The Compleat Bolo

by Keith Laumer

  "Was there something?" he said.

  "Two twenty-eight, due out today for the Jorgensen group," Retief said. "Is it on schedule?"

  The clerk sampled the inside of his right cheek, eyed Retief. "Filled up. Try again in a couple of weeks."

  "What time does it leave?"

  "I don't think-"

  "Let's stick to facts," Retief said. "Don't try to think. What time is it due out?"

  The clerk smiled pityingly. "It's my lunch hour," he said. "I'll be open in an hour." He held up a thumbnail, frowned at it.

  "If I have to come around this counter," Retief said, "I'll feed that thumb to you the hard way."

  The clerk looked up and opened his mouth. Then he caught Relief's eye, closed his mouth and swallowed.

  "Like it says there," he said, jerking a thumb at the board. "Lifts in an hour. But you won't be on it," he added.

  Retief looked at him.

  "Some… ah… VIP's required accommodation," he said. He hooked a finger inside the sequined collar. "All tourist reservations were canceled. You'll have to try to get space on the Four-Planet Line ship next-"

  "Which gate?" Retief said.

  "For… ah…?"

  "For two twenty-eight for Jorgensen's Worlds," Retief said.

  "Well," the clerk said. "Gate nineteen," he added quickly. "But-"

  Retief picked up his suitcase and walked away toward the glare sign reading To Gates 16-30.

  "Another smart alec," the clerk said behind him.

  Retief followed the signs, threaded his way through crowds, found a covered ramp with the number 228 posted over it. A heavy-shouldered man with a scarred jawline and small eyes was slouching there in a rumpled gray uniform. He put out a hand as Retief started past him.

  "Lessee your boarding pass," he muttered.

  Retief pulled a paper from an inside pocket, handed it over.

  The guard blinked at it.

  "Whassat?"

  "A gram confirming my space," Relief said. "Your boy on the counter says he's out to lunch."

  The guard crumpled the gram, dropped it on the floor and lounged back against the handrail.

  "On your way, bub," he said.

  Retief put his suitcase carefully on the floor, took a step, and drove a right into the guard's midriff. He stepped aside as the man doubled and went to his knees.

  "You were wide open, ugly. I couldn't resist. Tell your boss I sneaked past while you were resting your eyes." He picked up his bag, stepped over the man, and went up the gangway into the ship.

  A cabin boy in stained whites came along the corridor.

  "Which way to cabin fifty-seven, son?" Retief asked.

  "Up there." The boy jerked his head and hurried on. Retief made his way along the narrow hall, found signs, followed them to cabin fifty-seven. The door was open. Inside, baggage was piled in the center of the floor. It was expensive looking baggage.

  Retief put his bag down. He turned at a sound behind him. A tall, florid man with an expensive coat belted over a massive paunch stood in the open door, looking at Retief. Retief looked back. The florid man clamped his jaws together, turned to speak over his shoulder.

  "Somebody in the cabin. Get 'em out." As he backed out of the room he rolled a cold eye at Retief. A short, thick-necked man appeared.

  "What are you doing in Mr. Tony's room?" he barked. "Never mind! Clear out of here, fellow! You're keeping Mr. Tony waiting."

  "Too bad," Retief said. "Finders keepers."

  "You nuts?" The thick-necked man stared at Retief. "I said it's Mr. Tony's room."

  "I don't know Mr. Tony. He'll have to bull his way into other quarters."

  "We'll see about you, mister." The man turned and went out. Retief sat on the bunk and lit a cigar. There was a sound of voices in the corridor. Two burly baggage-smashers appeared, straining at an oversized trunk. They maneuvered it through the door, lowered it, glanced at Retief and went out. The thick-necked man returned.

  "All right, you. Out," he growled. "Or have I got to have you thrown out?"

  Retief rose and clamped the cigar between his teeth. He gripped a handle of the brass-bound trunk in each hand, bent his knees and heaved the trunk up to chest level, then raised it overhead. He turned to the door.

  "Catch," he said between clenched teeth. The trunk slammed against the far wall of the corridor and burst.

  Retief turned to the baggage on the floor, tossed it into the hall. The face of the thick-necked man appeared cautiously around the door jamb.

