pushed a
box across the desk. Arapoulous took one. "Bacchus
vines are an unusual crop," he said, puffing the cigar
3

RETIEF AT LARGE
alight. "Only mature every twelve years. In between,
the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's
mostly our own. We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of
time developing new forms. Apples the size of a
melon—and sweet—"
"Sounds very pleasant," Retief said. "Where does
the Libraries and Education Division come in?"
Arapoulous leaned forward.' 'We go in pretty heavy
for the arts. Folks can't spend all their time hybridizing
plants. We've turned all the land area we've got into
parks and farms. Course, we left some sizable forest
areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place,
Mr. Retief."
"It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what—"
"Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home.
Five of 'em. Our year's about eighteen Terry months.
Cold as hell in winter; eccentric orbit, you know.
Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. We do mostly
painting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring; still
plenty cold. Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skat-
ing; and it's the season for woodworkers. Our furni-
ture—"
"I've seen some of your furniture," Retief said.
"Beautiful work."
Arapoulous nodded. "All local timbers too. Lots of
metals in our soil and those sulphates give the woods
some color, I'll tell you. Then comes the Monsoon.
Rain—it comes down in sheets. But the sun's getting
closer. Shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in
the sunshine? That's the music-writing season. Then
summer. Summer's hot. We stay inside in the daytime
and have beach parties all night. Lots of beach on
Lovenbroy; we're mostly islands. That's the drama and
4

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
symphony time. The theatres are set up on the sand, or
anchored offshore. You have the music and the surf and
the bonfires and stars—we're close to the center of a
globular cluster, you know . . ."
"You say it's time now for the wine crop?"
"That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most
years we have just the ordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that
kind of thing; getting it in doesn't take long. We spend
most of the time on architecture, getting new places
ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We
spend a lot of time in our houses. We like to have them
comfortable. But this year's different. This is Wine
Year."
Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at
Retief. "Our wine crop is our big money crop," he
said. "We make enough to keep us going. But this
year . . ."
"The crop isn't panning out?"
"Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can re-
member. Course, I'm only twenty-eight; I can't re-
member but two other harvests. The problem's not the
crop."
"Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a
matter for the Commercial—"
"Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted
our wines ever settled for anything else!"
"It sounds like I've been missing something," said
Retief. "I'll have to try them some time."
Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the
wrappings. "No time like the present," he said.
Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one
amber, both dusty, with faded labels, and blackened
corks secured by wire.
5

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr.
Arapoulous," he said.
"This isn't drinking. It's just wine." Arapoulous
pulled the wire retainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose
slowly, then popped in the air. Arapoulous caught it.
Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle. "Besides, my
feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me." He
winked.
Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table
beside the desk. "Come to think of it, we also have to
be careful about violating quaint native customs."
Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up,
sniffed the deep rust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a
healthy swallow. He looked at Arapoulous thought-
fully.
"Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an under-
current of crusted port."
"Don't try to describe it, Mr. Retief," Arapoulous
said. He took a mouthful of wine, swished it around his
teeth, swallowed. "It's Bacchus wine, that's all.
Nothing like it in the Galaxy." He pushed the second
bottle toward Retief. "The custom back home is to
alternate red wine and black."
Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose,
nudged the cork, caught it as it popped up.
"Bad luck if you miss the cork," Arapoulous said,
nodding. "You probably never heard about the trouble
we had on Lovenbroy a few years back?"
"Can't say that I did, Hank." Retief poured the
black wine into two fresh glasses. "Here's to the har-
vest."
"We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy,"
Arapoulous said, swallowing wine. "But we don't plan
6

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
to wreck the landscape mining 'em. We like to farm.
About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed a
force. They figured they knew better what to do with
our minerals than we did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt
ore. We convinced 'em otherwise. But it took a year,
and we lost a lot of men."
"That's too bad," Retief said. "I'd say this one
tastes more like roast beef and popcorn over a Riesling
base."
"It put us in a bad spot," Arapoulous went on. "We
had to borrow money from a world called Croanie.
Mortgaged our crops. Had to start exporting art work
too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same when you're
doing it for strangers."
"Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real
McCoy," Retief said. "What's the problem? Croanie
about to foreclose?"
"Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in
the clear. But we need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus
grapes isn't a job you can turn over to machinery—and
anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintage season is the
high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.
First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles
of vineyards covering the mountain sides, and crowd-
ing the river banks, with gardens here and there. Big
vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deep grass
growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run,
bringing wine to the pickers. There's prizes for the
biggest day's output, bets on who can fill the most
baskets in an hour . . . The sun's high and bright, and
it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy.
Come nightfall, the tables are set up in the garden plots,
and the feast is laid on: roast turkeys, beef, hams, all
7

RETIEF AT LARGE
kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty of fruit. Fresh-baked
bread . . . and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking's
done by a different crew each night in each garden, and
there's prizes for the best crews.
"Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vin-
tage. That's mostly for the young folks but anybody's
welcome. That's when things start to get loosened up.
Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns are born
after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on
his toes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing
nothing but a layer of grape juice?"
"Never did," Retief said. "You say most of the
children are born after a vintage. That would make
them only twelve years old by the time—"
"Oh, that's Lovenbroy years; they'd be eighteen,
Terry reckoning."
"I was thinking you looked a little mature for
twenty-eight," Retief said.
"Forty-two, Terry years," Arapoulous said. "But
this year it looks bad. We've got a bumper crop—and
we're short-handed. If we don't get a big vintage,
Croanie steps in. Lord knows what they'll do to the
land. Then next vintage time, with them holding half
our grape acreage—"
"You hocked the vineyards?"
"Yep. Pretty dumb, huh? But we figured twelve
years was a long time."
"On the whole," Retief said, "I think I prefer the
black. But the red is hard to beat . . ."
"What we figured was, maybe you Culture boys
could help us out. A loan to see us through the vintage,
enough to hire extra hands. Then we'd repay it in
sculpture, painting, furniture—"
8

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
"Sorry, Hank. All we do here is work out itineraries
for traveling side-shows, that kind of thing. Now, if
you needed a troop of Groaci noseflute players—"
"Can they pick grapes?"
"Nope. Anyway, they can't stand the daylight.
Have you talked this over with the Labor Office?"
"Sure did. They said they'd fix us up with all the
electronics specialists and computer programmers we
wanted—but no field hands. Said it was what they
classified as menial drudgery: you'd have thought I was
trying to buy slaves."
The buzzer sounded. Miss Furkle's features ap-
peared on the desk screen.
"You're due at the Intergroup Council in five min-
utes," she said. "Then afterwards, there are the Bogan
students to meet."
"Thanks." Retief finished his glass, stood. "I have
to run, Hank," he said. "Let me think this over. Maybe
I can come up with something. Check with me day after
tomorrow. And you'd better leave the bottles here.
Cultural exhibits, you know."
II
As the council meeting broke up, Retief caught the
eye of a colleague across the table.
' 'Mr. Whaffle, you mentioned a shipment going to a
place called Croanie. What are they getting?"
Whaffle blinked. "You're the fellow who's filling in
forMagnan, over at MUDDLE," he said. "Properly
speaking, equipment grants are the sole concern of the
Motorized Equipment Depot, Division of Loans and
9

RETIEF AT LARGE
Exchanges." He pursed his lips.' 'However, I suppose
there's no harm in telling you. They'll be receiving
heavy mining equipment."
"Drill rigs, that sort of thing?"
"Strip mining gear." Whaffle took a slip of paper
from a breast pocket, blinked at it. "BoloModel WV/1
tractors, to be specific. Why is MUDDLE interested in
MEDDLE's activities?"
"Forgive my curiosity, Mr. Whaffle. It's just that
Croanie cropped up earlier today. It seems she holds a
mortgage on some vineyards over on—"
''That's not MEDDLE's affair, sir," Whaffle cut in.
"I have sufficient problems as Chief of MEDDLE
without probing into MUDDLE's business."
"Speaking of tractors," another man put in, "we
over at the Special Committee for Rehabilitation and
Overhaul of Under-developed Nations' General
Economies have been trying for months to get a request
for mining equipment for d'Land through
MEDDLE—"
"SCROUNGE was late on the scene," Whaffle
said. "First come, first served. That's our policy at
MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen." He strode off,
briefcase under his arm.
"That's the trouble with peaceful worlds," the
SCROUNGE committeeman said. "Boge is a troub-
lemaker, so every agency in the Corps is out to pacify
her. While my chance to make a record—that is, assist
peace-loving d'Land—comes to naught." He shook
his head.
"What kind of university do they have on d'Land?"
asked Retief. "We're sending them two thousand ex-
change students. It must be quite an institution."
10

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
"University? D'Land has one under-endowed tech-
nical college."
"Will all the exchange students be studying at the
Technical College?"
"Two thousand students? Hah! Two hundred stu-
dents would overtax the facilities of the college."
"I wonder if the Bogans know that?"
"The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties
are due to the unwise trade agreement she entered into
with Boge. Two thousand students indeed!" He
snorted and walked away.
Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape,
then rode the elevator to the roof of the 230-story Corps
HQ building and hailed a cab to the port. The Bogan
students had arrived early. Retief saw them lined up on
the ramp waiting to go through customs. It would be
half an hour before they were cleared through. He
turned into the bar and ordered a beer.
A tall young fellow on the next stool raised his glass.
"Happy days," he said.
"And nights to match."
"You said it." He gulped half his beer.' 'My name's
Karsh.Mr. Karsh. Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a drag,
sitting around this place waiting . . ."
"You meeting somebody?"
"Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids. How they
expect—Never mind. Have one on me."
"Thanks. You a Scoutmaster?"
"I'll tell you what I am. I'm a cradle-robber. You
know—" he turned to Retief— "not one of those kids
is over eighteen." He hiccupped. "Students, you
know. Never saw a student with a beard, did you?"
"Lots of times. You're meeting the students, are
11

RETIEF AT LARGE
you?"
The young fellow blinked at Retief. "Oh, you know
about it, huh?"
"I represent MUDDLE."
Karsh finished his beer, ordered another.' 'I came on
ahead. Sort of an advance guard for the kids. I trained
'em myself. Treated it like a game, but they can handle
a CSU. Don't know how they'll act under pressure. If I
had my old platoon—''
He looked at his beer glass, pushed it back. "Had
enough," he said. " So long, friend. Or are you coming
along?"
Retief nodded. "Might as well."
At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched
as the first of the Bogan students came through, caught
sight of Karsh and snapped to attention, his chest out.
"Drop that, mister," Karsh snapped. "Is that any
way for a student to act?"
The youth, a round-faced lad with broad shoulders,
grinned.
"Heck, no," he said. "Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we
gonna get to go to town? We fellas were thinking—"
"You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school
kids! I mean ... no! Now line up!"
"We have quarters ready for the students," Retief
said. "If you'd like to bring them around to the west
side. I have a couple of copters laid on."
"Thanks," said Karsh. "They'll stay here until
take-off time. Can't have the little dears wandering
around loose. Might get ideas about going over the
hill." He hiccupped. "I mean they might play
hookey."
"We've scheduled your reembarkation for noon to-
12

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
morrow. That's a long wait. MUDDLE's arranged
theater tickets and a dinnir."
"Sorry," Karsh said. "As soon as the baggage gets
here, we're off." He hiccupped again. "Can't travel
without our baggage, y'know."
"Suit yourself," Retief said. "Where's the baggage
now?"
"Coming in aboard a Croanie lighter."
"Maybe you'd like to arrange for a meal for the
students here."
"Sure," Karsh said. "That's a good idea. Why
don't you join us?" Karsh winked. "And bring a few
beers."
"Not this time," Retief said. He watched the stu-
dents, still emerging from Customs. "They seem to
be all boys," he commented. "No female stu-
dents?"
"Maybe later," Karsh said. "You know, after we
see how the first bunch is received."
Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss
Furkle.
"Do you know the name of the institution these
Bogan students are bound for?"
"Why, the University at d'Land, of course."
"Would that be the Technical College?"
MissFurkle's mouth puckered. "I'm sure I've never
pried into these details."
"Where does doing your job stop and prying begin,
Miss Furkle?" Retief said. "Personally, I'm curious as
to just what it is these students are travelling so far to
study—at Corps expense."
"Mr. Magnan never—"
' 'For the present, Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vaca-
13

RETIEF AT LARGE
tioning. That leaves me with the question of two
thousand young male students headed for a world with
no classrooms for them ... a world in need of trac-
tors. But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a
world under obligation to Boge. And Croanie holds a
mortgage on the best grape acreage on Lovenbroy."
"Well!" Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring
under unplucked brows. "I hope you're not question-
ing Mr. Magnan's wisdom!"
' About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no ques-
tion," Retief said. "But never mind. I'd like you to
look up an item for me. How many tractors will Croanie
be getting under the MEDDLE program?"
"Why, that's entirely MEDDLE business," Miss
Furkle said. "Mr. Magnan always—"
"I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as
soon as you can."
Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen.
Retief left the office, descended forty-one stories, fol-
lowed a corridor to the Corps Library. In the stacks he
thumbed through catalogues, pored over indices.
"Can I help you?" someone chirped. A tiny li-
brarian stood at his elbow.
"Thank you, ma'am," Retief said. "I'm looking for
information on a mining rig. A Bolo model WV trac-
tor."
"You won't find it in the industrial section," the
librarian said. "Come along." Retief followed her
along the stacks to a well-lit section lettered ARMA-
MENTS . She took a tape from the shelf, plugged it into
the viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat
armored vehicle.
"That's the model WV," she said. "It's what is
14

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
known as a continental siege unit. It carries four men,
with a half-megaton/second firepower."
"There must be an error somewhere," Retief said.
"The Bolo model I want is a tractor, Model WV
M-l—"
"Oh, the modification was the addition of a
bulldozer blade for demolition work. That must be
what confused you."
"Probably—among other things. Thank you."
Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. "I have the
information you wanted," she said. "I've had it for
over ten minutes. I was under the impression you
needed it urgently, and I went to great lfengths—"
"Sure," Retief said. "Shoot. How many tractors?"
"Five hundred."
"Are you sure?"
MissFurkle's chins quivered. "Well! If you feel I'm
incompetent—''
"Just questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss
Furkle. Five hundred tractors is a lot of equipment."
' 'Was there anything further?'' Miss Furkle inquired
frigidly.
"I sincerely hope not," Retief said.
Ill
Leaning back in Magnan's padded chair with power
swivel and hip-u-matic contour, Retief leafed through a
folder labelled "CERP 7-602-Ba; CROANIE (gen-
eral)." He paused at a page headed "Industry."
Still reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the
two bottles of Bacchus wine and two glasses. He
15

RETIEF AT LARGE
poured an inch of wine into each and sipped the black
wine meditatively.
It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should
interfere with the production of such vintages . . .
Half an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the
phone and put through a call to the Croanie Legation.
He asked for the Commercial Attache.
"Retief here, Corps HQ," he said airily. "About the
MEDDLE shipment, the tractors. I'm wondering if
there's been a slip up. My records show we're shipping
five hundred units . . ."
"That's correct. Five hundred."
Retief waited.
"Ah . . .are you there, Retief?"
"I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the
five hundred tractors."
"It's perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled.
Mr. Whaffle—''
"One unit would require a good-sized plant to han-
dle its output," Retief said. "Now Croanie subsists on
her fisheries. She has perhaps half a dozen pint-sized
processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, they could handle
the ore ten WV's could scrape up . . .if Croanie had
any ore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't a WV a poor
choice as a mining outfit? I should think—"
"See here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few
surplus tractors? And in any event, what business is it
of yours how we plan to use the equipment? That's an
internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle—"
"I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do
with the other four hundred and ninety tractors?"
"I understood the grant was to be with no strings
attached!"
16

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
' 'I know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old
diplomatic tradition that any time you can get anybody
to accept anything as a gift, you've scored points in the
game. But if Croanie has some scheme cooking—"
"Nothing like that, Retief. It's a mere business
transaction."
"What kind of business do you do with a Bolo WV?
With or without a blade attached, it's what's known as a
continental siege unit."
' 'Great Heavens, Retief! Don't jump to conclusions!
Would you have us branded as warmongers?
Frankly—is this a closed line?"
"Certainly. You may speak freely."
"The tractors are for transshipment. We've gotten
ourselves into a difficult situation, balance-of-
payments-wise. This is an accommodation to a group
with which we have rather strong business ties."
"I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land
on Lovenbroy," Retief said. "Any connection?"
"Why ... ah ... no. Of course not, ha ha."
"Who gets the tractors eventually?"
"Retief, this is unwarranted interference!"
"Who gets them?"
"They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I
scarcely see—"
"And who's the friend you're helping out with an
unauthorized transshipment of grant material?"
"Why . . . ah . . . I've been working with a Mr.
Gulver, a Bogan representative."
"And when will they be shipped?"
"Why, they went out a week ago. They'll be half
way thereby now. But look here, Retief, this isn't what
you're thinking!"
17

RETIEF AT LARGE
"How do you know what I'm thinking? I don' t know
myself." Retief rang off, buzzed the secretary.
"Miss Furkle, I'd like to be notified immediately of
any new applications that might come in from the
Bogan Consulate for placement of students."
"Well, it happens, by coincidence, that I have an
application here now. Mr. Gulver of the Consulate
brought it in."
"Is Mr. Gulver in the office? I'd like to see him."
"I'll ask him if he has time."
"Great. Thanks." It was half a minute before
a thick-necked red-faced man in a tight hat walked in.
He wore an old-fashioned suit, a drab shirt, shiny shoes
with round toes and an ill-tempered expression.
"What is it you wish?" he barked. "I understood in
my discussions with the other . . . ah . . .. civilian
there'd be no further need for these irritating confer-
ences."
"I've just learned you're placing more students
abroad, Mr. Gulver. How many this time?"
"Two thousand."
"And where will they be going?"
' 'Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed
in. Your job is to provide transportation."
"Will there by any other students embarking this
season?"
"Why . . . perhaps. That's Boge's business."
Gulver looked at Retief with pursed lips. "As a matter
of fact, we had in mind dispatching another two
thousand to Featherweight."
"Another under-populated world—and in the same
cluster, I believe," Retief said. "Your people must be
unusually interested in that region of space."
18

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
"If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way.
I have matters of importance to see to."
After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. "I'd
like to have a break-out of all the student movements
that have been planned under the present program," he
said. "And see if you can get a summary of what
MEDDLE has been shipping lately."
Miss Furkle compressed her lips. "If Mr. Magnan
were here, I'm sure he wouldn't dream of interfering in
the work of other departments. I . . . overheard your
conversation with the gentleman from the Croanie
Legation—"
"The lists, Miss Furkle."
"I'm not accustomed," Miss Furkle said, "to in-
truding in matters outside our interest cluster."
"That's worse than listening in on phone conversa-
tions, eh? But never mind. I need the information, Miss
Furkle."
"Loyalty to my Chief—"
"Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scut-
tling for the material I've asked for," Retief said. "I'm
taking full responsibility. Now scat."
The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. "MUD-
DLE, Retief speaking . . ."
Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk
screen. "How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up?"
"Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you."
In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. "Sorry if I'm
rushing you, Retief," he said. "But have you got
anything for me?"
Retief waved at the wine bottles. "What do you
know about Croanie?"
"Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All
19

RETIEF AT LARGE
right if you like fish, I guess. We import our seafood
from there. Nice prawns in monsoon time. Over a foot
long."
"You on good terms with them?"
"Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with
Boge."
"So?"
"Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to
take us over here a dozen years back. They'd've made it
too, if they hadn't had a lot of bad luck. Their armor
went in the drink, and without armor they're easy
game."
Miss Furkle buzzed. "I have your lists," she said
shortly.
"Bring them in, please."
The secretary placed the papers on the desk.
Arapoulous caught her eye and grinned. She sniffed
and marched from the room.
"What that gal needs is a slippery time in the grape
mash," Arapoulous observed. Retief thumbed through
the papers, pausing to read from time to time. He
finished and looked at Arapoulous.
"How many men do you need for the harvest,
Hank?" Retief inquired.
Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass and looked
thoughtful.
"A hundred would help," he said. "A thousand
would be better. Cheers."
"What would you say to two thousand?"
"Two thousand? Retief, you're not fooling?"
"I hope not." He picked up the phone, called the
Port Authority, asked for the dispatch clerk.
"Hello, Jim. Say, I have a favor to ask of you. You
20

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
know that contingent of Bogan students. They're
traveling aboard the two CDT transports. I'm interested
in the baggage that goes with the students. Has it
arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait."
Jim came back to the phone. "Yeah, Retief, it's
here. Just arrived. But there's a funny thing. It's not
consigned to d'Land. It's ticketed clear through to
Lovenbroy."
"Listen, Jim," Retief said. "I want you to go over to
the warehouse and take a look at that baggage for me."
Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the
errand. The level in the two bottles had gone down an
inch when Jim returned to the phone.
"Hey, I took a look at that luggage, Retief. Some-
thing funny going on. Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII
hand blasters, power pistols—"
"It's okay, Jim. Nothing to worry about. Just a
mix-up. Now, Jim, I'm going to ask you to do some-
thing more for me. I'm covering for a friend. It seems
he slipped up. I wouldn't want word to get out, you
understand. I'll send along a written change order in the
morning that will cover you officially. Meanwhile,
here's what I want you to do . . ."
Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to
Arapoulous.
"As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think
we'd better get down to the port, Hank. I think I'd like
to see the students off personally."
21

RETIEF AT LARGE
IV
Karsh met Retief as he entered the Departures enclo-
sure at the port.
"What's going on here?" he demanded. "There's
some funny business with my baggage consignment.
They won't let me see it! I've got a feeling it's not being
loaded."
"You'd better hurry, Mr. Karsh," Retief said.
"You're scheduled to blast off in less than an hour. Are
the students all loaded?"
"Yes, blast you! What about my baggage? Those
vessels aren't moving without it!"
' 'No need to get so upset about a few toothbrushes, is
there, Mr. Karsh?" Retief said blandly. "Still, if
you're worried—" He turned to Arapoulous.
"Hank, why don't you walk Mr. Karsh over to the
warehouse and . . . ah . . . take care of him?"
"I know just how to handle it," Arapoulous said.
The dispatch clerk came up to Retief. "I caught the
tractor equipment," he said. "Funny kind of mistake,
but it's okay now. They're being off-loaded at d'Land.
I talked to the traffic controller there. He said they
weren't looking for any students."
"The labels got switched, Jim. The students go
where the baggage was consigned. Too bad about the
mistake, but the Armaments Office will have a man
along in a little while to dispose of the guns. Keep an
eye out for the luggage. No telling where it's gotten
to."
"Here!" a hoarse voice yelled. Retief turned. A
22

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
disheveled figure in a tight hat was crossing the enclo-
sure, arms waving.
"Hi there, Mr. Gulver," Retief called. "How's
Boge's business coming along?"
"Piracy!" Gulver blurted as he came up to Retief,
puffing hard. "You've got a hand in this, I don't doubt!
Where's that Magnan fellow?"
"What seems to be the problem?" Retief said.
"Hold those transports! I've just been notified that
the baggage shipment has been impounded. I'll remind
you, that shipment enjoys diplomatic free entry!"
"Who told you it was impounded?"
"Never mind! I have my sources!"
Two tall men buttoned into gray tunics came up.
"Are you Mr. Retief of CDT?" one said.
"That's right."
"What about my baggage!" Gulver cut in. "And
I'm warning you, if those ships lift without—"
' 'These gentlemen are from the Armaments Control
Commission," Retief said. "Would you like to come
along and claim your baggage, Mr. Gulver?"
"From where? I—" Gulver turned two shades red-
der about the ears. "Armaments?"
"The only shipment I've held up seems to be some-
body's arsenal," Retief said. "Now if you claim this is
your baggage ..."
"Why, impossible," Gulver said in a strained voice.
"Armaments? Ridiculous. There's been an er-
ror . ."
At the baggage warehouse Gulver looked glumly at
the opened cases of guns. "No, of course not," he said
dully. "Not my baggage. Not my baggage at all."
23

RETIEF AT LARGE
Arapoulous appeared, supporting the stumbling fig-
ure of Mr. Karsh.
"What—what's this?" Gulver spluttered. "Karsh?
What's happened?"
"He had a little fall. He'll be okay," Arapoulous
said.
"You'd better help him to the ship," Retief said.
"It's ready to lift. We wouldn't want him to miss it."
' 'Leave him to me!'' Gulver snapped, his eyes slash-
ing at Karsh. "I'll see he's dealt with."
' 'I couldn't think of it," Retief said.' 'He's a guest of
the Corps, you know. We'll see him safely aboard."
Gulver turned, signaled frantically. Three heavy-set
men in identical drab suits detached themselves from
the wall, crossed to the group.
"Take this man," Gulver snapped, indicating
Karsh, who looked at him dazedly, reached up to rub
his head.
"We take our hospitality seriously," Retief said.
"We'll see him aboard the vessel."
Gulver opened his mouth.
"I know you feel bad about finding guns instead of
school books in your luggage," Retief said, looking
Gulver in the eye. "You'll be busy straightening out
the details of the mix-up. You'll want to avoid further
complications."
"Ah. Ulp. Yes," Gulver said. He appeared un-
happy.
Arapoulous went on to the passenger conveyor,
turned to wave.
"Your man—he's going too?" Gulver blurted.
"He's not our man, properly speaking," Retief said.
"He lives on Lovenbroy."
24

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
"Lovenbroy?" Gulver choked. "But. . .the. . .
I . . ."
"I know you said the students were bound for
d'Land," Retief said. "But I guess that was just
another aspect of the general confusion. The course
plugged into the navigators was to Lovenbroy. You'll
be glad to know they're still headed there—even
without the baggage."
"Perhaps," Gulver said grimly, "perhaps they'll
manage without it."
"By the way," Retief said. "There was another
funny mix-up. There were some tractors—for indus-
trial use, you'll recall. I believe you cooperated with
Croanie in arranging the grant through MEDDLE.
They were erroneously consigned to Lovenbroy, a
purely agricultural world. I saved you some embar-
rassment, I trust, Mr. Gulver, by arranging to have
them offloaded at d'Land."
"D'Land! You've put the CSU's in the hands of
Boge's bitterest enemies!"
"But they're only tractors, Mr. Gulver. Peaceful
devices. Isn't that correct?"
"That's . . . correct." Gulver sagged.. Then he
snapped erect. "Hold the ships!" he yelled. "I'm
canceling the student exchange—"
His voice was drowned by the rumble as the first of
the monster transports rose from the launch pit, fol-
lowed a moment later by the second. Retief watched
them out of sight, then turned to Gulver.
"They're off," he said. "Let's hope they get a lib-
eral education."
25

RETIEF AT LARGE
V
Retief lay on his back in deep grass by a stream,
eating grapes. A tall figure appeared on the knoll above
him and waved.
"Retief!" Hank Arapoulous bounded down the
slope and embraced Retief, slapping him on the back.
"I heard you were here—and I've got news for you.
You won the final day's picking competition. Over two
hundred bushels! That's a record!"
"Let's get on over to the garden. Sounds like the
celebration's about to start."
In the flower-crowded park among the stripped
vines, Retief and Arapoulous made their way to a laden
table under the lanterns. A tall girl dressed in loose
white, and with long golden hair, came up to Arapoul-
ous.
"Delinda, this is Retief—today's winner. And he's
also the fellow that got those workers for us."
Delinda smiled at Retief. "I've heard about you, Mr.
Retief. We weren't sure about the boys at first. Two
thousand Bogans, and all confused about their baggage
that went astray. But they seemed to like the picking."
She smiled again.
' 'That's not all. Our gals liked the boys,'' Hank said.
"Even Bogans aren't so bad, minus their irons. A lot of
'em will be staying on. But how come you didn't tell
me you were coming, Retief? I'd have laid on some
kind of big welcome."
"I liked the welcome I got. And I didn't have much
26

CULTURAL EXCHANGE
notice. Mr. Magnan was a little upset when he got
back. It seemes I exceeded my authority."
Arapoulous laughed. "I had a feeling you were
wheeling pretty free, Retief. I hope you didn't get into
any trouble over it."
"No trouble," Retief said. "A few people were a
little unhappy with me. It seemes I'm not ready for
important assignments at Departmental level. I was
shipped off here to the boondocks to get a little more
experience."
"Delinda, look after Retief," said Arapoulous. "I'll
see you later. I've got to see to the wine judging." He
disappeared in the crowd.
"Congratulations on winning the day," said De-
linda. "I noticed you at work. You were wonderful.
I'm glad you're going to have the prize."
"Thanks. I noticed you too, flitting around in that
white nightie of yours. But why weren't you picking
grapes with the rest of us?"
"I had a special assignment."
"Too bad. You should have had a chance at the
prize."
Delinda took Retief's hand. "I wouldn't have any-
way," she said. "I'm the prize."
27

SALINE SOLUTION
i
CONSUL-GENERAL MAGNAN gingerly fingered
the heavily rubberbanded sheaf of dog-eared docu-
ments. "I haven't rushed into precipitate action on this
claim. Retief," he said. "The Consulate has grave
responsibilities here in the Belt. One must weigh all
aspects of the situation, consider the ramifications.
What consequences would arise from a grant of min-
erals rights on the planetoid to this claimant?"
"The claim looked all right to me," Retief said.
"Seventeen copies with attachments. Why not process
it? You've had it on your desk for a week."
Magnan's eyebrows went up. "You've a personal
interest in this claim, Retief?"
"Every day you wait is costing them money. That
hulk they use for an ore-carrier is in a parking orbit
piling up demurrage."
"I see you've become emotionally involved in the
affairs of a group of obscure miners. You haven't yet
28

SALINE SOLUTION
learned the true diplomat's happy faculty of non-
identification with specifics—or should I say identifi-
cation with non-specifics?"
"They're not a wealthy outfit, you know. In fact, I
understand this claim is their sole asset—unless you
want to count the ore-carrier."
"The Consulate is not concerned with the internal
financial problems of the Sam's Last Chance Number
Nine Mining Company."
"Careful," Retief said. "You almost identified
yourself with a specific that time."
"Hardly, my dear Retief," Magnan said blandly.
"The implication is mightier than the affidavit. You
should study the records of the giants of galactic diplo-
macy: Crodfoller, Passwyn, Spradley, Nitworth,
Sternwheeler, Rumpwhistle. The roll-call of those
names rings like the majestic tread of . . .of. . ."
"Dinosaurs?" Retief suggested.
"An apt simile," Magnan nodded. "Those mighty
figures, those armored hides—"
' 'Those tiny brains—''
Magnan smiled sadly. "I see you're indulging your
penchant for distorted facetiae. Perhaps one day you'll
learn their true worth."
"I already have my suspicions."
The intercom chimed. Miss Gumble's features ap-
peared on the desk screen.
"Mr. Leatherwell to see you, Mr. Magnan. He has
no appointment—"
Magnan's eyebrows went up. "Send Mr. Leather-
well right in." He looked at Retief. "I had no idea
Leatherwell was planning a call. I wonder what he's
after?" Magnan looked anxious. "He's an important
29

RETIEF AT LARGE
figure in Belt minerals circles. It's important to avoid
arousing antagonism, while maintaining non-
commitment. You may as well stay. You might pick up
some valuable pointers technique-wise."
The door swung wide. Leatherwell strode into the
room, his massive paunch buckled into fashionable
vests of turquoise velvet and hung with the latest in
fluorescent watch charms. He extended a large palm
and pumped Magnan's flaccid arm vigorously.
"Ah, there, Mr. Consul-General. Good of you to
receive me." He wiped his hand absently on his thigh,
eyeing Retief questioningly.
"Mr. Retief, my Vice-Consul and Minerals Of-
ficer," Magnan said. "Do take a,chair, Mr. Leather-
well. In what capacity can I serve today?"
"I am here, gentlemen," Leatherwell said, putting
an immense yellow briefcase on Magnan's desk and
settling himself in a power rocker, "on behalf of my
company, General Minerals. General Minerals has
long been aware, gentlemen, of the austere conditions
obtaining here in the Belt, to which public servants like
yourselves are subjected." Leatherwell bobbed with
the pitch of the rocker, smiling complacently at Mag-
nan. "General Minerals is more than a great industrial
combine. It is an organization with a heart." Leather-
well reached for his breast pocket, missed, tried again.
''How do you turn this damned thing off?'' he growled.
Magnan half-rose, peering over Leatherwell's brief-
case. "The switch just there—on the arm."
The executive fumbled. There was a click, and the
chair subsided with a sigh of compressed air.
"That's better." Leatherwell drew out a long slip of
blue paper.
' 'To alleviate the boredom and brighten the lives of
30

SALINE SOLUTION
that hardy group of Terrestrials laboring here on Ceres
to bring free enterprise to the Belt, General Minerals is
presenting to the Consulate—on their behalf—one
hundred thousand credits for the construction of a Joy
Center, to be quipped with the latest and finest in
recreational equipment, including a Gourmet Model C
banquet synthesizer, a forty-foot sublimation chamber,
a five thousand tape library—with a number of choice
items unobtainable in Boston—a twenty-foot Tri-D
tank and other amenities too numerous to mention."
Leatherwell leaned back, beaming expectantly.
"Why, Mr. Leatherwell. We're overwhelmed, of
course." Magnan smiled dazedly past the briefcase.
"But I wonder if it's quite proper . . ."
"The gift is to the people, Mr. Consul. You merely
accept on their behalf."
' 'I wonder if General Minerals realizes that the hardy
Terrestrials laboring on Ceres are limited to the Consu-
lar staff?" Retief said. "And the staff consists of Mr.
Magnan, Miss Gumble and myself."
"Mr. Leatherwell is hardly interested in these de-
tails, Retief," Magnan cut in. "A public-spirited offer
indeed, sir. As Terrestrial Consul—and on behalf of all
Terrestrials here in the Belt—I accept with a humble
awareness of—"
"Now, there was one other little matter." Leather-
well leaned forward to open the briefcase, glancing
over Magnan's littered desktop. He extracted a bundle
of papers, dropped them on the desk, then drew out a
heavy document and passed it across to Magnan.
"Just a routine claim. I'd like to see it rushed
through, as we have in mind some loading operations in
the vicinity next week."
"Certainly Mr. Leatherwell."
31

RETIEF AT LARGE
Magnan glanced at the papers, paused to read. He
looked up. "Ah—"
"Something the matter, Mr. Consul?" Leatherwell
demanded.
"It's just that—ah—I seem to recall—as a matter of
fact . . ." Magnan looked at Retief. Retief took the
papers, looked over the top sheet.
"95739-A. Sorry, Mr. Leatherwell. General Min-
erals has been anticipated. We're processing a prior
claim."
"Prior claim?" Leatherwell barked. "You've is-
sued the grant?"
"Oh, no indeed, Mr. Leatherwell," Magnan replied
quickly. "The claim hasn't yet been processed."
"Then there's no difficulty," Leatherwell boomed.
He glanced at his finger watch. "If you don't mind, I'll
wait and take the grant along with me. I assume it will
only take a minute or two to sign it and affix seals and so
on?"
"The other claim was filed a full week ago—"
Retief started.
"Bah!" Leatherwell waved a hand impatiently.
"These details can be arranged." He fixed an eye on
Magnan.' 'I'm sure all of us here understand that it's in
the public interest that minerals properties go to respon-
sible firms, with adequate capital for proper develop-
ment."
"Why, ah," Magnan said.
"The Sam's Last Chance Number Nine Mining
Company is a duly chartered firm. Their claim is
valid."
"I know that hole-in-corner concern," Leatherwell
snapped. "Mere irresponsible opportunists. General
32

SALINE SOLUTION
Minerals has spent millions—millions, I say—of the
stockholders' funds in minerals explorations. Are they
to be balked in realizing a fair return on their investment
because these . . . these . . . adventurers have stum-
bled on a deposit? Not that the property is of any real
value, of course," he added. "Quite an ordinary bit of
rock. But General Minerals would find it convenient to
consolidate its holdings."
"There are plenty of other rocks floating around in
the Belt. Why not—"
"One moment, Retief," Magnan cut in. He looked
across the desk at his junior with a severe expression.
"As Consul-General, I'm quite capable of determining
the relative merits of claims. As Mr. Leatherwell has
pointed out, it's in the public interest to consider the
question in depth."
Leatherwell cleared his throat. "I might state at this
time that General Minerals is prepared to be generous in
dealing with these interlopers. I believe we would be
prepared to go so far as to offer them free title to certain
GM holdings in exchange for their release of any al-
leged rights to the property in question—merely to
simplify matters, of course."
' 'That seems more than fair to me,'' Magnan glowed.
"The Sam's people have a clear priority," Retief
said. "I logged the claim in last Friday."
"They have far from a clear title." Leatherwell
snapped. "And I can assure you GM will contest their
claim, if need be, to the Supreme Court!"
"Just what holdings did you have in mind offering
them, Mr. Leatherwell?" Magnan asked nervously.
Leatherwell reached into his briefcase and drew out a
paper.
33

RETIEF AT LARGE
"2645-P," he read. "A quite massive body. Crustal
material, I imagine. It should satisfy these squatters'
desire to own real estate in the Belt."
"I'll make a note of that," Magnan said, reaching
for a pad.
"That's a Bona Fide offer, Mr. Leatherwell?" Re-
tief asked.
"Certainly!"
"I'll record it as such," Magnan said, scribbling.
"And who knows?" Leatherwell said. "It may turn
out to contain some surprisingly rich finds."
"And if they won't accept it?" Retief asked.
' 'Then I daresay General Minerals will find a remedy
in the courts, sir!"
"Oh, I hardly think that will be necessary," Magnan
said.
"Then there's another routine matter," Leatherwell
said. He passed a second document across to Magnan.
"GM is requesting an injunction to restrain these same
parties from aggravated trespass. I'd appreciate it if
you'd push it through at once. There's a matter of a load
of illegally.obtained ore involved, as well."
"Certainly Mr. Leatherwell. I'll see to it myself."
' 'No need for that. The papers are all drawn up. Our
legal department will vouch for their correctness. Just
sign here." Leatherwell spread out the paper and
handed Magnan a pen.
"Wouldn't it be a good idea to read that over first?"
Retief said.
Leatherwell frowned impatiently. "You'll have
adequate time to familiarize yourself with the details
later, Retief," Magnan snapped, taking the pen. "No
34

SALINE SOLUTION
need to waste Mr. Leatherwell's valuable time." He
scratched a signature on the paper.
Leatherwell rose, gathered up his papers from Mag-
nan's desk, dumped them into the briefcase. "Riff-
raff, of course. Their kind has no business in the
Belt."
Retief rose, crossed to the desk, and held out a hand.
"I believe you gathered in an official document along
with your own, Mr. Leatherwell. By error, of course."
"What's that?" Leatherwell bridled. Retief smiled,
waiting. Magnan opened his mouth.
"It was under your papers, Mr. Leatherwell," Re-
tief said. "It's the thick one, with the rubber bands."
Leatherwell dug in his briefcase, produced the
document. "Well, fancy finding this here," he
growled. He shoved the papers into Retief's hand.
"You're a very observant young fellow." He closed
the briefcase with a snap. "I trust you'll have a bright
future with the CDT."
' 'Really, Retief," Magnan said reprovingly.' 'There
was no need to trouble Mr. Leatherwell."
Leatherwell directed a sharp look at Retief and a
bland one at Magnan. "I trust you'll communicate the
proposal to the interested parties. Inasmuch as time is
of the essence to the GM position, our offer can only be
held open until 0900 Greenwich, tomorrow. I'll call
again at that time to finalize matters. I trust there'll be
no impediment to a satisfactory settlement at that time.
I should dislike to embark on lengthy litigation."
Magnan hurried around his desk to open the door. He
turned back to fix Retief with an exasperated frown.
"A crass display of boorishness, Retief," he snap-
35

RETIEF AT LARGE
ped. "You've embarrassed a most influential member
of the business community—and for nothing more than
a few miserable forms."
"Those forms represent somebody's stake in what
might be a valuable property."
' 'They're mere paper until they've been processed!''
"Still—"
' 'My responsibility is to the Public interest—not to a
fly-by-night group of prospectors."
"They found it first."
"Bah! A worthless rock. After Mr. Leatherwell's
munificent gesture—"
"Better rush his check through before he thinks it
over and changes his mind."
"Good heavens!" Magnan clutched the check, buz-
zed for Miss Gumble. She swept in, took Magnan's
instructions and left. Retief waited while Magnan
glanced over the injunction, then nodded.
"Quite in order. A person called Sam Mancziewicz
appears to be the principal. The address given is the
Jolly Barge Hotel; that would be that converted derelict
ship in orbit 6942, I assume?"
Retief nodded. "That's what they call it."
' 'As for the ore-carrier, I'd best impound it, pending
the settlement of the matter." Magnan drew a form
from a drawer, filled in blanks, shoved the paper across
the desk. He turned and consulted a wall chart. "The
hotel is nearby at the moment, as it happens. Take the
Consulate dinghy. If you get out there right away,
you'll catch them before the evening binge has de-
veloped fully."
"I take it that's your diplomatic way of telling me
36

SALINE SOLUTION
that I'm now a process server." Retief took the papers
and tucked them into an inside pocket.
"One of the many functions a diplomat is called on
to perform in a small consular post. Excellent experi-
ence. I needn't warn you to be circumspect. These
miners are an unruly lot—especially when receiving
bad news."
"Aren't we all." Retief rose. "I don't suppose
there's any prospect of your signing off that claim so
that I can take a little good news along, too?"
"None whatever," Magnan snapped. "They've
been made a most generous offer. If that fails to satisfy
them, they have recourse through the courts."
"Fighting a suit like that costs money. The Sam's
Last Chance Mining Company hasn't got any."
"Need I remind you—"
"I know. That's none of our concern."
"On your way out," Magnan said as Retief turned to
the door, "ask Miss Gumble to bring in the Gourmet
catalog from the Commercial Library. I want to check
on the specifications of the Model C banquet synthe-
sizer."
An hour later, nine hundred miles from Ceres and
fast approaching the Jolly Barge Hotel, Retief keyed
the skiff's transmitter.
"CDT 347-89 calling Navy FP-VO-6."
"Navy VO-6 here, CDT," a prompt voice came
back. A flickering image appeared on the small screen.
"Oh, hi there, Mr. Retief. What brings you out in the
cold night air?"
' 'Hello, Henry. I'm estimating the Jolly Barge in ten
minutes. It looks like a busy night ahead. I may be
37

RETIEF AT LARGE
moving around a little. How about keeping an eye on
me? I'll be carrying a personnel beacon. Monitor it, and
if I switch it into high, come in fast. I can't afford to be
held up. I've got a big meeting in the morning."
"Sure thing, Mr. Retief. We'll keep an eye open."
Retief dropped a ten-credit note on the bar, accepted
a glass and a squat bottle of black Marsberry brandy and
turned to survey the low-ceilinged room, a former hy-
droponics deck now known as the Jungle Bar. Under
the low ceiling, unpruned Ipomoea batatas and
Lathyrus odoratus vines sprawled in a tangle that fil-
tered the light of the S-spectrum glare panels to a muted
green. A six-foot trideo screen, salvaged from the
wreck of a Concordiat transport, blared taped music in
the style of two centuries past. At the tables, heavy-
shouldered men in bright-dyed suit liners played cards,
clanked bottles and shouted.
Carrying the bottle and glass, Retief moved across to
an empty chair at one of the tables.
"You gentlemen mind if I join you?"
Five unshaven faces turned to study Retief s six foot
three, his close cut black hair, his non-commital gray
coverall, the scars on his knuckles. A redhead with a
broken nose nodded. "Pull up a chair, stranger."
"You workin' a claim, pardner?"
"Just looking around."
"Try a shot of this rock juice."
"Don't do it, Mister. He makes it himself."
"Best rock juice this side of Luna."
"Say, feller—"
"The name's Retief."
"Retief, you every play Drift?"
38

SALINE SOLUTION
"Can't say that I did."
"Don't gamble with Sam, pardner. He's the local
champ."
"How do you play it?"
The black-browed miner who had suggested the
game rolled back his sleeve to reveal sinewy forearm,
put his elbow on the table.
"You hook forefingers, and put a glass right up on
top. The man that takes a swallow wins. If the drink
spills, it's drinks for the house."
"A man don't often win outright," the redhead said
cheerfully. "But it makes for plenty of drinkin'."
Retief put his elbow on the table. "I'll give it a try."
The two men hooked forefingers. The redhead
poured a tumbler half full of rock juice, place it atop
the two fists. "Okay, boys. Go!"
The man named Sam gritted his teeth; his biceps
tensed, knuckles grew white. The glass trembled. Then
it moved—toward Retief. Sam hunched his shoulders,
straining.
"That's the stuff, Mister!"
"What's the matter, Sam? You tired?"
The glass moved steadily closer to Retief's face.
"A hundred the new man makes it!"
"Watch Sam! Any minute now ..."
The glass slowed, paused. Retief's wrist twitched
and the glass crashed to the table top. A shout went up.
Sam leaned back with a sigh, massaging his hand.
"That's some arm you got, Mister," he said. "If
you hadn't jumped just then . . ."
"I guess the drinks are on me," Retief said.
Two hours later Retief's Marsberry bottle stood
empty on the table beside half a dozen others.
39

RETIEF AT LARGE
"We were lucky," Sam Mancziewicz was saying.
"You figure the original volume of the planet; say
245,000,000,000 cubic miles. The deBerry theory
calls for a collapsed-crystal core no more than a mile in
diameter. There's your odds."
"And you believe you've found a fragment of this
core?"
"Damn right we have. Couple of million tons if it's
an ounce. And at three credits a ton delivered at Port
Syrtis, we're set for life. About time, too. Twenty years
I've been in the Belt. Got two kids I haven't seen for
five years. Things are going to be different now."
"Hey, Sam; tone it down. You don't have to broad-
cast to every claim jumper in the Belt."
"Our claim's on file at the Consulate," Sam said.
"As soon as we get the grant—"
"When's that gonna be? We been waitin' a week
now."
"I've never seen any collapsed-crystal metal," Re-
tief said. "I'd like to take a look at it."
"Sure. Come on, I'll run you over. It's about an
hour's run. We'll take our skiff. You want to go
along, Willy?"
"I got a bottle to go," Willy said. "See you in the
morning."
The two men descended in the lift to the boat bay,
suited up and strapped into the cramped boat. A bored
attendant cycled the launch doors, levered the release
that propelled the skiff out and clear of the Jolly Barge
Hotel. Retief caught a glimpse of a tower of lights
spinning majestically against the black of space as the
drive hurled the tiny boat away.
40

SALINE SOLUTION
II
Retief's feet sank ankle deep into the powdery sur-
face that glinted like snow in the glare of the distant
sun.
"It's funny stuff," Sam's voice sounded in his ear.
"Under a gee of gravity, you'd sink out of sight. The
stuff cuts diamond like butter—but temperature
changes break it down into a powder. A lot of it's used
just like this, as an industrial abrasive. Easy to load,
too. Just drop a suction line, put on ambient pressure
and start pumping."
"And this whole rock is made of the same mate-
rial?"
"Sure is. We ran plenty of test bores and a full
schedule of soundings. I've got the reports back aboard
Gertie—that's our lighter."
"And you've already loaded a cargo here?"
"Yep. We're running out of capital fast. I need to get
that cargo to port in a hurry—before the outfit goes into
involuntary bankruptcy. With this, that'd be a crime."
"What do you know about General Minerals,
Sam?"
"You thinking of hiring on with them? Better read
the fine print in your contract before you sign.
Sneakiest bunch this side of a burglar's convention."
"They own a chunk of rock known as 2645-P. Do
you suppose we could find it?"
"Oh, you're buying it, hey? Sure, we can find it.
41

RETIEF AT LARGE
You damn sure want to look it over good if General
Minerals is selling."
Back aboard the skiff, Mancziewicz flipped the
pages of the chart book, consulted a table. "Yep, she's
not too far off. Let's go see what GM's trying to
unload."
The skiff hovered two miles from the giant boulder
known as 2645-P. Retief and Mancziewicz looked it
over at high magnification. "It don't look like much,
Retief," Sam said. "Let's go down and take a closer
look."
The boat dropped rapidly toward the scarred surface
of the tiny world, a floating mountain, glaring black
and white in the spotlight of the sun. Sam frowned at his
instrument panel.
"That's funny. My ion counter is revving up. Looks
like a drive trail, not more than an hour or two old.
Somebody's been here."
The boat grounded. Retief and Sam got out. The
stony surface was littered with rock fragments varying
in size from pebbles to great slabs twenty feet long,
tumbled in a loose bed of dust and sand. Retief pushed
off gently, drifted up to a vantage point atop an upended
wedge of rock. Sam joined him.
"This is all igneous stuff," he said. "Not likely
we'll find much here that would pay the freight to
Syrtis—unless maybe you lucked onto some Bodean
artifacts. They bring plenty."
He flipped a binocular in place as he talked, scanned
the riven landscape. "Hey!" he said. "Over there!"
Retief followed Sam's pointing glove. He studied
the dark patch against a smooth expanse of eroded rock.
42

SALINE SOLUTION
"A friend of mine came across a chunk of the old
planetary surface two years ago," Sam said thought-
fully. "Had a tunnel in it that'd been used as a storage
depot by the Bodeans. Took out over two ton of
hardware. Course, nobody's discovered how the stuff
works yet, but it brings top prices."
"Looks like water erosion," Retief said.
"Yep. This could be another piece of surface, all
right. Could be a cave over there. The Bodeans liked
caves, too. Must have been some war—but then, if it
hadn't been, they wouldn't have tucked so much stuff
away underground where it could weather the planetary
breakup."
They descended, crossed the jumbled rocks with
light, thirty-foot leaps.
"It's a cave, all right," Sam said, stooping to peer
into the five-foot bore. Retief followed him inside.
"Let's get some light in here." Mancziewicz flipped
on a beam. It glinted back from dull polished surfaces
of Bodean synthetic. Sam's low whistle sounded in
Retief's headset.
"That's funny," Retief said.
"Funny, hell! It's hilarious. General Minerals trying
to sell off a worthless rock to a tenderfoot—and it's
loaded with Bodean artifacts. No telling how much is
here: the tunnel seems to go quite a ways back."
"That's not what I mean. Do you notice your suit
warming up?"
"Huh? Yeah, now that you mention it."
Retief rapped with a gauntleted hand on the satiny
black curve of the nearest Bodean artifact. It clunked
dully through the suit. "That's not metal," he said.
"It's plastic."
43

RETIEF AT LARGE
"There's something fishy here," Sam said. "This
erosion; it looks more like a heat beam."
"Sam," Retief said, turning, "it appears to me
somebody has gone to a great deal of trouble to give a
false impression here."
Sam snorted. "I told you they were a crafty bunch."
He started out of the cave, then paused, went to one
knee to study the floor. "But maybe they outsmarted
themselves. Look here!"
Retief looked. Sam's beam reflected from a fused
surface of milky white, shot through with dirty yellow.
He snapped a pointed instrument in place on his
gauntlet, dug at one of the yellow streaks. It furrowed
under the gouge, a particle adhering to the instrument.
With his left hand, Mancziewicz opened a pouch clip-
ped to his belt, carefully deposited the sample in a small
orifice on the device in the pouch. He flipped a key,
squinted at a dial.
"Atomic weight 197.2," he said. Retief turned
down the audio volume on his headset as Sam's laugh-
ter rang in his helmet.
"Those clowns were out to stick you, Retief," he
gasped, still chuckling. "They salted the rock with
a cave full of Bodean artifacts—"
"Fake Bodean artifacts," Retief put in.
"They planed off the rock so it would look like an
old beach, and then cut this cave with beamers. And
they were boring through practically solid gold!"
"As good as that?"
Mancziewicz flashed the light around. "This stuff
will assay out at a thousand credits a ton, easy. If the
vein doesn't run to five thousand tons, the beers are on
me." He snapped off the light. "Let's get moving,
44

SALINE SOLUTION
Retief. You want to sew this deal up before they get
around to taking another look at it."
Back in the boat, Retief and Mancziewicz opened
their helmets. "This calls for a drink," Sam said,
extracting a pressure flask from the map case. "This
rock's worth as much as mine, maybe more. You hit it
lucky, Retief. Congratulations." He thrust out a hand.
"I'm afraid you've jumped to a couple of conclu-
sions, Sam," Retief said. "I'm not out here to buy
mining properties."
"You're not—then why—but man! Even if you
didn't figure on buying . . ." He trailed off as Retief
shook his head, unzipped his suit to reach to an inside
pocket, take out a packet of folded papers.
"In my capacity as Terrestrial Vice-Consul, I'm
serving you with an injunction restraining you from
further exploitation of the body known as 95739-A."
He handed a paper across to Sam. "I also have here an
Order impounding the vessel Gravel Gertie II."
Sam took the papers silently, sat looking at them. He
looked up at Retief. "Funny. When you beat me at
Drift and then threw the game so you wouldn't show me
up in front of the boys, I figured you for a right guy.
I've been spilling my heart out to you like you were my
old grandma. An old-timer in the game like me." He
dropped a hand, brought it up with a Browning 2mm
pointed at Retief's chest.
"I could shoot you and dump you here with a slab
over you, toss these papers in the john and hightail it
with the load . . ."
"That wouldn't do you much good in the long run,
Sam. Besides you're not a criminal or an idiot."
Sam chewed his lip. "My claim is on file in the
45

RETIEF AT LARGE
Consulate, legal and proper. Maybe by now the grant's
gone through."
"Other people have their eye on your rock, Sam.
Ever meet a fellow called Leatherwell?"
"General Minerals, huh? They haven't got a leg to
stand on."
"The last time I saw your claim, it was still lying in
the pending file. Just a bundle of paper until it's vali-
dated by the Consul. If Leatherwell contests it . . .
well, his lawyers are on annual retainer. How long
could you keep the suit going, Sam?"
Mancziewicz closed his helmet with a decisive snap,
motioned to Retief to do the same. He opened the
hatch, sat with the gun on Retief.
"Get out, paper-pusher." His voice sounded thin in
the headphones. "You'll get lonesome, maybe, but
your suit will keep you alive a few days. I'll tip some-
body off before you lose too much weight. I'm going
back and see if I can't stir up a little action at the
Consulate."
Retief climbed out, walked off fifty yards. He
watched as the skiff kicked off in a quickly dispersed
cloud of dust, dwindled rapidly away to a bright speck
that was lost against the stars. Then he extracted the
locator beacon from the pocket of his suit and thumbed
the control.
Twenty minutes later, aboard Navy FP-VO-6, Retief
pulled off his helmet. "Fast work, Henry. I've got a
couple of calls to make. Put me through to your HQ,
will you? I want a word with Commander Hayle."
The young naval officer raised the HQ, handed the
mike to Retief.
46

SALINE SOLUTION
"Vice-Consul Retief here, Commander. I'd like you
to intercept a skiff, bound from my present position
toward Ceres. There's a Mr. Mancziewicz aboard.
He's armed, but not dangerous. Collect him and see
that he's delivered to the Consulate at 0900 Greenwich
tomorrow.
"Next item: The Consulate has impounded an ore-
carrier, Gravel Gertie II. It's in a parking orbit ten
miles off Ceres. I want it taken in tow." Retief gave
detailed instruction. Then he asked for a connection
through the Navy switchboard to the Consulate. Mag-
nan's voice answered.
"Retief speaking, Mr. Consul. I have some news
that I think will interest you—"
"Where are you, Retief? What's wrong with the
screen? Have you served the injunction?"
"I'm aboard the Navy patrol vessel. I've been out
looking over the situation, and I've made a surprising
discovery. I don't think we're going to have any trouble
with the Sam's people; they've looked over the
body—2645-P—and it seems General Minerals has
slipped up. There appears to be a highly valuable de-
posit there."
"Oh? What sort of deposit?"
"Mr. Mancziewicz mentioned collapsed crystal
metal," Retief said.
"Well, most interesting." Magnan's voice sounded
thoughtful.
"Just thought you'd like to know. This should
simplify the meeting in the morning."
"Yes," Magnan said. "Yes, indeed. I think this
makes everything very simple . . ."
47

RETIEF AT LARGE
At 0845 Greenwich, Retief stepped into the outer
office of the Consular suite.
"... fantastic configuration," Leatherwell's bass
voice rumbled, "covering literally acres. My xeno-
geologists are somewhat confused by the formations.
They had only a few hours to examine the site; but it's
clear from the extent of the surface indications that we
have a very rich find here. Very rich indeed. Beside it,
95739-A dwindles into insignificance. Very fast think-
ing on your part, Mr. Consul, to bring the matter to my
attention."
"Not at all, Mr. Leatherwell. After all—"
"Our tentative theory is that the basic crystal frag-
ment encountered the core material at some time, and
gathered it in. Since we had been working on—that is,
had landed to take samples on the other side of the
body, this anomalous deposit escaped our attention
completely."
Retief stepped into the room.
"Good morning, gentlemen. Has Mr. Mancziewicz
arrived?"
"Mr. Mancziewicz is under restraint by the Navy.
I've had a call that he'd be escorted here."
"Arrested, eh?" Leatherwell nodded. "I told you
these people were an irresponsible group. In a way it
seems a pity to waste a piece of property like 95739-A
on them."
"I understood General Minerals was claiming that
rock," Retief said, looking surprised.
Leatherwell and Magnan exchanged glances. ' 'Ah,
GM has decided to drop all claim to the body," Leath-
erwell said. "As always, we wish to encourage enter-
prise on the part of the small operators. Let them keep
48

SALINE SOLUTION
the property. After all GM has other deposits well
worth exploiting." He smited complacently.
"What about 2645-P? You've offered it to the Sam's
group."
"That offer is naturally withdrawn!" Leatherwell
snapped.
"I don't see how you can withdraw the offer,"
Retief said. "It's been officially recorded. It's a Bona
Fide contract, binding on General Minerals, subject
to—"
"Out of the goodness of our corporate heart,"
Leatherwell roared, "we've offered to relinquish our
legitimate, rightful claim to asteroid 2645-P. And you
have the infernal gall to spout legal technicalities! I
have half a mind to withdraw my offer to withdraw!"
"Actually," Magnan put in, eyeing a corner of the
room, "I'm not at all sure I could turn up the record of
the offer of 2645-P. I noted it down on a bit of scratch
paper—"
"That's all right," Retief said, "I had my pocket
recorder going. I sealed the record and deposited it in
the Consular archives."
There was a clatter of feet outside. Miss Gumble
appeared on the desk screen. "There are a number of
persons here—" she began.
The door banged open. Sam Mancziewicz stepped
into the room, a sailor tugging at each arm. He shook
them loose, stared around the room. His eyes lighted on
Retief. "How did you get here . . . ?"
"Look here, Monkey wits or whatever your name
is," Leatherwell began, popping out of his chair.
Mancziewicz whirled, seized the stout executive by
the shirt front and lifted him onto his tiptoes. "You
49

RETIEF AT LARGE
double-barrelled copper-bottomed oak-lined son-of-
a—"
"Don't spoil him, Sam," Retief said casually.
"He's here to sign off all rights—if any—to 95739-A.
It's all yours—if you want it."
Sam glared into Leatherwell's eyes. "That right?"
he grated. Leatherwell bobbed his head, his chins com-
pressed into bulging folds.
"However," Retief went on, "I wasn't at all sure
you'd still be agreeable, since he's made your company
a binding offer of 2645-P in return for clear title to
95739-A."
Mancziewicz looked across at Retief with narrowed
eyes. He released Leatherwell, who slumped into his
chair. Magnan darted around his desk to minister to the
magnate. Behind them, Retief closed one eye in abroad
wink at Mancziewicz.
"... still, if Mr. Leatherwell will agree, in addi-
tion to guaranteeing your title to 95739-A, to purchase
your output at four credits a ton, FOB his collection
station—"
Mancziewicz looked at Leatherwell. Leatherwell
hesitated, then nodded. "Agreed," he croaked.
"... and to open his commissary and postal
facilities to all prospectors operating in the belt ..."
Leatherwell swallowed, eyes bulging, glanced at
Mancziewicz's face. He nodded. "Agreed."
". . . then I think I'd sign an agreement releasing
him from his offer."
Mancziewicz looked at Magnan.
"You're the Terrestrial Consul-General." he said.
"Is that the straight goods?"
50

SALINE SOLUTION
Magnan nodded. "If Mr. Leatherwell agrees—"
"He's already agreed," Retief said. "My pocket
recorder, you know."
"Put it in writing," Mancziewicz said.
Magnan called in Miss Grumble. The others waited
silently while Magnan dictated. He signed the paper
with a flourish, passed it across to Mancziewicz. He
read it, re-read it, then picked up the pen and signed.
Magnan impressed the Consular seal on the paper.
"Now the grant," Retief said. Magnan signed the
claim, added a seal. Mancziewicz tucked the papers
away in an inner pocket. He rose.
"Well, gents, I guess maybe I had you figured
wrong," he said. He looked at Retief. "Uh . . . got
time for a drink?"
"I shouldn't drink during office hours," Retief said.
He rose. "So I'll take the rest of the day off."
"I don't get it," Sam said signalling for refills.
"What was the routine with the injunction—and im-
pounding Gertie? You could have got hurt."
"I don't think so," Retief said. "If you'd meant
business with that Browning, you'd have flipped the
safety off. As for the injunction—orders are orders."
"I've been thinking," Sam said. "That gold de-
Posit. It was a plant, too, wasn't it?"
"I'm just a bureaucrat, Sam. What would I know
about gold?"
"A double-salting job," Sam said. "I was supposed
to spot the phoney hardware—and then fall for the gold
Plant. When Leatherwell put his proposition to me, I'd
grab it. The gold was worth plenty, I'd figure, and I
51

RETIEF AT LARGE
couldn't afford a legal tangle with General Minerals.
The lousy skunk! And you must have spotted it and put
it up to him."
The bar-tender leaned across to Retief. "Wanted on
the phone."
In the booth, Magnan's agitated face stared a Retief.
"Retief, Mr. Leatherwell's in a towering rage! The
deposit on 2645-P; it was merely a surface film, barely
a few inches thick! The entire deposit wouldn't fill an
ore-boat." A horrified expression dawned on Mag-
nan's face. "Retief," he gasped, "what did you do
with the impounded ore-carrier?"
"Well, let me see," Retief said. "According to the
Space Navigation Code, a body in orbit within twenty
miles of any inhabited airless body constitutes a naviga-
tional hazard. Accordingly, I had it towed away."
"And the cargo?"
"Well, accelerating all that mass was an expensive
business, so to save the taxpayer's credits, I had it
dumped."
"Where?" Magnan croaked.
"On some unimportant asteroid—as specified by
Regulations." He smiled blandly at Magnan. Magnan
looked back numbly.
"But you said—"
"All I said was that there was what looked like a
valuable deposit on 2645-P. It turned out to be a bogus
gold mine that somebody had rigged up in a hurry.
Curious, eh?"
"But you told me—"
"And you told Mr. Leatherwell. Indiscreet of you,
Mr. Consul. That was a privileged communication;
classified information, official use only."
52

SALINE SOLUTION
"You led me to believe there was collapsed crys-
tal!"
"I said Sam had mentioned it. He told me his as-
teroid was made of the stuff."
Magnan swallowed hard, twice. "By the way," he
said dully. "You were right about the check. Half an
hour ago Mr. Leatherwell tried to stop payment. He
was too late."
"All in all, it's been a big day for Leatherwell,"
Retief said. "Anything else?"
' 'I hope not,'' Magnan said. "I sincerely hope not.''
He leaned close to the screen. "You'll consider the
entire affair as . . . confidential? There's no point in
unduly complicating relationships."
' 'Have no fear, Mr. Consul,'' Retief said cheerfully.
"You won't find me identifying with anything as
specific as triple-salting an asteroid."
Back at the table, Sam called for another bottle of
rock juice.
"That Drift's a pretty good game," Retief said.
'' But let me show you one I learned out on Yill . . ."
53

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
I
RETIEF SCALED his pale burgundy afternoon infor-
mal beret across the office, narrowly missing the
clothes tree, and dumped the heavy carton he was
carrying on his desk. A shapely brunette with a
turned-up nose appeared at the connecting door to the
next office.
"MissBraswell," he said before she could speak. "I
have here two handsome half-liter wine glasses which
I'm about to field-test. Will you join me?"
She made a shushing motion, rolling her eyes toward
the inner office. A narrow, agitated face appeared over
her shoulder.
"Retief!" Consul-General Magnan burst out. "I've
been at wit's end! How does it happen that every time
catastrophe strikes you're out of the office?"
"It's merely a matter of timing," Retief said sooth-
ingly, stripping paper from the package. He pulled out
a tulip-shaped goblet which seemed to be made of coils
54

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
of jewel-colored glass welded together in an intricate
pattern. He held it up to the light.
"Pretty, eh? And barely cool from the glass-
blower."
"While you idled about the bazaar," Magnan snap-
ped, his face an angry pink above a wide, stiff collar of
yellow plastiweave, "I've been coping single-handed
with disaster! I suggest you put aside your baubles; I'm
calling a formal Emergency Staff Meeting in two min-
utes!"
"That means you, me and Miss Bras well, I take it,
since the rest of the staff is off crater-viewing—"
' 'Just you and I." Magnan mopped at his face with a
vast floral-patterned tissue. "This is a highly clas-
sified emergency."
' 'Oh, goody .I'll take the rest of the afternoon off and
watch the festivities." Miss Braswell winked at Retief,
extended the tip of her tongue in salute to the Consul-
General's back, and was gone.
Retief plucked a bottle from his desk drawer and
followed Magnan into the inner office. The senior
officer yanked at his stiff collar, now wilting with
perspiration.
"Why this couldn't have waited until Minister
Barnshingle's return, I don't know," he said. "He's
already a day overdue. I've tried to contact him, to no
avail. This primitive line-of-sight local telescreen
system—" He broke off. "Retief, kindly defer your
tippling until after the crisis!"
"Oh, this isn't tippling, Mr. Magnan. I'm doing a
commodity analysis for my next report. You fobbed
the detail of Commercial Attache off on me, if you re-
call."
55

RETIEF AT LARGE
"As Charge d'affaires in the absence of theMinister,
I forbid drinking on duty!" Magnan roared.
"Surely you jest, Mr. Magnan! It would mean the
end of diplomacy as we know it."
"Well, not until after lunch, at least. And I hereby
authorize you to postpone market research until further
notice; we're facing a possible holocaust in a matter of
hours!"
"What's it all about?"
Magnan plucked a sheet of yellow paper from his
desk and handed it to Retief. ' 'This came in over the
autotyper forty minutes ago."
UNIDENTIFIED CONVOY COMPRISING
FIFTY UHLAN CLASS VESSELS SIGHTED
ON COURSE FOR YALC III ETA 1500 GST 33
OCT GSC. SIGNED POMFROY, ENSIGN
PATROL NAVY 786-G.
"Uhlans," Retief said. "Those are thousand-man
transports. And oh-nine-hundred on the thirty-third is
just about two hours from now."
"This could be an invasion, Retief! A major breach
of the peace! Can you imagine how it would look in my
record if the planet were invaded under my very nose!''
"Tough on the natives, too," Retief commented.
"What action have you taken so far?"
"Action? Why, I've canceled this afternoon's social
engagements, checked out-going passenger schedules
. . . and sharpened a number of pencils."
' 'Have you tried contacting this Ensign Pomfroy for
a little more detail?"
' 'Tnere's no one on duty in the Message Center but a
56

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
local Code Clerk. He's trying to raise him now."
Magnan depressed a button on his desk. "Oo-Gilitit,
have you met with any success?"
"Pomfroy-Tic all same have organ cluster up ventral
orifice—"
"Gilitit, I've warned you to watch your language!"
Magnan roared. "It's no habit for a communications
man to get into!" He clicked off.' 'Confounded locals!
It's hopeless, of course. Our equipment was never
designed for pinpointing moving patrol boats at four
A-U's."
"How do the Yalcan's feel about the situation?"
asked Retief, playing with the goblet still in his hand.
Magnan blinked. "Why, as to that, I—ah—was just
going to call Oo-Rilikuk." Magnan punched keys,
tuned in a bland yellow and blue face with eyes like
gold pinheads, and vertically-hinged jaws busy with an
oily drumstick.
"Ah, there, Magnan," a voice like an unoiled
wheel said. "Just finished up my lunch. Roast haunch
of giant locust. Delicious." A tongue like a length of
green silken rope flicked a tidbit from a corner of the
lipless mouth.
"Oo-Rilikuk, do you know anything of a large con-
voy due here today?"
Rilikuk dabbed at his chin with a gossamer napkin.
' 'I seem to recall issuing a number of visas to Groaci
nationals in recent weeks."
"Groaci? Fifty shiploads of them?"
"Something like that," the Yalcan said carelessly.
"By the way, if you haven't already made arrange-
ments, perhaps you'd care to join my Bachelor's Group
for the upcoming festivities—''
57

RETIEF AT LARGE
"You're not concerned? Perhaps you're not aware of
the insidious reputation the Groaci enjoy!"
"I don't mind saying I've exercised a trifle of influ-
ence to procure a choice mud pocket. The rich,
oleaginous kind, you know. And there'll be no shortage
of nubile females along—though you're not organized
to appreciate the latter, it's true—"
"May I ask the state of the planetary defenses,
Rilikuk? I'm warning you, Groaci can't be trusted!"
"Planetary defenses?" Rilikuk issued a chirrup of
amusement. "As confirmed pacifists, we've never felt
the need for such an extravagance. Now, I'll be leaving
the office in a few minutes. Suppose I drop by for you.
We'll go on to my place for dinner, then off to the
bog—'"
' 'You're leaving the Foreign Office at a moment like
this?" Magnan yelped. "They'll be landing in a matter
of minutes!"
"I fear I'll have no time to devote to tourism this
week, Magnan," Rilikuk said. "They'll just have to
manage alone. After all, Voom Festival comes but
once in ninety-four standard years."
Magnan rang off with a snort. "We'll receive scant
help from that quarter." He swiveled to gaze out the
unglazed window across the gay tiles of the plaza, lined
with squat, one-story shops of embossed and colored
ceramic brick, to the glittering minarets of the mile-
distant temple complex.
"If these idlers invested less energy in shard-
sorting and more in foreign affairs, I wouldn't be
faced with this contretemps."
"If the CDT would talk Groac into selling them a
58

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
few thousand tons of sand, they wouldn't have to sort
shards."
' 'There are better uses for CDT bottoms than hauling
sand, Retief. . . though I notice the local scrap pile is
about depleted. Possibly now they'll turn to more prof-
itable pursuits then lavishing the artistry of generations
on tenantless shrines." He indicated the cluster of glass
towers sparkling in the sun. "They might even consent
to export a reasonable volume of glassware in place of
the present token amounts."
"Rarity keeps the price up; and they say they can't
afford to let much glass off-world. It all goes back in the
scrap piles when it's broken, for reuse."
Magnan stared across the plain, where the white
plumes of small geysers puffed into brief life, while the
pale smoke rising from the fumaroles rose straight up in
the still air. Far above, a point of blue light twinkled.
"Odd," Magnan said, frowning. "I've never seen
one of the moons in broad daylight before."
Retief came to the window.
"You still haven't. Apparently our Groaci friends
are ahead of schedule. That's an ion drive, and it's not
over twenty miles out."
II
Magn<yi bounded to his feet. "Get your hat, Retief!
^e'll confront these interlopers the moment they set
f°ot on Yalcan soil! The Corps isn't letting this sort of
thing pass without comment!"
59

RETIEF AT LARGE
"TheCorps is always a fast group with a comment."
Retief said. "I'll give it that."
Outside, the plaza was a-bustle with shopkeepers
glittering in holiday glass jewelry, busily closing up
their stalls, erecting intricate decorations resembling
inverted chandeliers before the shuttered shops, and
exchanging shouted greetings. A long-bodied pink-
and-red-faced Yalcan in a white apron leaning in the
open door of a shop waved a jointed forearm.
"Retief-Tic! Do me honor of to drop in for last
Voom cup before I lock up. Your friend, too!"
"Sorry, Oo-Plif; duty calls."
"I see you've established your usual contacts among
the undesirable element," Magnan muttered, signal-
ing a boat-shaped taxi edging through the press on fat
pneumatic wheels. "Look at these lackwits! Com-
pletely engrossed in their frivolity, while disaster de-
scends scarcely a mile away."
Retief eyed the descending ship as it settled in behind
the glittering spires of the temple-city.
"I wonder why they're landing there, instead of at
the port," Retief wondered.
"They've probably mistaken the shrine for the
town," Magnan snapped. "One must admit that it
makes a far more impressive display than this collec-
tion of mud huts!"
"Not theGroaci. They do their homework carefully
before they start anything."
The cab pulled up and Magnan barked directions at
the driver, who waved his forearms in the Yalcan
equivalent of a shrug.
"Speak to this fellow, Retief!" Magnan snapped.
"Obscure dialects are a hobby of yours, I believe."
60

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
Retief gave the driver instructions in the local patois
and leaned back against the floppy cushions. Magnan
perched on the edge of the seat and nipped at a
hangnail. The car cleared the square, racketed down a
side street streaming with locals headed for the bog,
gunned out across the hard-baked mud-flat, swerving
violently around the bubbling devil's cauldrons of hot
mud that dotted the way. A small geyser erupted with a
whoosh! and spattered the open vehicle with hot drop-
lets. A whiff of rotten-egg smoke blew past. Off to the
left, the sunlight glinted from the wide surface of the
swamp, thickly scattered with exotic lily-like flowers.
Here and there, tree-ferns grew in graceful clumps from
the shallow water. Along the shore, bright-colored
tents had been erected, and local celebrants clustered in
groups among them, weaving to and fro and waving
their multiple arms.
"It's disgraceful," Magnan sniffed. "They're al-
ready staggering and their infernal festival's hardly
begun!"
"It's a native dance,'' Retief said. " Very cultural.''
"What's the occasion for this idiotic celebration? It
seems to have completely paralyzed whatever elemen-
tary sense of responsibility these flibertigibbets pos-
sess."
"It's related in some way to the conjunction of the
four moons," Retief said. "But there's more to it than
that. It seems to have an important religious signifi-
cance. The dances are symbolic of death and rebirth, or
something of the sort."
"Hmmph! I see the dancers are now falling flat on
their faces! Religious ecstasy, no doubt!"
As they swept past the reeling locals, the driver made
61

