“Why,” Retief inquired interestedly, “would I do that?”
“For an excellent reason. In fact, for ten excellent reasons, my dear Retief!” The Voion reached to its head, fumbled—then lifted off a hollow headpiece to reveal a pale gray face and five inquisitive eye stalks.
“Well, General Hish of the Groaci Legation,” Retief said. “You’re out of your territory.”
Hish fixed two pairs of eyes on Retief. “We have in our custody the person of ten Terry females, removed from a disabled vessel illegally on Voion soil,” he said coldly. “They are scheduled to be shot at dawn. I offer you their lives in return for the surrender of yourself!”
Six
“When you coming back, Tief-tief?” Jik-jik inquired worriedly. “How come you going off with this here policeman in this here apparatus?”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Retief said. “Keep up the hit and run tactics—and recruit every tribe you meet.”
“To get aboard,” the disguised alien said in Groaci. “To make haste to arrive before the executions.”
Retief stepped into the two-man heli in which the emissary had arrived. The latter strapped in, started up, lifted from the wheel-scarred field, then turned in the seat and cocked three unoccupied eyes at Retief. “I congratulate you on your wisdom in coming along quietly,” he whispered in excellent Terran. “I of course disapprove of bloodshed, but without the compelling argument which your presence at Planetary HQ will present, I fear my protests would never have availed to preserve intact the prisoners.”
“You still haven’t told me what a Groaci military man is doing out here in the brush, General—”
“Please—address me merely as Hish. My Voion associates know me only as a helpful adviser. If my voice is to be effective in securing clemency for the captives, no complicating new elements must be introduced into the present rather fragile equation.”
“For a group enjoying the services of a high-powered military adviser,” Retief said, “the Planetary Army shows a surprising ignorance of the elements of warfare.”
“I’ve only just arrived in the field today,” Hish said. “As for these native levies—hopeless. But no matter. In the absence of your restraining presence your irregulars will doubtless devise a suitable disposition for them. The survivors, if any, will perhaps have learned a lesson or two from the experience which will stand them in good stead during coming campaigns under my tutelage.”
There was a heavy satchel on the floor by Retief’s feet, its top gaping open. “I see you’re taking a practical view of matters,” Retief commented. He studied a dull-glinting shape inside the bag. “I confess I’m curious as to just what it is you Groaci expect to net from the operation.” As he spoke, he reached casually, lifted out the inert form of a two-inch Quoppina, a harsh yellow in color, remarkably heavy. Beneath it, he saw another, similar trophy, this one a soft silvery color. He replaced the dead specimens.
“Shall we say—new customers . . . ?” Hish whispered, staring ahead at the jungle below.
“The prospect of opening up a new market for your usual line of hardware isn’t sufficient inducement to launch a hardheaded group like yourselves on a risky adventure under the collective CDT nose.”
“Ah, but perhaps the new Planetary Government, sensible of the close ties binding them to the Groaci state, will spurn continued intervention in internal affairs by reactionary Terran influences . . .”
“Booting the Terries is part of the deal, eh? There’s still something you’re not being perfectly candid about, Hish. What’s in it for the Groaci?”
“One must keep a few little secrets,” Hish chided. “And now I must give my attention to landing; such an awkward business, laboring under the weight of this bulky disguise. Still, it’s necessary; the rank and file of my associates seem to suffer from the sort of anti-foreign animus so typical of bucolics.”
There were lights below, the dark rectangle of tents, the raw scars of hastily scraped camp streets, packed with the hurrying ant-shapes of Voion. To one side of the field headquarters, Retief saw a rank of parked Rhoon, unnaturally still as technicians crawled over them under the glare of portable polyarcs. The heli dropped in to a bumpy landing, was at once surrounded by Voion, nervously fingering weapons. Hish replaced his headpiece, opened the hatch and scrambled out. An officious-looking Voion staff officer bustled up, gave Retief a hostile look.
“Who’s this, Hish-hish?” he demanded. “Their truce representative, I suppose?”
