“That’s it,” a man called. “Out of ammo; I’m going down and see if I can’t get me a couple barehanded.” He disappeared into the smoke, coughing.
At the barricade, Leon was still firing, an arrow entangled in the sleeve of his leather jacket. Retief saw him throw the gun aside, jump down into the small clear space before the tangle of downed Voion, laying about him with a Voion club.
“I guess it’s all over,” the last of Retief’s fellow archers declared. “No more arrows. Reckon I’ll go down and meet ’em in the open. Don’t much like the idea of frying up here—”
“Hold it,” Retief said. “Look there . . .”
Beyond the palisade, a disturbance had broken out on the Voion left flank. A horde of varicolored Quoppina had appeared from the jungle on that quarter, and were rapidly cutting their way through toward the palisade, led by a wedge of Jackoo, one of which, larger than its fellows, a varicolored Quoppina bestrode. Close behind, a fast-moving column of blue-green fighters followed, their fighting claws snapping left and right; behind them, a detachment of yellow-orange warriors swinging bright-edged scythes mowed a path through the Voion ranks. Small purple shadows appeared among the trees, casting ropes which plucked targets from the fleeing Voion rabble to dangle, arms windmilling, above their fellows.
“Hey! That must be that rebel army,” the bowman yelled. “Look at ’em come!”
Down below, the clear space before Big Leon was wider now; all across the compound breaks in the Voion ranks were opening. At the walls, Voion backs were visible as the confused attackers crowded out through the ragged gaps broached by the Jackoo zombies to confront the new threat, before which their fellows were streaming away in disorder.
The Jackoo vanguard dozed onward, cutting a swathe toward the embattled stockade; the varicolored Quoppina rider whirled a flashing blade above a bright red Voion-like head. A small organized group of Voion barred their path, led by a small officer with wobbly wheels; they stood their ground for half a minute, then broke and fled. Below, Leon’s men were across the barricade now, firing at retreating backs, jumping huddled dead and wounded to get clear shots at the confused enemy.
“It’s a blooming miracle!” a man shouted.
“That must be them guerilla fighters we heard about!” someone called. “Yippee!”
Retief left the window, went down through the churning smoke, emerged in the front entry hall where two Terrans lay on their backs behind the barricade of logs. He climbed the latter, clambered across fallen Voion, jumped down to stand beside Leon, bleeding from a cut across the cheek.
“I guess that Bug leader just didn’t like my looks,” the big man said. “Look yonder . . .”
The bright-colored Quoppina who had led the charge jumped down from the Jackoo, stepped through the nearest gap in the wall—a tall creature with posterior arms well developed for walking, shorter upper members, rudimentary rotors above each shoulder, a bright red-orange face resembling a Voion with the exception of color.
“Yep,” Leon said. “That’s Tief-tief, all right. Come on; I guess we owe that Bug some thanks . . .”
* * *
Retief studied the varicolored Stilter as it strode across the battle-littered ground, sword in hand, casually skirting the smoking bodies of electrocuted Voion, detouring around victims shot, incinerated, or crushed in the disorderly scene just concluded.
“That was good timing,” Big Leon called in the Voion tribal dialect. “Glad you changed your mind.”
The Stilter came up, halted facing Retief and Leon, sheathed the sword. “My grasp of the Voion tongue is rather limited,” the Quoppina said in clear, accentless Terran, looking around at the shambles. “It seems you gentlemen have been busy.”
Leon grunted. “We’ll be busy again if those Bugs decide to turn around and come back. How many troops you say you’ve got?”
“I haven’t counted lately,” the Stilter said coolly. “However, they’re rallying to the colors in satisfying numbers.” One armored manipulative member waved. “Are you in command of this deathtrap?”
Leon frowned. “Me and Retief been making most of the decisions,” he said flatly. “I’m no general, if that’s what you mean.”
“Retief?” the Stilter’s oculars swiveled. “Which one is he?”
Leon jerked a thumb at him. “You called this place a deathtrap,” he started. “What—”
“Later,” the biped said quickly, looking at Retief. “I thought—I understood he was a diplomat . . .”
“There are times when the wiliest diplomacy seems inadequate,” Retief said. “This appeared to be one of them.”