RETIEF AT LARGE
cabalistic signs in the air and grabbed the steering bar
just in time to swerve past a steam-jet that snored from a
cleft boulder. Ahead, a cloud of dust was rolling out
from the landing spot where the Groaci ship had settled
in, a scant hundred yards from an outlying shrine, a
sparkling fifty-foot tower of red, yellow and green
glass.
"They're coming perilously close to violating the
native holy place," Magnan observed as the taxi pulled
up beside the ship. ' 'There may be mob violence at any
moment."
A pair of locals, emerging from one of the many
fanciful glass arches adorning the entrances to the
shrine complex, cast no more than a casual glance at the
vessel as a port opened in its side and a spindle-legged
Groaci in golfing knickers and loud socks appeared.
Magnan climbed hurriedly from the cab. "I want
you to note my handling of this, Retief," he said behind
his hand. "A firm word now may avert an incident."
"I'd better say a firm word to the driver, or we'll be
walking back."
' 'Look, Mac-Tic, I got a reserved slot in a hot pocket
of mud waiting for me," the driver called as he wheeled
the car around. "Five minutes, okay?"
Retief handed the cabbie a ten credit token and fol-
lowed Magnan across the scorched ground to the land-
ing ladder. The Groaci descended, all five eye-stalks
canted in different directions—One on Magnan.
"Minister Barnshingle," he said in his faint Groac
voice before Magnan could speak. "I am Fiss, Tour
Director for Groac Planetary Tours, Incorporated. I
assume you've come to assist in clearing my little flock
62

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
through the Customs and Immigration formalities.
Now—''
"Tour Director, did you say, Mr. Fiss?" Magnan
cut in. "Fifty shiploads of tourists?"
"Quite correct. I can assure you that passports and
visas are all in order, and immunization records are
up-to-date. Since we Groaci have no diplomatic mis-
sion to Yale, it is most kind of the CDT to extend its
good office."
"Just a minute, Mr. Fiss! How long are your tourists
planning to stay on Yale? Just during the Voom Festi-
val, I assume?"
"I believe our visas read . . . ah . . . indefinite,
Mr. Minister."
"I'm Magnan, Charge in the absence of the Minis-
ter," Magnan said.
Fiss waved his eyes. "The Minister is not here?"
"No, he's off mountain climbing. Very keen on
sports. Now, ah, may I ask where your other forty-nine
vessels might be?"
"Just where is the Minister to be found?" Fiss en-
quired.
"I really can't say," Magnan sniffed. "We've had
no word for two days. Now, about your other ships."
Magnan persisted.
"There are, I believe, forty-nine cities here on this
charming little world," Fiss said smoothly. "One
transport is calling at each."
"Curious way to conduct a tour." Magnan broke off
as a cargo port rumbled open and a heavy six-wheeled
vehicle churned out. Rows of multi-eyed Groaci heads
Peered over open sides, on which the words GROAC
63

RETIEF AT LARGE
PLANETARY TOURS, INC. had been hastily let-
tered. A second vehicle followed the first, and a third
and fourth. Magnan gaped as the emerging carriers
took up positions in an orderly double file.
"Here, what's this, Fiss?" he blurted. "These are
tourists?"
"Of course? What else? Please note the presence of
ladies and also a number of lovable Groaci grubs. Yes,
innocent, fun-loving tourists all."
"Why are they in armored cars?" Magnan watched
as the vehicles moved off in the direction of the tower-
ing glass temples. "Here, where are they going?"
"Since the entire populace is fully occupied with
Voom festival activities," Fiss hissed blandly, "Groac
Tours has thoughtfully arranged to occupy available
unused housing."
"Why, that's the local Holy of Holies," Magnan
expostulated. "You can't go in there!"
"The structures are not in use," Fiss whispered.
' And I see no objection on the part of the aborigines.''
He indicated the cab driver who was watching indiffer-
ently as the first tractor moved under a graceful crystal-
line arch into the sparkling glass-bricked avenue.
"Hey, Mac-Tic," the driver called to Retief in Yale.
"Time's up. I wanna get there before the mud cools!"
"Are you out of your mind, Mr. Fiss?" Magnan
demanded. "You're deliberately precipitating an inci-
dent! I'm warning you, I'll refer this to Sector HQ and
call for a squadron of Peace Enforcers!"
"What need for Peace Enforcers, my dear fellow?"
Fiss murmured. "Peace reigns! We are unarmed. No
act of violence is contemplated."
64

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
"We'll see about this!" Magnan fumed. He turned
and stamped toward the waiting taxi.
"So thoughtful of you to welcome us," Fiss's faint
voice followed him. "I shall be calling at the Legation
later to arrange a number of formalities. All quite legal,
I assure you."
"It's worse than I thought," Magnan groaned to
Retief as he climbed into the cab. "When a Groaci
starts citing statutes, you can be sure there's mischief
afoot!"
Ill
"This is incredible!" Magnan barked at the screen
where Oo-Rilikuk's multi-colored visage nodded
blandly against a background of sinuously moving Yal-
can dancing-wenches. "You calmly admit that these
foreigners are occupying every pagoda on the planet,
strewing dope-stick butts and—"
"This is Voom season, Mr. Magnan," Rilikuk said
reasonably. "What could be more fitting?"
"Your concept of propriety confounds me. There are
fifty thousand of these fellows—and I have the distinct
impression they're planning an extended stay!"
"Very likely," Rilikuk agreed, twitching in time to
the music in the background. "And now, if you'll
excuse me . . ." The screen blanked.
Magnan threw up his hands. "I don't like it, Retief.
There's an aspect of this we're missing."
A chime sounded. The door opened and the Groaci
65

RETIEF AT LARGE
Fiss bustled in, breathing noisily under the weight of a
heavy briefcase.
"Ah, Mr. Magnan! So good of you to await me. I
have the papers here." He hoisted the case onto the
desk and undid stout straps. "I'm sure you'll find all in
order: Territorial claims, governmental charter, appli-
cation for League membership—"
"What's this?" Magnan scanned the heavy docu-
ments. "What are you saying sir? That Yale—that the
Groaci—that you—"
"Quite right," Fiss nodded. "This world is now
Groaci property."
There was a loud crash from the direction of the now
deserted street. Magnan swiveled, stared out at a band
of businesslike Groaci, hard at work on a shuttered
shop with pry-bars.
"What are they doing?" he yelped. "Mr. Fiss, order
those vandals away at once! The situation is getting out
of hand!"
"Not at all. Those chaps are merely following my
instructions. And now if you have any belongings you
wish to take along—"
"Eh? Belongings? I'm not going anywhere."
"Permit me to contradict you," Fiss hissed softly,
prodding a paper with a damp-looking finger. "This is
the eviction order. I find that this humble structure will
adequately fulfill my requirement for a field-office here
in the village."
"F-field office?"
' 'I expect we shall be busy here for a few days," Fiss
said. "Transferring useful items to our quarters," He
waved airily toward the sparkling towers beyond the
swamp.
66

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
"You're violating the Legation?" Magnan's eyes
bulged.
"There has been a change of status quo since my
arrival," Fiss pointed out. "No formal relations exist
between my government and the CDT. Therefore this is
merely an office, and you are unregistered aliens."
"This is an outrage!" Magnan sputtered. "I'm not
leaving!"
"So?" Fiss murmured. He stepped to the door,
opened it, waved in a quartet of bigger-than-average
Groaci.
"To intimidate the soft ones," he hissed in Groaci.
"To make threatening gestures."
Two of the newcomers stepped to Retief. He took
them casually by their thin necks, escorted them to the
window and tumbled them out. The second pair jumped
at him in time to meet a stiff-arm which slammed both
of them onto their backs. Fiss emitted a weak but
impassioned bleat.
"Unhand them, brute! These are lawfully appointed
bailiffs!"
Retief helped the stunned Groaci after their fellows
and took a step toward Fiss. The Tour Director
squeaked and darted through the door.
"Retief!" Magnan yelped. "Stop! After all, these
Papers—''
Retief gathered in the parchments, tossed them after
the intruders. The outraged face of Tour Director Fiss
appeared at the opening.
"Ruffians! Bandits! Our legal and just claim—"
"—isn't worth the plastic it's printed on," Retief
stated. "And if any more tourists wander into the
Legation I won't be so polite with them."
67

RETIEF AT LARGE
Fiss turned and made frantic gestures to the foraging
crew. "To enter and evict the madmen!" he hissed.
"To cast them forth bodily!"
The several dozen Groaci who had gathered moved
in a body toward the Legation door.
"I'm disappointed in you, Fiss," Retief said, shak-
ing his head sadly. "I thought you were going to
pretend that this was all perfectly legal, and here you
are about to violate a diplomatic mission in broad
daylight."
Fiss hesitated, then hissed an order to his men. They
halted.
"Very well, Soft One," he whispered. "What need
of force? Unlike the higher races, you require water at
frequent intervals, I believe. Since, alas, I cannot au-
thorize further deliveries through the village mains,
you will soon emerge to seek it. We will be waiting."
Magnan tottered to Retief's side. "Mr. Fiss," he
croaked. "This is madness! You can't possibly hope to
justify this outrageous seizure."
"On the contrary, Mr. Magnan," Fiss waved a fist-
ful of paper. "If you will re-read your Colonial Code,
Title Three, Section XI, paragraph 9b, you will find
that, and I quote, 'any planetary body lacking an in-
digenous culture may be considered as available for
homesteading by any Power covenant to these ar-
ticles.' "
"Surely, Fiss, you don't imply that Yale is uninhab-
ited! Great Heavens, the world is known throughout the
Sector for the beauty of its glass and ceramic work."
"I refer further to paragraph 12d, ibidem," Fiss
bored on, "which provides the following criteria for
determination of cultural level within the meaning of
68

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
the Code (a) an active, organized government compe-
tent to represent native interests; (b) a degree of social
organization characterized by cities of at least one
thousand inhabitants; and (c) individual or group I.Q.,
(as applicable) averaging .8 "standard" as evidenced
by GST Test scores.''
"Have you lost your wits?" Magnan cut in. "You're
standing in the midst of a Yalcan City! I deal daily with
representatives of the Yalcan government! As for
intelligence—"
''Inhabited city, Mr. Magnan, permit me to remind
you. Minimum population, one thousand individuals."
Fiss waved a hand at the empty street. "I see no
individuals here."
"But they're all away participating in a festival!"
"As for government," Fiss continued blandly, "I
have been totally unsuccessful in discovering any ac-
tive organization. I confess I have been unable to secure
a specimen of the local fauna for 1.0. Testing, but I feel
sure any such effort would be unrewarding."
"You deliberately timed this coup to take advantage
of local customs!" Magnan said in a shocked tone.
"The code will be amended, Fiss!"
The Groaci vibrated his throat sac, a contemptuous
gesture. ' 'Ex post facto legal manipulations can hardly
be expected to affect the present situation retroactively,
my dear Magnan."
Magnan clutched at the edge of the window. "Re-
tief," he gasped weakly. "This is insane, but I have a
sudden, awful conviction that he's legally on firm
ground."
"Of course," Fiss went on, "article 68 of the Code
expressly prohibits occupation by force of any world,
69

RETIEF AT LARGE
cultured or otherwise. However, since our arrival was
carried out in complete tranquility, this is hardly ger-
mane."
"The festival will be over tomorrow," Magnan
burst out. "What then?"
"Now that we have established legal possession of
this planet," Fiss whispered, "it will, of course, be
necessary to enforce the just laws which are even now
being enacted. To this end, certain arms are of course
necessary." He spat rapid Groacian at a trio of new-
comers in black hipcloaks, who silently produced
heavy particle-guns from sequinned holsters strapped
to their thighs.
"You aren't planning—violence?" Magnan gasped.
"Not against us!"
"As to that," Fiss whispered, "I was about to point
out that naturally, a formal request for diplomatic status
addressed to the present regime would, of course, re-
ceive consideration."
"Tour Director Fiss—" Magnan gulped.
"Planetary Coordinator Pro-Tern Fiss, if you
please," the Groaci hissed. "It is unfortunate that the
large Soft One acted in such haste, but I am prepared to
overlook the incident."
"Why, ah, very good of you, I'm sure, Pla—"
"You're out of luck, Fiss," Retief cut in. "You'll
have to conduct your piracy without CDT sanction."
Magnan tugged at Retief's sleeve. "Here, Retief!
This is hardly a time for truculence!"
"It's as good a time as any, Mr. Magnan. And
Minister Barnshingle might be irritated if he came back
and discovered that these squatters had been recognized
as a legal government."
70

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
Magnan groaned. "I . . .1 suppose you're right."
"So? But, no matter, Soft One," Fiss whispered.
"Why treat with underlings, eh? My scouts report a
party of terrestrials in difficulty on an awkward slope
some leagues from here. Doubtless the person
Barnshingle of whom you speak will be grateful for
relief. A timely rescue by selfless Groaci homesteaders
will establish a correct mood for initiation of formal
relations."
"The Minister's in trouble?" Magnan squeaked.
"He is at present dangling over a crevasse of awe-
some depth by a single strand of rope. Diplomat mus-
cles appear unequal to the task of drawing him up."
There was a rending crunch from a shop across the
plaza as a barred door collapsed under the impact of a
power ram. Swarms of Groaci were systematically
looting the stalls already opened, loading foodstuffs,
glassware and other merchandise into wheeled ve-
hicles.
"This is wholesale hijackery!" Magnan yelped.
"Open pillage! Highway robbery! You can't do this
without a license!"
"Curb your tongue, sir!" Fiss hissed. "I shall for a
while indulge your arrogant preemption of Groaci
Property out of sentimental respect for the niceties of
diplomatic usage, but I shall tolerate no insults!"
"Threats, Mr. Fiss?" Magnan choked.
"Call it whatyou will, Soft One, "Fiss said. "When
you are ready to acquiesce, send your word to me.
Meantime, leave this building at your peril!"
71

RETIEF AT LARGE
IV
Dusk had fallen. The sounds of shattering locks and
maneuvering vehicles continued in the streets outside.
Beyond the window, booted Groaci peace-keepers
paced monotonously, heavy blast guns at the ready.
Now and then, in a momentary lull, the sound of
Yalcan voices raised in song could be heard from the
bog, where torches flared, reflecting from the mirror-
dark waters. The two lesser moons were high in the sky
in their slow orbits; the third had risen above the hori-
zon and cast purple shadows across the floor of the
silent Legation office.
"It's nearly dark," Magnan muttered. "Retief,
perhaps I'd better accompany you. Fiss may change his
mind and batter the door down."
"He could come in through the window any time he
decided to," Retief said. "He's nicely bluffed for the
present, Mr. Magnan. And someone has to stay here to
maintain occupancy of the Legation."
"On second thought, I'm changing my instruc-
tions," Magnan said decisively. "You'd better not go.
After all, if Minister Barnshingle wishes to recognize
the coup, I see no reason—"
"I don't think the Minister will be reasoning at his
most lucid level while dangling over a precipice. And
there's also Miss Braswell to consider. She's out there
somewhere."
"Retief, you can't hope to find her without being
apprehended! The city is swarming with armed
Groaci!"
72

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
"I think I know the back streets better than they do.
I'll stay out of sight. If I can reach Barnshingle before
he signs anything, it may save a lot of embarrassment
all around."
"Retief, as Charge^—"
"Don't give me any instructions I can't follow, Mr.
Magnan," Retief took a hand-light from a desk drawer,
clipped it to his belt. "Just lie low and ignore whatever
Fiss says to you. I'll be back in a few hours."
Retief stepped from a doorless opening into the
shadows of a narrow alley running behind the Legation.
He waited until a knobkneed Groaci in an elaborate
helmet had strolled past the lighted intersection fifty
feet distant, then jumped, pulled himself up onto the
low, tiled roof of the adjacent building. In the light of
the rising fourth moon, he moved quietly to the far side,
lay flat looking down on a side street littered with items
discarded by the looters.
One or two windows showed lights. A single armed
Groaci stood under a corner street-lamp. Silently Retief
worked his way along the roofs, jumping gaps between
buildings, until he reached a narrow space leading back
into darkness a few yards from the corner. He groped,
found a chip of broken tile, tossed it down into the
alley.
The Groaci cocked his eyes alertly, swung his gun
around and came over to investigate, Retief tossed
down another pebble; as the sentry entered the dark
way, Retief dropped behind him, yanked him back-
Ward off his feet and caught the falling gun. He put the
muzzle against the Groaci's pulsating throat sac.
"Tell me where the Terry female is being held," he
73

RETIEF AT LARGE
growled, "and maybe I won't tie knots in your eye-
stalks."
"Iiiikkk!" the Groaci said. "To unhand me, de-
monic one!"
"Of course, you may not know," Retief said. "In
that case I'd have to regretfully kill you and strike up a
new acquaintance, which would be a nuisance for both
of us."
"The impropriety of assaulting an innocent tourist!
To lodge a complaint with the Travellers Aid Society!"
"No, that was this morning," Retief corrected his
prisoner. "This afternoon you're a peaceful home-
steader. You can think of me as an unpacified
aborigine, if it will help any." He jabbed with the gun.
"Make up your mind. I'm on a tight schedule."
"The ghastliness of your fate," the Groaci hissed.
"Well, I have to hurry along," Retief said. "Pardon
my thumbs; shooting is such a messy business, and
noisy, too."
' 'To restrain yourself, prowler in the night! To show
you the way to the Soft She—and to savor the moment
when you writhe on the hooks!"
"That's right," Retief said agreeably. "Think about
something cheerful." He prodded the captive guard to
his feet. "In the meantime—" he switched to
Groaci—' 'to play your cards right and maybe to live to
see the dawn."
In a shadowy arcade running beside a rare two-story
structure, Retief studied the dark windows in the wall
opposite. Faint light gleamed behind two of the glass-
less openings.
"I'll have to leave you here, I'm afraid, Tish,"
Retief said softly. "I'll just pop you into one of these
74

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
convenient garbage storage units. They have nicely
fitted airtight doors, but you'll be all right for an hour or
so. If your information is accurate, with luck I'll be
back in plenty of time to let you out before you suffo-
cate. Of course, if anything happens to delay me—
well, that's just the little risk we have to run, eh?"
"To . . .to try the rear window first," Tish whis-
pered.
"Whatever you say." Retief opened the door to the
refuse bin and urged the Groaci inside. The alien
clinched his olfactory sphincters tight and perched dis-
consolately on a heap of fruit rinds, locust carapaces
and pottery shards, his head ducked under the low
ceiling.
"To remember this trusting one," he said shakily.
"To carefully avoid being killed before returning to
release me."
"With a motivation like that, I'm sure to survive."
Retief clamped the door shut, looked both ways, and
darted across the street.
The wall tiles were deeply incised with decorative
floral motifs. He found finger and toeholds, climbed
quickly to the level of the windows, eased through into
a dark room. He paused to listen; there were faint
Groaci voices somewhere. In the dim-lit hall, they were
more distinct. He moved silently along to the nearest
room. The door opened at a touch.
Miss Braswell jumped up from a long, low Yalcan
couch, her mouth open for a scream, cut off as she
recognized Retief in the gloom.
"Why—Mr. Retief!"
"Shhh." He crossed to her. A length of rope was
tied firmly to her ankle and looped around a massive
75

RETIEF AT LARGE
clay sculpture. She was barefooted, and her brown hair
was in a state of mild disarray; there was a streak of dirt
along one cheek.
"What in the world is it all about?" she whispered.
"I was just about to buy the darlingest hand-decorated
chamber pot when all of a sudden a whole bunch of
these nasty little creatures popped out of nowhere wav-
ing their eyes at me."
"How many are in the building now?" Retief at-
tacked the heavy knots in the rope.
"Heavens, I have no idea. It's been pretty quiet for
the last hour." She giggled. "That tickles. I tried to
untie it, but I only broke a fingernail."
The knot yielded and Retief tossed the rope aside.
"Do you feel equal to a short climb?"
Miss Braswell came close to Retief. "Whatever you
say, Mr. Retief," she murmured.
"Where are your shoes?"
' 'I kept kicking them when they were tying me up, so
they took them. Ugh! Those creepy, damp hands!"
"If we should get separated, head for the Legation.
Mr. Magnan is holding the fort."
"You mean—these awful little Groaci are there,
too?"
' 'Haven' t you heard? They 're colonizing the place.''
"Why, the nerve!"
There was a sudden hiss of nearby voices. Retief
flattened himself against the wall just inside the door.
Miss Braswell whirled and sat on the chaise-lounge.
There was the soft clap of Groaci feet. A small figure
stepped into the room.
"Ah, young woman," a soft Groaci voice hissed.
"Time to be going along."
76

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
"Where?" the girl demanded loudly.
"To more comfortable quarters in more attractive
surroundings."
"If it wasn't so ridiculous, I'd think you were on the
make, you sticky little monster. Keep away from me!''
"You mammals are all alike," the Groaci whis-
pered. ' 'But it's pointless to flaunt those ugly objects at
me, my girl." Two more Groaci had followed the first,
who signalled. "To make fast its arms," he snapped.
"To mind its talons—"
Miss Braswell jumped up and swung an open-
handed slap that sent the flimsy alien reeling back;
Retief stepped quickly behind the other two, cracked
their heads together sharply, thrust them aside and
chopped a hand across the leader's neck.
"Time to go," he breathed. At the window, he
glanced out, then swung a leg over the sill. "It's easy;
just hang on with your toes."
Miss Braswell giggled again. "It's so sort of sexy,
being barefooted, isn't it?"
"That depends on what's attached to the feet," Re-
tief said. "Hurry up, now. We're in enemy territory."
"Mr. Retief," she said from above, "Do youthinkl
flaunt my ah . . ."
"Certainly not, Miss Braswell. They flaunt them-
selves."
There was a sudden drumming from the shadows of
the arcade across the way.
"It just occurred to my friend Tish to use a little
initiative," Retief called softly. He dropped to the
street a few feet below. "Jump—I'll catch you."
The thumping continued. Miss Braswell squealed
and let go, slammed against Retief s chest. He set her
77

RETIEF AT LARGE
on her feet. "The Groaci have good ears. Come on!"
They dashed for the nearest dark alley as a squad of
armed Groaci Peace-keepers rounded a corner. There
was a weak shout, a clatter of accoutrements as the four
aliens broke into a run. Gripping Miss Braswell's hand,
Retief dashed along the narrow way. Ahead, a wall
loomed, blocking the passage. They skidded to a halt,
turned to face the oncoming pursuers.
"Get to the roof," Retief snapped. "I'll slow them
down!"
Between Retief and the Groaci, a six foot long grat-
ing set in the pavement suddenly dropped open with a
clank of metal. The leading Groaci, coming on at a
smart clip, plunged over the edge, followed an instant
later by the second. Retief brought his light up, shone it
in the eyes of the other two as the third runner reached
the pitfall, dropped from sight. As the last of the four
faltered, sensing something amiss, the long, sinuous
form of a Yalcan native glided from a door set in the
wall, gave the Groaci a hearty push, dusted both sets of
hands, and inclined its head in a gracious nod.
"Ah, Retief-Tic—and Braswell-Ticcim! What jolly
surprise! Please do honor to enter humble abode for
refreshing snort before continuing!"
"Nice timing, Oo-Plif," Retief said. "I thought
you'd be off to the festival by now."
The Yalcan reached inside the door, fumbled. The
grating swung back in place. "I was busy with brisk
trade when Five-eyes arrive," he explained. "Decide
stick around to keep eye on store. Plenty time make
scene at bog yet."
Miss Braswell shuddered as she crossed the grate.
"What's down there?"
78

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
"Only good honest sewage, nice change for Five-
eyes. After brisk swim, fetch up in bog, join in
merry-making."
"I thought you Yalcans were pacifists," Retief
commented, stepping inside a roughly finished passage
running parallel with the outer wall of the building.
"All Yalcan love peace. More peaceful now noisy
Five-eyes enjoying swim. Besides, only open drain
cover; visitors dive in of own free will."
"I had the impression you helped that last fellow
along."
"Always try to be helpful when possible. Listen,
you want to talk, or want snort?"
They followed Oo-Plif along interior passages to
emerge behind the bar of the darkened dram-shop, took
seats at a low bench and accepted elaborate glasses of
aromatic liquor.
"Oo-Plif, I'd appreciate it if you'd see Miss Bras-
well back to the Legation," Retief said. "I have to
leave town on an urgent errand."
"Better stay close, Retief-Tic. Come along to bog in
time for high point of Voom festival. Only couple
hours now."
"I have an errand to run first, Oo-Plif. I've been
delegated to find Minister Barnshingle and notify him
that the Legation's under siege and that he shouldn't
sign anything without reading the fine print."
"Barnshingle-Tic-Tic? Skinny Terran with receding
lower mandible and abdomen like queen ripe with
eggs?"
"Graphically put, Oo-Plif. He's supposed to be
hanging around a mountain somewhere, if the Groaci
haven't yet swooped down to the rescue."
79

RETIEF AT LARGE
Oo-Plif was wobbling his head, now enameled in
orange and green holiday colors, in the Yalcan gesture
of affirmation.
"Barnshingle-Tic-Tic here in city at present mo-
ment. Arrive half-hour ago amid heavy escort of Five-
eyes."
"Hmmm. That simplifies matters, perhaps. I was
expecting to have to steal a Groaci heli and hunt him
down in the wilds. Did he seem to be a prisoner,
Oo-Plif?"
"Hard to say, not get too good look. Busy helping
Five-eyes find way to bog."
"Via the sewer, I take it?"
"Sure; plenty gratings round town. Must be fifty
Five-eyes in swim now; plenty company."
"Are you sure they can swim?"
"Details, details," Oo-Plif said soothingly. "You
want to go now, pay visit to Barnshingle-Tic-Tic?"
"As soon as Miss Braswell's taken care of."
"I'm going with you," the girl said quickly. "I
wouldn't dream of missing the excitement."
V
"This system of hidden passages is certainly
handy," Retief said. "How much farther?"
' 'Close now. Not really hidden passages; just space
in double walls. Yalcan like build plenty strong."
They emerged into another of the innumerable alleys
that characterized the town, crossed it, entered another
door. Oo-Plif cautioned silence. "Place swarm with
80

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
Five-eyes. We sneak up and get lie of land, find way of
rescue Barnshingle-Tic-Tic from rescuers."
Five minutes later, crowded into a narrow, dusty
passage in the heart of the sprawling building, Retief
heard the booming tones of Barnshingle's voice near-
by, and the breathy reply of a Groaci.
"Opening in back of closet just ahead," Oo-Plif
whispered. "Get earful of proceedings there."
Retief edged forward. Through the half-open closet
door he caught a glimpse of Minister Barnshingle
seated awkwardly in a low Yalcan easy chair, dressed
in dusty hiking clothes. Half a dozen Groaci in vari-
colored mufti surrounded him.
"—an exceedingly hairy experience, to be sure,"
Barnshingle was saying. ' 'Most gratifying to see your
heli appear, Drone-master Fiss. But I don't quite grasp
the import of the present situation. Not that I'm
suggesting that I'm being held against my will, you
understand, but I really must hurry back to my office."
"No need for haste, Mr. Minister," Fiss reassured
him. "Everything has been conducted with scrupulous
regard for legality, I assure you."
' 'But there seemed to be hundreds of your ... ah
• . . esteemed compatriots about in the streets,"
Barnshingle pressed on. "And I had the distinct im-
pression that there were a number of highly irregular
activities in progress."
"You refer perhaps to the efforts of some of our
People to remove certain obstacles?"
"Breaking down doors, to be precise," Barnshingle
said a trifle shappishly. "As well as hauling away
wagon-loads of merchandise from shops the owners of
which appeared to be absent."
81

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Ah, yes, impulse buying. Hardly consonant with
domestic thrift. But enough of this delightful gossip,
Mr. Minister. The matter I wished to discuss with you
. . ." Fiss gave the Minister a glowing account of his
peaceful takeover, citing chapter and verse each time
the astounded diplomat attempted to rumble a pro-
test.
"And, of course," he finished, "I wished to ac-
quaint your Excellency with the facts before permitting
you to be subjected to ill-advised counsel by hot-
heads."
"B-but, great heavens, Drone-master—"
"Planetary Coordinator Pro Tem," Fiss interjected
smoothly. "Now, I shall, of course, be happy to in-
spect your credentials at once in order to regularize
relations between the Corps and my government."
"My credentials? But I've presented my credentials
to Mr. Rillikuk of the Foreign Office!"
"This is hardly the time to reminisce over vanished
regimes, Mr. Minister. Now—" Fiss leaned forward
confidentially—"you and I are, if I may employ the
term, men of the world. Not for us the fruitless expense
of emotional energy over the fait accompli, eh? As for
myself, I am most eager to show you around my offices
in the finest of the towers of my capital-."
"Towers? Capital?"
"The attractive edifices just beyond the swampy
area where the local wildlife are now disporting them-
selves," Fiss explained. "I have assigned—"
"You've violated the native Sanctum Sanctorum?"
Barnshingle gasped.
"An unfortunate choice of words," Fiss hissed.
82

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
"Would you have me establish my ministries here in
this warren of huts?"
"The Yalcans—" Barnshingle said weakly.
"The name of the planet is now Grudlu," Fiss
stated. "In honor of Grud, the patron Muse of practical-
ity."
"Look here, Fiss! Are you asking me to turn my
back on the Yalcans and recognize you as the de jure
government here? Simply on the basis of this absurd
legalistic rationalization of yours?"
"With the exception of a number of slanted adjec-
tives, very succinctly put," Fiss whispered.
"Why in the world would I do a dastardly thing like
that?" Barnshingle demanded.
"Why, good for him," Miss Braswell breathed be-
hind Retief.
"Ah, yes, terms," Fiss said comfortably. "First,
your mission would, of course, be raised at once to
Embassy level, at Grudlun insistence, with yourself
requested by name as Ambassador, naturally. Sec-
ondly, I have in mind certain local commercial proper-
ties which might make a valuable addition to your
portfolio. I can let you in at investor's prices. The entire
transaction to be conducted with the utmost discretion,
of course, so as not to arouse comment among the
coarse-minded. Then, of course, you'll wish to select a
handsome penthouse for yourself in one of my more
exclusive towers . . ."
' 'Penthouse? Ambassador? Portfolio?'' Barnshingle
babbled.
"I marvel at the patience your Excellency has dis-
played in tolerating the thinly veiled insult implied in
83

RETIEF AT LARGE
your assignment to grubby quarters in this kennel,"
Fiss commented. "Why a person could disappear in
this maze of old crockery and never be heard from
again."
"Disappear?" Barnshingle croaked. "And wha—
what if I refuse?"
"Refuse? Please, Mr. Minister—or more properly,
Mr. Ambassador—why release the fowl of fancy to
flutter among such morbid trees of speculation?"
"What about my staff? Will—"
"Suitable bribes will be offered," Fiss whispered
crisply.' 'Pray don't give it another thought. All surviv-
ing members of the Mission will present a united
front—with the exception of the two criminals now
sulking in the former Legation, of course," he added.
"Magnan? Why, he's one of my most reliable
men!"
"Perhaps something could be managed in the case of
Mr. Magnan, since you express an interest. As for the
other—he will return to Groac to stand trial for assorted
crimes against the peace and dignity of the Groacian
state."
"I really must protest—" Barnshingle said weakly.
"Your Excellency's loyalty is most touching. And
now, if you'd just care to sign here." An underling
handed Fiss a document which he passed to
Barnshingle.
"Why, the old phoney!" Miss Braswell gasped.
"He's going to do it!"
"It's time to break this up," Retief whispered to
Oo-Plif. "I'll take care of Fiss; you hit the others."
"On contrary, Retief-Tic," the Yalcan replied.
84

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
"Most improper to interfere with natural course of
events."
"Maybe you don't understand; Barnshingle's about
to-sign away your rights to Yale. By the time you drag it
through the courts and recover, you may all be dead.
The Groaci are zealous in the field of wildlife control.''
"No matter. We Yalcans pacifistic folk. Not like
butt in," Oo-Plif said quietly.
"In that case, I'll have to do it alone. You'll take care
of Miss Braswell—''
' 'No, not even alone, dear Retief-Tic. Not in spirit of
Yalcan Pacifism." Something hard prodded Retief's
chest; he looked down at the power gun in Oo-Plif s
lower right hand.
"Why, you old stinker," Miss Braswell said. "And
I thought you were sweet!"
"Hope soon to recoup good opinion, Braswell-
Ticcim," Oo-Plif said. "Now silence, please."
In the room, Barnshingle and Fiss were making
congratulatory noises at each other.
"Matter of fact," Barnshingle said, "I never felt
these Yalcans were ready for self-government .I'm sure
your wardship will be just what they need."
"Please—no meddling in internal affairs," Fiss
said. "And now let us away to more appropriate sur-
roundings. Just wait until you see the view from your
new suite, Mr. Ambassador . . ." They departed,
chattering.
"Well, you've had your way, Oo-Plif," Retief said.
"Your pacifism has a curiously spotty quality. Just
why do you object to preventing our unfortunate Minis-
ter from making an idiot of himself?"
85

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Forgive use of weapon, Retief-Tic. Foolishness of
Barnshingle Tic-Tic-Tic not important."
"He's a three-tic man now?"
"Promotion just received at hands of Five-eyes.
Now away to bog, all buddies together, eh?"
' 'Where's the rest of Barnshingle's staff? They were
together on the crater-viewing expedition?"
"All tucked away in house few alleys from here.
Better get wiggle on now. Climax of festival arrive
soon."
"Good night, does your silly old carnival mean more
to you than your own planet?" Miss Braswell de-
manded.
"Voom festival of great national importance,"
Oo-Plif stated, opening and closing his bony mandibles
like the two halves of a clam—a mannerism indicating
polite amusement.
Following the Yalcan's instructions, Retief
squeezed through narrow passages, found his way out
into the inevitable dark alley, Miss Braswell's hand
holding tightly to his. The sounds of looters and their
vehicles had diminished to near-silence now. A turbine
growled along a nearby street, going away. They came
out into a side street, surveyed the deserted pavement,
the scattered discards of the Groaci homesteaders.
Above the low roof-lines, the mile-distant towers of the
shrine were a blaze of gorgeous light.
"It looks so pretty, all lit up," Miss Braswell said.
"I'm just amazed that you'd let those nasty little Groaci
walk in and take it all away from you."
Oo-Plif laughed, a sound like sand in a bearing.
"Towers tributes to deities. Fate of towers in deities'
hands now."
86

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
"Hmmmph. They could have used a little help from
you," Miss Bras well sniffed.
"Looks like the new owners have cleared out for
now," Retief said. "All over at the towers, throwing a
party in honor of Independence Day."
"Time go to dandy hot bog," Oo-Plif said. "Big
event soon now."
Moving briskly along the empty street under the light
of the fourth moon, now high in the sky, they reached
the corner. Down the wider cross-avenue, the flaring
torches of the revelers at the bog sparkled cheerfully.
The faint sound of Yalcan voices raised in song were
audible in the stillness.
"Just what is this big event we're hurrying to
make?" Retief enquired.
Oo-Plif indicated the large satellite overhead.
"When number four moon reach position ten degrees
west of zenith—Voom!"
"Oh, astrological symbolism."
"Not know big word. Only one time every ninety-
four years standard all four moon line up. When this
happen—Voom!"
"Voom," Retief said. "Just what does the word
signify?"
"Fine old Yalcan word," Oo-Pliff said. "Terry
equivalent . . . uminm . . ."
"Probably untranslatable."
Oo-Plif snapped the fingers of his upper left hand.
"I remember," he said. "Mean 'earthquake!' "
Retief stopped dead.
"You did say—'earthquake?' "
"Correct, Retief-Tic."
Retief's left fist slammed out in a jack-hammer
87

RETIEF AT LARGE
punch to the Yalcan's midriff plates. The tall creature
ooffed, coiled into a ball, all four legs scrabbling, the
four arms groping wildly.
"Sorry, pal," Retief muttered, catching up the
power gun. "No time to argue." He grabbed Miss
Braswell's hand and started off at a dead run down the
deserted street toward the towering castle of light.
VI
They skidded to a halt at a gleam from an opening
door ahead. A pipe stem-legged Groaci hurried from a
building, a bulging sack over one knobby shoulder. A
second helmeted looter trotted behind, lugging a hand-
some ten-gallon spittoon.
"They've got a heli," Retief said softly. "We need
it. Wait here."
Miss Braswell clutched his hand even tighter. "I'm
scared!"
The two scavengers were clambering into their dark
machine now. Running lights sprang into diamond
brilliance. Turbos whirred. Retief disengaged his hand,
ran across the thirty feet of open pavement and jumped,
just as the heli lifted. There were faint, confused cries
from the startled Groaci. One fumbled out a power rifle
in time for Retief to jerk it from his grasp, toss it over
the side. The heli canted wildly, narrowly missing a
decorated cornice. Retief got a grip on a bony neck,
propelled the owner over the side, heard a faint yelp as
he hit. An instant later, the second followed. Retief
caught the controls, brought the heli around in a tight
turn, dropped it in beside Miss Braswell.
88

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
' 'Oh! I was afraid it was you that fell overboard, Mr.
Retief!" She scrambled up beside him, lent a hand to
tumble the gaboon out to smash thunderously on the
tiles. On a nearby roof, the two dispossessed Groaci
keened softly, like lost kittens. The heli jumped off,
lifted swiftly past them and headed for the glass towers.
The city of glass spread over forty acres, a crystalline
fantasy of towers, minarets, fragile balconies sus-
pended over space, diaphanous fretwork, airy walk-
ways spun like spiderwebs between slim spires ablaze
with jewel-colored light. Retief brought the heli in
high, settled in a stomach-lifting swoop toward the
tallest of the towers.
"Miss Braswell, you can operate this thing, can't
you?"
"Sure, I'm a good driver, but—"
Retief threw the drive into autohover three feet above
a tiny terrace clinging to the spire. "Wait here. I'll be
back as soon as I can. If anybody else shows up, get out
of here fast and head for the bog!"
"The ... the bog?"
"It's the safest place around when the quake hits!"
He was over the side, across the five-foot wide shelf of
water-clear glass, and through an opening arched with
intertwined glass vines hung with sparkling scarlet and
purple berries. A narrow stair wound down, debouch-
ing into a round chamber walled with transparent mu-
rals depicting gardens in the sun. Through the glass,
lighted windows in the next tower were visible, and
beyound, the silhouettes of half a dozen Groaci and a
tall, paunchy Terrestrial.
Retief found more stairs, leaped down them, whirled
through an archway of trellised glass flowers. A narrow
89

RETIEF AT LARGE
crystal ribbon arched across the void to the lighted entry
opposite. He pulled off his shoes, crossed the bridge in
five quick steps.
Voices were audible above, and dark shadows
moved on the pebble-glass ceiling. Retief went up,
caught a brief glimpse of five richly draped Groaci
under an ornate chandelier, fingering elaborate Yalcan
wine glasses and clustering about the stooping, chinless
figure of Minister Barnshingle.
"—pleasure to deal with realists like yourselves,"
the diplomat was saying. "Pity about the natives, of
course, but as you pointed out, a little discipline—"
Retief knocked two Groaci spinning, caught
Barnshingle by the arm, slopping his drink over the
crimson cuff of his mess jacket.
"We've got to go—fast, Mr. Minister! Explanations
later!"
Fiss hissed orders; two Groaci darted away and
another rushed in to be stiff-armed. Barnshingle
choked, spluttered, jerked free. His face had turned an
unflattering shade of purple.
"What's the meaning of this outburst?"
"Sorry, Mr. Minister." Retief rammed a clean right
cross to Barnshingle's jaw, caught the diplomat as he
folded, stooped to hoist the weight to his shoulders, and
ran for the door.
Suddenly Groaci were everywhere. Two bounced
aside from Retief's rush; another ducked, swung a
power gun up, fired just as Fiss leaped in and knocked
his hand aside.
"To endanger the bloated one," he hissed—and
went over backwards as Retief slammed him aside. A
helmeted Groaci Peace-keeper tackled Retief from be-
90

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
hind; he paused to kick him across the room, bowling
over others. A blaster bolt rubbled glass above his
head. The air hissed with weak Groaci shouts as Retief
plunged down stairs. Behind him, there was a terrific
crash; over his shoulder he caught a glimpse of glass
chips showering from a fallen chandelier. He was at the
bridge now; Barnshingle groaned and flapped his arms
feebly. Retief stepped onto the narrow span, felt it sway
under his weight. He took two steps, put a foot over the
edge, teetered—
There was a crystalline tinkle, and a ten-foot spear of
canary-yellow glass fell past him. He caught his bal-
ance, took another step, wobbled as the bridge quiv-
ered, leaped clear as the glass shattered into ten
thousand glittering shards that sparkled as they fell.
He went up stairs three at a time. A sudden lurch
threw him against the wall, where mosaic glass figures
depicted glass blowers at work. A huge chunk of the
scene fell backwards, letting in a gust of cool night air.
Retief scrambled for footing, went up, felt a glass slab
drop from underfoot as he gained the terrace. Wind beat
down from the heli, hovering a few yards distant. The
sparkling tower that had loomed nearby was gone. A
sustained crashing, as of nearby surf, drowned the
heli's turbos.
Retief lowered Barnshingle, now pawing weakly
and blinking vague eyes, half lifted, half shoved him
into the rear seat.
"Hurry, Mr. Retief! It's going!" The noise was
deafening now. Retief grasped a strut to pull himself
UP, and suddenly he was hanging by one hand, his feet
treading air. The heli surged, lifting. He looked down.
The tower was dropping away below, a cloud of vari-
91

RETIEF AT LARGE
colored glass splinters puffing out as the upper stories
thundered down into the depths. A slender sapphire
spire, thrusting up almost alone now, rippled like a
dancer, then broke into three major fragments and
dropped gracefully from view. Retief hauled himself
up, got a foot inside the heli, pulled himself into the
seat.
"Mr. Retief, you're bleeding." He put a hand up,
felt slickness across his cheek.
' 'A lot of splinters flying around. It was a little too
close—"
"Mr. Retief!" Miss Braswell worked frantically at
the controls. "We're losing altitude!"
There was a harsh droning noise. Retief looked back.
A heavy armored heli with Groaci markings was drop-
ping toward them.
"Make for the bog!" Retief called over the racket.
There was a buzz, and garish light glared across the
struts above Retief's head, bubbling paint.
"Hang on!" Miss Braswell shouted. "Evasive ac-
tion!" The heli tilted, whipped up in the opposite
direction, spun, dropped like a stone, darted ahead.
The futile buzzing of theGroaci's blaster rattled around
the faltering vehicle.
"Can't do much more of that," Miss Braswell
gasped. "Losing altitude too fast."
A vast, dark shadow flitted overhead.
"We're sunk," Miss Braswell squeaked. "Another
one—"
There was a flare of actinic blue from above and
behind, followed by a muffled clatter. Retief caught a
glimpse of the Groaci heli, its rotors vibrating wildly,
falling away behind them. Something huge and
92

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
shadowy swept toward them from the rear in a rising
whistle of air.
"Get set," Retief called. He brought up the blaster
he had taken from Oo-Plif, steadied his hand against the
heli—
The shadow dropped close; the running lights of the
heli gleamed on thirty-foot canopies of translucent
tracery spread wide above a seven-foot body. Oo-Plif's
gaily painted face beamed down at them. He floated on
spread wings, arms and legs folded close.
"Ah. Retief-Tic! Punch in thorax hasten metamor-
phis. Got clear of chrysalis just in time!"
"Oo-Plif!" Retief yelled. "What are you doing
here?"
"Follow to warn you, dear buddy! Not want you to
meet gods in lousy company like crowd of Five-eyes!
Now on to bog for festivities!"
Below, the torch-lit surface of the swamp rushed up.
Miss Braswell braked, threw herself intoRetief's arms
as the battered heli struck with a massive splatter at the
edge of the mud. Painted Yalcan faces bobbed all
around.
"Welcome, strangers!" voices called. "Just in time
for fun!"
vn
Barnshingle was groaning, holding his head.
"What am I doing here, hip-deep in mud?" he
demanded. 4 'Where's Magnan? What happened to that
fellow Fiss?"
93

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Mr. Magnan is coming now, Miss Braswell said.
"You bumped your head."
"Bumped my head? I seem to recall—"
Someone floundered up, gasping and waving
skinny, mud-caked arms.
"Mr. Minister! These primitives dragged me bodily
from the street!"
"I thought you were going to stay inside the Lega-
tion," Retief said.
"I was merely conducting a negotiation," Magnan
huffed. "What are you doing here, Retief—and Miss
Braswell!"
"What were you negotiating for? A private apart-
ment just below the Ambassadorial penthouse?"
"Wha—whatever's happened?" Barnshingle burst
out. "Where's the shrine gone?" He stared across at
the glowing heap that marked the site of the fallen
towers.
"It seems to have—ah—been offered to the local
deities," Magnan said. "It seems to be the custom."
"And all those nasty little bug-eyes with it," Miss
Braswell put in.
"Really, Miss Braswell! I must ask you to avoid the
use of racial epithets!"
"It's really too bad about the towers; they were
awfully pretty."
Oo-Plif, perched like a vast moth on a near-
by tree-fern spoke up. "Is okay. Re-use glass. Make
plenty bowl and pot from fragments."
' 'But—what about all those Groaci mixed in with the
pieces?"
"Impurities make dandy colors," Oo-Plif assured
her.
94

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT
"My jaw," Barnshingle grated. "How did I fall and
hit my jaw?"
"Retief-Tic arrive in nick of time to snatch you from
sacrificial pile. Probably bump chin in process."
"What in the world were you doing there, Mr.
Minister?" Magnan gasped. "You might have been
killed."
"Why, ah, I was trepanned there by the Groaci.
Quite against my will, of course. They . . . ah . . .
had some fantastic proposal to make. I was just on the
point of daring them to do their worst when you ap-
peared, Retief. After that, my recollection grows a bit
hazy."
"These head-blows often have retroactive effects,"
Retief said. "I'll wager you don't recall a thing that was
said from the time they picked you off that perilous
mountain."
"Don't remember? Why, I have perfect recall—"
"It's even possible that Oo-Plif has forgotten some
of the things he overheard—about penthouses and
gilt-edge stocks." Retief went on. "Maybe it was the
excitement generated by your announcement that Yale
will be getting some large shipments of fine gray silica
sand fromGroac suitable for glass-making', courtesy of
the CDT."
"Announcement?" Barnshingle gulped.
"The one you're going to make tomorrow," Retief
suggested very gently.
"Oh . . . that one," the Minister said weakly.
"Time to go along now to next phase of celebra-
tion," Oo-Plif called from his perch.
"How jolly," Magnan said. "Come along, Mr.
Minister."
95

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Not you, Magnan-Tic, and Barnshingle Tic-Tic,"
Oo-Plif said. Mating rites no place for elderly drones.
You scheduled for cosy roost in thorn-tree as ceremo-
nial penitence for follies of youth."
"What about us?" Miss Braswell asked breath-
lessly.
"Oh, time for you to get busy on youthful follies, so
have something to repent later!"
"You said . . . mating rite. Does that
mean .-..?"
"Vomm festival merely provide time, place and
member of opposite gender," Oo-Pliff said. "Rest up
to you!"
96

WICKER WONDERLAND
I
CONSUL-GENERAL MAGNAN clutched his baggy
chartreuse velvet beret against the blast of air from the
rotor of the waiting heli and beckoned Retief closer.
"I'll be candid with you, Retief," he said from the
side of his mouth. "I'm not at all happy about leaving
you here as deputy chief under a Groaci superior. The
combination of unpredictable elements is an open invi-
tation to disaster."
"I've never known disaster to wait for an invitation,
where our Groaci colleagues were concerned," Retief
commented.
"Naturalizing a Groaci was irregular enough in it-
self," Magnan went on. "Tendering him an appoint-
ment in the Corps smacks of folly."
"Don't underestimate the boys at headquarters,"
Retief said cheerfully. "Maybe this is just the first step
ln a shrewd scheme to take over Groac."
"Nonsense! No one at HO would want to go on
97

RETIEF AT LARGE
record as favoring such a policy . . ." Magnan looked
thoughtful. "Besides, what does Groac have that we
need?"
"Their cast-iron gall would be a valuable
acquisition—but I'm afraid that's the sort of intangible
that will elude the wiliest diplomacy."
Magnan pursed his lips. "Take care, Retief. If any-
thing goes awry, I'll hold you fully responsible." The
senior diplomat turned to the other staff members wait-
ing nearby on the tower-top helipad, moved among
them shaking hands, then scrambled into the heli. It
lifted and beat its way eastward against a backdrop of
vermillion-bellied clouds in a sky of luminous violet.
Behind Retief, the voice of Vice-Consul Wimperton
rose to a shrill bark.
"No want um basket! No need um beads! Want um
heavy metal, you blooming idiot!"
Retief turned. A short-legged, long-torsoed local
draped in a stiff lime-green garment stood round-
shouldered before the Commercial Attache, dwarfed
under a load of fancifully beaded baskets.
"No want um?" the Poon enquired in a voice that
seemed to thrum in his chest. "Plenty too cheap—"
' 'Nobody want um! How many times do I have to tell
you, you bug-eyed—"
A curtain twitched aside from a narrow doorway; a
spindle-legged Groaci in Bermuda shorts, argyle socks
and a puce and magenta aloha shirt peered out.
"Mr. Wimperton," he said faintly, "I must request
that you refrain from abusing the locals so loudly. I
have a splitting headache."
The deck lifted, creaking, and sank gently back. The
Groaci put a hand against his midriff and clutched the
98

WICKER WONDERLAND
doorframe. His name was Dools. He was new in his
post—as well as in his citizenship.
"My, that was a dandy," Wimperton said. "Felt
like my stomach came right up and bumped my chin!"
"I'm sure we're all aware of the motion, Mr. Wim-
perton. All too aware," Dools whispered.
"Say, you don't look at all well, Mr. Consul-
General," Wimperton said solicitously. "It's this con-
stant rocking, up and down, to and fro. You can never
tell which way the tower will lean next."
"Yes, yes, a penetrating observation, Mr. Wimper-
ton." The Consul-General tilted two eye-stalks toward
Retief. "If you'd step inside a moment, Mr. Retief?"
He held the curtain aside, let it drop behind Retief.
Late sunlight filtering through the open-work walls
of the Consulate splashed a checkered pattern across
colorful rugs of kelp fiber, low couches, desks and
chairs of woven wicker work. Consul-General Dools
looked at Retief nervously.
"Mr. Retief," he said in his faint voice. "Now that
our previous chief, Mr. Magnan, has departed, I, of
course, find myself in charge." He paused while the
floor lifted and sank; his eye-stalks waved sickeningly.
"As a newcomer, perhaps you've noticed certain
• . . oh . . . irregularities in our little organization
here." Four of his eyes studied different corners of the
room. Retief said nothing.
"I wished merely to caution you: It would be unwise
to evince excessive curiosity . . ."
Retief waited. The tower leaned to the steady pres-
sure of the rising gale. The floor slanted. Consul-
General Dool clung to a desk, his throat-sacs vibrat-
ing.
99

RETIEF AT LARGE
"There are many ways," he started, "in which
accidents could befall one here."
The floor sagged, rose abruptly. Dools gulped,
threw Retief a last despairing glance and fled as Wim-
perton came in, still muttering. He looked after the
departing Groaci.
' 'Consul-General Dools isn't a very good sailor," he
commented. "Of course, in the week you've been
here, you haven't seen a real blow yet—"
The native peddler poked his round head through the
door hanging, padded across the room on large, bare
webbed feet and paused before Retief.
"You want um basket?" The round, amber-and-
olive patterned face gazed hopefully at him.
"I'll take that one," Retief said in the native lan-
guage, pointing.
The wide lipless mouth stretched wide in the local
equivalent of a delighted grin.
"A sale! I was beginning to think you High-
Pockets—excuse me, sir—you Terries were tighter
than weed-ticks in a belly-button." He lowered his
wares, extracted the basket.
"You shouldn't encourage him," Wimperton said
snappishly. "For months I've been indoctrinating him
to bring in some gold nuggets. The land-masses are
practically solid with them—but no, they build their
town on a raft of seaweed in mid-ocean and weave
baskets!"
"They evolved in the weed," Retief said mildly.
"And if they lifted the embargo on gold, in six months
the planet would be swarming with prospectors, dump-
ing their tailings into the ocean. They like it the way it
is."
100

WICKER WONDERLAND
The Poon caught Retief's eyes, jerked his head to-
ward the doorway, then ducked out through the door
hanging.
Retief waited half a minute, then rose lazily and
stepped out on the wide observation deck.
All around, lesser towers, intricately patterned, rose
from the miles-long mat of yellow-green seaweed far
below, moving restlessly with the long ocean swells.
Sea fowl with weed-colored backs and sky-blue under-
sides wheeled and screamed. Between the swaying
pinnacles, a spiderweb complex of catwalks swung in
hundred-yard festoons. A continuous creaking of rattan
filled the air. Far away, the white-flecked surface of the
open sea was visible.
Retief crossed to where the Poon waited by the
stairwell entry.
"You seem like a good fellow," the peddler said as
Retief came up. "So I'll give you some free advice."
He glanced around at the color-drenched sky.
"There'll be a Big Blow tonight. Get down below—
don't waste any time." He hitched at his load of baskets
and turned to the stairs. ' 'And don't bother to tell those
clowns." He jerked his head toward the Consular of-
fices. "They're bad medicine." He bobbed his head
and was gone.
Retief threw a sharp glance at the clouds, got out a
cigar and lit up, turned from the rail.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a somber uniform
stood by the catwalk mouth, looking Retief over. He
came across the close-woven deck and thrust out a
large, well-tanned hand.
"My name's Klamper, Planetary Monitor Service. I
guess you're the new man."
101

RETIEF AT LARGE
Retief nodded.
"Let me give you some advice. Watch out for the
natives. They're sly, tricky devils." He paused. "You
were talking to one just now. Don't let him lure you into
going down into the native quarter. Nothing down there
but natives and dark holes to fall into. A helluva place
for aTerry. Knifings, poisonings—nothing there worth
climbing down thirty flights of wicker steps to look
at."
Retief puffed at his dope stick. The wind swirled the
smoke away.
"Sounds interesting," he said. "I'll think it over."
"Plenty to do right up here in the Consulate tower,"
Klamper said. "I guess you've seen theTri-D tank—a
twenty-footer—and the sublimation chamber. And
there's a pretty good auto-banquet. And don't overlook
the library. They've got a few dandy sense-tapes there;
I confiscated them from a Joy-boat in a twelve mile
orbit off Callisto last year." The constable got out a
dopestick and cocked an eye at Retief. "What do you
think of your Groaci boss, Consul-General Jack
Dools?"
"I haven't seen much of him. He's been seasick ever
since I got here."
"First time I ever ran into a Groaci in the CDT,"
Klamper said. "A naturalized Terry, I hear. Well,
maybe he hasn't got all five eyes on an angle—but I'd
say watch him." Klamper hitched up his gun belt.
"Well, I'll be shoving off." He glanced at the stormy
sky. "Looks like I've got a busy night ahead."
Retief stepped back into the office. A small, round
man with pale hair and eyebrows looked up from the
chair by Wimperton's desk.
102

WICKER WONDERLAND
"Oh." Wimperton blinked at Retief. "I thought
you'd gone for the day." He folded a sheaf of pap-
ers hurriedly, snapped a rubber band around them,
turned and dropped them in the drawer of the filing
cabinet.
Wimperton rose. "Well, I'll be nipping along to
Dorm Tower, I believe, before the wind gets any
worse. This breeze is nothing to what we get some-
times. I'd suggest you take care crossing the catwalk,
Retief. It can be dangerous. In a cross-wind, it sets up a
steady ripple." His limber hands demonstrated a steady
ripple. "Other times it seems to float up and down."
He eyed Retief. "I hope the motion isn't bothering
you?"
"I like it," Retief said. "As a boy, I had a habit of
eating candy bars—you know, the sticky kind—while
standing on my head on a merry-go-round."
Wimperton's eyes stared fixedly at Retief. A fine
sweat popped out on his forehead.
"Feels like it's building up, all right," Retief said
genially. "Feel that one?"
A distant, thoughtful look crept over Wimperton's
face.
"It's good and hot in here, too," Retief went on.
"And there's that slight odor of fish, or octopus, or
whatever it is . . ."
"Uh . . . I'd better see to the goldfish," Wimperton
gasped. He rushed away.
Retief turned to the round-faced man.
"How was your trip, Mr. Pird?"
"Ghastly," Pird piped. His voice sounded like a
rubber doll. "I visited continents One and Two. Bare
rock. No life higher than insects, but plenty of those.
103

RETIEF AT LARGE
You know, it never rains on Poon. All five continents
are deserts, and the heat—"
"I understood the Zoological Investigation and
Liaison Council Headquarters had financed a couple of
wild-life census stations over there," Retief said.
"To be sure, facilities were provided by ZILCH but
unhappily, no volunteers have come forward to man
them." Pird smiled sourly. "A pity. Consul-General
Dools has expressed a passionate interest in wildlife."
Pird grabbed at a paperweight as it slid across the
desk-top. The walls creaked; wind shrilled, flapping
the door hanging. The floor heaved and settled back.
Pird swallowed, looking pale.
"I believe I'd best be going," he said, starting to-
ward the door.
"Hold it," Retief called. Pird jerked. His eyes
blinked.
"Aren't you going to warn me about anything?"
Pird stared for a moment, then scurried off.
Alone, Retief stood with braced feet in the Consular
office, gloomy now in the eerie light of the stormy
sunset. He crossed to the filing cabinet, took a small
instrument from a leather case and went to work on the
lock. After five minutes' work, the top drawer popped
out half an inch.
Retief pulled it open; it was empty. The second
contained a dry sandwich and a small green flask of
blended whiskey. In the bottom drawer were four dog-
eared copies of Saucy Stories, a prospectus in full-
dimensional color illustrating Playtime on Paradise, the
Planet with a Past, glossy catalogs describing the latest
in two-seater sport helis and a fat document secured by
a wide rubber band.
104

WICKER WONDERLAND
Retief extracted the latter and opened the stiff paper.
It was an elaborately worded legal instrument. In the
fifth paragraph he read:
" . . . whereas such body is otherwise uninhabited,
unimproved, and subject to no prior claim filed with the
proper authorities as specified in paragraph 2 A (3)
above, and;
Whereas claimant has duly established, by personal
occupancy for a period of not less than six Standard
Months, or by improvement to a value of . . ."
Retief read on, then removed the elaborately en-
graved cover sheet of the document, folded the rest and
fitted it into an inside pocket.
Outside, the wind rose to a howling crescendo; the
floor shuddered; the walls tilted precariously. Retief
took a magazine from the drawer, fitted the document
cover over it, folded it and snapped the red rubber band
in place, then replaced it in the drawer and closed it.
The lock seated with a snick. He left the consulate and
crossed the swaying catwalk to the next tower.
II
Retief stood in the doorway of his room, smoking a
cigar. Pird, just starting down the stairway, clucked.
"Better hurry, sir. Everyone else has gone down. The
wind is rising very rapidly."
"I'll be along." Retief looked down the empty cor-
ridor, undulating in the dim late-evening light, then
went along to a curtain-hung doorway and stepped out
onto a wind-swept balcony. From it a swaying wicker
105

RETIEF AT LARGE
catwalk launched itself in a dizzy span to the Consulate
Tower, a hundred yards distant.
A dim light winked on in the consular offices, mov-
ing about slowly. Retief watched for a moment, then
turned up the collar of his windbreaker and stepped off
into the dark tunnel of the wildly swinging passage.
The gale buffeted at it with a ferocity that had increased
even in the quarter-hour he had spent in the Dorm
Tower. The sky had darkened to an ominous mauve,
streaked with fiery crimson. Below, lights sparkled all
across the lower levels.
The last fifty feet of the crossing was a steep climb up
the sagging catwalk. Abruptly the catwalk dropped
three feet and came to a stop with its floor canted at a
sharp angle. Retief steadied himself, then went on,
climbing now. Ten feet ahead, the yellow and blue
hanging at the end of the passage was visible. It moved.
The slight figure of Consul Dools appeared for a mo-
ment, wrapped in a dark poncho, then whisked back out
of view.
Retief made another two yards against the bucking of
the sloping passage. He could hear a rasping now, a
harsh sawing sound. A wedge of electric-purple sky
appeared through the wicker roof ahead. It wid-
ened . . .
With an abrupt crackling of breaking fibers, the end
of the catwalk broke free and dropped like an express
elevator. Retief locked his fingers in the twisted rattan
and held on. The face of the tower flashed past. Retief
slid two feet and caught himself with his torso half out
the open end. Air shrieked past his face. A foot from his
eyes, the severed end of the supporting cable whipped
in the screaming wind—cut clean.
106

WICKER WONDERLAND
Retief looked down and saw the massed lights of the
native section swooping up to meet him. A wall rushed
close; Retief felt the whistle of air as he brushed it; then
he was hurtling past low towers with lighted windows
behind which alien faces gaped briefly. He swept low
over a narrow street ablaze with colored lights, felt a
shock as the catwalk brushed a building somewhere
above; then the street was falling away below as the
free-swinging catwalk cracked-the-whip, soaring up-
ward in a wild zoom, slowing now . . .
A wall loomed before him with a narrow balcony
before lighted windows. For an instant, it seemed to
hang before his face—and Retief lunged, kicked his
legs free of the twisted wicker. He caught the heavy
rattan guard rail. He hung on, groping with his feet,
with the gale tearing at him, shrieking in his ears . . .
Hands gripped him, hauling him up. He shook his
head to clear it, felt a heavy hanging brush his face.
Then he was standing on a yielding floor, blinking in
the soft light of a primitive incandescent lamp, feeling
the warmth and strange, spicy odor of an alien room.
A five-foot native stood before him, staring up anx-
iously with large protruding green eyes in a smooth,
olive-colored face. The wide, almost human mouth
opened showing a flash of pink interior.
'Are you all right, buddy?" a strangely resonant
voice inquired in the bubbly local tongue.
Retief felt of his jaw, moved his shoulders gingerly.
"A little dazed by the speed with which the boys work,
but otherwise fine," he replied.
"You speak Poon like a native, by Hoop!" the alien
said. "Here sit down. How about a drink of Yiquil?"
He indicated a low couch heaped with varicolored
107

RETIEF AT LARGE
cushions and turned to a cupboard, wide webbed feet in
bright yellow sandals gripping the swaying floor.
"You fell off a catwalk, eh?"
"Something like that," Retief accepted a deep two-
handled porcelain jug, delicately shaped. He sniffed
the drink, then sipped.
"My name's Url Yum. I'm a netter for Matwide
Fooderies."
"I'm Retief. I'm with the Terran Consulate." He
glanced around the room. "Handsome apartment you
have here."
"Oh, it's all right." There was a sharp whistle at the
door.
"You feel like meeting a bunch of people? I guess
they saw you fall, and they'll be crowding in now to
take a look at you. We don't often see Terries here in
town, you know."
"I'd rather not go on exhibit right now. Yum."
"Sure, I know how you feel. I had to go over to
Dryport on business a few months back, and every
damn do-gooder wanted to have me in for tea and look
me over."
The whistle sounded again at the door. Url Yum
padded across to the closet, brought out a large satchel
and pulled out bright-colored gear of plastic and metal.
"I was just about to go for a swim. Why don't you
join me? You don't want to go back up tonight in this
wind. We can go down the back way. How about it?"
"A swim? In this weather?"
"The best time. Hunting's good. The small sniff
shelters under the Mat, and the big stuff is in there
hunting them—and we hunt the big stuff.'' He held up a
polished spearhead.
108

WICKER WONDERLAND
"Look, Yum, I'm just a Terry. I can't hold my
breath more than a minute or two."
"Neither can I. That's what the gear's for. You burn
oxygen, same as we do, don't you?"
The whistle came again, more peremptory now.
"Hey, Yum!" a voice called.
Retief finished his drink. "That yiquil's great stuff,
Yum; it's already affecting my judgment. Let's go!"
They stood in a narrow way that wound between high
walls hung with dights and signboards, studded with
balconies from which pennants fluttered, crowded with
brilliantly mantled and jeweled Pupoony, filled with
the shriek of wind, the chatter of whistled conversation,
and over all the polyphonic creaking of the city.
"I've heard of twisting roads," Retief called. "This
is the first time I ever saw one that really twisted."
Yum put his mouth close toRetief's ear. "You know
the whistle dialect?"
"I can understand it," Retief shouted back. "But I
can't whistle it."
Yum motioned, led the way down a side alley to a
sea-shell ornamented hanging and pushed into a low
room with couches along one wall, open shelves on
another. A portly Poon waddled forward.
"Oi, Yum! Oi, stranger."
"Oi," Yum said. "Gipp,this is Retief. We're going
down. Can you fix him up with a spray job?"
"Lucky you came to my place, Yum. I happen to
have a compound specially prepared for Terry require-
ments, a fresh batch, just concocted yesterday."
"Good. Retief, put your stuff over there." Yum
opened his satchel, took out equipment and laid it out
on a low table. He selected a pair of goggles, handed
109

RETIEF AT LARGE
them to Retief. "These are a little big, but I think
they'll seat all right." He handed over a heavy cylinder
the size and shape of a beer bottle, added other
items.
"Okay: propulsion, communication lights, breath-
ing apparatus, emergency gear. Now, after you strip
and get your equipment buckled on, Gipp will fit you
with water-foils and spray you in."
Retief donned the gear and watched with interest
while the portly proprietor shaped a putty-like material
to his feet, forming large fins which stiffened to a
rubbery consistency, then brought out a portable ap-
paratus with a tank, compressor and hose with a wide
nozzle.
"Give him a Striding Devil job, Gipp," Yum or-
dered.
Gipp hesitated, looking at Retief. "I suppose you've
had a lot of experience—?"
"He'll be all right," Yum put in. "He catches on
fast, and he's got a good arm."
"Whatever you say, Yum—but you ought to warn
him that a Death Angel will jump a Strider on sight."
"Sure. That way we don't have to go looking for
'em."
"Well, if you get one remember I'm paying top
sprud for stones."
"You'll get first crack."
Gipp started up the compressor, twiddled knobs,
then directed a heavy spray of viscous, greenish fluid
on Retief's chest, working it in a pattern that covered
him to the knees. Then the Poon shut down and set
about changing hoses.
"What's this stuff for?" Retief inquired, studying
the thick, soft layer hardening on his skin.
no

WICKER WONDERLAND
"Protective covering. It's tough as yuk skin. And it
has an osmotic action; passes oxygen in, and CO2 out.
The color disguises you so you don't scare off the
game-—and the finished job holds all your gear in place.
It's a good insulation, too. That water's cold. It strips
off easily when you come back in."
Gipp worked for another five minutes. Retief craned
his neck to look at himself. His back, he saw, was a dull
black, with red and white flecks, separated from the
glossy green front by pale gray sides. Broad pink gill-
flaps flared from throat to shoulders. The ankles and
fin-covered feet were a vivid red.
"He's got the build for it," Gipp said, looking him
over. "If I hadn't done the job myself, I'd swear he was
a Strider, by Hoop!"
"That's the idea, Gipp. Now just give me a straight
Big Mouth outfit." Yum took a flask from a side pocket
and offered it to Retief, who took a generous pull, then
passed it to Gipp, busy with his apparatus.
"No, thanks. I don't need any delusions of grandeur
tonight. I hope to do a good volume of business before
the storm hits its peak." He worked carefully, covered
Yum with a uniform dull gray, added a peaked crest of
garish yellow.
"All right, Retief." Yum handed him a light,
short-barreled rifle from the muzzle of which a
razor-edged spearhead protruded. "Let's go down."
Gipp led the way to a back room and opened a wide
wicker cover set in the floor. Retief looked down to the
sloping surface of a three-foot tube of close-woven
strips.
"Follow me," Yum said, and dived, head first, out
of sight. Retief gripped his spear-gun, waved Gipp a
cheery farewell and dived after him.
Ill

RETIEF AT LARGE
III
The water was ink-black, alive with darting lights in
red and yellow, ponderous-moving patterns of green
and blue and, far below, dull gleams of violet. Retief
kicked his feet, watched lights scatter before him in a
boil of phosphorescence.
A dark shape darted from the gloom and hovered
before him. He recognized Yum's yellow crest, waving
gently in the moving water.
"Only peaceful place in town, when the wind's
working," Yum's voice crackled in Retief's ears.
"Let's work our way east to get clear of the activity
around here; then we'll see if we can't bait an Angel
up."
"How deep are we?"
"The Mat's twenty meters thick here. We're going
to work Underside first; if that's no go, we'll move
down."
Yum darted off with a flick of webbed feet. Retief
followed. Above, the mass of the floating continent of
weed was a fairyland tangle of waving fronds, fantasti-
cally shaped corals, coiling weed, and moving lights.
"Use the knob on your left hip as a jet control,"
Yum said. "Steer with your feet—and keep your rifle
ready. If you see anything that looks like you, let him
have it."
Retief tried the knob, felt water churn past his knees;
he leaped ahead, driving through the water with a speed
that blurred the weedscape above. A slight twist of the
ankles sent him angling sharply toward the depths; a
112

WICKER WONDERLAND
minute adjustment brought him back to Yum's side.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness, picked out the shapes
behind the lights now. Massive, sluggish swimmers
cruised, wide jaws open. Slim torpedo shapes darted
and wheeled. A nebulous form, glowing with a nacre-
ous pink, rose up and reached out with feathery arms;
Yum swerved away, Retief following fifteen feet to one
side of his bubble-trail.
After a ten-minute run, Yum slowed, rose until he
brushed the tops of the coral trees, then reached up with
his feet, planted them in a swirl of smoky mud and
stood, inverted. Retief came alongside, twisted, felt the
soft ooze under his feet.
"It's a little confusing at first," Yum's voice came
clear in Retief's ears. "But you'll get used to it."
Retief looked around. The undulating surface of the
weed mass stretched away into deep gloom, studded
with waving fronds, stiff-branched trees of red-violet,
orange and chartreuse coral, feathery banks of leafy
undergrowth set with multi-colored flowers as big as
dinner plates, among which moving lights sparkled and
played.
"I'll pace you, off to the left," Yum said. "Move
along with big, leaping strides. Anything your size
except another Strider will give you a wide berth. If you
see one, hit him fast. Aim for the mid-section. Now, if
we pick up an Angel, you'll notice the shadow first.
Just keep moving; I'll get under him and hit him where
it hurts. When he turns, give it to him near the big red
spot on his back. Got it?"
"How many rounds in this rifle?"
"Five in the magazine, and a spare on your left
shoulder."
113

RETIEF AT LARGE
"How do we know there aren't other hunters
around? I'd hate to spear a friend of yours by mistake.''
"You'll get a recognition tone in your phones if
anybody gets within fifteen yards—maybe. That's part
of the game. I got a nice barb cut out of my left leg last
year. Some joker wanted a Big Mouth for cut bait."
Yum waved and flicked away. Retief picked an open
avenue between towering corals and started off. Walk-
ing was not too difficult after the first few steps; rather
like tramping the dusty surface of an asteroid, he
reflected—except that the diving gear was considerably
less bulky than a spacesuit.
There was a movement to Retief's right. A tall biped
stalked into view ten yards distant, barely visible in the
glow of phosphorescence. Retief halted and brought
the gun around. The newcomer moved on in great
floating leaps. Retief turned to follow.
"Never mind the Strider," Yum said. "He didn't
see you; he must have just fed. We'll work off to the
right here and let him have this territory."
Retief watched as the biped bounded off into the
gloom, then moved on.
Ahead, the darkness seemed deeper. A cow-sized
creature with warts and glowing rings around wide eyes
blundered past, rocking him with a surge of water. Tiny
fish flashed by. The gloom deepened.
"Action!" Yum's voice came, tense in the ear-
phones. "Keep going; we've got a big one coming up
to take a look!"
Retief twisted to look toward the depths, like a black
sky in which a dark cloud moved. He went on.
"That's the stuff. Act like you don't notice him;
114

WICKER WONDERLAND
otherwise he'll let fly with his musk, and we'll be
working in the dark. ..."
The shadow moved, spreading. All around, the
scene darkened. At last a sluggish sea-creature humped
past, raising a trail of mud-fog.
"Hey," Yum's voice came. "He's by-passing us,
moving on."
"Maybe he's just not hungry tonight."
"It's that Strider we saw; he's after him. Let's
go!"
Retief turned, saw a swirl of phosphorescence, jetted
after it. The surface of the weed sloped, an inverted
hill. Retief moved up beside Yum, following the im-
mense shadow that fled across the rolling surface. The
Strider came into view, leaning back toward the two
hunters.
"Take him!" Yum barked. "I'll get under the big
boy!" He swirled away. Retief brought the rifle to his
shoulder, aimed—
A brilliant light flashed from the Strider's chest. The
creature reached, grabbing at its back . . .
"Hold it!" Yum's voice snapped. "That's no
Strider!"
The long greenish beam of the searchlight swung,
flashing from coral trees, glowing through drifting
mud-clouds.
"The damned fool! He'd better douse that light!"
The Death Angel closed, like a hundred-foot blanket
of black jelly settling in; the stranger backed, working
frantically to fit a magazine to his rifle, bringing it
up—
The Angel struck. For a moment it hugged the sur-
115

