Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude (30 page)

"Me?"
Gloot said. "And that . . . that . . . dilettante?"

"That .
. . that oaf—and me?" Ignarp wailed.

"It's
that—or something worse," Retief said with finality. "Could you at
least . . . douse the light?" Ignarp said. "I need a shot o'
rum," Gloot said.

"Of
course." Retief handed over his flask and switched off; the dim glow
faded. In the darkness there were soft, tentative scufflings, faint mutterings;
Retief paced the cell, three paces, back three paces, whistling softly to
himself. Time passed. . .

Silence
fell. Retief paused.

"Ready,
gentlemen?"

"We . .
. I . . . guess so," a curiously mellow voice answered. Then, more
strongly: "Yes, ready, Retief."

He flicked
on the lighter. In its glow stood not the dumpy Ignarp nor the lanky Gloot, but
a tall, superbly muscled figure, brawny arms folded over a mighty chest, four
golden eyes glowing from a broad and noble brow alight with intellect.

"How do
I ... we look?" the idealized Lumbagan inquired.

"Ready
for anything," Retief said. "By the way, what do I call you now?
Somehow neither Ignoop nor Glarp seems to fit the new you."

"What
about . . . Lucael?"

"It's
better than Michifer. Now, Luke—if you'll pardon the familiarity I think we'd
best get on with the next phase without delay."

"The
next phase being . . . ?"

"As the
first Octuple Lumbagan in history, I assume you have unique abilities. Let's
find out what they are."

"Yes—I
see. The conclusion is logical. By introspection, I note that I have, of
course, enhanced physical strength and endurance, exceptionally keen hearing
and vision. . . ." Lucael paused. "A most interesting effect,"
he said. "By bringing either pair of eyes to bear on an object, I of
course achieve the familiar stereoscopic effect: three-dimensional sight—a vast
improvement over the monocular vision of the former Gloot identity. But when I
bring both pairs into play simultaneously, channeling the impression through my
compound occipital lobes, there is an exponential improvement. I can clearly
perceive nine dimensions: five spatial, two temporal, and two more the nature
of which will require careful analysis. ..." The resonant baritone faded
off as Lucael stared, somewhat crosseyed, at the corner of the room.

"You'll
have plenty of time later for research in depth, Luke. For the moment we'd
better stick to the practical applications."

"Of
course. The first order of business, clearly, is to adjust spatial coordinates
in such fashion that our loci lie external to the enclosure by which we are at
present circumscribed."

"Unequivocally,
if not succinctly put. Any suggestions?"

"Hmmm."
Lucael glanced at each of the four walls in turn. "Solid rock to a depth
of several hundred feet on all sides." He stared at the floor.
"Twenty-five miles of rock, underlain by a viscous fluid at high
temperature and pressure. Fascinating!"

"That
leaves the ceiling," Retief prompted.

"To be
sure," Lucael glanced up. "Yes, this is the simplest route." He
glanced at Retief. "Shall we go?" "After you."

The
super-Lumbagan nodded, folded his arms—both pairs—and rose gently from the
floor. In the moment before his head would have contacted the ceiling, the
rocky surface seemed to shimmer, fading suddenly to invisibility. Without
pausing, Lucael rose steadily up, waist, knees, ankles, to disappear from
sight. A moment later, a sharp, breathy cry sounded, followed by a dull thump.

Retief
crouched, jumped, caught the edge of the circular opening now miraculously
existing in the stone slab, and pulled himself up into what appeared to be a
guardroom. A lone Groaci lay stretched on the floor, peacefully snoring.

"It was
necessary to numb his cortical synapses—temporarily, of course," Lucael
said apologetically. "Poor little creature, so full of vain plans and
misconceptions."

"Aren't
we all?" Retief said. "Luke, let's see how good you are at finding
things at a distance. We need fast transportation."

"Let me
see. . . . Hmmm. I detect a boat at a distance of three hundred yards on an
azimuth of 181°24°." "What kind of boat?"