  "Mister, you must be-"

  "If you'll excuse me," Retief said, "I want to catch a nap." He flipped the door shut, pulled off his shoes and stretched out on the bed.

  * * *

  Five minutes passed before the door rattled and burst open.

  Retief looked up. A gaunt leathery-skinned man wearing white ducks, a blue turtleneck sweater, and a peaked cap tilted raffishly over one eye stared at Retief.

  "Is this the joker?" he grated.

  The thick-necked man edged past him, looked at Retief and snorted, "That's him, sure."

  "I'm Captain of this vessel," the first man said. "You've got two minutes to haul your freight out of here, buster."

  "When you can spare the time from your other duties," Retief said, "take a look at Section Three, Paragraph One, of the Uniform Code. That spells out the law on confirmed space on vessels engaged in interplanetary commerce."

  "A space lawyer." The Captain turned. "Throw him out, boys."

  Two big men edged into the cabin, looking at Retief.

  "Go on, pitch him out," the Captain snapped.

  Retief put his cigar in an ashtray, and swung his feet off the bunk.

  "Don't try it," he said softly.

  One of the two wiped his nose on a sleeve, spat on his right palm and stepped forward, then hesitated.

  "Hey," he said. "This the guy tossed the trunk off the wall?"

  "That's him," the thick-necked man called. "Spilled Mr. Tony's possessions right on the deck."

  "Deal me out," the bouncer said. "He can stay put as long as he wants to. I signed on to move cargo. Let's go, Moe."

  "You'd better be getting back to the bridge, Captain," Retief said. "We're due to lift in twenty minutes."

  The thick-necked man and the Captain both shouted at once. The Captain's voice prevailed.

  "-twenty minutes… uniform Code… gonna do?"

  "Close the door as you leave," Retief said.

  The thick-necked man paused at the door. "We'll see you when you come out."

  3

  Four waiters passed Retief's table without stopping. A fifth leaned against the wall nearby, a menu under his arm.

  At a table across the room, the Captain, now wearing a dress uniform and with his thin red hair neatly parted, sat with a table of male passengers. He talked loudly and laughed frequently, casting occasional glances Retief's way.

  A panel opened in the wall behind Retief's chair. Bright blue eyes peered out from under a white chef's cap.

  "Givin' you the cold shoulder, heh, mister?"

  "Looks like it, old timer," Retief said. "Maybe I'd better go join the skipper. His party seems to be having all the fun."

  "Feller has to be mighty careless who he eats with to set over there."

  "I see your point."

  "You set right where you're at, mister. I'll rustle you up a plate."

  Five minutes later, Retief cut into a thirty-two-ounce Delmonico backed up with mushrooms and garlic butter.

  "I'm Chip," the chef said. "I don't like the Cap'n. You can tell him I said so. Don't like his friends, either. Don't like them dern Sweaties, look at a man like he was a worm."

  "You've got the right idea on frying a steak, Chip. And you've got the right idea on the Soetti, too," Retief said. He poured red wine into a glass. "Here's to you."

  "Dern right," Chip said. "Dunno whoever thought up broiling 'em. Steaks, that is. I got a Baked Alaska coming up in here for dessert. You like brandy i
n yer coffee?"

  "Chip, you're a genius."

  "Like to see a feller eat," Chip said. "I gotta go now. If you need anything, holler."

  Retief ate slowly. Time always dragged on shipboard. Four days to Jorgensen's Worlds. Then, if Magnan's information was correct, there would be four days to prepare for the Soetti attack. It was a temptation to scan the tapes built into the handle of his suitcase. It would be good to know what Jorgensen's Worlds would be up against.

  Retief finished the steak, and the chef passed out the baked Alaska and coffee. Most of the other passengers had left the dining room. Mr. Tony and his retainers still sat at the Captain's table.

  As Retief watched, four men arose from the table and sauntered across the room. The first in line, a stony-faced thug with a broken ear, took a cigar from his mouth as he reached the table. He dipped the lighted end in Retief's coffee, looked at it, and dropped it on the tablecloth.

  The others came up, Mr. Tony trailing.

  "You must want to get to Jorgensen's pretty bad," the thug said in a grating voice. "What's your game, hick?"

  Retief looked at the coffee cup, picked it up.

  "I don't think I want my coffee," he said. He looked at the thug. "You drink it."