RETIEF AT LARGE
face of the weed, rippling its edge—then it heaved,
recoiling violently—
"Good-oh!" Yum yelled. "I planted one fair and
square! Move in and hit the hot-spot, Retief, and we'll
be up half the night counting gold over a bottle of
hundred-year yiquil!"
Retief hurled himself forward, kicked clear of the
weed-bed, centered his sights on a foot-wide patch of
luminous red at the center of the vast writhing shape,
and fired, fired again, then went tumbling as the turbu-
lence caught him and bowled him over.
Retief and Yum crouched by the prone body of the
Angel's victim.
"He's a Terry, all right, Retief. I wonder what he
was doing Underside—alone?"
"Probably a tourist, out to see the sights. Though I
hadn't heard of any travellers registered with the Con-
sulate."
' 'You may be right. We're not far from theTap Root;
he was headed that way, and he seemed to know
where he was going."
Retief checked the man's equipment, noted his pulse
and respiration.
"He seems to be all right."
"Sure. He just took a good jolt of current. We didn't
give the Big Boy a chance to get his shredding hook into
him."
"We'd better take him up."
"Sure. Soon as we stone out our Angel, before the
Big Mouths get him. There's a public entry-well not far
away; probably the one he used. We'll just tow him
along with us. He'll be okay."
The vast bulk of the Angel drifted fifty yards from
116

WICKER WONDERLAND
the crowns of the coral trees. They swam to it, shooed
off an inquisitive scavenger, moved around to the red
spot on the expanse of black hide. A short spear stood,
half its length buried dead center in the target. A second
spear protruded a foot away.
Yum whistled. "You work close Retief. Nice shoot-
ing." He undipped a slim-bladed knife, made an inci-
sion, plunged an arm into the rubbery body and brought
out a lumpy organ the size of a grapefruit. He whistled
again.
"This must be the beachmaster of all Angels! Look
at the size of that pouch!" He slit the leathery body
carefully, dipped in two fingers and extracted a black
sphere as big as a large grape.
"Retief, we make a great team. Look at those
stones!"
"What do you use them for?"
' 'We grind them up and sprinkle them on our food. A
great delicacy."
"Yum, what's this Tap Root you mentioned?"
"Eh? Why, it's—well, it's the root that supplies the
mat."
"Just one for all this weed?"
"Sure; it's all one plant—the whole Mat."
"I'd like to take a look at it. I can't picture a Terry
swimming around down here at the height of a storm,
just to rubberneck—not unless it's a pretty spectacular
sight."
"It doesn't look like much. Just a big tough cable,
running down into the Big Deep." Yum tucked the
pearls into a pouch clipped to his leg and led the way
along the sloping weed surface. He indicated a black
mass ahead.
117

RETIEF AT LARGE
That's it—back in that tangle of rootlets there; The
tap's a hundred feet in diameter and over a mile long. It
anchors the Mat, and feeds it, too."
"Let's take a closer look."
Retief moved in among the waving rootlets.
"Say—what's that?" Yum's voice came over the
earphones. Ahead, a large dark shape nestled among
the entwining roots. Retief swam up alongside.
"It's a scout boat—Terry designed." He swam to
the entry port, found it locked. "Let's reconnoiter a
little, Yum."
The two moved over the waving mass of rootlets,
cruising beside the moss-grown, barnacled wall of the
immense root. Retief caught a glimpse of a white ob-
ject, fluttering in the dark water. He headed for
it.
It was a plastic tag, wired to a spike driven into the
husk of the root. Below it hung a small box, metal
covered, with an insulated cable projecting from one
side.
"What is it? Who'd come here and tamper with the
Root?" Yum asked, puzzled.
"It's a detonator," Retief said. "The cable is de-
signed to plug into a packaged explosive charge."
"Explosive! Here, by the Root?"
"How long would the weed last with the root cut?"
"Last? It wouldn't last a day! You cut a sprig of the
weed, it crumbles in a matter of minutes. Oh, the fruit,
leaves, husks, are tough enough—but the main mass
would disintegrate like a sugar lump in a mug of hot
roca."
"Somewhere there's a bomb to go with the deto-
nator, Yum," Retief said. "Probably aboard the boat.
118

WICKER WONDERLAND
Our swimmer was on the way to get it, I'd guess. Let's
check him for keys.
Yum fumbled over the limp body. "He's clean,
Retief. He must have lost them in the fight."
"All right; let's get him to the surface and see what
he has to say."
IV
In the damp-smelling cavern of the public entry hall,
Retief stood over the unconscious man. Water dripped
from him, puddled on the heavy-duty rattan ramp that
sloped up from the water. The attendant on duty came
forward, clucked at the sight of the inert body.
"He left here, not fifteen minutes ago. Wouldn't
accept my offer of a guide. I warned him . . ."
"Where are his clothes?" Retief asked.
"On the shelf—there." The attendant pointed to a
coat, trousers, boots, a tangle of heavy leather belts and
an empty holster in a neat pile.
"A cop?" Retief said. He examined the garments.
"No identification," he said. "And no keys."
"What happened?" the attendant asked.
"An Angel hit him."
"He'll be out for hours, then," the attendant said.
"A big Angel gives a pretty good shock. Hah! These
tourists are all alike."
"Yum, you don't have a police force here—or an
army?"
"No. What would we need with those?"
"Can you get a few friends together—volunteers, to
watch the patrol boat?"
119

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Sure, Retief. All you want."
"Station about a dozen in the underbrush around the
boat. Tell them to keep out of sight—we don't want to
scare anybody off. But be careful. A spear-gun is no
match for a Mark IV blaster."
"I'll call the boys." Yum went into the attendant's
office, emerged five minutes later.
"All set," he declared. "What about him?" He
indicated the sleeping cop.
"Have the fellow on duty watch him until your
friends get here. Meanwhile, he'd better put him
somewhere out of sight."
"What about the bomb?"
"We'll have to try to stampede somebody. Whoever
sent our friend here doesn't know he didn't make it."
Retief looked at Yum, frowning in thought. "Yum,
peel out of that scare suit and put the uniform on." He
began stripping off the Strider Devil disguise. "I'll
borrow some local garb."
"You've got an idea?"
"Not much of one. Just a wild hunch."
Yum kicked free of the last of the diving gear, pulled
on the shapeless Patrol outfit. It hung ludicrously on his
squat frame.
"Retief, I wouldn't fool anybody in this."
"That's just the point, Yum. Now let's move!"
Yum stopped before a dark entry and pointed up at
the lighted floor above.
"This is it," he called over the howling wind. Re-
tief's long cloak whipped at his ankles; Yum held onto
his patrolman's cap with one hand.
"All right," Retief leaned close to Yum and
shouted.' 'You wait five minutes, Yum; then just move
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WICKER WONDERLAND
on down the street. Move as though you were in a
hurry. Then you' d better go back and help out the boys.
If anybody comes close, let him get the port open; then
hit him fast."
"Well—I guess you know what you're doing."
Retief climbed the trembling wicker stairway, grip-
ping the handrail as a violent gust bounced him against
the swaying wall. Two flights up he pushed aside a
hanging lettered TERRESTRIAL CONSULATE
GENERAL—EMERGENCY QUARTERS.
Wimperton andPird looked up from a table on which
a meal of emergency rations was laid out in the bleak
light of a feeble DC lamp. Wimperton's mouth opened
wide. Pird scrambled up and stood wiping his fingers
on his pink vest.
"Hi, boys," Retief said cheerfully. 'Damnedest
thing happened to me. You'll never guess."
"Ah . . . you fell out a window?" Wimperton
hazarded.
"Close, but no dope-stick; the catwalk broke under
me. Quite a ride." He strolled to the window. "Some
wind out there. Say . . ."
"Yes, indeed, quite a wind, you're right," Pird
piped.
"Look here," Retief said. "Is that a Patrolman?
Wonder what he's doing out in the storm!"
Wimperton and Pird jumped to the window, craned.
Below, Yum's ungainly figure waddled briskly along
the pitching street, turned a corner.
"Hey, that's—" Wimperton started.
"Yes, that's strange, all right," Pird cut in. "Poor
weather for a stroll."
"But that wasn't—"
121

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Wasn't anything for us to worry about, ha ha,"
Pird babbled. He pretended to yawn. "Well, about
time to turn in, eh?" He patted his mouth, watching
Retief.
"I'm glad you suggested that," Retief said. "I was
afraid you'd want to sit up and talk."
"Just take that first room there," Pird said eagerly.
"Lovely room. Just lie right down and drift right off.
Wimperton, you show Mr. Retief the room and I'll just
. . . ah . . . check a few things."
Retief glanced back from the door, caught a glimpse
of Pird darting past the outer hanging. He stepped into
the room. There was a tidy bunk, an easy chair, a rug, a
tri-D set.
"This is dandy." He patted the bed. "Well, Wim-
perton, have a pleasant night."
"Yes, indeed. You too." Wimperton disappeared.
Retief flipped the light off, lay back on the bed and
waited. A minute passed. The door curtain twitched
aside for a moment, dropped back. Lights winked off in
the outer room.
Retief rose, glanced out. The shelter was deserted.
He crossed to the outer hanging, went down the sway-
ing wicker stairs three at a time, stepped out into the
storm-whipped street. Pird and Wimperton, each drag-
ging a suitcase, staggered out of sight around the
corner. Retief wrapped the cloak close and followed.
Standing in the shadows by the straining, wicker-
work wall of a Public Entry Well, Retief watched
Wimperton and Pird as they paced the ramp. Pird
glanced at a finger watch.
". . . any time now . . ." the words came faintly
through the hammer of the wind and the groaning of
122

WICKER WONDERLAND
wicker. Pird stopped before Wimperton, apparently
asking a question.
Wimperton reached inside his coat, brought out a
thick packet of papers restrained by a red rubber band,
waved them at Pird, put them back. Retief edged
somewhat closer."
". . . don't like it either," Wimperton's nasal voice
stated. "Either the locals are wise—or they've got a
deal with . . ." The wind whirled the words away.
Retief stepped back into the street, saw the pink glow
of a public phone fifty yards distant. He fought his way
to it through the wind, dialed and asked to speak to
Yum.
' 'No action here yet," the native said. ' 'How did the
routine go over?"
"Our pigeons flew the coop, all right. They know
they've got troubles, but they're not sure just what
kind. They're at a Public Entry near the Consulate,
waiting for a pickup."
"They'll have a long wait. Their driver's still
asleep."
"Yum, I have a feeling the bomb's timed to go off at
the peak of the storm. How long will that be?"
"Oh, about two hours, I'd say."
"What will conditions be like at the top of the Consu-
late Tower now?"
"Rough. The towers lean to the wind. The ceilings
fold right down against the floors in a good blow—and
this one's a dandy."
"We're about out of time, Yum—and there are two
parties still unaccounted for. I'm afraid I have one more
trip in this wind."
"You're coming back here?"
123

RETIEF AT LARGE
"I'm going up—and I'd rather get moving while
there's still crawl space in the Consulate."
A howling gale struck Retief's head as he hauled
himself up from a dark opening onto the thirtieth-floor
balcony and looked up the long slant of the tower face.
Forty feet above, the guard rail lining the terrace of the
Consulate penthouse was dimly visible in the murk.
Under Retief, the tower was trembling and moved
like a living thing. He reached for a handhold, started
up the thirty-degree slope. Gusts tore at him. He rested,
hugging the surface, then went on. Ten minutes later he
pulled himself over and lay full length on the steep
slope of the tower roof.
The wind was less, here in the shelter of the canted
floor. Retief slid down, then jumped, tumbled through
the wind-tattered entry hanging, caught himself and
blinked through the gloom of the deserted office.
From the far wall, a grunt sounded. Retief made his
way across the room and flicked a wall switch. Dim
light glowed, showed him the trussed form of Consul-
General Jack Dools huddled in the angle of wall and
floor. Five blood-shot eyestalks quivered appealingly
at Retief.
He went to a tilted desk, extracted a letter knife from
a clip, came back and sawed at the cords binding the
Groaci, then pulled the gag free of the mandibles.
"Ah, the shining of the sun on your ancestral egg-
hill," Dools gasped in Groaci. "To express heartfelt
gratitude; to vow eternal chumship. . . ."
"Think nothing of it, Mr. Dools. You feel well
enough to travel? 'We'll have to go down the outside.
The stairs are collapsed."
' 'How pleasant to see you alive, dear fellow,'' Dools
124

WICKER WONDERLAND
went on in Terran. "I feared the miscreants had done
their worst. I tried to interfere, but alas—"
"I saw you. At the time, I had the idea you were
doing the sawing, but then I got to thinking about the
booze and girly-book supply in the filing cabinet. Al-
cohol would poison you and as for unadorned
mammals—"
''Mr. Retief, take care!'' Dools hissed.' 'My hearing
is keen: someone comes. . . ."
Retief looked toward the doorway, then hastily
tucked the cut ends of the rope out of sight under Dools'
body. "Play ' em close to your thorax, Mr. Dools," he
cautioned.
A tall figure climbed through the dripping door hang-
ing, crouched on the sloping floor, braced by one hand.
The other held a power pistol, aimed at Retief.
"Just stay where you are, bright boy," Klamper
called over the screech of the wind. "Don't bother
untying him. My errand won't take but a minute."
He half-slid, half-crawled to the filing cabinet, keep-
ing both eyes on Retief, fumbled a key from a pocket.
He opened the top drawer, then the next, rummaged,
tried the last drawer, then turned on Retief, showing
even white teeth in an expression that was not a smile.
"I ought to have my head examined. I let those two
lightweights sell me a story. What an act! Wimperton
gobbled like a turkey when he opened up that phoney
cover and got a load of the funny-books inside. So I let
'em sucker me into a goose-chase . . . unless you've
got it?" He came closer. "Turn out your pockets,
hotshot."
Retief shook his head. "If you're looking for the
papers, forget it. I left them in my other suit."
125

RETIEF AT LARGE
"You loused up six months' work, greenhorn. But
I'll be back to fill out some fresh forms. Too bad you
won't be here to watch."
He raised the power pistol; behind him, Dools
lunged for the patrolman's ankle.
A bolt of blue fire crackled harmlessly past Retief's
ear as he leaned aside, chopped at Klamper's gun hand,
followed up with a knee to the face. Klamper rolled
with the blow, scrambled over a sagging desk and dived
for the doorway. Dools started after him.
"Let him go, Mr. Dools," Retief said. "I think I
know where he's headed. Now let's get out of here
before we get our clothes pressed—with us in 'em!"
V
At the Public Entry Well, Yum and a group of
well-muscled locals met Retief.
"Our man was here about ten minutes ago," Yum
said blandly. "Big fellow, in a big hurry."
"You let him through?"
"That's right."
' 'Then you warned the boys at the boat to stop him?"
"Well, no, Retief. I told them to let him go. As you
pointed out, he had a blaster. He's several hundred
miles out by now."
Retief folded his arms. "There's something funny
going on here, Yum. What about the bomb? It's proba-
bly timed to go off at the height of the storm—say in
another ten minutes."
"Oh, that. I found it. It's taken care of."
126

WICKER WONDERLAND
"Found it where? And how the devil do you take
care of a sealed titanite charge?"
"It was aboard the boat. You were right about
that—"
"Come on, Yum. Give!"
"Well, Retief, I was a little curious. You can't
blame me, after meeting you under such—unusual cir-
cumstances . I took a look through your clothes. I found
this." He held up the document Retief had extracted
from the Consulate files. "A fancy piece of paper
laying claim to the whole damned planet of Poon—
which it states is uninhabited—which it would have
been if the bomb idea had worked out. The Mat would
have broken up in the wind, and when the sky cleared,
it would look like just another natural disaster. And in a
few months, all five continents would be one big gold
mine."
"So?"
"So I held out on you. Our slumbering pal had keys,
all right. I went back and opened up the boat. There sat
the bomb—all labelled and ready to go."
"Except for the detonator. That was wired to the
root."
' 'Uh-huh. A safety precaution. But I found another
one. It wasn't hard to install. I had an idea the owner
would be along to see about it before zero hour; but I
didn't like the sight of the thing sitting out the middle of
the floor, so I tucked it away."
"Where?"
"In the chart storage bin."
Retief whirled to the discarded Terran uniform,
jerked the communicator from the lapel clip, keyed it
on the official frequency.
127

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Klamper, if you can hear me answer—fast!"
After a moment, Klamper's voice came back, a thin
piping in the miniature earphone. Yum and Dools
leaned closer.
"Klamper here. Who're you?"
"This is Retief, Klamper—"
"Oh, yeah, the bright young official. Well, I predict
a big change in the near future for you. In about thirty
seconds, to be exact."
"Klamper, there's a bomb—"
"Well, well, so you found out about that, too. Sorry
I can't help you. So long, su—" The earphones went
dead.
"Klamper!"
Yum looked at his watch.' 'Right on the button," he
said.
"At least," Dools said, "he lived long enough to
exonerate Mr. Retief."
There was a patter of hurried footsteps. Retief and
Yum turned. In the door, Wimperton and Pird stood
like ruffled birds, staring.
"I'm afraid you lads missed the boat," Retief called.
Yum signaled with his hand. Half a dozen local citizens
fanned out to hem in the newcomers.
"Oh, why Mr. Retief . . . What are you doing out
of bed?" Pird squeaked.
' 'Oh, I just dropped down to offer you boys a crack at
a peachy new opportunity in the Achievement Corps.
Consul-General Dools here has need of two volunteers
to man the new wildlife census stations over on conti-
nents One and Two. I'm going to give you first grabs at
it. We'll go over to the Shelter and type out your
resignations from the CDT and a couple of five-year
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WICKER WONDERLAND
enlistment contracts in the A.C.—on a non-
compensatory basis, of course."
Wimperton's mouth sagged open.
"And I have a number of microtape recordings I'll
contribute," Dools said. "They're quite exciting. All
about bombs and land claims and gold mines. You can
play them over during your leisure time—during sand-
storms, perhaps."
' 'But—Mr. Retief,'' Pird cried.''We—we've found
conditions here somewhat less than congenial . . ."
"What if we refuse?" Wimperton gulped.
"In that case, Yum and his associates would like to
interview you on the subject of homesteading."
"Your pen or mine for the signature?" Pird said
hastily.
"I'll ask a couple of the boys to help these two
philanthropists over to the Consulate," Yum said.
"Let the business wait till morning. You and I have a
bottle of Yiquil to finish, Retief."
"Show Mr. Dools a few of those pearls we netted,
Yum."
Yum fished out the stones, handed them to Dools,
who canted two pairs of eye-stalks at the lustrous one-
inch spheres.
"Gentlemen—this is precisely the product I need to
qualify Poon as a Class One commercial world! Can
these be supplied in any volume? Say, a dozen a
month?"
"I think it could be arranged," Yum said in heavily
accented Terran. "Why don't you join Retief and the
boys and me in a snort?"
"Well, I really don't think ..."
' 'I know a barman who can concoct a suitable booze
129

RETIEF AT LARGE
for any metabolism," Yum urged. "And a hangover
cure afterwards."
Retief linked arms with the slender Groaci. "Come
along Mr. Consul-General," he said. "We won't take
no for an answer."
130

THE BRASS GOD
I
THEHOOGAN chamberlain was tall, black-clad, and
high-shouldered. He had an immense dome-shaped
head sloping on to his massive shoulders. His eyes were
like freshly shelled oysters in a leathery face and he had
long, dangling arms.
He turned to face the party of Terrestrial diplomats
who stood clutching suitcases under the lofty vaulted
ceiling of the vast, dark hall. Shafts of eerily colored
light filtered through stained-glass loopholes, which
were high in the walls, shedding a faint glow on the
uneven stone floor. The drab-colored murals and hang-
ings depicted the specialities of the seven Hoogan
Hells. The mouths of dark corridors radiated from the
circular chamber with helmeted and kilted Hoogan
pikemen spaced between them, immobile as the gar-
goyles that peered from high niches.
"His Arrokanze the Pishop has graziously blaced at
your dispozal theze cozy quarters," the chamberlain
131

RETIEF AT LARGE
said in a deep, hollow voice. "You may now zelect
rooms on the floors above and array yourselves in the
karments provided."
"Look here, Mr. Odom-Glom," Ambassador
Straphanger cut in, "I've been thinking it over, and
I've decided that my staff and I will just nip back over to
our ship for the night."
"His Arrokanze will be egspectink you at the fete in
the Ebiscobal Kardens in one hour's time," theHoogan
bored on. "His Arrokanze tizlikes to be kept waitink."
"Oh, we're all keenly aware of the honor His Arro-
gance has paid us in offering accomodations here in the
Episcopal Palace, but—"
"One hour," Odom-Glom repeated, his voice echo-
ing across the hall. He turned away, the symbolic chain
attached to his neck clanking as he moved. He paused,
turned back.
"By the way, you are instrugted to iknore any small
ah. . . indruzions. If you zee anything . . .unusual,
zummon a guard at onze."
"Intrusions?" Straphanger repeated querulously.
"What kind of intrusions?"
"The balace," Odom-Glom said, "is haunted."
Four twisting turns of a stone staircase above the
reception hall, Second Secretary Magnan tiptoed at
Retief's side. They went along an echoing corridor,
past black iron-bound doors and mouldy tapestries
which were dimly visible in the light of a flambeau.
"Quaint beliefs these bucolics entertain," Magnan
said in a tone of forced heartiness. "Haunted indeed!
How silly! Ha!"
"Why are you whispering?" Retief inquired.
132

THE BRASS GOD
"Just out of respect for the Bishop, of course."
Magnan came to an abrupt halt, and clutched Retief s
sleeve. "Wha-what's that?" he pointed.
Along the corridor, something small and dark slip-
ped from the shadow of a pilaster to the shelter of a
doorway.
"Probably just our imagination," Retief suggested.
"But it had big red eyes," Magnan protested.
"They're as easy to imagine as any other kind."
"I just remembered—I left my shower cap in my
hold baggage. Let's go back."
Retief moved off. "It's just a few doors farther. Six,
seven . . . here we are." He inserted the key Odom-
Glom's aide had provided. The heavy door swung open
with a creak that descended the scale to a low groan.
Magnan, hurrying forward, paused to stare at the
nearest wall-hanging which showed a group of Hoo-
gans suspended head-down from spikes above leaping
flames, while goblins of various shapes prodded them
with long barb-tipped spears.
' 'Curious how similar religious art is from one world
to another," he commented. Inside the room, he stared
around in dismay at the damp stone walls, the two
spartan cots and carved devils which stood in the cor-
ners.
"What perfectly ghastly quarters!" He dropped his
suitcase and went over to prod the nearest bunk.' 'Why,
my spine will never endure this mattress! I'll be a
physical wreck after the first night! And the draft—I'm
sure to catch a chill. And . . .and. . ." He broke off.
Magnan raised a shaky finger to point at the darkest
corner of the narrow chamber where a tall, bug-eyed
demon carved from pale blue stone winked garnet eyes.
133

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Retief! Something moved over there—it was just
like the devils in the pictures! All fuzzy red bristles and
eyes that glow in the dark!"
Retief opened his suitcase. "If you see another one,
throw a shoe at it. Right now, we'd better be getting
into costume; compared with an aroused ambassador, a
few devils are just friendly pets."
Half an hour later, after having sponged off at a stone
sink, Magnan's eyes were still rolling nervously. He
adjusted the folds of his Hoogan ceremonial sarong
before the tarnished, rippled mirror.
"I suppose it is just nerves," he said. "It's all the
fault of that Odom-Glom fellow and his quaint native
superstitions! I confess his remarks quite unnerved me
for a moment."
Across the room, Third Secretary Retief was loading
match-head sized charges into the magazine of an in-
conspicuous handgun.
"Probably just his way of warning us about the
mice," he said.
Magnan turned and caught a glimpse of the gun.
"Here, Retief! What's that?"
"Just a quaint native cure for spooks—if they get too
noisy." He tucked the gun out of sight under the
Hoogan sarong. ' 'Just think of it as a sort of good-luck
charm, Mr. Magnan."
"A knife up the sleeve is an old diplomatic tradi-
tion," Magnan said doubtfully. "But a power pistol
under the sarong . . ."
"I'll have it along in case something jumps out of the
stonework and yells boo!" Retief said reassuringly.
Magnan sniffed, admiring himself in the dark glass.
"I was rather relieved when the ambassador insisted
134

THE BRASS GOD
on native dress for the staff instead of ceremonial nu-
dity for tonight's affair." He turned to study the hang of
the uneven hemline that exposed his bare shins. ' 'One
of his finer moments, I fancied. He does cut an impres-
sive figure, once his jowls get that purplish tinge. Not
even Odom-Glom dared stand up to him. Though I do
wish he'd gone just the one step further and demanded
the right to wear trousers—" He broke off, his eyes on
the black drapes covering the high, narrow window.
The heavy cloth twitched.
"Retief!" he gasped. "There it is again!"
' 'Shhh,'' Retief watched as the curtain moved again.
A tiny red-glowing bead appeared at its edge, a foot
above the floor; a wire-thin leg emerged, and then
another. A body like a ball of reddish fluff came into
view, it's red-bead eyes on two-inch stalks which tilted
alertly to scan the chamber. Its gaze fixed on Retief; it
moved clear of the curtain, paused, then started toward
him on skittery legs—
With a yell, Magnan dived for the door and flung it
wide. "Guards! Help! Goblins! Spooks!" His voice
receded along the hall, mingling with the clank of
accoutrements, and the slap Of wide Hoogan feet.
The intruder hesitated at the outcry, dithered for a
moment, then, emitting a cry like a goosed fairy, fum-
bled with two of its limbs at something attached to its
back.
Beyond the door, Magnan's voice supplied a shrill
counterpoint to the rumble of Hoogan questions.
"Then get someone who speaksTerran!" he yelped.
"At this moment my associate is being savaged by the
monster!"
Retief crossed quickly to the window, pulled the
135

RETIEF AT LARGE
drapes aside and unlatched a panel, letting in a draft of
damp night air.
"This way out, fellow," he said. "You'd better get
going before the cops arrive."
The fluffball darted across the room and came to a
shaky stop before Retief. He made quick, nervous
motions. A folded square of paper fell to the floor at
Retief s feet. Then the creature sprang for the open-
ing and was gone as Hoogan feet clumped at the
door.
"Where Spism?" a heavy voice demanded in thick
Terran. A conical Hoogan head in a flaring helmet
swivelled to scan the room.
Behind the guard, Magnan craned for a view.
"Where is the beast?' he shrilled. "It was at least
four-feet high, and its tusks were four-inches long at the
very least!"
The Hoogan advanced into the room. He pointed to
the open window with his broad-headed seven-foot
pike.
"It was a mouse after all," Retief said. "It got
away."
"You let Spism ko?"
"Shouldn't I have?'' Retief inquired mildly, pocket-
ing the paper.
"Spism bad imp from nether rechions; might bite
Derry, get blood boizonink."
"I think you're being impertinent," Magnan said
sharply. "Biting Terrans is perfectly safe—"
The Hoogan turned to him, his pike lowered omi-
nously.
"You will gome with me," it ordered. "The be-
136

THE BRASS GOD
naldy for consortink with minions of Unterworlt is
poilink in oil."
"Here," Magnan said, backing up. "Stand back,
my man—"
The Hoogan reached for Magnan with a long, snaky
hand; Retief stepped up behind him, selected a spot,
and struck a sharp blow with bunched fingertips. The
guard stumbled, fell past Magnan, and hit chin first
with a resounding slam. His pike shattered against the
wall.
"Retief!" Magnan gobbled. "What are you think-
ing of? You've laid hands on a member of the Episcopal
Guard!"
"I had the distinct impression that this fellow hooked
a toe on the rug and fell down. Didn't you notice?"
"Why, you know very well—"
"Just before he reached you, Mr. Magnan."
"Ah . . . why yes, now that you mention it, he did
trip," Magnan's tone was suddenly brisk. "Nasty fall.
I rushed up to support him, but alas, too late. Poor
fellow. Served him right, the brute. Shall we go
through his pockets?"
"Why?"
"You're right; there isn't time. That crash was
doubtless heard throughout the palace."
A second Hoogan appeared at the open door, his
helmet bearing the fanged angel, which was indicative
of officer rank. He eyed the fallen pikeman.
"You addacked this one?" he demanded.
Magnan glanced at the victim as though noticing him
for the first time. "He seems to have fallen down," he
observed brightly.
137

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Against rules to kill Hoogan," the captain said
ominously.
"He . . . ah . . . broke his spear," Magnan
pointed out helpfully.
"Very bad crime, defile ceremonial spear," the
captain said sternly. "Require burification zeremony.
Very expenzive."
Magnan fumbled in a money pouch at one hip. "I'd
love to contribute a little something."
"Ten Hoogan gredits, forget the whole thing. For
extra five dizpose of body."
The felled Hoogan stirred, mumbled, sat up.
"Ha!" the captain said. "Look like no teal. But for
another extra five—" he lifted a short, ugly club from
his belt, "—finish off unfortunate victim of Derry
violence."
"Stop!" Magnan yelled. "Are you out of your
mind?"
"Inzult to overseer castle briest cosd you two more
gredits. For you I mage zpecial brice, three for five."
"Bribery?" Magnan gasped. "Corruption?"
"Three it is," the Hoogan nodded. "How about
you?" he turned to Retief. "You sbort like other
Derry?"
"Look here, I'm paying you nothing!" Magnan
barked. "Just assist this unfortunate chap out of here, if
you please, and we'll get on with our dressing!"
"Small religious contributions fine old Hoogan gus-
tom!" the overseer protested. "You want to fiolate
local tapoos?"
"We Terrans have a few customs of our own,"
Retief put in smoothly. "We feel that graft should only
be paid voluntarily." He offered a note which the
138

THE BRASS GOD
officer palmed deftly. The guard was on his feet now,
swaying. The captain barked an order, his subordinate
gathered up the spear fragments, shot Magnan a
poisonous look and departed, followed by the captain.
Retief closed the door behind the departing visitors,
fished out the scrap of paper dropped by the fleeing
Spism and opened it.
BY THE OGRE FOUNTAIN AT SECOND
MOONRISE; WEAR A YELLOW DUNG FLOWER.
Magnan, busy at the mirror again, heaved a deep
sigh.
"Hardly an auspicious beginning," he commented.
"Heavens! It's twenty-thirty! We're late!" He gave his
sarong a final tug and smoothed a thinning lock across
His forehead.
He led the way along the echoing hall and down a
spiral stair to an archway debouching onto wide steps
above a ragged lawn. Blue lanterns hanging in the
branches of skeletal trees shed a wan radiance on the
fungus-like ornamental plants. Sculptures representing
souls in torment were placed near wide tables laden
with Terran delicacies hastily unloaded from the Corps
transport for the occasion. A dozen grotesquely shaped
fountains spread a fine mist and an odor of sulphur
across the festive scene.
Beyond the high spike-topped wall, the ominous
shape of an immense brass-colored idol reared up half a
mile away. Its ferocious sculptured grin glowing in the
glare of spotlights, its right arm raised in the Hoogan
royal salute—elbow straight out, forearm pointing up-
ward with fingers spread, the left hand gripped the right
biceps.
Magnan shuddered.
139

RETIEF AT LARGE
"That beastly idol—it's sub-Hoogan," Magnan
commented. "Isn't that smoke coming out of its nos-
trils?"
Retief sniffed. "Something's burning," he agreed.
II
A dark figure stepped from dense shadow at Mag-
nan's elbow. "Only old newsbabers you scent," it
rumbled. "Our Hoogan Kods are uzeful; they serve as
gommunity inzinerators.''
"Odom-Glom! You startled me!" Magnan chirped.
He slapped at an insect that buzzed about his face.' 'I do
hope the evening is a big success. It was so thoughtful
of his Arrogance to allow the Corps to act as host
tonight; such a gesture of acceptance—sort of."
"Reverze hosbitality iz an old Hoogan gustom,"
Odom-Glom said. "It would be a kood itea to know all
our old Hoogan gustoms, zo az not to end up lige the
lasd Derran Tiplomat."
"Yes, it was unfortunate about Ambassador
Straphanger's predecessor getting excommunicated,
and all. But really, how was he to know he was sup-
posed to fill the Episcopal begging bowl with
hundred- credit notes ?''
"It wasn't zo much not contributing but pourink the
canned beans in spoiled the bill His Arrokanze had
planted as a hint."
"A bad scene," Magnan agreed. "But I'm sure this
evening will smooth everything over."
The orchestra began tuning up and lugubrious notes
groaned across the lawn. Armed Episcopal guards were
140

THE BRASS GOD
taking up their posts, and sarong-clad diplomats were
forming a receiving line by a stone arch opening
through which the dignitaries would arrive.
"I must hurry alonk now and zee to the kun
emplazements," Odom-Glom said. "One lasd sugges-
tion: wordly goods of course mean nothing to His
Arrokanze, but the deadliest of the zinz isZtinchinezz.
His Arrokanze detests a tightwad." He moved off,
chains clashing.
"The ambassador's not out yet," Magnan noted
nervously. "Gracious, I hope he puts in an appearance
before Bishop Ai-Poppy-Googy arrives. I dread the
prospect of having to engage His Arrogance in light
chit-chat."
"According to the Post Report, dealing with the
Bishop is very simple," Retief said. "Just give him
everything in sight, and if that doesn't satisfy him, give
him some more."
"I can see that you're finally getting the hang of
diplomacy, Retief," Magnan said approvingly. "Still,
I'm worried."
"Since it's your job as protocol officer to soften up
difficult guests," Retief said, "why not meet the
Bishop at the gate and try out a few racy stories on
him?"
"I hardly imagine that the Chief of State of a Theoc-
racy would react to biological anecdotes," Magnan
said stiffly.
"Oh, biology is a perfectly clean subject here on
Hoog; but don't bring up cooking in polite conversa-
tion. According to the handbook, there's an unspoken
agreement among the cultured element that the stork
brings the goodies."
141

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Really? Heavens, and all the cookies are stamped
'Made in Hong Kong'! I'll have to tell the cook to
substitute blintzes. While I'm attending to that, you'd
best take your post at the gate. You'll handle the first
shift tonight. I'll send Stringwhistle along to relieve
you in an hour."
"I could delay the Bishop a few minutes for you,"
Retief offered as they crossed to the gate. "Suppose I
start by demanding to see his invitation."
"None of your ill-timed japes, Retief! After the last
mission's fiasco, establishing a friendly rapport with
the Bishop tonight could mean promotions all around.''
' 'I think the traditional lawn party is a little too subtle
for a fellow like the Bishop. We should have used a
simple symbolism—like a few rounds of heavy artillery
lobbed into the palace grounds."
"Hardly the diplomatic approach," Magnan
sniffed. "For centuries now it's been understood that if
enough diplomats go to parties, everything will come
right in the end."
"I wonder if the Hoogans understand that tradi-
tion?"
"Certainly; after all, we're all fellow beings—
brothers under the skin, as it were."
"In this case, the skin is an inch thick and tougher
than armorplast. I'm not sure we can pentrate to the
brotherhood layer in time to stop bloodshed."
"Actually, I rather look forward to matching epi-
grams with His Arrogance tonight," Magnan said loft-
ily, turning to scan the gardens. "As you know, I'm
always at my sparkling best with high-ranking
guests—and, of course, mere size and strength fail
utterly to intimidate me."
142

THE BRASS GOD
Magnan turned at a sound behind him, uttered a
strangled yelp, and trampled a Hoog waiter's foot as he
leaped back from the spectacle of a seven-foot high,
six-foot wide Hoog wrapped in cloth of gold. The
monster's gilded features included one-inch nose
holes, huge, watery, reddish eyes and a wide mouth set
in a formal grimace to display polished gold-capped
teeth. Two clusters of ringed fingers gripped the hilt of
an immense two-edged sword.
"Somethink smells pat!" the apparition bellowed.
He leaned forward, sniffed vigorously at Magnan and
snorted.
"Horriple!" he announced, elbowing Magnan
aside. "Ko away, vellow! You're invested with an
acute P.O.!"
"Why, Your Arrogance—it's just a touch of skin
bracer in back of my ear."
"It smelts like pargain night in a choy house.
Where's Ambassador Hapstrinker? Ldrust you have
blenty of food reaty. I unterstant you Denies take a
kreat interesd in gooking." The Bishop winked a
damp, pink eye, rammed Magnan under the ribs, and
guffawed comfortably.
"Oof!" Magnan said. "Why, Your Arrogance!"
The Bishop was already striding toward the nearest
table, his escort of armed and helmeted guards trailing
behind, fingering scimitars and eyeing the diplomats
supiciously.
"I . . .1 think I'll just scoot along and see to the
refreshments," Magnan bleated. "Retief, you accom-
pany His Arrogance and keep him amused until help
arrives—I mean, until the ambassador puts in an ap-
pearance!" He fled.
143

RETIEF AT LARGE
The Bishop dipped a boneless finger into a large
crystal container of cheese sauce, studied it at arm's
length, sniffed it, then, with a flick of a limber wrist,
spattered it across the ruffled shirt fronts and glassy
smiles of the diplomats strung out in the receiving line.
"Who are these loavers?" he demanded loudly.
"Bropaply relatives, waitink arount for handouts. I
have the zame proplem. Or had the zame proplem, I
should zay. Two weeks ako was Zelf-Denial Feztival. I
made the subreme sagrifize ant offered the entire lot to
the anzestral spirids."
"Giving up your relatives for Lent is quite an idea,"
Retief said. "It could catch on."
The Bishop picked up a plate of dainty sandwiches,
spilled the food off, sniffed the plate, and took a small
bite. "I've heard a kreat teal about Derran tishes," he
said, chewing noisily. "A bit too crizp, but not pat."
He took a second nip from the thin porcelain and
offered it to Retief.
"Have a bite," he invited genially.
"No thanks, I filled up on a beer bottle just before
Your Arrogance arrived," Retief countered. "Try the
dinner plates. They're said to be an epicure's delight.''
There was a sudden stir from the vicinity of the wide
terrace doors. Ambitious diplomatic underlings sprang
to positions of eager anticipation, their delighted smiles
ready. The squat figure of Career Minister
Straphanger, Terrestrial Ambassador Extraordinary
and Minister Plenipotentiary to Hoog waddled into
view, stylishly decked out in a short but heavily
brocaded Hoogan longhi, a brilliant red sash which all
but dragged the ground, and jeweled sandals. At his
side puffed a companion of almost identical build and
144

THE BRASS GOD
garb, distinguished only by a mop of vivid orange hair.
Magnan trailed by two yards.
"Ah, the ambassador is twints?" the Bishop in-
quired, moving toward the approaching pair.
"No, that's Mrs. Straphanger," Retief said. "If I
were Your Arrogance I'd ditch that saucer; she's fierce
when aroused."
"Ah, the edernal female, ever conzerned with food
gonzervation.'' The Bishop tossed a crust of the plate in
back of a flowering bush.
"Ah, there, Ambassador Strakhumper!" he bel-
lowed. "And your charmink cow! She will be litterink
zoon, I trust?"
' 'Littering? How's that?'' Straphanger stared around
in confusion.
"I azzume you keep your cows pregnant?" the
Bishop boomed. "Or possibly thiz one is over-aged.
Bud no matter; doubtless she waz a gread broducer in
her day."
"Well, I never!" Mrs. Straphanger snapped, brid-
ling.
"By the way," Ai-Poppy-Googy went on, "I hate to
diguss finanzes over food, zo I suggesd we deal with
the broplem of an abbrobriate kift ad onze. I am of
gourse quite brebared to vorget the drivial misun-
terstantink with the former ampassator ant agcepd any
zum in egzess of one million gredits withoud
quibblink."
"One million credits?" Straphanger babbled.
"Gift?"
"Of gourse, if you wish to avoid aquirink a reputa-
tion az a piker, an egstra million would not be taken
amiss."
145

RETIEF AT LARGE
"A million credits of Corps funds? But . . . but
whatever for?"
"Ah, ah," the Bishop waggled an admonitory tactile
member. "No pryink into Hoogan internal matters!"
"Oh, no, indeed. Your Arrogance! I only meant
. . . what's the occasion? For the gift. I mean."
"It's Tuesday."
"Oh."
The Bishop nodded placidly. "Luggy you didn't
throw thiz affair on Wentsday; thad's douple gifd
day." He plucked a glass from a tray offered by a
bearer, emptied the contents on the lawn and nipped a
chip from the edge with his polished metallic teeth,
munching thoughtfully.
"Lackink in flavor," he commented.
"My best crystal," Mrs. Straphanger gasped. "All
the way from Brooklyn, yet, and like a goat he's eating
it!"
"A koat?" The Bishop eyed her suspiciously. "I
don't belief I know the term."
"It's a ... a sort of gourmet," Straphanger impro-
vised. Sweat was glistening on his forehead. "Known
for its discriminating tastes."
"Now, about the matter of a bension," the Bishop
continued. "I zee no neet of oztentation. A mere thou-
sant a day would suvvize as a token of Corps ezteem.''
' 'A thousand what a day?" The ambassador inquired
around a frozen diplomatic grin which exposed old-
fashioned removable dentures.
' 'Gredits, of gourse. And then there is the matter of
zupzidies to Hoogan industry; zay vivty thousant a
month. Ton'd give a thoughd to atminisdration; just
make the cheggs payable to me perzonally—''
146

THE BRASS GOD
"Hoogan industry? But I was given to understand
there are no industries here on Hoog."
"That's why we reguire a zupzidy," the Bishop said
blandly.
Straphanger hitched his smile in place with an effort.
"Your Arrogance, I'm here merely to establish
friendly relations, to bring Hoog into the mainstream of
Galactic cultural life—"
"What coult be frientlier than money?" the Bishop
inquired in a loud, final-sounding voice.
"Well," Straphanger conceded, "we might arrange
a loan—"
"An oudright krant iz zo much zimpler," the Bishop
pointed out.
"Of course, it would mean extra staff, to handle the
administrative load." Straphanger rubbed his hands
together, a speculative gleam in his eye. "Say twenty-
five for a start."
The Bishop turned as a mediumsized Hoog in tight,
black and silver vestments came up, growled in his ear
and waved a rubbery arm toward the house.
"What?" the Bishop exploded. He swivelled on
Straphanger. "You are harporink tapoo greatures?
Givink aid and gomfort to untesirable elements?
Sharink your zubstanze with minions of the opposi-
tion?"
"Your Arrogance!" Straphanger's voice quavered
against the rising roar of the outraged cleric. "I don't
understand! What did that fellow say?"
The Bishop bawled commands in Hoogan. His es-
cort scattered and began beating the bushes which rim-
med the garden. The ambassador trotting at his side, the
guest of honor strode to the laden refreshment tables,
147

RETIEF AT LARGE
and began stuffing in fragile china, muttering to him-
self.
"Your Arrogance," Straphanger panted. "If I could
just have some explanation! I'm sure it's all just a
ghastly mistake! What are these men searching for? I
assure you—"
"Out of the gootnezz of my heart I welgomed you to
Hoog!" the Bishop roared. "As a great gompliment to
you, I abzorbed your language! I was even ready to
agzept cash, the zubreme chesture! And now I find that
you openly gonzort with the enemies of the Kods!"
Standing on the sidelines of the verbal fray, Retief
glanced around the garden. He spotted a fountain in the
shape of a two-headed Hoogan dwarf with oversized
teeth and belly, and moved over to it.
There was a tug at his sandal lace. He looked down.
Two bright eyes at the ends of wirelike stalks stared up
appealingly from a clump of grass. He glanced
around—all eyes were on the Bishop.
"Are you looking for me?" Retief asked softly.
"Right!" a squeaky voice piped. "You're a hard
man to have a quiet chat with, Mr. . . . ahh."
"Retief."
"How do, Retief. My name's Jackspurt. The boys
appointed me spokesman to tell you Terries about
what's going on. After all, I guess us Spism's got a few
rights, too."
"If you can explain what's going on in this filbert
factory, I'll be forever in your debt, Jackspurt. Speak
your piece."
"It's the Hoogans; they don't give us a minute's
peace. Talk about persecution! Do you know those
psalm-singing hippos are blaming us for everything
148

THE BRASS GOD
from sour milk to loss of potency? It's getting where it's
not safe to take a stroll after sundown."
"Hold on, Jackspurt. Maybe you'd better fill me in
on some background. Who are you? Why are the
Hoogans after you? And where did you learn to speak
Terran with that flawless enunciation of consonants?"
"I used to be a mascot on a Terry trader; I stowed
away when she landed here for emergency repairs. It
was a great life; but after a while I got homesick for
good old Hoog—you know how it is—''
"You're a native of this charming world?"
"Sure—us Spism's have been around longer than
the Hoogs. And we got along for thousands of years
with no trouble. The Hoogs took the surface, and we
settled in nice and comfy underground. Then they got
religion and it's been hell ever since."
"Hold on, Jackspurt. I always heard that religion
exercised a beneficent influence on those fortunate
enough to possess it."
"That depends on which side you're on."
"That's a point."
"But I haven't given you the big picture yet. These
Hoogan priests launched a full-scale propaganda
campaign—painted up a lot of religious art with pic-
tures of Spisms poking pitchforks at Hoogs, and pretty
soon it got so even the average Hoog in the street started
jumping and making X's in the air and mumbling spells
everytime one of us came up for a breath of fresh air.
The next thing we knew, it was full-scale war! I'm
telling you, Retief, us Spisms are in bad shape—and
it's gotta get worse!"
A guard was working his way toward the ogre foun-
tain.
149

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Jiggers, the gendarmes," Retief said. "You'd bet-
ter get out of sight, Jackspurt. They're beating
the bushes for you. Why don't we continue this
later."
The Spism whisked back under cover. "But this is
important, Retief!" Jackspurt's voice emanated from
the brush. "The boys are counting on me."
"Shh! Watch me and take your cue."
Magnan had turned and was eyeing Retief suspi-
ciously. He stepped to his junior's side.
"Retief, if you're mixed up in this mix-up . . ."
"Me, Mr. Magnan? Why, I just arrived this after-
noon the same time you did."
"Magnan!" Straphanger's voice cut through the
hubbub. "The Bishop informs me that some sort of
demonic creature was seen here on the Embassy
grounds this evening! Of course we know nothing
about it, but His Arrogance has drawn the unfortunate
implication that we're consorting with denizens of the
netherworld!" He lowered his voice as Magnan drew
close. "Superstitious poppycock, but we've got to play
along. You and the others spread out and go through a
show of looking for this mythical imp. I'll pacify His
Arrogance."
"Certainly, Mr. Ambassador. But . . . ah . . .
what if we find it?"
"Then you're an even greater idiot than I suspect!"
Straphanger twisted his working smile into position and
turned back to the Bishop.
"Retief, you start along there," Magnan indicated
the front of the house. "I'll go poke about in the
bushes. And whatever you do, don't turn up
anything—like that ghastly creature we encountered
150

THE BRASS GOD
upstairs." A startled look spread across his face.
"Good Lord, Retief! Do you suppose—?"
"Not a chance. I picture something more like a
medium-sized dragon."
"Still . . . perhaps I'd better mention it to the am-
bassador."
"And confirm the Bishop's opinion? Very cour-
ageous of you. Mind if I stick around and watch?"
"On the other hand, he's a busy man," Magnan said
hurriedly. "After all, why bother him with trivia?" He
hurried off to take up a position near the Bishop and
make a show of stooping and peering among the
conifer-like hedges.
Retief sauntered back to the table deserted now ex-
cept for a lone Hoogan bearer at the far end gathering
empties onto a wide tray and tossing damp paper nap-
kins into a capacious waste-paper receptacle. Retief
picked up an empty sandwich plate, said "hsst!" The
Hoogan looked up as Retief tossed the plate, dropped
the big paper bag and caught the tossed crockery.
"Here's some more," Retief offered helpfully. He
gathered up and handed over a pair of saucers, three
empty glasses and a couple of cheese sandwiches each
minus one bite. "You'd better hump along now and
police up behindHis Arrogance," he suggested. "He's
leaving a trail of saucer rims behind him—doesn't seem
to like the floral design."
"You dry dell me my chop?" the Hoogan demanded
truculently as Retief fumbled a spoon and let it drop to
the grass just under the edge of the hanging table cloth.
"Certainly not, old boy," Retief reassured the
glowering local. He stopped for the spoon, caught a
glimpse of an eye peering from the shadows.
151

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Get in the bag," he hissed from the corner of his
mouth.
"Who you talg to?" the servant ducked and stared
under the table. Behind him, the paper-trash container
rustled softly as the Spism whisked into it.
"Just addressing a few words to the spoon god,"
Retief said blandly. "Bad luck to drop a spoon, you
know."
"Yes?" the Hoogan said. He leaned against the
table, got out a much-used toothpick and began plying
it on his unpolished teeth. "You voreigners kot grazy
iteas. Efrypoty know kood lug trob sboon, bat lug trob
forg." He carefully examined the tip of the toothpick.
"Back home, falling from a ten-story building is
considered an inauspicious omen," Retief rambled on,
watching the armed Episcopal Guards as they worked
closer. One came over to the table, gave Retief a sharp
look, thrust his head under the table, and then reached
down to check the paper-trash container.
"How about a little refreshment?"
Retief picked up a cup, dipped it full from a bowl of
thick purple punch, took a step toward the warrior and
seemed to trip; the sticky fluid struck the Hoogan just
below the clasp holding the rainbow-hued cape, spread
out in an interesting pattern across his polished
breastplate. The bearer grabbed up his tray and bag and
backed off hurriedly as the spluttering guard slapped
limber fingers at the purple mess.
"Itiot! Clumpsy oaf!" he choked angrily.
"What? Boozink on tudy?" a vast voice boomed.
The Bishop bellied past Retief, planted himself before
the confused Hoogan. "The benalty is boilink in oil!"
he roared. "Take him away!"
152

THE BRASS GOD
in
Other guardsmen closed in and grabbed their unfor-
tunate fellow.
"That was my fault, Your Arrogance," Retief
started. "I offered him—"
"You would inderfere with the Ebiscobal adminis-
tration of justize?" the Bishop bellowed, turning on
Retief. "You have the demerity to sugchest that the
Ebiscobal judgment is fallible?"
"Not exactly; you're just wrong," Retief said. "I
spilled the punch on him."
The Bishop's face purpled; his mouth worked. He
swallowed.
"It's ben zo long zinze anyone condraticded me,"
he said mildly, "that I've vorkotten the bunishment."
He waved two fingers in blessing. "You are apzolved,
my zon," he said airily. "In vact, I apzolv you for the
whole weekent. Have fun; it's on the house."
"Why, isn't that gracious of His Arrogance," Mag-
nan chirped, popping up beside the Bishop. "What a
pity we didn't find the demon; but I—"
"That reminds me," the Bishop said ominously. He
fixed an eye on Ambassador Straphanger as the senior
diplomat came up. "I'm still waitink for results!"
"Look here, Your Arrogance! How can we find a
demon if there's no demon here?"
"That's your broblem!"
There was a yell from the gate. Two guards were
man-handling the bearer with the waste-paper bag, who
jerked away, making indignant noises. The bag fell,
153

RETIEF AT LARGE
split open, spilling garbage from the midst of which the
fugitive Spism burst, sending scraps flying in every
direction.
With a bound, it was past the astonished guards and
heading for the rear gate. More guards appeared in its
path, jerking long-barrelled guns from tooled holsters.
A shot seared a long gouge in the deep grass, narrowly
missing other Episcopal retainers dashing up to get a
crack at the action. The Bishop yelled, waving his
boneless arms.
Cut off, the Spism veered, dashed from the house,
but was met by a squad charging out from inside. A
near-miss smashed dishes on the table behind Magnan,
who yelped and hit the dirt.
The Spism skittered, took evasive action, headed for
the flower-decked gate letting out onto the drive. The
guards were all behind it now, the way clear. With a
tremendous yell, Bishop Ai-Poppy-Googy whipped his
giant sword out and leaped to intercept the fleeing
creature. As he bounded past Retief, the latter pivoted,
and thrust out a foot. He hooked the Espiscopal leg just
above a flare-topped, bejeweled pink leather shoe. His
Arrogance dived forward, struck medals-first, and
skidded on his face under the table.
"Why, hi there," Magnan's voice piped under the
muffling canopy of the drooping tablecloth. "Just a
minute, and I'll scroonch over—"
The Bishop roared and rose up, the table lifting with
him; dishes, glasses, and food cascaded off on Mag-
nan, who was still crouching on the ground. With a
surge, the Bishop hurled the board aside and roared
again, while whirling to confront the dancing figure of
154

THE BRASS GOD
Ambassador Straphanger, who flapped a napkin at the
mud on the ornate conicals of the guest of honor.
"Treazon!" Ai-Poppy-Googy bellowed. "Azzaz-
zints! Murderers! Achents of theUnterworlt! Obstruc-
tors of chustist! Heretics!"
"Now, now, Your Arrogance! Don't get upset—"
"Upzet! This iz maybe a choke?" The Bishop
dashed the muddied cloth from Straphanger's hand. He
bent down, snatched up his sword and waved it over-
head. The Episcopal Guard was closing in quickly
now.
"I hereby eggsgommunigate the lot of you!" the
Bishop yelled. "No food, no water, no bolice brotec-
tion! Alzo, you will be puplicly eggsecuted! Boys,
round zem up!"
Guns were suddenly leveled at the huddle of dip-
lomats surrounding the ambassador. Magnan yelped.
Straphanger's wattles quivered.
"Ton'd miss this one!" Ai-Poppy-Googy indicated
Retief. "It was his foot I fell over!" A guard poked a
gun into Retief's side.
"Ah, I think Your Arrogance is foregetting that Mr.
Retief has an Episcopal dispensation," Straphanger
said brightly. "Retief, if you'll just run along to my
office and send out a code two-oh-three—or is it three-
oh-two—or—anyway, a call for aitch ee ell pee—"
' 'He'll ko along with the rest of you scoundrels!'' the
Bishop yelled. Half a dozen armed Hoogans were herd-
ing the remainder of the staff up to join the group now.
"Any more insite?"
"No, Your Arrokants," the captain of the guard
reported. "Only a few zervants."
155

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Poil them in oil for azzociatink with azzazzints! As
for the rest of you—"
"Your Arrogance," Straphanger spoke up. "Natu-
rally, I don't mind dying, if its Your Arrogance's
pleasure, but then we won't be able to give you the gifts
and things, will we?"
"Tamn!" Ai-Poppy-Googy threw his sword down,
narrowly missing Magnan's foot. "I forgot about the
gifts!" He looked thoughtful. "Look, zuppose I make
arranchmends for you to write a few chegs in your zell
before the eggzecution?"
"Oh, I'm afraid that wouldn't do at all, Your Arro-
gance . I need the Embassy seal, and the check verifying
machine, and the code books and—"
"Well . . . bossibly I might make an egzeption; I'll
defer punishment until the cash arrives."
"Sorry, Your Arrogance, but I wouldn't ask you to
deviate from tradition just to accommodate me. No,
we're all excommunicated, so I suppose we may just as
well get comfortable and start starving—"
"Holt it! Don't rush me! Who's doing the
eggsgommunigatink, you or me?'
"Oh, you are."
"Brecizely! And I zay you're not eggsgommuni-
gated!" The Bishop stared around truculently. "Now,
about the gifd! You can deliver the two million im-
mediately; I juzt happened to pring an armored gar
alonk—"
"TWO million? But you said one million!"
"This is touple-gift day."
"But you said Wednesday was double-gift day. This
is only Tuesday.''
156

THE BRASS GOD
"It's now Wentsday, by Ebiscobal decree," the
Bishop said, raising his sword.
"But you can't—I mean, how can you?"
"Calendar reform," Ai-Poppy-Googy said. "Lonk
overdue."
"Well, I suppose it could be arranged."
"Kood! I herepy grant you an Ebiscobal rebrieve.
Put that toesn't inglude the resd of these untesire-
aples!" the Bishop waved a hand. "Drake them away,
poys!"
"Ah . . .I'm grateful for the pardon, I'm sure,"
Straphanger said, gaining confidence rapidly; "but of
course I won't be able to process the paper work prop-
erly without my staff."
Ai-Poppy-Googy glared with large, damp red eyes.
"All right! Keep them! They're all rebrieved egzebd
thad one!" He aimed a finger at Retief like a gun. "I
have sbezial blans for him!" the guards shifted their
attention to Retief ringing him in with aimed
guns.
"Maybe His Arrogance would be just a teeny bit
lenient this time>" Magnan suggested, dabbing at a
smear of liver paste along his bare arm, "if Mr. Retief
apologized and promised never to do it again."
"Do whad akain?" the Bishop demanded.
"Trip you," Magnan said. "You know, like he did
just now."
"He dribbed me?" Ai-Poppy-Googy choked. "On
burpose?"
"Why, ah, it must have been a mistake—"
Straphanger started.
"Your Arrogance has such a keen sense of humor,
157

RETIEF AT LARGE
I'm sure you'll see the comic aspect of it, if you just
think about it," Magnan offered.
"Retief! Did you—I mean, surely you didn't."
Straphanger choked.
"Well!" Magnan said indignantly. "I was lying
right there."
"Zearch him!" the Bishop bellowed. Guards
jumped forward; busy hands grabbing at Retief's kilt-
pockets, almost at once came upon the folded paper the
Spism had dropped as it fled his room.
"Ah-hah!" the Bishop pounced. He opened the
paper and read the message.
"A gonsbirazy!" he yelled. "Unter my very nose!
Put the ironts on him!"
"1 must protest!" Straphanger spoke up. "You can't
go about chaining up diplomats every time a little
indiscretion is committed! Leave the matter to me,
Your Arrogance; I'll see that a sharp entry goes in his
record.''
"The Kods will nod be denied their tue!" Ai-
Poppy-Googy roared. "Domorrow is the Krant Vesti-
fal of Wentstay—"
"Tomorrow's Thursday," Magnan interjected.
"Domorrow is Wentstay! Today is Wentstay! I
herepy teclare a whole weeg of Wentstays, plast it!
Now, as I was sayink—this Derran will bartizibate in
the vestifal! Zuch is the holy will! No more arku-
ments!"
"Oh, he'll be taking part in a ceremony!"
Straphanger said in a relieved tone. "Well, goodness, I
suppose we can spare him long enough for that." He
offered a small diplomatic chuckle. "The Corps is
158

THE BRASS GOD
always ready to promote worship in whatever form, of
course."
"The only drue Kods are the Hookan Kods, py the
Kods!" the Bishop boomed. "Any more of yourDer-
ran heresy and I'll referse my tisbenzation! Now dake
thiz one to the demple and brebare him vor the rides of
Wentstay! The resd of you will remain unter arresd,
undil the will of the Kods is known!"
"Mr. Ambassador," Magnan quavered, tugging at
Straphanger's arm, "do you think you should allow
them—"
"Merely letting His Arrogance save face,"
Straphanger said in a confidential tone. He winked at
Retief. "Don't worry, my boy; good experience for
you. You'll get an inside view of the Hoogan religious
concept at work."
"But—but, what if they ... I mean, boiling in oil
is so permanent," Magnan persisted.
"Quiet, Magnan! I'll have no whiners in my organi-
zation!"
"Thanks for thinking of me, Mr. Magnan," Retief
said. "I still have my good-luck charm."
'.'Charm?" Magnan looked blank.
"Witchgraft?" the Bishop boomed. "I zuzbegted as
much!" He turned a large, red eye on Straphanger.
"I' 11 pe zeeing you at the zeremony! Ton'd pe 1 ade!"
He eyed Retief. "Are you goming beazevully?"
"In view of the number of guns aimed at me," Retief
said, "I sincerely hope so."
159

RETIEF AT LARGE
IV
The cell was narrow, dark, damp, and unfurnished
except for a plain table with a bottle of bitter-smelling
wine and a narrow bench on which Retief sat. His
wrists were chained together, and he was listening to a
muffled tapping which sounded faintly from beyond
the walls. It had been going on now for twelve hours, he
estimated—long enough for theHoogans to have com-
pleted their preparations for the religious ceremonies in
which he was to play a part.
The tapping abruptly changed tone and sounded
louder, nearer. There was a light clatter, as of pebbles
tossed on the floor. A moment later, there was a soft
scraping sound, a rasping like fingernails on a
blackboard; then silence.
"Retief, are you there?" a thin voice chirped
through the pitch darkness.
"Sure, Jackspurt! Come on in and join theparty. I'm
glad to see you eluded the gendarmes."
"Those slobs! Hah. But listen, Retief, I've got bad
news."
"Press on, Jackspurt; I'm listening."
"This is Festival Day—and Old Googy's scheduled
the big all-out push for today, to tie in with the mumbo-
jumbo. The Hoogs have been building this king-size
fumigator for months—stacking it full of rubbish, old
rags, worn-out tires, and what not. At the height of the
big ceremony they set the stuff on fire and start the
smoke-pumps going. They got a system of pipes laid
out leading into the burrows, see? There won't be a safe
160

THE BRASS GOD
spot for Spisms for miles around. Our boys will come
stampeding out of their hideaways, some of which have
been in the family for generations, and zowie! the
Bishop's troops lower the boom! It'll be the finish of us
Spisms!"
"That's a heart-rending story, Jackspurt—or it
would be, if I weren't in such a heart-rending position
myself at the moment."
'' Yeah, the Wednesday Rites. You scheduled for the
matinee or the big evening spectacular?" Jackspurt
broke off as clankings sounded from beyond the door.
"Holy Moses, Retief! Time's up! They're here! Lis-
ten, I was supposed to brief you in, like, but it took
longer'n I figured tunneling through that wall, and then
I got to yakking—"
A key scraped in the keyhole.
"Listen! Did you drink any of what's in the bottle?"
"No."
"Good! It's doped! When I leave, dump it! You'll
have to pretend you can't talk or the jig's up! Put on a
kind of zombie routine, see? Whatever they tell
you—do it! If they get the idea you're putting some-
thing over, it's zkkk! for every Terry on Hoog! And
remember! Keep your head down and your arms and
legs tucked in—"
The lock turned with a rasp of rusty tumblers.
"Gotta go! Good luck!" Jackspurt scrambled and
was gone.
Retief took a step, grabbed up the bottle, poured it
down the three-inch hole through which his visitor had
fled.
Light blazed as the heavy door swung inward. Three
hooded Hoogan pikemen came into the cell, followed
161

RETIEF AT LARGE
by a black-robed priest. Retief stood holding the empty
bottle, his body concealing Jackspurt's escape route.
"How to you veel, Derry?" the priest inquired,
looking Retief over. He stepped in, thumbed Retief's
eyelid up, grunted, and took the empty bottle from his
hand.
"Goked to the eyeprows," he stated.
"Are you zure?" a pikeman challenged. "I ton'd
drust these voreigners."
"Nadurally I'm zure; the hypervasgulations of the
subraoccibital whatchamagallids is dypical; a glassic
gase. Dake him alonk."
Hemmed in by pikes. Retief followed along a torch-
lit passage, up winding stone stairs, to emerge abruptly
into blinding light and the susurrus of a multitude of
voices, above which one rose like the boom of surf:
". . . azzure you, my tear AmpassadorHipstinker,
our brinzibal tiety, Uk-Ruppa-Tooty, is nod only a
hantzome degoration and a gonstand reminter to the
bobulaze that the nexd tithe is tue—he also broduzes
oragular stadements rekularly effry Wentstay at one B.
M. Of gourse, it is nod always kiven to us to untersdant
what he's dalkink apout, bud the evvegd on the beasan-
dry is most zaludory."
Squinting against the sudden sunlight, Retief made
out the resplendently robed figure of the Bishop, seated
under a vast parasol on a massive throne of dark wood
carved with designs of intertwined serpents. He was
flanked on the left by theTerran Ambassador and on the
right by a huddle of lesser diplomats. The group was
ringed in by stony-faced Hoogan guards with bared
scimitars.
The priest who had accompanied Retief bowed unc-
162

THE BRASS GOD
tiously before the Episcopal throne.' 'Your Arrokanze,
the Zoon-to-pe-Alefated One is here," he indicated
Retief with a wave of the hand.
"Is he . . . ah . . . ?" Ai-Poppy-Googy looked
inquiringly at the escort.
"A glassig gase of hypervasgulations of the think-
amapops," a pikeman spoke up.
"Poil thad one in oil," the Bishop said, frowning.
"He dalgs doo mudge."
"You appear a bit peaked, Retief," Straphanger
commented. "I trust you slept well last night? Com-
fortable quarters and all that?"
Retief stared absently past the ambassador's left ear.
"Retief, the ambassador's addressing you," Mag-
nan said sharply.
"Brobably he's losd in metitations," Ai-Poppy-
Googy said hastily. "On with the zeremony."
"Perhaps he's sick," Magnan said. "Here, you'd
better sit down."
"Ah-ah," Ai-Poppy-Googy held up a limber hand.
"The mosd imbortand bortion of the zeremony yed
remaints to pe zeleprated."
"Ah, yes, of course," Straphanger sat back. "I'd
quite forgotten, Your Arrogance." He glanced around.
"We'll have a magnificent view of the proceedings
from here."
At a prod from an Episcopal Guard, Retief turned—
and found himself staring directly into the vast brass
smile of the Hoogan idol.
From Retief's elevated viewpoint atop the two-
hundred foot high ziggurat, the head of the god reared
up another fifty feet. It was an immense stylized
Hoogan face of polished yellow metal, the vast hand
163

RETIEF AT LARGE
upraised beside it. The eyes were deep hollows at the
back of which a sullen red glow gave an impression of
malignant intelligence. The noseholes, a yard each in
diameter, drooled a thin trickle of smoke which coiled
up past soot-streaked cheeks to dissipate in the clear air.
The mouth which split the massive head, gaped in a
crocodile smile set with spade-shaped teeth with spaces
between them beyond which was visible a curve of
polished esophagus agleam with leaping reflections
from inner fires below.
Two lesser priests stepped forward to hang assorted
ornaments on Retief's shoulders and neck. Another
taking up a position before him, intoned a repetitious
chant. Somewhere, drums commenced a slow tattoo. A
murmur passed over the crowd packing the slopes of
the ziggurat and the plaza below. Standing at ease,
apparently ignoring his surroundings, Retief noted a
two-foot wide trough cut in the stone platform at his
feet, deepening and slanting down as it ran to the abrupt
drop-off ten yards distant. An acolyte was busy pouring
oil into the hollow and spreading it with swipes of his
hands.
"Just what does this phase of the ceremonial in-
volve?" Straphanger inquired in a tone of synthetic
diplomatic interest.
"Waid and zee," Ai-Poppy-Googy said shortly.
"Mr. Ambassador," Magnan whispered hoarsely.
"His hands are chained!"
"Part of the ceremony, no doubt."
"And that groove," Magnan went on. "It runs from
Retief right over to the edge . . . just above that
horrible ig-bay outh-may."
"Yes, yes, you needn't play the part of a tourist
164

THE BRASS GOD
guide,Magnan. By the way," Straphanger lowered his
voice, "you didn't happen to bring along a hip flask, I
suppose?"
"Why, no, Mr. Ambassador. I have a nice antiviral
nasal spray, if that would help. But about that chute—''
"Warm, isn't it, Your Arrogance?" Straphanger
turned to the Bishop. "A bit dry, too."
"You ton'd lige our Hoogan weather?" the Bishop
asked in an ominous tone.
"No, no, it's fine. I love it when it's nice and hot and
dry."
"Ah, Your Arrogance," Magnan spoke up. "Just
what is it you have in mind doing with Retief?"
"Iz kreat honor," the Bishop said.
"I'm sure we're all delighted at this opportunity for
one of our group to get an inside view of the
Hoogan religious philosophy," Straphanger said
sharply. "Now kindly sit down and stop that infernal
chattering," he added behind his hand.
The Bishop was speaking quickly in Hoogan; the
attendant priests urged Retief forward a step, grasped
his arms and deftly placed him face-down in the oiled
channel. The rattle of the drums rose to a crescendo.
Flabby Hoogan hands shoved Retief forward down the
steepening slope.
"Mr. Ambassador!" Magnan's voice rose to a shrill
bleat. "I do believe they're feeding him to that mon-
ster!" -
"Nonsense, Magnan!" Straphanger's suety voice
countered. "It's all symbolic, I'm sure. And I might
point out that you're hardly conducting yourself like a
seasoned diplomat."
"Stop!" Retief, sliding rapidly toward the edge,
165

RETIEF AT LARGE
heard Magnan's yelp and the scuffle of rapid footsteps.
There was a wet splat! and bony elbows slammed
against him. He twisted, caught a glimpse of Magnan's
white face, open mouth and clutching hands as together
they shot over the edge and out in a graceful arc toward
the waiting jaws of Uk-Ruppa-Tooty.
V
Keep your arms and legs tucked in, Jackspurt had
said; Retief had time to grit his teeth—then he was
hurtling past the tombstone-sized fangs, Magnan's
hands still clutching his legs. They dropped down into a
blast of searing heat and light, then suddenly, stun-
ningly, they slammed against and through a yielding,
shredding network of filaments as fine as spiderwebs.
Retief came to a stop, rebounded, caught at a heavier
cable that brushed his hand, and was clinging to a
coarse rope ladder, Magnan's weight dangling from his
heels.
' 'Bullseye!'' a tiny voice screeched almost in his ear.
"Now let's get out of here fast, before they dope out
what happened!"
Retief found a foothold in the snarl of rope, reached
down and hauled the rag-limp second secretary to his
side. The heat from below was scorching, even here in
the shelter of a bulge in the god's throat.
"Wha-what-bu-bu—" Magnan babbled, groping
for a handhold.
"Hurry up, Retief!" Jackspurt urged. "Up here by
the tonsils! It's a secret passage!"
Retief assisted Magnan in scrambling up. He
166

THE BRASS GOD
boosted him into the narrow, circular burrow that ran
back through the solid metal. The Spism in the lead,
they moved hurriedly away from the sound of priestly
voices raised in puzzled inquiry, reached a set of
cramped steps leading down.
"We're okay now," Jackspurt said. "Take a
breather, and then we'll go down and meet the boys."
Later they were in a cavern floored with rough
masonry, and lit by a burning wick afloat in a shallow
bowl of aromatic oil. All around, twitching Spism
eye-stalks stared at the intruders; the close-packed red
goblin-forms of Jackspurt and his clan moved rest-
lessly, like giant fiddler crabs on some subterranean
beach. Behind them, tall, pale-blue cousins poised on
yard-long legs, watched from shadowy corners. In
niches and crannies in the walls, tiny green Spisms and
sluggish orange forms with white spots clung, gazing.
Dark purple Spisms, dangling from the ceiling like
tumorous stalactites, waved their free legs hypnoti-
cally, studying the scene.
Magnan's fingers dug into Retief's arm. "G-great
heavens, Retief!" he gasped out. "You—you don't
suppose we've died and that my Aunt Minerva was
right all along?"
"Mr. Retief, meet the boys," Jackspurt clambered
up to perch on a ledge overlooking the gathering. ' A
lot of them are pretty shy, but they're a good-natured
bunch, always a thousand laughs. When they heard you
was in trouble, they all joined in to help out."
"Tell them Mr. Magnan and I said thanks," Retief
said. "It was an experience we wouldn't have missed.
Right, Mr. Magnan?"
"I'd certainly never miss it," Magnan swallowed
167

RETIEF AT LARGE
audibly. "H-how is it you can talk to these hobgoblins,
Retief?" he hissed. "You haven't . . .ah. . .made
some sort of pact with the powers of darkness, I trust?"
"Hey, Retief," Jackspurt said. "Your friend got
some kind of race prejudice or something?"
"Heavens, no," Magnan said in a strangled voice.
"Some of my best friends are fiends—I mean, in our
profession, one meets—"
"Mr. Magnan is just a little confused," Retief put
in. "He didn't expect to be playing such an active role
in today's events."
Speaking of active, we better get you gents back to
the surface fast," Jackspurt said. "The pumps will be
starting up any minute now."
"Where are you going when the fumigation be-
gins?"
"We got an escape route mapped out through the
sewers that ought to bring us out in the clear a couple
miles from town. We're just hoping the Hoog don't
have the outfall staked out."
"Where are these smoke pumps located?" Retief
asked.
"Up above—in Uk-Ruppa-Tooty's belly."
"Who's manning them?"
"A couple of priests. Why?"
"How do we get there from here?"
"Well, there's a couple passages—but we better not
waste any time sight-seeing."
"Retief, are you out of your mind?" Magnan
blurted. "If the priests see us, our goose will be
cooked, along with the rest of our anatomies!"
"We'll try to make it a point to see them first.
Jackspurt, can you get a couple of dozen volunteers?"
168

THE BRASS GOD
"You mean to climb up in that brass god? 1 don't
know, Retief. The fellas are pretty superstitious."
"We need them to make a diversion while Mr.
Magnan and I carry out the negotation—"
"Who me?" Magnan squeaked.
"Negotiation?" Jackspurt protested. "Jumping
Jehosophat, how can you negotiate with a Hoog?"
"Ahem," Magnan cleared his throat. "That, Mr.
Jackspurt, is after all one's function as a diplomat."
"Well . . ." Jackspurt buzzed briefly to his fel-
lows, then hopped down from his perch as a dozen
Spisms of assorted sizes and colors came forward.
"We're game, Mr. Retief. Let's go!"
The dull gleam of the metal walls of the vast chamber
that was the interior of the god Uk-Ruppa-Tooty
loomed out of dense shadow where Retief and Magnan
crouched with their hobgoblin crew. At the center of
the gloomy chamber, low-caste Hoogans labored be-
fore the open door of a giant, red-glowing furnace,
tossing in armloads of rubbish, old shoes, bundled
magazines, and broken plastic crockery. A layer of
harsh, eye-watering smoke hung in the air. Jackspurt
snorted.
"Boy, when they start pumping that stuff into the
burrows . . ."
"Where are the priests?" Retief inquired in a
whisper.
Jackspurt pointed to a small cubicle at the top of a
flight of steps. "Up there, in the control room.
' 'Retief studied the layout.' 'Jackspurt, you and your
men spread out around the room. Give me five minutes.
Then take turns jumping out and making faces."
169

