“It means the fight’s over!” Retief shouted above the hurricane. “It’s Gertie and her friends with reinforcements from the city—and two hundred smuggled power pistols!”
* * *
An hour later, in an unburned room of the battered post office, Retief and his victorious allies sat around a wide table, sampling Terran trade rum, Bacchus brandy, and Quoppina Hellrose, cut three to one to stretch.
“Those blasters turned the trick, all right, Retief,” Leon said. “What sleeve did you have them up?”
“Oh, they were stored conveniently in the customs shed. I hoped we wouldn’t have to use them, but once the Voion started it, there wasn’t much choice.”
“You’re a funny kind of diplomat, if you don’t mind my mentioning it,” Seymour commented. “I mean, sending Gertie to collect contraband guns so you could blast the government army—it was a neat move, don’t get me wrong—but what’ll Longspoon say?”
“Actually, Seymour, I hadn’t intended to tell him.”
“I hope all of you gentlemen will display the most complete discretion,” Fifi said sweetly. “Otherwise, I’ll come gunning for you personally.”
“Retief did what he had to do,” Leon growled. “What good’s a dead diplomat?”
“That’s a question we’d better not examine too closely,” Retief said. “And since we’re now in position to present the authorities with a fait accompli, I don’t think anyone will pursue it to its logical conclusion.”
“You is got my guarantee,” Jik-jik announced. “The new Federated Tribes ain’t going ask no embarrassing questions.”
A Terran planter thrust his head into the room. “The Bugs—our Bugs, I mean—just brought in the Voion general. Ugly-looking little devil. What do you think we ought to do with him?”
“Retief, you want to talk to this Jasper?” Leon demanded. “Or should I just throw him back?”
“Maybe I’d better have a word with him.” Retief and Fifi followed Leon along to the room where the captive Voion huddled on splayed wheels, his drooping antennae expressive of profound dejection. One ocular twitched as he saw Retief.
“Let me talk to him—alone,” he squeaked in a weak voice. Retief nodded. Leon frowned at him.
“Every time somebody gets you off to the side, funny things start happening, Retief; I’ve got an idea you’re not telling all you know.”
“Just my diplomatic reflex, Leon. I’ll be with you in five minutes.”
“Watch that bird; he may have a spare sticker under his inlay.”
As soon as the two Terrans had left, the Voion lifted off his headpiece to reveal the pale gray visage of General Hish.
“To give you credit, Terry,” he hissed in Groaci. “To have sucked me in neatly with the pretense of disorganization.”
“Don’t feel too badly, General; if you only knew how I labored over the timing—”
“To not forget the miserable quality of the troops under my command,” Hish added anxiously. “To wish the lot of them disassembled and exported—” He broke off. “But I tire you with these recriminations,” he went on smoothly in Voion. “Now, as a fellow member of a foreign mission, I assume you’ll accord me the usual courtesies . . .”
Retief looked thoughtful. “Let me see; as far as I can recall, the courtesies I received the last time I was a guest of the Groaci—”
“Now, now, my dear Retief, we mustn’t hold grudges, eh? Just give me an escort to my heli and we’ll let bygones be bygones—”
“There are a few little points I’d like for you to clear up for me first,” Retief said. “You can start by telling me what the Groaci Foreign Office had in mind when it started arming the Voion.”
Hish made a clicking noise indicating surprise. “But my dear chap—I thought it was common knowledge that it was your own Ambassador Longspoon who conceived the notion of supplying, ah, educational material . . . ?”
“Terry power guns make a blue flash, Hish,” Retief said patiently. “Those of Groaci manufacture make yellow ones—even when they’re tricked out with plastic covers to look like Terry guns. It was one of your flimsier deceptions—”
“Speaking of deceptions,” Hish mused, “I feel sure your own clever impersonation will cause quite a stir among your troops, once it’s known—to say nothing of the reaction among your colleagues when they discover you’ve been leading an armed insurrection—and against your own CDT-supported faction at that.”
“It might—if there were anyone alive who knew about it—and felt gabby,” Retief agreed.
“I’m alive,” Hish pointed out. “And while `gabby’ is not perhaps the word I would have employed—”
“There’s not much I can do about your gabbiness,” Retief cut in. “But as for your being alive—”
“Retief! You wouldn’t? Not a fellow alien! A fellow diplomat! A fellow illegal operator!”
