Read Online Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude by Keith Laumer - Free Book Online

heard you my
ownself say you were that Retief the advisors warned his Nibs about!"
                "No
I didn't," Shinth denied. "It's all one of those grotesque
misunderstandings."
                "What's
Grote got to do with it?" the sergeant challenged. "I hear that's a
nice, peaceful planet never done Glorb no harm. And are you saying you lied to
the General?"
                "By
no means, Sergeant." Shinth replied with wounded dignity. "If you but
knew what awesome forces you tempt when you impugn the veracity of a Groacian
Broodmaster...."
                "Wait
a minute," Retief put in. "A moment ago you were coming on like a
poor, humble functionary, following orders; now suddenly you're playing the
Interplanetary VIP angle. You'd better make up your mind before the Sergeant
decides to take you out of that nice safe cage and run you off into the jungle,
where the tud lurks, and the murap-boar roams in search of prey."
                "Good
idea, Mr. Advisor," Flup commented as he detached his keys from his wide
tump-leather belt. "Just what I had in mind. Uh, you don't think the
General will bite my ass, do you?" After a moment he added thoughtfully:
"Still, it's been chewed before, and there's still plenty of good sweet
ass left."
                "Time
grows short, fellow!" Shinth keened, shaking a knobby fist.
                "Too
right," Flup admitted as he removed the padlocked panel and stepped back
to allow his spindly prisoner to emerge.
                "Retief!"
Shinth whispered. "You wouldn't really abandon me to the mercies of the
fabled tud, would you? Pretty please with sugar on, let a fellow Second
Secretary remain safe inside."
                "There's
still the glab-worm, remember?" Retief replied. "About an hour and a
half, I'd say. But you be the judge. After you've written out a full
confession, I'll let you choose—or rather this alert non-com will. Right,
Flup?"
                "You
betcha, Mr. Advisor. Anything you say. Cause I know you'll file a good word for
me with old Mub."
                "Old
Mub has already filed some five thousand words on you, none of them good, I
fear, Sergeant," the General's voice spoke suddenly from directly behind
the NCO, who leaped as if prodded by a spear and alighted explaining, an effort
ignored by his superior.
                'You'll
have to excuse Flup here," Mub said to Retief. "The poor boob's not
playing with a full set of googy-stones. Should of sent him back to
Headquarters where it wouldn't be noticed."
                Before
the situation could deteriorate further, there was a sudden crashing of
underbrush and the giant form of Constable Yong arrived in a leap, a
narrow-shouldered Terran astride his back, his arms wrapped around the big
cat's neck.
                "Hiya,
chum," the Vang greeted Retief. Magnan, still clinging to his perch,
raised his head and weakly cried:
                "There
you are! I feared you'd been done a mischief when I turned to speak to you and
found only that slimy little gossip-monger, Thif, at my elbow. Then I
remembered you were on close terms with the, uh, officer here, and when I
followed his trail it led me to him, and—"
                "Now,
Ben," Shinth spoke up from his awkward position in the grasp of Sergeant
Flup. "You're a reasonable chap, you'll see to it your associate does
nothing prejudicial to Groaci-Terran relations, I'm sure!"
                "Of
course, Shinth," Magnan concurred soothingly. "But it was uncommonly
crude of you to plant Major Fith on us, posing as a reporter. Alas, he was able
to divulge only a part of your scheme before he passed—"
                "Away?"
Shinth blurted, all five eyes vibrating in shock.
                "Merely
out, Colonel," Magnan reassured the agitated fellow. "But you can
rectify the omission. If you hurry, I shall