Retief Unbound by Keith Laumer Page A

first period they came with stevedores and loaded them
aboard the barge Moss Rock."
    "The VIP boat. Who's scheduled
to use it?"
    "I know not. But what matters
this? Let us discuss cargo movements after I have settled a score with certain
youths."
    "We'd better follow this up
first, Whonk. There's only one substance I know of that's transported in drums
and smells like that blot on the floor. That's titanite: the hottest explosive
this side of a uranium pile."
    Beta was setting as Retief, with
Whonk puffing at his heels, came up to the sentry box beside the gangway
leading to the plush interior of the Official Barge Moss Rock.
    "A sign of the times,"
Whonk said, glancing inside the empty shelter. "A guard should stand here,
but I see him not. Doubtless he crept away to sleep."
    "Let's go aboard, and take a
look around."
    They entered the ship. Soft lights
glowed in utter silence. A rough box stood on the floor, rollers and pry-bars
beside it—a discordant note in the muted luxury of the setting. Whonk rummaged
through its contents.
    "Curious," he said.
"What means this?" He held up a stained Fustian cloak of orange and
green, a metal bracelet, and a stack of papers.
    "Orange and green,"
Retief muttered. "Whose colors are those?"
    "I know not. . . Whonk glanced
at the arm-band. "But this is lettered." He passed the metal band to
Retief.
    "SCARS," Retief read. He
looked at Whonk. "It seems to me I've heard the name before," he
murmured. "Let's get back to the Embassy—fast."
    Back on the ramp Retief heard a
sound . . . and turned in time to duck the charge of a hulking Fustian youth
who thundered past him, and fetched up against the broad chest of Whonk, who
locked him in a warm embrace.
    "Nice catch, Whonk. Where'd he
sneak out of?"
    "The lout hid there by the
storage bin," Whonk rumbled. The captive youth thumped his fists and toes
futilely against the oldster's carapace.
    "Hang on to him," Retief
said. "He looks like the biting kind."
    "No fear. Clumsy I am, yet I
am not without strength."
    "Ask him where the titanite is
tucked away."
    "Speak, witless grub,"
Whonk growled, "lest I tweak you in two."
    The youth gurgled.
    "Better let up before you make
a mess of him," Retief said.
    Whonk lifted the youth clear of the
floor, then flung him down with a thump that made the ground quiver. The
    younger Fustian glared up at the
elder, his mouth snapping.
    "This one was among those who
trussed me and hid me away for the killing," said Whonk. "In his
repentance he will tell all to his elder."
    "He's the same one that tried
to strike up an acquaintance with me on the bus," Retief said. "He
gets around."
    The youth, scrambling to his hands
and knees, scuttled for freedom. Retief planted a foot on the dragging cloak;
it ripped free. He stared at the bare back of the Fustian.
    "By the Great Egg!" Whonk
exclaimed, tripping the captive as he tried to rise. "This is no youth!
His carapace has been taken from him."
    Retief looked at the scarred back.
"I thought he looked a little old. But I thought-"
    "This is not possible,"
Whonk said wonderingly. "The great nerve trunks are deeply involved; not
even the cleverest surgeon could excise the carapace and leave the patient
living."
    "It looks like somebody did the
trick. But let's take this boy with us and get out of here. His folks may come
home."
    "Too late," said Whonk.
Retief turned. Three youths came from behind the sheds.
    "Well," Retief said.
"It looks like the SCARS are out in force tonight. Where's your pal?"
he said to the advancing trio, "the sticky little bird with the
eye-stalks? Back at his Embassy, leaving you suckers holding the bag, I'll
bet."
    "Shelter behind me,
Retief," said Whonk.
    "Go get 'em, old-timer."
Retief stooped and picked up one of the pry-bars. "I'll jump around and
distract them."
    Whonk let out a whirling roar and
charged for the immature Fustians. They fanned out. . . one tripped, sprawling
on his face. Retief, whirling the metal bar that he had thrust between