"A
hand-hewn canoe sunk in four fathoms of water. There's a large hole in the bottom."

"Skip
that one, Luke. How about a nice two-man copter?"

"No . .
. nothing like that. However, I note a modest power launch lying at anchor some
two miles to the east."

"Ensign
Yubb must still be busy pacifying the army. I believe his boat was powered by a
small fusion jet. I don't suppose . . . ?"

"I've
already started it," Lucael said. "Just a moment while I lift the
anchor . . . there. Now, let me see: Which is reverse? Oh, yes. Now, all ahead,
half speed until she's past the bar...."

"Nice
work, Luke. While you're bringing her around to this side of the island, take a
quick scan of the building."

"Very
well. ... A guard or two dozing in the keep. . . . Two Groaci in sick bay with
contusions. . . . Half a dozen unfortunates lodged in the brig. Ussh seems to
be gone. Yes, I detect his aura—a most powerful one—some ten miles to the east,
traveling fast."

"It's
time we emulated him. Let's go, Luke; we don't want to miss all the
excitement."

"You
refer to the moment when Ussh announces his assumption of power and his program
of Galactic conquest?"

"No,"
Retief said. "I mean the moment when he discovers that Newton's Third Law
applies to politicians as well as ping-pong balls."

They met no
opposition as they left the now almost-deserted building. Lucael picked a route
down the hill through the dense woods to emerge on the beach just as the
unmanned power launch rounded the curve of the shore and headed in toward the
beach. They splashed out through the shallows as the engine cut; the boat
glided silently up to them. Aboard, Lucael restarted the engines, and Retief
took the helm.

"Ussh's
first column has just entered the city from the west," Lucael announced.
"He himself is at this moment leading a procession along Brigand Street
toward the Castle. Rioting seems to be proceeding as usual."

"Let's
be grateful for His Ultimateness' fondness for dramatic gestures," Retief
said. "If he'll occupy himself with his victory parade for an hour or so,
we may be in time."

"In
time to thwart his coup?"

"Probably
not. But with luck, in time to stage a small coup of our own." He opened
the throttles and the powerful boat surged ahead across the dark water toward
the city lights fifteen miles to the east.

The shadowy
shapes of Groo-groo and Delerion and Rum-boogie rose in turn from the darkness,
slid past on the port side, dwindled astern, none showing any signs of life
with the exception of a few small campfires glowing high on their forested slopes.
Ahead, the lights of Thieves' Harbor spread wider, reaching out to enclose them
as they passed the breakwater. The wharves were deserted as the sleek craft
nosed up to the Municipal Pier.

Retief cut
the power, tossed a line around a piling and jumped down onto the wharf.

"The
place looks strange without at least one small street fight in progress,"
he said. "Apparently it takes a war to bring peace to Lumbaga."

"The
crowds have gathered near the Castle complex," Lucael said. "A cordon
of armed troops surround the area. Ussh is in the ballroom, in company with a
number of off-worlders."

"Is
Ambassador Pouncetrifle among those present?" Retief described the Terran
Plenipotentiary. Lucael confirmed that he was included in the group.

"They
seem to be linked together," the super-Lumbagan added, "by means of a
chain attached to a series of metal collars which in turn encircle their
necks."

"Apparently
Ussh intends to establish a no-nonsense foreign policy," Retief commented.
"The idea has merit, but in the present case we'll have to try to
introduce a little nonsense after all."

"Interference
may prove difficult. All entrances are blocked by the crowd. I can of course
levitate myself to any desired point within the atmosphere, but the amount of
extra weight I'm capable of carrying is limited."

"Piggyback
is out, then. Let's try the back door where your Ignarp segment and I first
met."

Retief led
the way across the plaza and down Dacoit Street, poorly lit by the widely
spaced gas lamps, deserted now, littered with the forlorn trash crowds leave
behind. They were within a hundred feet of the inconspicuous door when a small
party of helmeted and greaved Groaci soldiers emerged suddenly from a narrow
cross street ahead. The officer in charge hissed an order; his troops spread
out to block the way, then one by one crumpled to the cobblestones. The
officer, the last on his feet, stared uncomprehendingly at his collapsing
command, then belatedly jerked his pistol from its sequinned holster only to
drop it, totter two steps, and fall.