  The thug squinted at Retief. "A wise hick," he began.

  With a flick of the wrist, Retief tossed the coffee into the thug's face, then stood and slammed a straight right to the chin. The thug went down.

  Retief looked at Mr. Tony, still standing open-mouthed.

  "You can take your playmates away now, Tony," he said. "And don't bother to come around yourself. You're not funny enough."

  Mr. Tony found his voice.

  "Take him, Marbles!" he growled.

  The thick-necked man slipped a hand inside his tunic and brought out a long-bladed knife. He licked his lips and moved in.

  Retief heard the panel open beside him.

  "Here you go, Mister," Chip said. Retief darted a glance; a well-honed french knife lay on the sill.

  "Thanks, Chip," Relief said. "I won't need it for these punks."

  Thick-neck lunged and Retief hit him square in the face, knocking him under the table. The other man stepped back, fumbling a power pistol from his shoulder holster.

  "Aim that at me and I'll kill you," Retief said.

  "Go on, burn him!" Mr. Tony shouted. Behind him, the Captain appeared, white-faced.

  "Put that away, you!" he yelled. "What kind of-"

  "Shut up," Mr. Tony said. "Put it away, Hoany. We'll fix this bum later."

  "Not on this vessel, you won't," the Captain said shakily. "I got my charter to consider."

  "Ram your charter," Hoany said harshly. "You won't be needing it long."

  "Button your floppy mouth, damn you!" Mr. Tony snapped. He looked at the man on the floor. "Get Marbles out of here. I ought to dump the slob."

  He turned and walked away. The Captain signaled and two waiters came up. Retief watched as they carted the casualty from the dining room.

  The panel opened.

  "I usta be about your size, when I was your age," Chip said. "You handled them pansies right. I wouldn't give 'em the time o' day."

  "How about a fresh cup of coffee, Chip?" Retief said.

  "Sure, mister. Anything else?"

  "I'll think of something," Retief said. "This is shaping up into one of those long days."

  * * *

  "They don't like me bringing yer meals to you in yer cabin," Chip said. "But the Cap'n knows I'm the best cook in the Merchant Service. They won't mess with me."

  "What has Mr. Tony got on the Captain, Chip?" Retief asked.

  "They're in some kind o' crooked business together. You want some more smoked turkey?"

  "Sure. What have they got against my going to Jorgensen's Worlds?"

  "Dunno. Hasn't been no tourists got in there fer six or eight months. I sure like a feller that can put it away. I was a big eater when I was yer age."

  "I'll bet you can still handle it, old timer. What are Jorgensen's Worlds like?"

  "One of 'em's cold as hell and three of 'em's colder. Most o' the Jorgies live on Svea; that's the least froze up. Man don't enjoy eatin' his own cookin' like he does somebody else's."

  "That's where I'm lucky, Chip. What kind of cargo's the Captain got aboard for Jorgensen's?"

  "Derned if I know. In and out o' there like a grasshopper, ever few weeks. Don't never pick up no cargo. No tourists any more, like I says. Don't know what we even run in there for."

  "Where are the passengers we have aboard headed?"

  "To Alabaster. That's nine days' run in-sector from Jorgensen's. You ain't got another one of them cigars, have you?"

  "Have one, Chip. I guess I was lucky to get space on this ship."

  "Plenty o' space, mister. We got a dozen empty cabins." Chip puffed the cigar alight, then cleared away the dishes, poured out coffee and brandy.

  "Them Sweaties is what I don't like," he said.

  Retief looked at him questioningly.

  "You never seen a Sweaty? Ugly lookin' devils. Skinny legs, like a lobster; big chest, shaped like the top of a turnip; rubbery lookin' head. You can see the pulse beatin' when they get riled."

  "I've never had the pleasure," Retief said.

  "You prob'ly have it perty soon. Them devils board us nigh every trip out. Act like they was the Customs Patrol or somethin'."

  There was a distant clang, and a faint tremor ran through the floor.

  "I ain't superstitious ner nothin'," Chip said. "But I'll be triple-damned if that ain't them boarding us now."

  Ten minutes passed before bootsteps sounded outside the door, accompanied by a clicking patter. The doorknob rattled, then a heavy knock shook the door.

  "They got to look you over," Chip whispered. "Nosy damn Sweaties."