“I’d like to speak to you—in private,” the Stilter said, sounding breathless.
“Hey, Retief, better watch this character—”
“It’s all right, Leon,” Retief said. He indicated an uncrowded spot a few feet distant. The Stilter stepped to it, then went on, paused inside the doorway to a building the roof of which was burning briskly, turned and faced Retief. The two upper arms went to the scarlet head, rumbled for a moment—
The mask lifted off, to reveal an oval face with wide blue eyes, a cascade of strawberry blond hair, a brilliant smile.
“Don’t . . . don’t you know me?” the girl almost wailed as Retief studied her approvingly. “I’m Fifi!”
Retief shook his head slowly. “Sorry—and I do mean sorry—”
“It’s been quite a few years,” the girl said appealingly, “but I thought . . .”
“You couldn’t be over twenty-one,” Retief said. “It would take more than twenty-one years to forget that face.”
The girl tossed her head, her eyes sparkling. “Perhaps you’ll recall the name Fianna Glorian . . . ?”
Retief’s eyes widened. “You mean little Fifi . . . ?”
The girl clapped her gauntleted hands together, eliciting a loud clang. “Cousin Jame—I thought I’d never find you . . . !”
Eleven
“I don’t get it,” Big Leon declared. “I turn my back for five minutes to see how the wounded are making out, and this Tief-tief character disappears back into the brush—and this little lady pops out of no place!”
“Not exactly no place, Mr. Caracki,” Fifi corrected gently. “I was with the army.”
“Yeah—and how you got there beats me; I’ve lived out here forty years and it’s the first time—”
“I told you about the yacht crashing—”
“Sure—and then you bust out of a Voion jail and a couple Phips take you in hand—”
“The little green ones? They’re cute!” Fifi said. “They led us to the Herpp village and told us about the rebel army—”
“Hey, Leon,” a bearded Terran came up, gave Fifi an admiring look. “Looks like they’re getting set for one more push before full dark—and this time they’ll make it.”
Leon growled. “The reinforcements are nice,” he said. “But not enough. Them Bugs will be all over us like army ants in a few minutes. Sorry you had to get into this, young lady. I wish there was some way to smuggle you out of here—”
“Don’t fret, Mr. Carnacki,” Fifi said coolly. “I have a weapon.” She held up an efficient-looking short-sword. “I wouldn’t dream of missing the action.”
“Hmmm . . . That looks like the one that Bug Tief-tief was carrying . . .”
“He gave it to me.”
Leon grunted, turned away to bark an order. Retief leaned close to Fifi.
“You still haven’t told me how you managed to take over my army.”
“After I got the other girls settled in the native village, the little Phip led me to your scare-suit,” Fifi whispered. “Of course, I didn’t know whose it was, but I thought it would be a good disguise. As soon as I got it on, the Phips flew off buzzing like mad. The next thing I knew, there were Quoppina arriving from every direction. They seemed to accept me as their general, and I just went along . . .”
“You seemed to be playing the role to the hilt when I first caught sight of you, Fifi.”
“I’ve listened to enough war stories to know a little tactics—which is more than can be said for the Voion.”
A sharp hubbub broke out nearby; Retief stepped out to see Jik-jik, Tupper, several other Zilk and Ween, a pair of heavy Jackoo, half a dozen Herpp and a cluster of blue and white Clute and high-wheeled Blang, striking in lemon accented with orange polka dots.
“Where our war chief?” Jik-jik shrilled. “I wants to see Tief-tief, and I means now!”
“Steady, troops,” Retief soothed. “Here I am.”
“What you mean, here I is?” Jik-jik yelped. “I looking for a fighting Quopp name of Tief-tief, not some foreign-type Terry!”
“Shhh. I’m in disguise. Don’t give me away.”
“Oh.” Jik-jik looked Retief over carefully. “Pretty good,” he said in a conspiratorial tone. “Almost fooled me.”
“Is it you, Tief?” Tupper hooted. “I feared ye were dead, the way ye dropped out of sight.”
“Just a tricky bit of undercover work,” Retief assured the group.
“Things is got worse since we seen you last,” Jik-jik said. “Voion using new stuff on us!”