Retief at Large by Keith Laumer Page B

if Minister Barnshingle wishes to
recognize the coup, I see no reason—"
     
                "I
don't think the Minister will be reasoning at his most lucid level while
dangling over a precipice. And there's also Miss Braswell to consider. She's
out there somewhere."
     
                "Retief,
you can't hope to find her without being apprehended! The city is swarming with
armed Groaci!"
     
                "I
think I know the back streets better than they do. I'll stay out of sight. If I
can reach Barnshingle before he signs anything, it may save a lot of
embarrassment all around."
     
                "Retief,
as Charge—"
     
                "Don't
give me any instructions I can't follow, Mr. Magnan," Retief took a
hand-light from a desk drawer, clipped it to his belt. "Just lie low and
ignore whatever Fiss says to you. I'll be back in a few hours."
     
    -
     
                Retief
stepped from a doorless opening into the shadows of a narrow alley running
behind the Legation. He waited until a knobkneed Groaci in an elaborate helmet
had strolled past the lighted intersection fifty feet distant, then jumped,
pulled himself up onto the low, tiled roof of the adjacent building. In the
light of the rising fourth moon, he moved quietly to the far side, lay flat
looking down on a side street littered with items discarded by the looters.
     
                One
or two windows showed lights. A single armed Groaci stood under a corner
street-lamp. Silently Retief worked his way along the roofs, jumping gaps
between buildings, until he reached a narrow space leading back into darkness a
few yards from the corner. He groped, found a chip of broken tile, tossed it
down into the alley.
     
                The
Groaci cocked his eyes alertly, swung his gun around and came over to
investigate, Retief tossed down another pebble; as the sentry entered the dark
way, Retief dropped behind him, yanked him backward off his feet and caught the
falling gun. He put the muzzle against the Groaci's pulsating throat sac.
     
                "Tell
me where the Terry female is being held," he growled, "and maybe I
won't tie knots in your eye-stalks."
     
                "Iiiikkk!"
the Groaci said. "To unhand me, demonic one!"
     
                "Of
course, you may not know," Retief said. "In that case I'd have to
regretfully kill you and strike up a new acquaintance, which would be a
nuisance for both of us."
     
                "The
impropriety of assaulting an innocent tourist! To lodge a complaint with the
Travellers Aid Society!"
     
                "No,
that was this morning," Retief corrected his prisoner. "This afternoon
you're a peaceful homesteader. You can think of me as an unpacified aborigine,
if it will help any." He jabbed with the gun. "Make up your mind. I'm
on a tight schedule."
     
                "The
ghastliness of your fate," the Groaci hissed.
     
                "Well,
I have to hurry along," Retief said. "Pardon my thumbs; shooting is
such a messy business, and noisy, too."
     
                "To
restrain yourself, prowler in the night! To show you the way to the Soft
She—and to savor the moment when you writhe on the hooks!"
     
                "That's
right," Retief said agreeably. "Think about something cheerful."
He prodded the captive guard to his feet. "In the meantime—" he
switched to Groaci—"to play your cards right and maybe to live to see the
dawn."
     
                In
a shadowy arcade running beside a rare two-story structure, Retief studied the
dark windows in the wall opposite. Faint light gleamed behind two of the
glass-less openings.
     
                "I'll
have to leave you here, I'm afraid, Tish," Retief said softly. "I'll
just pop you into one of these convenient garbage storage units. They have
nicely fitted airtight doors, but you'll be all