walk to the building where
the Terrestrial delegation occupied a suite. As Retief neared it, a pair of
Krultch sailors emerged from a grogshop, turned in his direction. They were
short-coupled centauroid quadrupeds, with deep, narrow chests, snouted faces
with business-like jaws and fringe beards, dressed in the redstriped livery of
the Krultch Navy, complete with sidearms and short swagger sticks. Retief
altered course to the right to give them passing room; they saw him, nudged
each other, spaced themselves to block the walk. Retief came on without
slowing, started between them. The Krultch closed ranks. Retief stepped back,
started around the sailor on the left. The creature sidled, still blocking his
path.
"Oh-hoh, Terry loose in
street," he said in a voice like sand in a gear box. "You lost,
Terry?"
The other Krultch crowded Retief
against the rail. "Where you from, Terry? What you do—?"
Without warning, Retief slammed a
solid kick to the shin of the Krultch before him, simultaneously wrenched the
stick from the alien's grip, cracked it down sharply across the wrist of the
other sailor as he went for his gun. The weapon clattered, skidded off the walk
and was gone. The one whom Retief had kicked was hopping on three legs, making
muffled sounds of agony. Retief stepped quickly to him, jerked his gun from its
holster, aimed it negligently at the other Krultch.
"Better get your buddy back to
the ship and have that leg looked at," he said.
A ring of gaping Gaspierre had
gathered, choking the walk. Retief thrust the pistol into his pocket, turned
his back on the Krultch, pushed through the locals. A large coarse-hided
Gaspierre policeman made as if to block his way; Retief rammed an elbow in his
side and kept going. A mutter was rising from the crowd behind him. The Embassy
was just ahead now. Retief turned off toward the entry; two yellow-uniformed
Gaspierre moved into sight under the marquee, eyed him as he came up.
4
"Terran, have you not heard of
the curfew?" one demanded in shrill but accurate Terran.
"Can't say that I have,"
Retief replied. "There wasn't any, an hour ago."
"There is now!" the other
snapped. "You Terries are not popular here. If you insist on inflaming the
populace by walking abroad, we cannot be responsible for your safety—" he
broke off as he saw the Krultch pistol protruding from Retiefs pocket.
"Where did you get that?" he
demanded in Gaspierran, then switched to pidgin Terran: "Where you-fella
catchum bang-bang?"
"A couple of lads were playing
with it in the street," Retief said in the local dialect. "I took it
away from them before someone got hurt." He started past them.
"Hold on there," the
policeman snapped. "We're not finished with you, fellow. We'll tell you
when you can go. Now ..." He folded his upper elbows. "You're to go
to your quarters at once. In view of the tense interplanetary situation, all
you Terries are to remain inside until further notice, I have my men posted on
all approaches to, ah, provide protection—"
"You're putting a diplomatic
mission under arrest?" Retief inquired mildly.
"I wouldn't call it that. Let's
say that it wouldn't be safe for foreigners to venture abroad—"
"Threats too?"
"This measure is necessary in
order to prevent unfortunate incidents—!"
"How about the Krultch? They're
foreigners; are you locking them in their bedrooms?"
"The Krultch are old and valued
friends of the Gaspierre," the police captain said stiffly.
"We—"
"I see now; ever since they set
up an armed patrol just outside Gaspierran atmosphere, you've developed a vast
affection for them. Of course, their purchasing missions help too."
The captain smirked. "We
Gaspierre are nothing if not practical." He held out his clawlike
two-fingered hand. "You will now give me the weapon."
Retief handed it over silently.
"Come, I will escort you to your
room," the cop said.
Retief nodded complacently, followed
the Gaspierre through the entry cubicle and into the lift.
"I'm glad
the Terrestrial delegation occupied a suite. As Retief neared it, a pair of
Krultch sailors emerged from a grogshop, turned in his direction. They were
short-coupled centauroid quadrupeds, with deep, narrow chests, snouted faces
with business-like jaws and fringe beards, dressed in the redstriped livery of
the Krultch Navy, complete with sidearms and short swagger sticks. Retief
altered course to the right to give them passing room; they saw him, nudged
each other, spaced themselves to block the walk. Retief came on without
slowing, started between them. The Krultch closed ranks. Retief stepped back,
started around the sailor on the left. The creature sidled, still blocking his
path.
"Oh-hoh, Terry loose in
street," he said in a voice like sand in a gear box. "You lost,
Terry?"
The other Krultch crowded Retief
against the rail. "Where you from, Terry? What you do—?"
Without warning, Retief slammed a
solid kick to the shin of the Krultch before him, simultaneously wrenched the
stick from the alien's grip, cracked it down sharply across the wrist of the
other sailor as he went for his gun. The weapon clattered, skidded off the walk
and was gone. The one whom Retief had kicked was hopping on three legs, making
muffled sounds of agony. Retief stepped quickly to him, jerked his gun from its
holster, aimed it negligently at the other Krultch.
"Better get your buddy back to
the ship and have that leg looked at," he said.
A ring of gaping Gaspierre had
gathered, choking the walk. Retief thrust the pistol into his pocket, turned
his back on the Krultch, pushed through the locals. A large coarse-hided
Gaspierre policeman made as if to block his way; Retief rammed an elbow in his
side and kept going. A mutter was rising from the crowd behind him. The Embassy
was just ahead now. Retief turned off toward the entry; two yellow-uniformed
Gaspierre moved into sight under the marquee, eyed him as he came up.
4
"Terran, have you not heard of
the curfew?" one demanded in shrill but accurate Terran.
"Can't say that I have,"
Retief replied. "There wasn't any, an hour ago."
"There is now!" the other
snapped. "You Terries are not popular here. If you insist on inflaming the
populace by walking abroad, we cannot be responsible for your safety—" he
broke off as he saw the Krultch pistol protruding from Retiefs pocket.
"Where did you get that?" he
demanded in Gaspierran, then switched to pidgin Terran: "Where you-fella
catchum bang-bang?"
"A couple of lads were playing
with it in the street," Retief said in the local dialect. "I took it
away from them before someone got hurt." He started past them.
"Hold on there," the
policeman snapped. "We're not finished with you, fellow. We'll tell you
when you can go. Now ..." He folded his upper elbows. "You're to go
to your quarters at once. In view of the tense interplanetary situation, all
you Terries are to remain inside until further notice, I have my men posted on
all approaches to, ah, provide protection—"
"You're putting a diplomatic
mission under arrest?" Retief inquired mildly.
"I wouldn't call it that. Let's
say that it wouldn't be safe for foreigners to venture abroad—"
"Threats too?"
"This measure is necessary in
order to prevent unfortunate incidents—!"
"How about the Krultch? They're
foreigners; are you locking them in their bedrooms?"
"The Krultch are old and valued
friends of the Gaspierre," the police captain said stiffly.
"We—"
"I see now; ever since they set
up an armed patrol just outside Gaspierran atmosphere, you've developed a vast
affection for them. Of course, their purchasing missions help too."
The captain smirked. "We
Gaspierre are nothing if not practical." He held out his clawlike
two-fingered hand. "You will now give me the weapon."
Retief handed it over silently.
"Come, I will escort you to your
room," the cop said.
Retief nodded complacently, followed
the Gaspierre through the entry cubicle and into the lift.
"I'm glad
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