Chapter Six

 

1

 

            After leaving the prison-like confines of the Message Center, Retief reported to the Transportation Officer, who provided him with documentation covering the requisition of the unregistered de-commissioned Class III vessel Phoenix for official use "on a non-compensatory basis, reassignment of the vessel to Retief as Administrative Assistant assigned to Special Mission Number One, handed over a heavy volume of Intelligence data regarding Ree Field Headquarters at Barter Nine, and added his advice:

 

            "Better keep a low profile, Retief; you're nursemaiding a load of top brass such as I've never seen since the last time the Secretary threw a birthday party, back at the Department on Terra."

 

            "I'll try to keep them headed in the right direction, Fred," Retief assured the admin chief.

 

 

2

 

            Arriving at the port a few hours later, Retief was met, not to say confronted, by no less a personage than Special Envoy Sitzfleisch.

 

            "Here, you're that fellow Retief," the Team Leader charged.

 

            "Guilty," Retief replied.

 

            "Time to get this show on the road," Sitzfleisch stated. "Now, you're supposed to know how to find this confounded fellow Slive, His Excellency the Chief Intimidator, I mean, and by the way, no crew has yet reported for duty, I'm informed."

 

            "That's in order, sir," Retief reassured the TL. "I'm checked out on this type. She's a Z-type, designed for operation by minimal crew. So we can load at once. I've filed the flight plan with Ops."

 

            "The members of my Special Team are already aboard," the AE and MP replied shortly. "I was merely awaiting your own arrival to order lift-off."

 

            "We're tight-scheduled for oh-nineteen hundred, half an hour yet," Retief pointed out. "Ops would take a dim view of anyone trying to jump the launch order, especially without the authorization of the rated deep space pilot."

 

            "Don't let that 'pilot' stuff go to your head, Mr. Retief," Sitzfleisch rebuked his subordinate sharply. "I am Team Leader; you're merely a nondiplomatic admin chap here. I give the orders."

 

            "That being the case, Mr. Ambassador," Retief replied, "CDT regs require that you qualify yourself as a rated pilot and so register with Operations."

 

            "Nonsense, I'm no bus driver!" Sitzfleisch snapped. "You can take care of all that sort of thing, of course. Now, what's the low-down, Retief? I hear you've visited this chap Slive; what's he really like?"

 

            "He's a cruel, ambitious thug," Retief told him, "but on the other hand, he's a liar and a swindler."

 

            "Are you saying the fellow is a career diplomat?" the TL demanded.

 

            "You said that," Retief pointed out. "So don't quote me."

 

3

 

            An hour later, Phoenix was on course for Fringe Space at flank speed, and already her complement of Retief and twelve senior bureaucrats had settled into the monotonous routine of deep-space travel.

 

            Bypassing Goblinrock, Retief conferred briefly with Pushy via the latter's unconventional direct-link technique.

 

            "Pity," the totipotent being commented when Retief told him he wouldn't be landing this trip. "But we've learned patience over the ages, and of course we're well fed at the moment and full of new ideas. Do stop in again soon, and I'll tell you all about our new project."

 

            "Don't start yet," Retief cautioned. "I think I can promise you a steady supply of glimp eggs, starting very soon now. Meanwhile, don't do anything to upset the status quo"

 

            Pushy agreed to allow his grandiose new schemes to lie fallow for the present, and abruptly lapsed into the comatose state which, he had explained, helped pass the eons with minimal ennui.

 

4

 

            Nearing the Goober Cluster, Retief programmed a course correction to bring the speedy vessel into landing orbit at the sparsely-settled world officially designated RNGCA6321, but known to its hardy inhabitants as Hardtack.

 

            As the converted destroyer took up its parking orbit, Retief tuned the communicator to the local traffic band, and was instantly assailed by a clamor of voices, all talking at once, and all, it seemed at the top of their lungs.

 

            "—got the sucker in my sights—"

 

            "—save some for Y Squadron!"

 

            "—told you bums to stand by for orders!" a domineering voice cut 'through the babble. "Whattya think this is? A wild barf-beast hunt or something? Now, B Squadron, you fall in, in echelon left like the plan calls for, and the rest o' you—"

 

            "—no exercise! Let's go get em!"

 

            At the same moment, the long-range proximity detectors ping!ed imperatively.

 

            "What is .it?" Homer Sitzfleisch demanded, peering over Retief's shoulder at the screen which displayed an irregular array of small objects converging on Phoenix. "A meteor swarm?" The Team Leader hazarded. "Odd sort of phenomenon to find orbiting a T-class planet."

 

            "I think it's our reception committee," Retief replied.

 

            "Impossible!" Sitzfleisch snapped. "I notified no one of our anticipated arrival! In fact, I myself was not aware you planned to detour to this benighted frontier post. What explanation do you offer?"

