Retief and the Rascals by Keith Laumer Read Free Book Online Page A

three local languages plus
Terran and Groaci, of the dire consequences of meddling therewith. Retief
selected an inch-thick vertical bar and, bracing a foot against the lower
horizontal member and pushing up on the upper one, he yanked the bar from the
sockets.
     
                "Retief!" Magnan yipped. "One
mustn't! That's tested to Level Four; it can't be breached without a hydraulic
press!"
     
                "Local contractors!" Retief remarked.
"Flimsy construction." Magnan peered closely at the forge-mark on the
badly bent bar.
     
                "Category One Flint-steel!" he yelped.
"Retief! No force less than that of a hundred-ton hydraulic jack would
twist this into a pretzel!"
     
                "Well, not exactly a pretzel, Ben,"
Retief protested. "More of a french fry."
     
                "In any case," Magnan went on,
"I'd best go through first, being the slimmer." Magnan turned
sideways and slipped through the gap left by the removal of the bar. Just as he
was smoothing his lapels, a hand the size of a deep-sea grapple clamped on his
shoulder, lifted him, and rotated him to face a shiny, blue, huge-fanged
Unforgettable, who lowered a jaw like a dragline bucket and said, "Hah!
Thought youse could pull a fast one on Blarp Show, eh, which I'm pulling duh
duty dis week. I guess you gotta get up earlier'n dis here to do a sneak past me!"
     
                "Let me go, Mister Show!"
Magnan bleated. "We were only—!
     
                "Skip all that," Blarp snapped.
"I got no time fer no apologies an' all." He jumped as Retief seized
the biceps of the arm holding Magnan. Show dropped Magnan, and, rubbing his arm
aggrievedly, said, "Say, when I tell Mr. Ambluster about this here
atrocity youse boys done on me and duh whole clan, he'll fix yer wagon!"
     
                "It ain't broke, bub," a deep voice
spoke up behind Blarp. "Dis here's my pal Retief," the newcomer went
on addressing the sullen Blarp. "Which he taken my best buffet widout even
blinking. He's OK wit me!"
     
                "Mr. Grand Inquisitor!" Magnan
blurted. "What are you —? I mean, doubtless you learned of the crime
being carried out here—"
     
                "Thanks, Wim," Retief said at the same
moment that his left hook impacted on Blarp's solar plexus, causing him to fold
like three deuces and sprawl on the floor.
     
                "Retief," Wim growled, "youse
Terries shun't of come back here—it's off limits to ever'body but genuine
Unforgettable."
     
                "Why, it's our very own bonded
warehouse," Magnan sniffed. "Besides, I'm practically Counselor of
Embassy for GFU Affairs, so I guess that gives me entree—and Retief is
my second-in-command!"
     
                "Youse guessed wrong, Cul," Blarp
informed him, still wheezing. "Anyways, what's that 'Gee-eff-you'?"
     
                "That is an acronym for the Goodies For
Undesirables program," Magnan informed him. "An organization which
was created to bestow largess on Those Less Fortunate Than Ourselves. And I
might point out that the charter, embracing as it does all undesirables,
undoubtedly includes all the inhabitants of Bloor, of whatever
persuasion. So you, personally, will get in on the goodies—if you make a
favorable impression on the administrator thereof, specifically, myself,
Counselor Ben Magnan, CDTO-2!"
     
                "Jeez!" Blarp muttered. "If I
woulda knowed, I woulda stepped in sooner, before old Smig Bash lock' the lift
an all! Now I guess it'll be maybe a coupla decades before somebody finds yer
mummified remains, yer withered arms still reaching troo duh bars fer duh grub
which it's just outa reach. Sad. Sorry about that, Retief."
     
                "Don't waste it, Blarp," Retief said.
"We're not staying. Do you happen to know who owns all the furs?"
     
                "Sure," Blarp Show