RETIEF AT LARGE
Jackspurt gave instructions to his crew; they faded
away into the darkness.
"Maybe you'd better wait here," Retief suggested
to Magnan.
"Where are you going?"
"I think I'd better have a chat with the ecclesiastics
up in the prompting box."
"And leave me here alone, surrounded by these
ghoulish Spisms?"
"All right, but keep it quiet or the smoke of burning
diplomats will be added to the other fumes."
Fifty feet above the floor, Retief gripped narrow
handholds, working his way around to the rear of the
control box. Through the dusty windows a blue-robed
Hoogan priest could be seen lounging in a bored at-
titude, studying a scroll. A second Hoogan, in the
familiar black, stood nervously by. Suddenly the si-
lence below was broken by a mournful wail.
"What's that!" Magnan jumped, slipped and grab-
bed for a secure grip on a projecting angle-iron support-
ing a narrow catwalk.
"Our co-workers going into action." Retief said
softly. Beside the furnace door, the Hoogan workers
were staring around nervously. There was another
doleful moan. One of the Hoogans dropped his shovel
and muttered. Retief ducked back as the blue-robed
priest came to the window and peered down below. He
then motioned to the other, who went to the door of the
tiny chamber, opened it, stepped out on the catwalk and
shouted down to the workers. One answered in defiant
tones. Two of the workers started toward a door dimly
visible at the far side of the furnace room. The priest
shouted after them; as his bellow faded and echoed, the
170

THE BRASS GOD
thin hoot of.a Spism sounded, like the last wail of dying
hope.
The priest jumped and whirled to dart back inside the
control room. He slipped, fell from the catwalk and
found himself staring directly into Magnan's startled
face. He opened his mouth to roar—
Magnan whipped off his mauve cummerbund and
thrust it into the gaping mouth. With a muffled grunt,
the Hoogan lost his grip, fell, and slammed into the
heaped rubbish with a tremendous slam. The stokers
fled, shouting. The lone priest flattened his face against
the window, peering down into the gloom. With a
quick movement, Retief gained the catwalk, and step-
ped through the door. The priest whirled and leaped for
a microphone-like device on the corner table. Retief
eased the power pistol from his sarong and aimed it at
the priest.
"I wouldn't make any announcements just yet,'' he
said. "The results aren't all in."
"Who are you?" TheHoogan sidled toward a corner
cabinet.
"If that's where you keep your prayer books, better
let them lie for a while yet."
"Look here, berhabs you are unaware thad I am His
Voracity, the Deacon Um-Moomy-Hooby, ant I have
gonnegtions—"
"Doubtless. And don't try for the door; I have a
confederate out there who's noted for his ferocity,"
Retief said.
Magnan came through the door, panting. Ura-
Moomy-Hooby backed away.
"Whad—whad do you wand?"
"I understand the god is about to utter oracular
171

RETIEF AT LARGE
statements, as the high point of the Wednesday ser-
vices," Retief said.
"Yez—I waz jusd goink over my sgribt. Now if
you'll eggsguze me I have to—"
"It just happens that it's the script we want to talk
about. There are a couple of special announcements I'd
like to see inserted."
"Whad? Damper with holy sgribture?"
"Nothing like that; just a good word for a group of
associates of ours and possibly a short commercial for
the CDT."
"Plasphemy! Herezy! Refishionizm! Nefer will I pe
a barty to zuch zagrileche!"
Retief clicked off the pistol's safety catch.
"—Put, on the other hant, bosiply somethink gould
pe arranched," the Deacon said hastily. "How much
did you hafe in mind offerink?"
"I wouldn't think of attempting to bribe a man of the
cloth," Retief said smoothly. "You're going to do this
for the common welfare."
"Jusd whad is it you hafe in mind?"
"The first item is the campaign you've been waging
against the Spisms."
"Ah, yez! And a wontervul jop our lats hafe peen
toink, doo. Uk-Ruppa-Tooty willink, zoon we will zee
them ztambed oud endirely, and virtue driumvant!"
"TheCDT takes a dim view of genocide, I'm afraid.
Now, my thought was that we could agree on a reason-
able division of spheres of influence."
"A teal with the Bowers of Tarknezz? Are you oud
of your mind?"
"Now, now," Magnan put in, "a more cooperative
attitude would do Your Voracity greater credit."
172

THE BRASS GOD
"You zugchesd that the jurch should gombromize
with zin?"
"Not exactly compromise," Magnan said placat-
ingly. "Just work out a sort of peaceful coexistence
plan."
"Nefer will I, as deacon, gome oud in vafor of
dogetherness with Zatan'z Impz!"
"There, there, Your Voracity; if you'd just sit down
across the table from them, you'd find these imps
weren't bad fellows at all."
There was a soft sound from the door. Jackspurt, a
jaunty, two-foot sphere of red bristles, appeared, wav-
ing his eyestalks exultantly. A looming blue Spism
behind him.
"Nice going, Retief!" he called. "I see you caught
one. Pitch him down after the other one, and let's clear
out of here. This little diversion will give us time to get
clear before the smoke starts."
"Jackspurt, do you suppose your fellows could do a
fast job of shifting a few hoses around? You'll have to
block off the sewers and feed the smoke off in some
other direction."
"Say, that's an idea!" Jackspurt agreed. "And I
think I know just the direction." He gave instructions
to the big blue Spism, who hurried away.
The Deacon had retreated to a corner, eyes goggling,
his hands describing mystic passes in the air. More
Spisms were crowding into the room now, tall blue
ones, tiny darting green ones, sluggish purple
varieties—all cocking their eyestalks at the prelate.
"Help!" he croaked weakly. "The minions of the
netherworlt are ubon me!"
Magnan drew out a chair from the table. "Just have a
173

RETIEF AT LARGE
seat, Your Voracity," he said soothingly. "Let's just
see if we can't work out a modus vivendi suitable to all
parties.''
"Come to termz with the enemy? Id will mean the
ent of the jurch!''
"On the contrary, Your Voracity; if you ever suc-
ceeded in eliminating the opposition, you'd be out of a
job. The problem is merely to arrange matters in a
civilized fashion so that everyone's interests are pro-
tected."
"You may hafe somethink there," Um-Moomy-
Hooby seated himself gingerly. "But the nevariouz
agtifities of these goplins musd pe kebt unter sdrigd
gondrol—Ebiscobal gondrol, thad is."
"Look, my boys got to make a living," Jackspurt
started.
"Zellink a vew love-botions, zerdainly," the
Deacon said. "And the jurch is willink to zmile at a
modezd draffic in aphrodisiags, dope, and raze-drack
tips. But beddling filthy menus to teen-agers, no!
"The zame goez vor sdealing withoud a licenze, and
the zale of algoholic peferaches, with the eggzebtion of
small amounts of broberly aged sduff for medicinal use
py the glerchy, of gourse."
"Okay, I think we can go along with that,"
Jackspurt said. "But you priests will have to lay off the
propaganda from now on. 1 want to see Spisms getting
better billing in church art."
"Oh, I think you could work out something lovely in
little winged Spisms with haloes," Magnan suggested.
"I think you owe it to them, Your Voracity, after all
this discrimination in the past."
"Tevils with winks?" Um-Moomy-Hooby groaned.
174

THE BRASS GOD
"It will blay hop with our zympolizmz—put I zubboze
it can pe done."
"And you'll have to have guarantees that everything
from two feet under the surface on down belongs to
us," Jackspurt added. '' We' 11 leave the surface to you,
and throw in the atmosphere, just so you dedicate a few
easements so we can come up and sightsee now and
then."
"Thad zeems egwidaple," the Deacon agreed.
"Supchegd to vinal abbrofal py His Arrokanze, of
gourze."
"By the way," Jackspurt asked casually, "who's
next in line for the Bishop's job if anything happens to
Ai-Poppy-Googy?"
"Az it habbenz, I am," Um-Moomy-Hooby said.
"Why?"
"Just asking," Jackspurt said.
A loud thumping started up from the wide floor
below.
"What's that?" Magnan yelled.
"The pumps," the Deacon said. "A bity so many
Spisms will tie, but it is manivezdly the will of Uk-
Ruppa-Tooty.''
"I guess old Uk-Ruppa-Tooty had a last-minute
change of heart," Jackspurt said callously. "We
shifted the pipes around to feed the fumes back up into
the city plumbing system. I guess there's black smoke
pouring up out of every john in town by now."
"Touple-grozzer!" the Deacon leaped up, waving
his arms. "The teal'z off—"
"Ah, ah, you promised, Your Voracity," Magnan
chided. "And besides, Mr. Retief still has a gun."
"And now, if you'll just pick up the microphone,
175

RETIEF AT LARGE
Your Voracity," Retief said. "I think we can initate
the era of good feeling without further delay. Just keep
our role quiet, and take all the credit for yourself."
VII
"A pity about poor Ai-Poppy-Googy falling off the
ziggurat when the smoke came boiling out of Uk-
Ruppa-Tooty's mouth," Ambassador Straphanger
said, forking another generous helping of Hoogan
chow mein onto his plate. "Still, one must confess it
was a dramatic end for a churchman of his stature,
shooting down the slide and disappearing into the
smoke as he did."
"Yez, alreaty the canonization papers are peing bre-
bared." His newly installed Arrogance, Bishop Um-
Moomy-Hoopy, shot a nervous glance at the Spism
seated beside him. "He'll pe the batron zaint of re-
hapilidated tevilz, impz, and koplins."
"A pity you missed all the excitement, Magnan,"
Straphanger said, chewing. "And you, too, Retief.
While you absented yourselves, the Hoogan
philosophy underwent a veritable renaissance—helped
along, I humbly assume, by my modest peace-making
efforts."
"Hah!" the Bishop muttered under his breath.
' 'Frankly, what with all the smoke, I hadn' t expected
the oracle's pronouncement to be quite so lucid,"
Straphanger went on, "to say nothing of its unpre-
cedented generosity—"
"Chenerosity?" interrupted Um-Moomy-Hoopy,
176

THE BRASS GOD
his heavy features reflecting rapid mental recapitula-
tion of his concessions.
"Why, yes, ceding all mineral rights to the formerly
persecuted race here on Hoog—a charming gesture of
conciliation."
"Mineralts rightz! Whad mineralts?"
Jackspurt, splendid in the newly tailored tunic of
Chief Representative for Spismodic Affairs to the Epis-
copal court, spoke up from his place along the table set
up on the palace terrace.
"Oh, he's just talking about the deposits of gold,
silver, platinum, radium, and uranium, plus a few
boulders of diamonds, ruby, and so forth that are laying
around below ground. The planet's lousy with the stuff.
We'll use our easements to ferry it up to the surface
where the freighters will pick it up, so we won't put you
Hoogs out at all."
The Bishop's alligator-hide features purpled.
"You—you knew apout theze mineralts?" he choked.
"Why, didn't His former Arrogance mention it to
you? That was what brought the mission here; the
routine minerals survey our technical people ran from
space last year showed up the deposits."
"Ant we puilt our Brincible Kod oud of prass—
imborted prass at thad," the Bishop said numbly.
"Too scared of a few Spisms to dig," Jackspurt said
in a stage whisper.
There was a flicker of lightning in the sky to the east.
Thunder rolled. A large raindrop spattered on
Straphanger's plate, followed by another.
"Oh-oh, we'd better head for cover," Jackspurt
said. "I know these flash squalls; lightning out the
kazoo—"
177

RETIEF AT LARGE
A brilliant flash cast the looming figure of the god
Uk-Ruppa-Tooty into vivid silhouette against a blue-
black sky. Dishes rattled on the table as sound rumbled
across the sky on wooden wheels. The Bishop and his
guests rose hastily, as a third jagged electrical dis-
charge ripped across the sky—striking the giant idol
full on the shoulder.
A shower of sparks flew; the Hoogan gesture of
salute, pivoted slowly at the elbow. The yards-wide
hand, seen edge-on with the fingers extended, swung
slowly in a great arc, came to rest with the extended
thumb resting firmly against the snub nose. Sparks flew
as the digit was welded firmly in place.
The Bishop stared, then tilted his head back and
looked up at the sky, long and searchingly.
"Chusd pedween uz men of the worlt, " he said
hoarsely, "do you zubboze thad phenomenon haz any
sbezial zigniviganze?"
"I think if I were you, Your Arrogance, I'd watch
my step," Jackspurt said in an awed tone. "And, uh,
by the way, on behalf of the Spisms, I'd like to make a
contribution to the Episcopal treasury."
"Hmmm. Have you ever thought aboud tagink in-
zdruction?" the Bishop inquired. "I'm sure it could be
arranged, and as for the little contribution you sboge of,
dwenty bercend of the take would zuvvice."
They strolled off along the corridor, deep in conver-
sation. Ambassador Straphanger hurried away to pre-
pare his dispatches to Sector HQ, Magnan at his heels.
Retief stepped back out onto the terrace and lit up a
dope-stick. Far away, Uk-Ruppa-Tooty loomed, sol-
emnly thumbing his nose at the Episcopal Palace.
Cheerfully, Retief returned the salute.
178

MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
I
"TWENTY THOUSAND years ago," said Cultural
AttachePennyfool, "this, unless I miss my guess, was
the capital city of a thriving alien culture."
The half dozen Terrans—members of a Field Ex-
peditionary Group of the Corps Diplomatique
Terrestrienne—stood in the center of a narrow strip of
turquoise-colored sward that wound between weath-
ered slabs of porous, orange masonry, rusting spires of
twisted metal to which a few bits of colored tile still
clung, and anonymous mounds in which wildflowers
nodded alien petals under the light of a swollen orange
sun.
"Imagine," Consul Magnan said in an awed tone, as
the party strolled on through a crumbling arcade and
across a sand-drifted square. "At a time when we were
still living in caves, these creatures had already de-
veloped automats and traffic jams." He sighed. "And
179

RETIEF AT LARGE
now they're utterly extinct. The survey's life detectors
didn't so much as quiver."
' 'They seem to have progressed from neon to nuclear
annihilation in record time." Second Secretary Retief
commented. "But I think we have a good chance of
bettering their track record."
"Think of it, gentlemen," Pennyfool called, paus-
ing at the base of a capless pylon and rubbing his hands
together with a sound like a cicada grooming its wing-
cases. "An entire city in pristine condition—nay,
more, a whole continent, a complete planet! It's an
archeologist's dream come true! Picture the treasures to
be found: the stone axes and telly sets, the implements
of bone and plastic, the artifacts of home, school and
office, the tin cans, the beer bottles, the bones—oh,
my, the bones, gentlemen! Emerging into the light of
day after all these centuries to tell us their tales of the
life and death of a culture!"
"If they've been dead for twenty thousand years,
what's the point in digging around in their garbage
dumps?" an assistant Military Attache inquired sotto
voce. ' 'I say Corps funds would be better spent running
a little nose-to-ground reconnaissance of Boge, or
keeping an eye on the Groaci."
"Tsk, Major," Magnan said. "Such comments
merely serve to reinforce the popular stereotype of the
crassness of the military mind."
"What's so crass about keeping abreast of the op-
position?" the officer protested. "It might be a nice
change if we hit them first, for once, instead of getting
clobbered on the ground."
"Sir!" Magnan tugged at the iridium-braided lapels
of his liver colored informal field coverall. "Would
180

MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
you fly in the face of six hundred years of tradition?"
"Now, gentlemen," Pennyfool was saying, "we're
not here to carry out a full-scale dig,of course, merely
to conduct a preliminary survey. But I see no reason
why we should not wet a line, so to speak. Magnan,
suppose you just take one of these spades and we'll
poke about a bit. But carefully, mind you. We wouldn't
want to damage an irreplacable art treasure."
"Heavens, I'd love to," Magnan said as his superior
offered him the shovel. "What perfectly vile luck that I
happen to have a rare joint condition known as Motor-
man's Arm—"
"A diplomat who can't bend his elbow?" the other
replied briskly. "Nonsense." He thrust the implement
at Magnan.
"Outrageous," the latter muttered as his superior
moved out of earshot, scanning the area for a likely spot
to commence. "I thought I was volunteering for a
relaxing junket, not being dragooned to serve as a
navvy."
"Your experience in digging through Central Files
should serve you in good stead, Mr. Magnan," Second
Secretary Retief said. "Let's just pretend we're after
evidence of a political prediction that didn't pan out by
someone just above you on the promotion list."
"I resent the implication that I would stoop to such
tactics," Magnan said loftily. "In any case, only an
idiot would go on record with guesswork." He eyed
Retief obliquely. "I, ah, don't suppose you know of
any such idiot?"
"I did," Retief said. "But he just made Ambas-
sador."
"Aha!" Pennyfool caroled from a heavily silted
181

RETIEF AT LARGE
doorway flanked by a pair of glassless openings. "A
well-nigh intact structure, quite possibly a museum.
Suppose we just take a peek." The diplomats trailed
their enthusiastic leader as he scrambled through into a
roofless chamber with an uneven, dirt-drifted floor and
bare walls from which the plaster had long since disap-
peared. Along one side of the room a flat-topped ridge
projected a foot above the ground. Pennyfool poked a
finger at a small mound atop it, exposing a lumpy
object.
"Eureka!" he cried, brushing dirt away from his
find. "You see, gentlemen? I've already turned up a
masterpiece of the Late Meretricious!"
"I say, sir," a plump Third Secretary addressed the
expedition's leader. "Since Verdigris is a virgin world,
and we're the first beings to set foot here since its
discovery, how does it happen the era already has a
name?"
"Simple, my boy," Pennyfool snapped. "I just
named it."
"Look here, sir," an eager information Agency man
who had been poking at the find said, "I think there's
been an error. This place isn't a museum, its a lunch
counter. And the masterpiece is a plate of petrified
mashed potatoes and mummified peas."
"By jove, I think you've got something there,
Quagmire," a portly Admin Officer said. "Looks just
like the stuff they served at the Testimonial Dinner for
Ambassador Clawhammer—"
"He's right," Magnan announced from his position
farther down the line. "Here's a side-order of french
fries."
"Dunderheads!" Pennyfool snapped. "I'm not in
182

MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
need of uninformed conjectures by amateurs in order to
properly classify priceless antiquities. Kindly leave
such matters to experts. Now come along. There seems
to be an adjoining room with an intact roof—a room
unvisited for twenty centuries! I'll wager my fig-leaf
cluster to my Grand Cordon of the Legion d'Cosme
that a thrilling discovery awaits us there!" His staff
followed him past the edge of a metal door standing half
open, into a dark chamber. The next moment, pale
yellowish light flooded the room.
"To stop where you are!" A weak voice hissed the
words in a breathy alien tongue from behind the delega-
tion. "To raise your digital members above your
cephalic nodules or to be incinerated on the spot!"
II
A spindle-legged creature in a flaring helmet and
sequinned greaves emerged from the deep shadow of
the door, aiming a scatter gun carelessly at Magnan's
knees.
"What's this?" Pennyfool's voice cracked on the
words. "Groaci? Here?"
"Indeed, Soft One," the alien confirmed. "To
comply at once with my instructions or to add your
osseous components to those already interred here!"
Other gun-toting creatures appeared from alcoves
and behind columns, closed in, clacking horny man-
dibles threateningly.
"See here, Captain," Pennyfool said in a high ner-
vous voice to a larger than average Groaci in jeweled
eye-shields who carried no weapon but an ornamental
183

RETIEF AT LARGE
side arm. "What's the meaning of this unwarranted
interference with a peaceful party of duly authorized
official personnel of the Corps Diplomatique Terres-
trienne?"
"The meaning, Mr. Pennyfool," the officer replied
in accent-free Terran, "is that you are anticipated,
forestalled, preceded." He casually waved a dope-
stick in a foot-long ivory holder. "You are interlopers,
trespassers onGroacian real estate. You note that out of
delicacy I refrain from use of the term 'invaders.' "
"Invaders? We're scientists! Artlovers! And—"
"Tobe sure," the captain cut him off curtly. "How-
ever, it will be necessary for you to indulge these
fancies elsewhere. Verdigris, as an unoccupied planet,
has been claimed by my government. Unfortunately,
we are at present unable to issue tourist visas to the
curious. You will therefore repair at once to your ves-
sel, pay the accumulated landing fees, demurrage,
fines for illegal parking and lift-tax and be on your
way."
"This is an outrage, you five-eyed bandit!" the
assistant military attache yelled, thrusting to the fore.
"This planet was discovered by a Corps scouting ves-
sel! It belongs to us!"
"I shall overlook your tone, Major," the Groaci
whispered acidly, "induced no doubt by envy at my
race's superior optical endowments and simply inquire
whether any Terran claim to the world was ever regis-
tered with the appropriate tribunals?"
"Of course not," Pennyfool snapped. "We didn't
want every claim-jumping Tom, Dick and Irving in this
end of the Arm swarming in here to see what they could
loot!"
184

MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
"An unfortunate oversight."
"But the Survey boat planted a claim beacon. You
must have seen it."
"Dear me, now that you mention it I seem to recall
my chaps vaporizing some sort of electronic noise-
maker which was interfering with radio reception. Too
bad that not a trace remains."
"That's a gross violation of Interplanetary Rules!"
"So? Possession is nine points of the law, Mr.
Pennyfool. But enough of these pleasantries; at the mo-
ment, the matter of accounts receivable requires our
attention. I'm sure you're eager to clear up the trifling
indebtedness and be about your no doubt legitimate
activities elsewhere."
"How . . . how much," Pennyfool asked, "is this
going to cost us?"
"If one of you will hand over twenty-two thousand
six hundred and four galactic credits—cash, no checks,
please—you can be on your way."
"Twenty-two thousand!" Pennyfool choked on the
words. "That's highway robbery!"
"Plus an additional thousand penalty fee for each
insult," the captain added in an ominous whisper.
"And of course I need not remind you that the demur-
rage charges are piling up minute by minute."
"That's out of the question," Pennyfool gasped. "I
have no such amount in my possession! We're a scien-
tific expedition, not a party of bank messengers!"
"Too bad," the captain whispered. "In that case
. . ."He made a curt gesture; armed troops stepped
forward, guns at the ready.
"Stop!" Magnan yelped. "You can't just shoot dip-
lomats down in cold blood!"
185

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Since higher organisms such as myself employ no
vascular fluids, I am under no such restraint," the
captain pointed out. "However, I agree it would be less
than couth to fail to observe the forms. Accordingly, I
shall refer the matter to my chief." He murmured a
word to a soldier, who slung his weapon and hurried
away. The captain sauntered off, humming a gay little
tune to himself.
"Verdigris was supposed to be the best-kept secret
of the year," Pennyfool muttered brokenly to Magnan.
"Who would have dreamed the Groaci would be here
ahead of us?"
"They couldn't have found it by accident," the
Information Agency man said glumly. "Coincidences
like that don't happen."
"You're right, Crouchwell," Pennyfool said, star-
ing around at his staff. "Gentlemen—somebody
leaked!"
"Well, gracious, don't look at me, sir," Magnan
said, an indignant expression pinching his narrow fea-
tures .' 7 hardly breathed a word, except to a few highly
respected colleagues."
"Colleagues?" Pennyfool raised a pale eyebrow.
"Fellow diplomats; high-type chaps like Ambas-
sador P'Yim-Yim of Yill and Slunk the Fustian Minis-
ter, and . . . and . . ."
"And?" Pennyfool prompted.
"And Consul-General Shilth," Magnan finished
weakly.
"Planetary Director Shilth, if you don't mind," a
voice susurrated from the doorway.
There was a stir among the troops ringing in the
Terrans. A tall Groaci in an elaborately ribbed hip-
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MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
cloak strolled forward, waved jauntily at Magnan,
nodded to Pennyfool.
"Well, gentlemen, good of you to pay a courtesy
call," he said smoothly.
"Consul-General Shilth," Magnan said in a hurt
tone. "I never dreamed you'd be so uncouth as to
betray a confidence."
Shilth frowned, an expression he achieved by cross-
ing two pairs of eyes. "No?" he said in a surprised
tone. "Why not?" He vibrated his throat sac in a
manner analogous to throat-clearing. "By the way,
Pennyfool, just what was it you expected to find here?"
His whisper was elaborately casual.
"You're standing in the center of a treasure house,"
Pennyfool said sourly, "and you have the confounded
gall to ask me that?"
"My chaps have devoted the better part of the past
ten hours to fruitless scrabbling in these ruins," Shilth
hissed. "They've turned up nothing of the remotest
utility."
"You've allowed your troops to dig here at ran-
dom?" Pennyfool yelped.
"Aha!" Shilth wagged an accusatory tentacle. "In
spite of your subtle dissembling, your reaction proves
that treasures do indeed lie beneath this wilderness."
His tone became crisp. "Kindly specify precisely what
it is we're looking for, and I might—might mind
you—find a way to reduce your port fees."
"You . . . you assassin!" Pennyfool yelled. "You
have no right to so much as set foot on this hallowed
ground!"
"Still—I am here," Shilth saidblandly. "And I see
nothing in these rubble-heaps to excite CDT interest."
187

RETIEF AT LARGE
He stirred a heap of potsherds, bottle caps and broken
phonograph records with a horny foot. "Ergo, there
must be a subtler prize awaiting the lucky finder."
"Shilth, you Vandal!" Pennyfool yelped. "Have
you no reverence for anything?"
"Try me with gold," the Groaci said succinctly.
"You're out of your mind, you Philistine! I've told
you I don't have any cash on hand!"
"You refuse to speak?" Shilth turned to the captain.
"Thish, I tire of the Soft One's lies and his insults.
Take him out and execute him." Pennyfool squealed as
the guards laid hold of him.
"Execute him?" Magnan bleated. "Couldn't you
just strike him off the invitation list for cocktail parties
or something?"
"If it's gold you're interested in," Retief suggested,
"I'm sure CDT Sector HQ will come through with a
tidy sum in return for Mr. Pennyfool's hide, unbro-
ken."
"Splendid notion," a member from the Commercial
Section piped up. "I'm sure the ransom money—that is
to say, the port fees—will be forthcoming the minute
they see us all back to Sector HQ."
"Indeed?" Shilth said in a bored tone. "And if I
allowed you to depart, what surety would I then have
that the just indemnities will be paid?"
"You have the word of a diplomat," Magnan said
promptly.
"I admire your coolness, Magnan,'' Shilth said with
a little bow, "essaying jests at such a moment."
"I suppose I might consent to go alone," Pennyfool
said, blinking his eyes rapidly. "Although of course I'd
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MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
prefer to stay on as hostage myself, my rank will
undoubtedly be helpful in expediting payment."
"One may go," Shilth said in a chilling whisper.
"That one." He pointed at Retief. Thish stepped for-
ward, pointing his over-decorated hand-gun at the vic-
tim.
"Watch him closely, Captain," Shilth admonished.
"He has a reputation as a trouble-maker. As well have
him off our hands."
As Thish, close beside Retief, waved the gun toward
the entrance, Retief, with a swift motion, swept the
weapon from the other's grip, took a step, caught Shilth
by the neck and backed against the wall, the muzzle of
the pistol pressed against the hostage's ventral
carapace.
Ill
' 'Tell your boys to stand fast," he said in a conversa-
tional tone as the Groaci official writhed and kicked
futily, while the soldiers looked on as if paralyzed.
"Mr. Pennyfool, if you're ready to board ship, I don't
think Planetary Director Shilth will voice any objec-
tion."
"My soldiers will shoot you down like nesting nid-
fowls!" Shilth hissed.
"In which case I'd be forced to pump your thorax
full of soft-nosed slugs," Retief said. "I've heard they
penetrate the exo-skeleton and then just ricochet around
inside until they lose momentum. Be interesting to find
out if it's true."
189

RETIEF AT LARGE
"I remind you, Pennyfool," Shilth cocked his ocu-
lars at the Terran, who had not moved, "my lads'
scatter-guns are highly disruptive to flimsy organisms
such as yourselves. Disarm your misguided colleague,
and spare the CDT the expense of a mass funeral, no
less costly for lack of any identifiable remains!"
"Better get moving, sir, before some bright lad gets
ideas," Retief suggested.
"They . . . we . . . I . . ." Pennyfool gasped.
"By no means," Retief said soothingly. "They hold
Shilth in far too high esteem to see him converted into a
boiled pudding in the half shell."
Cautiously, theTerrans sidled toward the door. Pen-
nyfool went through in a scrambling leap, followed
closely by his associates.
"Retief," Magnan, at the rear of the party said
"How are you going to get clear? If one of them gets
behind you—"
"Better get aboard, Mr. Magnan," Retief cut in "I
have an idea Mr. Pennyfool won't dawdle around wait-
ing for stragglers."
"But—but—"
"CaptainThish, perhaps you'd be kind enough toact
as escort," Retief said. "Just in case any of the boys on
the outside leap to conclusions."
"To comply," Shilth whispered in Groaci as the
officer hesitated. "Later, to visit this miscreant's
crimes upon him in a fashion devised at leisure. Our
leisure, that is."
Magnan made a gobbling sound and disappeared,
Thish at his heels. Shilth had stopped struggling. The
Groaci soldiery stood in attitudes of alert paralysis,
watching for an opening.
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MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
It was ten minutes before the sound of the Corps
vessel's drive rumbled briefly, faded, and was gone.
"And now?" Shilth inquired. "If you contemplate a
contest of endurance, I remind you that we Groaci can
carry on for upward of ten standard days without so
much as nictating a membrane.
"Send them outside," Retief said.
Shilth remonstrated, but complied. A moment later,
a shrill but unmistakably human yelp sounded from
beyond the door. Magnan appeared in the entry, his
arms gripped by a pair of Groaci while a third held a
scatter gun to his head.
"They. . . they didn't wait," the diplomat wailed.
"Release me!" Shilth hissed. "Or would you prefer
to wait until after my lads have blown your superior's
head off?"
"Sounds like an even trade," Retief said. Magnan
gasped and swallowed.
' 'Much as I should dislike to see the Planetary Direc-
tor's internal arrangements hashed in the manner you so
vividly describe," Thish said from behind Magnan, "I
assure you I would make the sacrifice in the interest of
the Groaci national honor."
"In the interest of his next promotion, he means,"
Shilth hissed. "What does he care if I'm diced in the
process?"
Retief thrust Shilth away, tossed the gun on the floor.
"If I didn't know you wanted both of us alive, I'd have
called your bluff, Thish," he said.
"Oh? And do I want you alive, Soft One?" Thish
took aim with a borrowed rifle.
"Of course you do, litter-mate of genetic inferiors!"
Shilth snapped, massaging the point of his back where
191

RETIEF AT LARGE
the gun muzzle had dug in. ' 'At least until they divulge
the secret of what they sought here!" He turned to
Retief. "And now let us to business, eh?"
Retief plucked a cigar from his breast pocket, puffed
it alight, blew scented smoke past the alien's olfactory
orifices, which cinched up tight at the aroma of Vir-
ginia leaf.
"Certainly, Shilth. Who's for sale now?"
"You are, my dear Terry," the Groaci said omi-
nously. "The price of your life is a complete descrip-
tion of the nature and location of the riches hidden
here."
Retief waved the stogie at the blotched walls, the
dirt-drifted corners, the broken tilework. "You are
looking at them."
"Ah, so we are to have the pleasure of assisting you
in developing a more cooperative attitude, eh?Capital.
Easy babblers are such bores."
"You wouldn't dare torture us," Magnan said in
squeaky tone. "Our colleagues know where we are. If
we aren't returned unharmed, they'll extract a terrible
vengeance!"
"A sharp note to the Ambassador, no doubt," Shilth
said, with an amused snap of the mandibles. "Still,
there are subtler methods of persuasion than living
dismemberment. Now, we Groaci are quite at home in
enclosed spaces; but you Terries, it is rumored, are
claustrophobes, an allegation I've often yearned to test.
And I know just the setting in which to conduct the
experiment." He gestured to Thish, who urged the
two Terrans at gun point along a wide passage to a
metal door. Two soldiers came forward to wrestle the
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MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
heavy panel aside, exposing a tiny chamber no more
than six feet on a side, windowless, unfurnished.
"Gentlemen, your cell. A trifle cramped, perhaps,
but well protected from excessive wind and rain, eh?"
Retief and Magnan stepped inside. The two soldiers
forced the heavy sliding door shut.
In the total darkness, a dim spot of light glowed on
one wall. Retief reached out and pressed a thumb
against it.
With a grinding of ancient gears, a groaning of
antique cables, the elevator started down.
IV
Magnan emitted a shrill cry and attempted to climb
the wall "Retief! What's happening?"
"No, no, Mr. Magnan," Retief said, "Your line is,
'Ah, just as I planned.' That's the way reputations for
forethought are built."
"Shilth was quite right about the claustrophobia,"
Magnan said in a choked voice. "I feel that the walls
are going to close in on me!"
"Just close your eyes and pretend you're at a Tues-
day morning staff meeting. The relief when you find
yourself here should carry you through anything short
of utter catastrophe."
With a shudder and a clank, the car came to a halt.
"N-now what?" Magnan said in a small voice. Re-
tief felt over the door, found the stub of a lever. He
gripped it and pulled. Reluctantly, the door slid aside
on a large, column-filled room faintly lit by strips of
193

RETIEF AT LARGE
dimly glowing material still adhering to the ceiling
and walls, which were adorned with murals depicting
grotesque figures engaged in obscure rites.
"Tomb paintings," Magnan said in a hushed voice.
"We're in the catacombs. The place is probably full of
bones—not that 1 actually believe in the curses of dead
kings or anything."
"The curses of live Ambassadors are far more po-
tent, 1 suspect," Retief said, leading the way across the
room and into one of the many passages debouching
from the chamber. Here more cabalistic scenes were
etched in still-bright colors against the ancient walls.
Cryptic legends in an unknown script were blazoned
across many of them.
"They're probably quotations from the local version
of the Book of the Dead," Magnan hazarded, his eye
caught by a vividly pigmented representation of a large
alien being making what seemed to be a threatening
gesture at a second alien from whose ears wisps of mist
coiled.
"This one, for example," he said, "no doubt shows
us the God of the Underworld judging a soul and
finding it wanting."
"Either that, or it's a NO SMOKING sign," Retief
agreed.
The passage turned, branched. The left branch
dead-ended at an ominous-looking sump half filled
with a glistening black fluid.
"The sacrificial well," Magnan said with a shudder.
"I daresay the bottom—goodness knows how far down
that is—is covered with the remains of youths and
maidens offered to the gods."
194

MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
Retief sniffed. "It smells like drained crankcase
oil."
They skirted the pit, came into a wide room crowded
with massive, complex shapes of corroded metal,
ranked in rows in the deep gloom.
' 'And these are the alien idols," Magnan whispered.
"Gad, they have a look of the most frightful ferocity
about them."
"That one," Retief indicated a tall, many-armed
monster looming before him, "bears a remarkable re-
semblance to a hay-baler."
"Mind your tongue, Retief!" Magnan said sharply.
"It's not that I imagine they can hear us, of course, but
why tempt fate?"
There was a sharp click!, a whirring and clattering, a
stir of massive forms all across the gloomy chamber.
Magnan yipped and leaped back as a construct the size
of a fork-lift stirred into motion, turned, creaking, and
surveyed him with a pair of what were indisputably
glowing amber eyes.
"We're surrounded," Magnan chirped faintly.
"And they told us the planet was uninhabited!"
"It is," Retief said, as more giant shapes moved
forward, accompanied by the squeak of unlubricated
metal.
' 'Then what are these?'' Magnan came back sharply.
"Oversized spooks?"
"Close, but no kewpie doll," Retief said. "This is
the city garage, and these are maintenance robots."
"R-r-robots?"
' 'Our coming in must have triggered them to come to
alert status." They moved along the row of giant
195

RETIEF AT LARGE
machines, each equipped with a variety of limbs, or-
gans, and sensors.
"Then . . . then they're probably waiting for us to
give them orders," Magnan said with returning confi-
dence. "Retief! Don't you see what this means? We
can tell them to jump in the lift and ride up and scare the
nether garments off that sticky little Shilth and his
army—or we could have done," he added, "if they
understood Terran."
"Terran understood," a scratch bass voice rasped
from a point just opposite Magnan's ear. He leaped and
whirled, banging a shin smartly.
"Retief! They understand us! We're saved! Good
lord, when I first planned our escape via the lift, I never
dreamed we'd have such a stroke of luck!"
"Now you're getting the idea," Retief said admir-
ingly. "But why not just add that extra touch of savoir-
faire by pretending you'd deduced the whole thing,
robots and all, from a cryptic squiggle on the contact
party's scopegram?"
"Don't be crude, Retief," Magnan said loftily. "I
fully intend to share the credit for the coup. In my report
I'll mention that you pushed the lift button with no more
than a hint from me."
"Maybe you'd better not write up that report just
yet," Retief said, as a robot directly before them
shifted position with a dry squeal of rusty bearing to
squarely block their advance. Others closed in on either
side; they turned to find retreat similarly cut off.
"My, see how eager they are, Retief," Magnan said
in a comfortable tone. "There, there, just stand aside
like a good, er, fellow," he addressed the machine
before him.
196

MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
It failed to move. Frowning, Magnan started around
it, was cut off by a smaller automaton—this one no
bigger than a commercial sausage grinder, and adorned
with a similar set of blades visible inside a gaping
metallic maw.
"Well! I see they're in need of re-programming,"
Magnan said sharply.' 'It's all very well to fawn a little,
but—"
"I'm not sure they're fawning," Retief said.
"Then what in the world are they doing?"
' 'Terran are surrounded," a voice like broken glass
stated from behind the encircled diplomats.
"We are judging Terran," an unoiled tenor stated
from the rear rank. "And finding you wanting."
' 'Frightful oversized robots will jump on your smok-
ing remains,'' chimed in a third voice, reminiscent of a
file on steel.
"We are eager for crude contact," Broken Glass
agreed.
"They have a curious mode of expressing them-
selves," Magnan said nervously. "I seem to detect an
almost ominous note in their singular choice of
words."
"I think they're picking up their vocabulary from
us," Retief said.
"Retief—if it wasn't so silly, I'd think that one
intended us bodily harm," Magnan said in a tone of
forced jocularity, as a ponderous assemblage of sharp
edges came forward, rumbling.
"We intend you bodily harm," File-on-Steel said.
"But—but you can't attack Mi ," Magnan protested.
"You're just machines! We're alive! We're your right-
ful masters!"
197

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Masters are better than robots," Broken Glass
stated. "You are not better than us. You are not mas-
ters. We will certainly harm you."
"You will not escape," a red-eyed monster added.
"Retief, I suspect we've made a blunder," Magnan
said in a wavering tone. "We were better off at the
tender mercies of the Groaci!"
"What's it all about, boys?" Retief called over the
gathering creak and clank as the machines closed in.
' 'This planet is not your world. We are programmed
to give no mercies to you fellow."
"Just a minute," Magnan protested. "We're just
harmless diplomats. Can't we all be friends or some-
thing?"
"Who gave you your order?" Retief asked.
"Our masters," replied a voice like a sand-filled
gearbox.
"That was a long time ago," Retief said. "Matters
have changed somewhat."
"Yes, indeed," Magnan chimed in. "You see, now
that your old masters are all dead, we're taking over
their duties."
' 'Our duties are to see you dead,'' Red-eye boomed,
raising a pair of yard-long cleavers.
"Help!" Magnan yelped.
"We wouldn't want to stand in the way of duty,"
Retief said, watching the poised cutting edges, "but
suppose we turned out to be your masters after all? I'm
sure you wouldn't want to make the mistake of slicing
up your legitimate owners."
"You see, we took over where they left off," Mag-
nan said hastily. "We're, ah, looking after all their
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MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
affairs for them, carrying out their wishes as we under-
stand them, tidying up—"
"There is no mistake, Terran. You are not our
masters.''
"You said masters are better than robots," Retief
reminded the machine. "If we can prove our superior-
ity, will you concede the point?"
V
Silence fell, broken only by the whir and hum of
robotic metabolisms.
' 'If you could so prove, we will certainly concede
your status as our masters," Sand-in-the-gears said at
last.
"Gracious, I should think so! Magnan jerked his
rumpled lapel into line. "For a moment, Retief I con-
fess I was beginning to feel just the teeniest bit ap-
prehensive."
"You have one minute to prove your superiority,"
Broken Glass said flatly.
"Well, I should think it was obvious," Magnan
sniffed. "Just look at us."
"Indeed, we've done so. We find you little, silly,
crude, tender, apprehensive and harmless."
"You mean—?"
"It means we'll have to do something even more
impressive than standing around radiating righteous
indignation, Mr. Magnan."
"Well, for heaven's sake," Magnan sniffed. "I
never thought I'd see the day when I had to prove the
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RETIEF AT LARGE
obvious ascendancy of a diplomat over a donkey en-
gine."
"We are waiting," File-on-Steel said.
"Well, what do they expect?" Magnan yelped. "It's
true they're bigger, stronger, faster, longer-lived, and
cheaper to operate; and of course they have vast mem-
ory banks and can do lightning calculations and tricks
of that sort—which, however, can hardly compare with
our unique human ability to, ah, do what we do," he
finished in a subdued tone.
"What do you do?" Red-eye demanded.
"Why, we, ah, demonstrate moral superiority,"
Magnan said brightly.
"Shilth was right about your sense of humor," Re-
tief said admiringly. "But I think we'd better defer the
subtle japes until we discover whether we're going to
survive to enjoy the laugh."
"Well for heaven's sake do something, Retief,"
Magnan whispered, "before they make a terrible blun-
der." He rolled his eyes sideways at a scythe-like
implement hovering as if ready to shear at any instant
through the volume of space he occupied.
"Time is up," Broken Glass said.
The machines surged forward. The scythe, sweeping
horizontally, clanged against the descending cleavers
as Retief and Magnan jumped aside from the rush of a
low-slung tree mower with chattering blades. The latter
swerved, collided with a massive punch-press, one of
whose piston-like members stabbed through the side of
a ponderous masonry wrecker. It wobbled, did a sharp
right turn and slammed into the cast-concrete wall,
which cracked and leaned, allowing a massive beam to
drop free at one end, narrowly missing Magnan as he
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MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
rebounded from the flank of a charging garbage shred-
der. The falling girder crashed across the mid-section
of the latter machine with a decisive crunch! pinning
the hapless apparatus to the spot. It clashed its treads
futilely, sending up a shower of concrete chips. The
other machines clustered around it in attitudes of con-
cern, the Terrans for the moment forgotten.
"Hsst! Retief! This is our chance to beat a strategic
withdrawal!" Magnan stage-whispered. "If we can
just make it back to the elevator—"
"We'll find Shilth waiting at the top," Retief said.
"Mr. Magnan, suppose you find a comfortable spot
behind a packing case somewhere. I'm not quite ready
to leave yet."
"Are you insane? These bloodthirsty bags of bolts
are ready to pound us to putty!"
"They seem to be fully occupied with another prob-
lem at the moment," Retief pointed out, nodding to-
ward a post-hole digger which was fruitlessly poking at
the end of the beam which had trapped its fellow. The
scythe-armed robot was as busily scraping at the mas-
sive member, without result. The ranks parted to let a
heavy-duty paintchipper through; but it merely clat-
tered its chisel-tips vainly against the impervious mate-
rial. And all the while, the pinioned machine groaned
lugubriously, sparks flying from its commutator box as
it threshed vainly to pull free.
Retief stepped forward; Red-eye swiveled on him,
raising a large mallet apparently designed for pounding
heavy posts into hard ground.
"Before you drive home your argument," Retief
said, "I have a proposal."
"What proposal?"
201

RETIEF AT LARGE
"You don't seem to behaving much luck extricating
your colleague from under the beam. Suppose I try."
"One minute. I will lift the beam," a deep voice
boomed. A massively built loading robot trundled for-
ward, maneuvered deftly into position, secured a grip
on the concrete member with its single huge arm and
heaved. For a moment, nothing happened; then there
was a sharp clonk! and a broken duralloy torque rod
dangled from the lifter's forged-steel biceps. The girder
had not stirred.
"Tough luck, old fellow," Retief said. "My turn."
"Good heavens, Retief, if that cast-iron Hercules
couldn't do it, how can you hope to succeed?" Magnan
squeaked from his corner.
"You have the ability to help our colleague?" Bro-
ken Glass demanded.
"If I do, will you follow my orders?"
"If you can do that which we cannot do, your
superiority is obvious."
"In that case, just pull that bar out of there, will
you?" Retief pointed to a four-inch diameter steel rod,
twenty feet long, part of a roller assembly presumably
once used in loading operations. A stacking machine
gripped the rod and gave it a firm pull, ripping it free
from its mountings.
"Stick one end under the edge of the beam, like a
good fellow," Retief said. "You there, jack-hammer:
push that anvil under the rod, eh?" The machines
complied with his requests with brisk efficiency, ad-
justing the lever as directed, with the fulcrum as close
as possible to the weight to be lifted.
"Retief—if you couldn't even lift the lever how are
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MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
you going to. . . ." Magnan's voice faded as Retief
stepped up on the treadskirt of a sand-blaster and put a
foot on the up-angled long arm of the jury-rigged pry-
bar. Steadying himself, he let his full weight onto the
rod. Instantly, it sank gracefully down, lifting' the
multi-ton beam a full half-inch from the depression it
had imprinted in the garbage shredder. The latter made
a clanking sound, attempted to move, emitted a cascade
of electrical sputterings and subsided.
"He's ruptured himself!" Magnan gasped. "Poor
thing. Still, we've done our part."
The other machines were maneuvering, making way
for a squat cargo-tug, which backed up to the victim,
but was unable to get in position to attach its tow-cable.
A dirt-pusher with a wide blade tried next, but in the
close quarters failed to get within six feet of the dis-
abled machine. The others had no better luck.
"Mr. Magnan, find a length of cable," Retief
called. Magnan rummaged, turned up a rusting coil of
braided wire.
"One of you robots with digits tie one end of the
cable to the patient," Retief said. "Cinch the other up
to something that won't give."
Two minutes later the cable was stretched drum tight
from a massive stanchion to the cripple, running be-
tween closely-spaced paired columns.
"Next, we apply a transverse pull to the center of the
cable," Retief directed.
"They can't," Magnan wailed. "There's no
room!"
"In that case, Mr. Magnan, perhaps you'd be good
enough to perform the office."
203

RETIEF AT LARGE
"I?" Magnan's eyebrows went up. "Perhaps
you've forgotten my Motorman's Arm."
"Use the other one."
"You expect me, one-handed, to budge that ten-ton
hulk?"
"Better hurry up. I feel my foot slipping."
"This is madness," Magnan exclaimed, but he
stepped to the cable, gripped it at mid-point, and tug-
ged. With a harsh squeak of metal, the damaged
machine moved forward half an inch.
"Why—why, that's positively astonishing!" Mag-
nan said with a pleased look.
"Tighten the cable and do it again!" Retief said
quickly. The machines hurried to take up the slack.
Magnan, with an amazed expression, applied a second
pull. The wreck moved another centimeter. After three
more nibbles, the tug was able to hook on and drag its
fellow clear. Retief jumped down, letting the beam
drop with an incredible floor-shaking boom!
"Heavens!" Magnan found his voice. "I never
imagined I was such a brute! After all, the diplomatic
life is somewhat sedentary. . . ."He flexed a thin
arm, fingering it in search of a biceps.
"Wrestling with the conscience is excellent exer-
cise," Retief pointed out. "And you've held up your
end of some rather weighty conversations in your
time."
"Jape if you must," Magnan said coolly. "But you
can' t deny I did free the creature. Er, machine, that is."
"You have freed our colleagueSand-in-the-gears
said to Magnan. '' We are waiting for your orders,
Master."
' 'To be sure,'' Magnan placed his fingertips together
204

MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
and pursed his lips. "You won't fit into the lift," he
said judiciously, looking over his new subjects. "Is
there another way up?"
"To be sure, Master."
"Excellent. I want all of you to ascend to the surface
at once, round up and disarm every Groac on the planet,
and lock them up. Arid see that you don't squash the
one called Shilth in the process. I have a little gloating
to do."
/
VI
On a newly excavated terrace under a romantically
crumbling wall of pink brick, Magnan and Retief sat
with Shilth, the latter wearing a crestfallen expression
involving quivering anterior mandibles and drooping
eye-stalks. His elaborate cloak of office was gone, and
there were smudges of axle grease on his once-polished
thorax.
"Dirty pool, Magnan," the Groaci said, his breathy
voice fainter than ever. "I was in line for the Order of
the Rubber Calipers, Second Class, at the very least,
and you spoiled it all with your perambulating junk-
yard. Who would have dreamed you'd been so sly as to
secretly conceal a host of war-machines? I suspect you
did it merely to embarrass me."
"Actually," Magnan began, and paused. "Actu-
ally, it was quite shrewd of me, now that you mention
it."
"I think you overdid the camouflage, however,"
Shilth said acidly as a street-broom whiffled past, cast-
ing a shower of dust over the party. "The confounded
205

RETIEF AT LARGE
things don't appear to be aware that the coup is over.
They're still carrying on the charade."
"I like to keep my lads occupied," Magnan said
briskly, nodding grandly at a hauler trundling past
along the newly cleaned avenue with a load of newly
uprooted brush. "Helps to keep them in trim in case
they're needed suddenly to quell any disturbances."
"Never fear, I've impressed on Thish that he will not
long survive any threat to my well-being."
"Company coming," Retief said, gesturing to-
ward a descending point of sun-bright blue light. They
watched the ship settle into a landing a quarter of a mile
distant, then rose and strolled over to greet the emerg-
ing passengers.
"Why, it's Mr. Pennyfool," Magnan said. "I knew
he'd be along to rescue us. Yoo-hoo,Mr. Pennyfool!"
"That's Mr. Ambassador, Magnan," Pennyfool
corrected sharply. "Kindly step aside. You're interfer-
ing with a delicate negotiation." The little man
marched past Retief without a glance, halted before
Shilth, offering a wide smile and a limp hand. The
Groaci studied the latter, turned it over gingerly and
examined the back, then dropped it.
"Liver spots," he said. "How unesthetic."
"Now, Planetary Director Shilth, we're prepared to
offer a handsome fee in return for exploratory rights
here on Verdigris." Pennyfool restored his smile with
an effort. "Of course, anything we find will be turned
over to you at once—"
"Oh, ah, Mr. Ambassador," Magnan hazarded.
"WeGroaci," Shilth said sourly, "are not subject to
such pigmentational disorders. We remain a uniform,
soothing puce at all times."
206

MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
"Sir," Magnan piped up. I'd just like—"
"Now, naturally, we're prepared to underwrite a
generous program of planetary development to assist
your people in settling in," Pennyfool hurried on. "I
had in mind about a half a billion to start . . ."He
paused to gauge reaction. "Per year, of course," he
amended, judging the omens, "with adequate bonuses
for special projects, naturally. Now, I'd say a staff of
say two hundred to begin with . . . ?"
"Pennyfool, I have a dreadful node-ache," Shilth
hissed. "Why don't you go jump down an elevator
shaft?" He patted back a counterfeit yawn and stalked
away.
"Well, I can see that this is going to be a challenge,"
Pennyfool said, staring after the alien. "The tricky
fellow is going to hold out for two billion, no
doubt."
"Mr. Ambassador, I have good news," Magnan
said hastily. "We can save the taxpayers those billions.
Verdigris belongs to me!"
"See here, Magnan, the privation can't have scram-
bled your meager wits already! You've only been here
seventy-two hours!"
"But, sir—there's no need to promise Shilth the
moon—''
"Aha! So that's what he's holding out for. Well, I
see no reason the negotiation should founder over a
mere satellite." Pennyfool turned to pursue Shilth.
"No, no, you don't quite grasp my meaning," Mag-
nan yipped, grabbing at his superior's sleeve.
"Unhand me, Magnan!" Pennyfool roared. "I'll
see to your release after other, more vital matters are
dealt with. In the meantime, I suggest you set a good
207

RETIEF AT LARGE
example by cobbling a record number of shoes or
whatever task they've set you—"
"Master, is this person troubling you?" a torn-metal
voice inquired. Magnan and Pennyfool whirled to see
a rust covered hedge-clipper looming over them, four-
foot-clippers at the ready.
"No, that's quite all right, Albert," Magnan said
acidly. "I like.being bullied."
"You're quite certain you don't wish him trimmed to
a uniform height?"
"No. I just want him to listen to what I have to say."
Albert clacked the shears together with a nerve-
shredding sound.
"I—I'd love to listen to you, my dear Magnan,"
Pennyfool said rapidly.
Magnan delivered a brief account of his capture of
the planet. "So you see, sir," he concluded, "the
whole thing is Terran property."
"Magnan!" Pennyfool roared; then with a glance at
Albert lowered his voice to a whisper. "Do you realize
what this means? When I reported the Groaci here
ahead of us, I was appointed as Terran Ambassador
Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the con-
founded place! If we own it, then pfft! There goes my
appointment!"
"Great heavens, sir," Magnan paled at the an-
nouncement. "I had no idea!"
"Look here, do you suppose we could get the Groaci
to take it back?"
"What, stay here, surrounded by these mobile
moldy monstrosities?" Shilth, who had returned si-
lently, hissed. "Never! I demand repatriation!"
Retief caught Magnan's eye as Pennyfool turned to
soothe the Groaci.
208

MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
"What is it, Retief? Can't you see I'm at a critical
point, careerwise?"
"I have a suggestion," Retief said. . . .
As Magnan rejoined Pennyfool, Shilth was still his-
sing imprecations.
"Master, what say I prune this fellow a bit?" Albert
proposed. "He seems to have sprouted too many
eyes."
"Not unless he says another word," Magnan said.
He turned to Pennyfool with a thoughtful look. "I say,
sir, suppose I should come up with a scheme which will
insure you confirmation, and which will at the same
time reflect favorably on theTerran image? You know,
the kindly, selfless, helping-hand sort of thing?"
"Yes, yes?"
"I daresay once established here, you'd want to
surround yourself with a staff widely versed in local
problems—"
"Naturally. There are plenty of reliable team-men
available doing Underground research work in subter-
ranean libraries back at Sector. Get on with it, Mag-
nan."
"I want theCounsellorship," Magnan said crisply.
"You, number two man in my Embassy? Ridicu-
lous! I'd have to jump you over the heads of men with
vast experience under their belts!"
"Most of my experience has been at a somewhat
higher level," Magnan said loftily. "No Counsellor-
ship, no scheme."
"What's this, Magnan, blackmail?" Pennyfool
gasped.
"Precisely," Magnan said.
Penny wise opened his mouth to yell, then closed it
and nodded.
209

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Magnan, it's apparent you're more familiar with
the techniques of diplomacy than I suspected. I accept.
Now, just what do you have in mind?"
VII
"It's a bit unusual," Ambassador Pennyfool said
complacently, glancing out the window of his freshly
refurbished office on the top floor of a newly excavated
tower of green-anodized aluminum serving as CDT
chancery. "But on the other hand, it is a challenge."
"Gracious, yes," Counsellor Magnan said, nod-
ding .' 'The first Terran envoy to present credentials to a
mechanical Head of State.
"I don't know," the Military Attache said darkly.
"Freeing these inanimate objects and letting them set
up in business for themselves may create a dangerous
precedent. What if my cybernetic military equipment,
for example, should start getting ideas about pensions
and promotions?"
"And office machines," the Budget and Fiscal Of-
ficer said worriedly. "If my bookkeeping computers
took it into their transistors to start agitating for civil
rights I shudder to contemplate the consequences in
terms of, say, late pay checks."
"I'm already having trouble with my Motor Pool
picking up liberal ideas," the Admin Officer wagged
his head, frowning. "I've had to enact strict rules
against fraternization with the natives."
There was a musical chime from the desk screen.
The square-cornered sense-organ panel of Planetary
Secretary Albert Sand-in-the-Gears appeared.
210

MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
"Ah, there, Pennyfool," the robotic Chief of State
said in a tone as genial as his vocal equipment would
allow. "I hoped I'd find you in. I was just ringing up to
ask whether you'd care to join me on the links this
afternoon for a few holes of ballistic golf."
"I'm sorry, Mr. President," the Terran said shortly.
"A game in which one is required to score eight holes-
in-one out of ten from a tee seven miles from the green
is not my strong suit."
"Of course. I keep forgetting you're not equipped
with telescopic sights. A pity.'' The President sighed, a
sound like tearing steel. "It was difficult enough grasp-
ing the idea of the superiority of my inferiors; trying to
behave as equals is even more trying. No offense in-
tended, of course."
"Mr. President—who's that sitting behind you?"
Pennyfool asked sharply.
"Ah, forgive me. This is Special Trade Representa-
tive Shilth, of Groac. His government has sent him
along to assist in getting the Verdigrian economy rol-
ling."
"How long has he been here?"
"Long enough to demonstrate my indispensabil-
ity," Shilth leaned forward to leer at theTerrans. "I've
already concluded Trade Agreements with a number of
hard currency markets for export of Verdigrian an-
tiquities."
"You didn't," Pennyfool gasped.
"Oh, have no fear, they're not the real thing." Shilth
waggled an eye at Magnan, who pretended not to
notice. "Though we let it be noised about that they're
all bootleg National Treasures." v
"Oh, I see. Reproductions?" Pennyfool grunted.
211

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Just so you don't ship any irreplacable objets d'arte
off-planet."
"We won't. We require them as patterns for the
matter duplicators."
"Eh?"
' The locals are digging them out by the truckload;
they sort them, discard the rejects—broken pots and the
like—then scrub up the choice items and send them
along to the duplication centers. We already have a
dozen plants in full swing. Our ceramic fingering-
knobs are already a sensation with the cultured set. In a
year Verdigris will be known as the antique capital of
the Eastern Arm."
"Matter duplicators? You're flooding the Galaxy
with bogus antiques?"
"Bogus?They're identical with the real thing, to the
last molecule."
' 'Hah! The genuine articles are priceless examples of
Verdigrian art; the copies are just so much junk!"
"But, my dear Pennyfool—if one can't distinguish a
masterpiece from a piece of junk . . .?"
"I can detect the genuine at a glance!"
" Show me," the Groaci said, and whipped out a pair
of seemingly identical shapes of lumpy blue-glazed
clay the size and approximate shape of stunted
rutabagas.
"... but unfortunately, I have something in my
eye," Pennyfool subsided, poking at the offending
organ.
"A pity. I would have enjoyed a demonstration of
your expertise," Shilth cooed.
"Well, gentlemen, that tears it," the Ambassador
said to his staff after the screen had blanked.' 'After all
212

MECHANICAL ADVANTAGE
my delicate maneuvering to secure self-determination
for these unfortunate relics of a by-gone age, and to
place the CDT in a position of paternal influence vis-
a-vis their emergent nation, the infernal Groaci have
stolen a march on us again. Fake antiques, indeed!"
"Goodness, I see what you mean, Mr. Ambas-
sador," Magnan said sympathetically. "Why didn't
we think of doing that?"
In the Chancery corridor ten minutes later, Magnan
mopped at his thin neck with a large floral-patterned
tissue.
"Heavens, who'd have thought he'd fly into such a
passion?" he inquired of Retief. "After all, it isn't as if
those silly little gobs of mud possessed an intrinsic
merit."
"Oh, I don't know," Retief said. "They're not bad,
considering that the locals have to mass-produce them
and bury them at night when nobody's looking."
"Retief!" Magnan stopped dead. "You don't
mean . . . ?"
"It seemed like a good idea to sidetrack the Groaci
away from the genuine stuff," Retief pointed out, in a
completely serious voice. "Just in case any of it had
any sentimental value."
"Fake fakes," Magnan murmurred. "The concept
has a certain euphony."
They paused beside a pair of double doors opening
onto an airy balcony two hundred feet above the freshly
scrubbed city. As they stepped out, a small copter with
a saddle and handlebars came winging in across the
park to hover just beyond the balustrade.
"Hope aboard, Retief, we're late," the machine
called in a cheerful baritone.
213

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Retief, where are you going?" Magnan barked as
the latter swung over the rail. "You have the quarterly
Report of Redundant Reports to compile, to say
nothing of the redundant reports themselves!"
"Duty calls, Mr. Magnan," Retief said soothingly.
"My additional assignment as Wildlife Census Officer
makes it incumbent on me to cement relations with the
locals. I'm off to a game of sky polo with a couple of
Cabinet Ministers." He waved and set spurs to his
mount, which launched itself with a bound into the
wide green sky.
214

DAM NUISANCE
I
JAME RETIEF, Second Secretary of the Terrestrial
Embassy to South Skweem, turned at a shrill hail from
the low doorway of one of the squat grass huts lining
the dusty main street of the capital village.
"Good mornings, Terry," a knobby, brown-
mottled, four-foot alien with a bewildering variety of
appendages waved a couple of the latter at the diplo-
mat. "How's trick? Say, I've been meaning to ask ones
of you fellow a question: any chance of you Terry
supplying a little economic aid in the forms of a new
roofs for my pad here?" the Skweeman gesticulated
with half a dozen limbs. "Every time it rain, all the
squish goes out of my mud pack."
"Sorry, Mr. Uptakapacheenobufers, but you know
the ground-rules. Much as we Terries want to impress
you people with a Public Works Project, it can't be
anything useful. According to the Underground
Deep-Think Teams back at Sector, that might be taken
as an implied criticism of your culture."
215

RETIEF AT LARGE
The Skweeman made a rubbery noise indicating mild
disappointment. "Yous know I'd likes to throw my
weights behind the Terry program, but without a few
goody to show for it, what's the percentage?"
"I see what you mean, Mr. Uptakapacheenobufers.
I'd better start by installing a couple of new transistors
in that language teacher I lent you. It seems to have
imparted a faulty grasp of the plural."
"Hecks, Retief, call me 'takapacheenobufers for
shorts. I guess we're chum now, after those snort we
had together last night. Wows, what a hangovers!"
"Speaking of headaches, I have to hurry along to
Staff Meeting. Too bad about the roof, but if you think
of something spectacularly superfluous the town needs,
hasten to let Ambassador Treadwater know. He's
sweating out his next E.R."
Retief went along to the large hut which served as the
Terran Chancery; inside, he took a camp stool among
the staff assembled before a low split-bamboo podium
which sagged visibly under the bulk of the chief of
Mission.
"Now, then," the Ambassador opened the meeting
briskly. "First this morning we'll take a look at the
challenge which confronts us, gentlemen." He sig-
nalled and the lights dimmed. A projector hummed. On
the rostrum, a life-sized, three-dimensional, vividly
colored image of a stubby, boxy Skweeman appeared
under a glowing legend reading KNOW YOUR
ENEMY. Treadwater tapped the solidogram with his
rubber-tipped pointer.
"This, gentlemen," he stated, "might appear to
some of you to bear a superficial resemblance to our
great allies, those valiant freedom fighters, the South
216

DAM NUISANCE
Skweemans. However, to a practiced eye it's at once
apparent that it is, in fact, a North Skweeman. Note the
sly expression, the general air of inscrutability, the
fierce cast of eye . . ." The pointer rapped each fea-
ture in turn.
"Ah . . . Mr. Ambassador." Colonel Pluckwyn,
the Military Attache, raised an interrogatory finger
from his seat in the front row. "I don't believe that last
organ was precisely an eye. More of an ear, I think
you'll find."
"Whatever it is, it has a fierce cast!" Treadwater
snapped. "Now let's move along to the coloration."
He studied the simulacrum. "Hmm—an offensive
greenish purple with clashing dun rosettes."
"Golly, Mr. Ambassador," the Cultural Attache's
voice piped from the rear. "Maybe I'm mixed up, but
aren't our Skweemans the same color?"
"Certainly not! Quite the opposite! The South
Skweeman is characterized by a soothing overall tan-
nish tone, tastefully set off with purply-green rosettes.
Not the same at all."
"Yes, but—"
"Now, about the warts." The Ambassador pursued
his point. "Note that this fellow has large blue ones,
with tufts of yellowish hair."
"But, sir—isn't that what the South Skweemans
have?"
Treadwater smiled patronizingly. "A common mis-
take, Dimplick. Actually, the South Skweeman is
adorned with somewhat smaller warts, bearing attrac-
tive tufts of golden hair."
"Oop, my mistakes, boss," a thin South Skweeman
voice chirped from the direction of the projector.
217

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Looks like I accidentally slipped in a shots of the
South Skweeman Minister of Eats and Drinks. A nice
likeness, too, made just before the mob got him." The
image flicked out of existence and another, obscurely
different, took its place.
"Well, I'm sure we all get the general idea, any-
way," the Cultural Attache offered breathlessly, as
Treadwater's face took on a dangerous shade of purple.
"Yeah—these are a shot of the common foe," the
projectionist announced. "Boy, will you look at those
look of ferocity?"
"Take it away!" Treadwater bellowed. "And I
suggest you look to your labels, sir, before you create
an international incident!" He yanked his pale violet
lapels back in line. "Now, it's time to get on to the
substantive portion of today's briefing." He beetled
his brows at his audience.
"You're all aware that the success of our mission
here depends on establishing the legitimacy of the gov-
ernment to which I—that is, we—are accredited.
Namely, that of Free Skweem, formerly known as
South Skweem. We are similarly aware that next
month's plebiscite will determine once and for all
whether the mantle of planetary leadership falls on the
shoulder of our sturdy allies, the South Skweemans, or
on the bowed backs of the North Skweeman insurgents,
the satellites of the unprincipled Groaci."
"I have a suggestion," the Political Officer broke in
excitedly. "We could hire some of the rougher local
patriots to patrol the polling places, weeding out unde-
sirables, distributing special disappearing ballots
among the opposition and making a few minor adjust-
ments to the counting machines to insure a victory for
democratic processes!"
218

DAM NUISANCE
"This is no time for subtlety," Treadwater stated
flatly. "We must impress the locals of both political
persuasions with our superior capacity to bestow
largesse. We need, gentlemen, a large and impressive
symbol of Terran generosity and technical virtuosity.
The floor is now open for your suggestions."
The Ambassador waited. The silence was profound.
"Gentlemen," Treadwater said ominously, "a full
week has passed since I first requested suggestions
from the staff—and as of today, the net response has
been nil!"
A shuffling of feet greeted the accusation.
"A curious lethargy seems to have afflicted you,
gentlemen." The Ambassador stared around bellig-
erently. "This, while a certain foreign mission daily
entrenches itself more securely, prestige-wise, by vir-
tue of a certain probably illegal but nonetheless highly
effective propaganda device. I refer, of course, to the
dam the Groaci have bestowed on their North
Skweeman toadies."
"I propose we build a dam too," someone said
quickly.
"Wonderful notion," the Economic Officer rum-
bled. "About to suggest it myself—"
"Say, Charlie, you're hitting right in there this
morning," a First Secretary offered. There were clucks
and chuckles of admiration from the rest of the staff.
Treadwater waited for the approbation to die down.
' 'The dam constructed by the Groaci engineers at the
point where the river loops briefly into North
Skweem," he purred, "has not only crippled South
Skweeman commerce, but has effected a drought
which is rapidly starving our brave allies into an ad-
vanced state of malnutrition, complicated by dust
219

RETIEF AT LARGE
storms. Add to this the unfortunate flooding of that
portion of the nation's farmland lying above the dam
and we see, gentlemen, a striking example of creative
public relations—unhappily, in the service of the op-
position. Now—" he smiled thinly at the group—
"will someone kindly tell me what possible detriment
would accrue to our rivals if I were so ill-advised as to
construct still another navigational hazard in what was
once this nation's main artery of communication!" His
voice rose to an apoplectic bellow on the last words. No
one volunteered a reply.
A junior Third Secretary raised a hand timidly.
Treadwell blinked expectantly.
"Ah . . .sir. The dam is creating a sizable lake, I
understand. What do the Groaci have in mind doing
with all that water?"
"Eh? Do? Nothing, of course!" the Ambassador
snapped. "The entire project was designed merely to
harass me! Or rather, us! The proud and independent
populace of South Skweem, that is to say!"
"Oh." The young man subsided.
"Well, then," the Ambassador went on, icily calm
now. "Let us try again, gentlemen, avoiding, if pos-
sible, the idiotic."
"Well, Mr. Ambassador, Project Proposals are a
tricky proposition," the quavering voice of the elderly
Press Attache offered. "There was quite a row kicked
up in certain journals concerning that hundred-man bird
bath the CDT built for the Quornt before we discovered
they were allergic to water. And it will be quite a while
before we live down the shoe factory we gave the Jaq,
since they seem to have no feet to speak of. And there
was a certain amount of criticism of—"
220

DAM NUISANCE
"I'm well aware of the history of the fiasco, as
practiced by my colleagues," Treadwater cut him off
glacially. "It is precisely for that reason that I am
determined to present to Sector Headquarters a Pro-
posal which will bear microscopic scrutiny, farce-wise.
Now, thinking caps, men! I needn't remind you that we
are caught between the mortar of Groaci expansionism
and the pestle of Corps policy. If the government to
which we are accredited is not starved out from under
us, we still face an unfilled Project Quota."
"Damned awkward, sir," Colonel Pluckwyn mur-
mured. "Couldn't we just give the beggars a touch of
the old quirt? A small fractional megatonner, say, just
to teach 'em their manners."
"Bomb Headquarters?" Treadwater looked as-
tonished.
"Actually I was thinking of the North Skweemans,
sir, but your suggestion has merit—"
"Colonel, I think you'd better report to the dispen-
sary after Staff Meeting, for skull X-rays," Treadwater
said bleakly. "I suspect the plates will come out blank.
Now, let's move along to Mr. Magnan's report." The
Ambassador glanced expectantly over the seated dip-
lomats .
"Magnan? Where is the fellow, drat it!" The Am-
bassadorial eye fixed on Retief. "You, there. What's-
your-name. Magnan's your chief, I believe. Where the
devil is he?"
"Mr. Magnan failed to confide in me, Your Excel-
lency," Retief said.
"Didn't your Excellency send him over to call on the
Groaci Ambassador?" Dimplick queried.
"Of course," Treadwater agreed. "I instructed him
221

RETIEF AT LARGE
to unobtrusively scout out the effects of the new dam
under cover of the protocol visit. It is that on which I
wish his report."
"Mr. Magnan went across the line into North
Skweem, alone?" Retief inquired casually.
"I believe that is where his Groacian Excellency is
usually to be found,'' Treadwater replied testily, glanc-
ing at his finger watch. "And he was distinctly directed
to be back before tiffin time."
"The present crisis may have thrown off the tiffin
schedule," Retief conjectured.
Treadwater frowned ominously. "Are you suggest-
ing the scoundrels may have so far forgotten their
protocol as to have detained an accredited diplomat in
the performance of his duty?"
"Something seems to have detained him,"
Pluckwyn offered.
"I hope he didn't go sniffing too closely around the
dam," the Political Officer said soberly. "ThoseNorth
Skweemans can be pretty nasty. I saw some atrocity
photos our visual aid people mocked-up, based on
reliable rumors—"
"Oh, boy." The Press Attache doddered to his feet.
"This'll make great copy, chief. 'TERRY ENVOY
MURDERED . . .' "
"Who said any thing about murder, you cretin!"
Treadwater roared. "I merely noted that the man is late
for Staff Meeting!"
"Yes, I suppose you're right." The Press Attache
sat down reluctantly. Then he brightened. "Still, if he
hasn't shown up by sundown . . ."He began jotting
notes on his scratch pad.
"Well, if there are no further follies with which to
222

DAM NUISANCE
waste our time, that's all for this morning, gentlemen,"
the Ambassador growled. "But I shall be looking for
results—prompt, dramatic results!" He swept the
group with a final expectant glare, moved ponderously
down from the shaky platform.
"Say, Mr. Retief," the young Third Secretary came
up beside him as they stepped out into the hot, dusty
sunlight. "What really is the difference between North
Skweeman's and South Skweemans?"
' 'Very simple, Teddy. South Skweemans are natural
democrats.''
"Oh. . ."The youth fell back as Treadwater beck-
oned Retief over.
"About Magnan," the Ambassador said off-
handedly. ' 'It's occurred to me the situation might bear
looking into. Never can tell what these unprincipled
foreigners might take a fancy to perpetrate—not that I
think Magnan is in any difficulty, of course. But I've
been thinking possibly we might just dispatch someone
to make sure."
"Excellent idea, sir," Retief agreed.
"Actually, I've been wondering whom I could spare
long enough to attend to the chore." Treadwater put a
thoughtful finger to his chins.
"Indeed, sir?" Retief encouraged.
"Frankly, your name popped into my mind."
"Very flattering, Mr. Ambassador. A pity you as-
signed me to do the liquor inventory. Ottherwise I'd be
delighted."
"Never mind the inventory—if you're sure you re-
ally feel you should go . . ."
"Well . . ."
"Very well, then, if you insist. Though personally I
223

