Читать книгу Retief of the Red-Tape Mountain - Keith Laumer - Страница 5

Retief knew the importance of sealed orders—and the need to keep them that way!

“It’s true,” Consul Passwyn said, “I requested assignment as principal officer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resort worlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressed spaceman or two a year. Instead, I’m zoo-keeper to these confounded settlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight!” He stared glumly at Vice-Consul Retief.

“Still,” Retief said, “it gives an opportunity to travel—”

“Travel!” the consul barked. “I hate travel. Here in this backwater system particularly—” He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared his throat. “Not that a bit of travel isn’t an excellent thing for a junior officer. Marvelous experience.”

He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagram appeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger disk representing the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating the innermost planet.

“The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—a mere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble with an intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can’t think why they bother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However I have, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters to take certain action.” He swung back to face Retief. “I’m sending you in to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders.” He picked up a fat buff envelope. “A pity they didn’t see fit to order the Terrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late. I’m expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrial and Adoban and a division of territory. It’s idiotic. However, failure would look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results.”

He passed the buff envelope across to Retief.

“I understood that Adobe was uninhabited,” Retief said, “until the Terrestrial settlers arrived.”

“Apparently, that was an erroneous impression.” Passwyn fixed Retief with a watery eye. “You’ll follow your instructions to the letter. In a delicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptu element introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail at Sector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear?”

“Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe?”

“Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions, you’d best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less than an hour.”

“What’s this native life form like?” Retief asked, getting to his feet.

“When you get back,” said Passwyn, “you tell me.”

*

The mail pilot, a leathery veteran with quarter-inch whiskers, spat toward a stained corner of the compartment, leaned close to the screen.

“They’s shootin’ goin’ on down there,” he said. “See them white puffs over the edge of the desert?”

“I’m supposed to be preventing the war,” said Retief. “It looks like I’m a little late.”

The pilot’s head snapped around. “War?” he yelped. “Nobody told me they was a war goin’ on on ‘Dobe. If that’s what that is, I’m gettin’ out of here.”

“Hold on,” said Retief. “I’ve got to get down. They won’t shoot at you.”

“They shore won’t, sonny. I ain’t givin’ ’em the chance.” He started punching keys on the console. Retief reached out, caught his wrist.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said I’ve got to get down.”

The pilot plunged against the restraint, swung a punch that Retief blocked casually. “Are you nuts?” the pilot screeched. “They’s plenty shootin’ goin’ on fer me to see it fifty miles out.”

“The mail must go through, you know.”

“Okay! You’re so dead set on gettin’ killed, you take the skiff. I’ll tell ’em to pick up the remains next trip.”

“You’re a pal. I’ll take your offer.”

The pilot jumped to the lifeboat hatch and cycled it open. “Get in. We’re closin’ fast. Them birds might take it into their heads to lob one this way....”

Retief crawled into the narrow cockpit of the skiff, glanced over the controls. The pilot ducked out of sight, came back, handed Retief a heavy old-fashioned power pistol. “Long as you’re goin’ in, might as well take this.”

“Thanks.” Retief shoved the pistol in his belt. “I hope you’re wrong.”

“I’ll see they pick you up when the shootin’s over—one way or another.”

The hatch clanked shut. A moment later there was a jar as the skiff dropped away, followed by heavy buffeting in the backwash from the departing mail boat. Retief watched the tiny screen, hands on the manual controls. He was dropping rapidly: forty miles, thirty-nine....

A crimson blip showed on the screen, moving out.

Retief felt sweat pop out on his forehead. The red blip meant heavy radiation from a warhead. Somebody was playing around with an outlawed but by no means unheard of fission weapon. But maybe it was just on a high trajectory and had no connection with the skiff....

Retief altered course to the south. The blip followed.

He checked instrument readings, gripped the controls, watching. This was going to be tricky. The missile bored closer. At five miles Retief threw the light skiff into maximum acceleration, straight toward the oncoming bomb. Crushed back in the padded seat, he watched the screen, correcting course minutely. The proximity fuse should be set for no more than 1000 yards.

At a combined speed of two miles per second, the skiff flashed past the missile, and Retief was slammed violently against the restraining harness in the concussion of the explosion ...a mile astern, and harmless.

Then the planetary surface was rushing up with frightening speed. Retief shook his head, kicked in the emergency retro-drive. Points of light arced up from the planet face below. If they were ordinary chemical warheads the skiff’s meteor screens should handle them. The screen flashed brilliant white, then went dark. The skiff flipped on its back. Smoke filled the tiny compartment. There was a series of shocks, a final bone-shaking concussion, then stillness, broken by the ping of hot metal contracting.

*

Coughing, Retief disengaged himself from the shock-webbing. He beat out sparks in his lap, groped underfoot for the hatch and wrenched it open. A wave of hot jungle air struck him. He lowered himself to a bed of shattered foliage, got to his feet ...and dropped flat as a bullet whined past his ear.

He lay listening. Stealthy movements were audible from the left.

He inched his way to the shelter of a broad-boled dwarf tree. Somewhere a song lizard burbled. Whining insects circled, scented alien life, buzzed off. There was another rustle of foliage from the underbrush five yards away. A bush quivered, then a low bough dipped.