The IF Reader of Science Fiction

by Anthology

“If you’re all agreed then,” Retief said, “here’s what I have in mind . . .”

  The corridor was empty when Retief emerged, followed by the four Terrans.

  “How are we going to get out past that crowd out front?” Mulvihill inquired. “I’ve got a feeling they’re ready for something stronger than slogans.”

  “We’ll try the back way.”

  There was a sudden hubbub from the far end of the corridor; half a dozen Gaspierre burst into view, puffing hard from a fast climb. They hissed, pointed, and started for the Terrans at a short-legged trot. At the same moment, a door flew wide at the opposite end of the hallway; more locals popped into view, closed in.

  “Looks like a neck-tie party,” Wee Willie barked. “Go get ’em, Julie I” He put his head down and charged. The oncoming natives slowed, skipped aside. One, a trifle slow, bounced against the wall as the midget rammed him at knee level. The others whirled, grabbing at Wee Willie as he skidded to a halt. Mulvihill roared, took three giant steps, caught two Gaspierre by the backs of their leathery necks, lifted them and tossed them aside.

  The second group of locals, emitting wheezes of excitement, dashed up, eager for the fray. Retief met one with a straight right, knocked two more aside with a sweep of his arm, sprinted for the door through which the second party of locals had appeared. He looked back to see Mulvihill toss another Gaspierre aside, pluck Wee Willie from the melee.

  “Down here, Julie!” the girl called. “Come on, Professor!”

  The tall, lean Terran, backed against the wall by three hissing locals, stretched out a yard-long arm, flapped his hand. A large white pigeon appeared, fluttered, squawking and snorting. Professor Fate plunged through them, grabbed the bird by the legs as he passed, dashed for the door where Retief and the girl waited.

  There was a sound of pounding feet from the stairwell; a fresh contingent of locals came charging into view on stub legs. Retief took two steps, caught the leader full in the face with a spread hand, sent him among his followers, as Mulvihill appeared, Wee Willie over his shoulder yelling and kicking.

  “There’s more on the way,” Retief called. “We’ll have to go up.”

  The girl nodded, started up, three steps at a time. Mulvihill dropped the midget, who scampered after her. Professor Fate tucked his bird away, disappeared up the stairs in giant strides, Mulvihill and Retief behind him.

  On the roof, Retief slammed the heavy door, shot the massive bolt. It was late evening now; cool blue air flowed across the unrailed deck; faint crowd-sounds floated up from the street twenty stories below.

  “Willie, go secure that other door,” Mulvihill commanded. He went to the edge of the roof, looked down, shook his head, started across toward another side. The redhead called to him.

  “Over here, Julie . . .”

  Retief joined Mulvihill at her side. A dozen feet down and twenty feet distant across a narrow street was the slanted roof of an adjacent building. A long ladder was clamped to brackets near the ridge.

  “Looks like that’s it,” Mulvihill nodded. Suzette unlimbered a coil of light line from a clip at her waist, gauged the distance to a projecting ventilator intake, swung the rope, and let it fly. The broad loop spread, slapped the opposite roof, and encircled the target. With a tug, the girl tightened the noose, quickly whipped the end around a four-inch stack. She stopped, pulled off her shoes, tucked them in her belt, tried the taut rope with one foot.

  “Take it easy, baby,” Mulvihill muttered. She nodded, stepped out on the taut, down-slanting cable, braced her feet, spread her arms, and in one smooth swoop, slid along the line and stepped off the far end, turned and executed a quick curtsey.

  “This is no time to ham it up,” Mulvihill boomed.

  “Just habit,” the girl said. She went up the roof, freed the ladder, released the catch that caused an extensible section to slide out, then came back to the roofs edge, deftly raised the ladder to a vertical position.

  “Catch!” She let it lean toward Mulvihill and Retief; as it fell both men caught it, lowered it the last foot.

  “Hey, you guys,” Willie called, “I can’t get this thing locked!”

  “Never mind that now,” Mulvihill rumbled. “Come on, Prof,” he said to the lean prestidigitator. “You first.”

  The professor’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He peered down at the street far below, then threw his shoulders back, clambered up onto the ladder, and started across on all fours.

  “Don’t look down, Professor,” Suzie called. “Look at me.”