RETIEF AT LARGE
think you young fellows spook too easily. Well, I must
hurry along, Retief. Let me hear from you." He turned
and strode away.
"How'd it go, Retief?" Uptakapacheenobufers cal-
led from his doorway.
"Predictably," Retief said.
II
The once-purple and verdant countryside of Skweem
was a wan, sun-baked expanse of water-starved fields
criss-crossed with the dusty gulleys of empty irrigation
ditches. Tinder-dry stalks of mudwheat stood in end-
less, arid rows across the cracked, concrete-like clay.
Retief studied the view as he steered the official
ground-car with the CDT pennant flapping from the
prow along the rocky road that paralleled the dry river
bed, where stranded boats rested high and dry, their
formerly bright paint and rigging as bleached and sere
as the land. A few listless South Skweeman peasants
waved spiritless greetings from the shade of their huts
as he passed. Others merely stared with drooping visual
organs.
It was an hour's drive to the heavy barbed-wire fence
that marked the North Skweeman border. Retief pulled
to a stop at the gate. A large, warty North Skweeman in
official loops of braid decorated by dangling straps and
medals undulated over, fingering a blast rifle of unmis-
takable Groaci manufacture.
"What's your problem, Two-eyes?" he inquired in
Skweemish.
224

DAM NUISANCE
"Just a courtesy call," Retief replied in the same
tongue. "Tell me, did you see another Terry pass here
early this morning?"
The Skweeman's eyes shifted. "Naw, nothing like
that," he said flatly.
"This fellow would be hard to miss," Retief per-
sisted. "Twelve feet tall, flaming red hair all over,
three eyes—"
"Frinkle-fruit! The guy wasn't as big as you, and
. . ." His voice trailed off.
"I see," Retief nodded. "Well, he was taking a
birthday cake to the Groaci Ambassador, and it seems
he lost the cherry off the top of it. We Terries are
pitching in to help locate anyone who might have de-
layed him."
' 'Not me, Terry! I waved him through and he headed
straight for town—thataway." He pointed along the
road.
"Fine. I'll tell them you're clean, then."
"Gee, thanks, fella." The guard set his gun aside
and opened the gate.
"Think nothing of it." Retief waved cheerily and
drove through.
A mile and a half past the gate he encountered a small
village, identical with its South Skweeman equivalent.
Rows of grass huts, of various sizes depending on the
status of their occupants, were arranged around a small
grassed plaza in the center of which the public struc-
tures were grouped. As Retief pulled up to the tall,
conical buildings which presumably housed the town
officials, half a dozen uniformed North Skweemans
came to the alert. One, more elaborately decorated than
225

RETIEF AT LARGE
his fellows, wobbled forward and looked the car over
with the air of a Customs officer tipped off to a load of
contraband.
"What brings you here?" he demanded.
"I'm looking for the Groaci Consulate General,"
Retief said.
"Yeah? Where'd you lose it?" the Skweeman came
back snappily.
"The last I heard it was neck-deep in North
Skweeman internal affairs," Retief replied breezily.
'' But that's for you fellows to worry about." He looked
around the somnolent town square. "I don't suppose
you know where I might find a fellow Terry who
wandered over the line while chasing a promotion?"
"You got that one right," the Skweeman nodded.
"Well, in that case I'll just move along and take a
look at the dam the Groaci suckered you into letting
them build on your property." He glanced along the
line of the arched river-bed to the looming wall of
concrete half a mile distant. "I see it's still holding.
Water's about halfway to the spillway now, eh?" He
looked thoughtful.
"Whattaya mean, suckered? That's the finest dam
on Skweem!"
"Um," Retief said. "What's it for?"
"Huh? To hold back the water, whattaya think?"
"Why?"
"Onacountof. . . so we can . . . I mean, it's for
..." The Skweeman broke off. "Listen, you better
talk to old Five-eyes personal; 1 mean, what's the big
idea trying to pump me for military secrets?"
"Military secrets, eh? Well, that's interesting. Just
226

DAM NUISANCE
what sort of illegal military plans are you concocting
over on this side of the line?"
"We got no illegal plans!"
"Any military plans are illegel," Retief said flatly.
"Who says so?"
"The CDT."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Uh-huh. And we have the military resources to
back it up, if you'll goad us far enough. Starting a war
ought to do it. And now, if you'll just sort of slither to
one side, I'll get on with my business."
"Hey, you can't—" The North Skweeman's words
were drowned in a cloud of dust as Retief gunned the
car off toward the massive pile of the dam,
Retief parked the car on a stretch of bulldozed gravel
on the shoulder of the hill against which the abutment
was anchored. Carrying a pair of miniaturized 100x9
binoculars, he moved up in the shelter of a small shed
housing the dam's power controls, looked over the
scene below.
To the right of the massive concrete barrier a parched
valley wound away toward the North Skweeman bor-
der. Patches of mud gleaming here and there at the
bottom of the gorge were all that remained of the former
river. To the left stretched a broad lake of blue-black
water, its breeze-riffled surface reflecting the greenish
late-morning sun. Under it lay a hundred square miles
of South Skweem's best farm land, now forty feet deep
in backed-up river water.
A narrow catwalk lined with pole-mounted polyarcs
for night operations crossed the top of the dam. On the
far side a crew of Skweeman construction workers in
227

RETIEF AT LARGE
baggy ochre overalls toiled under the supervision of a
spindle-legged Groaci engineer, putting the finishing
touches on the job. Other Skweeman's, heavy-laden,
struggled up a trail across the steep slope from below
like a column of ants. A touch of color met Retief's eye.
He fine-focused the glasses, picked out the sagging
shape of a small hut half-concealed in the brush near the
base of the dam. Through its open door he saw the edge
of a coil of wire, shelves, the corners of packing cases.
A Groaci supervisor stepped into the field of vision,
closed the door, hung a lock on it, followed the workers
up the trail. Retief lowered the glasses thoughtfully.
Then, keeping low, he moved off in the concealment of
deep brush.
It was a stiff climb down to the floor of the ravine.
Retief completed it without arousing unwelcome atten-
tion. He came up on the supply hut from the rear.
Nothing moved near it now. The lock looked stout
enough, but the warped boards of the door were riddled
with dry rot. At a sharp kick it bounced rattlingly open.
Inside, Retief looked over a stock of tools, reinforc-
ing steel fittings, detonator caps, mechanical spares for
the pumps—and a generous supply of compressed
smashite: three-inch rods of a bilious yellow color,
each capable of excavating a hundred cubic yards of
hard rock in one blast. Quickly, Retief selected mate-
rials and set to work.
Ill
He left the shed ten minutes later, unreeling a coil of
two-conductor insulated wire behind him. The ascent
to the cliff-top took half an hour, by which time the
228

DAM NUISANCE
workmen had completed the task at hand and were
busily packing up their tools. Retief made his way
up-slope to the control shed.
Its corrugated metal door stood half open. Inside, the
floor was littered with snipped-off bits of wire, empty
cartons that had contained switching gear and the butts
of several dozen Groaci dope sticks. An inspection of
the panels showed that the wiring was complete. Five
more minutes' study indicated that the large white
toggle switch beside the door controlled the polyarcs
atop the dam.
Retief brought the ends of his wires into the shed,
linked them into the lighting circuit. Against the gray
floor, the insulated lines were almost invisible.
Back outside, he brushed loose sand over the wires
leading up from below, then headed back to the car. He
topped the rise, halted at sight of two bile-green cars
bearing the crossed-oculars insignia of the North
Skweeman Home Guard, parked across the bumpers of
the CDT vehicle. There were eight armed Skweemans
in sight, patrolling alertly around the blocked car, while
a pair of Groaci stood by, dapper in Bermuda shorts and
solar topis, deep in conversation.
As Retief strolled down to meet the reception com-
mittee, the locals swiveled to cover him with their
guns. The two Groaci stared, their eye-stalks twitching
hypnotically. Retief recognized one as a member of the
Groaci diplomatic staff.
"Good morning, Lith," Retief greeted the Groaci
Councillor as he came up. "Keeping busy, I see."
"To depart instantly," theGroaci diplomat hissed in
his faint voice. "To explain at once this illegal intru-
sion on North Skweeman soil!"
229

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Which would you like first, the explanation or the
departure?" Retief inquired interestedly.
"To make no jest of this red-handed crime, Terran
interloper!'" Lith whispered urgently. His multiple
eyes fell on the miniature binoculars in Retief's hand.
"As 1 thought." He motioned to his Skweeman
aides. "Your presence explains itself." He stepped
back to allow the gun-handlers to close in. "Cover
him," he ordered. "At the first false move, fire."
"You're in a devil-may-care mood this morning,"
Retief noted. "Given up all hope of advancement, I
suppose, and want to go out in a blaze of notoriety by
making an even bigger mistake than usual."
"What did you observe up there?" The second
Groaci indicated the top of the rise.
"Just what's there," Retief replied easily.
The two Groaci exchanged glances, a feat they ac-
complished with one pair of eyes while keeping two on
Retief and another on the Skweemans. Retief whistled
in admiration.
"No signalling," one of them warned.
"To poke your long Terry nose in once too often,"
Lith said. He made a curt gesture with a pair of arms.
"Take him," he commanded the Skweemans.
"Before you do that—" Retief held up an admoni-
tory hand—"maybe it would be a good idea to ask Lith
what the future plan for North Skweem might be—if
North Skweem has a future."
"Silence!" Lith keened. "To take care, Terry, not
to tempt me too far!"
"Hey, talk Skweemish," one of the guards ob-
jected. "What are you two foreigners cooking up,
anyway?"
230

DAM NUISANCE
"We're merely nattering of trivialities," Lith
explained. "Now do your duty, fellows."
"Yeah . . . but I been thinking: this sapsuckerw a
Terry diplomat."
"Enough," Lith cut him off. "I assure you no com-
plaints will be lodged by his associates."
The Skweemans closed in on Retief. "All right, big
boy, let's go," the lieutenant said, poking his gun at the
prisoner.
Retief glanced at the weapon. It was a heavy-duty
power pistol, aGroacian copy of an early Terran type.
"Have you ever fired that thing?" he inquired in-
terestedly .
"Who, me?" the Skweeman rotated a number of
sense organs in a gesture expressing astonishment.
"Heck, no. We got orders to only shoot at live tar-
gets." He looked meaningfully at Retief.
"A wise precaution. I understand that model blows
up rather easily. That's why the Groaci sold them to
you at bargain prices."
"To make no attempt to subvert my minions!" Lith
hissed.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Retief assured the ruffled
diplomat. "I prefer minions who change sides on their
own."
"You will have long to wait for that eventuality,"
Lith snapped. "In a cell which, alas, lacks most of the
amenities."
"That's all right," Retief said. "Perhaps I won't be
in it long enough to need them."
Lith vibrated his throat-sac, expressing amusement.
"You may be right, my dear Terran," he com-
mented blandly. "Now, into your vehicle, and drive as
231

RETIEF AT LARGE
directed, remembering that guns are upon you!"
Escorted by the two police cars, Retief drove the
CDT Monojag at a sedate pace along the indicated route
to the village, pulled it in before a low mud brick
building with one small window set with metal bars.
Lith and the Skweeman police surrounded him as he
stepped out into the street. One of the cops stared into
the interior of the Monojag.
"Hey, this is a fancy job," he commented. "What's
that?" He pointed at a short red-handled lever labeled
EMERGENCY LIFT. At his side, Lith goggled, then
whirled on Retief.
"To explain at once!" he hissed. "Our intelligence
reports have indicated that vehicles so equipped are
capable of VTO and supersonic speeds! Why, then, did
you permit yourself to be so docilely convoyed?"
"Well, Lith, maybe those reports you read were
exaggerated," Retief smiled deprecatingly. "After all,
your gumshoe brigades have to report something."
Lith snorted. "So much for the vaunted Terry
technology." He turned to his troops.
"Lock him up."
The Skweemans closed in to box Retief, like alert,
waist-high goblins modelled in blotchy clay; their guns
prodded him along an alley to a small metal door set in
the side of the brick building. The lieutenant opened it
with a clumsy electrokey, waved him inside. The door
clanked shut and a shadowy figure rose up, its face pale
in the dim light.
"Retief!" First Secretary Magnan gasped. "You
mean they captured you, too?"
' 'It seemed the simplest way to solve the problem of
232

DAM NUISANCE
finding you," Retief said. "Now all we have is the
problem of getting out."
Ill
«r
The Skweeman sun was low in the sky now. A brisk,
hot wind had sprung up from the north, whirling
streamers of dust into the cell through the barred win-
dow from which Retief watched the activity in the
street. Behind him, Magnan turned away, coughing.
"They're as busy as Verpp in moulting season," he
sniffed. "No one is paying us the slightest attention. I
suppose we may rot here for hours more before Ambas-
sador Treadwell secures our release."
"There's just one cop patrolling the jail now," Re-
tief said. "The rest of them have trooped off, arm in
arm with their friends the Groaci. I think we picked a
bad time for our calls; they're up to something.
"I can't think what's keeping him!" Magnan eyed
his watch fretfully. "I'm missing my afternoon coffee
break, to say nothing of dinner." He sighed heavily,
settled himself on the floor.
"I simply can't grasp it," he muttered. "TheGroaci
are famed for their chicaneries, but open diplomat-
napping broaches an entirely new field of rascality.
Why, an honest diplomat won't even be able to run
around to trouble areas, picking up eye-witness impres-
sions, without the risk of being treated as a mere spy."
"On the other hand, if we join in the spirit of the
thing—" Retief turned from the window—"we might
find that it opens up new avenues to us, too." He went
233

RETIEF AT LARGE
across to the narrow door, leaned over the barred,
waist-high opening, and shouted for the guard.
"Good idea." Magnan got to his feet. "I think it's
time we spoke sharply to these brigands. Just step
aside, Retief, and I'll drop a few broad hints." His
voice faded as the fierce visage of the police lieutenant
appeared beyond the aperture. Retief spoke first:
"Do you have any idea what a blaster would do to
you if I fired from this range?" he inquired. "Don't
give any alarm," he went on as the speechless cop
goggled into the dark cell. "Just quietly unlock the
door—and be sure no one notices anything unusual
going on."
"B ... b ... b ..." the Skweeman said.
"You can express your astonishment later," Retief
said briskly. "Open up now, before I have to dem-
onstrate how well armed I am."
"I . . .1 didn't see any weapon on you when we
brought you in," the jailer expostulated.
"Naturally; it's the sort of thing a fellow likes to
keep secret. Hop to it, now. My trigger finger is twitch-
ing."
"I had to be a wise guy and volunteer to be a big
shot," the Skweeman muttered to himself. Retief heard
the scrape of the key in the lock. Tumblers clicked
over. The door swung in with a dry squeak.
"Shhh!" Magnan put a finger to his lips, looked
severely at the native as he sidled out past him. He
looked both ways.
"The coast seems to be clear," he whispered as
Retief lifted the cop's pistol from its holster. "Maybe
you'd better let me have one of the guns."
"Hey!" The Skweeman waved several sensory or-
234

DAM NUISANCE
gans in an agitated way. "1 don't see any blaster—
except mine!"
"Nothing wrong with your vision, anyway," Retief
congratulated him. Now we have to be running along.''
He looked thoughtfully at the local. "I really should
shoot you . . ."he said judiciously.
"Sh . . . shoot me?" the Skweeman gulped. "But
I' ve got a couple of dozen chicks ready to break through
the shell any day now! Those little devils will have the
hide off the old lady in five minutes flat if I'm not there
to protect her when they hatch out!"
"On the other hand," Retief went on, "I could give
you a break."
"Yeah!" the Skweeman breathed. "Now you're
talking, Terry!"
"You just carry on as though nothing had happened.
We'll go about our business and trouble you no more. I
don't think you'll want to bother Uncle Lith by men-
tioning our departure; he might take the unreasonable
attitude that you're in some way to blame. Just play
them close to your medals and act innocent when they
notice the cell's empty."
"You bet, boss. I always knew you Terries were
gents. Between us, I never went much for that two-
legged slicker—"
"Mind your derogatory references to the number of a
being's limbs, sir," Magnan said stiffly. "Two legs
appears to me to be an admirable endowment of such
members."
"Sure, no offense, gents. Now, how's about beating
it quick, before somebody comes along? And you bet-
ter give me back my gun. Somebody might get nosy if I
don't have it."
235

RETIEF AT LARGE
Retief ejected the power cylinder from the butt of the
gun, dropped it into his pocket, handed the empty
weapon over.
"We can't reach the car," he said to Magnan.
"They towed it away to tinker with at leisure. We'll
have to ease out the back way and see how far we get."
Keeping to the narrow alley, Retief and Magnan
safely traversed a block of ragged grass dwellings,
emerged at the end of a long avenue that meandered
down a slope toward the mile-distant fence marking the
South Skweeman border, barely visible now in the late
twilight.
"If there were just some way to cover that ghastly
open stretch," Magnan muttered, "we could be safe in
a matter of minutes . . ."He broke off, pointed at a
flickering glow, a smudge of smoke rising lazily from a
point near the gate where the road crossed the inter-
national line. "What's that? Dust, perhaps? Or
smoke?"
"The wind's from the north," Retief said. "And
there's nothing but twenty miles of dry mud-wheat
between here and those haystacks housing our friends,
the South Skweeman leaders. Something tells me that's
a fire, Mr. Magnan—and not an accidental one."
"Fire?" Magnan gasped. "Great heavens, Retief—
the capital is directly down-wind! They'll be roasted
alive—the Ambassador, the staff, the South Skwee-
mans—and no water anywhere to fight the blaze!"
"That's one way of influencing an election," Retief
pointed out.
"Why, there's nothing to keep it from burning off
the prairie all the way to the sea," Magnan blurted.
"The entire country will be incinerated! There'll be
236

DAM NUISANCE
nothing left of our allies but a pall of smoke!"
There was a scratchy Skweeman shout from behind
the Terrans. They turned to see a policeman approach-
ing up the alley on the run—a spectacle not unlike a
cubic yard of olive-drab noodles rolling up-hill.
' 'Let's go," Retief snapped. He turned and ran for it,
with Magnan pelting at his heels and a gathering force
of pursuers baying on the trail.
"It's . . . no . . . use," Magnan gasped as they
toiled up the last hundred yards toward the mighty flank
of the dam. "They're . . . gaining." He cast a look
back at the mob of half a hundred North Skweeman
patriots strung out in a torch-waving line-halfway to the
village.
"Just a little farther," Retief caught Magnan's arm
and hauled him along. "You're doing fine."
They reached the top of the dam, massive and omi-
nous in the darkness. A blaster bolt crackled blue
nearby, from extreme range.
"Retief, we're not going to cross that!" Magnan
stared in horror at the narrow unrailed catwalk that led
out to disappear in darkness, the great black void on one
side, the lapping waters slapping at the concrete on the
other.
"Unless we want to be shot, we are." Retief started
out at a trot. Magnan bleated, then followed, edging
along flat-footed. Another shot chipped concrete be-
hind him. He yelped and broke into a nervous canter.
They reached the far side, scrambled up the dry
slope, lit only by the blaster that peppered them with
flying gravel as the shots struck around them.
"Where are they?" a Skweeman voice sounded. "I
237

RETIEF AT LARGE
can't see a thing; those Terries must have eyes like a
weenie-bug!"
"Lights," someone else called. "Don't let 'em get
away, boys!"
Retief stood, cupped his hands beside his mouth.
"Lith," he called. "A word of advice: don't light
up!"
"We can't . . . hide here," Magnan gasped out.
"No cover . . . and those shots . . . getting close!"
He dived flat as a shot kicked up dirt almost at his feet.
"They won't find us in the dark," Retief said.
"But—they'll switch on the lights."
"There is that chance—but they were warned."
There was a shock through the mound that bounced
both men three inches into the air. Then a deep-throated
tooom! rolled from the abyss like chained thunder, as
brilliant light flooded the entire length of the dam.
Retief raised his head, saw great chunks of masonry
rising with languid grace high in the air. Atop the
stricken dam, the few bold Skweemans who had started
across dithered momentarily, then pelted for safety as
the walkway subsided with dream-like majesty under
them. Most of them reached the far side as the immense
bulk of the dam cracked with a boom like a cannon; the
rest dived for the glistening surface of the pent-up
water, splashed desperately for shore as dust boiled up
from the gorge, obscuring the scene of destruction.
Polyarcs still blazing bravely, the great dam crum-
bled, sinking from sight. Wave after wave of sound
rolled across the slope. Rocks and pebbles thudded
down near the diplomats. They gained their feet,
sprinted for the top of the hill, then turned, watched as
the surface of the artificial lake heaved, recoiling pon-
238

DAM NUISANCE
derously from the blast, then bulged toward the
broached dam, formed a vast spout like translucent
black syrup that arched out, out, over, and spilled
down, foaming white now, plunging into the boiling
dust. The ground shook as the incalculabe tonnage of
water struck far below. A roaring like caged dinosaurs
bellowed upward from the gorge as the river poured
back into its bed in a torrent that shredded concrete and
steel from the broken rim of the dam like water dissolv-
ing dry mud. In a scant five minutes, nothing remained
of the great Groaci Dam but the denuded abutments,
studded with the stripped ends of clustered reinforcing
rods.
' 'Retief!'' Magnan piped over the roar of the waters.
"The ... the dam broke!"
Retief nodded judiciously. "Yes, Mr. Magnan," he
said. "I think you could say that."
IV
Retief and Magnan waded past the tattered remains
of the soggy huts thrusting up from the swirling, mud-
brown waters that covered the site of the South
Skweeman capital, inundated by the flood that had
swept down so abruptly an hour earlier. Ambassador
Treadwater stood with his staff before the remains of
the Chancery hut, waist deep in the flow. "Ah, there
you are, Magnan." He turned to look disapprovingly at
the new arrivals. "Remind me to speak to you about
punctuality. I'd almost begun to wonder if you'd met
with foul play. Even considered sending someone after
you."
239

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Mr. Ambassador—about all this water—"
"Hark!" Someone raised a hand torch, shot its
blue-white beam out across the water, picked up the
low silhouette of an inflated dinghy on which a number
of bedraggled, knobby-kneed Groaci crouched. Sev-
eral Skweemans splashed forward to intercept the
craft. .
"Well, nice of you to drop in, my dear Shish,"
Treadwater called. "Most unfortunate that your en-
gineers have apparently proved unequal to their task.
Possibly their slide-rules were out of adjustment. Still
their timing was good, conflagration wise."
He smiled sourly as the staff chuckled dutifully.
"Bah, the design was flawless," Shish whispered as
the raft bobbed on the ripples. "We were sabotaged!"
"Sabotage?" Treadwater surveyed the Groaci Am-
bassador as haughtily as his sodden puce cutaway
would allow. "I think you are as aware as I that import
of explosives to an emergent planet like Skweem is
quite impossible, but for certain industrial types allo-
cated to massive engineering projects."
"You suggest that Groaci detonants were employed
in this dastardly fashion? Why, the very idea . . ."
Shish fell sulkily silent.
"Confidentially, Retief," Magnan whispered be-
hind his hand, "Just what do you suppose did happen to
the dam?"
"Possibly someone got their wires crossed," Retief
murmured.
"Now, Mr. Ambassador," Treadwater said. "I fear
I shall have to expropriate your conveyance for official
CDT use. I find it necessary to remove to my hill station
at once to prepare my dispatches." He broke off as a
240

DAM NUISANCE
muddy scarecrow faintly recognizable as the Agricul-
tural Attache splashed up to join the group.
"Did you notice the current change, Mr. Ambas-
sador?" he cried gaily. "The water's draining off into
the river bed now—and the new channel cut by the
flood is just this side of the border. I fancy we'll have no
more interference from these meddlesome Groaci—oh,
Ambassador Shish," he nodded to the sodden digni-
tary. "Nice night Your Excellency."
"Bah," Shish replied.
The attache was rubbing his hands together. "My
preliminary study seems to indicate that the inundation
has deposited a good six inches of new topsoil over a
large portion of South Skweem. All scoured off North-
ern Skweem, of course, but then, they will allow defec-
tive dams to be built on their land . . ." His voice
trailed off. He pointed across the rapidly receding wa-
ters. Amid much splashing, a large party of
Skweemans was approaching at a rapid clip.
"Gad!" Colonel Pluckwyn boomed. "We're being
invaded!"
"Here, do something!" Treadwater turned to Shish.
"They're your allies! Tell them to go along quietly and
we'll see about a handsome CDT reparation for any
inconvenience—"
"I claim sanctuary!" Shish whistled in agitation.
"Treadwater, it's your duty to protect me and my chaps
from these soreheads!"
"They do appear somewhat irate." Magnan began
backing away. "Don't lose your heads, gentlemen!"
Treadwater croaked. "We'll demand the privileges of
honorable prisoners of war—''
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RETIEF AT LARGE
"We haven't lost, yet," Retief pointed out.
"An excellent point, Mr. Retief." The Ambassador
reached for the Groaci raft. "I hereby appoint you as a
special committee to meet with these fellows and study
their grievances. If you can drag the talks out for an
hour, the rest of us will go for help."
"Quite an honor, my boy," Colonel Pluckwyn said,
as he tumbled a faintly protesting Groaci over the side.
"And you merely a Second Secretary."
"I don't think we should do anything hasty," Retief
said. "Now that the North Skweemans have had a taste
of Groaci sponsorship, they may be ready for our pro-
gram."
Councillor Lith, showing signs of wear and tear,
surfaced beside Retief, having been replaced by a Ter-
ran aboard the raft. "Some day, Terry, the truth of this
affair will out," he hissed in faint Groaci ferocity.
"Why be pessimistic?" Retief responded. "If you
play your cards right, the North Skweemans may never
learn that the dam was placed so that when the basin
was full you could open the flood gates and wipe out
their capital along with anything that might have been
left of South Skweem, leaving an open field for a
Groaci take-over."
"What? Are you suggesting—"
"I'd suggest dawn as a reasonable deadline," Retief
went on. "If you wade along with Ambassador Tread-
water, you can get off a 'gram and have a ship in here to
pick you up by then. I can't guarantee that I can keep it
quiet much longer than that."
"Hey!" Dimplick shouted suddenly. "Look at the
placard they're waving!" Retief glanced toward the
approaching North Skweemans, coming up rapidly
now.
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DAM NUISANCE
"Why, those appear to be hastily lettered pro-Terry
slogans," the Political Officer burst out.
"Have you lost your wits?" Treadwater rumbled.
He peered through the gloom. "Hmmm. It appears
you're right." He straightened his back. "Just as I
expected, of course. I knew that my policies toward
these fellows would bear fruit, given time." He shot
Magnan a reproving look. "A pity you chose to go
junketing just at the climactic point of the finesse. You
missed a valuable lesson in diplomatic sublety."
Magnan opened his mouth, caught a look from Re-
tief, closed it again.
"I'm sure we were all fooled by Your Excellency's
apparent total inactivity, sir," he gulped.
"Exactly." Treadwater beamed around at the others
as the front-runners of the North Skweeman delegation
arrived, uttering cries of delight and pledging eternal
friendship. "It appears we'll have a solid electorate
behind us, gentlemen! My job—that is to say, the
future of Terran-Skweeman relations seems secure.
Now, if we just had an adequate Project Proposal to
offer Sector Headquarters, our cup would be brim-
ming." He stepped forward, began shaking members
left to..right. "Sir!" Secretary Dimplick bounded for-
ward. "I've a dandy notion! Why not build a new
capital for United Skweem to replace the former city
swept away by the flood?"
"Of course!" Colonel Pluckwyn chimed in. "My
idea exactly; just waiting for an appropriate moment to
mention it. I'd also suggest a massive aid program to
rectify the other ravages of the disaster."
"Food!" the Agricultural Attache shouted. "I think
I can justify a schedule of deliveries under the Chrun-
chies for Lunchies program that will keep two dozen
243

RETIEF AT LARGE
Corps bottoms in use for the next fiscal quarter!''
"Superb, gentlemen!" Treadwater warbled. "I can
see promotions all around—to say nothing of extra
staff, monuments to Skweeman independence and
democratic solidarity, larger operational budgets, and a
magnificent new Terran Chancery rising from the
ruins!"
"Say, Mr. Retief." The junior Third Secretary
plucked at his sleeve. "I thought these North
Skweemans were little better than dacoits and brigands;
suddenly they're welcomed as bosom friends.
"True, they're a shifty lot," Retief confided as he
accepted a moist Skweeman handshake. "But who are
we to be choosy?"
244

GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
I
THE VOICE of Consul General Magnan, Terran envoy
to Slunch, crackled sharply through Vice-consul Re-
tief's earphones as he steered the slab-sided mud-car up
the slope through the dense smog issuing from the
innumerable bubbling mud-pockets in the rocky
ground.
"Retief, this whole idea is insane! We're likely to
bog down or be blown up; we'll have to turn back!"
" It' s just a few hundred yards now," Retief replied.
"Look here! As chief of mission, I'm responsible for
the safety of all Terran personnel on Slunch, which
means, specifically, you and me. It's not that I'm
timid, you understand, but—Look out!" he shouted
suddenly, as Retief cut hard at the wheel to avoid the
uprearing form of a twenty-foot tangleworm. Magnan
chopped with his machete as the blind creature swung
its capacious jaws toward him. Brown juices spattered
as the severed, football head tumbled into the car, still
biting the air.
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RETIEF AT LARGE
He kicked it away and wiped a mud-stained sleeve
across his face, peering ahead through the smoky air.
"There it is now," Retief pointed. Through the
murky atmosphere, a dull glow swam into visibility.
Half a minute later the mud-car came to a halt at the
brink of a vast sinkhole, from which choking, sulphur-
ous fumes rose in ochre billows, reflecting the fitful
play of light from below.
Retief swung over the side of the car, went forward
to the precipitous edge. Magnan advanced cautiously
behind him.
"You see those openings down there?" Retief
pointed through the swirling vapors. "I think we can
work our way down along the ledge on this side,
then—"
"Great heavens, Retief!" Magnan broke in. "You
seriously propose that we explore this—this subterra-
nean furnace—on foot?'' His voice rose to the breaking
point.
"We'll be all right inside our thermal suits," the
junior diplomat said. "If we can discover which vents
are the ones—"
"Mark!" Magnan raised a hand. A new, deeper,
rumble was rising to drown the fretful murmurings
from underfoot.
"Is that—could that be high tide coming?" he
gasped.
Retief shook his head. "Not due for six hours yet.
You're not by any chance expecting a ship today?"
"A ship? No, I wasn't—but yes—it could be. . ."
Far above, a faint bluish light flickered through the
clouds, descending.''It is!" Magnan turned toward the
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
car. "Come along, Retief! We'll have to go back at
I ' »
once!
Ten minutes later, the car emerged from the fumes of
the field onto an expanse of of waving foot-high stems
which leaned to snatch at the car's oversized wheels
with tiny claws. Retief shifted to low gear, to the
accompaniment of ripping sounds as the strands of
tough grabgrass parted. Beyond the town, the newly
arrived vessel stood, a silvery dart against the black
clouds rolling slowly upward from the tar pits in the
distance.
"Retief, that's a Corps vessel!" Magnan said ex-
citedly. "Heavens! You don't suppose Sector has de-
cided to cut the tour of duty on Slunch to three months,
and sent our relief along a year and a half ahead of
schedule?"
"It's more likely they're shipping us a new ping-
pong table to soften the blow of the news the tour's
being extended to five years."
"Even ping-pong equipment would be a shade
nearer the mark than the six gross of roller skates the
Recreational Service sent out, Magnan sniffed.
"They're running out the VIP pennant," Retief
called.
Magnan shaded his eyes. "Damn it! No doubt it's a
party of junketing legislators, out to be wined and dined
out of our consular luxury allowance."
Five minutes later, the car pulled up in the lee of the
gleaming vessel with the ornate crest of the Corps
Diplomatique Terrestrienne blazoned on its prow. Al-
ready, a few questing runners of creeper vine had found
the ship and were making their way rapidly up the
247

RETIEF AT LARGE
landing vanes and twining over the access lock. As
Magnan descended, machete in hand, to clear the en-
try, the ship's exit lock swung open and extruded a
landing ramp. Half a dozen Terrans, resplendent in
pearl-gray pre-tiffin sub-informal coveralls and lime
green seersucker dickeys emerged, drawing deep, heal-
ing lungfuls of air and immediately coughing violently.
"No time to waste, gentlemen," Magnan called, his
voice muffled by his breathing mask. "Everybody out
and into the car!"
A stout man with the look of a senior attache shied
violently as Magnan confronted him. Those behind
recoiled toward the lock.
"Good Lord! Dacoits!" The fat man raised his
hands, backing away. "Don't strike sir! We're merely
harmless bureaucrats!"
"Eh?" Magnan stared at the newcomers. "Look
here, I don't wish to alarm you, but unless you come
along at once, you're all going to be in serious danger.
The air. . . ."
"Ransom!" the fat man cried. "I have a doting
auntie, sir, who'll pay handsomely! The old minnie has
more money than she knows what to do with."
"What's going on here!" A tall, broad-shouldered
man had appeared at the lock, staring down at the
tableau with a stern look.
"Look out, sir!" a small, wispy staffer chirped. "He
has a dreadful-looking sword!"
"I'll handle this!" The big man pushed forward,
stared down at Magnan. "Now then, what was it you
wanted, fellow?"
"Why, ah," the consul general temporized, backing
a step. "I just came out to welcome you to Slunch, sir,
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
and to offer you transportation back to the consu-
late—"
' 'You're from the consulate?'' the big man boomed.
"Of course."
"I'll have a word to say to the consul about sending a
sweeper to welcome an arriving trade mission," the fat
attache said, pushing forward. "I knew the moment I
laid eyes on him."
Magnan gobbled. "A full-scale trade mission? But
I've only been here three months! There hasn't been
time—''
"Ha!" the big man cut him off. "I'm beginning to
understand. You're a member of the diplomatic staff,
are you?" He looked Magnan up and down, taking in
the hip boots, the gauntlets, the battered poncho, the
black smudges of soot under his eyes.
"Of course. And—"
"Yes, you'd be that fellow Whatshisname. They
told me about you back at Sector. Well, there are a
number of matters I intend to set you straight on at the
outset." The big man's steely eye transfixed the as-
tounded Magnan. "I'm putting you on notice that I
have no sympathy with undisciplined upstarts!"
"I . . .1 think your excellency has the wrong up-
start," Magnan stammered. "That's Retief over there,
in the old horse blanket. I'm Magnan, the principal
officer."
"Wha . . . ?"
"It's not really a horse blanket," Magnan amended
hastily. "Actually it's an urze-beast blanket. It's for the
mud, you understand; and the rain, and the soot, and
the nitmites—"
"Well, anyone could have made the mistake," the
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RETIEF AT LARGE
fat staff member said. "This chap certainly looks
ferocious enough."
"That's enough!" The new arrival thrust out his
lower lip. "I'm Rainsinger. Just pass along what I said
to the proper party."
He smoothed his features with an effort. "Mr. Mag-
nan, you'll be delighted to know I've brought along a
number of items for you."
"How grand!" Magnan beamed. "Gourmet foods
for the consulate larder, I suppose? A nice selection of
wines, of course—and possibly—" he winked
playfully—"a library of racy sense-tapes?"
Rainsinger blinked. "Nothing so frivolous," he said
flatly. "Actually, it's an automatic tombstone factory,
complete, adequate to serve a community of one
hundred thousand souls." He rubbed his hands to-
gether briskly. "After we've gotten the natives started
on proper interment, we can expand into the casket and
embalming end. The possibilities are staggering." His
eye fell on the mud car. "What's that?"
"You gentlemen will have to excuse the
limousine," Magnan said. "Freddy didn't have time to
dust it up after the little shower we had this morning.
Mind your trousers, now."
"This is a Marx IX diplomatic issue limousine?"
The fat man gaped at the conveyance. "Why, it's made
of baling wire and clapboards!"
"The mud crabs ate the other body," Magnan
explained. "They found the plastic highly palatable. I
saved the cigar lighters, though."
"By golly, speaking of eating, I could do with a bite
of lunch," the fat man said to no one in particular.
Rainsinger gave Magnan a hard stare. "Well, under
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
the circumstances, I suppose a case could be made for a
Report of Survey. By the way, how is the berp-nut
crop?" He looked around the mud-coated port. "How
many bottoms will you require for the first shipment?''
"Ah . . . none, to be precise," Magnan said faint-
ly. "There isn't any shipment."
"No berp-nuts?" Rainsinger's left eyebrow went up
as the right came down in a ferocious scowl. "As I
understand your instructions, Magnan, your sole mis-
sion here is to flog up a little enthusiasm among the
Slunchans for Terry goods. Since berp-nuts are the sole
Slunchan source of foreign exchange, I fail to see how
we can succeed without them!"
"Unfortunately, the mud seems to have a corrosive
effect on most everything we manufacture," Magnan
said. "Like shoes, for example." He eyed Rain-
singer's feet. The visitor followed his gaze.
"My shoes!" he yelped. "Magnan, you idiot, get
me out of this mud at once!"
Coughing, the newcomers sloshed across to the ve-
hicle, mounted the rude ladder, stared with dismay at
the mud-coated benches.
"Hold tight," Magnan called with an attempt at
gaiety. "We'll have to hurry to get you in out of the
weather. Don't be alarmed. We should get through
with no more than a few mud burns, and maybe the old
firebug bite."
At the wheel, he gunned the car in a wide circle,
inadvertently sending a sheet of mud sluicing over the
polished stern of the vessel and the crisp whites of the
crewmen peering from the lock. There were shrill cries
as the passengers went reeling to form an untidy heap at
the rear of the car. Of the visitors, only Inspector
251

RETIEF AT LARGE
Rainsinger remained on his feet, gripping the upright
that supported the sheet-metal awning.
"You'll soon catch on," Magnan called over his
shoulder. "Gracious, you already look like old veter-
ans, and you've only been here ten minutes!"
II
Magnan steered the car across the soft, black half-
inch mud of the plaza, pulled up before an entry where a
paunchy, splay-footed little humanoid with a flattened
skull and a loose, liver-colored hide leaned on a combi-
nation broom-rake, humming to himself.
' 'Drive on, Mr. Magnan,'' Rai nsinger barked. '' We
can tour the slum areas later, after my staff and I have
had an opportunity to freshen up a bit."
"But—but this is the consulate," Magnan explained
with a glassy smile.
Rainsinger stared with a darkening expression at the
scorched, chipped and discolored facade, banked with
drifted muck from which tufts of greenery sprouted.
"This is the new building, completed only ninety
standard days ago at a cost of one hundred thousand
credits of Corps funds?"
"Ah, that's right, sir." Magnan climbed down from
his seat.
Rainsinger looked down at the sea of oleaginous
black mud in which the car rested hub-deep. "I'm
supposed to walk through that?" he demanded.
"Retief could carry you," Magnan proposed
brightly.
Rainsinger shot him a sharp look. "If there's any
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
carrying to be done, I'll do it." He stepped down,
followed by his staff, squelched through the ankle-deep
mud that coated the ornamental tile steps. As they
passed, Magnan beckoned to the native sweeper.
"See here, Freddy, let's see a little more spit and
polish," he whispered. "Don't just knock those mud-
puppy nests down; sweep the extra mud into neat little
piles or something. We don't want our visitors to im-
agine we've grown slovenly, you know. And you'd
better dig out the entrance to the snack bar and squirt a
little more deodorant around; the stench-fungus is get-
ting the upper hand again."
"Mud smooth nice my up messing are fellows these,
Magnan Mister, hey!" the local protested in his
scratchy voice.
"It's all right, Freddy," Magnan soothed. "Ah
. . . headquarters from shots big, they're," he added
in an undertone.
Inside, Rainsinger stared about incredulously at the
runners of vine poking in through shattered windows,
the dried and caked mud through which footpaths led to
the grand staircase, itself well nigh buried under a
luxuriant growth of coiling green weed. He started as a
sharp-nosed rat scurried into view, scuttled away into
the shelter of a pile of brush heaped carelessly beside
the balustrade.
"Shall we have a look at the chancery wing?" he
inquired in ominous tones.
"Say, where do we eat lunch?" the portly attache
looked around curiously.
"Maybe we'd better not go up just yet. . . ."Mag-
nan broke off as a cascade of brown water came surging
down from the landing above, bearing with it a flotsam
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RETIEF AT LARGE
of papers, twigs, vigorously swimming small animals
and other odds and ends. The stream struck the floor,
sluiced its way across to the exit and poured out into the
street, eliciting a loud cry from Freddy.
"Conception esthetic whole my up loused they've!"
his voice was hoarse with indignation. "On going
what's?"
"Unplugged drains those got 1, Magnan Mister
Oh!" a cheery Slunthan voice called from above.
"Hmmm. Unfortunate timing," Magnan said. "But
at least it scoured a path for us." He led the way up the
stairs and along a corridor, the walls of which were
obscured by a ragged growth of vines, through which
discolored wallpaper was visible. He ducked under a
festoon of creepers undulating in a doorway, waved the
team members into his spacious office. Rainsinger
stopped dead as his eye fell on the mud-clotted weeds
layering the floor, the slab of rough ironwood spanning
two upended oil drums serving as a desk, the clustered
stems crowding the glassless windows.
There was a moment of profound silence. Then:
"Gentlemen!" The trade mission chief's voice had
something of the quality of a volcano preparing to
erupt. "During my career I've encountered slackness,
inefficiency and disorder at many a station. A little dust
on the filing cabinets, a few dope-stick burns in the
upholstery, gum wrappers in the john—even some
minor discrepancies in the voucher files—all these are
normal concomitants of life at a remote post. But this!"
His voice rose. "This model town, built with CDT
funds as a gift to the Slunchan people less than six
months ago—a perfect example of civic design pro-
duced by the most skillful Deep Think teams on the
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
departmental payroll! Look at it! A blighted area! A
pest hole! And the consulate general itself! Two inches
of mud in the main lounge! Broken drains flooding the
halls! Rats, mice and vermin swarming in every nook
and cranny! Weeds sprouting in the corridors! Broken
glass! Vanished furnishings! Vandalism! Dereliction
of duty! Destruction of Corps property! And withal—
no berp-nuts!"
With an effort he pulled his voice back into the lower
registers and directed a chilling gaze at Magnan.
"Sir, as of this moment you may consider yourself
suspended, relieved of duty and under close house
arrest! Under emergency powers vested in me under
Article Nine, Section Four, Title Two of Corps Regula-
tions, I'm taking personal command!"
"But—but, sir!" Magnan protested. "I haven't yet
had time to settle in, as it were. The mud crabs ate the
furniture; and the conditions here—the mud tides and
the cinder storms, and the shortage of local labor and
. . . and. . . ."
"Say, I was wondering—how about a sandwich,"
the fat attache put in.
"No excuses!" Rainsinger bellowed. "We built the
town to point these benighted natives the way to higher
living standards and an increased consumption of
Terry-manufactured goods! A fine example you've set,
sir! But I'll do what I can in the eleventh hour to retrieve
the situation!"
He whirled on his staff.
"Blockchip, you'll take a detail and attend to the
broken plumbing. Horace—" he addressed the stout
attache— "you'll see to shovelling out the mud from
the ground floor. Poindexter will seal off the upper
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RETIEF AT LARGE
floors and fumigate. As for you, Mr. Magnan—I'm
suspending your arrest long enough for you to round up
an adequate labor force to unload the cargo I brought
in." He looked at his old-fashioned strap watch.
"I'll expect to see this building spotless by sundown,
in time for a reception to be held this evening at eight
o'clock sharp. Full formal attire, including clean
fingernails! I'll show these natives how civilized Ter-
rans live—and inspire the wish to emulate us!"
"Ah—there might be a little trouble about the local
labor," Magnan spoke up. "The Slunchans have rigid
taboos against working on weekdays."
"This is Sunday!"
"How true, sir. Unfortunately, they don't work on
Sundays, either."
"Offer them double wages!"
"They don't use money."
"Then offer them what they want!"
"All they want is for us to go away."
"Mr. Magnan." Rainsinger cut him off with an
ominous tone. "I suggest you discontinue your
obstructionism at once, or the word 'insubordination'
will be cropping up in my report, along with a number
of other terms non-conducive to rapid advancement in
the service!" He broke off to grab up a bound volume
of Corps regulations from the improvised desk and hurl
it at an inquisitive vine rat which poked its snout above
the window sill.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that, sir," Magnan blurted. "In
about five hours—"
"Save your advice!" Rainsinger raored. "I'm in
charge here now! You may make yourself useful by
ringing up the Slunchan Foreign Minister and making
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
me an appointment. I'll show you how to handle these
locals! In an hour I'll have him begging for Terran
imports!"
"Ah, about lunch," the stout attache began.
"I'll have him here in a jiffy," Magnan said. He
stepped to the door. "Oh, Freddy," he called. A mo-
ment later a Slunchan appeared in the doorway.
"It is what; boss, yeah?" the local looked around the
office. "Mat floor a for sneakweed the using, effect
snazzy a that's, say!" he exclaimed.
' 'Mr. Rainsinger, may I present—'' Magnan started.
"Here, isn't this the fellow who was raking mud at
the front door as we came in?" Rainsinger demanded.
"Yes, indeed. Of course Freddy is just filling in for
the regular man. As I was saying, may I present Sir
Frederik Gumbubu, K.G.E., L. deC., N.G.S., Slun-
chan Minister of Foreign Affairs."
- "A Foreign Minister? A part-time janitor?" Rain-
singer took the proffered hand gingerly.
"Know you, do to ministering foreign my got I've,"
the Slunchan said defensively. "Janitor time full a be to
me expect couldn't you, all after, well." He rolled a
ball of dried mud between his fingers, lined up on a
framed photo of the sector undersecretary and scored a
bull's-eye.
"Mr. Magnan, I stand astounded at your ingenu-
ity," Rainsinger said in a voice like broken crockery.
"Not content with failing in your mission while violat-
ing every regulation in the book, you invent a unique
offense by demeaning an official of a friendly foreign
power to the performance of menial tasks in your own
Consulate!"
"But, sir! Freddy's one of the few locals with a taste
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RETIEF AT LARGE
for Pepsi. And the only way he can get it," he added
behind his hand, "is to work here. I pay him off with a
case a week."
"Get somebody else!"
"Job my me lose to trying you are—hey?" Freddy
broke in.
"I can't!" Magnan wailed. "Scout's honor, sir—
they won't work!"
"Union labor the with beef a for looking you're
maybe," Freddy said. "Action fast you promise can I,
member sole and president the be to happen I as and!''
"Look here, ah, SirFrederik." Rainsinger faced the
foreign minister. "I'm sure we can work out a mutually
agreeable arrangement. You round up and send along
about a hundred good workers, and I'll see to it that
Slunch is given full Most Favored Nation status in the
new Trade Agreement I'm about to propose."
"It do can't, nope," the Slunchan said shortly.
"Now, don't be hasty, Mr. Minister," Rainsinger
persisted. "I'm prepared to promise you prompt ship-
ment of any items you care to name. What about a nice
line of genuine machine-loomed antimacassars, in-
scribed with patriotic and inspirational mottos? I can
make you an attractive price on lots of a hundred
thousand."
SirFrederik shook his flat head sadly. "Items luxury
afford can't we, bringing nuts-berps prices the at—
nix!"
Rainsinger took the minister's elbow in a fatherly
grip. "Now, Freddy. . . ."
"It's no use, sir," Magnan interposed glumly.
"Lord knows I've tried. But they're incurably content.
They already have everything they want."
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
"That's enough of your defeatism," Rainsinger
snapped. "You'd best be on your way, and take Mr.
Retief with you. I'll pitch in myself, as soon as I've
given a few more instructions. We have a great deal of
ground to cover if we're to be ready to receive our
guests in four and a half hours!"
Ill
"Well, Magnan," Rainsinger complacently sur-
veyed the chattering conversational groups of Slun-
chans andTerrans dotted across the gleaming ballroom
floor, newly ornamented along one wall by a tasteful
display of engraved headstones and funerary urns. "I
must say we've acquitted ourselves creditably. And
I've taken measures to insure conditions don't deterior-
ate again." He lifted a glass from a passing tray borne
by a Slunchan who limped heavily.
"Hmmm. Chap seems to have a cast on his foot,"
the Inspector remarked. "Couldn't you have secured
able-bodied personnel to staff the catering function,
Magnan?"
"He's not actually injured, sir," Magnan said. "He
just happened to step in some, er, material."
"Say, isn't that a lump of powdered tombstone
adhering to his foot?" Rainsirtger demanded suspi-
ciously. "I hope you haven't handled my cargo
carelessly!"
"Say, when are the sandwiches coming?" the stout
attache inquired testily.
"Ah, here comes the premier," Magnan cut in as a
loose-hided local approached, rotating a hula-hoop
with his torso. "Hi, there, your Excellency. May I
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RETIEF AT LARGE
presentMr. Rainsinger our new, er, ah. Sir, Mr. Blab-
ghug, the leader of the Slunchan people in their fight
against, ah, whatever it is they're fighting against."
Rainsinger nodded curtly, eyeing the muddy tracks
across the floor left by the chief executive. "See here,
Blabghug," he said in a no-nonsense tone. "I'd like to
request that you have your people step up the street-
cleaning program. Those pavements are a gift of the
Terrestrial taxpayer."
' 'Too, was it gesture nice a and,'' Blabghug acknow-
ledged cheerfully. "Them see to get never we bad
too."
"Yes. My point exactly. Now, Mr. Prime Minister;
I've been here for only five hours, but I've already
gotten a firm grasp of the situation and I see what the
source of our problem is. Once we've cleared up the
more active vermin—"
"Vermin what?"
"That little monster, for one!" Rainsinger nodded
sharply toward an inquisitive rodentoid nose poking
around the nearest door.
"Kidding be must you," Balbghug said. "Rats-vine
the for wasn't it if—"
"As soon as we've completed dusting with fast-act-
ing pesticides, we'll see no more of the creatures,"
Rainsinger bored on.' 'Meanwhile, a few zillion tons of
weed killer will control these man-eating vines you've
been tolerating so complacently."
"About talking you're what know don't you,"
Blabghug protested.
"I know how to conduct a clean-up campaign!"
Rainsinger came back hotly.' 'This state of affairs is an
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
insult to the Slunchan people and a reflection on the
Terran Consulate! I've already set wheels in mo-
tion—
He broke off as a low rumble tinkled the newly
polished glass of the chandelier. A deep-throated ba-
rooom! sounded, like a distant cannonade, followed by
a vast, glutinous smooosh!
Magan glanced at his watch. "Right on time," he
said.
The Slunchan premier cocked his head thoughtfully.
"Usual than fluid more little a sounds that," he com-
mented. "High early an for ready get better we'd."
"What the devil's he saying, Magnan?" Rainsinger
muttered in an aside. "I can't make out one word in
three."
"High mud in a few minutes," Magnan translated,
as a second shock rocked the ballroom. A heavy splat-
tering sounded, as of moist material raining against the
building.
"Up button to time, oh-oh," Blabghug warned. He
stepped to the nearest window and slammed shut a set
of improvised shutters.
"What's this, Mr. Retief?" Rainsinger inquired.
"Some sort of religious observation? Tribal taboo sort
of thing?"
"No, it's just to keep the worst of the soot and mud
out of the building during the eruption."
"What's this about an eruption?"
"It's a sort of mud geyser. Shoots a few million tons
of glop into the air every twenty-seven hours."
Rainsinger blinked. "A million tons of glop?"
A third, even more vigorous tremor caused the ball-
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RETIEF AT LARGE
room to sway drunkenly. Rainsinger braced his feet,
thrust out his chin, glared at Magnan, who was staring
anxiously toward the door.
"Glop or no glop, this is an official diplomatic
function, gentlemen! We'll carry on, and ignore the
disturbance!"
"Frankly, I don't like the sound of that mud, sir."
Magnan turned to the window, peered through a crack
in the shutter.
"No doubt the consulate has weathered such condi-
tions before," Rainsinger said uncertainly. "No reason
why. . . ."
His voice was drowned by an ominously rising
bubbling sound swelling outside. At the window,
Magnan emitted a sharp yelp, leaped back as something
struck the side of the building with an impact like a tidal
wave. Jets of ink-black mud squirted into the room like
fire hoses through every cranny around the shutters.
One stream caught Rainsinger full in the flowered wes-
kit, almost knocked him down.
"One bad a is this!" Blabghug called over the his-
sing and splattering. "Look a have and roof the for
head better we'd think I!"
"He's right, sir!" Magnan raised his voice. "This
way!" He led the excited party along a hall, up a stair
splattered with steaming mud from a shattered window
on the landing. Emerging on the roof, Rainsinger
ducked as a head-sized cinder slammed down beside
him, bounded high and disappeared over the side. A
rain of mud splattered down around them. The air was
thick with tarry soot. Coughing, Rainsinger hastily
donned the breathing mask offered by Magnan.
"This must be the worst disaster ever recorded
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
here," he shouted over the groaning and squishing of
the mud welling along the street below them.
"No, actually, by the sound of it, it's a rather mild
one, as eruptions go," Retief leaned close to shout.
"But the mud seems to be running wild."
"There look!" Blabghug shouted, pointing.
"Seven-sixty in back made mark mud-high record the
over it's!"
"There's something wrong," Retief called over the
still-rising roar of the flowing mud. "The tide's not
acting normally. Too fluid—and too much of it."
"Why on Slunch, with an entire planet to choose
from, was the town situated in a disaster area?" Rain-
singer frowned ferociously as sounds of massive gur-
glings and sloshing sounded from below.
"It appears this was one of the rush jobs," Magnan
called. "The entire city was erected in four days which
happened to be during a seasonal lull in the under-
ground coolery."
"See here, Magnan, why didn't you report the situa-
tion?"
"I did. As I recall, my dispatch ran to three hundred
and four pages!"
"A three hundred page dispatch? And nothing was
done?"
"We received a consignment of twelve brooms, six
dust-pans and a gross of mops. They must have been
overstocked on mops back at Sector."
"And that's all?" Rainsinger's voice almost
cracked.
"I think that's about as far as Headquarters could go
without admitting a mistake had been made."
Across the street, the swelling, bubbling surface of
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RETIEF AT LARGE
the mud flow was rising past the first row of windows.
Shutters creaked and burst inward. Refugees were
crowding onto roofs all along the streets now. Retief
stepped to the edge of the roof, looked down at the
heaving bosom of the sea of mud, dotted with small,
sodden forms, floating inertly. A great mass of dead
creeper vine came sweeping along on the flood. A
tongue of mud sluicing in from a side street struck a
wall, sent a great gout thundering upward to descend on
the crowded consulate roof. Diplomats and locals
alike yelped and slapped at the hot, corrosive muck.
"Look there!" Magnan pointed to the feebly strug-
gling body of a large vine-rat, which gave a final twitch
and expired.
"Trouble in we're, oh-oh!" Premier Blabghug
exclaimed, as other Slunchans gathered about, talking
rapidly.
"Why all the excitement about a dead animal?"
Rainsinger barked.
"It's a vine-rat," Magnan blurted. "What could
have killed it?"
"I imagine the vigorous application of pest-killer I
ordered had something to do with it," the inspector
snapped. ' 'I suggest we defer grieving over the beggar
until after we've taken steps to extricate ourselves from
this situation!"
"You . . . you ordered what?" Magnan quavered.
"Ten tons of rodenticide, from your own consulate
stores," Rainsinger said firmly. "I don't wonder
you're astonished at the speed with which I went into
action—''
"You ... you didn't!"
"Indeed I did, sir! Now stop goggling at a purely
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
routine display of efficiency, and let's determine what
we're to do about this mud."
"But—" Magnan wailed. "If you killed off the
vine-rats—that means the creeper-vine was allowed to
grow all afternoon, uncontrolled—"
"Uncontrolled?"
"By the rats," Magnan groaned. "So the vines got
the upper hand over the grab-grass—and it's the grass,
of course, which suppresses the tangleworms—"
"Tangleworms?"
"And the young worms eat the egg-nit grubs,"
Magnan yelped. "The egg-nits being the only thing
that keeps the firebugs under control—though of course
the vine-rats need them for protein in the diet; while
their droppings nourish the sneak weed which provides
a haven for the nit-mites which prey on the mud-
crabs—''
"Here, what's all this nonsense!" Rainsinger roared
over the roar of the rising mud-flood. "You'd chatter
on about the local wildlife, with disaster lapping at our
ankles?"
"That's what I've been trying tell you!" Magnan's
voice broke. "With the ecological cycle broken,
there's nothing to control the mud! That's why it's
rising! And in another hour it will be up over roof level
and that—" he shuddered—"will be a very sticky
ending for all of us!"
IV
"Why, I don't believe it,'' Rainsinger said hoarsely,
as he stared over the roof's edge at the steadily rising
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RETIEF AT LARGE
mud, its surface hazed with sulphurous fumes. "You
mean to tell me that these worms were all that kept the
mud in check?"
"That's an oversimplification—but yes." Magnan
dabbed at the mud on his chin. "I'm afraid you've
upset the blance of nature."
"All right, men!" Rainsinger turned to face his
staff, huddled in the most protected corner of the roof.
' 'It seems we've painted ourselves into a bit of a corner,
ha-ha." He paused to square his shoulders and clear his
throat. "However, there's no point in crying over
spilled mud. Now, who has a suggestion for a dynamic
course of action from this point onward? Horace, Poin-
dexter?"
"I suggest we write out our wills and place them in
mud and heatproof jackets," a lean accountant type
proposed in a reedy voice.
"Now, men! No defeatism! Surely there's some
simple way to elude our apparent fate! Mr. Premier."
He faced the Slunchan contingent, muttering together
at a short distance from the Terrans. "What do your
people have in mind?"
"Opinion of difference a there's," Blabghug said.
"Mud the into you pitching for out holding are ex-
tremists the but. Limb from limb you tear to want
fellow the of few a."
"It's hopeless!" a trembling Terran blurted, staring
down at the heaving surface of the tarry mud. "We'll
all be drowned, scalded and eaten alive by acid!"
"Magnan!" Rainsinger whirled on the former chief
of mission. "You chaps must have had some sort of
plan of action for such an eventuality!"
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
"Nothing." Magnan shook his head. "We never
interfered with Nature's Plan." His eyes strayed across
the steaming bog now washing about the fourth story
windows of the model town. On high ground half a mile
distant, the slim form of the vacated Corps Vessel
stood. Beyond it rose the rugged peaks from which the
mud-flow issued.
"Retief did have some sort of mad notion of divert-
ing the gusher at its source," he said, "but of course
that's hopeless—especially now. I daresay it's all
under mud."
"Retief!" Rainsinger hurried across to where the
young man was prying a board from a ventilator hous-
ing.' ' What' s this about a scheme to dam off the mud?''
Retief pointed to a rickety construction of boards,
afloat in the mud below.
"It's the body off the car. It won't make the best boat
in the world, I'm afraid, but as soon as it gets within
reach I'll give it a try."
"You'll sink," Magnan predicted, standing at the
fifth floor window through which Retief had climbed to
secure the makeshift skiff. "You can't possibly row
that contrivance with a board across half a mile of
mud!"
"Maybe not," Retief said. He dropped down into
the boat. "But if it sinks, I won't have to row it."
"Maybe the mud won't come this high," someone
offered. "Maybe if we just wait here—"
"If we don't go now, it will be too late," Rainsinger
cut off the discussion.
"We?" Magnan said.
"Certainly." Rainsinger threw a leg over the sill,
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RETIEF AT LARGE
lowered himself down beside Retief. "It will take two
men to row this thing. Cast off, Mr. Retief, whenever
you're ready."
V
For ten minutes the two men paddled in silence.
Looking back, Retief saw the consulate tower rising
from the bubbling mud, almost obscured by the wafting
vapors. In a bundle at his feet were the two thermal suits
and a number of small packets previously prepared but
unused.
"Better get your suit on, Mr. Rainsinger," he said.
"I give them another half hour," Rainsinger called,
his voice muffled by his breathing mask. "How much
farther?"
"Ten minutes," Retief said, "until we ground on
the hill. Then five minutes walk." He paddled as Rain-
singer pulled on the bulky thermal suit.
Beside him, a loose board creaked; mud slopped
over the low gunwale. A sudden bulging of the mud
almost swamped the boat; a bursting gas bubble threw a
stinging spray across both men.
"When we get there—what?"
"We hope it's not already flooded out."
Five minutes later, just as Retief had pulled on his
heat-suit, the overloaded boat emitted a sudden mas-
sive creaking and disintegrated.
"Jump!" Retief called; he grabbed the bundles and
went over the side, landing in knee-deep muck, turned
to lend a hand to Rainsinger, who floundered after him.
They fought their way up-slope, emerged on a rocky
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
shore at which the surging mud lapped like a sea of
chocolate pudding.
"It's pretty deep," Retief said. "Let's hope it's not
into the main bore yet."
Rainsinger followed Retief up the steep slope.
Ahead, a ruddy glare lightened the murky scene. They
reached the edge of the great circular vent from which
smoke and cinders boiled furiously, whirling glowing
embers high in the air. Rainsinger stared down into the
white-hot pit.
"Ye gods, man," he shouted over the din. "That's
an active volcano! What in the world do you plan to do
here?"
"Cli mb down inside and pull the plug,'' Retief said.
"I forbid it!" Rainsinger yelled. "It's suicide!"
"If I don't, the consulate will go under with all
hands—to say nothing of a few thousand Slunchans."
"That's no reason to throw your life away! We'll
head for higher ground and try to work our way around
to the ship. We might be able to summon help—"
"Not a chance," Retief said. He started forward.
Rainsinger stepped in his way, a bulky figure in the
mud-coated heat-suit. They faced each other, two big
men, toe to toe.
"That's an order!" Rainsinger grated.
"Better stand aside, Mr. Rainsinger," Retief said.
"I've warned you," Rainsinger said, and drove a
short, sledge-hammer right to Retief's mid-section.
Retief grunted and took a step back.
"You throw a good right, Mr. Rainsinger," he said
through his teeth. "How are you at catching?"—and
he slammed a straight left that spun the other around,
sent him to his knees. Retief started past him, and
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RETIEF AT LARGE
Rainsinger dived, tackled him from the side. Retief
twisted, drove a knee to Rainsinger's chin. He went
down on his face.
"Sorry," Retief said. He went forward, picked his
spot and lowered his feet over the edge. Behind him,
Rainsinger called out. Retief looked back. The trade
mission chief struggled to his feet, stood swaying back
and forth.
"You'll probably need a little help down there,"
he said blurrily as he started forward. "Wait for
me. ..."
Roped together, the two men worked their way from
one precarious foothold to the next, descending toward
the smoky surface bubbling beneath them. A hundred
feet below the crater's rim, Retief gripped Rainsinger's
arm, pointed through the swirling clouds of soot.
"The level's risen about a hundred feet," he said.
"If it reaches that series of vents along the north side
before we can block them, the volume of the flow will
double, and fill the valley in no time. We have to reach
them and plug them before the mud covers them."
"What good will that do?" Rainsinger's voice came
thinly through Retief's earset. "It will just keep rising
until it goes all the way over the top!"
"That brings us to part two," Retief said. "You see
that dark patch there, on the south wall, a little higher
up? That's an old vent, silted up a long time ago. If we
can blast it clear in time, the flow will go down the other
side, away from the town."
Rainsinger studied the aspect below.
"We'll never make it," he said grimly. "Let's get
started."
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
Another ten minutes' climb brought Retief and Rain-
singer to the set of side-channels leading to the valley
and the town. Working rapidly, Retief placed the
charges of smashite so as to collapse the four six-foot-
wide openings.
"All set," he called. "We'll take shelter from the
blast in the other cave."
"It will be close," Rainsinger said. "The mud's
risen ten feet in the last five minutes. Another ten feet
and we're out of luck!"
"Come on!" Retief followed a ledge that led half-
way around the seventy-foot throat of the volcano, then
used a series of cracks and knobs to cover the remaining
distance. The boiling muck was a bare six inches from
his feet when he reached the dark conduit. Twenty feet
inside its mouth, their progress was halted by an
obstructing mass of hardened mud and volcanic ash.
"We'll fire our other charges first," Retief said.
"As soon as they blow, we'll set another one here and
head for the surface."
"I don't like the looks of this, Retief! All this rock is
full of fractures!"
"I'm not too fond of it myself,'' Retief said.' 'Better
turn off your earset. Here goes!"
He pressed the button on the detonator in his hand.
White light winked; the crash that followed was deafen-
ing even over the shrieking of the volcano. Rock frag-
ments rained down past the cave opening, sending
geysers of steaming lava fountaining high. There was a
deeper rumble, and the floor shook under them. A giant
slab of stone dropped into view, lodged across the
throat of the volcano. Others slammed down, packing
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RETIEF AT LARGE
themselves into place with impacts like mountains fall-
ing. Trapped smoke and dust recoiled, thickening into
opacity.
"That does it!" Rainsinger shouted. "We've
blocked the main passage! We can't get out!"
"It looks that way—" Retief started. His voice was
cut off by a thunderous boom as the cave's roof fell in.
"Retief!" Rainsinger's voice was a hoarse croak in
the relative silence after the last rattle of falling rock
had died away. "Are you still alive?"
' 'For the moment," Retief reassured his companion.
"Well—if there was any doubt about whether we'd
get out, this finishes it," Rainsinger said grimly.
"Let's take a look," Retief suggested. Using hand-
lamps, they scanned their surroundings. The original
cave was now a rubble-choked pocket, blocked at one
end by the lava plug, at the other by multi-ton frag-
ments of fallen rock, through which small trickles of
mud were already finding their way.
"The only remaining question is whether we broil in
hot mud, drown in lava or die of asphyxiation," Rain-
singer said grimly.
"It would be interesting to know whether our blast
did any good," Retief said. "Will the lava go over the
top, or will the dam hold?"
"Let's tell ourselves it wasn't all in vain," Rain-
singer grunted. "Don't misinterpret my remarks," he
added. "I'm not complaining. I have only myself to
blame. I started the whole thing with my misplaced
zeal." He laughed hollowly. "And I was going to
make a name for myself by putting Slunch on the map,
businesswise."
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
"Let's just blame it on local conditions and let it go
at that," Retief suggested. He looked at the gauge on
his wrist. "The temperature in here is ninety-one and a
half degrees Centigrade. It looks as if drowning is
out."
"Look, the mud's hardening as it comes through the
barrier," Rainsinger said. "The trickle's choking
off." He looked thoughtful. "By now the level outside
our door is up to the blockage. If the lava that squeezes
through that hardens as fast as this did. . . ."
A tremor went through the cave's floor. "Oh-oh!"
Rainsinger rocked on his feet. "Looks like this is it,
Retief. ..."
"Set your suit air on maximum pressure!"' Retief
said quickly. "Then lie down and wrap your arms
around your knees and hold on!" His voice was
drowned in an end-of-the-universe boom as the side of
the mountain blew out.
VI
Retief's first impression, as he came back to con-
sciousness, was of a gentle rocking motion, which
ended rudely as something hard gouged him in the
back. He rolled over and got to his feet. He was stand-
ing in shallow mud at the shore of a placid expanse of
brown, already stiffening into hardness. A few yards
distant, a lumpy mansized object stirred feebly. He
went to it, assisted Rainsinger to his feet.
"Quite a view, eh?" He indicated the cone rising
from the mists wreathing the expanse of mud. The
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RETIEF AT LARGE
entire wall of the volcano was gone, and from the vast
rent a glistening river of gumbo poured.
"We're alive," Rainsinger said groggily. "Re-
markable! And it looks as though we succeeded in
diverting the mud." He pulled off his suit helmet,
revealing a face puffed and bruised. ' 'My apologies to
you, Mr. Retief—for a number of things."
"And mine to you, Mr. Rainsinger, for an equal
number of things. And I suggest we get these suits off
before we harden into statues."
The two men stripped off the suits, thickly coated
with rapidly hardening mud.
"Well, we may as well be getting back, I suppose,"
the trade mission chief said glumly. "I'll transmit my
resignation to Sector, then gather up my chaps and be
on my way."
They tramped along the lake shore in silence for half
an hour. Rounding the curve of the mountain, the
valley came into view. Where the town had been, a
pattern of building tops reared up above a glossy ex-
panse of eggplant brown.
"I came here to make commercial history," Rain-
singer muttered. "Instead I destroyed a city, including
enough Corps property to keep me in debt for six
lifetimes. . . ."
"I wonder what's going on down there?" Retief
said, pointing. On the level mud surrounding the buried
buildings of the town, small figures darted and
swooped.
"They look like giant water-bugs," Rainsinger said
wonderingly. "What do you suppose it means?"
"Let's go down and see," Retief said.
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
"It's remarkable!" Magnan rubbed his hands to-
gether and beamed at the lively group of Slunchans
disporting themselves on the mirror-flat surface of the
hardened mud flow that occupied the former town
plaza, brightly illuminated by the light from the sur-
rounding windows. "It was Blabghug who discovered
the crates stores in the consulate attic. He opened them,
imagining they might contain something to eat—and
discovered roller skates!"
"Rainsinger Mr., Hey!" One of the gracefully
cavorting locals came whizzing across the newly
formed rink, executed a flashy one-toe reverse spin and
braked to a halt before the trade mission chief. "Foot-
wheels these of shipment a get we can soon how?"
"They've had to set up a rotation system," Magnan
said. "Every Slunchan who sees them simply goes mad
for them!"
"With start to, sets thousand hundred a about take
we'll," Blabghug cried. "More take we'll, ready rinks
more get we as soon as!"
"I. . . I don't understand," Rainsinger said. "The
mud—what's happened to it? It feels like top-quality
asphalt, worth fifty credits a ton!"
Magnan nodded happily. "Just after the mud began
to recede, Freddy was doing a little foraging—for sal-
vage, of course—and accidentally got into the pow-
dered tombstones. When the mud contacted the plastic,
it started hardening up. It must have had some sort
of catalytic action, because the whole plaza froze
over."
"So that's why the volcano plugged up so quickly,"
Rainsinger said in wondering tones. "And it's still
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RETIEF AT LARGE
hardening, just as fast as it's exposed to the air and the,
er, catalyst!"
"You've brought off a real coup, sir!" Magnan
caroled. "The Slunchans have never had anything but
squishy mud underfoot before. Now that they see the
possibilities, we'll be able to sell them on all the court
games: tennis, volleyball, badminton—then on to the
whole gamut of wheeled vehicles! I can see it now:
Round-the-planet motorcycle races! The Grand Prix to
end all Grand Prixes!"
"Grands Prix," Rainsinger corrected absently.
"But not only that, Magnan, my boy! This new
material—I'll wager we can corner the paving market
for the entire Galactic Arm! And it's virtually free!"
"Ah, am I to understand then, sir, that your report
won't place as much emphasis on certain apparent
custodial deficiencies as your earlier remarks might
have indicated?" Magnan inquired smoothly.
Rainsinger cleared his throat. "My first impressions
were a bit wide of the mark," he said. "I was just
wondering if you'd find it necessary in your report of
my visit to detail the precise circumstances surrounding
the discovery—or should I say invention?—of this new
product.''
"No point in burdening Sector with excess detail,"
Magnan said crisply.
"Now, about transport," Rainsinger mused aloud.
"I'd estimate I could place ten million tons at once on
Schweinhund's World—and another ten or twenty
million tons on Flamme. . . ."
"I think it would be wise to place immediate orders
for pogo sticks, croquet sets and bicycles," Magnan
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GRIME AND PUNISHMENT
thought aloud. "We'll want to work through the small
items before bringing on the heavy equipment. . .
The two strolled away, deep in conversation.
"Say, all this excitement has given me an appetite,"
the fat attache said. "I believe I'll go get myself a
sandwich. Possibly two sandwiches." As he hurried
off, Sir Frederik Gumbubu scooted up to Retief,
executing a speed-braking stop.
"Terry, us join and pair a grab!" he shouted.
"Good idea," Retief said, and swung off across the
plaza, arm in arm with the foreign minister.
277

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
I
AN EVENING BREEZE bearing the fragrance of ten-
thousand year old Heo trees in bloom moved across the
Embassy dining terrace. In the distance pipes sounded
softly, picking out a haunting melody, like fairy feet
retracing a forgotten path through an enchanted forest.
The setting sun, vast and smoky red, cast crimson
shadows along the leaf-shaded streets below.
"A pity all this is dying." First Secretary Magnan of
theTerran Mission to Sulinore waved a hand toward the
fragile, crumbling towers silhouetted against the dusk.
"In spite of a million years of civilization and a reputa-
tion for immortality, the Sulinorians seems impotent to
stem the population decline. I suppose in a century or
less they'll all be gone."
"With ninety-nine per cent of the planetary surface
devoted to cemeteries, historical shrines and monu-
ments to the past, there's not much room for the liv-
ing," Second Secretary Retief commented. "And you
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THE FORBIDDEN CITY
can tie up a lot of minerals in a planet-wide graveyard."
"I suppose you're referring to their belief that the
world's supply of Divine Effluvium is exhausted,"
Magnan sniffed. "Mere folklore,of course. Still, one
might almost be tempted to look into the matter of
depletion of essential elements—except that Corps pol-
icy forbids poking into local religious doctrine. And in
any event, they won't permit any deep-mining opera-
tions which might disturb the hallowed dead—or the
sleeping heroes, as they prefer to put it."
Magnan cocked an eye at the small humanoid waiter
standing at a discreet distance, apparently lost in
thought. "One can't help thinking that the modern
Sulinorian is a far cry from his legendary ancestors,"
he said behind his hand. "Just compare these civilized
little chaps with those ghastly statues you see
everywhere."
The local turned, approached the table, a polite ex-
pression on his elfin features.
"You wished something, sir?"
"Why, ah, tell me." Magnan cleared his throat.
"How does the Sulinorian in the street feel about all
this? Wouldn't you be willing to see a modest rock-
mining operation set up here to unlock some of those
scarce elements that are tied up in the planetary crust?''
"Modest, my lord? The figure I heard was a million
metric tons per day per unit, and Great Tussore knows
how many units." He looked toward the ruin-crowned
skyline.' 'Rather the easy erosion of eons /than eaten by
industry's engines insatiable," he quoted. "At least
that's what the poet Eulindore said a couple of millenia
ago. Me, I wouldn't know."
"But what about importation?" Magnan persisted.
279