Lucael
staggered back against the wall of the building beside them, his face working
like yeast.

"Jeez .
. . I just had the screwiest nightmare," he muttered, almost in Gloot's
voice. "Another . . . lousy trick by . . . unprincipled exploiters, I'll
wager," he added in Ignarp's petulant tones.

"Luke!
Pull yourself together!" Retief snapped. "You can't afford to go to
pieces now!"

Lucael's
features twitched and subsided. The four golden eyes settled back into
position.

"I . .
. find that . . . there are limitations to my power output," he said
weakly.

"Come
on, Luke. Just a little farther." They covered the remaining yards to the
doorway. The heavy door opened on the musty passage.

"From
now on, save your strength for emergencies," Retief said. "I think I
can guarantee there'll be a steady supply."

They
threaded the route through dusty passages, ascended the stairs to the kitchens,
which they found deserted and showing signs of rapid evacuation. A cramped
spiral service stair led from an alcove beside the dumbwaiter to the upper
stories. At the top, faint voices muttered beyond the door which opened into
the private apartment wing.

"A
party of minor Groaci officials," Lucael said, speaking with his eyes
closed. "They seem to be placing wagers as to whether Terra will be
granted colony status, or merely regarded as conquered territory." He
paused. "They're gone now."

Retief eased
the door open half an inch; crimson carpet led to a pair of massive, carved
purplewood doors, just closing behind the bet-laying aliens. Retief went
swiftly forward, got a foot in it before it closed. The anteroom beyond was
empty; through a low, arched opening the barbarically splendid ballroom was
visible, crowded with a mixed throng of locals and aliens. In an elaborately
carved chair at the far end of the room sat a towering Lumbagan draped in a
robe of Imperial purple, flanked on one side by Colonel Suash at the head of an
honor guard of matched native troops in shining cuirasses and polished helms,
power guns at present arms, impressive in spite of a number of black eyes and
Band-Aids in evidence. At the other side of the throne stood a detachment of
Groaci peacekeepers in full uniform. A gaggle of Groaci functionaries,
including Ambassador Jith, stood nearby. Ambassador Pouncetrifle, leaning
sideways due to the weight of the chain on his neck, stood before the throne; a
dozen or so members of his staff huddled behind him in a tight group, none
apparently craving the honor of sharing the front rank with the chief of
mission.

". . .
sensible of the honor and all that, Your Imperial Highness," the Terran
ambassador was saying, "but see here, I can't simply offer Terran
recognition of your regime on my own authority!"

"Let's
simplify the proposition," a deep bass voice boomed from the Imperial
chair. "Acknowledge our divine right, and sign the treaty, and we'll allow
you to linger to observe our coronation before being whipped back to your
kennels!"

"Ah ...
if I might venture an observation. ..." A faint voice spoke up from the
Groaci delegation. It was Ambassador Jith who stepped forward. "While one
fully appreciates the eminent propriety of the installation of a native
Lumbagan regime entertaining kindly sentiments toward the Gro-acian state—"

"Yes, yes,
get on with it!" the enthroned Lumbagan rumbled.

"To be
sure, Your Imperial Highness—I merely meant to suggest that perhaps a less
precipitate approach to the question of recognition—"

"Our
photograph, hand-tinted by skilled coolies, will be distributed to every
village, hamlet, and town in the Eastern Arm! Recognitionwise, we'll be better
known than that fellow Whatzizname who won the noodle-knitting contest on
TV!"

"Doubtless,
sire, your fame will be quickly spread abroad—"

"No
broads! As an asexual race, we Lumbagans look with disfavor on any sport we
can't get in on! Now, that's enough of the subject! On with the
formalities!" His Highness favored Pouncetrifle with a scowl involving
three eyes and four eyebrows.