 

            "Hardtack One, Phoenix calling," Retief said into the extreme range talker. "Kindly organize yourselves to escort a CDT vessel transporting a party of VIP's on an Operational Cosmic Urgent mission."

 

            "Looks like the boys are on the ball," he added, addressing Sitzfleisch. Abruptly, the incoherent clamor of incomings cut off, and a commanding voice came through clearly:

 

            "CDT Phoenix, Hardtack One here. We were notified you'd be coming, but we didn't exactly believe it. Just give me a minute here, and I'll whip this bunch of mine into shape. By the way, hold your fire if some of my eager beavers happen to let off a few ranging shots. Don't worry, they'll probably miss."

 

            "What's that?" Sitzfleisch demanded. "We're to be fired on? By Terran colonists? Return fire, Mr. Retief, and do so at once."

 

            "You'd better go lie down, Mr. Ambassador," Retief suggested quietly. "We've penetrated their outer perimeter, it seems, without proper clearance, so the boys are understandably excited. But our automatics can take care of any stray rounds that happen to come our way.

 

            "Roger, Hardtack One," he said into the talker. "Request escort for immediate docking at your main port."

 

            "Roger, CDT," Hardtack came back. "I can get you down right away; as for our main port, we only got the one. Over and out."

 

            On the forward and lateral screens, the horde of small craft which had risen to challenge the intruder were closing in, some firing as they came.

 

            "We'll be blasted to atoms!" Sitzfleisch yelled. "Mr. Retief, I suggest—nay, I command that you return fire at once!"

 

            "Very well, Mr. Ambassador," Retief said calmly. "Could you assist by pushing the missile buttons?"

 

            "With pleasure, Retief," Sitzfleisch said, moving to the Attack console.

 

            "No, not those missiles. They're long-range," Retief said, directing him to a shiny metal box with rows of black buttons.

 

            The Team Leader jabbed his finger enthusiastically at a sequence of buttons.

 

            Retief turned back to the battle screens. The swarm of attacking ships was thinning.

 

            There was an interruption at the rear of the Control Center. A junior political officer poked his head around the edge of the entry panel and complained, "The chiefs back here want to know what's going on. Who's monkeying with the music tapes? The sound is jumping from octave to octave—"

 

            The junior nodded and withdrew.

 

            Sitzfleisch had stopped jabbing the stereo buttons and was watching the screens. The last attacker veered off at contact minus a fractional second.

 

            The babble of excited voices incoming on the local band thinned out, to be dominated at last by the emphatic commands of Hardtack One:

 

            "Form escort of honor to convoy CDT vessel parations for the reception, as Your Excellency so perceptively suggested."

 

            "Capital notion," Sitzfleisch breathed, mopping at his forehead with a large floral-patterned tissue.

 

5

 

            When the pmgling of gradually cooling, entry-seared hot metal had ceased, a lantern-jawed man casually uniformed in blue-dyed homespun ornamented with an amount of buttons and braid suggestive of Field Marshal rank advanced to the Phoenix's landing party in a studied saunter.

 

            "All right, fellows, I'm Sergeant-Major Grundy," he announced in a brassy voice. "Which one of you boys is in charge here?"

 

            "May I present Ambassador Sitzfleisch," Retief spoke up as the latter bustled forward to confront his host.

 

            "Only a sergeant?" Sitzfleisch muttered as he started to offer a handshake, then patted his paunch instead. "A mere non-com to meet me and my little party of heroes—none of whom is less than a CDTO-10, except for my driver Retief, of course."

 

            "Happens Sergeant-Major's the top dog in our organization," Grundy snapped. "Now, what's the idea getting our fellows all stirred up? Figgered it was another Ree invasion."

 

            "It so happens, Sergeant," the Team Leader replied coldly, "that I am on a mission of the utmost gravity, and it was only with reluctance that I decided to honor your small planet with an actual State Visit."

 

            "Gosh," Grundy said expressionlessly.

 

            "According to the CDT List," Underthrust put in, "there's a Consulate here. Where's the Consul?"

 

            "I was about to inquire as to that," Team Leader Ambassador Sitzfleisch said quickly. "Damned odd the fellow's not here, eh?"

 

            "Nope," Grundy said. "Be pretty strange if he was here, seein's he took off right after the Rees hit the Plantation and grabbed the governor and all."

 

            "Impossible!" Sitzfleisch thundered. "A diplomat deserting his post in the face of the, ah, alleged enemy."

 

            "Maybe he heard you was coming, Cap'n," Grundy suggested expressionlessly. "And there ain't nothing 'alleged' about the enemy. Them suckers burned our entire zitz-weed crop, and our snick berries didn't come out too good, neither, seein's they parked their go-boats right in the midst of our prime acreage. You watch: snick berries are going sky high. That's a market tip, fellows. Well, are we going to stand here and jaw the whole day, or are we going up to town and have some eats? We got a kind of lash-up banquet laid on, soon's we heard we bagged us a boatload of big shots from Aldo."