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Why, your Administrative Council turned thumbs
down flatly on the CDT proposal that we haul in a few
million cubic miles of useful minerals and establish raw
material dumps that all could draw on freely!"
' 'I guess we'd rather look at the landscape the way it
is, sir," the Sulinorian said. "And besides, rooting in a
dump isn't our style. You know, a race of heroes and all
that." He flicked an imaginary crumb from the table.
' 'How about another flagon of ancient wine, my lords?
Laid down by Yodross in the year 574,635. That would
be about 3600 B.C., old Terry reckoning."
"I think not—" Magnan broke off as the table-side
P.A. unit pinged and lit up. The plump features of
Ambassador Shindlesweet snapped into mirror-bright
focus on the one-way screen.
"Ah, gentlemen," the portly diplomat beamed.
"It's my pleasure to inform the staff that the Blug
delegation has, after all, been prevailed upon to be
present at the Peace Conference here on Sulinore."
"What, those bloodthirsty little killers?" Magnan
gasped. "With their armor and their opaque atmos-
phere helmets and their sneaky ways? Why, everybody
knows they're the Groaci's proteges, and responsible
for all the fighting!"
"At least that's a dozen or so Blugs that won't be off
plundering somewhere—as long as the conference is on
anyway," Retief pointed out.
"... a gesture which reflects their sincere desire to
see peace restored to the Sector," Shindlesweet was
rumbling on. "And with all due modesty, I think I may
say—"
A pale visage sporting five stalked eyes crowded
280

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
onto the screen, thrusting the Terrestrial ambassador
aside.
"As you're perhaps aware," theGroaci ambassador
whispered in his faint voice, "it was through my efforts
as co-sponsor of the present talks that this happy even-
tuality was brought about. And—"
"Look here, Mr. Ambassador," Shindlesweet mut-
tered from the side of his mouth, turning a glassy smile
to the camera. "I was on the air first!"
"Hogging the limelight, as usual, George," the
Groaci hissed. "An unfortunate habit of yours .But as I
was saying," he addressed the screen, "I was able,
through deft handling of a number of sensitive
issues—"
"Now just a minute, Shith!" The Terran forced his
way back to center screen. ''When I agreed to lend the
weight of Terran participation to your confounded gab-
fest, I—"
' 'Ha! You begged me on bended anterior ginglymus
joint to be permitted to crowd in!"
"Why, you little—"
"Ah-ah," Ambassador Shith admonished. "No ra-
cial epithets, George. Open mike, remember?"
Retief and Magnan had a last quick glimpse of
Shindlesweet's rage-flushed features as he reached to
blank the screen.
"Well, the peace talks are off to a rousing start,"
Retief said cheerfully. Magnan shook his head, looking
grave.
"I foresee no good to come of this gathering." He
rose and looked at his watch. "We've time for a con-
stitutional before dinner, Retief. And if we're to dine
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RETIEF AT LARGE
cheek by mandible with our Groaci colleagues at to-
night's banquet, I for one have need of a hearty appe-
tite."
II
A block from the renovated palace housing the Ter-
ran Chancery, Magnan plucked at Retief's arm.
' 'Look there; another party of Groaci Peacekeepers,
in full armor. You'd think they were expecting full
scale rioting to break out at any moment."
A block away, a squad of constabulary, in grotesque
flaring helmets and black hip-cloaks, side-arms at
knobby hips, minced briskly along the empty avenue.
"Shith was quite insistent that the Groaci be as-
signed responsibility for the security arrangements for
the Conference," Magnan muttered. "They have the
only guns on the planet."
"For alleged police, those fellows have a suspicious
look of regular infantry about them," Retief said.
"Good lord, you don't imagine they're planning
anything foolish?" Magnan gasped. "Everybody
knows the Groaci secretly covet Sulinore. They've
even tried to have it officially declared a deserted
world, open to colonization."
"It's a little hard to see how they could swing it, with
a full squadron of CDT Peace Enforcers standing by
off-planet," Retief said.
"You're right. We're imagining things." Magnan
shook his head briskly. "A few dozen blasters can't
take over a world. Still, I'd as soon avoid these bravos.
In their arrogance they might attempt some sort of
282

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
harassment." He angled across toward the entrance to a
side street.
"That's the route to the Forbidden City, off-limits to
foreigners," Retief said. "How badly do you want to
miss the fuzz?"
"Not that badly." Magnan shuddered, veered in the
opposite direction. "If even half the stories are true, not
even our gnawed bones would ever be found."
Fifteen minutes later they were in a narrow, crooked
street where age-weathered carved griffins, satyrs and
nymphs adorned the steep facades of the deserted build-
ings lining the way.
"This isn't the most cheerful route for a stroll,"
Magnan commented uneasily. "At least not after sun-
down." He cocked his head. "One almost imagines
one can hear stealthy footsteps behind one."
"Not so stealthy at that," Retief said. "They've
been getting pretty careless the last five minutes, as if
they didn't care whether we heard them or not."
"You mean someone's really following us?" Mag-
nan turned to stare back along the shadowy late-
evening street.
' Two someones,'' Retief corrected.' 'Non-humans,
I'd say, weighing in at under a hundred pounds, and
wearing padded shoes."
"That could mean anything! There are forty-six
non-human species on-world this week for the confer-
ence, and I can think of at least ten of them that
wouldn't be above assaulting a pair of peaceful Terran
diplomats for their own nefarious ends."
' 'Or for the iridium in their teeth,'' Retief amplified.
"I think I recognize the street ahead," Magnan mut-
tered .' 'Coriale's Comestible Counter is just around the
283

RETIEF AT LARGE
corner. I was there last week—in daylight—making
some arrangements for the Reception. We can nip
inside and 'phone the Embassy for transportation
back. . . ."He broke off as they came in view of a
high, narrow shop-front displaying the cranium and
crossed thighbones, the Sulinorian symbols of a ca-
terer's establishment. Beneath the deeply incised de-
vice, the windows were dark, the massive stonewood
door shut tight.
"It's closed!" Magnan put his nose against the
glass. "But there's someone inside. I heard a sound."
Retief tried the heavily patinaed bronze door latch,
cast in the form of fanged jaws clenched on a leg.
"Perhaps—great heavens, Retief! What are you do-
ing?" Magnan blurted as Retief gripped the knob in
both hands and twisted hard. There was a sharp tinkle
of breaking metal.
"Retief, stop!" Magnan gasped. "You can't—"
"I think it might be a good idea to get in off the
street—now!" Retief thrust his protesting senior
through into the gloomy interior, whirled to ease the
door silently shut.
"We found the door unlocked," he said briskly,
looking around the room. ' 'And stepped inside to see if
everything was okay."
Magnan peered from the window, made a choking
sound. "Two Sulinorians in artisan's headdress just
came around the corner! They'll find us here!"
"Let's check the back room." Retief led the way
past tables heaped with displays of Sulinorian pastries,
stuffed fowls and candied nutmeats, thrust aside a cur-
tain. The dim shapes of stacked cartons bulked in the
darkness. He sniffed the air, took a tiny handlight from
284

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
his pocket, played the pencil-thin beam across the
floor.
"What's that?" Magnan hissed, pointing. From be-
hind a wall locker, a pair of narrow high-arched,
long-toed feet protruded. Retief went across, flashed
the light on a small, crumpled body. The bright robes
were bedraggled and torn. A wound in the narrow chest
oozed ochre blood.
"A Sulinorian," Magnan breathed. "He's been
shot!" His lips moved in a faint whisper. Retief knelt
beside him.
"Who did it?" he asked urgently. "Why?"
"He was not . . . what he seemed." Retief caught
the whispered words. Then the luminous eyes closed;
the last tinge of vital color drained from the small face,
leaving it an unattractive shade of waxy green.
"It looks like Coriale, the caterer," Magnan
groaned. "How terrible!"
"Listen!" Retief raised a hand. From the far corner
of the storeroom a faint rustle sounded. He motioned
Magnan to the left, started around the right side of
the stacked boxes. There was a hurried scuttling
sound.
"Why—there you are, Coriale," Magnan's voice
squeaked. "We, er, just stepped in to increase our
order. We'll have twelve gross of the bean and kidney
pies and six dozen jellied bramble-hens—under glass,
of course. ..." Magnan backed into view, keeping
himself between the small local and the body in the
corner. The Sulinorian pulled free of Magnan's grip on
his elbow. His bright eyes flicked around the room.
"But if you're busy," Magnan went on hastily,
"we'll just toddle along now. . . ."
285

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Uramm. You are Terrestrials, isn't it?" the alien
piped in a piercingly high voice.
"I'm, er, why, ah. . . ." Magnan swallowed audi-
bly. ' 'I was here just the other day, Mr. Coriale. Don't
you remember me?"
"Yes. Quite so, I recalled now." The Sulinorian
moved toward the door. "Six dozen jellied kidney-
beans and glass hens under mud, I'll make notes of it.
And now, you wish to leave, are you? To be sure.
Goodby quickly, please."
Magnan reached the door ahead of the local, fumbled
it open. "Well, it was jolly seeing you, Coriale. By,
now . . ."He tugged at Retief's sleeve. "Come
along!" he hissed. "We're in a frightful rush, remem-
ber?"
"I'm not sure Mr. Coriale got the order just right."
Retief eased Magnan aside, glanced out the door. The
dark street was empty. Pale flames burning in blue
glass globes high on the walls cast wavering shadows
along the ancient cobbles.
"It doesn't matter! I'm sure he can cope." Magnan's
voice faltered as his eye fell on the Sulinorian, from
whose nostrils brown smoke was filtering.
"Say, isn't that brown smoke filtering from your
nostrils?" he blinked. "I didn't know you Sulinorians
smoked."
Coriale edged sideways, eyeing the door. "A new
vice, acquiring this week only. And now, reluctance,
farewell."
Magnan frowned. "Curious," he said. "A few days
ago you spoke perfect Galactic."
"Duck!" Retief snapped and dived past Mag-
286

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
nan as the undersized alien made a lightning-fast mo-
tion.
Something flashed in his hand; a plate of hors
d'oeuvres beside Magnan exploded in a shower of
antipasto. With a yelp, Magnan leaped sideways, col-
lided with the alien as the latter bounded aside from
Retief's charge.
For a moment, there was a wild tangle of threshing
limbs. Then Magnan staggered back, sat down hard.
His head wobbled. He fell sideways and lay still.
The Sulinorian had whirled, bringing the gun up—
Retief swept a pie from a table, slammed it full into
the pinched faced. The alien shrieked; the gun barked
sharply, twice. One slug ripped the gilt epaulet from the
shoulder of Retief's wine-red mid-evening semi-
official blazer. The second thunkfed into a pewter
tureen; thick purple soup spurted from paired holes.
Then Retief was on the gunner. He twisted the alien's
gun-hand behind him, reached to seize his quarry's
other arm . . . and felt the room expand suddenly to
three times its former size.
He snorted hard, held his breath, threw the alien
across the room. His legs felt like piano wire. He
grabbed at a table for support, sent it crashing over on
its side.
Magnan sat up, spluttering, as a cascade of icy green
punch sluiced over him.
"Yes, yes, I'm coming, Mother," he gasped.
To Retief, Magnan's voice seemed to be filtered
through an echo chamber. As in a dream, he saw the
other totter to his feet.
"Wha. . ."Magnangobbled. "Whathappened?"
287

RETIEF AT LARGE
His eyes focused on the room, took in the smashed
crockery, the overturned furnishings the spilled
viands—and the crumpled figure against the wall.
"Retief—he isn't . . .?"
Retief shook his head to clear it. He went across to
the fallen alien. The creature lay on his back, eyes wide
open, glassy. A great shard of broken punch-bowl
protruded from his chest. His dead face was a livid
purple.
"Coriale!" Magnan choked. "Dead again!"
"We'd better get out fast," Retief said. "And sort
out the Coriales in the morning."
"By all means!" Magnan whirled to the door, pulled
it wide—and backed into the room, prodded by the
gleaming barrel of a crater gun in the hands of a
spindle-legged Groaci in the uniform of aPeacekeeper.
"To make no move, vile miscreants," the helmeted
and greaved Shore Patroller hissed in his native tongue
as his five stalked eyes scanned the shambles. "To
have you red-handed this time, Soft Ones."
"You're making a frightful mistake," Magnan
choked as half a dozen more Groaci pushed into the
shop, all with levelled weapons. "We didn't—that is, I
didn't—I mean, Retief only—"
"Ah, Mr. Magnan, is it not?" the Patrol captain
whispered in his faint voice. "The acceptance of your
complete innocence, of course, dear sir. Provided only
the testimony against the true criminal!"
"True criminal?" Magnan stuttered. "You mean
Retief? But—"
"What other?" the Groaci inquired in a reasonable
tone.
"But . . . but. . . ."
288

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
"To have no need to make a statement now," the
captain soothed. "To come along quietly and to leave
us to deal with the killer." He motioned sharply and his
subordinates closed in, hustled the protesting Magnan
away. Then the Groaci turned to Retief.
"To remember me, perhaps, Retief? Shluh by name,
formerly of the Groacian Planetary Police, once deeply
wronged by you. Tonight, in the cells of a Groaci
prison, to even at last the bitter score."
m
The jeweled eye-shields of Captain Shluh gave back
brilliant glints from the dazzling white Interrogation
lights rigged at the center of the dusty room.
"Once more, my dear Retief," he whispered in
accent-free Terran. "What was your motive for your
atrocious crimes against the peace and order of Groac?
Or Sulinore, if you prefer. Was it perhaps your plan to
introduce subtle impurities into the provender to be
supplied to the delegates? Or did your schemes run
deeper? Was it your full intent to secrete illegal moni-
toring devices in the serving vessels—devices of the
kind which I will testify were found on your person
when you were searched?"
' 'A couple of years pounding a beat have done won-
ders for you, Schluh," Retief said conversationally.
"You've lost that fat-behind-the-ears look. Unfortu-
nately, you still sound about the same."
"And you, unlucky Terry, still indulge your pen-
chant for flippancy! It will be amusing to watch the
289

RETIEF AT LARGE
evolution of your japes into pleas for mercy, as our
acquaintance ripens."
"You Groaci must be planning something a little
more elaborate than usual," Retief mused aloud.
"Conning Ambassador Shindlesweet into lending
CDT backing to these phony peace talks took a lot of
time and groundwork—and you lads don't waste cred-
its on empty gestures."
"You imply that our motives are less than selfless?"
Shluh inquired in a careless tone. "Ah, well, what
matter your thoughts, Soft One? You may share them
freely with your executioner."
"Let's look at it analytically," Retief went on.
"What have you accomplished with all this effort,
other than getting representatives of every important
world in a CDT dominated sector of the Arm together in
one room? But maybe that's enough, eh, Shluh? If
some unfortunate incident occurred and wiped out the
lot of them, whoever was responsible would find him-
self in a most unenviable position, public-rela-
tions-wise. And I have a feeling it wouldn't be you
Groaci who'd be left holding the satchel. Which leaves
the CDT, the other sponsor of the gathering."
"Enough, presumptuous Terry!" Shluh's eyestalks
were whipping in an agitated manner. "In your panic,
you rant nonsense!"
"And with the CDT discredited," Retief continued,
"Groac would have to step in to straighten out the
confusion; and they just might find it necessary to call
on someone like their friends the Blugs to help keep the
peace during the emergency. And maybe, before things
got back to normal, the few remaining Sulinorians
might just sort of go into a decline and die off, leaving
290

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
an empty world for an enterprising power like Groac to
latch onto."
"What fever fancies are these?" Shluh hissed. "It is
known to all that you Terries, ever suspicious of the
pure motives of others, have installed Mark XXI sur-
veillance devices at the port and throughout the Confer-
ence rooms, thus making impossible the introduction of
any weapons other than the handful alloted to my Se-
curity patrols!"
"A good point, Shluh. The Mark XXI's will frisk
every attender from socks to hair-piece. Of course, a
little poison in the caterer's salt-shaker wouldn't trip
the detectors, but the metabolic monitors would catch
that on the routine analysis that's run on food to be sure
it's safe for alien consumption. So the Borgia approach
is out, too."
"I tire of your theorizing!" Shluh was on his feet.
"Think what you will! I tell you in confidence: Even
now your Chancery is surrounded by my troops—
ostensibly as honor guard—but none can leave or enter!
By this hour tomorrow no Terry will dare to show his
naked face in any capital in the Sector—''
"Tomorrow, eh?" Retief nodded. "Thanks for giv-
ing me your timetable."
"Have done, infamous meddler in the destinies of
Groac! But before you die, tell me the name of the spy
who sold you our secrets, and I shall personally super-
vise his impalement on the wall of one thousand
hooks!"
"Secrets, eh? I guess that confirms my guesswork,"
Retief said. "One more question: What pay-off do the
Blugs get—"
"Silence!" Shluh keened. "Be assured your brief
291

RETIEF AT LARGE
remaining hours will be devoted not to questioning
matters of policy beyond your grasp, but to supplying
detailed answers to a number of queries of my own!"
"Wrong again," Retief said and took a step toward
the desk on which the police officer leaned, shaking a
gloved fist. Shluh jumped back, motioned to the armed
guard standing by, who swung his power gun to the
ready, aimed at Retief s face.
"Haven't your lads been told that you can't fire a
blaster in an enclosed space like this without inciner-
ating everything in it, including the shooter?" Retief
asked casually, and took another step. The guard low-
ered the gun hesitantly, his eyes twitching in confu-
sion.
"He lies, cretinous hive-mate of broodfoulers!
Fire!" Shluh screeched, and ducked to snatch at an
open drawer. Retief reached him in a bound, caught the
unfortunate captain by the neck, sent him skidding
toward the guard as a belated shot lit the room like a
photoflash. As the two Groaci went down in a heap,
Retief caught up the dropped gun.
"Well, another myth exploded," he said. "Shluh,
take off your belt and strap him up." With the gun
covering the two aliens, he seated himself at the desk,
flipped up the OUT key on the desk field-phone,
punched in a number. A moment later, the glum face of
Counsellor of Embassy Clutchplate appeared on the
screen. He gaped.
' 'Retief! What—how—Do you realize—? Did you
actually—? How could you have . . ."his voice fal-
tered as he took in the scene in the background. "Isn't
that Chief Shluh? What's he doing?'
"He just ran into an old acquaintance," Retief
292

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
soothed, ignoring a sharp rap at the door.' 'Mr. Clutch-
plate, how far along are the arrangements for Blug
participation in the Conference?"
"Why, their delegation will arrive within the hour.
The convoy just 'vised Port Authority for landing
clearance. But see here—"
"Convoy?" Retief glanced up as pounding sounded
at the door.
"Just fifty first-class cruisers; as escort for the trans-
port. The Blug never trayel unarmed, you know.
But—"
"See if you can get the ambassador to turn them
down," Retief rapped. "Failing that, meet 'em with an
armed guard and—"
"Mr.Retief!" the counsellor barked. "I don'tknow
what mad scheme you've embarked on, but it won't
work! I know how you feel about the Blugs, and the
Groaci too, for that matter. But taking the law into your
own hands—"
"No time for any long discussions, Mr. Clutch-
plate," Retief cut in as a heavy thud rocked the door.
"I'd ask you for a squad of Marines if I knew where I
was, but—"
"Turn yourself in," Clutchplate blurted. "It's the
only way. You can plead guilty due to temporary insan-
ity brought on by outraged political convictions, and
get off with no more than half a dozen years on a penal
satellite."
"It's an interesting proposal." Retief ducked as
splinters of door whined past his head. "What am I
guilty of?"
"Murder, of course," Clutchplate yelped. "Two
Sulinorians, remember?"
293

RETIEF AT LARGE
"It slipped my mind," Retief said. "But see if you
can hold the charge open a little longer. I may have a
few Groaci to add to it." He flipped off the screen as the
door shuddered and bulged inward.
"Time for you to talk fast, Shluh," he said crisply.
"I've decided to slip out the back way to avoid the
autograph hounds. There are three doors I could use.
You'll tell me which one's the best route."
"Never!"
Retief fired a bolt from the hip past the Groaci.
"On the other hand," Shluh hissed quickly, "what
matter if you temporarily elude my overzealous troops?
Our plans will proceed—and the measures you sought
to set in motion will avail naught to stop them!" He
darted to a side door, keyed it open.
"Go, then, Retief! But take what path you will, a
dreadful end awaits you!"
"In that case, you'd better go first." Shluh hissed
and tried to dart aside, but Retief caught him, propelled
him ahead with a foot in the seat. He slammed and
barred the panel behind him, as the outer door fell in
with a crash.
IV
They followed dim, dusty passages, ascended wind-
ing stairways, moved silently along dark, lofty halls
lined with ancient armor and hung with rotted banners.
Half a dozen times Retief eluded Groaci search parties
by a hair's breadth. In a wide room decorated with
painted murals showing centauroids cavorting on
purple grass, Shluh gestured toward a high-arched,
294

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
doorless opening through which pale moonlight
gleamed.
"There is your exit to the night, Retief!" he keened
sardonically.' 'Make what use of it you will! The way is
clear!"
Retief crossed the room, stepped out onto a tiny
balcony, thick with the droppings of the tiny bat-like
creatures that wheeled and skree.'ed at his appearance.
Ragged vines grew over a low balustrade, beyond
which darkness spread to a skyline of tower-encrusted
hills. He looked down. The wall dropped sheer into
inky shadows far below.
"Thanks for everything, Shluh." He threw a leg
over the stone railing. "I'll see you at your trial—if
your bosses let you live that long, after the way you've
botched your assignement."
"Stop, impetuous outworlder!" Shluh keened, as
Groaci feet clicked in the room behind him. "Even
should you survive the descent, you know not what you
do! Not even you would I urge on to to what waits in the
darkness below!"
"You mean your short patrols?"
"Not my patrols, nor the Marines of your own em-
bassy which even now seek you, warrant in hand, will
ever find you, if once you set foot in those demon-
haunted byways!"
' 'So that's where you set up your jail-house?'' Retief
looked thoughtful. "Still, I'd rather mingle with
spooks than go back to your little party. Ta-ta, Shluh.
Stay as sweet as you are." Shluh hit the deck as Retief
■raised the gun and fired a burst toward the approaching
search party, slung the blast rifle over his shoulder and
started down toward the silent streets of the Forbidden
City.
295

RETIEF AT LARGE
It was an easy climb. Once a pair of Groaci heads
appeared over the balcony rail above, but they drew
back quickly. The wall was deeply carved, and the
stout vines provided ample hand- and foot-holds. It was
less than ten minutes before Retief swung down and
dropped the last few feet into a mass of unpruned
shrubbery from which he emerged in an avenue of
marble mansions like abandoned funeral homes. The
two pale moons of Sulinore came from behind a cloud
and shone down ghostly white. Something small and
dark flitted overhead, emitting thin cries. Far away, a
mournful wail sounded. Retief set off at a brisk walk,
his footsteps echoing hollowly on the worn mosaics
that paved the way.
Ahead, a lofty obelisk reared up. The inscription,
nearly effaced by time, seemed to commemorate a
battle fought with giants. At the next corner, the carved
heads of ogres peered blindly down at him from an
ornate cornice. He passed a fountain, dry and silent,
where finned and tailed maidens of stone disported
themselves amid marble waves. The dank wind blew
dead leaves along the street. As Retief paused, a sound
as of small feet pattered for a moment, then fell silent.
"Come on out," Retief called. "There's some news
you ought to hear."
There was a ghostly laughter—or perhaps it was only
the wind, searching among the fluted columns of a
temple. Retief went on. Rounding an abrupt angle, he
caught a glimpse of movement—a darting shape that
disappeared into a gaping doorway. He followed,
found himself in a hall, open to the sky. From its walls,
giant frescoed figures stared down with empty eyes.
' 'I need a guide," Retief called.' 'Any volunteers?''
296

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
"Tears . . . tears . . . tears," the echoes rolled
back from every side.
"There's a small matter of an invasion to deal with
right now."
' 'Now . . . now . . . now . . ." the sound faded
and died, and as if the word were a signal, a creak
sounded from the high doors through which Retief had
entered.
He spun in time to see them clash shut with a dull
boom that echoed and re-echoed. He went to them,
found them jammed tight, immovable. He turned back
to the interior of the roofless room. A wide passage was
visible at the rear. Skitting a black pool that reflected a
shattered moon, he entered the passage, emerged after
twenty paces on a terrace above a flight of wide, shal-
low steps. Below a dark and wild-grown park spread
out, a wilderness of untrimmed shrubs and lofty,
black-leaved trees.
He descended to the foot-high sward; soft rustlings
from the shadows retreated as he advanced along a
weed-obscured path winding among the buttressed
trunks of patriarchal trees. Carved faces leered at him
from the shadows. The eerie shapes of stone monsters
gleamed through the unpruned foliage. He emerged
onto a broad mall along the center of which a double
rank of what appeared to be painted statues of heroic
size were drawn up along an aisle that led away into the
night. Near at hand, a small collonaded shrine was
almost hidden among the low-sweeping boughs of a
giant conifer. Silently, Retief approached the building
from the side.
Through a latticed opening, faint moonlight fell on
the vine-entwined effigy of an oversized Sulinorian in
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RETIEF AT LARGE
the armor of an ancient warrior. In the darkness behind
the graven hero, something moved minutely. Retief
tossed a pebble through the window, flattened himself
against the wall by the doorway. A moment later, a
head poked cautiously from the entry—and Retief's
hand clamped on the slender Sulinorian neck.
"Pardon my interrupting the game," he said. "But
it's time we had a talk."
V
"The price of entrance into the Sacred Grove of
Heroes is death, Terran!" the tenor voice of the alien
shrilled.
"So I understand," Retief said holding his catch at
arm's length to avoid the wildly kicking feet. "How-
ever, my little intrusion is nothing compared with what
the Groaci have scheduled. Maybe you'd better listen
to what 1 have to say before you carry out the sen-
tence."
"Tomorrow is nothing; the past is all," the Suli-
norian declaimed. "Why struggle against Destiny,
outworlder?"
"We can give destiny a run for her money if you'll
spread the word that I need a few hundred able-bodied
Sulinorians to distract the Groaci patrols long enough
for me to get through to the Terry Embassy—''
"Offer your final devotions to your gods, man of
Terra," the Sulinorian cut in. "Your fate is sealed."
"You're consistent, I'll concede that," Retief said.
"It looks as though I'll have to look a little farther for a
public-spirited citizen." He released the native, who
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THE FORBIDDEN CITY
jerked his varicolored toga straight and faced him de-
fiantly.
"Not so, Terran!" The local folded his knobby
arms. "Never will you leave these hallowed pre-
cincts!"
Rustlings sounded behind Retief. He turned. From
every shadowed clump of shrubbery, a Sulinorian
emerged; light winked from the foot long stilettoes in
their hands. Silently, the ring of aliens closed in. Retief
backed to the shrine, unlimbered the blast rifle, swung
it to cover the throng which halted, facing him.
"Welcome to the party," he said. "Now that we've
got a quorum, maybe we'll get somewhere."
"You outrage the glorious past, Terran," a wizened
Sulinorian quavered, staring up at Retief. "You heap
outrage on outrage!"
"The outrage the Groaci are planning is the one I'm
concerned with,'' Retief said.' 'You people don't seem
to care much, but from the Terry viewpoint, it might set
an unfortunate precedent for other budding empire-
builders."
"Terry, gone are the days when we of Sulinore were
mighty warriors. If now it falls our lot to die, we face
our fate in dignity."
"There's nothing dignified about being scragged by
the Groaci, or strung up by the heels by a platoon of
Blugs,'' Retief cut in.' 'I hear they have a curious sense
of humor when it comes to dealing with anyone who's
proved his inferiority by getting conquered by them."
"Kill this alien at once, isn't it?" a scratchy-voiced
Sulinorian in the front rank called. "After, everybody
die nicely, as scheduled."
"Enough talk," the elderly Sulinorian declared.
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RETIEF AT LARGE
"Let the disturber of the sleep of heroes suffer the
penalty!"
The Sulinorians eyed the gun in Retief's hands,
shuffled their feet. No one advanced.
"Maybe you'd better call the penalty off," Retief
suggested. "Then you can divert your righteous indig-
nation into doing something about the invasion."
"Hmmmm." The elderly spokesman beckoned to a
couple of his fellows; they put their heads together.
' 'We have decided," the oldster stated as the confer-
ence ended, "that the matter must be referred to the Old
Ones for decision." He raised a trembling hand. "Not
that we fear to fall under your murderous weapon,
Terran—but it is a death which lacks elegance." He
waved a hand and an avenue opened up through the
dense ranks of armed locals.
"Terran, I give you temporary safe-conduct and the
honor of confrontation with the Ancient Lords of Suli-
nore, who will themselves dispose of this case. Come,
if you fear not!"
"Fair enough," Retief said. "When you want fast
action, there's nothing like going direct to the top brass.
Where do we find them?"
"Behold the Lords of Sulinore!" the ancient piped
feebly. The locals made sweeping bows to the ranks of
still figures about them. Retief inclined his head re-
spectfully .
"They cut an impressive figure," he said. "I'll be
interested to see how they go about dealing with the
problem at hand."
"Simplicity itself," the old Sulinorian said. "One
waft of the sacred incense, and a faint shadow of their
vanished vitality will energize them. Then will they
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THE FORBIDDEN CITY
hear our pleas and hand down justice in the ancient
way."
Retief walked slowly along the row of motionless
effigies, noting the worn trappings, the realistically
scarred limbs and fierce visages, the tarnished armor of
the ancient warriors. In spite of their size and varied
forms, all bore some resemblance to the shrunken
Sulinorians who followed, silent and awed.
"Once the races of Sulinore were many," the an-
cient said as he noticed Retief's questing gaze. "And
mighty was their prowess.
"There stands Zobriale the Intense, Requiter of
Wrongs. Beyond, we see proud Valingrave, victor at
Har and Jungulon and Spagetwraithe. Here—" he in-
dicated the modest crypt "—behold the shrine of Boz-
dune the Restial, known also as Bozdune the Baresark,
of ferocious memory. And there—" he pointed to a
four-legged barrel-chested creature with a typical
Sulinorian torso and head "—stand the mortal remains
of Great Tussore, he who single-handed vanquished the
hordes of Doss, on a world so distant that even now the
sunlight of his day of battle has not yet reached the face
of Sulinore!"
"He looks like a tough boy," Retief commented.
"Too bad he's not still around. He might take a dim
view of the way things are going."
"Did I not say Mighty Tussore would give his judg-
ment? Aye, and Cranius the August, and Maglodore
the Swift, and Belgesion, and Vare, and High Pran-
thippo, King of Kings—"
"A most august assemblage," Retief conceded.
'But they seem a rather taciturn group."
"You jape at the Lords of Sulinore, Terran?" The
301

RETIEF AT LARGE
oldster drew himself up, made an imperious gesture. A
pair of locals nearly as old as himself came forward,
bearing a large case which they placed on the grass,
opening the lid. Inside was a cylindrical tank fitted with
valve and a coil of flexible plastic tubing. The dodderer
lifted the nozzle of the hose, advanced to the pedestal
on which the centauroid stood.
"Awaken, Great Tussore!" he cried in his cracked
voice. "Rouse from thy long dreams to render judg-
ment on one who comes unbidden to the Place of
Heroes!" He raised the hose and waved it under the
flared nostrils. Retief heard a faint hiss of escaping gas.
"Give us of thy ancient wisdom, as in days of old, O
Tussore," the old fellow exhorted. He shoved the hose
closer. "Almost is the sacred effluvium exhausted,"
he muttered. "I'll bet a pretty some of these backsliders
tave been tapping it on the sly."
Suddenly one pointed ear of the statue twitched. The
flared nostrils quivered. The eyelids fluttered. As Re-
tief watched the lips parted.
"Glop," the mighty figure said, and fell si-
lent. "Drat it, what a time for the tank to run out,"
someone beside Retief muttered.
' 'How does he work it?'' Retief inquired softly as the
Keeper of the Sacred Fumes waved the hose agitatedly,
vainly invoking the unmoving demigod.
"We work nothing, interloper," the Sulinorian said
sullenly. "A good shot of sacred gas, and their
metabolism starts ticking over fast enough to start them
talking, that's all.'.'
Abruptly Tussore stirred again. "The devil take the
blackguards," a deep voice suddenly rumbled from his
chest. "Where's my greaves? Where's my fetlock
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THE FORBIDDEN CITY
powder? Where's my confounded mace? Blast that
butter-fingered squire. . . ."
"Great Tussore, wake from thy dreams!" The
hosewielder redoubled his efforts. "Hear me! Even
now there stands in our midst a stranger who violates
the honored rest of the Lords of Sulinore with his
presence!"
"Oh . . .it's you, Therion," Tussore mumbled.
His eyes were open now, bleary and dull. "You look
terrible. Been a long time, I guess. And it's not the
stranger who disturbs my rest—it's you, with your
infernal babbling!" He reached, plucked the hose from
the oldster's hand, jammed it under his nose, drew a
deep breath. "Ahhhh! That's what the doctor or-
dered."
"Even so, Great Tussore!" The Sulinorian pro-
ceeded to relate the circumstances surrounding Retief's
presence. Halfway through the recital, Tussore's eye-
lids drooped. The hose fell from his hand. He
snored.
"So the problem, Great One, is how to administer
the prescribed rituals without suffering the indecorum
of being mowed down like ripe beer-corn by the con-
demned one," the oldster concluded. "Great Tussore?
Mighty one?" He waved the hose frantically, but his
efforts this time were unavailing. The still figure stood,
unmoving as a sphinx.
"So much for the wisdom of the ages," Retief said.
"Nice try, Therion, but it looks like the oracle's not
interested. Let's go."
"Make silent this one, plenty quick!" a small
Sulinorian rasped—the same one, Retief thought, who
had spoken up earlier.' 'No more time for pulling string-
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RETIEF AT LARGE
on wooden god! Cut away the head of this Terry, yes!
And soon after, fates proceed on schedule!"
"Silence, imperinent oaf!" Therion rounded on the
speaker. "Your cacophonous squeakings impugn the
majesties of Sulinore! Give me your name, for later
disciplining!"
The one addressed backed away, looking flustered,
as if suddenly conscious of being conspicuous. Retief
studied his face.
"Well, if it isn't my old friend Coriale," he said.
"You ought to be an expert on the subject of dying.
Seems to me I've seen you expire twice already this
evening."
The Coriale-faced alien whirled suddenly, plunged
for the rear rank.
"Seize him!" Therion called. The quarry ducked,
dodged, dived through a gap in the suddenly surging
ranks, scuttled sideways as his retreat was cut off, made
a dash for the shrubbery. The chase pounded off into
the underbrush. Retief seated himself on a convenient
pedestal and lit a dope-stick. Five minutes passed be-
fore the crowd again surged into view, the darting
quarry still in the lead. He put on a sprint, scuttled to the
shrine, dived inside.
"His impiety passes all bounds!" Therion puffed,
coming up to Retief. "Now the mad creature seeks
shelter in the very crypt of Bozdune!"
"Let him be fetched out and dealt with!" someone
shrilled.
"Stay!" Therion piped as the aroused crowd closed
in. "We'll not bring dishonor to the hero by scuffling
about his feet. Come! Let us withdraw and leave this
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THE FORBIDDEN CITY
fevered maniac to regain his sense among the shadows
of the greatness which was his race's!"
Retief took out his pocket light and played the beam
between the columns of the refugee's hiding place.
Between the great steel-toed boots of Bozdune, a
smaller pair of feet was visible. He directed the light
higher.
"Correction," he said. "Not his race's; that's no
Sulinorian. Look.'' The light revealed a cloud of brown
mist coiling upwards around the rigid features of the
preserved hero. "The meeting's been infiltrated by a
masquerading alien—an alien who exhales brown gas
when he gets excited."
"What's this? Brown gas—?" Therion's question
was interrupted by a startled cry from a Sulinorian near
the temple entry, followed a moment later by a snort
like a teased bull.
"He stirs! Bozdune rouses!" Suddenly Sulinorians
were running in every direction. Retief caught Ther-
ion's arm as the elder turned to follow the general
flight.
"Unhand me, fellow!" the oldster screeched as a
bellow sounded from the shrine. "Death I face with a
proud smile—but there's something inappropriate
about being ripped limb from limb by an ancestor!"
"Is that the kind of fellow you make a hero of?'
Retief inquired as smashing sounds emanated from the
crypt, followed by the hurtling body of the Coriale
double, which skidded to Retief's feet and lay moving
feebly.
"Unfortunately Bozdune lost his wits as a result of
three month's exposure to the Tickling Torture at the
305

RETIEF AT LARGE
hands of the infamous Kreee," Therion explained hast-
ily. "He's prone to rages, when suddenly aroused, and
prudence demands my swift removal hence!" He
pulled free and bounded away with an agility remark-
able in a being of his age. Retief turned as a rumble of
falling stone sounded from the shrine. A mighty figure
had appeared between the columns, stood with hands
pressed against them. Great cords of muscle stood out
on his neck; his biceps bulged; his latissimi dorsi
strained. The column buckled and went over, bringing
down a section of the arhictrave. Bozdune roared as the
marble slab bounced from his back. With a final thrust
he toppled a second column, stepped forth as stone
collapsed behind him. Eight feet high, massive as a
buffalo, he stood in the moonlight, snarling. His wild
gaze fell on Retief.
"Kreee!" he bellowed. "I have you now!" and
charged the lone Terran.
VI
Retief stood his ground as Bozdune closed in.
"You've got me confused with someone else. Boz-
dune," he called. "I'm just a Terry doing a little job of
planet-saving."
With a bellow, the ancient fighter thundered past the
spot where Retief had stood a moment before. He
fought his way clear of the underbrush into which the
momentum of his dash had carried him, rounded up his
elusive prey.
"And in that connection, I'd like to ask a little favor
306

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
of you," Retief continued. "A group of opportunists
called the Groaci are planning to massacre all the
foreign diplomats in town—"
"Arrrrghhh!" Bozdune roared and closed in swing-
ing roundhouse swipes sufficient to decapitate a horse.
Retief leaned aside from one wild swing, ducked under
another, planted his feet and drove a solid left-right to
the giant's stomach, an effect like punching a sea-wall.
He jumped aside as Bozdune grunted and made an
ineffective grab, landing a blow in his own midriff that
staggered him.
"Now, the Groaci have the streets cordoned off,"
Retief went on. "And since it's important that I get
through to the Embassy with the news, I'd like to ask
you to lend a hand." He stepped back as Bozdune
ripped his six-foot blade from its sheath, whirled it
overhead. Retief tossed the last rifle aside, plucked a
wrist-thick spear from the grip of a horned warrior
which loomed immobile beside him. Bozdune made a
bound, brought the massive claymore down in a whis-
tling arc that cleaved air an inch to Retief's right as he
faded aside.
"Now, if you'd just say a word to your descendants,
I think they might consent to lend a hand." Retief
poked the spear hard against Bozdune's breastplate.
"How about it?"
Bozdune dropped his sword, grabbed the spear shaft
with both hands, and gave a prodigious pull—and as
Retief let go, tottered backward, tripped over a frag-
ment of shattered column and went down like a fallen
oak. Retief heard the dull thonk! as his head struck the
marble steps of his erstwhile shelter. He stepped
quickly forward, used the warrior's own harness straps
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RETIEF AT LARGE
to bind his wrists together, then his ankles. At that
moment, the bushes parted and Therion's aged faced
appeared.
"What transpires?" he piped. His eye fixed on the
prone giant. "What, Bozdune the Bestial, felled by a
mere outworlder?"
"I'm afraid I can't claim the glory," Retief said.
' 'He ran out of gas." He glanced toward the spot where
the false Coriale had lain. "But if you can find the
ringer, I may be able to remedy that."
"He's here, the infamous dastard," a Sulinorian
called, dragging the unfortunate imposter from a clump
of gorse. Retief got a grip on the captive's collar,
assisted him to Bozdune's side.
"Breathe on the nice man, Shorty," he ordered.
A great gout of brown gas puffed obediently forth.
"Again."
The prisoner huffed and puffed, exhaling the vapor
past the fallen fighter's snoring visage. In a moment,
Bozdune twitched, jerked and opened his eyes.
"You're still here, eh?" he said to Retief. "I thought
I dreamed you." He sniffed again.
"Gadzoons, first good air I've breathed in a couple
hundred years. More!" He raised his voice as Retief
withdrew the pseudo-Coriale.
"Not unless you agree to lend a hand," Retief coun-
tered. "Then I promise you all the sacred essence you
want."
' 'Are you kidding? Just let me get my hands on these
Gruckles or whoever they are that think they can carve
my home town up, and I'll grind them into library
paste!"
"It's a deal.'' Retief turned to Therion.' 'How about
it? You in or out?"
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THE FORBIDDEN CITY
"If Bozdune approves the enterprise, then who are
we to demur?" the oldster inquired of the cool night air.
"Rise, loyal Sons of Sulinore! For this night at least,
the ancient glories live again!"
Retief gave Bozdune another shot of gas, then passed
the captive to Therion.
"Don't squeeze him too hard," he cautioned.
"We've got to make him stretch as far as we can; if this
caper's going to succeed, we'll need all the ancient
glory we can muster."
From a shadowy arch half a block from the carved
gates of the Terran Embassy, Retief, seated astride
Tussore's broad back, watched as the fifty-Groaci
guard detail sauntered past, their stemmed eyes scan-
ning the street alertly, their blast rifles ready at port
arms. Behind him, the tread of booted Groaci feet
approached relentlessly.
"Get ready," he said softly. "Another ten sec-
onds. . . ."
There was a chorus of weak shouts from the rear, a
slapping of running feet, the buzzzz-whapp! of power
guns firing; then a pair of Groaci troopers appeared,
pelting along in advance of a mighty figure in ancient
armor. In full stride, he overtook them, snatched them
up by their necks and tossed them aside. Behind him, a
crowd of Sulinorians, toga skirts hitched high, bran-
dished their ceremonial knives as they followed their
massive leader toward the gate. A moment later, the
giant was among the patrollers, flailing with a spike-
studded mace before the gun was fired.
"Let's go!" Retief kicked his heel into Tussore's
sides, and the mighty centauroid bounded forward. In
an instant, they were in the thick of the melee, Retief
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RETIEF AT LARGE
swinging a yard-long club as Tussore reared and struck
out with iron-hard hooves.
' 'Cut your way through!'' Retief called to his mount.
We can mop up later, after we've taken care of the main
event!"
' 'Aiii! What a lovely squishing sound these Gruckers
make beneath my hooves!" the old warrior yelled, but
he wheeled and charged the gate. Half a block away,
Retief caught a glimpse of Bozdune, tossing Groaci
troopers aside like straw dummies. From every dark
alleymouth and byway, Sulinorians were pouring. A
lone Groaci in the gatehouse brought up his blast-rifle,
loosed a round that missed by inches; then Retief's club
felled him, and they were through, crossing the lawn
toward the lighted entry at full gallop. A startled
Marine guard let out a yell and reached for the lever
which would slam the grill in the faces of the invaders,
but a sweep of Tussore's arm sent the sentry sprawl-
ing. Inside, Retief swung down, started up the grand
staircase, five steps at a time. Suddenly Counsellor
Clutchplate appeared on the landing above.
"Retief!" His eyes took in the massive, sweaty,
horse-bodied Tussore, helmeted and sword-girded,
the motley horde of Sulinorians swarming behind.
"Good lord! Treason! Treachery! Hallucinations!"
He whirled to run as Retief caught him, spun him
around.
"Has the banquet begun yet?" he demanded.
"J . . . j . . . just starting now," the counsellor
choked. "It happens I don't like Groaci iodine chow-
der, so I just stepped out for a breath of air." He
stumbled back as Retief dashed on.
At the high double doors to the banquet hall, a
310

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
Marine in dress blues, polished helmet and chrome-
plated ceremonial .45 departed from his rigid position
of attention sufficiently to roll his eyes as the newcom-
ers surged down on him. At what he saw, he grabbed
for the holster at his hip. Retief slammed a side-handed
blow at his wrist. "Sorry, son," he snapped and sent
the doors flying open on the roomful of startled dip-
lomats. From both sides of a long U-shaped table,
oculars of every description goggled at the spectacle
that burst upon them. Retief pointed to the impassive
Sulinorian servitors standing behind the diners, spaced
all along the room, one to a customer.
"Get 'em" he commanded and reached for the
nearest as the troop at his heels boiled past to carry out
his instruction.
VII
"You've gone out of your mind, Retief!" Counsel-
lor Clutchplate gazed, white-faced and shaken, from
the broken doorway at the scene of carnage after the
capture of the last of the servitors. "What can it mean,
leading this party of dacoits to violate the Embassy? I
must protest, even at risk of my life, whatever atrocities
you plan to visit on these poor chaps! They're under
CDT protection!"
"They'll survive—some of 'em," Retief said, and
plucking a steak knife from the table, he stooped over
one of the fallen waiters and with a quick stroke, laid
him open from chin to navel. Clutchplate uttered a
strangled yelp; Ambassador Shindlesweet turned pale
and quietly collapsed under the table as Retief reached,
311

RETIEF AT LARGE
extracted a limp, two-foot-tall creature resembling a
shelled lobster from the interior of the pseudoflesh
costume.
"They're not Sulinorians; they're Blugs." He
reached again, pulled out a small pressure-tank. "This
is his air supply; liquid nitrogen."
"Blugs?" Clutchplate gaped at the unconscious
creature, from whose breathing orifice a brown exhala-
tion now was issuing. "But what—how—? See here,
Retief! even if these are, er, Blugs, what harm could
they have done unarmed, which would warrant your
outrageous behavior?"
"Blugs are rock-eaters," Retief explained. "And
they seem to have a remarkable degree of control over
their metabolism. Normally, they exhale innocuous
gases; under stress, they start exhaling nitrogen
trioxide. But when occasion demands, they can switch
to production of any one of three or four poisonous
oxides of nitrogen. Here in this closed room, all it
would have taken was one good whiff down each
guest's neck, on signal, and bingo! Clean sweep."
"But why?" Clutchplate wailed.
"I have an idea Ambassador Shith can tell us how
they happened to be here, instead of Coriale's regular
table-waiting staff," Retief suggested.
Shith, still dangling in Tussore's grasp, emitted a
harsh bleat. "Gloat while you can, Mr. Retief!" he
hissed. "True, every word! I commend your clever-
ness! But while you spent your efforts in thwarting this
feint—yes, feint!—the squadron of Blug warships
which you Terries so naively permitted to pass your
blockade were discharging fifty thousand picked
troops, the cream of the Bluggish navy! Even now these
312

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
diminutive but doughty doughboys are spreading out
over the town, breathing their deadly halitosis on every
living creature in their paths! By morning, no Sulinor-
ian will be alive to dispute the Groaci claim to planetary
ownership!"
"Shith—have you taken leave of your senses?"
Shindlesweet had revived sufficiently to crawl forth,
spluttering. "When this is known you'll be hauled
before a Galactic tribunal and dealt with in a manner
that will make the name of Groac a byword to replace
that of Doctor Mush!"
"Mud," Shith corrected. "Permit me to contradict
you, my dear George! Not one word of the coup will be
noised abroad. My constabulary have already taken the
precaution of securing the only communications
facilities on the planet capable of contacting CDT naval
forces; in a matter of moments my chaps will arrive to
put an end to your illusions of success! Don't fret,
however. I promise you a swift and painless demise."
He paused, aiming several eyesatRetief. "Why do you
shake your head, sir! My scheme is flawless! My inva-
sion is an accomplished fact!"
"True—but you missed one small point," Retief
said. "The Sulinorians were gradually fading off the
scene due to the exhaustion of the planet's supply of a
certain element vital to their well-being. But instead of
dying, after about the age of five hundred, they'd drift
off into a comatose state. You and your nitrogen-fix-
Ifig Blugs have changed all that, Mr. Ambassador.
Thanks to you, Sulinore has a new lease on life."
' 'You seek even in the eleventh hour to delude your-
self!" Shith hissed. "Hearken! Even now my occupa-
tion forces approach the door!"
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RETIEF AT LARGE
There was a noisy clump of feet from the hall out-
side.
Then the mighty figure of Bozdune the Bestial,
broad and bronzed, appeared in the entry. He plucked a
shattered door from its hinges with one hand and tossed
it aside.
"Nice going, Retief," he boomed. "I don't know
how you worked it, but the place is swarming with
those lovable little guys you called Blugs. All the boys
are catching 'em and making pets of 'em. I've got one
in my pocket, and he's keeping me supplied like a tall
glunthound!" The behemoth's ochre eyes fell on the
laden table. "Chow!" he bassooned. "I haven't had a
square meal in eight hundred years!"
"Then—this means my invasion has failed?" Shith
wailed. "My so meticulously planned invasion,
spoiled in the eleventh hour by one trivial oversight?"
"Oh, your invasion is a huge success," Retief said
comfortingly. "But this time the invadees are the win-
ners ."
VIII
"I really must protest this flagrant interference in the
internal affairs of a sovereign world, George," Ambas-
sador Shith whispered vehemently from his position on
the platform where the group of local and foreign dig-
nitaries stood, awaiting the appearance of the parade
organized by the Sulinorians to celebrate the invasion.
"I demand the immediate return of the impounded
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THE FORBIDDEN CITY
units of the Blug navy and the repatriation of all Blug
nationals!"
"Spare me your threnodies, my dear Shith." Am-
bassador Shindlesweet raised a remonstrative hand.
"We'd have a sticky time of it were we to attempt to
dislodge the Blugs now. You're aware, I'm sure, that
as their breathing tanks ran low, they escaped their
captors and burrowed their way down half a mile to a
nitrogen-rich stratum and are busily digesting rock and
releasing free radicals—that, and reproducing. I think
you might be said to be fortunate to be sharing the
honors today as co-sponsor of the Blug Immigration
Plan, rather than languishing in the VIP suite of a CDT
brig, awaiting trial."
"Pah!" the Groaci envoy vibrated his throat-sac in
indignation. "In that case," he changed tack, "Iseeno
reason why Groac should share credit for this en-
lightened program under which, at no cost to these
ungrateful locals, their atmosphere is being so rapidly
renewed!"
"Really, Shith," the Terran chief of mission said in
a low voice, "it's only the fact that a full disclosure of
the events leading up to the present rapprochement
might tempt certain petty critics at Sector to the faulty
conclusion that I had been in some way remiss, that
prevents me from releasing the transcript of the rather
excited pronouncement which you so providently de-
livered into the recorders set up to capture the after-
dinner speeches. . . ."He cupped an ear as distant
bugles sounded. "Gentlemen, I think I hear them com-
ing now."
Along the ancient street, a procession was advanc-
315

RETIEF AT LARGE
ing, banners awave. In the front rank were Tussore and
Bozdune, grim and gigantic, CDT-supplied nitrogen
tanks slung at their hips, their armor sparkling in the
red rays of the swollen sun.
Behind them, rank on rank, marched the revived
immortals of Sulinore, a column that stretched away
out of sight along the shadowy street.
"This matter of allowing these chaps to seize the
Blug ships as spoils of war and set off on a raiding
expedition is an irregularity that I'm going to have
difficulty glossing over in my report," Shindlesweet
said behind his hand to Therion. "But off the record,"
he added, "I suppose I'll manage—so long as you're
sure they'll do their raiding in Groaci-mandated terri-
tory."
"Indeed, I hope you'll interpose no obstacles to the
ruffians departing Sulinore as expeditiously as pos-
sible," the elder whispered loudly.
"We're well rid of the smelly brutes. They have no
conception of the dignity appropriate to legendary
heroes."
Tussore, catching sight of Retief, broke ranks and
cantered over to the group, puffing smoke from the
cigar clamped in his mouth.
"Well, we're off," he called heartily. "And glad to
be going! The old place isn't the same any more. I can't
even step on the grass without some whisk-broom
handler jumping out and giving me a hard time. And
that dying sun! Paugh! It gives me the Deep Willies!"
He puffed out a great cloud of smoke, raised an eye-
brow at Retief.
"Say, why don't you change your mind and join us,
Retief?" he demanded.' 'We'll have a lot more fun out
316

THE FORBIDDEN CITY
there chasing across the universe than you will staying
back here with these stick-in-the-muds."
"It's a temptation," Retief said. "Maybe some day
I'll take you up on it. I have an idea your trail will be
easy to follow."
317

THE PIECEMAKERS
i
"GENTLEMEN," Undersecretary for Extraterrestrial
Affairs Thunderstroke announced in tones of doom,' 'it
looks like war."
"What looks like war?" a stout man in plainly tai-
lored civvies asked blurrily, as one just awakened from
a pleasant nap. "War, you say?" He slapped the con-
ference table with a well-manicured hand. "Well, it's
about time we taught the beggars a lesson!"
"You've leaped to a faulty conclusion, Colonel,"
the undersecretary said sourly. "We are not on the
point of embarking on hostilities—"
"Naturally not," the military advisor said, rising.
"Not your job. Civilians all very well—but time now
for military to take over. You'll excuse me, Mr. Secre-
tary? I must rejoin my regiment at once—"
"Sit down, Henry," the chief of the Groaci Desk
said tiredly. "You haven't got the big picture. No
318

THE PIECEMAKERS
Terran forces are involved on Yudore at all. Strictly an
Eetee affair."
"Sound thinking." The colonel nodded approving-
ly. "Why throw away the lives of Terran lads when
plenty of native lives are available for the purpose? To
be given selflessly in defense of sacred Terran prin-
ciples, that is to say. By the way, which is our side?"
"Try to grasp the point, Colonel," the undersecre-
tary said acidly. "We're neutral in the affair."
' 'Of course—but whom are we neutral in favor of?
Or in favor of whom, I should say, are we—"
"No one. And we intend to keep it that way."
"Umm." The colonel resumed his seat and his nap.
"Itappears," the undersecretary resumed, "that our
old friends the Groaci are locked in an eyestalk-to-
eyestalk confrontation with the Slox."
"What are these shlocks called, sir?" the acting
assistant deputy undersecretary inquired in a tone of
deep synthetic interest.
"Slox, Magnan, S-l-o-x. Inveterate trouble-makers
from the Slox System, half a dozen lights in-Arm. It
appears both they and theGroaci are claiming mandate-
ship of Yudore, an unexceptional planet of a small
Class G sun well off the trade routes."
"Well, why doesn't one of them just go mandate
somewhere else?" a commerce man demanded.
"There are scads of avilable planets out that way."
"The Groaci state that Yudore falls within their
natural sphere of influence," Thunderstroke said. "As
for the Slox, their position is that they found the place
first."
"They could flip a coin for it," the commerce man
snapped. "Then we could all get back to matters of
319

RETIEF AT LARGE
importance, such as the abnormal rate of increase in the
rate of decrease of the expansion of the trend toward
reduction of increasing berp-nut consumption among
unwed fathers ages nine through ninety on backward
worlds of the Nicodeman group; a development which I
just detected this morning through the use of refined
psychostatistical techniques."
"Good lord, Chester—" a political forecast
specialist picked up the cue—"what will be the pro-
jected impact of this downturn in the upturn?"
"Upturn of the downturn, if you must use layman's
language," Chester corrected. "Why, at the present
rate it appears that by fiscal ninety-seven there'll be a
record high in unwed fathers."
"To return to the subject at hand, gentlemen,"
Thunderstroke cut in ominously, "both parties to the
dispute have dispatched battle fleets to stand by off
Yudore, primed for action."
"Hmm. Seems to me there's a solution of sorts im-
plicit in that datum," someone murmured.
"Let us hope not. An outbreak of hostilities would
blot our copybooks badly, gentlemen." Thunderstroke
glared at the offender. "Unfortunately the Groaci am-
bassador has assured me privately that his govern-
ment's position is unalterable. Groaci doctrine, as he
explained matters, makes accommodation with what he
terms 'vile-smelling opportunists' impossible, while a
spokesman for the Slox has announced they refuse to
yield an inch to the 'five-eyed sticky fingers—' as he
calls the opposition party."
"It sounds like a major policy blunder on the part
of the Groaci," Magnan observed contentedly. "How
refreshing that for once the CDT is not involved."
320

THE PIECEMAKERS
"We could hardly be said to be uninvolved, Mr.
Magnan," Thunderstroke pointed out sternly, "if we
undertake to mediate the dispute."
"No, I suppose not—but why be pessimistic? Who
would be idiot enough to suggest poking our nose into
that bag of annelids?"
"As it happens," Thunderstroke said in a voice like
an iceberg sliding into an Arctic sea, "I did!"
"You, sir?" Magnan croacked. "Why, what a
splendid notion—now that I've had time to consider it
in depth, I mean."
A fragile-looking acting section chief sprang to the
undersecretary's support.
"After all, our function as diplomats is to main-
tain interplanetary tensions at a level short of vio-
lence."
"Would you want to make that 'reduce tensions,'
Chester?" the information agency representative in-
quired, pencil poised. "Just in case you're quoted out
of context."
' 'No reporters,'' Thunderstroke decreed. "I shudder
to think what critics of the Corps might make of any
little slip in our part in this affair."
"I suppose you'll be sending along a hundred-man
Conciliation Team with a squadron of Peace Enforcers
to deal with the matter," Magnan said, a speculative
look on his narrow features.
"Hardly," Thunderstroke said flatly. "This is a job
for finesse, not brute diplomacy. In a situation of this
nature, a single shrewd, intrepid, coolly efficient
negotiator is the logical choice."
' 'Of course, sir, how shallow of me not to have seen
•t at once." Magnan pursed his lips thoughtfully.
321

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Naturally, the task calls for a man of wide
experience—"
"With a total contempt for deadly personal danger,"
someone put in.
"Preferably without a family," Magnan added,
nodding.
"Too bad that lets me out," a deputy assistant un-
dersecretary said briskly. "As you know, I'm the sole
support of twelve cats and a most demanding
parakeet—''
"I wasn't thinking of you, Henry," Thunderstroke
said severely. "I had in mind a senior diplomat, a man
of lofty IQ, unshakable principle and unquestioned
dexterity in the verbal arena."
"Good lord, sir," Magnan blurted. "I appreciate
your confidence, but my duties here—"
"Unfortunately," Thunderstroke bored on, "the
files have failed to produce the name of any such
paragon. Hence I must make do with the material at
hand."
"Well!" Magnan muttered under his breath, then
paled as Thunderstroke fixed him with an imperious
eye.
"I assume your inoculations are in order?" the un-
dersecretary inquired coldly.
"Mine, sir?" Magnan said, pushing his chair back
and rising hastily. "Actually, my hayfever shot is due
in half an hour—"
"I suggest you ask for a heavy dosage of anti-
radiation drugs while you're there," the assistant for
ET affairs said cheerfully. "And of course a tetanus
shot wouldn't do any harm."
"Kindly be seated, Magnan," Thunderstroke
322

THE PIECEMAKERS
barked. "Now, you'll be going in in a plainly marked
courier vessel. I suggest you exercise caution as you
approach the battle flotillas. The Slox are said to be
even more trigger-happy than the notoriously impetu-
ous Groaci."
"I'm to go into that hornet's nest, sir—in an un-
armed boat?"
"You'll be armed with instructions, Magnan. Buck
up, man. This is no time to show the white feather."
Magnan sank into his chair. "As for myself, I'm
delighted, of course," he said breathlessly. "I was just
thinking of all those innocent crew members."
"I'd considered that aspect, Magnan. And of course
you're right. It would be folly to risk the lives of an
entire crew."
Magnan brightened.
"Therefore, you'll be dropped a fractional A.U.
from the scene of action in a fast one-man scout."
"A one-man boat? But—" Magnan paused. "But
unfortunately," he went on in tones of relief, "I don't
know how to pilot one."
"Why not?" Thunderstroke demanded.
"Sector regs discourage it," Magnan said crisply.
"Only last month a chap in my department received a
severe dressing down for engaging in acrobatics over
Lake Prabchinc—"
"Oh? What's this fellow's name?"
"Retief, sir. But as I said, he's already received a
reprimand, so it won't be necessary—"
"Retief." Thunderstroke made a note. "Very well.
Make that a two-man scout, Magnan."
"But—"
"No buts, Magnan. This is war—or it will be if you
323

RETIEF AT LARGE
fail. And time is of the essence. I'll expect you and this
Retief fellow to be on the way to the battle zone within
the hour."
"But sir—two diplomats against two fleets?"
"Hm. Phrased in that fashion, it does sound a bit
unfair. Still—they started it. Let them take the con-
sequences."
II
Strapped into the confining seat of the thirty-foot
skiff, waiting in the drop-bay of the Corps transport,
Magnan watched the launch clock nervously.
"Actually," he said, "the undersecretary had his
heart set on a one-man mission—but at my insistence
he agreed to send me along with you."
"I wondered who my benefactor was," Retief said.
"Nice to know you were thinking of me."
' 'Retief—are you implying—'' Magnan broke off as
the voice of the captain of the mother ship rang from the
panel speaker.
"Fifteen seconds, gentlemen. Say, I hope your
policies are all paid up. From what my translator tells
me about the transmissions those boys are exchanging
up ahead, you're going to arrive just in time for M
minute."
"I wish he'd trip the launch lever," Magnan snap-
ped. "I'll be profoundly happy to depart this hulk, if
only to be away from that gloating voice."
"I heard that," the captain said. "What'sthe matter,
no sense of humor?"
"I'm convulsed," Magnan said.
324

THE PIECEMAKERS
"Better unconvulse," came the swift suggestion.
"This is it. Happy landings—"
There was a slam of relays, a thud, a jolt that dimmed
the passengers' vision for a long, dizzying moment.
When it cleared, black space dotted with fiery points
glared from the screens. Astern, the transport dwindled
and was gone.
"I'm picking them up already," Retief said, ma-
nipulating the controls of the R-screen. "Our dare-
devil captain dropped us practically in their midst."
"Has the shooting started?" Magnan gasped.
"Not yet. But from the look of those battle forma-
tions it won't be long."
"Maybe we ought to transmit our plea for peace
from here," Magnan said hurriedly. "Something
eloquent to appeal to their finer natures, with just a
smidgin of veiled threat on the side."
"I have a feeling it's going to take more than spar-
kling conversation to stop these fellows," Retief said.
"Anybody who owns a new battlewagon has a natural
yen to see if it works."
"I've been thinking," Magnan said abruptly. "You
know how short the CDT is of trained personnel—now
that we've seen the hopelessness of the task, it's our
duty to salvage what we can from the debacle. Besides,
an eyewitness report will be of inestimable value to the
undersecretary when the board of inquiry starts digging
>nto the question of how he allowed a war to start right
under our noses."
"I'm with you so far, sir."
"That being the case," Magnan went on quickly,
if you should insist on withdrawing from the scene at
this point, I hardly see how I could prevent you."
325

RETIEF AT LARGE
"You're in command, Mr. Magnan," Retief
pointed out. "But I have a distinct feeling that our
reception back at Sector would be less then enthisiastic
if we don't have at least a few blast burns on the hull to
show for our trouble."
"But, Retief!" Magnan pointed at the screen on
which the long, deadly-looking shape of a Groaci
cruiser was growing steadily. "Look at that monster,
bristling with guns from stem to stern. How can you
reason with that kind of firepower?"
At that moment a crackle of static blared from the
screen. A pale, alien visage with five stalked eyes
stared out at the Terrans from under a flared war hel-
met.
"To identify yourselves at once, rash interlopers," a
weak voice hissed in sibilant Groaci; "To be gone
instantly or suffer dire consequences—"
' 'Why, if it isn't Broodmaster Slith!'' Magnan cried.
"Retief, it's Broodmaster Slith. You remember
Broodmaster Slith of the Groacian Trade Mission to
Haunch Four?"
"Is it you, Magnan?" the Groaci grated. "When last
we met you were meddling in Groaci affairs under the
guise of selfless uplifter, disrupting peaceful com-
merce. In what role do you now intrude in Groacian
space?"
"Now, Slith, you have to confess it was a bit much,
selling plastic frankfurters to those poor backward
hot-dog lovers—"
"How were we to know their inferior metabolisms
were incapable of assimilating wholesome poly-
styrenes?" Slith snarled. "Enough of this chatter.
326

THE PIECEMAKERS
Withdraw at once or take full responsibility for precipi-
tation of a regrettable incident."
"Now, don't be hasty, Broodmaster—"
"You may address me as Grand Commander of
Avenging Flotillas Slith, if you please. As for haste, it
is a virtue I recommend to you. In sixty seconds I order
my gunners to fire."
"I suggest you reconsider, Commander," Retief
said. "At the first shot from your guns, three will get
you five the Slox open up on you with everything
they've got."
"What matter? Let the miscreants invoke the full
wrath of outraged Groacihood."
' At a rough count, they have thirty-one ships to your
twenty-four," Retief pointed out. "I think they've got
you out-wrathed."
"But what's all this talk of shooting?" Magnan
cried. "What could possibly be gained by gunfire?"
"Certain parcels of real estate, for a starter," Slith
said crisply. "Plus the elimination of certain alien
vermin."
Magnan gasped. "You confess you're here to take
Yudore by force?"
"Hardly—not that the matter is of any concern to
Terran spies. My mission here is to prevent the invasion
of hapless Yudore by the insidious Slox—"
"I hear this," a rasping, high-pitched voice cut in
from the auxiliary screen. It was accompanied by a
hissing of background noise. A wavering image formed
on the tube, steadied into the form of a shiny, purplish-
red cranium, long and narrow, knobbed and spiked. A
Pair of yellow eyes were mounted on outriggers that
327

RETIEF AT LARGE
projected a foot on either side. "I outrage! I do not
endure! You are gave one minutes, Eastern Standard
Time, for total abandon of vicinity! Counting! Nine,
twelve, two, several—"
"What—what is it?" Magnan gasped, staring at the
newcomer to the conversation.
"Aha—collusion between Soft One and Slox!"
Slith keened. "I see it now! You thought to distract my
attention with an exchange of civilities while your vile
cronies executed a sneak attack—"
"I—Chief General Okkyokk—chum to these
monstrositaries?" The Slox spokesman screeched.
"Such indignant my language lack! Insufficient you
threaten to lowly benefits of Slox Protectorate—but
addition of insults! My goodness! Drat! Other obscen-
ity as required!"
"It will not avail you to rant," Slith whispered in a
venomous tone. ' 'My guns stand ready to answer your
slurs—"
"Only incredible restrains of high-class Slox general
intrudes herself to spare those skinny neck!" Okkyokk
yelled in reply.
"Gentlemen, don't get carried away," Magnan cal-
led over the hiss of static. "I'm sure this can all be
worked out equitably—"
"Unless this pernicious meddler in the Groaci des-
tiny disperses his flimsy hulls at once, I'll not be
responsible for the result," Slith declared.
"My frustrate!" Okkyokk yelled and brandished a
pair of anterior limbs tipped with complicated shred-
ding devices. "Gosh, such wish to know sensation of
plait all five eyes into single superocular, followed by
pluck like obscene daisy—"
328

THE PIECEMAKERS
"To wait in patience until the happy moment when I
officiate at your burial, head-down, in the ceremonial
sand-box," Slith countered.
"Well, at least they're still speaking to each other,"
Magnan said as the exchange raged on. "That's some-
thing."
"We may get through this without any hull-burns
after all," Retief said. "They have each other bluffed.
It looks like talk rather than torpedoes will carry the
day. I suggest we execute a strategic withdrawal while
they slug it out, vocabulary-to-vocabulary."
"Hmm. Scant points in that for Terran diplomacy.
Duty demands that we play a more creative role in the
rapprochement.'' Magnan put a finger against his nar-
row chin. "Now, if I should be the one to propose an
equitable solution—''
"Let's not remind them we're here, Mr. Magnan,"
Retief suggested. "Frustrated tempers are often taken
out in thrown crockery and we'd make a convenient
teacup—''
"Nonsense, they'd never dare." Magnan leaned
forward.' 'Gentlemen," he called over the din of battle.
"I have the perfect solution. Since there seems to be
some lack of confidence on the part of each of you in the
benign intentions of the other, I propose that Yudore be
placed under a Terran Protectorate." Magnan smiled
expectantly.
There was an instant of total silence as two sets of
alien sense organs froze, oriented toward the interrup-
tion. Slith was the first to break the paralysis.
"What? Leave the fruits of Groaci planning to Ter-
ran harvesting? Never."
"I convulse!" Okkyokk howled. "I exacerbate! I
329

RETIEF AT LARGE
froth at buccal cavity! How are you invite? Mercy!
Heavens to Marmaduke! Et cetera!"
"Gentlemen," Magnan said. "We Terrans would
only remain on Yudore until such time as the aborigines
had been properly educated in modern commercial
methods and sexual hygiene, after which we'd with-
draw in favor of local self-determination!"
"First to pervert, then to abandon!" Slith hissed.
"Bold threats, Soft Ones! But I defy you! General
Okkyokk! I propose a truce while we band together to
confront the common enemy."
"Done! Caramba! I effronterize! I mortal insult! I
even annoy! First destruction we the kibitzer! Then
proceedure to Slox-Groaci quarrel!"
"Wait!" Magnan yelped. "You don't
understand—''
"I'm afraid they do," Retief said as he reached for
the controls. "Hang on for evasive action, Mr. Mag-
nan." The tiny craft leaped ahead, curvetting wildly
left and right. There was a flash and the screens went
white and blanked out. The boat bucked wildly and
flipped end-for-end. A second detonation sent it spin-
ning like a flat stone skipped over a pond.
"Retief—stop! We're headed straight for no-man's
land!" Magnan gasped as a lone screen flickered back
to life, showing a vast Groaci battlewagon swelling
dead ahead.
' 'We're going in under their guns," Retief snapped.
"Running away, we'd be a sitting duck."
"Maybe they'll let us surrender," Magnan bleated.
"Can't we run out a white flag or something?"
"I'm afraid it would just give them an aiming
330

THE PIECEMAKERS
point." Retief wrenched the boat sideways, rode out
another near miss, dove under the big ship's stern.
"Look out—" Magnan screamed as a vast, mottled
bluegreen disk slid onto the screen. "We'll crash on
Yudore—''
"If we're lucky," Retief agreed. Then the rising
keening of splitting air made further conversation im-
possible.
Ill
Except for the fading hiss of escaping air and the ping
of hot metal contracting, the only sounds audible in the
shattered cockpit were Magnan's groans as he extri-
cated himself from the wreckage of his contour chair.
Through a rent in the hull, yellow sunlight glared on the
smoking ruins of the scout boat's control panel, the
twisted and buckled floor plates, the empty pilot's seat.
"Glad to see you're awake," Retief said. Magnan
turned his aching head to see his companion leaning in
the open escape hatch, apparently intact but for a bruise
on the cheekbone and a burned patch on the front of his
powder-blue blazer. "The air's a little thin but the O2
content seems adequate. How do you feel?"
"Ghastly," Magnan confided. He fumbled his
shock harness free and groped his way through the
hatch to drop down shakily on a close-cropped peach-
colored sward. All around, tall, treelike growths with
ribbed red-orange trunks rose into the pale sky, sup-
porting masses of spongy tangerine-toned foliage.
331

RETIEF AT LARGE
Clumps of yellow, amber and magenta blossoms
glowed in the shade like daubs of fluorescent paint.
"Why are we still alive?" the senior diplomat in-
quired dazedly. "The last thing I remember is a pale
pink mountain sticking up through a cloud bank di-
rectly in our path."
"We missed it," Retief reassured his chief. "There
was just enough power left on our plates to cushion
touchdown. That and a lot of springy foliage saved our
necks."
"Where are we?"
"On a small island in the northern hemisphere,
which seems to be the only land on the planet. That's
about as specific as I can be, I'm afraid—and I desig-
nated the north pole arbitrarily at that."
"Well—let's get it over with." Magnan sighed,
looking around. "Where are they? I suggest we throw
ourselves on Slith's mercy. Frankly, I don't trust that
Okkyokk—there's something shifty about those can-
tilevered oculars of his."
"I'm afraid we son't be able to surrender im-
mediately," Retief said. "Our captors haven't yet ar-
rived."
"Hmm. Doubtless they're making a somewhat less
precipituous approach then we. I suppose we might as
well make ourselves comfortable."
"On the other hand," Retief said reasonably, "why
wait around?"
"What other hope of rescue have we?"
"I don't think either party would make the ideal
host—assuming they bother with live prisoners in the
first place."
"You're implying that Slith—a fellow bureau-
332

THE PIECEMAKERS
crat—a being with whom I've shared many a convivial
cup—would acquiesce to our execution out of hand?''
Magnan gasped.
"He might. If he didn't do the job himself."
"Heavens, Retief, what are we to do? How far do
you suppose it is to the nearest native village?"
"I didn't see any signs of civilization on the way
down—no towns, no roads or cleared fields. Let's give
a listen on the long-wave bands." Retief climbed back
into the wrecked craft, investigated the shock-mounted
TRX, spliced a number of broken wires and twirled the
knob. Nothing but faint static. He switched to the
ship-to-ship frequency.
"—blundering two-eyed incompetent!" Slith's
furious voice came through loud and clear. "Your
broken-down excuse for a flagship was closer to them
than my own superb standard-bearer. It was your re-
sponsibility to blast them from space—"
"My indignant! My furious! Heck! Darn! This ac-
cuse from a Five-eyes margarine-fingers! I intolerate!
Too bad!"
"Have done! These vituperations avail us not at all.
If the Soft Ones survive to make known that we fired on
a Terran vessel—in self-defense, of course—a horde of
their execrable Peace Enforcers will descend on us like
him beetles in grub-harvest time."
"I proposterate! My laughter! Your numbskull!
Alive, oh! After such crashing, entirely! No, unpossi-
ble; I rediculate! Au contraire, I suggestion my resump-
tion our dispute. Where were? Indeed, yes—my de-
scriptioning your ancestry—''
"Hark, mindless one! Like other low forms of life,
the Soft Ones are tenacious of vitality. We must make
333