  "Unlock it, Chip." The chef opened the door.

  "Come in, damn you," he said.

  A tall and grotesque creature minced into the room, tiny hooflike feet tapping on the floor. A flaring metal helmet shaded the deep-set compound eyes, and a loose mantle flapped around the knobbed knees. Behind the alien, the Captain hovered nervously.

  "Yo' papiss," the alien rasped.

  "Who's your friend, Captain?" Retief said.

  "Never mind; just do like he tells you."

  "Yo' papiss," the alien said again.

  "Okay," Retief said. "I've seen it. You can take it away now."

  "Don't horse around," the Captain said. "This fellow can get mean."

  The alien brought two tiny arms out from the concealment of the mantle, clicked toothed pincers under Retief's nose.

  "Quick, soft one."

  "Captain, tell your friend to keep its distance. It looks brittle, and I'm tempted to test it."

  "Don't start anything with Skaw; he can clip through steel with those snappers."

  "Last chance," Retief said. Skaw stood poised, open pinchers an inch from Retief's eyes.

  "Show him your papers, you damned fool," the Captain said hoarsely. "I got no control over Skaw."

  The alien clicked both pincers with a sharp report, and in the same instant Retief half-turned to the left, leaned away from the alien and drove his right foot against the slender leg above the bulbous knee-joint. Skaw screeched and floundered, greenish fluid spattering from the burst joint.

  "I told you he was brittle," Retief said. "Next time you invite pirates aboard, don't bother to call."

  "Jesus, what did you do! They'll kill us!" the Captain gasped, staring at the figure flopping on the floor.

  "Cart poor old Skaw back to his boat," Retief said. "Tell him to pass the word. No more illegal entry and search of Terrestrial vessels in Terrestrial space."

  "Hey," Chip said. "He's quit kicking."

  The Captain bent over Skaw, gingerly rolled him over. He leaned close and sniffed.

  "He's dead." The Captain stared at Retief. "We're all dead men," he said. "These Soetti got no mercy."

  "They won't need
it. Tell 'em to sheer off; their fun is over."

  "They got no more emotions than a blue crab-"

  "You bluff easily, Captain. Show a few guns as you hand the body back. We know their secret now."

  "What secret? I-"

  "Don't be no dumber than you got to, Cap'n," Chip said. "Sweaties die easy; that's the secret."

  "Maybe you got a point," the Captain said, looking at Retief. "All they got's a three-man scout. It could work."

  He went out, came back with two crewmen. They hauled the dead alien gingerly into the hall.

  "Maybe I can run a bluff on the Soetti," the Captain said, looking back from the door. "But I'll be back to see you later."

  "You don't scare us, Cap'n," Chip said. "Him and Mr. Tony and all his goons. You hit 'em where they live, that time. They're pals o' these Sweaties. Runnin' some kind o' crooked racket."

  "You'd better take the Captain's advice, Chip. There's no point in your getting involved in my problems."

  "They'd of killed you before now, mister, if they had any guts. That's where we got it over these monkeys. They got no guts."

  "They act scared, Chip. Scared men are killers."

  "They don't scare me none." Chip picked up the tray. "I'll scout around a little and see what's goin' on. If the Sweaties figure to do anything about that Skaw feller they'll have to move fast; they won't try nothin' close to port."

  "Don't worry, Chip. I have reason to be pretty sure they won't do anything to attract a lot of attention in this sector just now."

  Chip looked at Retief. "You ain't no tourist, mister. I know that much. You didn't come out here for fun, did you?"

  "That," Retief said, "would be a hard one to answer."

  4

  Retief awoke at a tap on his door.

  "It's me, mister. Chip."

  "Come on in."

  The chef entered the room, locking the door.

  "You shoulda had that door locked." He stood by the door, listening, then turned to Retief.

  "You want to get to Jorgensen's perty bad, don't you, mister?"

  "That's right, Chip."

  "Mr. Tony gave the Captain a real hard time about old Skaw. The Sweaties didn't say nothin'. Didn't even act surprised, just took the remains and pushed off. But Mr. Tony and that other crook they call Marbles, they was fit to be tied. Took the Cap'n in his cabin and talked loud at him fer half a hour. Then the Cap'n come out and give some orders to the mate."