Free Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude by Keith Laumer Page B

But at the word "yivshish" they spun and disappeared
into the press. Mub lunged after them, but turned back, frustrated.
                "My
boys are trained to a fine edge," he half-moaned, half-boasted. "By
now, they got the word to their cell-chiefs, and in about ten seconds ..."
he broke off, went to tip-toe to look over the variegated crania of the
polyglot crowd to stare toward the distant hills.
                "Dust
clouds, Retief," Magnan pointed out. "Shinth was leveling with us,
for once. What in the world are we to do? Mub's troops are encircling—" he
turned to scan the horizon, seeing rising dust at every point.
                "Just
be calm, Mr. Magnan," Retief counseled. "I think you'll find the
situation well in hand."
                Now
the fringe of the crowd had begun to notice the stir all around the temporary
spaceport. After a moment, a lone armored personnel-carrier appeared from the
approaching roil of dust, racing directly for the huddle of alien craft parked
on the hot desert rock. A cry went up:
                "We're
under attack! Help!" An excited Varoonian mud-spider in the elaborate
straps and bangles of a senior mob-master rushed past, ululating his tribal
danger cry. But the approaching half-track, and a dozen others like it now
visible in line astern, were wheeling aside, slowing, then going into a huddle
as the crowd streamed away from their vicinity. One car backed abruptly and
came on more slowly, circling wide, then hanging a hard left to drive directly
toward the point where Retief and Magnan waited beside the limousine into which
Hish had retreated, muttering sibilantly of nest-fouling drones.
                At
a distance of fifty feet, the car executed a stylish slalom and slid to a halt
with its prow neatly socketed in the sizable dent it had made in the polished
flank of the Groacian VIP car. Inside, Hish could be heard to utter a sharp
shriek. Then a great pink-and-green pelted creature leapt easily from the
driver's seat of the armored vehicle and strolled over to touch noses with
Yong, speaking briefly to him in the yowling Vang language.
                "Captain
Rip here says they got the Glorb tied up tighter'n a belly-button tick,"
the Constable reported tersely. "What next, fellows?"
                "I
see no reason now that the pageant shouldn't continue as scheduled,"
Magnan suggested. "Thanks to you, Constable Yong. How thoughtful of you to
so neatly counter the Glorb-Groaci initiative."
                "It
was Retief's idea," Yong demurred modestly. "Oh," he went on
quietly, "is it OK if I call him by his name now?" He was eyeing Hish
suspiciously as that official emerged hesitantly from the air-conditioned
depths of his Bugatti Royale replica.
                "Have
to look out, Ben," Hish whispered. "That's one of those savage Vang
tribesfellows; I've heard all about them. Dangerous savages."
                As
Magnan opened his mouth to reply, a shrill whistling sound crossed the
threshold of audibility and rose to a piercing scream, as a sleek Groaci
battlecruiser flashed overhead, executing a showy slow roll.
                "To
be disastered!" Hish moaned, and sprang back inside his car to grab up his
command microphone. "To cancel Plan Jay-Blue at once," he keened.
"To report all is discovered! To withdraw outside planetary space and then
to disperse on normal routine patrol. To deny everything!"
                "Too
late, Hish," Magnan called into the dark interior of the car. "About
a hundred and fifty newshawks saw that with their own sensory organs. Better
rethink your strategy in a hurry."
                Hish
bounded out once more, his hip-cloak askew, to confront Magnan boldly.
                "To
have rethought my strategy well in advance, Ben," he whispered. "This
is a mere tactical setback. I have worked out a new angle—ah, evolved