  “Let’s go, Willie!” Mulvihill called over his shoulder. He freed the rope, tossed it across, then stepped up on the ladder, started across, one small step at a time. “This isn’t my strong suit,” he muttered, teeth together. The professor had reached the far side. Mulvihill was half way. There was a sudden yelp from Willie. Retief turned. The midget was struggling against a door which was being forced open from inside.

  “Hey!” Mulvihill boomed. Suzie squealed. Retief sprinted for the embattled midget, caught him as he was hurled backward as the door flew open, disgorging three Gaspierre who staggered for balance, and went down as Retief thrust out a foot. He thrust Wee Willie aside, picked up the nearest native, pitched him back inside, followed with the other two, then slammed the door, and tried the bolt.

  “It’s sprung,” he said. “Let’s go, Willie!” He caught up the small man, ran for the ladder where Mulvihill still stood, halfway across.

  “Come on, Julie!” the girl cried. “It won’t hold both of you!”

  There were renewed breathy yells from the site of the scuffle. The door had burst open and more Gaspierre were spilling from it. Mulvihill snorted, finished the crossing in two jumps, scrambled for footing on the slanting roof. Retief stepped out on the limber ladder, started across, Willie under his arm.

  “Look out!” Suzette said sharply. The rungs jumped under Retiefs feet. He reached the roof, dropped the midget, and turned to see a huddle of Gaspierre tugging at the ladder. One, rendered reckless in his zeal, started across. Retief picked up the end of the ladder, shook it; the local squeaked, scrambled back. Retief hauled the ladder in.

  “Up here,” the girl called. Retief went up the slope, looked down at an open trap door in the opposite slope. He followed the others down through it into a musty loft, latched it behind him. The loft door opened into an empty hall. They followed it, found a lift, rode it down to ground level. Outside in a littered alley, the crowd noises were faint.

  “We appear to have outfoxed the ruffians,” Professor Fate said, adjusting his cuffs.

  “The Gaspers ain’t far behind,” Wee Willie shrilled. “Let’s make tracks.”

  “We’ll find a spot and hide out until dark,” Retief said. “Then we’ll make our try.”

  IV

  A faint gleam from Gaspierre’s three bright-star-sized moons dimly illuminated the twisting alley along which Retief led the four Terrans.

  “The port is half a mile from the city wall,” he said softly to Mulvihill at his side. “We can climb it between watch-towers, and circle around and hit the ramp from the east.”

  “They got any guards posted out there?” the big man asked.

  “Oh-oh, here’s the wall . . .” The barrier loomed up, twelve feet high. Suzette came forward, looked it over.

  “I’ll check the top,” she said. “Give me a boost, Julie.” He lifted her, raised her to arm’s length. She put a foot on the top of his head, stepped up.

  Mulvihill grunted. “Watch out some Gasper cop doesn’t spot you.”

  “Coast is clear.” She pulled herself up. “Come on, Willie, I’ll give you a hand.” Mulvihill lifted the midget, who caught the girl’s hand, and scrambled up. Mulvihill bent over, and Retief stepped in his cupped hands, then to the big man’s shoulders, and reached the top of the wall. The girl lowered her rope for Mulvihill. He clambered up, swearing softly, with Retiefs help hoisted his bulk to the top of the wall. A moment later the group was moving off quie
tly across open ground toward the south edge of the port.

  Lying flat at the edge of the ramp, Retief indicated a looming, light-encrusted silhouette.

  “That’s her,” he said. “Half a million tons, crew of three hundred.”

  “Big enough, ain’t she?” Wee Willie chirped.

  “Hsst! There’s a Krultch!” Mulvihill pointed.

  Retief got to his feet. “Wait until I get in position behind that fuel monitor.” He pointed to a dark shape crouching fifty feet distant. “Then make a few suspicious noises.”