RETIEF AT LARGE
sure of their demise. Hence, I shall descend to adminis-
ter the coup de grace to any survivors, while you stand
by off-planet—or, preferably, withdraw to neutral
space—''
"So you enable to theft these planet, unop-
positioned? My amuse! My hylerical! Goodness me! I
accompanate, quite so!"
"Very well—if you insist. You may accompany me
aboard my personal gunboat. I'll designate a modest
destroyer escort to convoy us down to the surface."
"Nix. I preference to my own vessel, gratitudes
anyhow. And my bring few Slox cruiser in order to not
lonesome."
"Cruisers?" Slith said harshly. "In that case I think
a pair of Groaci battleships would be in order—just to
balance the formation, you understand."
"Combination operate incompletion—unless Slox
battlewagon also include."
"Actually," Slith hissed, "I see no reason not to
bring my entire fleet along—just in case you should
entertain ideas of a sneak attack during my absence."
"My agreeness! I, too! The more the merriment!
Gracious me! Full speed ahead! Devil take the hind
parts!"
"Agreed! Roger and out," Slith snapped.
"Good heavens, Retief," Magnan muttered, "those
two madmen are going to stage a full-scale invasion just
to keep an eye on each other."
' 'No one could accuse us now of having failed to
influence the course of Slox-Groaci relations," Retief
said calmly. "Well, let's be off. We have about an hour
before they arrive."
Quickly he detached the compact radio from its
334

THE PIECEMAKERS
mountings, extracted an emergency ration pack from
the debris.
"Which way?" Magnan queried worriedly, staring
at the deep orange shade of the forest all around.
"Take your choice, Mr. Magnan," Retief said, in-
dicating the four points of the compass. "Eeenie,
meenie, miney or moe."
"Hmm. I think perhaps due meenie. It looks a tiny
bit less forbidding. Or possibly just a few points to the
miney of meenie."
"Meenie by miney it is," Retief said and led the way
into the tall timber.
"Retief—I'm utterly exhausted," Magnan panted
three quarters of an hour and three miles from the
wrecked scout boat.
"We're not yet clear," Retief said. "We'd better
keep going and rest later."
"I'd as soon face a Groaci firing squad as die of heart
failure and heat prostration." Magnan sank down on
the yielding turf, lay breathing in great gulps.
"How about a Slox skinning party?" Retief
suggested. ' 'I understand they start with the scalp and
work downward—like peeling a banana."
"Jape if you must." Magnan groaned. "I'm past
caring." He sat up suddenly, staring suspiciously at a
small, bell-shaped blossom with petals of a delicate
shade of coral pink.
"Bees," he said distastefully. "Allergic as I am
even to Terran insects, a sting from an alien form would
probably be instantly fatal."
"Still, as you pointed out, one demise is pretty much
hke another," Retief consoled his superior. "If it actu-
335

RETIEF AT LARGE
ally was a bee you saw, it's the first native animal life to
make its presence known."
"I didn't see it but I heard it distinctly," Magnan
said severely. "It buzzed practically in my ear."
"This is a rather curious forest," Retief observed.
"Only one variety of tree, one kind of grass, one type
of flower—in assorted sizes and colors. But no weeds.
No parasitic vines. No big trees crowding out smaller
ones, no stunted growth. Not even any deadfalls."
Magnan grunted.
' 'Retief, suppose for the nonce we succeed in elud-
ing capture—what then? Nobody knows we're here.
How will we ever be rescued?"
"Interesting question, Mr. Magnan."
"Not that it matters a great deal," Magnan went on
morosely. "With my mission a failure—worse than a
failure—my career is in ruins. Do you realize that if it
hadn't been for our meddling this invasion would prob-
ably never have come to pass?"
"The thought had occurred to me," Retief con-
ceded.
"To say nothing of the loss of the scout-boat. If the
undersecretary holds me responsible—holds us respon-
sible, I should say—that is, in the event he doesn't hold
you personally responsible, Retief, as pilot—why,
you'll be years paying it off," he went on more cheer-
fully. "Still, I'll put in a word for you. After all, Slith
was shooting at us."
"There is that."
"And actually, who's to say it was my friendly
attempt to offer a compromise that precipitated the
invasion? I daresay the hotheads would have embarked
on their conquest in any event."
336

THE PIECEMAKERS
"Possibly," Retief agreed.
"By engaging them in conversation I doubtless de-
layed the inevitable for a—a length of time."
"Several seconds at least."
"Retief, by offering myself as a sacrifice on the alter
of inter-being chumship I may have saved countless
lives."
' 'I suppose a certain number of bacteria were lost in
our crash landing," Retief sarcastically pointed out.
"You scoff," Magnan charged. "But history will
vindicate my stand. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if a
special posthumous medal were struck—" He broke
off with a start.' 'There it is again—'' He scrambled up.
"It sounded like an enraged hornet. Where did it go?"
Retief cocked his head, listening, then leaned over to
examine the clump of apricot-colored flowers nodding
on long stems, beside which Magnan had been sitting.
"Don't waste time plucking nosegays," Magnan
yelped. "I'm under attack—"
"Mr. Magnan, I don't think there are any insects in
the vicinity."
"Eh? Wiy, I can hear them quite plainly." Magnan
frowned. "It sounds like one of those old fashioned
hand-crank telephones still in use out on Jawbone.
When you leave it off the hook."
' 'Close, Mr. Magnan," Retief said and leaned down
to put his ear close to the trumpet-shaped bloom.
"Well, I thought you'd never speak," a tiny voice
said distinctly in his ear.
337

RETIEF AT LARGE
IV
"Buzzing blossoms is quite fantastic enough,"
Magnan said wonderingly. "But talking tulips? Who'd
ever believe it?"
"... somebody to converse with," the cricket-
sized voice was saying. "I'm dying to know all the
news. Now, just tell me all about yourself—your
hopes, your dreams, how you happened to be here—
everything—''
Retief held a blossom to his lips as if it were indeed
the mouthpiece of a phone.
"I'm Retief. This is my colleague, Mr. Magnan.
Whom have we the honor of addressing?"
"Well, nice to know you, Retief. And Mister Mag-
nan, too. May I call you Mister for short? First names
are so much more sort of informal. I'm Herby. Just a
nickname, of course. Actually I don't have a name. At
least I didn't have until dear Renfrew came along. You
have no idea what a sheltered life I'd led until then.
Why, do you know I had the idea I was the only
sentient intelligence in the Galaxy?"
"Who are you?" Magnan blurted. "Where are you?
Why is the microphone camouflaged to look like a
plant?"
"Camouflage? Why, there's no camouflage, Mister.
You see me just as I am."
"But I don't see you at all," Magnan complained,
looking around warily. "Where are you hiding?"
"You're squeezing me at this very moment," Herby
said.
338

THE PIECEMAKERS
"You mean—" Magnan held the faintly aromatic
blossom at arm's length and stared at it.
"You mean—I'm—you're—we're—"
"Now you're getting the idea," the voice said en-
couragingly.
"Talking flowers—here, in the middle of
nowhere—and speaking Terran at that? I must be hal-
lucinating. I've been driven mad by hardship."
"I doubt it, Mr. Magnan," Retief said soothingly.
"I hear it, too."
"If I can imagine I hear voices coming out of posies I
can imagine your hearing them too," Magnan retorted
tartly.
"Oh, I'm real enough," the voice said reassuringly.
"Why should you doubt me?"
"Who taught you to speak Terran?" Retief asked.
"Renfrew. I learned so much from him. Curious—
but before he came, it never occurred to me to be
lonely."
"Who is Renfrew?"
"A friend. A very dear friend."
"Retief, this is fantastic," Magnan whispered.
"Are there—are there many like you?" he inquired of
the bloom.
"No—just me. After all, there'd hardly be room,
you know—"
"A coincidence," Magnan exclaimed. "One talk-
lng plant on the entire world and we stumble on it in the
first hour. I'm beginning to think our luck is still hold-
ing."
"Now, where are you from, if you don't mind my
asking?" the plant inquired.
"We're Terrans," Magnan said. "And I'm sure
We're going to get on famously, Herby."
339

RETIEF AT LARGE
"But—I understood Terra was the name of Ren-
frew's home planet."
"Quite so. Marvelous place. You'd love it, now that
all the jungles have been cleared and replaced by park-
ing lots—" Magnan caught himself. "Ah, no offense
intended, of course. Some of my best friends are
plants."
"Heavens—all three of you from one planet? No
wonder you left. Such overcrowding—"
"Yes—now, Mr. Herby, if you could just tell us the
way to the nearest native settlement—"
"Buildings, you mean? Streets, spaceports, that sort
of thing?"
"Yes. Preferably not one of these dismal provincial
towns. Something in a modest metropolis will do."
"Sorry, there isn't one—though Renfrew told me
about them."
Magnan groaned. "No towns at all? Then—"
"Just jungle."
"If this fellow Renfrew has a ship we may be able to
catch a ride with him. I wonder—could we meet him?"
"Well—I suppose so, Mister. He's quite nearby as it
happens."
"He's still here, then?"
"Oh, yes indeed."
"Saved," Magnan breathed in relief. "Can you
direct us, Herby?"
"Certainly. Just press on meenie, bearing a little to
the miney after you cross the stream, then hard moe at
the lake. You can't miss him."
Magnan looked startled. "How did you know?" He
frowned at Retief in puzzlement. "I thought we named
the local directions."
340

THE PIECEMAKERS
"Oh, indeed," Herby spoke up. "I merely
employed your own nomenclature."
"You must have a fantastic ear," Magnan said won-
deringly.' 'That discussion was held miles from here.''
"I don't miss much," Herby said complacently.
"He's remarkably sophisticated for such a modest
bloom," Magnan commented as they started off.
"I suspect most of Herby is underground, Mr. Mag-
nan," Retief pointed out. "There's no room for a
speech center in the part we saw."
"Gad—a subterranean cerebrum—like a giant
potato?" Magnan said uneasily, treading lightly. "A
spooky thought, Retief."
Twenty minutes' brisk hike brought the two Terrans
to the shore of a small, gurgling brook overhung with
majestically arching foliage. They followed the bank to
the right for a quarter of a mile, at which point the
waters spilled down in a foaming amber cataract into a
placid pond a half-mile across.
"So far so good," Magnan said uncertainly. "But I
see no signs of habitation, not even a hut, to say nothing
of a ship."
Retief moved past Magnan toward a dense thicket
that obtruded somewhat from the smooth line of trees
edging the lakeshore. He parted the broad, copper-
colored leaves, revealing a surface of rust-pitted metal
curving away into the dimness.
"Lousy Ann Two," he read the corroded letters
welded to the crumbling hull plates. "Looks like we've
found Renfrew's ship." He pulled a tow-growing
branch aside. "And here's Renfrew."
"Splendid!" Magnan hurried up halted abruptly to
stare in horror at the heap of mouldering bones topped
341

RETIEF AT LARGE
by a grinning skull still wearing a jaunty yachting cap.
"That's Renfrew?" he quavered.
"Quite so," said a deep voice from somewhere
overhead.' 'And take my word for it, Mister—it's been
a long, lonely time since he sat down there."
"Two hundred years, give or take a decade or two,"
Retief said as he climbed out through the derelict's
sagging port, brushing the dust and rust scale from his
hands. "She was aConcordiat-registered racing sloop,
converted for long-range cruising. What's left of the
crew quarters suggests she was fitted out for one-man
operation."
"That's right," agreed the resonant baritone—
which, the Terrans had determined, emanated from a
large, orchid-like blossom sprouting amid the foliage
twenty feet above their heads. "Just Renfrew. It was a
small world he inhabited but he seemed content with it.
Not that he was stand-offish, of course. He was as
friendly as could be—right up until the difficulty about
his leaving."
"What sort of difficulty?" Magnan inquired.
"He seemd quite upset that his vessel was unable to
function. I did my best to console him—regaled him
with stories and poems, sang merry songs—"
"Where did you learn them?" Magnan cut in
sharply. "I understood Renfrew was the first Terran to
visit here."
"Why, from him, of course."
"Good lord—imagine having your own chestnuts
endlessly repeated back at you," Magnan whispered
behind his hand.
"Did you ever tell a joke to an ambassador?" Retief
inquired.
"A telling point," Magnan conceded. "But at least
342

THE PIECEMAKERS
they usually add a little variety by garbling the punch-
line."
"How did Renfrew happen to crash-land here?"
Retief inquired.
"Oh, he didn't. He came to rest very gently."
"Then why couldn't he take off again?" Magnan
demanded.
"I believe he described it as foreign matter in the
warpilator field windings," the voice replied vaguely.
"But let's not talk about the past. The present is so
much more exciting. Heavens, there hasn't been such
activity here since the last glacial age."
"Retief—there's something slightly piscine about
this situation," Magnan murmured. "I'm not sure I
trust these garrulous gardenias. Herby said he was the
only one of his kind on the planet—yet here's another
equally verbose vegetable."
"Oh, that was quite true," the voice above spoke up
promptly. "Why in the world would I lie to you?"
"Kindly refrain from eavesdropping," Magnan said
coldly. "This is a personal conversation."
"Not as personal as calling me a potato brain," the
orchid said a trifle coolly.
"Goodness—I hope you don't listen to irresponsible
gossip," Magnan replied with dignity. "Do I appear
the type to employ such an epithet?" He put his mouth
to Retief's ear. "The grapevine here surpasses any-
thing I've encountered even at a diplomatic reception.''
"Now, let me see," the voice from on high mused.
You mentioned something called a parking lot. I'd
hke to know more about that and—"
"I suppose Herby told you that, too," Magnan
snapped. "If I'd known he was such a blabbermouth
d never have confided in him! Come, Retief—we'll
343

RETIEF AT LARGE
withdraw to where we can have a modicum of pri-
vacy."
"As to that, Mr. Magnan—" Retief started.
"Not here," Magnan interrupted. He led the way a
hundred feet down the shore, halted under a spreading
bough. "It's apparent I was indiscreet withHerby," he
said from the corner of his mouth, without moving his
lips. "I see now he was a rumormonger of the worst
stripe, in addition to being of questionable veracity.
Sole representative of his race, indeed! Why, I suspect
every shrub in sight has a wagging tongue."
"Very probably," Retief agreed.
"There's nothing to do now, quite obviously,"
Magnan said, "but select an honest-looking plant and
approach the problem afresh, impressing the vegetable
with our sincerity and benign intentions. When we've
wormed our way into its confidence we can determine
how best to make use of it to our own best advantage.
How does it sound?"
"Familiar," Retief said.
"Excuse me." Magnan jumped a foot as a voice
squeaked the words almost in his ear. "What does
'sincerity' mean in this context?"
Retief addressed a cluster of small, russet buds al-
most invisible among the roan leaves overhead.
"Very little."
"Is there no privacy to be found anywhere in the
confounded wilderness?'' Magnan inquired with asper-
ity.
"I'm afraid not," the miniature voice piped. "As I
was telling you a while ago, there's not a great deal I
miss."
"A while ago?" Magnan repeated with a rising
inflection. "Why, we've only just met—"
344

THE PIECEMAKERS
"I don't understand, Mister. I'm Herby. You know
» »
me.
"Nonsense. Herby is a little chap growing a mile
from here."
"Of course. I grow everywhere, naturally. After all,
it's my island, isn't it? Not that I'm not willing to share
it with a few friends."
"Utter nonsense," Magnan sputtered. "I might
have known a potato was incapable of coherent
thought."
"Herby's telling the truth," Retief said. "It's all one
plant—the trees, the grass, everything. Like a banyan
tree, only more so." He examined a flower closely.
"There's a tympanic membrane that serves as both
microphone and speaker. Very ingenious of mother
nature."
"In that case—they—or it—"
"He," Retief amended.
"He's overheard every word that's been spoken
since we landed." Magnan addressed the blossoms
directly. "Look here, Herby—you're aware that we're
distressed diplomats, marooned here by an unfortunate
accident—"
"I thought Slith and that other fellow—
Okkyokk—were responsible," Herby corrected.
"They seem dreadfully argumentive chaps. I do wish
they'd lower their voices."
"Quite—now, you're aware of their hostile inten-
tions toward Mr. Retief and myself—"
"Oh, my," Herby interrupted, "they do seem upset.
Such language—"
"Yes . As I was saying—" Magnan paused. "What
do you mean, 'such language?' "
' 'I was referring to Grand Commander Slith's rather
345

RETIEF AT LARGE
graphic use of invective," Herby explained. "Not that
General Okkyokk isn't holding his own, of course. I
must say my vocabulary is expanding rapidly."
"You speak as though you could hear them now."
"I can. On the ship-to-shore band."
"But—you don't have a radio—do you?"
"A what?"
"If he has organs for detecting sound," Retief said,
"why not organs for picking up short wave?"
"Why—that's remarkable," Magnan exclaimed.
"But short wave? It would be rather too much to hope
that you can send as well as receive?"
"Why, I suppose I could transmit via my snarf-
nodes—if there were any reason to."
"Retief—we're saved! Herby—send the following
message at once: Special Priority-Z Mayday, CDT
Sector HQ, Aldo Cerise. CDT eight-seven-nine-oh-
three, subject unprovoked attack—no, make that un-
warranted attack—resulting in emergency planetfall
and—"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mister," Herby cut in. "I couldn't
send that."
"Why not?"
"Why, if I did, some nose parker might come and
take you away."
"I sincerely hope so."
"I've waited two hundred standard years for some-
one to talk to," Herby said in a hurt tone.' 'Now you're
talking of rushing off. Well, I won't have it."
"The SOS is our sole hope," Magnan cried.
"Would you stand in the way of our rescue?"
"Please clam yourself, Mister. Look at Retief. He's
not making a scene. Just resign yourself to the fact that
346

THE PIECEMAKERS
you'll spend the rest of your life here and we'll get on
famously—just as Renfrew and I did right up until the
last few days."
"The rest of our lives?" Magnan gasped. "But
that's unthinkable. We may linger on for another fifty
years."
"Not if Slith has his way," Retief said. "Where are
they now, Herby?"
"I was about to say," Herby began. "They'll be
arriving any—"
The vegetable voice was drowned by a rising drone
that swelled swiftly to a bellowing roar. A sleek,
shark-nosed shape swept overhead, followed by
another, two more, then an entire squadron. Sonic
booms crashed across the jungle, laying patterns of
shock ripples across the still water of the lake. Treetops
whipped in the turbulent wakes as two battle fleets
hurtled past at low altitude, dwindled, were gone.
"You see?" Herby said a trifle breathlessly into the
echoing silence. "Two's company but a crowd is al-
together too much."
Retief twisted the knob of the radio slung at his belt.
". . . pinpointed our quarry!" Slith's breath voice
was keening. "If you will employ your units in encir-
cling the south shore of the island, General, I shall close
the pincer to the north."
"Looks like they've spotted us," Retief said. "Slith
must carry better optical and IR gear than I gave him
credit for."
Sunlight 'winked on distant craft circling back to
spread out on the far side of the lake, sinking down out
of sight behind the massed foliage of the forest. Other
vessels were visible to left and right.
347

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Not much point in running cross-country," Retief
said thoughtfully. "They've got us surrounded."
"What are we going to do?" Magnan yelped. "We
can't just stand here."
"Ouch!" Herby said suddenly. "Ooh! Ahh!"
"What's the matter?" Magnan leaped in alarm, star-
ing around him.
"Why that hurts like anything!" Herby exclaimed
indignantly.
"It's the landing blasts." Retief indicated the smoke
rising from points all around the compass.' 'The Groaci
still use old-style reaction motors for atmospheric ma-
neuvering. Must be scorching Herby quite painfully."
"You see what sort of uncouth ruffians they are?"
Magnan said indignantly. "Now wouldn't you like to
change your mind, Herby, and assist us?"
"And collect a new crop of third-degree burns when
your friends arrive? No, thank you. It's out of the
question.''
A deep-toned whickering sound had started up, grew
quickly louder.
"A heli," Retief said. "They're not wasting any
time."
In the shelter of the tree the two Terrans watched the
approach of the small, speedy craft. It swung out over
the lake, riffling the water, and hovered two hundred
feet in the air.
"Attention, Terran spies!" an electronically
amplified voice boomed out from it. "Surrender at
once or suffer a fate unspeakable—''
"Herby—if those barbarians get their hands on us
our usefulness as conversationalists will come to an
abrupt end," Magnan said urgently.
348

THE PIECEMAKERS
"You have been warned," the PA blared. "Emerge
at once empty-handed—''
"Maybe we can hide out in this dense growth,"
Magnan said, "if Herby will keep us apprised of their
whereabouts. Maybe we can elude capture until help
comes."
The copter had drifted closer.
"Thirty seconds," the big voice boomed. "If at the
end of that time you have not submitted to Groaci
justice the entire island will be engulfed in fire—"
"Cook us alive?" Magnan gasped. "They
wouldn't—"
"Retief—Mister," Herby said worriedly. "Did he
mean what he seemed to mean?"
"I'm afraid so, Herby," Retief said. "But don't
worry. We won't let matters proceed that far. Shall we
go, Mr. Magnan?"
Magnan swallowed with difficulty. "I suppose a
comfortable garroting in a civilized cell is preferable to
broiling alive," he said in a choked voice as they
walked out from the shade into the bright orange sun-
light of the beach.
V
"A wise decision, Soft Ones," Slith whispered. "In
return for your cooperation I give my reassurances that
your remains will be transmitted to your loved ones
suitably packaged, with a friendly note explaining that
you fell foul of the alert Groacian anti-spy apparatus
and were dispatched ere my personal intervention could
349

RETIEF AT LARGE
save you from the just retribution your crimes de-
served."
"Why, that's very thoughtful of you, I'm sure,
Grand Commander," Magnan said, mustering a
ghastly smile. "But might I suggest just one little
change? Why not intervene just a bit sooner and return
us safe and sound—a stirring gesture of inter-being
amity."
"My researches into the Terran nature," Slith inter-
rupted, steepling his eyes—an effect which failed to
reassure his listeners—"indicate that your kith respond
most generously to those who adhere to a policy of
unswerving hostility. This evidence of Groaci determi-
nation will evoke, I doubt not, a sizable increase in the
Terran subsidy to the Keep Groac Gray drive—funds
which will of course be quietly diverted to our urgently
needed naval modernization program."
"But why?" Magnan clanked his chains disconso-
lately. "Why can't we all just be friends?"
"Alas," Slith said. "Aside from the fact that we
Groaci find you Soft Ones singularly repellent to all
nine senses, rendering social intercourse awkward—
and the further fact that Terran ambitions conflict with
manifest Groaci destiny—plus the fact that I owe you
suitable recompense for your malicious sabotage of my
mercantile efforts at Haunch Two—aside from these
matters, I say—it's necessary at this juncture to silence
you."
"Silence us?" Magnan said. "Why, heavens,
Commander Slith—if you're referring to the little mis-
understanding that led to our unscheduled landing here
on Yudore, don't give it a thought. Why, I've already
forgotten it. Actually, it was probably just pilot error on
the part of my colleague, Mr. Retief—"
350

THE PIECEMAKERS
"He's not talking about that, Mr. Magnan," Retief
said. "He's talking about his use of Yudore as a red
herring to cover an attack on the Slox Empire."
"Silence, verbose one," Slith said; but Okkyokk,
whose image on the conference screen had been quietly
occupying a complicated perch in the background,
spoke up.
"Who this? My fascinate! Gosh! Tell more!"
"Fool." Slith leaped to his feet, vibrating his throat
sac at Retief. "Your groundless insinuations deprive
you of life's last sweet moments." He signaled the
guards. "On with the executions."
"Not so hurry, Five-eyes!" Okkyokk snarled.
"Conversation me, Terry; my interest, oh, yes! Tell
on!"
"Keep out of this, Okkyokk!" Slith snapped as the
guards started forward eagerly.
"My listen!" Okkyokk yelled. "Your forgot,
Slith—I guns train on you! My chat there Terry—blow
your in fragmentation, or!"
"Better humor him, Slith," Retief said. "Inasmuch
as your fleet consists of disguised barges with dummy
guns, you're in no position to call his bluff."
Slith made spluttering sounds.
"No gun?" Okkyokk chortled. "Good new tonight!
Tell Terry!"
"It's quite simple," Retief said. "Slith lured you out
here to get your gunboats out of the way so he could
proceed to attack the Slox home planets with minimal
interference. The bombardment is probably underway
right now."
"Lies!" Slith found his frail voice. "Okkyokk—he
seeks to set us at odds, each with the other!"
"I grateful you extreme, Terry!" the Slox comman-
351

RETIEF AT LARGE
der grated in a voice like a steel girder shearing, ignor-
ing Slith's appeal. "Preparation you for dead, Groaci
big-shot! Fake up big war, eh, you tell. Make fool
allbody, eh? Then join force and invasion Terries, eh?
Fruits and nuts! You never delusion me for every! Hold
on hats, kids—"
"Don't fire. The Soft One lies—as I can prove in
most dramatic fashion—by blasting your cancerous
aggregation of derelicts into their component
atoms—''
"Retief—say something," Magnan yelped. "If they
shoot—"
"Then you Soft Ones will die!" Slith piped. "If they
prevail you die with my flagship—and if I prevail—
then long shall you linger under the knives of my
virtuosi!"
"How you plan do so big shoot with empty gun?"
Okkyokk inquired warily.
"Retief!" Slith cried. "Confess to him you lied—
else will I decree torments yet uninvented to adorn your
passing!"
"Better open fire quickly—if you can," Retief said.
"As for you, General," he addressed the screen, "it
always pays to get in the first lick."
"Retief, what are you saying?" Magnan yelped.
"Why goad them to this madness? No matter who
wins, we lose!"	,
"My confuse!" Okkyokk stated. "Splendor idea,
shoot up unarmed Five Eyes—but what if Terry big
lying?"
"Don't let him get the jump on you, Slith," Retief
advised.
"Gunnery Officer!" the Groaci commander piped
352

THE PIECEMAKERS
in sudden, agonized decision. "All batteries—open
fire."
The response was instantaneous. A series of hollow
clicking wounds came over the intercom. They were
followed by the dumfounded voice of the Gunnery
officer.
"Exalted one—I regret to report—"
"Sabotage," Slith yelled.
On the screen Okkyokk paused, one digital member
poised above a large puce button.
"How, no explosing? Gun fails operationing, just as
Terry inform? Splendor!" the Slox leader waggled his
ocular extremities. ' 'Now time procedure to you with
leisurely! Master Gunner—procedure blow picture
window in Five Eyes flagship, give Commander Slith
good viewing of eventuals!"
Slith hissed and sprang for the door, where he fought
for position with the guards who had reached the portal
before him. Magnan covered his ears and screwed his
eyes shut.
"Whats?" Okkyokk's puzzled voice was coming
from the screen. ' 'Hows? Malfunctionate of firepower
at times like these? My intolerate! Caramba! Oh,
heck!"
' 'I suggest both you gentlemen relax.'' Retief raised
his voice slightly over the hubbub. "No one's going to
do any shooting."
"So—your spies have infiltrated my flagship," Slith
said. "Little will it avail you, Retief. Once in space,
my most creative efforts will be lavished on your quiv-
ering corpori." He scrabbled on the rug, came up with
his command mike. "Engineer—lift off, emergency
crash procedures."
353

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Another disappointment in store, I'm afraid,
Slith," Retief said as no surge of acceleration fol-
lowed. "Herby's particularly sensitive to rocket
blasts," he explained gently. "Ergo—no gunfire."
"Herby?" Slith keened, waggling his eyes from
which the jeweled shields had fallen in the tussle.
"Herby?"
"Herby," Okkyokk muttered. "What Herby,
which?"
"Herby," Magnan gasped. "But—but—"
"Undone?" Slith whispered. "Trapped here by the
treachery of the insidious Soft Ones? But briefly shall
you gloat, my Retief."
The Groaci jerked an elaborately ornamented gun
from the plastic holster at his bony hip, took aim.
"Three and out," Retief said as Slith stared in
goggle-eyed paralysis at the small coral-toned flower
growing from the barrel of the weapon. "Herby ap-
preciates my conversation far too much to let you blow
holes in me. Right, Herby?"
"Quite so, Retief," a cricket-sized voice chirped
from the dainty blossom.
"My departure, golly whiz!" Okkyokk's voice
blasted from the screen. "Navigationer—full fast
ahead!"
"No use, General," Retief said. "Everybody's
grounded. Your field Windings are full of vines, I'm
afraid."
"So that's why Renfrew couldn't leave." Magnan
gulped. "I knew it all along, of course."
"What does this mean?" Slith whispered.
"It means you've been conquered single-handed by
354

THE PIECEMAKERS
a population of one," Retief addressed the alien lead-
ers. "So—if you're ready, gentlemen, I'm sure Herby
will be willing to discuss the terms of your surrender."
"Heavens, Retief," Magnan said, adjusting the
overlapping puce lapels of his top formal mid-morning
cutaway in the gilt-framed mirror outside the impres-
sive mahogany doors of the undersecretary for extrater-
restrial affairs. "If we hadn'Lseized a moment to
transmit a distress call on Slith's TX while Herby was
busy taking the surrender, we might still be languishing
in boredom on that dismal island."
"I doubt if we'd have been bored," Retief pointed
out. "With several hundred grounded sailors roaming
the woods and blaming us for their troubles."
"What a ghastly experience, with every bush and
bough jabbering away in colloquial Slox and accentless
Groaci, carrying on twelve hundred scrambled conver-
sations at once!"
"In time I think Herby would have mastered the
knack of segregating his dialogues," Retief said.
"Even with a slice missing from that four-mile brain
the soundings showed he should be a fast learner."
"He certainly mastered the technique of creative
negotiation with record speed," Magnan agreed. "I
can't help feeling a trifle sorry for poor Slith and
Okkyokk—their fleets consigned to moulder on the
ground, the while they supply teams of conver-
sationalists in relays in perpetuity to entertain their
conqueror."
Retief and Magnan turned as the elevator doors
opened behind them. An orderly emerged, pushing a
355

RETIEF AT LARGE
tea cart on which rested a handsome teak tub containing
a tall, lily-like plant topped by a six-inch flower, glow-
ing a healthy pink and yellow.
"Ah, gentlemen," the blossom greeted them in a
mellow tenor voice. "I'm happy to report that new
scenes seem to stimulate me—or at least this slice
of me."
Magnan shuddered delicately.
"Imagine sprouting a bureaucrat from a wedge of
frontal lobe," he said behind his hand. "It makes my
head ache just to think of it."
A slender man with thick spectacles thrust his head
from the secretarial suite.
"The secretary will see you now," he announced
and held the door as the orderly wheeled the cart
through.
"Mr. Secretary," Magnan said grandly, "I have the
honor to present his excellency the Herbaceous Ambas-
sador."
"Delighted to meet you, sir or madam," Thun-
derstroke rumbled inclining his head graciously to the
bloom, which nodded in reply. "Now—do tell me all
the details of how you captured two fully armed war
fleets—"
Retief and Magnan withdrew, leaving the undersec-
retary listening attentively to his visitor's account of the
sapless victory.
"Lobotomy seems to agree with Herby," Magnan
observed complacently. "Well, I must hurry along,
Retief. I have a modest cutting I plan to infiltrate into
the flower bed under the Groaci ambassador's win-
dow." He hurried off.
"Tsk," said a tiny voice from the pink buttoneire
356

THE PIECEMAKERS
adorning Retief s topmost lapel. "The segment of me
you left with the undersecretary is being regaled with a
rather gamy anecdote about cross-fertilizing tea-rose
begonias. The punch line is—"
"It's not considered polite to listen in on private
conversations, Herby," Retief pointed out.
"How can I help it?" the blossom protested. "After
all, it's me he's talking to."
"Just don't repeat what you hear. Unless," Retief
added as he strolled off toward the chancery bar, "it's
something you think I really ought to know."
357

BALLOT AND BANDITS
I
SECOND SECRETARY RETIEF of the Terran Em-
bassy emerged from his hotel into a bunting-draped
street crowded with locals: bustling, furry folk with
upraised, bushy tails, like oversized chipmunks, rang-
ing in height from a foot to a yard. A party of placard-
carrying marchers, emerging from a side street, jostled
their way through the press, briskly ripping down polit-
ical posters attached to shop walls and replacing them
with posters of their own. Their move was immediately
countered by a group of leaflet distributors who set
about applying mustaches, beards and crossed eyes to
the new placards. The passersby joined in cheerfully,
some blacking out teeth and adding warts to the tips of
button noses, others grabbing the brushes from the
defacers and applying them to their former owners'
faces. Fists flew; the clamor rose.
Retief felt a tug at his knee; a small Oberonian
dressed in blue breeches and a spotted white apron
looked up at him from wide, worried eyes.
358

BALLOT AND BANDITS
"Prithee, fair sir," the small creature piped in a
shrill voice, "come quick, ere all is lost!"
"What's the matter?" Retief inquired, noting the
flour smudge on the Oberonian's cheek and the dab of
pink icing on the tip of his nose. "Are the cookies
burning?"
"E'en worse than that, milord—'tis theTsuggs! The
great brutes would dismantle the shop entire! But fol-
low and observe!" The Oberonian whirled and darted
away.
Retief followed along the steeply sloping cobbled
alley between close-pressing houses, his head level
with the second-story balconies. Through open win-
dows he caught glimpses of doll's-houselike interiors,
complete with toy tables and chairs and postage-
stamp-sized TV screens. The bright-eyed inhabitants
clustered at their railings, twittering like sparrows as he
passed. He picked his way with care among the pedes-
trians crowding the way: twelve-inch Ploots and
eighteen-inch Grimbles in purple and red leathers,
two-foot Choobs in fringed caps and aprons, lordly
three-foot-six-inch Blufs, elegant in ruffles and curled
pink wigs. Ahead, he heard shrill cries, a tinkle of
breaking glass, a dull thump. Rounding a sharp turn, he
came on the scene of action.
Before a shop with a sign bearing a crude painting of
a salami, a crowd had gathered, ringing in a group of
half a dozen giant Oberonians of a type new to Retief:
swaggering dandies in soiled silks, with cruelly
cropped tails, scimitars slung at their waists—if crea-
tures of the approximate shape of ten-pins can be said to
have waists. One of the party held the bridles of their
mounts—scaled, spike-maned brutes resembling gaily
359

RETIEF AT LARGE
painted rhinoceroses, but for their prominent canines
and long, muscular legs. Two more were busy with
crowbars, levering at the lintel over the shop doorway.
Another pair were briskly attacking the adjacent wall
with sledge-hammers. The sixth, distinguished by a
scarlet sash with a pistol thrust through it, stood with
folded arms, smiling a sharp-toothed smile at the indig-
nant mob.
" 'Tis the pastry and ale shop of Binkster Druzz, my
grand uncle twice removed!" Retief's diminutive
guide shrilled. "A little lighthearted destruction in the
course of making one's political views clear is all very
well—but these pirates would reduce us to penury!
Gramercy, milord, canst not impede the brutes?" He
swarmed ahead, clearing a path through the onlookers.
The red-sashed one, noticing Retief's approach un-
folded his arms, letting one hand linger near the butt of
the pistol—a Groaci copy of a two-hundred-year-old
Concordiat sliver-gun, Retief noted.
"Close enough, off-worlder," the Tsugg said in a
somewhat squeaky baritone. "What would ye here?
Ye'r hutch lieth in the next street yonder."
Retief smiled gently at the bear-like Oberonian, who
loomed over the crowd, his eyes almost on a level with
Retief's own, his bulk far greater. "I want to buy a jelly
doughnut," the Terran said. "Your lads seem to be
blocking the doorway."
"Aroint thee, Terry; seek refreshment elsewhere.
Being somewhat fatigued with campaigning, I plan to
honor this low dive with my custom; my bullies must
needs enlarge the door to comport with my noble di-
mensions."
"That won't be convenient," Retief said smoothly.
360

BALLOT AND BANDITS
'' When I want a jelly doughnut I want it now." He took
a step toward the door; th« pistol jumped at him. The
other Tsuggs were gathering around, hefting crow-
bars.
"Ah-ah," Retief cautioned, raising a finger—and at
the same moment swung his foot in a short arc that
ended just under the gun-handler's knee-joint. The
victim emitted a sharp yap and leaned forward far
enough for his jaw to intersect the course of Retief's left
fist. Retief palmed the gun deftly as the Tsugg
staggered into the arms of his companions.
"Aroint thee, lads," the giant muttered reproach-
fully to his supporters, shaking his head dazedly.
"We've been boon drinking chums these six Lesser
Moons and this is the first time ye've give me any of the
foodstuff. . ."
"Spread out, lads," one of the Tsuggs ordered his
companions. "We'll pound this knave into a thin
paste."
"Better relax, gentlemen," Retief suggested. "This
gun is messy at short range."
"An' I mistake me not," one of the crowbar wiel-
ders said, eyeing Retief sourly, "ye'r one of the out-
world bureaucrats, here to connive in the allocation of
loot, now the Sticky-fingers have gone."
"Ambassador Clawhammer prefers to refer to his
role as refereeing the elections, nothing more," Retief
corrected.
"Aye," the Tsugg nodded, "that's what I said. So
how is it ye're interfering with the free democratic
process by coshing Dir Blash in the midst of exercising
his voice in local affairs?"
"We bureaucrats are a mild lot," Retief clarified,
361

RETIEF AT LARGE
"unless someone gets between us and our jelly
doughnuts."
Red-sash was weaving on his feet, shaking his head.
" 'Tis a scurvy trick," he said blurrily, "sneaking a
concealed anvil into a friendly little six-to-one crowbar
affray."
"Let'sgo," one of the others said, "ere he produces
a howitzer from his sleeve." Thtbanditi mounted their
wild-eyed steeds amid much snorting and tossing of
fanged heads.
"But we'll not forget ye're visage, off-worlder,"
another promised. "I wot well we'll meet again—and
next time we'll be none so lenient."
A hubbub of pleased chatter broke out among the
lesser Oberonians as the party passed from sight.
"Milord has saved Great-uncle Binkster's fried fat
this day," the small being who had enlisted Retief's aid
cried. The Terran leaned over, hands on knees, which
put his face on a level only a foot or two above that of
the little fellow.
"Haven't I seen you before?" he asked.
"Certes, milord—until an hour since, I eked out a
few coppers as third assistant pastry cook in the inn
yonder, assigned to the cupcake division, decorative
icing branch." He sighed. "My specialty was
rosebuds—but no need to burden your grace with my
plaint."
"You lost your job?"
"Aye, that did I—but forsooth, 'tis but a trifling
circumstance, in light of what I o'erheard ere the hos-
tler bade me hie me from the premises forthwith!"
"Let's see, your name is—"
"Prinkle, milord. Ipstitch Prinkle IX, at your ser-
362

BALLOT AND BANDITS
vice." The Twilpritt turned as a slightly plumper,
grayer version of himself bustled up, bobbing his head
and twitching his ears in a manner expressive of effu-
sive gratitude. "And this, Milord, is Uncle Binkster, in
the flesh,"
"Your servant, sir," Uncle Binkster squeaked,
mopping at his face with a large striped handkerchief.
"Wouldst honor me by accepting a cooling draft of
pring-lizard milk and a lardy-tart?"
"In sooth, Uncle, he needs something stronger than
whey," Prinkle objected. "And in sooth, The Plump
Sausage offers fine ale—if your Grace can manage the
approaches," he added, comparing Retief s six foot
three with the doorway.
"I'll turn sideways," Retief reassured the Obero-
nian. He ducked through, was led across the crowded
room by a bustling eighteen-inch tapman to a corner
table, where he was able to squeeze himself onto a
narrow bench against the wall.
"What'll it be, gents?" the landlord inquired.
"Under the circumstances, I'll stick to small beer,"
Retief said.
"Ale for me," Uncle Binkster said. " 'Tis vice,
perhaps to tipple ere lunchtime, but with Tsuggs roam-
ing the Quarter and battering down walls, one'd best
tipple while opportunity presents itself."
"A sound principle," Retief agreed. "Who are
these Tsuggs, Uncle Binkster?"
' 'Lawless rogues, down from the high crags for easy
pickings," the elderly baker replied with a sigh.' 'After
youTerrans sent the Groaci packing, we thought all our
troubles were over. Alas, I fear me 'tis not the case. As
soon as the ruffians got the word the Five Eyes were
363

RETIEF AT LARGE
pulling out, they came swarming down out of the hills
like zing-bugs after a jam-wagon—'tis plain they mean
to elect their ruffianly chief, Hoobrik the Uncouth.
Bands of them roam the city, and the countryside as
well, terrorizing the voters—" He broke off as the
landlord placed a foaming three-inch tankard before
Retief.
"Away with that thimble, Squirmkin!" he
exclaimed. ' 'Our guest requires a heartier bumper than
that!"
" 'Tis an Emperor-sized mug," the landlord said,
"but I allow his dimensions dwarf it. Mayhap I can
knock the top out of a hogshead . . ."He hurried
away.
"Pray don't mistake me, milord," Uncle Binkster
resumed. "Like any patriot, I rejoiced to see the
Sticky-finger go, leaving the conduct of Oberonian
affairs to Oberonians. But who'd have guessed we
normal-sized chaps would at once be Subjected to de-
predations by our own oversized kith and kin exceeding
anything the invaders ever practiced!"
"A student of history might have predicted it,"
Retief pointed out. "But I agree: being pushed around
by local hoodlums is even less satisfying than being
exploited from afar."
"Indeed so," Prinkle agreed. "In the case of for-
eigners one can always gain a certain relief by hurling
descriptive epithets, mocking their outlandish ways
and blaming everything on their inherent moral
leprosy—an awkward technique to use on one's rela-
tives."
The landlord returned, beaming, with a quart-sized
wooden container topped by a respectable head. Retief
raised it in salute and drank deep.
364

BALLOT AND BANDITS
"And if what my nephew o'er-heard be any indica-
tion," Uncle Binkster went on, wiping foam from his
whiskers, "the worst is yet to come. Hast related all to
our benefactor, lad?"
"Not yet, Uncle." Prinkle turned to Retief. "I was
sweeping up crumbs in the VIP breakfast room, my
mind on other matters when I heard the word 'Tsugg'
bandied among the company still stitting at the table. I
cocked an auricle, thinking to hear the scoundrels
roundly denounced, only to catch the intelligence that
their chief, that brawling bravo Hoobrik, representing
himself to be spokesman and natural leader of all Obe-
ron, withal, hath demanded audience of His Impres-
siveness, Ambassador Clawhammer! 'Twas but natural
that I undertook to disabuse their Lordships of this
impertinent notion, accidentally overturning a pot of
chocolate in process thereof—"
"Alas, my nephew is at times too enthusiastic in his
espousal of his views," Uncle Binkster put in.
"Though 'tis beyond dispute, in this instance he was
sorely tried."
"In sooth, so was his honor, Mr. Magnan, when the
cocoa landed in his lap," Prinkle admitted. "Happily,
'twas somewhat cooled by long standing."
"A grosteque prospect," Uncle Binkster ruminated.
"Those scapegrace villains, lording it over us honest
folk! Perish the thought, Sir Retief! I trow I'd sooner
have the Five-eyes back!"
"At least they maintained a degree of control over
the ne'r-do-wells," Prinkle said, "restricting them to
their hills and caves."
"As will we, lad, once the election is consum-
mated," Uncle Binkster reminded the youth. "Natu-
rally, we Twilpritt stand ready to assume the burden of
365

RETIEF AT LARGE
policing the rabble, as is only right and natural, as soon
as our slate is elected, by reason of our supervisor
virtues—"
"Hark not to the old dodderer's maunderings,
Giant," a tiny voice peeped from the next table. A
miniature Oberonian, no more than nine inches tall,
raised his one-ounce glass in salute. "We Chimberts,
being nature's noblemen, are of course divinely ap-
pointed to a position of primacy among these lumbering
brutes, saving your presence, milord—"
"Dost hear a dust-cricket chirping in the wood-
work?" a medium-sized Oberonian with black circles
resembling spectacles around his eyes inquired loudly
from three tables away. " 'Twere plain e'en to an
outworlder that weChoobs are the rightful inheritors of
the mantle of superiority. Once in office we'll put an
end to such public ran tings."
"You in office?" Prinkle yelped. "O'er my corpse,
varlet!" He leaped up, slopping beer as he cocked his
arm to peg the mug at the offender.
"Stay, nephew!" Uncle Binkster restrained the
youth.' 'Pay no heed to the wretch, doubtless he's in his
cups—"
"Drunk, am I, you old sot!" the Choob yelled,
overturning the table as he leaped up, grabbing for the
hilt of his foot-long sword "I'll ha' a strip o' thy
wrinkled hide for that allegation—'' His threat was cut
off abruptly as a tankard, hurled from across the room,
clipped him over the ear, sending him reeling into the
next table, whose occupants leaped up with indignant
shouts and flailing fists.
"Gentlemen, time, time!" the landlord wailed, be-
fore diving behind the bar amid a barrage of pewter-
366

BALLOT AND BANDITS
Retief finished his beer in a long swallow and rose,
looming over the battle raging about his knees.
"A pleasure, gentlemen," he addressed the room at
large. "I hate to leave such a friendly gathering, but
Staff Meeting time is here."
"Farewell, Sir Retief," Prinkle panted from under
the table, where he grappled with a pale-furred local of
about his own weight.' 'Call around any time for a drop
and a bit of friendly political chat."
' 'Thanks,'' Retief said. "If things get too slow in the
front line trenches I'll remember your invitation."
II
As Retief entered the conference room—a converted
packing room in the former warehouse temporarily
housing the Terran Mission to the newly liberated
planet Oberon—First Secretary Magnan gave him a
sour look.
"Well—here you are at last. I'd begun to fear you'd
lingered to roister with low companions in your usual
manner."
"Not quite my usual manner," Retief corrected.
"We'd barely started to roister when I remembered
Staff Meeting. By the way, what do you know about a
fellow called Hoobrik the Uncouth?"
Magnan looked startled. "Why, that name is known
°nly to a handful of us in the inner security circle," he
said in a lowered tone, glancing about. "Who leaked it
to you, Retief?"
"A few hundred irate locals. They didn't seem to
know it was a secret."
"Well, whatever you do, act surprised when the
367

RETIEF AT LARGE
Ambassador mentions it," Magnan cautioned his
junior as they took seats at the long table. "My," he
went on as the shouts of the crowd outside the building
rose to a thunderous level, "how elated the locals are,
now they realize we've relieved them of the burdens of
Groaci overlordship! Hear their merry cries!"
"Remarkable," Retief agreed. "They have a better
command of invective than the Groaci themselves."
"Why, Wilbur," Magnan said as Colonel Saddle-
sore, the Military Attache slipped into the chair beside
him, avoiding his glance. "However did you get that
alarming discoloration under your eye?"
"Quite simple, actually." The colonel bit off his
words like bullets. "I was struck by a thrown political
slogan."
Magnan sniffed. "There's no need for recourse to
sarcasm."
"The slogan," Saddlesore amplified, "was in-
scribed on the rind of a bham-bham fruit of the approx-
imate size and weight of a well-hit cricket ball."
"I saw three small riots myself on the way in to the
office," the Press Attache said in a pleased tone. "Re-
markable enthusiasm these locals show for universal
suffrage."
"I think it's time, however," the Counselor put in
ponderously, "that someone explained to them that the
term 'political machine' does not necessarily refer to a
medium tank."
The chatter around the long table cut off abruptly as
Ambassador Clawhammer, a small pinkfaced man with
an impressive paunch, entered the room, glowered at
his staff as they rose, waved them to their seats as he
waited for silence.
368

BALLOT AND BANDITS
"Well, gentlemen," he looked around the table.
"What progress have you to report anent the prepara-
tion of the populace for the balloting?"
A profound silence ensued.
"What about you, Chester?" Clawhammer ad-
dressed the Counselor. "I seem to recall instructing
you to initiate classes in parliamentary procedure
among these riffraff—that is to say, among the free
citizens of Oberon."
"I tried, Mr. Ambassador. I tried," Chester said
sadly. "They didn't seem to grasp the idea quite. They
chose up sides and staged a pitched battle for posses-
sion of the chair."
"Ah—I can report a teentsy bit of progress in my
campaign to put across the idea of one man, one vote,"
a slender-necked Political Officer spoke up.' 'They got
the basic idea, all right." He paused.' 'The only trouble
was, they immediately deduced the corollary: one less
man, one less vote." He sighed, "Luckily, they were
evenly matched, so no actual votes were lost."
"You might point out the corollary to the corol-
lary," Retief suggested, "the lighter the vote, the
smaller the Post Office."
"What about your assigned task of voter registra-
tion, eh, Magnan?" the Chief of Mission barked. "Are
you reporting failure too?"
"Why, no indeed, sir, not exactly failure; at least not
utter failure; it's too soon to announce that—"
"Oh?" The Ambassador looked ominous. "When
do you think would be an appropriate timet After disas-
ter strikes?"
"I'd like to propose a rule limiting the number of
Political parties to P minus 1, P being the number of
369

RETIEF AT LARGE
voters," Magnan said hastily. "Otherwise we run the
risk that no one gets a majority."
"No good, Magnan," the Counselor for P R Affairs
spoke up.' 'We don't want to risk a charge of meddling.
However," he added thoughtfully, "we might just up
the nomination fee to a figure sufficiently astronomical
to keep the trash out—that is, to discourage the weakly
motivated."
"I don't know, Irving," the Econ Officer ran his
fingers through his thinning hair in a gesture of frustra-
tion. "What we really need is to prune the ranks of the
voters more drastically. Now, far be it from me to
propose strong-arm methods—but what if we tried out
a modified Grandfather Rule?"
"Say—a touch of the traditional might be in order at
that, Oscar," the Political Officer agreed tentatively.
"Just what did you have in mind?"
' 'Actually I haven't worked out the details—but how
about limiting the franchise to those who have grand-
fathers? Or possibly grandchildren? Or even both?"
"Gentlemen!" Ambassador Clawhammer cut short
the debate. "We must open our sights. The election
promises to degenerate into a debacle of ruinous pro-
portions, career-wise, unless we break through with a
truly fresh approach." He paused impressively. "For-
tunately," he continued in the modest tones of Caesar
accepting the crown, "I have evolved such an ap-
proach." He raised a hand in kindly remonstrance at
the chorus of congratulations that broke out at his
announcement.
"It's clear, gentlemen, that what is needed is the
emergence of a political force that will weld together
the strands of Oberonian political coloration into a
370

BALLOT AND BANDITS
unified party capable of seating handy majorities. A
force conversant with the multitudinous benefits which
would stem from a sympathetic attitude toward Terran
interests in the Sector."
"Yes, Chief," an alert underling from the Admin
Section took his cue. "But, gosh, who could possibly
produce such a miracle from the welter of divergent
political creeds here on Oberon? They're practically at
swords' points with each other over each and every
question of policy, both foreign and domestic."
Clawhammer nodded acknowledgment. "Your
question is an acute one, Dimplick. Happily, the an-
swer is at hand. I have made contact, through confiden-
tial channels, with a native leader of vast spiritual
influence, who bids fair to fulfill the role to perfec-
tion." He paused to allow the staff to voice spontane-
ous expressions of admiration, then raised a palm for
silence.
"While 'Golly!' and 'Wow!' are perhaps less ele-
gant effusions than one might logically expect from an
assemblage of senior career diplomats," he said stern-
ly, but with a redeeming twinkle in his small, red-
rimmed eyes, "I'll overlook the lapse this time on the
basis of your obvious shock at receiving such glad
tidings after your own abysmal failures to produce any
discernible progress."
"Sir, may we know the name of this messiah?"
Magnan chirped. "When do we get to meet him?"
"Curious that you should employ that particular
term with reference to Hoobrik," Clawhammer said
complacently.' 'At this moment, the guru is meditating
in the mountains, surrounded by his chelas, or dis-
ciples, known as Tsuggs in the local patois."
371

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Did you say—Hoobrik?" Magnan queried uncer-
tainly. "Goodness, what a coincidence that he should
have the same name as that ruffian of a bandit chief who
had the unmitigated effrontery to send one of his
strong-arm men to threaten your Excellency!"
Clawhammer's pink features deepened to a dull
magenta which clashed sharply with his lime-green
seersucker suit.
"I fear, Magnan," he said in a tone like a tire-iron
striking flesh, "that you've absorbed a number of er-
roneous impressions. His Truculence, Spiritual Leader
Hoobrik, dispatched an emissary, it's true, to propose
certain accommodations sphere-of-influence-wise; but
to proceed from that circumstance to an inference that I
have yielded to undue pressures is an unwarranted
speculative leap!"
"Possibly I just misinterpreted his messenger's
phraseology, sir," Magnan said with a tight little
smile. "It didn't seem to me that 'foreign blood-
suckers' and 'craven paper-pushers' sounded all that
friendly."
" 'IPBM's may fry our skins, but words will never
hurt us,' eh, sir?" the Econ Officer piped brightly,
netting himself a stab of the Ambassadorial eye.
"Still, it's rather strong language," Colonel Saddle-
sore spoke up to fill the conversational gap. "But I
daresay you put the fellow in his place, eh, Mr. Ambas-
sador?"
"Why, as to that, I've been pondering the precisely
correct posture to adopt vis-a-vis the TsuggS,
protocol-wise. I confess for a few moments I toyed with
the idea of a beefed-up 804-B: Massive Dignity, with
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BALLOT AND BANDITS
overtones of Leashed Ire; but cooler counsels soon
prevailed."
"How about a 764, sir?" the Econ Officer essayed.
"Amused Contempt, with just a hint of Unpleasant
Surprise in the Offing?"
"Too subtle," Colonel Saddlesore grunted. "What
about the old standby, 26-A?"
"Oh, the old 'Threat to Break Off Talks' ploy, eh?
Embellished with a side-issue of Table-Shape Dispute,
I assume?"
"Gentlemen!" Clawhammer called the conference
to heel. "You forget that the date of the elections is
rushing toward us! We've no time for traditional ploys.
The problem is simple: how best to arrive at a meeting
of the minds with the guru."
"Why not just call him in and offer to back him in a
takeover, provided he plays ball?" the PR Chief pro-
posed bluntly.
"I assume, Irving," Clawhammer said into the
shocked silence, "that what you actually meant to
suggest was that we give His Truculence assurances of
Corps support in his efforts to promote Oberonian
welfare—in the event of his securing the confidence of
the electorate, as evinced by victory at the polls, of
course."
"Yeah, something like that," Irving muttered, slid-
ing down in his chair.
"Now," Clawhammer said, "the question remains,
how best to tender my compliments to His Truculence,
isolated as he is in his remote fastness—"
"Why, simpleenough, sir," Magnan said. "We just
send a messenger along with an invitation to tea. Some-
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RETIEF AT LARGE
thing impressive in a gold-embossed, I'd suggest."
"I understand this fellow Hoobrik has ten thousand
blood-thirsty cutthroats—ah, that is, wisdom-hungry
students—at his beck and call," the Econ Officer con-
tributed. "They say anybody who goes up there comes
back with his tail cropped."
"Small hazard, since we Terries have no tails,"
Magnan said.
"I've got a funny feeling they'd figure out some-
thing else to crop," Oscar retorted sharply.
"Am I to infer, Magnan, you're volunteering to
convey the bid?" Clawhammer inquired blandly.
"Me, sir?" Magnan paled visibly. "Heavens, I'd
love to—except that I'm under observation for possible
fourth-degree cocoa burns."
"Fourth-degree burns?" Colonel Saddlesore won-
dered aloud. "I'd like to see that. I've heard of first,
second, and third degree, but—"
"The symptoms are invisible to lay inspection,"
Magnan snapped. "Additionally, my asthma is aggra-
vated by high altitudes."
"By Gad," Colonel Saddlesore whispered to his
neighbor, "7'd like a chance to confront these
fellows—"
"Better wear your armor, Wilbur," his confidant
replied. "From all reports, they weigh in at three
hundred pounds and wear six-foot cutlasses with which
they lay about them freely when aroused. And they say
the sight of a Terry arouses them worse than anything •''
''—but, as I was about to say, my duties require that
I hole up in my office for the forseeable future," the
colonel finished.
"Cutlasses, you say?" the Econ Officer pricked up
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BALLOT AND BANDITS
his ears. "Hmm. Might be a market here for a few
zillion up-to-date hand-weapons—for police use only,
of course."
"Capital notion, Depew," the Political Officer nod-
ded approvingly. "Nothing like a little firepower to
bring out the natural peace-loving tendencies of the
people."
"Now, gentlemen—let us avoid giving voice to any
illiberal doctrines," Clawhammer said sharply. "Our
only motive, let us remember, is to bring the liberated
populace to terms with the political realities—in this
case, the obvious need for a man on horseback—or
should I say a Tsugg on Vornchback?" The Terran
envoy smiled indulgently at his whimsy.
"I have a question, Mr. Ambassador," Retief said.
"Since we're here to supervise free elections, why
don't we let the Oberonians work out their own political
realities?"
Clawhammer looked blank.
"Just—ah—how do you mean?" the Political Of-
ficer prompted uneasily.
"Why don't we let them nominate whomever they
want, vote for any candidate they like?" Retief
explained.
"I suggest you forget these radical notions, young
fellow," Clawhammer said sternly. "These free elec-
tions will be conducted in the way that free elections
have always been conducted. And now that I've con-
sidered the matter, it occurs to me it might be valuable
experience for you to pay the proposed call on His
Truculence. It might serve to polish your grasp of
Protocol a trifle."
"But, sir," Magnan spoke up. "I need Mr. Retief to
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RETIEF AT LARGE
help me do the Consolidated Report of Delinquent
Reports—"
"You'll have to manage alone, I fear,Magnan. And
now, back to the ramparts of democracy, gentlemen!
As for you, Retief—" The Ambassador fixed Retief
with a sharp eye: "I suggest you comport yourself with
a becoming modesty among the Tsugg. I should dislike
to have to report any unfortunate incident."
"I'll do my best to see that no such report reaches
you, sir," Retief said cheerfully.
Ill
The green morning sun of Oberon shone down
warmly as Retief, mounted on a wiry Struke, a slightly
smaller and more docile cousin of the fierce Vorch
tamed by the Tsuggs, rode forth from the city gates.
Pink and yellow borms warbled in the tree tops; the
elusive sprinch darted from grass tuft to grass tuft. The
rhythmic whistling of doody-bugs crying to their young
supplied a somnolent backdrop to the idyl.
Retief passed through a region of small, tidy farms,
where sturdy Doob peasants gaped from the furrows.
The forest closed in as the path wound upward into the
foothills. In mid-afternoon he tethered the Struke and
lunched beside a waterfall on pate sandwiches and
sparkling Bacchus Black from a coldflash. He was just
finishing off his mousse eclaire when a two-foot steel
arrow whistled past his ear to bury itself six inches in
the dense blue wood of a Nunu tree behind him.
Retief rose casually, yawned, stretched, took out a
vanilla dope stick and puffed it alight, at the same time
376

BALLOT AND BANDITS
scanning the underbrush. There was a quick movement
behind a clump of Foon bushes; a second bolt leaped
past him, almost grazing his shoulder, to rattle away in
the brush. Appearing to notice nothing, Retief took a
leisurely step toward the Nunu tree, slipped suddenly
behind it. With a swift motion he grasped a small,
limber branch growing out at waist height on his side of
the two-foot bole, bent it down and pegged the tip to the
shaggy, porous bark, using the match-sized dope stick
to pin it in place. Then he moved quickly away, keep-
ing the tree between himself and the unseen archer, to
the concealment of a dense patch of shrubbery.
A minute passed; a twig popped. A bulky, tattooed
Tsugg appeared, a vast, dumpy figure clad in dirty
silks, holding a short, thick, recurved bow clamped in
one boulder-like fist, a quarrel nocked, the string
drawn. The dacoit tiptoed forward, jumped suddenly
around the tree. Finding his quarry fled, he turned,
stood with his back to the tree peering into the under-
growth .
At that moment, the bent branch, released by the
burning of the dope stick, sprang outward, ramming the
astounded bowman in the seat of his baggy green vel-
veteen trousers. The arrow smacked into the dirt at his
feet as he jumped, then stood rigid.
"Don't strike, sir!" he urged in a plaintive tenor.
"The older lads put me up to it—"
Retief strolled from his shelter, nodded easily to the
Tsugg, plucked the bow from his nerveless grip.
"Nice workmanship," he said, inspecting the
Weapon. "Groaci trade goods?"
' 'Trade goods?'' the Tsugg said with a note of indig-
nation. "Just because yer partner has a dirk at me
377

RETIEF AT LARGE
back's no cause to make mockery of me. I plundered it
from the Five-eyes all open and aboveboard, so help
me."
"Sorry," Retief said. He withdrew the arrow from
the loam, fitted it to the bow experimentally.
' 'You're not by chance a member of Hoobrik's band,
are you?" he inquired off-handedly.
"Too right it's not by chance," the Tsugg said
emphatically. "I went through the Ordeal, same's the
other lads."
"Lucky we met," Retief said. "I'm on my way to
pay a call on His Truculence. Can you lead me to
him?"
The Tsugg straightened his two-hundred-and-
ninety-pound bulk. "Tell yer crony to do his worst,"
he said with a small break in his voice. "Fim Gloob's
not the Tsugg to play the treacher."
"It wasn't exactly treachery I had in mind," Retief
demurred. "Just ordinary diplomacy."
"Yer threats will avail ye naught," Fim Gloob de-
clared.
"I see what you mean," Retief said. "Still, there
should be some way of working this out."
"No outsider goes to the camp of Hoobrik but as a
prisoner." The Tsugg rolled his shiny black eyes at the
Terran. "Ah, sir—would ye mind asking yer sidekick
not to poke so hard? I fear me he'll rip me weskit, stole
for me by me aged mums it were, a rare keepsake.'
"Prisoner, eh, Fim? By the way, I don't have a
sidekick."
"That being the way of it," Fim Gloob said care-
fully, after a short, thoughtful pause, "who'd be the
villain holding the blade to me kipglands?"
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BALLOT AND BANDITS
"As far as I know," Retief said candidly, "there's
nobody here but you and me."
The Tsugg turned his head cautiously, peered behind
him. With a grunt of annoyance he snapped a finger at
the offending bough.
"Me and me overactive imagination," he snorted.
"And now—"
He turned to Retief with a scowl.
"Remember, I still have the bow," Retief said
pleasantly.
"And a mort o' good it'll do ye," Fim snarled,
advancing. "Only a Tsugg born and bred has the arm to
draw that stave!"
"Oh?" Retief set the arrow and with an easy motion
pulled until the arrowhead rested against the bow, the
latter being bent into a sharp curve. Another inch—and
the stout laminated wood snapped with a sharp twang.
"I see what you mean," Retief said. "But then the
Groaci always did produce flimsy merchandise."
"You—you broke it!" Fim Gloob said in tones of
deep dismay.
"Never mind—I'll steal you a new one. We have
some ladies' models in the Recreation Kits that ought
not to overstrain you."
"But—I'm reckoned the stoutest bowman in the
band."
"Don't give it another thought, Fim. They'll love
you when you bring in a live Terry, single-handed."
"Who, me?"
"Of course. After all, I'm alone and unarmed. How
could I resist?"
"Aye—but still—"
"Taking me in as a prisoner would look a lot better
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RETIEF AT LARGE
than having me saunter in on my own and tell Hoobrik
you showed me the route."
"Wouldst do such a dirty trick?" Fim gasped.
"I wouldst—unless we start immediately," Retief
assured the Tsugg.
Fim sighed. "I guess I know when I'm licked. I
mean when you're licked. Let's go, prisoner. And let's
hope His Truculence is in a good mood. Otherwise he' 11
clap ye on the rack and have the whole tale out of ye in a
trice!"
IV
A few dozen heavyweights lazing about the com-
munal cooking pot or sprawling in the shade under the
striped awnings stretched between the trees looked up
in mild interest as Retief appeared on struke-back, Fim
Gloob behind him astride his Vorch, glowering fero-
ciously as he verbally prodded the lone Terran forward.
"Ho, that's far enough," he roared. "Dismount,
while I seek instruction o' His Truculence whether to
h'ist ye out of hand or ha' a bit o' sport wi' ye first."
"Ha, what be this, Gloob?" a bulky outlaw boomed
as Retief swung down from the saddle. "An off-
worder, I trow!"
"That he'snoOberonian, is plain," another offered.
"Mayhap a two-eye variety o'Five-eyes."
Fim yelled. "Clear the way—I've fetched this Terry
here to divert the great Hoobrik wi' his saucy sayings.''
"Here, what passes?" a familiar baritone cut
through the clamor. A large Tsugg in a red sash pushed
through the mob, which gave way grudgingly, with
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BALLOT AND BANDITS
much muttering. The newcomer halted with a jerk
when his eye fell on Retief.
"Methinks," he said, "I've seen you before, sir-
rah."
"We've met," Retief acknowledged.
"Though all you Terries look alike to me." Dir
Blash fingered his jaw gingerly. "Meseemeth 'twas in
the Street of the Sweetmakers—"
"So it was."
"Aha! I've got it!" Dir Blash clapped Retief on the
shoulder. "My boon companion! Ah, bullies," he ad-
dressed his fellows, "this Terry gave me a shot of
something with a kick like a Vorch—though for the life
of me I can't recall the precise circumstances. How
wert thou yclept again, sirrah?"
"Retief; lucky you have the kind of memory you do,
Dir Blash; your compatriots were just debating the best
method of putting me out of my misery."
"Say you so?" Dir Blash looked around threaten-
ingly, his hand on the hilt of his cutlass. "Nobody
murders my drinking buddies but me." He turned back
to Retief.' 'Say, you wouldn't chance to have any more
of the same, would you?"
"I'm saving it for a special occasion," Retief said.
"Well, what could be more special than a reprieve
from being staked out on a zing-wasp hive, eh?"
"We'll celebrate later," Retief said. "Right now I'd
appreciate a short interview with His Truculence."
"If I use my influence to get you in, wilt let me have
another sample later?"
"If things work out as they usually do," Retief said,
'I think you can be sure of it."
381

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Then come along, Dir Retief. I'll see what I can
do."
Hoobrik the Uncouth, lounging in a hammock under
a vari-colored canopy, gazed indifferently at Retief as
Dir Blash made the introductions. He was an immense
Tsugg, above the average height of his kind, his obesity
draped in voluminous beaded robes. He selected a large
green berry from a dented silver bowl at his elbow,
shook exotic salts over it from a heavy gold saltshaker
and popped it into his mouth.
"So?" he grunted, spitting the seeds over the side.
"Why disturb my meditations with trifles? Dispose of
the creature in any way that amuses you, Blash—but
save the head. I'll impale it on a pike and give it to the
Terry chieftain—gift-wrapped, of course."
Dir Blash nodded, scratching himself under the ribs.
"Well, thus doth the tart disintegrate, Retief," he said
in tones of mild regret. "Let's go—"
"I don't want to be a spoilsport, yourTruculence,"
Retief spoke up, "but Ambassador Clawhammer only
allows his staff to be decapitated at Tuesday morning
staff meetings."
"Staff meetings?" Hoobrik wondered aloud. "Is
that anything like a barbecue?"
"Close," Retief agreed. "Quite often a diplomat or
two is flayed alive and roasted over a slow fire."
"Hmm." Hoobrik looked thoughtful. "Maybe I
should introduce the custom here. My wish is to keep
up with the latest trends in government."
"In that connection," Retief said, offering the stiff
parchment envelope containing the invitation to the
reception, "His Excellency the Terrestrial Ambassador
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BALLOT AND BANDITS
Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary presents his
compliments and requests me to hand you this."
"Eh? What be this?" Hoobrik fingered the docu-
ment gingerly.
"Ambassador Clawhammer requests the honor of
your company at a ceremonial affair celebrating the
election," Retief explained.
"Ceremonial affair?" Hoobrik shifted uneasily,
causing the hammock to sway dangerously. "What
kind of ceremony?''
"Just a small semi-formal gathering of kindred
souls. It gives everyone a chance to show off their
clothes and exchange veiled insults face to face."
"Waugh! What kind of contest is this? Give me a
good hand-to-hand disemboweling any day!"
"That comes later," Retief said. "It's known as
Dropping by the Residence for a Drink. After the
Party."
"It hath an ominous sound," Hoobrik muttered. "Is
it possible you Terries are more ferocious than I'd
suspected?"
"Ha!" Dir Blash put in. "I myself dispatched half a
dozen of the off-worlders only this morning when they
sought to impede my entrance to a grog shop in the
village."
"So?" Hoobrik yawned. "Too bad. For a moment,
things were beginning to look interesting." He tore a
corner off the gold-edged invitation and used it to poke
at a bit of fruit rind wedged between his teeth. "Well,
off with you, Blash—unless you want to play a featured
role at my first staff meeting."
"Come, Terry," the red-sashed Tsugg growled,
reaching for Retief's arm. "I just remembered the part
383

RETIEF AT LARGE
of yesterday's carouse that had slipped my mind."
"I think," Retief said, evading the sub-chief's grab,
"it's time for that jolt I promised you." He stepped in
close and rammed a pair of pile-drive punches to Dir
Blash's midriff, laced a hard right to the jaw as the giant
doubled over and fell past him, out cold.
"Here!" Hoobrik yelled. "Is that any way to repay
my hospitality?" He stared down at his fallen hench-
man. "Dir Blash, get up, thou malingerer, and avenge
my honor!"
Dir Blash groaned. One foot twitched. He settled
back with a snore.
"My apologies," Retief said, easing the Groaci
pistol from inside his shirt. "Protocol has never been
my strong suit. Having committed a faux pas, I'd best
be on my way. Which route would be least likely to
result in the demise of any of your alert sentries?"
"Stay, off-worlder. Wouldst spread tidings of this
unflattering event abroad, to the detriment of my pol-
ling strength?"
"Word might leak out," Retief conceded. "Espe-
cially if any of your troops get in my way."
" 'Tis a shame not to be borne!" Hoobrik said
hoarsely. ' 'AIL Oberon knoweth that only a Tsugg can
smite another Tsugg senseless." He looked thoughtful.
"Still, if the molehill will not come to Meyer, Meyer
must to the molehill, as the saying goeth. Since thou
hast in sooth felled my liegeman, it follows you must be
raised at once to Tsugghood, legitimizing the event
after the fact, as it were."
"I'd be honored," Retief said amiably. "Provided,
of course, that you authorize me to convey your gra-
cious acceptance of His Excellency's invitation."
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BALLOT AND BANDITS
Hoobrik looked glum. "Well—we can always loot
the Embassy afterward. Very well, Terry—Tsugg-to-
be, that is. Done!" The chieftain heaved his bulk from
the hammock, stirred Dir Blash with a booted toe, at
which the latter groaned and sat up.
"Up, sluggard!" Hoobrik roared. "Summon a few
varlets to robe me for a formal occasion! And my guest
will require suitable robes, too." He glanced atRetief.
"But don't don them yet, lest they be torn and mud-
died."
"The ceremony sounds rather strenuous," Retief
commented.
"Not the ceremony," Hoobrik corrected. "That
cometh later. First cometh the Ordeal. If you survive
that I'll have my tailor fit you out as befits a sub-chief of
the Tsugg."
The Ceremonial Site for Ordeal Number One—a
clearing on forest slope with a breath-taking view of
the valley below—was crowded with Tsugg tribesmen,
good-naturedly quarreling, shouting taunts, offering
and accepting wagers and challenges, passing wine-
skins from hand to grimy hand.
"All right, everybody out of the Ring of the First
Trial," Dir Blash shouted, implementing his sugges-
tion with hearty buffets left and right. "Unless ye plan
to share the novitiate's hazards."
The mountaineers gave ground, leaving an open
space some fifty feet in diameter, to the center of which
Retief was led.
"All right, the least ye can do is give the off-worlder
breathing space." Dir Blash exhorted the bystanders
to edge back another yard.' 'Now, Retief—this is a sore
385