 

            "A modest meal would not be amiss," Sitzfleisch conceded, amidst the enthusiastic cries of his subordinates:

 

            "—some real chow at last!"

 

            "—one's palate is probably atrophied!"

 

            "—shipboard rations! Never—"

 

            "Ah, just what are you serving, Sergeant Major?" the Team Leader inquired.

 

            "Got a big rock ranger, that's a local sheep," Grundy replied. "Kinda gamey if you ain't used to it. Descended from goats and sheep the early explorers turned loose here. Smells pretty bad. Tough, too, a big old male like this is. But like the little fellow said, it's better'n x-rations. Got some fine gravy with it, too. We pour that over the mashed bile-tarnips. Hope you like bichy-bichy, about a hundred-ninety proof, got plenty of that, made outa local lichen you know, little green, but plenty of vitamins. For dessert, well, I guess there won't be no dessert, cause the batch the Eady boys was bringing done blowed up on 'em. Too much yeast, I guess, and a mutated strain at that. Let's go."

 

            As Grundy completed his description of the viands in store, a knock-kneed flatbed pulled up alongside the little group in a cloud of powdered guano, and the Sergeant Major waved his guests aboard, but caught Retief's eye.

 

            "Seein's you're the driver for this here bunch, you better ride up front with me," he suggested. Retief complied.

 

            As soon as he had clanged the cardboard-upholstered cab door shut, having crowded in beside Retief and the driver, Grundy said in a confidential tone, "How about it, brother? How bad is the war? Where's the Navy? We appreciate the shipment you boys snuck in labelled 'office supplies,' but hand-blasters ain't gonna help much if they decide to stand off and bomb."

 

            "You'll be glad to know that Governor Anderson is on his way home," Retief put in as Grundy ran out of breath. "And his family, too."

 

            "How about Buster, the hired man?" Grundy demanded. "He's the best tech man in the Plantation. Came out here to be a inspector for the outfit installed the SWIFT gear, only the company folded, and he was stranded. Had to take whatever job he could get. He OK too?"

 

            "Buster looked hale and hearty when I saw him last," Retief reassured the sergeant-major. "When the Ree attacked," he went on to inquire, "did they set up a base here, or was it just hit-and-run?"

 

            "Tried to," Grundy said with satisfaction. "Run, I mean. But we headed 'em off at the draw, and they all committed suicide. Least, they all went rigid and ain't made a move since. Like they was paralyzed, or catatonic or like that. Ain't rotted, so they ain't really dead, I guess."

 

            "The Ree are a practical folk," Retief explained. "If they realize they're trapped, they go into deep hibernation until the coast is clear."

 

            "Well, anyway," the sergeant-major resumed his account, "soon's we took care of that, we got together and decided if the Navy ain't gonna give us coverage, we'd better do something ourselves. That's how come the Planetary Defense Force. Not a real spit-and-polish outfit, but eager to go. You saw that yourself."

 

            "Team Leader Ambassador Sitzfleisch was deeply impressed," Retief assured Grundy.

 

            "I bet we don't get no more static from them Ree," the sergeant-major predicted, "when they get word we're organized and combat-ready."

 

            "You may be right," Retief agreed. "That being the case, it would be a pity to let the troops get stale from lack of action."

 

            "Right! If my boys don't get to loose off a few rounds, now their dander's up, they'll probably start in looting each other."

 

            "I have a solution," Retief said quietly. "Suppose we carry the war to the enemy."

 

            "Whaddaya mean, Retief?" Grundy inquired hesitantly. "How can we do that when they ain't here?"

 

            "Easily," Retief told him. "We can go on the offensive."

 

            "I like it," Grundy said. "By golly, Retief, the boys are gonna love this. 'We,' you said: that mean you're coming, too?"

 

            "I wouldn't miss it," Retief assured the local warlord.

 

            "Course," Grundy said, after a pause, "we don't know what kind of firepower they got, or where they're at."

 

            "I can help you there," Retief advised the sergeant-major. "Do you people maintain contact with McGillicudy's World, Drygulch, Dobe, and the other worlds in the cluster?"

 

            "Sure do, got a nice balance o' payments, too, only we ain't heard from them lately. Last we heard, the worms are harassing them, too, just like us."

 

            "Do you think they'd fight to hold onto their planets?" Retief asked.

 

            "Durn tootin," Grundy responded enthusiastically. "Only they got no more armed forces'n we have—less, since we started the PDF."

 

            "Suppose we rename it the Cluster Defense Force, and find a way to supply arms," Retief suggested. "Would you agree to that?"

 

            "Just what I was thinkin' about myself!" Grundy stated: "only I don't know how I could help em with arms. We hardly got enough in the sneak shipments for ourselves."

 

            "I have a few ideas," Retief said. "Here's what I have in mind ..."

 

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