“Oh, I might,” Retief said. “Now, suppose you demonstrate that gabbiness you were boasting about a few seconds ago . . .”
* * *
” . . . in the strictest confidence,” Hish croaked, mopping at his throat sac with a large green hanky. “If Ambassador Schluh ever suspected—that is, if he knew of my professional confidences—”
There was a scrape of feet outside the door. Hish hastily donned his head as the yellow-bearded Terran came into the room. “Hey, Mr. Retief,” he said. “There’s a fellow out here just made a sloppy landing in a heli. Says he’s from the Terry Embassy at Ixix. Leon says you better talk to him.”
“Certainly,” Retief got to his feet. “Where is he?”
“Right here . . .” the blond man motioned. A second figure appeared in the door—muddy, tattered, his clothing awry, his cheeks unshaved; Leon, Fifi, Seymour, and a crowd of others were behind him.
“Retief!” Magnan gasped. “Then you—how—I thought—but never mind. They let me go—that is, they sent me—Ikk sent me—”
“Maybe you’d better sit down and collect yourself, Mr. Magnan,” Retief put a hand under the First Secretary’s elbow, guided him to a chair. Magnan sank down.
“He has them—all of us—the entire staff,” he choked. “From Ambassador Longspoon—locked up in his own Chancery, mind you—down to the merest code clerk! And unless the Federated Tribes instantly lay down their arms, disband their army, and release all prisoners, he’s going to hang them right after breakfast tomorrow!”
“All I got to say is,” Seymour announced, hitching up his pants, “we ain’t about to give up what we won just to save a bunch of CDT slickers from a necktie party. Serves ’em right for chumming up to them Voion in the first place.”
“Retief didn’t ask you to,” Big Leon snapped. “Shut up, Seymour. Anyway, we didn’t win the fight—the Bugs did.”
“But the sixty-one prisoners,” Magnan protested breathlessly. “Twenty women—”
“Longspoon ought to appreciate being strung up by his pals,” a man put in. “Those Quopp tribesmen will sure do the job if the Voion don’t.”
“It’s a tough deal,” Leon cut in. “But even if we went along, we got no guarantee Ikk wouldn’t hang ’em anyway—and us alongside of ’em.”
“I’m afraid doing business with Ikk is out of the question,” Retief agreed. “The former prime minister is one of those realistic souls who never let a matter of principle stand in the way of practical matters. Still, I think hanging the whole staff is a bit severe.”
“He must be out of his mind,” someone said. “He’ll have a couple squadrons of CDT Peace Enforcers in here before you can say Jack Dools—”
“Ikk is an end-of-the-world type,” Retief said. “He’s not concerned about consequences—not until they jump out and grab him by the back of the neck.”
“I say let’s get the Bug army together—”
“The Federated Tribes,” Retief corrected gently.
“Yeah—OK, the Federated Tribes. We march ’em straight through to Ixix, with plenty of Rhoon cover, take over the town, kick out the Voion garrison, tell old Ikk to hang up his toolbox, and put in a call for CDT Monitors—”
“CDT Monitors, hell,” Seymour growled. “What did the CDT ever do for Quopp except give the Voion big ideas?”
“Gentlemen, it’s apparent that the next target for the Federation is the capital,” Retief said. “I want you to wait one day before starting, however.”
“Hell, let’s hit ’em now, before they get a chance to pull themselves together—”
“That ain’t likely—not with their general cooling his wheels here.” Seymour nodded toward Hish, sitting silently in a corner.
“What do you want us to wait for, Retief?” Les demanded.
“Don’t sound any dumber’n you got to,” Big Leon growled. “He needs a few hours to try to spring the ambassador and his rappies before Ikk strings ’em up.” He looked at Retief. “Seymour and me’ll go with you.”
“Three Terries would be just a trifle too conspicuous in Ixix tonight,” Retief said. “But I think I’ll take our friend the general along for company.”
Hish jumped as though stung by a zinger. “Why me?” he whispered.
“You’ll be my guide,” Retief said blandly.
“How do you figure to make your play?” Leon asked.