Retief at Large (18 page)

            "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. Retief'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 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, gripping 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
and Pird 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—"

            "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, Wimperton, 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 swaying wicker stairs three at a time, stepped out into the
storm-whipped street. Pird and Wimperton, each dragging 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 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 Consulate 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?"

            "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 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.
Alcohol 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 hanging, 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, keeping 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."

            "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!"

            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 probably 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."

            "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 circumstances. 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."