Free The Return of Retief by Keith Laumer Page A

devils
have got five eyes, on stalks at that, you can see what the plague could of
done to us single vision folks."
     
                "Sounds
bad," Retief agreed. "I don't suppose a touch of boredom would
constitute much of a threat, would it?"
     
                "Boredom!"
the inspector echoed in tones of horror. "We're highly susceptible! Keep
back! Don't breath on anything, while I go fetch the medical inspector!"
     
                "Sorry,"
Retief returned. "I'll have to bend the regs slightly. Breathing is a habit
I don't intend to kick."
     
                "We've
got a regimen where we can put you on carbon monoxide and taper you off in a
couple days," the Prutian countered. "Think of it! Free at last from
the simian on your back! You'll thank Prute for the cure once it's done. Don't
worry, the withdrawal symptoms only last a short while."
     
                "You
don't understand," Retief said. "My mission requires that I stay
alive long enough to put a bug in, the ear of CIIU Slive. But first I have to
see the Groaci Consul here on Prute. So why not simplify matters by calling me
a cab and accepting this modest token of my esteem?" He handed over a
ten-Guck note which was whisked out of sight at once.
     
                "Say,
you wouldn't try to bribe a Prutian official, would you, Terry?" the
official mumbled.
     
                "How
much do you go for?" Retief inquired interestedly.
     
                "You
trying to buy me?" the Prutian gasped.
     
                "No;
just renting," Retief explained.
     
                "Oh.
OK. Don't ever try to buy a official of the great Prutian nation," the
local warned. "We run high: sweepers get ten thou, and as fer a Chief
Inspector, like me—" the Chief paused to indicate the rank badge on his
sleeve. "We start at half a mil."
     
                "Then
ten Guck would hardly be considered a genuine bribe," Retief suggested.
     
                "Heck,
no!" the alien confirmed. "More like a token of a fella's
esteem."
     
                "Fine.
Now about that cab," Retief said. "I'd prefer one with a seat and a
roof."
     
                "No
sweat," the inspector replied. "By the way, you weren't planning on
immigrating, I suppose?"
     
                "Not
just yet," Retief confirmed.
     
                "So
that takes care of that," the inspector said as he deposited an
impressive, folded newspaper-sized document in the refuse container. "Say,
Terry—er, Mr. Retief, I mean—if you're interested in a little companionship, I
got a couple hot numbers."
     
                Retief
declined the offer, and was halfway to the exit when a third inspector, this
one a bulky chap in civvies, strolled into his path and held up a peremptory
hand.
     
                "It's
OK that you rolled over Clarence and Rocky," he intoned, "but I'm
civilian chief Gluck. So let's see what you got in the lock-box."
     
                "Better
move over," Retief replied. "I'm running behind schedule, and I see
my cab's here."
     
                "Don't
get in too big a hurry, Terry!" Gluck snapped, signalling for a pair of
armed guards who moved into position flanking the Terran. "I've got to
satisfy myself you ain't carrying contraband." He turned to address the
cop, "Open it up."
     
                One
of the two policemen took a step toward the object of official interest. Retief
put out an arm: the cop rebounded from it and rubbed his neck, which had
sustained the brunt of the impact. The second cop lunged and ricoshayed off
Retief's other arm.
     
                "What's
the matter, you boys forgot how to open up a suitcase?" their leader
inquired, producing a stout crowbar from a recess under the counter. "I'll
show you," he added an instant before Retief plucked the iron bar from his
grasp and carefully bent it