  “I better go with you, Retief,” Mulvihill started, but Retief was gone. He moved forward silently, reached the shelter of the heavy apparatus, watched the Krultch sentinel move closer, stepping daintily as a deer on its four sharp hooves. The alien had reached a point a hundred feet distant when there was a sharp ping! from behind Retief. The guard halted; Retief heard the snick of a power gun’s action. The Krultch turned toward him. He could hear the cli-clack, cli-clack of the hooves now. At a distance of ten feet, the quadruped slowed, came to a halt. Retief could see the vicious snout of the gun aimed warily into the darkness. There was another sound from Mulvihill’s position. The guard plucked something from the belt rigged across his chest, and started toward the source of the sound. As he passed Retief he shied suddenly, and grabbed for his communicator. Retief leaped, landed a haymaker on the bony face, and caught the microphone before it hit the pavement. The Krultch, staggering back from the blow, went to his haunches and struck out with knife-edged forefeet. Retief ducked aside, chopped hard at the collar bone. The Krultch collapsed with a choked cry. Mulvihill appeared at a run, seized the feebly moving guard, pulled off the creature’s belt, trussed his four legs together, and then, using other straps to bind the hands, he gagged the powerful jaws.

  “Now what?” Wee Willie inquired. “You gonna cut his throat?”

  “Shove him back of the monitor,” Mulvihill said.

  “Now let’s see how close we can get to the ship without getting spotted,” Retief said.

  The mighty Krultch war vessel, a black column towering into the night, was ablaze with varicolored running and navigation lights. Giant floods mounted far up on the ship’s sleek sides cast puddles of blue-white radiance on the tarmac; from the main cabin amidships, softer light gleamed through wide view windows.

  “All lit up like a party,” Mulvihill growled.

  “A tough party to crash,” Wee Willie said, looking up the long slant of the hull.

  “I think I see a route, Mr. Retief,” the girl said. “What’s that little square opening up there, just past the gun emplacement?”

  “It looks as though it might be a cargo hatch. It’s not so little, Miss La Flamme! it’s a long way up—”

  “You reckon I could get through it?”

  Retief nodded, looking up at the smooth surface above. “Can you make it up there?”

  “They used to bill me as the human lady-bug. Nothing to it.”

  “If you get in,” Retief said, “try to find your way back down into the tube compartment. If you can open one of these access panels, we’re in.”

  Suzette nodded, took out her rope, tossed a loop over a projection fifteen feet above, and clambered quickly up the landing jack to its junction with the smooth metal of the hull. She put her hands flat against the curving, slightly in-slanting wall before her, planted one crepe-soled shoe against a tiny weld seam and started up the sheer wall.

  Ten minutes passed. From the deep shadow at the ship’s stem, Retief watched as the slim girl inched her way up, ‘skirting a row of orange glare panels spelling out the name of the vessel in blocky Krultch ideographs, taking advantage of a ventilator outlet for a minute’s rest, then going on up, up, thirty feet now, forty, forty-five . . .

  She reached the open hatch, raised her head cautiously for a glance inside, then swiftly pulled up and disappeared through the opening.

  Julius Mulvihill heaved a sign of relief. “That was as tough a climb as Suzie ever made,” he rumbled.

  “Don’t get happy yet,” Wee Willie piped up. “Her troubles is just starting.”

  “I’m sure she’ll encounter no difficulty,” Professor Fate said anxiously. “Surely there’ll be no one on duty aft, here in port.”

  More minutes ticked past. Then there was a rasp of metal, a gentle clatter. A few feet above ground, a panel swung out: Suzie’s face appeared, oil streaked.

  “Boy, this place needs a good scrubbing,” she breathed. “Come on; they’re all having a shindig up above, sounds like.”

  Inside the echoing, gloomy vault of the tube compartment, Retief studied the layout of equipment, the placement of giant cooling baffles, and the contour of the bulkheads.

  “This is a Krultch-built job,” he said. “But it seems to be a pretty fair copy of an old Concordiat cruiser of the line. That means the controls are all the way forward.”

  “Let’s get started!” Wee Willie went to the wide-ranged catwalk designed for goat-like Krultch feet, started up. The others followed. Retief glanced around, reached for the ladder. As he did, a harsh Krultch voice snapped, “Halt where you are, Terrans!”

  Retief turned slowly. A dirt-smeared Krultch in baggy coveralls stepped from the concealment of a massive ion-collector, a grim-looking power gun aimed. He waited as a second and third sailor followed him, all armed.

  “A nice catch, Udas,” one said admiringly in Krultch. “The captain said we’d have Terry labor to do the dirty work on the run back, but I didn’t expect to see ’em volunteering.”