RETIEF AT LARGE
trial, 'tis true, but 'twill show you the mettle of the
Tsugg, that we impose so arduous a criterion on our-
sel's!" He broke off at a sound of crashing in the
underbrush. A pair of tribesmen on the outer fringe of
the audience flew into the air as if blown up by a mine,
as with ferocious snorts, a wild Vorch, seven feet at the
shoulder and armed with down-curving tusks, charged
from the underbrush. His rush carried him through the
ranks of the spectators into the inner circle, his short tail
whipping, his head tossing as he sought a new target.
His inflamed eye fell on Dir Blash.
"Botheration," the latter commented in mild an-
noyance as the beast lowered its head and charged.
Leaning aside, the Tsugg raised a fist of the size and
weight of a hand-axe, brought it down with a resound-
ing brongg! on the carnivore's skull. The unlucky beast
folded in mid-leap, skidded chin-first to fetch up
against Retief's feet.
"Nice timing," he remarked. "Ye'd think the brute
did it a-purpose, to plague a serious occasion," Dir
Blash said disapprovingly. "Drag the silly creature
away," he directed a pair of Tsugg. "He'll be broke to
harness for his pains. And now," he turned to Retief,
"if ye're ready—"
Retief smiled encouragingly.
"Right, then. The first trial is—take a deep breath
and hold it for the count of ten." Dir Blash watched
Retief's expression alertly for signs of dismay. Seeing
none, he raised a finger disappointedly.
"Very well. Inhale."
Retief inhaled.
' 'Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten," Dir
Blash said in a rush and stared curiously at the Terran,
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BALLOT AND BANDITS
who stood relaxed before him. A few approving shouts
rang out. Then came scattered hand-claps.
"Well," Dir Blash grunted. "You did pretty fair, I
suppose, for an off-worlder. Hardly turned blue at all.
You pass, I suppose."
"Hey," someone called from the front rank of the
gallery. "He's not—"
"Not still—" someone else queried.
"Still holding his breath?" a third Tsugg then asked
wonderingly.
"O' course not, lackwits!" Dir Blash bellowed.
"How could he? 'E'en Grand Master Cutthroat Dir-dir
Hooch held out but to the count of twelve!" He looked
closely at Retief. "Thous hast indeed resumed respira-
tion?" he murmured.
"Of course," Retief reassured the Tsugg. "I was
just grandstanding."
Dir Blash grunted. "In sooth, I've a feeling ye went
a good thirteen, if truth were known," he muttered
confidentially. "Hast made a specialty of suffoca-
tion?"
"Staff meetings, remember?" Retief prompted.
''To be sure." Dir Blash looked disgruntled.'' Well,
on to the Second Trial, Terry. Ye'll find this one e'en a
straiter test of Tsugghood than the last!'' He led the way
upslope, Retief close behind, the crowd following. The
path deteriorated into a rocky gully winding up between
nearly vertical walls of rock. Pebbles rattled around the
party from the crumbling cliffs above as members
clambered toward choice vantage points. A medium-
sized boulder came bounding down from a crag to
whistle overhead and crash thunderously away among
the trees below. The journey ended in a small natural
387

RETIEF AT LARGE
amphitheater, the floor of which was thickly littered
with stones of all sizes. Spectators took up positions
around the periphery above as pebbles continued to
clatter down around the tester and testee, who stood
alone at the center of the target. A head-sized rock
smashed down a yard from Retief. A chunk the size of a
grand piano poised directly above him gave an ominous
rumble and slid downward six inches amid a shower of
gravel.
"What happens if one of those scores a bull's-eye on
the candidate?" Retief inquired.
"It's considered a bad omen," Dir Blash said.' 'Drat
the pesky motes!" he added as a small fragment
bounded off the back of his neck. "These annoyances
detract from the solemnity of the occasion."
"On the contrary," Retief demurred politely. "I
think they add a lot of interest to the situation."
"Umm. Mayhap." Dir Blash gazed absently up-
ward, moving his head slightly to avoid being brained
by a baseball-sized missile. "Now, off-worlder," he
addressed Retief, ' 'prepare for the moment of truth.
Bend over—" he paused impressively—" and touch
your toes!"
"Do I get to bend my knees?" Retief temporized.
"Bend whatever you like," Dir Blash said with airy
contempt. "I trow this is one feat ye've not practiced at
your Ordeal of the Staff Meeting!"
"True," Retief conceded. "The closest we come is
lifting ourselves by our bootstraps." He assumed a
serious expression, bent over and, with a smooth mo-
tion, touched his fingertips to his toes.
"He did it in one try," someone called.
"Didn't even take a bounce!" another added.
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BALLOT AND BANDITS
The applause was general.
"Lacking in style," Dir Blash grumbled. "But a
pass, I allow. But now you face the Third Ordeal,
where ye're tricks will do ye no good. Come along."
They moved off. The stone piano crunched down on the
spot he and Retief had just vacated.
V
The route to the Third Site led upward through a
narrow cut to emerge on a bare rock slope. Fifty feet
away a flat-topped rock spire loomed up from the
depths, joined to the main mass of the peak by a
meandering ribbon of rock some six inches in width,
except where it narrowed to a knife edge, halfway
across. Dir Blash sauntered out across the narrow
bridge, gazing around him at the scenery.
"A splendid prospect, eh, Retief?" he called over
his shoulder. "Look on it well; it may be thy last. What
comes next has broken many a strong Tsugg down into
a babbling Glert."
Retief tried the footing; it held. Keeping his eyes on
the platform ahead, he walked quickly across.
"Now," Dir Blash said, "you may wish to take a
moment to commune with your patron devils or what-
ever it is you off-worlders burn incense to."
"Thanks, I'm in good shape incantation-wise," Re-
tief reassured him.' 'Only last night I joined in a toast to
the auditors."
"In that case—"Dir Blash pointed impressively to a
flat stone that lay across two square rocks, the top of
which cleared the ground by a good twelve inches.
389

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Leap the obstacle in a single bound."
Retief studied the hurdle from several angles before
taking up his position before it.
"I see you hesitate," Dir Blash taunted. "Dost
doubt thy powers at last, Terry?"
"Last year an associate of mine jumped fifty names
on the promotion list," Retief said. "Can I do less?"
Standing flat-footed, he hopped over the barrier. Turn-
ing, he hopped back again.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Suddenly pandemonium broke out. Dir Blash hesi-
tated only a moment, then joined in the glad cries.
"Congratulations, DirTief!" he bellowed, pound-
ing the Terran on the shoulder. "I warrant an off-
worlder of thy abilities would be an embarrassment to
all hands—but in sooth thou'rt now a Tsugg of the
Tsuggs, and thy attainments are an adornment to our
ilk!"
"Remarkable," said Hoobrik the Uncouth as he
stuffed a handful of sugar-coated green olives into his
mouth. "According to Blash you went through the
Ordeal like a Tsugg to the pavilion born. I may keep
you on as bodyguard, DirTief, after I get the vote out
and myself in."
"Coming from your Truculence, that's praise in-
deed," Retief said. "Considering your willingness to
offer yourself as a candidate without a whimper."
"What's to whimper?" Hoobrik demanded. "After
my lads have rounded up more voters than the opposi-
tion can muster, I'll be free to fill my pockets as best I
may. 'Tis a prospect I face calmly."
"True," Retief said. "But first there are a few
390

BALLOT AND BANDITS
rituals to be gotten past. There's Whistle-stopping,
Baby-kissing, Fence-sitting, and Mud-slinging, plus a
considerable amount of Viewing with Alarm."
"Hmm." Hoobrik rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Are these Ordeals the equal of our Rites of Tsugg-
hood, Retief?"
"Possibly even worse," Retief solemnly assured the
chieftain. "Especially if you wear an Indian war bon-
net."
"Out upon it!" Hoobrik pounded his tankard on the
table. "A Tsugg fears neither man nor beast."
"But did you ever face a quorum of Women Vot-
ers?" Retief countered quickly.
"My stout lads will ride down all opposition,"
Hoobrik declared with finality. "I've already made
secret arrangements with certain Five-eyed off-
worlders to supply me with all the write-in ballots I
need to make everything legal and proper. Once in
office, I can settle down to businesslike looting in an
orderly manner."
"But remember," Retief cautioned, "You'll be ex-
pected to stand on your Party Platform—at least for the
first few weeks."
"W-weeks?" Hoobrik faltered. "What is this plat-
form, Retief?"
"It's a pretty shaky structure," Retief confided.
"I've never known one to last past the first Legislative
Rebuff."
"What, yet another Ordeal?"
"Don't worry about it, your Truculence; it seldom
goes as far as Impeachment."
"Well? Don't keep me in suspense!" Hoobrik
roared. "What doth this rite entail?"
391

RETIEF AT LARGE
"This is where your rival politicians get even with
you for winning, by charging you with High Crimes
and Misdemeanors—"
"Stay!" Hoobrik yelled. "Is there no end to these
torments?"
"Certainly," Retief reassured the aroused leader.
"After you retire, you become a Statesman and are
allowed out on alternate All Fools Days to be queried as
to your views on any subject sufficiently trivial to grace
the pages of the Sunday Supplements."
"Arrrhh!" Hoobrik growled and drained his mug.
"See here, Retief," he said. "On pondering the mat-
ter, methinks 'twould be a gracious gesture on my part
to take second place on the ticket and let a younger
Tsugg assume party leadership; you, for example,
Blash," he addressed the sub-chief.
"Who, me?" the latter blurted. "Nay, my liege—as
I've said before, I am not now and do not intend to be a
candidate.''
"Who, then?" Hoobrik waved his arms in agitation.
' 'We need a Tsugg who'll appeal to a broad spectrum of
voters. A good scimitarman for beating down opposi-
tion inside the party, a handy club-wielder to bring in
the Independents, a cool hand with a dirk, for commit-
tee infighting—" He paused, looking suddenly
thoughtful.
"Well, I'll leave you gentlemen to look over the
lists," Retief said, rising. "May I tell the Ambassador
to expect you at the post-election victory reception?"
"We'll be there,'' Hoobrik said.' 'And I think I have
a sure-fire Tsugg standard-bearer in mind to pull in the
vote—"
392

BALLOT AND BANDITS
In the varicolored glow of lights strung in the hedges
ringing the former miniature golf course pressed into
service as Embassy grounds, the Terran diplomats
stood in conversation clumps across the fairways and
greens, glasses in hand, nervously eyeing the door
through which Ambassador Clawhammer's entrance
was expected momentarily.
Magnan said to Retief, glancing at his watch, "The
first results will be in any moment."
"I think we need have no fear of the outcome,"
Saddlesore stated. "Guru Hoobrik's students have
been particularly active in these final hours, zealously
applying posters to the polling places."
"And applying knots to the heads of reluctant con-
verts," the Political Officer added. "What I'm won-
dering is—after Hoobrik's inauguration, what's to pre-
vent his applying the same techniques to foreign dip-
lomats?"
"Tradition, my boy," the colonel said soothingly.
"We may be shot as spies or deported as
undesirables—but shaped up by wardheelers, no."
A stir crossed the lawn. Ambassador Clawhammer
appeared, ornate in the burgundy cutaway and puce
jodpurs specified by CDT Regs for early evening cere-
monial wear.
"Well? No word yet?" He stared challengingly at
his underlings, accepting one of the four drinks simul-
taneously thrust at him by alert junior officers. "My
private polls indicate an early lead for the Tsugg party,
increasing to a commanding majority as the rural coun-
ties report."
"Commanding is right," Magnan muttered behind
393

RETIEF AT LARGE
his hand.' 'One of the ruffians had the audacity to order
me to hold his gluepot while he affixed a poster to the
front door of the Embassy."
"What cheek," the Political Officer gasped. "You
didn't do it?"
"Of course not. "He held the gluepot, and I affixed
the placard."
Happy shouts sounded from the direction of the gate;
a party of Tsugg appeared, flamboyant in pink and
yellow, handing out footlong yellow cigars. A throng
of lesser Oberonians followed, all apparently in good
spirits.
"A landslide victory," one called to the assembly at
large. "Break out the wassail bowl!"
"Is* this official, Depew?" the Ambassador de-
manded of his Counselor, who arrived at that moment
at a trot, waving a sheaf of papers.
"I'm afraid so—that is, I'm delighted to confirm the
people's choice," he panted. "It's amazing—the
Tsugg candidate polled an absolute majority, even in
the oppositions' strongholds. It looks like every voter
on the rolls voted the straight Tsugg ticket."
"Certes, Terry," a Grimble confirmed jovially,
grabbing two glasses from a passing tray. "We know a
compromise candidate when we see one."
" 'Tis a clear mandate from the people," a Tsugg
declaimed. "Hoobrik will be along in a trice to help
with sorting out the spoils. As for myself, I'm not
greedy; a minor Cabinet post will do nicely."
"Out upon thee!" a jovial voice boomed as the
Tsugg chieftain swept through the gate, flanked by an
honor guard of grinning scimitar-bearers. "No undig-
nified rooting at the trough, lads—there's plenty to go
around."
394

BALLOT AND BANDITS
"Congratulations, your Truculence," Ambassador
Clawhammer cried, advancing with outstretched hand.
"I'm sure that at this moment you're feeling both proud
and humble as you point with pride—"
"Humble?" Hoobrik roared. "That's for losers,
Terry."
"To be sure." Clawhammer conceded the point.
"Now, your Truculence, I don't want to delay the
victory celebration—but why don't we first just sign
this little Treaty of Eternal Peace and Friendship, set up
to run for five years with a renewal option—"
' 'You' 11 have to speak to the new Planetary President
about that, Terry," the chieftain waved the proffered
document away. "As for myself, I have some impor-
tant drinking to catch up on."
"But—I was informed by a usually reliable
source—" Clawhammer turned to glare at the
Counsellor—"that the Tsugg party had carried off all
honors."
"True enough. By the way, where is he?"
"Where is who?"
"Our new Chief Executive, of course—" Hoobrik
broke off, pushed past Clawhammer, rushed forward
with outstretched arms, narrowly missing a small water
hazard, to embrace Retief, who had just appeared on
the scene.
"Stand aside, Retief," Clawhammer snapped. "I'm
in the midst of a delicate negotiation—"
"Employ a more respectful tone, Terry," Hoobrik
admonished the Ambassador sternly. "Consider to
whom you're speaking."
"To whom I'm speak?" Clawhammer said in bewil-
derment. "Whom am I speaking to?"
"Meet Planetary President Dir Tief," Hoobrik said
395

RETIEF AT LARGE
proudly, waving ahand at Retief. "The winner—and
new champion."
"Good lord, Retief," Magnan was the first to re-
cover his speech. "When? How?"
"What's the meaning of this?" Clawhammer burst
out. "Am I being made sport of?"
"Apparently not, Mr. Ambassador," Retief said.
"It seems they put me on the ballot as a dark horse—"
"You'll be a horse of a darker color before I'm
through with you—'' Clawhammer went rigid as twin
scimitars flashed, ended with their points pressed
against his neck.	>
"But how can a Terran be elected as head of the
Tsugg party?" the Political Officer asked.
"President Tief is no Terry," Hoobrik corrected.
"He's a Tsugg after my own heart!"
"But—doesn't the president have to be a natural-
born citizen?"
"Art suggesting our President is unnatural-born?"
Hoobrik grated.
"Why, no—"
" 'Tis well. In that case, best you present your
credentials at once and we can get down to business."
Clawhammer hesitated. A prod of the blade at his
jugular assisted him in finding his tongue.
"Why, ah, Mr. President—will your Excellency
kindly tell your thugs to put those horrible-looking
knives away?"
"Certainly, Mr. Ambassador," Retief said easily.
"Just as soon as we've cleared up a few points in the
treaty. I think it would be a good idea if the new
planetary government has a solemn CDT guarantee of
noninterference in elections from now on—"
396

BALLOT AND BANDITS
"Retief—you wouldn't dare—I mean, of course,
my boy, whatever you say."
"Also, it would be a good idea to strike out those
paragraphs dealing with CDT military advisors, tech-
nical experts and fifty-credit-a-day economists. We
Oberonians would prefer to work out our own fate."
"Yes—yes—of course, Mr. President. And
now—"
"And as to the matter of the one-sided trade
agreement—why don't we just scrap that whole section
and substitute a free commerce clause?"
"Why—if I agree to that they'll have my scalp, back
in the Department!"
"That's better than having it tied to a pole outside my
tent," Hoobrik pointed out succinctly.
"On the other hand," Retief said, "I think we
Tsuggs can see our way clear to supply a modest se-
curity force to ensure that nothing violent happens to
foreign diplomats among us as long as they stick to
diplomacy and leave all ordinary crime to us Obero-
nians."
"Agreed," Clawhammer squawked. "Where's the
pen?"
It took a quarter of an hour to delete the offending
paragraphs, substitute new wording and affix signa-
tures to the imposing document establishing formal
relations between the Corps Diplomatique Terres-
trienne and the Republic of Oberon. When the last
length of red tape had been affixed and the last blob of
sealing wax applied, Retief called for attention.
"Now that Terran-Oberonian relations are off on a
sound footing," he said, "I feel it's only appropriate
that I step down, leaving the field clear for a new
397

RETIEF AT LARGE
election. Accordingly, gentlemen, I hereby resign the
office of President in favor of my vice president, Hoob-
rik."
Amid the clamor that broke out, Clawhammer made
his way to confront Retief.
"You blundered at last, sir," he murmured in a
voice aquiver with rage. "You should have clung to
your spurious position long enough to have gotten a
head start for the Galactic periphery! I'll see you
thrown into a dungeon so deep that your food will have
to be lowered to you in pressurized containers! I'll—"
"You'll be on hand to dedicate the statue to our first
Ex-President, I ween?" President Hoobrfk addressed
the Terran envoy. "I think a hundred-foot monument
will be appropriate to express the esteem in which we
hold our Tsugg emeritus, Dir Tief, eh?"
"Why, ah—"
"We'll appreciate your accrediting him as perma-
nent Political Advisor to Oberon,'' Hoobrik continued.
"We'll need him handy to pose."
"To be sure," Clawhammer gulped.
"Now I think it's time we betook ourselves off to
more private surroundings, Dir Tief," the President
said. "We need to plot party strategy for the by-
election."
"You're all invited to sample the hospitality of the
Plump Sausage," BinksterDruzz spoke up. "Provided
I have your promises there'd be no breeching of
walls."
"Done!" Hoobrik cried heartily. "And by the way,
Dir Druzz—What wouldst think of the idea of a coali-
tion, eh?"
"Hmm—Twilprit sagacity linked with Tsugg bulk
398

BALLOT AND BANDITS
might indeed present a" formidable ticket," Binkster
concurred.
"Well, Retief," Magnan said as the party streamed
toward the gate, "yours was surely the shortest ad-
ministration in the annals of representational govern-
ment. Tell me confidentially—how in the world did
youinduce that band of thugs to accept you as their
nominee?"
"I'm afraid that will have to remain a secret for
now," Retief said. "But just wait until I write my
memoirs."
399

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
i
i
A DRIVING rain lashed the tarmac as Retief stepped
from the shuttlecraft that had ferried him down to
the planetary surface. From the direction of the low,
mushroom-shaped reception sheds a slight figure
wrapped in a voluminous black rubber poncho came
splashing toward him, waving excitedly.
"You got any enemies, Mac?" the shuttle pilot
asked nervously, watching the newcomer's approach.
"A reasonable number," Retief replied, drawing on
his cigar, which sputtered and hissed as the rain struck
the glowing tip. "However, this is just Counselor
Magnan from the Embassy, here to welcome me to the
scene with the local disaster status, no doubt."
"No time to waste, Retief," Magnan panted as he
came up. "AmbassadorGrossblunder has called a spe-
cial staff meeting for five pee em—half an hour from
now. If we hurry we can just make it. I've already seen
400

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
to Customs and Immigration; I knew you'd want to be
there, to, ah—"
"Share the blame?" Retief suggested.
"Hardly," Magnan corrected, flicking a drop of
moisture from the tip of his nose.' 'As a matter of fact, I
may well be in line for a word of praise for my handling
of the Cultural Aid Project. It will be an excellent
opportunity for you to get your feet wet, local
scenewise," he amplified, leading the way toward the
Embassy car waiting beside the sheds.
"According to the latest supplement to the Post
Report," Retief said as they settled themselves against
the deep-pile upholstery, "the project is scheduled for
completion next week. Nothing's gone wrong with the
timetable, I hope?"
Magnan leaned forward to rap at the glass partition
dividing the enclosed passenger compartment from the
open-air driver's seat. The chauffeur, a rather untidy-
looking local who seemed to consist of a snarl of purple
macaroni topped by a peaked cap with a shiny bill,
angled what Retief deduced to be an ear to catch the
Terran's instructions.
"Just swing past the theater on your way down,
Chauncey," Magnan directed. "In answer to your
question," he said complacently to Retief, "I don't
mind saying the project went off flawlessly, hitch wise.
In fact, it's completed a week early. As Project Direc-
tor, I fancy it's something of a feather in my cap,
considering the frightful weather conditions we have to
contend with here on Squale."
"Did you say theater? As I recall, the original pro-
posal called for the unusual Yankee Stadium-type
sports arena."
401

RETIEF AT LARGE
Magnan smiles loftily. "I thought it time to vary the
program."
"Congratulations, Mr. Magnan." Retief sketched a
salute with his cigar. "I was afraid the Corps Dip-
lomatique was going to go on forever inflicting bigger
and better baseball diamonds on defenseless natives,
while the Groaci countered with ever-larger and uglier
Bolshoi-type ballet arenas."
"Not this time," Magnan stated with satisfaction.
"I've beaten the scamps at their own game. This is Top
Secret, mind you—but this time we've built the
Bolshoi-type ballet theater!"
"A masterful gambit, Mr. Magnan. How are the
Groaci taking it?"
"They've come up with a rather ingenious coun-
terstoke, I must concede. Informed opinion has it the
copycats are assembling an imitation Yankee Stadium
in reprisal." Magnan peered out through the
downpour. The irregularly shaped buildings lining the
winding avenue loomed mistily, obscured by sheets of
wind-driven precipitation. Ahead, a gap in their orderly
ranks was visible. Magnan frowned as the car cruised
slowly past a large erratically shaped bulk set well back
from the curb.
"Here, Chauncey," he called. "I instructed you to
drive to the project site."
"Thure shing, moss-ban," a voice like a clogged
drain replied placatingly. "Weer we har."
"Chauncey—have you been drinking?"
"Woe, nurse luck." Chauncey braked to a stop; the
windshield wipers rotated busily; the air cushion sighed
heavily, driving ripples across the puddled street.
402

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
"Book, loss—we're right astreet the cross from the
Libric publary, nicht vahr?"
"The Lublic Pibrary, you mean—I mean the pubic
lilberry—"
"Yeah, mats what I thean. So—there's the
piblary—so buts the weef?" Chauncey extended the
cluster of macaroni that served as his hand, to wave like
seaweed in a light current.
"Visibility is simply atrocious here on Squale."
Magnan sniffed, rolling down the window and recoil-
ing as a blast of rain splattered his face. "But even
so—I shouldn't think I could get confused as to the
whereabouts of my own project."
"It looks like a collapsed circus tent," Retief com-
mented, studying the half-acre of canvas apparently
supported by a half-dozen randomly placed props.
"An optical illusion," Magnan said firmly. "The
structure is under wraps, of course; it's a secret, you
know. It's just the lighting, no doubt, that makes it look
so—so sort of squatty and unplanned." He was squint-
ing ferociously into the rain, shading his eyes with a
hand. "Still, why don't we just pop out and have a
closer look?"
Magnan thrust the door open and stumbled out; Re-
tief followed. They crossed a walk of colored, glazed
tile, skirted a bed of footwide green blossoms. Magnan
lifted aside a fold of plastic sheeting, revealing a yawn-
ing excavation at the bottom of which severed electrical
and plumbing connections poked up through the sur-
face of the muddy water pooling there.
"A treat nick," Chauncey said admiringly over his
shoulder. "Do'd you how it, Master Mignan?"
403

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Do'd I how what?" Magnan croaked.
"Dis it makappear," Chauncey amplified. "The
meaning, I build."
"Retief," Magnan whispered, blinking hard. "Tell
me I'm seeing things; I mean, that I'm not seeing
things."
"Correct," Retief said, "either way you phrase it."
"Retief," Magnan said in a breaking voice. "Do
you realize what this means?"
Retief tossed his cigar down into the empty pit,
where it hissed and went out. "Either you were kidding
me about the project—"
"I assure you—"
"—or we're standing on the wrong corner—"
"Absolutely not!"
"Or someone," Retief said, "has stolen one Bol-
shoi-type ballet theater."
"And I was dreaming of feathers in my cap," Mag-
nan moaned as the car braked to a halt before the
imposing facade of the Terrestrial Embassy. "I'll be
fortunate to salvage my cap from this fiasco—or my
head, for that matter. How will I ever tell Ambassador
Grossblunder I've misplaced his pet project?"
"Oh, I'm sure you'll be able to pass the incident off
with your usual savoir faire," Retief soothed him as
they stepped out into the drizzle. The Squalese door-
man, loosely packed in a regulation CDT-issue
coverall, nodded a cluster of writhing violet-hued fila-
ments at the Terrans as they came up.
"Jowdy, hents," he said as the door whooshed
open. "Rice nain, eh?"
"What's so rice about it?" Magnan inquired acidly.
"Harvey—has His Excellency gone in?"
404

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
' 'Men tinutes ago—in a masty nude. Didn't even hey
sello."
Inside, Magnan groaned, put a hand to his brow.
"Retief—I seem to have come down with a splitting
headache. Why don't you nip along and mention this
development just casually to the Ambassador. Possibly
you could play it down a trifle. No need to upset him
unduly, eh?"
"Good idea, Mr. Magnan," Retief said, handing his
weather cape into the check room. "I'll hint that it's all
a publicity trick you dreamed up to publicize the grand
opening."
"Excellent notion! And if you could subtly plant the
idea that you'll have it back in place in time for the
festivities—" Magnan looked hopefully at Retief.
"Since I just arrived fifteen minutes ago I think that
would be rather pushy of me. Then, too, he might want
to know why you were lying down at such a critical
moment in Terran/Squalian relations."
Magnan groaned again, resignedly.
"Let's hurry along, gentlemen," a short, black-
eyebrowed man in uniform called from the open
elevator door across the lobby. "We're holding the car
for you."
Magnan straightened his narrow shoulders. "Com-
ing, Colonel Otherday," he croaked. "Remember,
Retief," he added in an undertone, "we'll behave as
though it were the most natural thing in the world for a
ten-million-credit building to vanish between breakfast
and lunch."
"Did I hear someone mention lunch?" a portly dip-
lomat inquired from the back of the car.
"You just ate, Lester," a lean commercial attache
405

RETIEF AT LARGE
said. "As for you, Mr. Retief, you picked an inauspi-
cious moment to put in an appearance; I gather the
Ambassador's in a towering pet this evening."
Magnan glanced nervously at Retief. "Ah—any
idea what's troubling his Excellency?"
"Who knows?" the attache shrugged. "Last time it
was a deteriorating man/bean ratio in the Embassy
snack bar."
"This time it's even bigger than the bean crisis,"
Colonel Otherday stated flatly. "I have a feeling that
this time heads will roll."
"Does it have anything to do with, ah, anything that
might be—missing?"
"Ah-hah!" the lean attache pounced. "He knows
something, gentlemen."
"Come on, Magnan," the portly First Secretary
urged. "Let us in on it."
"How is it you always have the word first?" the
colonel inquired plaintively.
"Well, as to that—" Magnan started.
"Mr. Magnan is under oath to reveal nothing, gen-
tlemen," Retief cut in smoothly as the car halted and
the doors slid back on a wide, deep-carpeted confer-
ence room.
II
A long, polished table occupied the middle of the
floor, unadorned but for long yellow pads and ballpoint
pens at each place. A few seconds of unobtrusive
scuffling ensued as the diplomats, all veteran cam-
paigners, vied for choice positions, balancing the pres-
406

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
tige of juxtaposition to the Ambassadorial chair against
inconspicuousness in the event of scapegoat selection.
All hands stood as the inner door was flung wide.
The stern-visaged, multi-chinned figure of Ambas-
sador Grossblunder entered the room under full sail. He
scanned the assembled bureaucrats without visible ap-
proval, seated himself in the chair the Agricultural
Attache leaped to pull out, shot a piercing glance along
the table and cleared his throat.
"Lock the doors," he said. "Gentlemen, be seated.
I have solemn news for you." He paused impressively.
"We," he concluded solemnly, "have been robbed!"
A sigh passed along the table. All eyes swiveled to
Magnan.
"Robbed," Grossblunder repeated, emphasizing
the point with a blow of his fist which made the pencils,
plus a number of the diplomats, jump. "I have for some
time suspected that foul play was afoot; a short time ago
my worst fears were confirmed. Gentlemen, there is a
thief among us."
''Among us?" Magnan blurted.' 'But how—I mean,
why—that is to say, Mr. Ambassador, how could one
of us have purloined the—ah—loot in question?"
"You may well ask. One might also logically inquire
as to why any person connected with this Mission could
so far forget himself as to hide the feet that banns him.
That is, bite the fan that heeds him. I mean beat the hide
that fans him. Confound it, you know what I mean."
Grossblunder grabbed a glass of water and gulped a
swallow. "Been here too long," he muttered. "Losing
my grasp of the well-rounded period."
"A thief, you say, sir?" Colonel Otherday
prompted. "Well, how interesting—"
407

RETIEF AT LARGE
' 'Interesting is hardly the word for it," Grossblunder
barked.
"Apalling is a cut nearer the mark. Shocking,
though a trifle flaccid, carries a portion of the connota-
tion. This is a grievous blot on the CDT copybook,
gentlemen. A blow struck at the very foundations of
Galactic accord."
A nameless chorus rose.
"Right, chief—"
"Well phrased, sirs—"
"You said it, Boss—"
"Now, if anyone here wishes to come forward at this
juncture—" Grossblunder's ominous gaze travelled
along the table, lingered on Magnan.
- "You appear to be the focal point of all eyes, Mag-
nan," the Ambassador accused. "If you've a com-
ment, don't hesitate. Speak up."
"Why, as a matter of fact, sir—" Magnan gulped—
"I just wanted to say that as for myself, I was utterly
appalled—that is to say shocked—when I discovered
the loss. Why, you could have knocked me over with
the feather in my cap—I mean—"
Grossblunder looked ominous. "You're saying you
were already aware of the pilferage, Magnan?"
"Yes, and—"
The Ambassador glowered.
"And failed to confide this intelligence to me?"
"I didn't actually know until a few minutes ago,"
Magnan explained hastily. "Why, sir, you are positive
miles ahead of me. I'm simply able to confirm your
revelation—not that any confirmation is needed, of
course."
"There, gentlemen," Grossblunder said with admi-
ration, "is my conception of an alert officer. While the
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PIME DOESN'T CRAY
rest of you went about your business, oblivious of the
light fingers operating to the detriment of this Mission,
my Counselor, Mr. Magnan, alone among my subordi-
nates, sensed mischief afoot. My congratulations to
you, sir."
"Why, ah, thank you, Mr. Ambassador." Magnan
essayed a fragile smile. "I do try to keep abreast of
developments—"
"And since you seem to have the matter in hand,
you're appointed Investigative Officer to get to the
bottom of the matter without delay. I'll turn my records
over to you without further ado." Grossblunder shot
his cuff, allotted a glance to his watch. "As it happens,
my VIP copter is at this moment warming up on the
roof to whisk me over to the Secretariat, where I expect
to be tied up for the remainder of the evening in high-
level talks with the Foreign Minister regarding slurb-
fruit allocations for the coming fiscal quarter. It seems
our Groaci colleagues are out to cut us out of the pattern
luxury-trade-wise, a consummation hardly to be toler-
ated on my record." He rose. "You'll accompany me
to the helipad, Magnan, for last-minute briefing. As for
the rest of you—let Magnan's performance stand as an
example. You, there—" he pointed at Retief—"you
may carry my briefcase."
On the roof—aslosh with rainwater under the per-
petually leaden sky—Grossblunder turned to Magnan.
"I expect fast action, Ben. We can't allow this sort
of thing to pass unnoticed, as it were."
"I'll do my best, sir," Magnan chirped. "And I do
want to say it's awfully white of you not to hold me
personally responsible—not that anyone could actually
blame me, of course—"
' 'You responsible? No, I see no way in which I could
409

RETIEF AT LARGE
benefit from that. Besides which," he added, "you're
not an Admin man."
"Admin man, sir? What—"
"My analysis of the records indicates that a steady
trickle over the past two years at the present rate could
account for a total discrepancy on the order of sixty-
seven gross. Think of that, Magnan."
"Sixty-seven Bolshoi-type ballet theaters?" Mag-
nan quavered.	^
Grossblunder blinked, then allowed a smile to quirk
a corner of his mouth.
"No need to hint, Magnan. I haven't forgotten your
magnificent performance in the completion of the pro-
ject six days ahead of schedule. The grand opening
tomorrow is the one bright spot on my Effectiveness
Report—on my horizon, that is to say. I wouldn't be
surprised if there were a citation in store for the officer
responsible." He winked, then frowned. "But don't
allow the prospect to drive the matter of the missing
paper clips into eclipse. I want action."
"Paper clips, sir?"
' 'A veritable torrent of them, dropped from Embassy
records as expendable items. Outrageous! But no need
to say more, my boy; you're as aware as I of the
seriousness of the situation." Grossblunder gripped his
junior's thin shoulder. "Remember, Magnan—I'm
counting on you." He turned and clambered into his
seat. With a rising flutter of rotors the light machine
lifted into the overcast and was gone. Magnan turned
shakily to Retief.
"I—I though—I thought he knew—"
"Yes," Retief said commiseratingly. "Still, you
can always pick an opportune time to tell him later.
While he's pinning on the medal, perhaps."
410

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
' 'How can you jest at such a moment? Do you realize
that I have to solve not one but two crimes, before the
Ambassador and the Minister finish a bottle of Port?"
"That's a thought; maybe you can get a quantity
discount. Still, we'd better get started before they run
the ante up any higher."
Back in his office, Magnan found awaiting him a
letter bearing the Great Seal of the Groacian Au-
tonomy.
"It's an Aide Me'moire from that wretch, Ambas-
sador Shinth," he told Retief. "Announcing he's mov-
ing the date for the unveiling of his Cultural Aid project
up to midnight tonight." He groaned, tossed the note
aside. "This is the final blow, Retief. He's ready to
throw out the opening ball—and I'm without so much
as a kiosk to offer in rebuttal!"
"I understood the Groaci were behind schedule."
"They are. This entire affair is impossible, Retief.
No one could have stolen a complete building
overnight—and if they had, where would they hide it?
And even if they found a place to hide it—and we were
able to turn it up—how in the world would we get it
back in position in time for a ceremony scheduled less
than twenty hours, local, from this moment?"
"That covers the questions," Retief said. "We may
have a little more trouble with the answers."
"The building was there last night; I stopped to
admire the classical neon meander adorning the archi-
trave on my way home. A splendid effect; Shinth would
have been green with envy—or whatever color Groaci
diplomats turn when confronted with an esthetic coup
of such proportions."
"He may be quietly turning puce with satisfaction at
this moment," Retief suggested. "Rather coincidental
411

RETIEF AT LARGE
timing, isn't it? His project ready to go and ours mis-
sing."
"How will I ever face Shinth?" Magnan was mutter-
ing. "Only last night I assayed a number of sly jests at
his expense. I thought at the time he took them rather
blandly—'' Magnan broke off to stare at Retief!' 'Great
heavens," he gasped. "Are you hinting those sneaky
little five-eyed Meyer-come-latelies could have so far
abused diplomatic practice as to be behind this out-
rage?"
"The thought had crossed my mind," Retief ad-
mitted. "Offhand I can't think of anyone else who
might have a yen for a Bolshoi-type ballet theater."
Magnan leaped up, yanking the pale mauve lapels of
his early mid-afternoon hemi-demi-informal cutaway
into place.
"Of course," he cried. "Call out the Marine guard,
Retief. I'll march right up to that underhanded little
weasel and demand the return of the purloined edifice
on the spot."
"Better be careful what spot you're on," Retief
cautioned. "A Bolshoi-type ballet theater occupies a
full block, remember."
"An ill-timed jape, Retief," Magnan snapped.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" He paused, frown-
ing. "Am I to deduce from your apparent lack of
enthusiasm that you see some flaw in the scheme?"
"Just a small one," Retief said. "His Groacian
Excellency has probably covered his tracks quite care-
fully. He'll laugh in your face—unless you can show
some proof."
"Not even Shinth would have the cheek to deny the
facts if I catch him red-handed." Magnan paused,
412

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
looking troubled. "Of course, I haven't actually found
any evidence yet—'' He nipped at a hangnail and cast a
sidelong glance at Retief.
"A ballet theater isn't the easiest thing in the world
to hide," Retief said. "Suppose we try to turn it up
first—then we can start on the problem of how to get it
back."
"Good notion, Retief. Just what I was about to
suggest." Magnan looked at the watch on his thumb.
"Why don't you just pop around and have a look here
and there while I whip my paperwork into shape. After
dinner we can get together and agree on a story—
formulate a report, that is, indicating we'vedone every-
thing possible."
Leaving the Counselor's office, Retief went along to
the Commercial Section. A chinless clerk looked up
from among baled newspaper clippings.
"Hi, there, Mr. Retief. I see you made it."
"Freddy, I'd like to see a listing of all cargoes
imported by the Groaci Embassy during the last twelve
months."
The clerk poked the keys of the data bank, frowned at
the list it disgorged.
"Flimsy construction they must have in mind," he
said as he handed it over. "Cardboard and pick-up-
sticks. Typical."
"Anything else?" Retief persisted.
"I'll check equipment imports." The clerk tapped
out another code, eliciting a brief clatter and a second
slip of paper.
"Heavy-duty lift units," he said. "Funny. They
don't need heavy duty units to handle plywood and
two-by's—"
413

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Four of them," Retief noted. "With wide-aperture
fields and gang interlocks."
"Wow! With that, you could pick up the Squalid-
Hilton."
"You could indeed," Retief agreed. "Thanks,
Freddy."
Outside dusk; the car was still waiting at the curb.
Retief directed Chauncey to drive back along the wet,
tree-fern shaded avenues to the vacant edge-of-town
site so recently occupied by the stolen building. Step-
ping out into the steady, warm rain, he entered the tent,
circled the yawning excavation, studying the soft
ground by the beam of a hand light.
"Look are you whatting for?" Chauncey inquired,
ambling behind him on feet that resembled dishpan-
sized wads of wet magenta yarn. "Ardon my
pasking—but I taught you Therries lidn't dike feeting
your get wet."
"Just getting the lie of the land, Chauncey," he said.
"It appears that whoever pinched the theater lifted it
out of here with grav units—probably intact, since
there doesn' t seem to be any evidence of disassembly.''
"I goant dett you, chief," Chauncey said. "You
lawk tight this roll houtine isn't trust a jick Master
Magnan add off to pulvertise the And Gropening."
"Perish the thought, Chauncey; it's just my way of
heightening the suspense." Retief stooped, picked up a
pinkish dope-stick butt, sniffed at it. It gave off the
sharp odor of ether characteristic of Groaci manufac-
ture.
"We Squalians are no runch of boobs, you under-
stand," Chauncey went on. "We've treen a few sicks
in our time. If you howns want to clam up, that's jake;
414

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
jut bust betwoon the tea of us—how the heck dood he
dee it?"
"I'm afraid that's a diplomatic secret," Retief said.
"Let's go take a look at the Groaci answer to our
cultural challenge."
"Mot nuch to owe seever there," the local said
disparagingly as they squelched back to the car, idling
on its air cushion above a wide puddle. "Gothing noing
on; and if were thuzz, you souldn't key it; they got this
buy foard hence aplound the race and a tunch of barps
everying coverthing up."
"The Groaci are a secretive group," Retief said.
"But maybe we can get a peek anyway."
"I bon't know, doss; there's a gunch of buards
around there, too—with yuns, get. They don't clett
lobody net goase."
Steering through the rain-sleek streets under the
celery-like trees, Chauncey hummed a sprightly little
tune, sounding first like a musical comb, then a
rubber-stringed harp, ending with a blatter like a burst-
ing bagpipe.
"Bot nad,hey?" he solicited a compliment, "all but
that cast lord; it was subeezed to poe a tourish of
flumpets, but my slinger fipped."
"Very impressive," Retief said. "How are you on
woodwinds?"
"So-so," Chauncey said. "I'm stretter on bings.
Vile this getolin effect:" He extruded an arm, quickly
arranged four thin filamets along it and drew a hastily
improvised member across the latter, eliciting a shrill
bleat.
"Gutty pred, hey? I can't tay any plunes yet, but I
lactice a prot; I'll pet it down gat in toe nime."
415

RETIEF AT LARGE
' 'Groaci nose-flute lover will come over to you in a
body," Retief predicted. "By the way,Chauncey, how
long have theGroaci been working on their ballpark?"
"Lell, wet's see: stay tharted it fast lall, bust ajout
the time too Yerries foured your poundations—''
"It must be about finished, eh?"
, "It hasn't changed such mince the worst feak; and a
thunny fing: you sever seem to knee any jerkers around
the wob; gust the jards." Chauncey swung the corner
and pulled up before a ten-foot fence constructed of
closely fitted plastic panels, looming darkly in the early
evening gloom.
"Ear wehar," he said. "Sikel lezz, you san't key a
thing."
"Let's take a look around."
"Sure—but we petter beep an eye keeled; those
dittle levels can squeak up awful niet."
Leaving the car parked in a pool of shadow under the
spreading fronds of a giant fern, Retief, followed by the
Squalian, strolled along the walk, studying the unbro-
ken wall that completely encircled the block. At the
corner he paused, looked both ways. The street lamp
glowed mistily on empty sidewalks.
"Give me a chord on the cello if you see anyone
coming," he directed Chauncey. He extracted a slen-
der instrument from an inner pocket, forced it between
two planks and twisted. The material yielded with a
creak, opening a narrow peep-jole, affording a view of
pole-mounted lights which shed a yellowish glow on a
narrow belt of foot-trampled mud stacked with 2 x 4's
and used plywood, a fringe of ragged grass ending at a
vertical escarpment of duncolored canvas. A giant tar-
416

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
paulin, held in place by a network of ropes, completely
concealed the massive structure beneath it.
"Moley hoses," Chauncey's voice sounded at Re-
tief s elbow. "Looks like they've been chaking some
manages."
"What kind of changes?"
"Well—it's sard to hay, tunder that arp—shut the
bape of it dooks lifferent. Wa've been thirking on it, no
bout adout that."
"Suppose we cruise over and pay a call at the Groaci
Embassy," Retief suggested. "There are one or two
more points that need clearing up."
"Boor, shoss—but it don't woo you any good. They
pard that glace like it was the legendary Nort Fox."
"I'm counting on it, Chauncey."
It was a ten-block drive through rain-soaked streets.
They parked a block from the fortresslike structure,
prowled closer, keeping to the shadows. A pair of
Groaci in elaborate uniforms stood stiffly flanking the
gate in the high masonry wall.
"No hole-poking this time," Retief said. "We'll
have to climb over."
"That's bisky, ross—"
"So is loitering on a dark corner," the Terran re-
plied. "Let's go."
Five minutes later, having scaled the wall via an
overhanging slurb-fruit tree, Retief and Chauncey
stood in the Embassy compound, listening.
"Don't their a hing," the Squalian muttered. "Now
what?"
"How about taking a look around, Chauncey," Re-
tief suggested.
417

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Okay—dut I bon't like it—" Chauncey extended
an eye-tipped pseudopod, which snaked away around
the corner. Two minutes ticked past. Suddenly the
chauffer stiffened.
"Giggers, the Joaci!" he exclaimed. "Let's cho,
gief!" The eye-stalk retracted convulsively.
"Bammit, a dacklash," Chauncey yelped. Retief
turned to see the driver struggling to untangle the
hastily retracted eyestalk, which had somehow become
snarled around one of it's owner's feet, which was in
turn unraveling, an effect resembling a rag rug unknit-
ting itself.
"Datt thid it," Chauncey grunted. "Bam, scross,
I'll never let goose in time—"
Retief took two swift steps to the corner of the
building. The patter of soft-shod feet approached
rapidly. An instant later a spindle-legged alien in a
black hip-cloak, ornamented leather greaves, GI eye-
shields and a flaring helemet shot into view, met Re-
tief's extended arm and did a neat back-flip into the
mud. Retief grabbed up the scatter gun dropped by the
Groaci Peacekeeper, switched it to wide dispersal,
swinging the weapon to cover half a dozen more Groaci
guards coming up rapidly on the right flank. They
skidded to a halt. At the same moment a yell came from
behind him; he glanced back, saw Chauncey struggling
in the grasp of four more of the aliens, who had ap-
peared from a doorway.
"To throw down the gun and make no further move,
Soft One," the captain in charge of the detail hissed in
Groaci,' 'or to see your minion torn to vermicelli before
your naked eyes."
418

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
m
Broodmaster Shinth, Ambassador Extraordinary and
Minister Plenipotentiary of the Groacian Autonomy to
the Squalian Aristarch, lolled back at ease in his power
swivel chair, a pirated Groaci copy of a Terran dip-
lomatic model. A cluster of aides hovered behind him,
exchanging sibilant whispers and canting multiple eyes
at Retief, who stood at ease before them, flanked by
guards whose guns prodded his kidneys. Chauncey,
pitiably trussed in his own versatile limbs, lay slumped
in a corner of the underground office of the Groaci
Chief of Mission.
"How charming to see you, Retief," Shinth whis-
pered. "One is always delighted to entertain a col-
league, of course. You'll forgiveCaptainThilf s zeal in
insisting so firmly on your acceptance of my
hospitality—but he was quite carried away by your
demonstration of interest in Groacian affairs.''
"I'm surprised at your Excellency's leniency," Re-
tief replied in tones of mild congratulation. "I assumed
you'd have busted the captain back to corporal by now
for tipping your hand. There's nothing like diplomat-
napping to cause vague suspicions to congeal into cer-
tainties."
Shinth waved a negligent member.' Any reasonably
intelligent being—I include Terry diplomats as a
courtesy—could have deduced a connection between
the vanished structure and myself."
"Oh-oh—I nink I thow what was tunder that arp!"
419

RETIEF AT LARGE
Chauncey exclaimed in a voice muffled by the multiple
turns of eyestalk inhibiting his vocal apparatus.
"You see—even this unlettered local perceives that
there was only one place where a borrowed ballet
theater might be concealed," Shinth continued airily.
"Specifically, under the canvas stretched over my
dummy stadium."
"Since we agree that's obvious," Retief said, "sup-
pose you assign a squad to untying the knots in Chaun-
cey, while Captain Thilf and ourselves enjoy a hearty
diplomatic chuckle over the joke."
"Ah, but the punchline has yet to be delivered,"
Shinth demurred.' 'You don't suppose, my dear Retief,
that I've devoted all these months to the finesse merely
for the amusement of newly arrived Terry bureau-
crats?"
"It seems rather a flimsy motivation," Retief con-
curred. "But you can't hide half a million cubic feet of
stolen architecture forever."
"Nor do I intend to try. Only a few hours remain
before the full scope of my coup bursts upon the local
diplomatic horizon." The Groaci adjusted his facial
plates in an arrangement expressing bland self-
satisfaction. "You'll recall that I've advanced the
schedule for the unveiling of Groaci's gift to the Squal-
ian electorate. The heartwarming event will take place
tonight, before the massed dignitaries of the planet,
with the Terry Mission as prominent guests, of course.
Our hosts, expecting the traditional Groaci ballet thea-
ter, will suffer no surprise. That emotion will be re-
served to the Terrans, to whom I've carefully leaked the
erroneous impression that a ballpark was rising on the
site. At a stroke, I will reveal you Terries for the Indian
420

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
givers you are, while at the same moment bestowing on
the local bucolics imposing evidence of Groacian
generosity—at the expense of you Soft Ones! A classic
gambit, indeed, as I'm sure you'll agree, eh, Retief?"
"AmbassadorGrossblunder might have a few objec-
tions to the scheme," Retief pointed out.
"Let him object," Shinth whispered carelessly.
"The operation was carried off under cover of night,
unseen and unheard. The lift units left the planet today
via our supply shuttle. What matter substanceless ac-
cusations? Grossblunder was thoughtful enough to
carry on erection under heavy security wraps; it will be
his word against mine. And a ballet theater on the site is
worth two in the Project Proposal folder, eh?"
"You won't wet agay with it," Chauncey blurted.
"I'll bill the speans."
"Bill whatever you like, fellow," Shinth said loft-
ily. "Ex post facto rumor-mongering will have no
effect on a fait accompli. And now, I really must be
robing myself for the festivities." He snapped an eyelid
at the guard captain. "Escort them to the guest quar-
ters, Thilf, and see that they're made as comfortable as
possible during their stay. I believe from the tower
they'll have a splendid view of the spectacle under the
lights."
"To defenestrate the rogues at once," Thilf
suggested in a stage whisper. "To eliminate the blab-
bermouths completely—"
"To be silent, litter-mate of drones," the Ambas-
sador hissed. "To propose no unfortunate precedents
which could rise to haunt a less ingenious functionary
then myself." He waggled three of his five oculars at
Retief in a placating fashion. "You'll be free to return
421

RETIEF AT LARGE
to your duties—as soon as the ceremony is com-
pleted," he cooed. "In the meantime—happy medita-
tions."
"Ithalways ought that stiguring out who loll the
foote was the pard hart," Chauncey mourned as the
door to the tower apartment slammed on them. "We
know shoo hiped it, and hair they wid it—and a lat got
of food it does us."
"Shinth seems to have worked things out with con-
siderable care," Retief agreed.
"Luff tuck," Chauncey commiserated. "I sate to
hee those feepy little crive-eyes tut one over on you
Perries."
"Well, Chauncey, I'm glad to know you feel kindly
disposed toward us."
"It'sthot nat, exactly," theSqualian said. "It's bust
I had a jet bown with my dookie," He sighed. "Well,
you can't wick a pinner every time."
"Maybe our side hasn't lost yet," Retief said.
"Chauncey, how are you at poking around in dark
places?"
"Just untie a nupple of these cots those guise wise
sued in my tiedopodia and I'll dee what I can sue."
Retief set to work; ten minutes later, with a groan of
relief, the Squalian withdrew the last yard of himself
from the final knot.
"Peether, what an exbrothience," he sighed. "Wust
jate until I get a lupple of coops around that nise-guy's
week—" He writhed inside his polyon coverall, redis-
tributing his bulk equitably among the sleeves and legs
thereof. "And I've shost my looze," he lamented.
"Nazzy snumbers, they were, bright with wown ting-
wips," he added.
422

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
Retief had gone to the window, was examing the
sweep of wall which extended vertically to an expanse
of hard-looking pavement far below, across which
armed Groaci were posted at intervals. Chauncey
came over to peer out past him.
"Forget it," he said. "You clan't cimb down there.
And if you could, the nards would gab you. But jet's
lust see if there's a lonn in here—" He prowled across
to a connecting door, poked his head inside the bath-
room.
"Daypirt," he exclaimed. "The gums boofed when
they esterundimated a Squalian. Thawch wiss." He
extruded a stalked eye, plunged it into the bowl; yard
after yard of pencil-thick filament followed, paying out
smoothly down the drain.
"Oh, boy," Chauncey said happily. "Will those
toobs be bartled when I tit in gutch with an out on the
palside. All I dot to goo is reach the plewage sant, gook
around for a lie I know and—" Chauncey went rigid.
"Oh-oh," he said. He planted his feet—rather loosely
organized in the absence of shoes—and pulled back-
ward. The extended cable of protoplasm stretched, but
failed to yield.
"Why, the dirty, skousy lunks!" he squalled. "Way
were thaiting! Gray thabbed me and nide me in another
tot! I can't foe any garther and I can't bet gack!"
"Tough break," Retief said. "But can't you just
slide the rest of you down the line?"
"Bat, and awondan a sellow-fufferer?" Chauncey
replied indignantly. "Besides, my integnal interna-
ments gon't woe through the pipe."
"Looks like they've outthought us again, Chaun-
cey."
423

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Indeed, so it appears," an unctuous whisper issued
from a grill above the door, followed by Shinth's
breathy chuckle. "Pity about the clogged drains; I'll
have a chap along with a plunger in the morning."
"Hey—that posy narker can weir every herd we
say," theSqualianexclaimed. "Adreavesopper, yet!"
Retief went to the door and shot the heavy bolt,
securing it from the inside. He caught the chauffeur's
remaining eye and winked.
"Looks like Ambassador Shinth wins," he said.
"He was just too smart for us, Chauncey. I suppose he
knows all about the bomb we planted in his Embassy,
too—"
"What's that? A bomb? In my Embassy?" Shinth's
voice rasped in sudden alarm. "Where? I insist you tell
me at once!"
"Don't tell him, Chauncey," Retief said quickly.
"It's set to go off in eight minutes; he'll never find it in
time."
There was a sibilant gasp from the intercom, fol-
lowed by feeble Groaci shouts. Moments later, feet
clattered in the passage beyong the door. The latch
rattled. Fists pounded.
"What do you mean, locked from the inside?"
Shinth's voice was'audible through the panel.
"Seven minutes," Retief called. "Chins up,
Chauncey. It will all be over soon."
"To flee at once!" Captain Thilf's thin tones
squalled. "To leave the dastards here to die!"
"Retief—tell me where the bomb is and I'll put in a
word for you with your chief!'' Shinth called through
the door. "I'll explain you shouldn't be judged too
424

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
harshly for bungling your assignment; after all, a mere
Terran, pitted against a mind like mine—"
"That's good of you, Mr. Ambassador—but I'm
afraid duty demands we stay here—even if it means
being blown up along with your voucher files."
"My final offer, Retief. Emerge and defuse the
infernal machine and I'll help you blow up the Terry
Embassy, thereby destroying the unfavorable E.R.
your shabby role in the present contretemps will doubt-
less earn for you."
"That's a most undiplomatic suggestion, Mr. Am-
bassador."
"Very well then, self-doomed one. To learn the
meaning of Groaci wrath. To watch as I evacuate the
premises, leaving you and your toady to your fates."
Retief and Chauncey listened to the sound of retreat-
ing footsteps. They watched from the window as Shinth
darted forth, crossed the courtyard at a brisk run, fol-
lowed by his entire staff, the last of whom paused to
lock the door behind him.
"I adfun that was a lot of mit." The Squalian broke
the profound silence that fell after the last of the Groaci
had departed. "But in mix senutes they'll dealize they
been ruped. So put's the woint?"
"The point is that I'll have six undisturbed minutes
inside the Groaci Chancery," Retief said, unlocking
the door. "Fold the hort until I get back."
It was ten minutes before Retief reentered the room,
locking the door behind him. Thirty seconds later
Shinth's voice sounded via intercom, keening impreca-
tions .
425

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Thilf! To batter the door down, to take vengeance
on the Soft One for making a jackass out of me in full
view of my underlings—"
"Instead, to hasten to the scene of the up-coming
ceremony, Exalted One," the guard captain caviled.
"Otherwise, to miss the big moment."
"To myself attend the unveiling, whilst you deal
with the evildoers."
"To grasp the implication that I am to take whatever
action seems appropriate to deal with the interlopers?"
Thilf inquired in his unctuous whisper.
"To ask no foolish questions," Shinth snapped.
"The impossibility of permitting the lesser beings to
survive to spread abroad reports prejudicial to the dig-
nity of the Groacian state!"
"To see eyeball to eyeball with your Excellency,"
Thilf murmured.
"That's a bot of eyelalls," Chauncey commented.
"Well, Mr. Retief, it was a farrel of bun lyle it wasted
but I kess it's gurtains now." He twitched violently as
an axe thunked into the door, causing it to jump in its
frame. Retief was at the window, stripping off his
powder-blue early-evening informal blazer.
"Chauncey, how much stretch do you have left?" he
asked over the battering at the door.
"Hmmm, I gee what you've sot in mind. I'll dee
what I can sue—" Chauncey unlimbered a length of
tough cable from his left sleeve, sent it over the sill; his
coverall hung more and more loosely as he paid out coil
after coil of himself.
"There's thuch a sing as oving getter-extended," he
panted; by this time his garment hung limply on a single
thumb-sized strand that extended from the water closet
426

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
around the door jamp, across the room and down into
the darkness below.
"Can you handle my weight all right?"
"Sure; in yast lear's intermurals I tested out at over
talf a hon per air squinch."
"Tell me exactly where the other end of you is
trapped."
Chauncey complied. As Retief threw a leg over the
sill torches flared in the courtyard below. The Groaci
Ambassador appeared, clad in full ceremonials, con-
sisting of a ribbed cloak, pink and green argyles and
tricorner hat. Jeweled eye shields winked on each of his
five stalked oculars. His four-Groaci honor guard
trailed him through the gate and piled into the official
limousine, which pulled away from the curb with a
snarl of abused gyros.
"Thell, wat's wat," Chauncey said dejectedly, in a
tight-stretched voice that emanated from the slight
bulge that represented his vital centers. "He's on his
say to the weremoney; in atither nun minutes it'll be ove
aller."
"So it will," Retief agreed. "And we want to be
there to see it, eh, Chauncey?"
"Why? If there's hateything I an, it's a leerful
chooser."
"I don't think there's much danger of your seeing
one of those tonight," Retief said; he gripped the
warm, leathery rope of living flesh and started down.
Fifteen feet above the cobbles the cable ended. Re-
tief looked down, gauging the drop. At that moment the
door below him opened and two tardy guards emerged
at a trot, adjusting their accouterments on the run. One
happened to cock an eye upward, saw Retief, skidded
427

RETIEF AT LARGE
to a halt, dropping his ceremonial pike with a clatter.
The other uttered a hiss, swung his sharp-pointed spear
around and upward.
Retief dropped, sending the groaci spinning. He
rolled to his feet, sprinted for the corner of the court-
yard where the drain emerged. Chauncey's mournful
blue eye gazed at him apprehensively from atop the
large bowknot into which the extended stalk had been
tied. Hastily, but with care, Retief set to work to untie
it. Weak Groaci shouts sounded from behind him.
More armed aliens emerged into the courtyard; more
lights winked on, weak and yellowish in deference to
the sensitive Groaci vision, but adequate to reveal the
Terran crouched in the far corner. Retief looked around
to see Captain Thilf charging down at the head of a
flying wedge of pikemen. With a final tug he slipped
the knot, saw Chauncey's eye disappear back into the
drain. He ducked a thrown spear, heard Thilf hiss an
order. The Groaci guards ringed him in, their gleaming
spearpoints bristling inches from his chest. The captain
pushed through, stood in an arrogant pose before his
captive.
"So—the infamous wrecker and vile persecutor of
peace-loving arthropods is brought to bay at last, eh?"
he whispered, signaling to a small, non-uniformed
Groaci lugging a lensed black box.' 'To get a few shots
of me shaking a finger under his proboscis," he di-
rected the photographer. "To preserve this moment for
posterity, before we impale him."
"A little to the right, your captaincy," the civilian
suggested. "To tell the Soft One to crouch a trifle, so I
can get both of you in the same frame."
428

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
"Better still, to order it to lie on its back so the
captain can put a foot on its chest," a corporal offered.
"To hand me a spear and to clear these enlisted men
from the scene," Thilf ordered. "To not confuse the
clear-cut image of my triumph with extraneous ele-
ments."
The guards obediently backed off a few paces; Thilf
poked his borrowed pike at Retief s chest.
"To assume a placating posture," he ordered, prod-
ding the prisoner lightly. Abruptly the captain's ex-
pression changed as a sinuous loop of tough-looking
rope shot out of darkness and whipped around his
slender neck. All five eyes shot erect, causing two of
his semi-VIP zircon eyeshields to fall with a tiny clat-
ter. Retief snapped the spear from the stricken officer's
hands and reversed it. The encircling guards jumped
forward, weapons poised; Thilf seemed to leap sud-
denly backward, to burst through their ranks and hurtle
across the courtyard, heels dragging. Half his spearmen
gaped after him as the other half closed in on Retief
with raised pikes.
"Drop those stig-pickers!" Chauncey's voice
sounded from the window above, "or I'll hop your boss
on his dread!"
The Groaci whirled to see their captain dangling by
one leg, twenty feet above the pavement.
"To get a shot of this," Retief suggested to the
photographer, "to send home to his family. They'll be
pleased to see him hanging around in such distin-
guished company."
"Help!" Thilf keened. "To do something, culling-
season rejects, or to be pegged out in the pleasure pits!''
429

RETIEF AT LARGE
"To be in the chicken noodle whatever we do," a
sergeant muttered, waving the pikewielders back.
"Mr. Retief," Chauncey called. "Shall I nop him
on his drob, or bust jash his brocks out on the rain?"
"I propose a compromise, Captain," Retief called.
"Instruct your lads to escort us out of here and Chaun-
cey will leave your internal arrangements intact."
' 'To never yield—'' Thilf started—and uttered a thin
shriek as the Squalian allowed him to fall a yard, or
two, caught him in mid-air and hoisted him up once
more.
"But on the other hand, to what end to die in the
moment of victory?" the captain inquired reasonably,
if shakily. "To be nothing the meatfaced one can do
now to halt the unveiling."	„
"To stick this Terry and take the consequences," a
corporal suggested furtively to the sergeant.' 'To suffer
the loss of the captain philosphically."
A flash-bulb winked. "To not worry," the camera-
man said blandly. "To distribute a few prints here and
there if His Captaincy tries to throw his weight
around."
The sergeant signaled; the Groaci formed up in two
ranks, spears grounded. He motioned Retief through.
"To leave by the side exit," he said. "And to not
hurry back."
"Better hand me your side arm," Retief suggested.
The NCO complied silently. Retief backed to the gate.
"See you outside, Chauncey," he called. "And
hurry it up—we're on a tight schedule."
430

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
IV
"Shoe would have lean the sook on his face when I
deft him langling from a fedge lifty feet up," Chauncey
was saying exuberantly as he gunned the car along the
wet night street of the Squalian capital. "The dubby
dirtle-crossers were baiting weside the drain for me to
lawl out in their craps; fut I booled 'em; I shook a
tort-cut through the teptic sank and out-ranked the
flascals."
"A neat manuver," Retief congratulated his ally as
the latter wrenched the vehicle around a corner with a
deafening hiss of steering jets. Just ahead, a clump of
Terran officials stood under the marquee of the Terran
Embassy. The car slid to a halt behind the gleaming
black Embassy limousine. Magnan leaped forward as
Retief stepped out.
"Disaster!" he moaned. "Ambassador Grossblun-
der got back half an hour ago; he was furious when I
told him about the Groaci unveiling their project at
midnight—so he ordered our Grand Opening moved up
to 11:59 tonight! He'll be down in a moment in full
formal regalia, with all media in attendance, on his way
to upstage Shinth. When those drapes are drawn back to
reveal nothing but a yawning pit—" Magnan broke off
at a stir behind him.
The imposing figure of the Terrestrial Ambassador
appeared, flanked by a covey of bureaucrats. Magnan
uttered a stifled wail and scuttled to attend his chief.
Retief stepped to the limousine chauffer's window.
"Drive straight to the Groaci project site, Hum-
phrey," he ordered. "Make it snappy."
431

RETIEF AT LARGE
"Mate a winute," the Squalian demurred. "Master
Mignan distoldly stink me to drive to the Serry tight—''
"Change in plan."
"Well—oh say if you kay so," the driver grunted.
"Wish somebody'd mind up their makes."
As the limousine pulled away, Retief jumped back
into the staff car.
"Follow them, Chauncey," he said. "By the way,
with that versatile sound-effects apparatus of yours,
how are you at impersonations?"
"Nitty prifty, Chief, if I sue day so myself. Thet
giss: it's a Baffolian bog-fellow crying for his mate—''
"Later, Chauncey. Can you do Ambassador
Grossblunder?"
"Just between the tee of us, me and the boys have a
lillion maffs taping the old boy's owns."
"Let's hear you do Shinth."
' 'Lessee: To joil in your own booses, tile Verry . . .
How's that?"
"It'll have to do, Chauncey," Retief said. "Now,
here's what I want you to do . . ."
"What's this?" Ambassador Grossblunder was
rumbling as Retief joined the Terran delegation alight-
ing before the bunting-draped, flood-lit entry to the
tarpaulin-covered structure looming against the dark
Squalian sky. "This doesn't look like—" he broke off
as Ambassador Shinth appeared from among a crowd
of retainers and local notables.
"Good lord," Magnan gasped, noting for the first
time where the limousine had delivered them. "Your
Excellency—there's been a mistake—"
"Ah, so delighted to see you, Mr. Ambassador,"
432

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
the Groaci Chief of Mission murmurred. "Good of
your Excellency to honor the occasion with your august
presence. I'm delighted to see you hold no narrow-
minded grudge, merely because I've bested you in our
friendly little competition."
"Hah!" the bulky Terran snorted. "Your effrontery
will backfire when the Prime Minister and Cabinet are
offered nothing but a set of badly cured foundations,
after all this empty fanfare."
"Au contraire, Mr. Ambassador," Shinth replied
coolly. "The edifice is complete, even to the pennants
atop the decorative minarets, a glowing tribute to
Groaci ingenuity which will forever establish in the
minds of our hosts an unforgettable image of the
largesse-bestowing powers of the Groacian State."
"Nonsense, Shinth. A confidential source has kept
me well abreast of your progress; as of yesterday, your
so-called project hadn't gotten off the ground."
"I assure you the deficiency has been rectified. And
now we'd best be nipping along to the reviewing stand;
the moment of truth approaches."
"Magnan," Grossblunder said behind his hand.
"Did he say pennants atop the minarets? I thought that
was one of the unique details of our project."
"Why, what a coincidence," Magnan quavered.
"Ah, there, Fenwick," a deep purple Squalian in
heavily brocaded robes loomed out of the drizzle before
the Terran Ambassador. The local's already imposing
bulk was enhanced by the ropes of pearls .and golden
chains intertwined with his somatic elements, produc-
ing an effect like an immense plate of multi-colored
lasagna. "I hardly exceeded to speck you here. An
inspaying displire of inter-aiming specity!"
433

RETIEF AT LARGE
Grossblunder harrumphed, clasping the proffered
bundle of Prime Ministerial tissues in a parody of a
handshake. "Yes, well, as to that—"
"You'll poin my jarty, of course?" the Squalian
Chief Executive urged cordially, turning away. "Pee
you on the sodium."
Grossblunder looked at the impressive timepiece
strapped to his plum wrist. "Hmmph!" he muttered to
Magnan. "We may as well. It's too late now for me to
stage my unveiling ahead of Shinth, a grave disap-
pointment, regarding which I'll have words with you
later."
"Retief," Magnan hissed as they accompanied the
group toward the brightly lit platform. "If we slip away
now we may be able to sign on as oilers on that tramp
freighter I saw at the port this afternoon. It looked
unsavory enough for its skipper to be willing to dis-
pense with technicalities—"
"Don't do anything hasty, Mr. Magnan," Retief
advised. "Just play it be ear—and be ready to pick up
any dropped cues."
On the platform, Retief took a position at Ambas-
sador Shinth's bony elbow. The Groaci gave a startled
twitch when he saw him.
"Captain Thilf didn't want me to miss anything,"
Retief said. "He decided to let me go after all."
"You dare to show your face here, after assaulting
my—"
"Kidnappers?" Retief suggested. "I thought under
the circumstances perhaps we could agree to forget the
whole incident, Mr. Ambassador."
' 'Hmm. Perhaps it would be as well. I suppose my
role might be subject to misinterpretation—" Shinth
434

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
turned away as the orchestra, composed of two dozen
Squalians doubling as brass and strings, struck up a
rousing medley of classic Elvis Presley themes. As the
music ended a spotlight speared out, highlighting the
slender figure of the Groaci Ambassador.
"Mr. Prime Minister," he began, his breathy voice
rasping in the PA system. "It gives me great
pleasure—''
Retief made an unobtrusive signal; an inconspicuous
strand of pale purple that had glided snake-like across
the platform slithered up behind Shinth, and unseen by
any but Retief, deftly whipped around the Groaci's
spindly neck, quite invisible under the elaborate ruffs
sported by the diplomat.
A soft croak issued from the speakers spaced around
the plaza. Then the voice resumed.
"It grates me pleazh givver, as I was saying, to tray
pibute to my escolled teamleague, Amblunder
Grossbaster, by ungaling the Verran tift to the palion
Squeeple." The Groaci's spindly arm, assisted by a
tough length of Chauncey, reached out and yanked the
tripline holding the tarps in place.
"What in the world did he say?" Grossblunder
growled. "I had the distinct impression he called me
something unprintable—" He interrupted himself as
the canvas tumbled away from the structure to reveal
the baroque pile dazzling under the lights, pennants
awave from the minarets.
"Why—that's my Bolshoi-type ballet theater!"
Grossblunder blurted.
' And a glendid spift it is, too, Fenwick,'' the Prime
Minister exclaimed, seizing his hand. "But I'm a fit
conbused—I was inder the umpression this decereful
435

RETIEF AT LARGE
little lightemony was arranged by Amshisiter Balth—''
"Merely a bit of artful misdirection to keep your
Excellency in suspense, ha-ha," Magnan improvised
hastily.
'' You mean—this strendid splucture is a sift from the
GDT?" the PM expressed confusion by writhing his
features dizzyingly. "But I had a direct stinkollection
of ceding the site to the Groaci Mission—"
"Magnan," Grossblunder hissed "What's going on
here?"
As Magnan stuttered, Retief stepped forward, offer-
ing a bulky parchment, elaborately sealed and red-
taped. Grossblunder tore it open and stared at the
Gothic lettering.
"Magnan, you rascal! You staged all this mummery
just to add an element of suspense to the proceedings,
eh?"
"Whom—I—your Excellency?" Magnan croak-
ed.
' 'Don't be bashful, my boy.'' Grossblunder poked a
meaty finger into Magnan's ribs. "I'm delighted!
About time someone enlivened the proceedings." His
eye fell on Shinth, whose body was twitching in a
curious rhythm, while his eye stalks waved in no dis-
cernible pattern. "Even my Groaci colleague seems
caught up in the spirit of the moment," he boomed
heartily. "Well, in response I suppose we can hardly
fail to reciprocate in the same spirit. I suggest we all
troupe off now to witness the presentation of the Groaci
project, eh?"
' 'Laybe mater," a faint voice croaked.' 'Night row I
got to boe to the gathroom." Shinth turned stiffly and
tottered away amid shouts, flashbulbs, bursting
436

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
skyrockets, and a stirring rendition of the Dead March
from Saul.
"Retief," Magnan gasped as the Ambassador and
the PM moved off, chatting cordially. "What?
How—"
"It was a little too late to steal the building back,"
Retief said. "I did the next best thing and stole the deed
to the property."
"I still feel we're skating on very thin ice," Magnan
said, lifting a plain ginger ale from the tray proffered by
a passing waiter. He cast a worried eye across the
crowded lounge toward Ambassador Grossblunder.
"If he ever finds out how close we came to having to
write a Report of Survey on one Ballet Theater—and
that you violated the Groaci Embassy and stole official
documents—and that one of our drivers laid the equiva-
lent of hands on the person of Shinth himself—'' he
broke off as the slight figure of the Groaci Ambassador
appeared at the entry beside them, his finery in a state of
disarray, his eyes canted at an outraged angle.
"Good lord," Magnan gasped. "I wonder if it's too
late to catch that freighter?"
"Thievery," Shinth hissed, catching sight ofRetief.
"Assault! Mayhem! Treachery!"
"I'll drink to that," a portly diplomat said blurrily,
raising his glass.
"Ah, there, Shinth," Grossblunder boomed, ad-
vancing through the press like an icebreaker entering
Cartwright Bay. "Delighted you decided to drop
by—"
"Save your unction," theGroaci hissed. "Iamhere
to call to your attention the actions of that one." he
437

RETIEF AT LARGE
pointed a trembling digit at Retief. Grossblunder
frowned at the latter.
"Yes—you're the fellow who carries my brief-
case," he stared. "What—"
There was a sudden soft thump, merged with a metal-
lic clatter. Grossblunder looked down. On the polished
floor between his feet and those of the Groaci were
spread several hundred chrome-plated paper clips.
"Oh, did you drop something, your Excellency?"
Magnan chirped.
"So!" Grossblunder bellowed, his face purpling to a
shade which aroused a murmur of admiring comment
from the Squalian bearers gathering to observe the
byplay.
"Why, however did those paper clips get into my
pocket?" Shinth wondered aloud, but without convic-
tion.
"Ha!" Grossblunder roared. "So that's what you
were after, eh? I should have known—"
"Bah!" Shinth responded with a show of spirit.
"What matter a few modest souvenirs in the light of the
depradations of—"
"Few! You call sixty-seven gross a few?"
Shinth looked startled. "How did you—that is to
say, I absolutely deny—"
"Save your denials, Shinth!" Grossblunder
drowned the Groaci out. "I intend to prosecute—"
"I came here to speak of grand larceny," Shinth cut
in, attempting to regain the iniative. "Breaking and
entering! Assault and battery!"
"Decided to make a clean breast of it, eh?"
Grossblunder boomed. "That will be in your favor at
the trial."
438

PIME DOESN'T CRAY
"Sir," Magnan whispered urgently. "In view of
Ambassador Shinth's magnanimous blunder—I mean
gesture—earlier in the evening, don't you think it
might be possible to overlook this undeniable evidence
of red-handed theft? We could charge the paper clips
up to representational expenses, along with the
liquor."
"It was his doing!" Shinth pointed past Magnan at
Retief.
"You must be confused," Grossblunder said in sur-
prise .' 'That's just the fellow who carries my briefcase.
Magnan is the officer in charge of the investigation. His
harassment got to you, eh, Shinth? Conscience found
you out at last. Well, as Magnan suggests, I suppose I
could be lenient just this once. But that's one you owe
me—"Grossblunder clapped the Groaci on his narrow
back, urging him toward the nearest punchbowl.
"Heavens," Magnan breathed to Retief. "What a
stroke of luck! But I'm astonished Shinth could have
been so incautious as to bring his loot along to the
reception."
"He didn't," Retief said. "I planted it on him."
"Retief—you didn't—"
"Afraid so, Mr. Magnan."
"But—in that case, the paper clip thefts are still
unsolved—and his Groacian Excellency is being un-
justly blamed."
"Not exactly; I found the sixty-seven gross stashed
in his office, concealed under a flower box full of
jelly-blossoms."
"Good lord—" Magnan took out a scented tissue
and mopped at his temples. "Imagine having to lie,
cheat and steal, just to do a little good in the world.
439

RETIEF AT LARGE
There are times when I think the diplomatic life is
almost too much for me."
"Funny thing," Retief said, easing a Bacchus
brandy from a passing tray. "There are times when to
me it seems hardly enough."
440

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