The Keith Laumer MEGAPACK®: 21 Classic Stories. Keith Laumer

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СКАЧАТЬ watched. Minutes passed. The shape moved again, slipped into a shadow ten feet distant. Retief felt the butt of the power pistol with his elbow. His guess had better be right this time….

      There was a sudden rasp, like leather against concrete, and a flurry of sand as the Flap-jack charged.

      Retief rolled aside, then lunged, threw his weight on the flopping Flap-jack—a yard square, three inches thick at the center and all muscle. The ray-like creature heaved up, curled backward, its edge rippling, to stand on the flattened rim of its encircling sphincter. It scrabbled with prehensile fringe-tentacles for a grip on Retief’s shoulders. He wrapped his arms around the alien and struggled to his feet. The thing was heavy. A hundred pounds at least. Fighting as it was, it seemed more like five hundred.

      The Flap-jack reversed its tactics, went limp. Retief grabbed, felt a thumb slip into an orifice—

      The alien went wild. Retief hung on, dug the thumb in deeper.

      “Sorry, fellow,” he muttered between clenched teeth. “Eye-gouging isn’t gentlemanly, but it’s effective….”

      The Flap-jack fell still, only its fringes rippling slowly. Retief relaxed the pressure of his thumb; the alien gave a tentative jerk; the thumb dug in.

      The alien went limp again, waiting.

      “Now we understand each other,” said Retief. “Take me to your leader.”

      * * * *

      Twenty minutes’ walk into the desert brought Retief to a low rampart of thorn branches: the Flap-jacks’ outer defensive line against Terry forays. It would be as good a place as any to wait for the move by the Flap-jacks. He sat down and eased the weight of his captive off his back, but kept a firm thumb in place. If his analysis of the situation was correct, a Flap-jack picket should be along before too long….

      A penetrating beam of red light struck Retief in the face, blinked off. He got to his feet. The captive Flap-jack rippled its fringe in an agitated way. Retief tensed his thumb in the eye-socket.

      “Sit tight,” he said. “Don’t try to do anything hasty….” His remarks were falling on deaf ears—or no ears at all—but the thumb spoke as loudly as words.

      There was a slither of sand. Another. He became aware of a ring of presences drawing closer.

      Retief tightened his grip on the alien. He could see a dark shape now, looming up almost to his own six-three. It looked like the Flap-jacks came in all sizes.

      A low rumble sounded, like a deep-throated growl. It strummed on, faded out. Retief cocked his head, frowning.

      “Try it two octaves higher,” he said.

      “Awwrrp! Sorry. Is that better?” a clear voice came from the darkness.

      “That’s fine,” Retief said. “I’m here to arrange a prisoner exchange.”

      “Prisoners? But we have no prisoners.”

      “Sure you have. Me. Is it a deal?”

      “Ah, yes, of course. Quite equitable. What guarantees do you require?”

      “The word of a gentleman is sufficient.” Retief released the alien. It flopped once, disappeared into the darkness.

      “If you’d care to accompany me to our headquarters,” the voice said, “we can discuss our mutual concerns in comfort.”

      “Delighted.”

      Red lights blinked briefly. Retief glimpsed a gap in the thorny barrier, stepped through it. He followed dim shapes across warm sand to a low cave-like entry, faintly lit with a reddish glow.

      “I must apologize for the awkward design of our comfort-dome,” said the voice. “Had we known we would be honored by a visit—”

      “Think nothing of it,” Retief said. “We diplomats are trained to crawl.”

      Inside, with knees bent and head ducked under the five-foot ceiling, Retief looked around at the walls of pink-toned nacre, a floor like burgundy-colored glass spread with silken rugs and a low table of polished red granite that stretched down the center of the spacious room, set out with silver dishes and rose-crystal drinking-tubes.

      III

      “Let me congratulate you,” the voice said.

      Retief turned. An immense Flap-jack, hung with crimson trappings, rippled at his side. The voice issued from a disk strapped to its back. “You fight well. I think we will find in each other worthy adversaries.”

      “Thanks. I’m sure the test would be interesting, but I’m hoping we can avoid it.”

      “Avoid it?” Retief heard a low humming coming from the speaker in the silence. “Well, let us dine,” the mighty Flap-jack said at last. “We can resolve these matters later. I am called Hoshick of the Mosaic of the Two Dawns.”

      “I’m Retief.” Hoshick waited expectantly, “… of the Mountain of Red Tape,” Retief added.

      “Take place, Retief,” said Hoshick. “I hope you won’t find our rude couches uncomfortable.” Two other large Flap-jacks came into the room, communed silently with Hoshick. “Pray forgive our lack of translating devices,” he said to Retief. “Permit me to introduce my colleagues….”

      A small Flap-jack rippled the chamber bearing on its back a silver tray laden with aromatic food. The waiter served the four diners, filled the drinking tubes with yellow wine. It smelled good.

      “I trust you’ll find these dishes palatable,” said Hoshick. “Our metabolisms are much alike, I believe.” Retief tried the food. It had a delicious nut-like flavor. The wine was indistinguishable from Chateau d’Yquem.

      “It was an unexpected pleasure to encounter your party here,” said Hoshick. “I confess at first we took you for an indigenous earth-grubbing form, but we were soon disabused of that notion.” He raised a tube, manipulating it deftly with his fringe tentacles. Retief returned the salute and drank.

      “Of course,” Hoshick continued, “as soon as we realized that you were sportsmen like ourselves, we attempted to make amends by providing a bit of activity for you. We’ve ordered out our heavier equipment and a few trained skirmishers and soon we’ll be able to give you an adequate show. Or so I hope.”

      “Additional skirmishers?” said Retief. “How many, if you don’t mind my asking?”

      “For the moment, perhaps only a few hundred. There-after…well, I’m sure we can arrange that between us. Personally I would prefer a contest of limited scope. No nuclear or radiation-effect weapons. Such a bore, screening the spawn for deviations. Though I confess we’ve come upon some remarkably useful sports. The rangerform such as you made captive, for example. Simple-minded, of course, but a fantastically keen tracker.”

      “Oh, by all means,” Retief said. “No atomics. As you pointed out, spawn-sorting is a nuisance, and then too, it’s wasteful of troops.”

      “Ah, well, they are after all expendable. But we agree: no atomics. Have you tried the ground-gwack СКАЧАТЬ