into the inevitable dark alley, Miss Braswell's hand holding tightly to
his. The sounds of looters and their vehicles had diminished to near-silence
now. A turbine growled along a nearby street, going away. They came out into a
side street, surveyed the deserted pavement, the scattered discards of the
Groaci homesteaders. Above the low roof-lines, the mile-distant towers of the
shrine were a blaze of gorgeous light.
"It
looks so pretty, all lit up," Miss Braswell said. "I'm just amazed
that you'd let those nasty little Groaci walk in and take it all away from
you."
Oo-Plif
laughed, a sound like sand in a bearing. "Towers tributes to deities. Fate
of towers in deities' hands now."
"Hmmmph.
They could have used a little help from you," Miss Braswell sniffed.
"Looks
like the new owners have cleared out for now," Retief said. "All over
at the towers, throwing a party in honor of Independence Day."
"Time
go to dandy hot bog," Oo-Plif said. "Big event soon now."
Moving
briskly along the empty street under the light of the fourth moon, now high in
the sky, they reached the corner. Down the wider cross-avenue, the flaring
torches of the revelers at the bog sparkled cheerfully. The faint sound of
Yalcan voices raised in song were audible in the stillness.
"Just
what is this big event we're hurrying to make?" Retief enquired.
Oo-Plif
indicated the large satellite overhead. "When number four moon reach
position ten degrees west of zenith—Voom!"
"Oh,
astrological symbolism."
"Not
know big word. Only one time every ninety-four years standard all four moon
line up. When this happen—Voom!"
"Voom,"
Retief said. "Just what does the word signify?"
"Fine
old Yalcan word," Oo-Pliff said. "Terry equivalent ... ummm ..."
"Probably
untranslatable." Oo-Plif snapped the fingers of his upper left hand.
"I remember," he said. "Mean 'earthquake'!" Retief stopped
dead. "You did say—'earthquake'?"
"Correct,
Retief-Tic."
Retief's
left fist slammed out in a jack-hammer punch to the Yalcan's midriff plates.
The tall creature ooffed, coiled into a ball, all four legs scrabbling, the
four arms groping wildly.
"Sorry,
pal," Retief muttered, catching up the power gun. "No time to
argue." He grabbed Miss Braswell's hand and started off at a dead run down
the deserted street toward the towering castle of light.
VI
They
skidded to a halt at a gleam from an opening door ahead. A pipe stem-legged
Groaci hurried from a building, a bulging sack over one knobby shoulder. A
second helmeted looter trotted behind, lugging a handsome ten-gallon spittoon.
"They've
got a heli," Retief said softly. "We need it. Wait here."
Miss
Braswell clutched his hand even tighter. "I'm scared!"
The
two scavengers were clambering into their dark machine now. Running lights
sprang into diamond brilliance. Turbos whirred. Retief disengaged his hand, ran
across the thirty feet of open pavement and jumped, just as the heli lifted.
There were faint, confused cries from the startled Groaci. One fumbled out a
power rifle in time for Retief to jerk it from his grasp, toss it over the
side. The heli canted wildly, narrowly missing a decorated cornice. Retief got
a grip on a bony neck, propelled the owner over the side, heard a faint yelp as
he hit. An instant later, the second followed. Retief caught the controls,
brought the heli around in a tight turn, dropped it in beside Miss Braswell.
"Oh!
I was afraid it
his. The sounds of looters and their vehicles had diminished to near-silence
now. A turbine growled along a nearby street, going away. They came out into a
side street, surveyed the deserted pavement, the scattered discards of the
Groaci homesteaders. Above the low roof-lines, the mile-distant towers of the
shrine were a blaze of gorgeous light.
"It
looks so pretty, all lit up," Miss Braswell said. "I'm just amazed
that you'd let those nasty little Groaci walk in and take it all away from
you."
Oo-Plif
laughed, a sound like sand in a bearing. "Towers tributes to deities. Fate
of towers in deities' hands now."
"Hmmmph.
They could have used a little help from you," Miss Braswell sniffed.
"Looks
like the new owners have cleared out for now," Retief said. "All over
at the towers, throwing a party in honor of Independence Day."
"Time
go to dandy hot bog," Oo-Plif said. "Big event soon now."
Moving
briskly along the empty street under the light of the fourth moon, now high in
the sky, they reached the corner. Down the wider cross-avenue, the flaring
torches of the revelers at the bog sparkled cheerfully. The faint sound of
Yalcan voices raised in song were audible in the stillness.
"Just
what is this big event we're hurrying to make?" Retief enquired.
Oo-Plif
indicated the large satellite overhead. "When number four moon reach
position ten degrees west of zenith—Voom!"
"Oh,
astrological symbolism."
"Not
know big word. Only one time every ninety-four years standard all four moon
line up. When this happen—Voom!"
"Voom,"
Retief said. "Just what does the word signify?"
"Fine
old Yalcan word," Oo-Pliff said. "Terry equivalent ... ummm ..."
"Probably
untranslatable." Oo-Plif snapped the fingers of his upper left hand.
"I remember," he said. "Mean 'earthquake'!" Retief stopped
dead. "You did say—'earthquake'?"
"Correct,
Retief-Tic."
Retief's
left fist slammed out in a jack-hammer punch to the Yalcan's midriff plates.
The tall creature ooffed, coiled into a ball, all four legs scrabbling, the
four arms groping wildly.
"Sorry,
pal," Retief muttered, catching up the power gun. "No time to
argue." He grabbed Miss Braswell's hand and started off at a dead run down
the deserted street toward the towering castle of light.
VI
They
skidded to a halt at a gleam from an opening door ahead. A pipe stem-legged
Groaci hurried from a building, a bulging sack over one knobby shoulder. A
second helmeted looter trotted behind, lugging a handsome ten-gallon spittoon.
"They've
got a heli," Retief said softly. "We need it. Wait here."
Miss
Braswell clutched his hand even tighter. "I'm scared!"
The
two scavengers were clambering into their dark machine now. Running lights
sprang into diamond brilliance. Turbos whirred. Retief disengaged his hand, ran
across the thirty feet of open pavement and jumped, just as the heli lifted.
There were faint, confused cries from the startled Groaci. One fumbled out a
power rifle in time for Retief to jerk it from his grasp, toss it over the
side. The heli canted wildly, narrowly missing a decorated cornice. Retief got
a grip on a bony neck, propelled the owner over the side, heard a faint yelp as
he hit. An instant later, the second followed. Retief caught the controls,
brought the heli around in a tight turn, dropped it in beside Miss Braswell.
"Oh!
I was afraid it
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