“By no means, Xic,” Hish whispered in his weak Groaci voice. “Instruct your chaps to keep a sharp eye on this fellow; he’s my prisoner.”
“What do we want with more prisoners—and a Stilter at that? I’ve already suffered a number of nasty dents from the legs of those Terry cows you insisted we bring in—”
“Enough, Xic; I’ve had a trying evening—”
“What did you manage in the way of truce terms? I suppose they’re demanding outrageous reparations for those few trivial villages that accidentally caught on fire—”
“On the contrary, they demand nothing. I left them to their own devices. Now—”
“What about our troops? Those rabble are holding an entire brigade of highly polished soldiers immobilized out there! Why, the cost of inlays alone—”
“The fortunes of war, my dear Major. Now, if you please, I have important matters to discuss—”
“What’s more important than salvaging my brigade?” the outraged officer shrilled. “How can I be adjutant of an organization that’s been scrapped by the enemy?”
“A neat problem in administration, sir. Possibly if you carry them on your morning report as `Missing in action’ . . .”
“Hmmm. That might work—at least until next payday. Meanwhile, why not disassemble this Stilter and get on with planning our next victory?”
“This Stilter will play an important part in that happy event, Xic. He happens to be the rebel commander.”
“Him?” Xic canted his oculars alertly at Retief. “How in Quopp did you manage to capture him?”
“I have a certain skill in these matters. Bring him along now to my tent—”
“Not until the prisoners are released,” Retief said. “I want to see them put aboard a couple of helis and on their way.”
“What’s this? A prisoner dictating terms?” Xic keened.
“No matter; the wenches have served their purpose. I had in mind ransoming them off for concessions from the Terry ambassador, but the present arrangement has a certain euphony. Go along to the stockade and see that they’re released at once.”
“I’ll go with you,” Retief said.
“You’ll do as you’re ordered!” Major Xic snapped. “Or I’ll shorten those stilts of yours by a joint to bring you down to a more manageable size!”
“No, you won’t. You’ll carefully keep me intact and reasonably well pleased with things. Hish-hish would like it that way.”
“We’ll indulge his fancy for the moment, Major,” the Groaci hissed. “Kindly lead the way.”
The Voion clacked his palps angrily and rolled off toward a stoutly palisaded enclosure looming above the lines of low tents along the company streets. At a heavy gate made of stout logs welded together, a guard produced a foot-long key, opened a huge padlock, hauled the portal wide, then shouted to a compatriot above. Lights sprang on at the corner towers. Xic motioned a squad of Voion through, then followed, Hish close on his heels, Retief and an additional squad behind him.
There was an outcry ahead. Four Voion shrilled simultaneously, an effect not unlike the vocalizations of mating cats, though magnified. The Voion around Retief jerked up their clubs. Hish darted ahead. Retief pushed after him, came up beside the Voion officer who was waving all four arms and swiveling his oculars excitedly while the soldiers peered about the thirty-yard square enclosure, all explaining at once.
“Where are the Terrans?” Hish whispered. “What have you done with my prisoners?”
“Quiet!” the major shrieked. He turned to Hish, assuming a nonchalant angle of the antennae.
“Too bad, Hish-hish,” he said airily. “It appears they’ve excavated a tunnel and departed.”
“It was the one with the copper-colored cranial filaments!” a guard explained. “It demanded digging tools so that it and its fellows could eplivate the ratesifrans . . .”
“What’s that?” Hish demanded.
“I don’t know!” the major yelled. “Something to do with a tribal taboo; and if you think my boys are going to call down the wrath of the Worm—”
“Beware . . . lest you call down a more immediate ill temper,” Hish snarled. He calmed himself with a visible effort, turned on Retief. “An unexpected development—but the females appear to be free, just as you desired—”
“Not exactly,” Retief cut him off. “I desired to see them turned loose with a fighting chance of getting across a hundred miles of jungle and back to Ixix.”
“Ah, well, life is filled with these trifling disappointments, my dear Retief. Suppose we go along to my tent now and proceed with business . . .”
“Thanks, but I won’t be able to make it,” Retief said affably. “I have to be getting back to the wars.”