Free Reward for Retief by Keith Laumer Page B

late fer Staff Meeting," Hy persisted. "That ain't hardly a
hanging offense."
     
                "I said nothing of
hanging, yet!" Shortfall caviled. "Still, when one considers
that Retief s desertion was in the face of an angry mob menacing this Mission,
it could well be regarded as a capital offense."
     
                "Geeze," Hy
sighed. "Next you'll be offering a reward, dead or alive."
     
                "Preferably
alive," Shortfall told the sarcastic fellow. "As for the reward, I
think one hundred guck would be about right, eh, Nat?" He turned to his
Econ Chief for confirmation.
     
                "Well, sir," Art
spoke up sagely, if belatedly, "there ^re perhaps those who would hold
that while references to the azure and vert tinctures are not the precise
equivalent of the gules, it is undoubtedly a fact that Your Excellency was on
the right track." This time it was Hy who jotted.
     
                "That 'ghouls',
Art," he called to the Culture man, "that's the same as 'red,' ain't
it?"
     
                "That is precisely my
point, Hyman," Art replied, and busied himself stuffing a Yalcan clay
pipe.
     
                "You're not thinking
of lighting that thing, I trust, Arthur," Shortfall said in the tone of
one Reluctantly Mentioning the Unmentionable (3-z).
     
                Art stuck the pipe back in
the tobacco pouch and returned it to the bulging pocket of his Harris tweed
hacking jacket.
     
                "How do you like
that?" he inquired sotto voce of an unheeding universe, "after
I back him up and all, he won't even let a fellow have a little pick-up."
     
                "Rick," Shortfall
spoke abruptly to his Admin Officer, pretending not to have overheard Art's
plaint, "better get some flyers run off, offering a reward for the return
of Mr. Retief, alive and in one piece."
     
                Rick Uptight nodded and
jotted a note. "You did say 'dead or alive,' right, Chief?" he
inquired disinterestedly.
     
                "Naw, Ricky,"
Felix spoke up, "that was me: I was ribbing his Ex."
     
                " 'Dead or Alive',"
Rick mumbled, jotting again.
     
                "Then why din't you
just say 'Red'?" Hy demanded out of context, of Art Proudflesh.
"Always tryna ritz us common people, eh, Art?"
     
                "A knowledge of
heraldic blazoning terminology is a part of the education of any gentleman,
Hyman," Art rejected the accusation.
     
                "So now yer saying I
ain't a genulman," Hy complained. "Ha! Next you'll be throwing me to
the dogs—or pillars—like you done Jimmy Retief!"
     
     

Chapter Two
     
                Down in the lobby, Retief
went first across the fallen gate. A nearly solid wall of intertwined locals
reared up to oppose him, fangs bared, shredding hooks at the ready. He took a
rusty kitchen-knife from the knobby grip of the nearest and poked it at the
fellow's neck-region until it recoiled; then he seized the thus isolated
creature just below the jaws and squeezed the pressure point until the fanged
mandible opened to its widest gape. With the other hand, he scooped up a loop
of the most conveniently placed local and wedged it into the yawning maw of the
first, which reflexively closed, pinching the other's abdomen painfully, and
eliciting a shrill screech. Thick umber ichor leaked from the wound thus
inflicted, running down across the rumpled fur of its owner to drip reluctantly
into the gutter below.
     
                "Hey!" the bitten
mobster yelled. "Whatsa idear, Leroy, you can't wait for chow?"
     
                Retief released him and
stepped back as he threshed and heaved frantically, until at last he threw off
the grip of Leroy, who, jaws snapping, was at once engulfed in the suddenly
writhing mass of rioters. The injured local continued to whip his elongated
torso against the