anything irrevocable. Meanwhile, hold the fort
here. If they come for you, quote regulations at them; I'm sure they'll find
that discouraging."
"Plans? Retief, I positively
forbid you to—"
6
Retief stepped through the door and
closed it behind him, cutting off the flow of ambassadorial wisdom. A flat
policeman posted a few feet along the corridor came to the alert, opened his
mouth to speak-
"All right, you can go home
now," Retief said in brisk Gaspierran. "The chief changed his mind;
he decided violating a Terran Embassy's quarters was just asking for trouble.
After all, the Krultch haven't won yet."
The cop stared at him, then nodded.
"I wondered if this wasn't kind of getting the rickshaw before the coolie
..." he hesitated. "But what do you know about it?"
"I just had a nice chat with the
captain, one floor up."
"Well, if he let you come down
here, I guess it's all right."
"If you hurry, you can make it
back to the barracks before the evening rush begins." Retief waved airily
and strolled away along the corridor.
Back at ground level, Retief went
along a narrow service passage leading to the rear of the building, stepped out
into a deserted-looking courtyard. There was another door across the way. He
went to it, followed another hall to a street exit. There were no cops in
sight. He took the sparsely peopled lower walkway, set off at a brisk walk.
Ten minutes later, Retief surveyed the
approaches to the Hostelry Ritz-Krudlu from the shelter of an interlevel
connecting stair. A surging crowd of Gaspierre blocked the walkway, with a
scattering of yellow police uniforms patrolling the edge of the mob. Placards
lettered TERRY GO HOME and KEEP GASPIERRE BROWN bobbed above the sea of
flattened heads. Off to one side, a heavily braided Krultch officer stood with
a pair of age-tarnished locals, looking on approvingly.
Retief retraced his steps to the
debris-littered ground level twenty feet below the walkway, found an
eighteen-inch-wide air space leading back between the buildings. He inched
along it, came to a door, found it locked. Four doors later, a latch yielded to
his touch. He stepped inside, made out the dim outlines of an empty storage
room. The door across the room was locked. Retief stepped back, slammed a kick
against it at latch level; it bounced wide.
After a moment's wait for the sound of
an alarm which failed to materialize, Retief moved off along the passage, found
a rubbish-heaped stair. He clambered over the debris, started up.
At the twelfth level, he emerged into
the corridor. There was no one in sight. He went quickly along to the door
numbered 1203, tapped lightly. There was a faint sound from inside; then a bass
voice rumbled, "Who's there?"
"Retief. Open up before the house
dick spots me."
Bolts clattered and the door swung
wide; Julius Mulvihill's mustached face appeared; he seized Retiefs hand and
pumped it, grinning.
"Gripes, Mr. Retief, we were
worried about you. Right after you left, old Hrooze called up here and said
there was a riot starting up—"
"Nothing serious; just a few
enthusiasts out front putting on a show for the Krultch."
"What's happened?" Wee
Willie chirped, coming in from the next room with lather on his chin.
"They throwing us out already?"
"No, you'll be safe enough right
here. But I need your help."
The big man nodded, flexed his hands.
Suzette la Flamme thrust a drink into
Retiefs hand. "Sit down and tell us about it."
"Glad you come to us,
Retief," Wee Willie piped.
Retief took the offered chair, sampled
the drink, then outlined the situation.
"What I have in mind could be
dangerous," he finished.
"What ain't?" Willie
demanded.
"It calls for a delicate touch
and some fancy footwork," Retief added.
The professor cleared his throat.
"I am not without a certain dexterity—" he started.
"Let him finish," the
redhead said.
"And I'm not even sure it's
possible," Retief stated.
The big man looked at the others.
"There's a lot of things that look
here. If they come for you, quote regulations at them; I'm sure they'll find
that discouraging."
"Plans? Retief, I positively
forbid you to—"
6
Retief stepped through the door and
closed it behind him, cutting off the flow of ambassadorial wisdom. A flat
policeman posted a few feet along the corridor came to the alert, opened his
mouth to speak-
"All right, you can go home
now," Retief said in brisk Gaspierran. "The chief changed his mind;
he decided violating a Terran Embassy's quarters was just asking for trouble.
After all, the Krultch haven't won yet."
The cop stared at him, then nodded.
"I wondered if this wasn't kind of getting the rickshaw before the coolie
..." he hesitated. "But what do you know about it?"
"I just had a nice chat with the
captain, one floor up."
"Well, if he let you come down
here, I guess it's all right."
"If you hurry, you can make it
back to the barracks before the evening rush begins." Retief waved airily
and strolled away along the corridor.
Back at ground level, Retief went
along a narrow service passage leading to the rear of the building, stepped out
into a deserted-looking courtyard. There was another door across the way. He
went to it, followed another hall to a street exit. There were no cops in
sight. He took the sparsely peopled lower walkway, set off at a brisk walk.
Ten minutes later, Retief surveyed the
approaches to the Hostelry Ritz-Krudlu from the shelter of an interlevel
connecting stair. A surging crowd of Gaspierre blocked the walkway, with a
scattering of yellow police uniforms patrolling the edge of the mob. Placards
lettered TERRY GO HOME and KEEP GASPIERRE BROWN bobbed above the sea of
flattened heads. Off to one side, a heavily braided Krultch officer stood with
a pair of age-tarnished locals, looking on approvingly.
Retief retraced his steps to the
debris-littered ground level twenty feet below the walkway, found an
eighteen-inch-wide air space leading back between the buildings. He inched
along it, came to a door, found it locked. Four doors later, a latch yielded to
his touch. He stepped inside, made out the dim outlines of an empty storage
room. The door across the room was locked. Retief stepped back, slammed a kick
against it at latch level; it bounced wide.
After a moment's wait for the sound of
an alarm which failed to materialize, Retief moved off along the passage, found
a rubbish-heaped stair. He clambered over the debris, started up.
At the twelfth level, he emerged into
the corridor. There was no one in sight. He went quickly along to the door
numbered 1203, tapped lightly. There was a faint sound from inside; then a bass
voice rumbled, "Who's there?"
"Retief. Open up before the house
dick spots me."
Bolts clattered and the door swung
wide; Julius Mulvihill's mustached face appeared; he seized Retiefs hand and
pumped it, grinning.
"Gripes, Mr. Retief, we were
worried about you. Right after you left, old Hrooze called up here and said
there was a riot starting up—"
"Nothing serious; just a few
enthusiasts out front putting on a show for the Krultch."
"What's happened?" Wee
Willie chirped, coming in from the next room with lather on his chin.
"They throwing us out already?"
"No, you'll be safe enough right
here. But I need your help."
The big man nodded, flexed his hands.
Suzette la Flamme thrust a drink into
Retiefs hand. "Sit down and tell us about it."
"Glad you come to us,
Retief," Wee Willie piped.
Retief took the offered chair, sampled
the drink, then outlined the situation.
"What I have in mind could be
dangerous," he finished.
"What ain't?" Willie
demanded.
"It calls for a delicate touch
and some fancy footwork," Retief added.
The professor cleared his throat.
"I am not without a certain dexterity—" he started.
"Let him finish," the
redhead said.
"And I'm not even sure it's
possible," Retief stated.
The big man looked at the others.
"There's a lot of things that look
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