  “Get ’em down here together, Jesau,” the first Krultch barked. His partner came forward, motioned with the gun.

  “Retief, you savvy Fustian?” Mulvihill muttered.

  “Uh-huh,” Retief answered.

  “You hit the one on the left; I’ll take the bird on the right. Professor—”

  “Not yet,” Retief said.

  “No talk!” the Krultch barked in Terran. “Come down!”

  The Terrans descended to the deck, stood in a loose group.

  “Closer together!” the sailor said; he poked the girl with the gun to emphasize the command. She smiled at him sweetly. “You bat-eared son of a goat, just wait till I get a handful of your whiskers!”

  “No talk!”

  Professor Fate edged in front of the girl. He held out both hands toward the leading Krultch, flipped them over to show both sides, then twitched his wrists, fanned two sets of playing cards. He waved them under the astounded nose of the nearest gunman, and with a flick they disappeared.

  The two rearmost sailors stepped closer, mouths open. The professor snapped his fingers; flame shot from the tip of each pointed forefinger. The Krultch jumped. The tall Terran waved his hands, whipped a gauzy blue handkerchief from nowhere, swirled it around; now it was red. He snapped it sharply, and a shower of confetti scattered around the dumbfounded Krultch. He doubled his fists, popped them open; whoofed into the aliens’ faces. A final wave, and a white bird was squawking in the air.

  “Now!” Retief said, and took a step, uppercut the leading sailor; the slender legs buckled as the creature went down with a slam. Mulvihill was past him, catching Krultch number two with a roundhouse swipe. The third sailor made a sound like tearing sheet metal, brought his gun to bear on Retief as Wee Wiille, hurtling forward, hit him at the knees. The shot melted a furrow in the wall as Mulvihill floored the hapless creature with a mighty blow.

  “Neatly done,” Professor Fate said, tucking things back into his cuffs. “Almost a pity to lose such an appreciative audience.”

  With the three Krultch securely strapped hand and foot in their own harnesses, Retief nudged one with his foot.

  “We have important business to contract in the control room,” he said. “We don’t want to disturb anyone, Jesau, so we’d prefer a nice quiet approach via the back stairs. What would you suggest?”

  The Krultch made a suggestion.

  Retief said, “Professor, perhaps you’d better g
ive him a few more samples.”

  “Very well.” Professor Fate stepped forward, waved his hands; a slim-bladed knife appeared in one. He tested the edge with his thumb, which promptly dripped gore. He stroked the thumb with another finger; the blood disappeared. He nodded.

  “Now, fellow,” he said to the sailor. “I’ve heard you rascals place great store by your beards; what about a shave?” He reached—

  The Krultch made a sound like glass shattering. “The port catwalk!” he squalled. “But you won’t get away with this!”

  “Oh, no?” The professor smiled gently, made a pass in the air, plucked a small cylinder from nowhere.

  “I doubt if anyone will be along this way for many hours,” he said. “If we fail to return safely in an hour, this little device will detonate with sufficient force to distribute your component atoms over approximately twelve square miles.” lie placed the object by the Krultch, who rolled horrified eyes at it.

  “Oh—on second thought, try the service catwalk behind the main tube,” he squeaked.

  “Good enough,” Retief said. “Let’s go.”

  V

  The sounds of Krultch revelry were loud in the cramped passage.

  “Sounds like they’re doing a little early celebrating for tomorrow’s big diplomatic victory,” Mulvihill said. “You suppose most of them are in there?”

  “There’ll be a few on duty,” Retief said. “But that sounds like a couple of hundred out of circulation for the moment—until we trip something and give the alarm.”

  “The next stretch is all right,” Professor Fate said, coming back dusting off his hands. “Then I’m afraid we shall have to emerge into the open.”

  “We’re not far from the command deck now,” Retief said. “Another twenty feet, vertically, ought to do it.”

  The party clambered on up, negotiated a sharp turn, came to an exit panel. Professor Fate put his ear against it. “All appears silent,” he said. “Shall we sally forth?”

  Retief came to the panel, eased it open, glanced out; then he stepped through, motioned the others to follow. It was quieter here; there was a deep-pile carpeting underfoot, an odor of alien food and drug-smoke in the air.