four-hundred-year-old,
five-hundred-thousand-ton dreadnought, a relic of pre-Concordiat times. In the
red-lit gloom of its cavernous Command Control deck, Retief and Prince Tavilan
relaxed in deep couches designed for the massive frames of the Hondu corsairs.
Opposite them, Dangredi, the Hondu chieftain, lounged at ease, his shaggy,
leather-strapped, jewel-spangled 350-pound bulk almost overflowing his
throne-like chair. At Retief’s side, General Hish perched nervously. Half a
dozen of Tavilan’s Invincibles stood around the room, chatting with an equal
number of Dangredi’s hulking officers, whose greenish fur looked black in the
light from the crimson lamps.
“What I failing to grasp,” Dangredi rumbled, “is reason for
why suddenly now changing of plan previously okayed.”
“I hardly think that matters,” Tavilan said smoothly. “I’ve
offered to add one hundred thousand Galactic Credits to the sum already agreed
on.”
“But the whole idea was compensate me, Grand Hereditary War
Chief of Hondu people, for not fight; now is offering more pay for stand and
give battle . . .”
“I thought you Hondu loved war,” an Eloran officer said.
Dangredi nodded his heavy green-furred head, featureless but
for two wide green-pupiled eyes. “Crazy mad for warring, and also plenty fond
of cash. But is smelling rodent somewhere in woodpile . . .”
“It’s very simple, Commodore,” Retief said. “General Hish
here had arranged with you to flee when the People’s Volunteer forces attacked;
now changing conditions on Elora make it necessary that you fight—and in place
of the loot you would otherwise so rightly expect, you’ll collect a handsome
honorarium—”
Suddenly the Groaci leaped to his feet, pointed at Retief.
“Commodore Dangredi,” he hissed. “This renegade diplomat beside me holds a gun
pointed at my vitals; only thus did he coerce me to request this parley. Had I
guessed his intention, I would have dared him to do his worst. Seize the
traitor, Excellency!”
Dangredi stared at the Groaci.
“He—and these strutting popinjays—plot against the security
of the People’s State of Elora!” Hish whispered urgently. “The plan remains
unchanged! You are to flee engagement with the forces of Minister Prouch!”
The great green head bobbed suddenly; hooting laughter
sounded. A vast hand slapped a thigh like a shaggy beer keg.
“Aha! At last is getting grasp of situation,” Dangredi
bellowed. “Now is little honest treachery, kind of dealing Hondu
understanding!” He waved a hand at a servitor standing by. “Bringing wassail
bowl, plenty meat!” He brought his hands together with a dull boom, rubbed them
briskly. “Double-cross, plenty fighting, more gold at end of trail! Is kind of
operation I, Dangredi, Hereditary War chief, dreaming of in long nights of
tooth-shedding time!”
“But these—these criminal kidnappers have no authority to
deal—”
“Groaci-napping is harmless pastime—like stealing wine-melons
when cub. Unless, maybe . . .” he cocked a large emerald eye at
Hish “ . . . you maybe raising ante?”
“I . . . I will match the offer of the
saboteurs of interplanetary amity! One hundred thousand in Groaci gold!”
Dangredi considered briefly. “No good. What about fighting?
You give Hondu gunners targets in sights? Or maybe chance for rough-and-tumble,
hand-to-hand, cold steel against enemy blades?”
General Hish shuddered. “In the name of civilization, I
appeal—”
“Shove civilization in ventral orifice! Hondu taking good,
crooked, blood-thirsty barbarians every time. Now disappearing quietly, Groaci,
while I and new buddies planning strategy. Maybe later I sending for you and
bending arms and legs until you tell all about enemy battle
plan . . .”
“The Groaci is our hostage,” Tavilan said as the general was
led away. “He’s not to be bent without my prior approval.”
“Sure; just having little joke.” Dangredi leaned
five-hundred-thousand-ton dreadnought, a relic of pre-Concordiat times. In the
red-lit gloom of its cavernous Command Control deck, Retief and Prince Tavilan
relaxed in deep couches designed for the massive frames of the Hondu corsairs.
Opposite them, Dangredi, the Hondu chieftain, lounged at ease, his shaggy,
leather-strapped, jewel-spangled 350-pound bulk almost overflowing his
throne-like chair. At Retief’s side, General Hish perched nervously. Half a
dozen of Tavilan’s Invincibles stood around the room, chatting with an equal
number of Dangredi’s hulking officers, whose greenish fur looked black in the
light from the crimson lamps.
“What I failing to grasp,” Dangredi rumbled, “is reason for
why suddenly now changing of plan previously okayed.”
“I hardly think that matters,” Tavilan said smoothly. “I’ve
offered to add one hundred thousand Galactic Credits to the sum already agreed
on.”
“But the whole idea was compensate me, Grand Hereditary War
Chief of Hondu people, for not fight; now is offering more pay for stand and
give battle . . .”
“I thought you Hondu loved war,” an Eloran officer said.
Dangredi nodded his heavy green-furred head, featureless but
for two wide green-pupiled eyes. “Crazy mad for warring, and also plenty fond
of cash. But is smelling rodent somewhere in woodpile . . .”
“It’s very simple, Commodore,” Retief said. “General Hish
here had arranged with you to flee when the People’s Volunteer forces attacked;
now changing conditions on Elora make it necessary that you fight—and in place
of the loot you would otherwise so rightly expect, you’ll collect a handsome
honorarium—”
Suddenly the Groaci leaped to his feet, pointed at Retief.
“Commodore Dangredi,” he hissed. “This renegade diplomat beside me holds a gun
pointed at my vitals; only thus did he coerce me to request this parley. Had I
guessed his intention, I would have dared him to do his worst. Seize the
traitor, Excellency!”
Dangredi stared at the Groaci.
“He—and these strutting popinjays—plot against the security
of the People’s State of Elora!” Hish whispered urgently. “The plan remains
unchanged! You are to flee engagement with the forces of Minister Prouch!”
The great green head bobbed suddenly; hooting laughter
sounded. A vast hand slapped a thigh like a shaggy beer keg.
“Aha! At last is getting grasp of situation,” Dangredi
bellowed. “Now is little honest treachery, kind of dealing Hondu
understanding!” He waved a hand at a servitor standing by. “Bringing wassail
bowl, plenty meat!” He brought his hands together with a dull boom, rubbed them
briskly. “Double-cross, plenty fighting, more gold at end of trail! Is kind of
operation I, Dangredi, Hereditary War chief, dreaming of in long nights of
tooth-shedding time!”
“But these—these criminal kidnappers have no authority to
deal—”
“Groaci-napping is harmless pastime—like stealing wine-melons
when cub. Unless, maybe . . .” he cocked a large emerald eye at
Hish “ . . . you maybe raising ante?”
“I . . . I will match the offer of the
saboteurs of interplanetary amity! One hundred thousand in Groaci gold!”
Dangredi considered briefly. “No good. What about fighting?
You give Hondu gunners targets in sights? Or maybe chance for rough-and-tumble,
hand-to-hand, cold steel against enemy blades?”
General Hish shuddered. “In the name of civilization, I
appeal—”
“Shove civilization in ventral orifice! Hondu taking good,
crooked, blood-thirsty barbarians every time. Now disappearing quietly, Groaci,
while I and new buddies planning strategy. Maybe later I sending for you and
bending arms and legs until you tell all about enemy battle
plan . . .”
“The Groaci is our hostage,” Tavilan said as the general was
led away. “He’s not to be bent without my prior approval.”
“Sure; just having little joke.” Dangredi leaned
Similar Books
