Retief and the PanGalactic Pageant of Pulchritude by Keith Laumer Page A

don't wander off in the desert and get
lost."
                As
Mub was concluding his remarks, there was a stir at the entrance, and a small,
spindle-legged stranger, closely wrapped in a puce cloak thrust past the
protesting sentry to confront the Glorb general.
                "To
see here, General," he whispered. "To have heard report of atrocities
directed at one of my staff, a general officer, Shinth by name—"
                "Hey!"
Mub cut off the recrimination, "it's one o' them Terries! Grab him, boys,
and don't worry about bending him a little!"
                At
once, a brace of the nearest Glorb sprang into action, seizing the slightly
built newcomer by both arms, tearing away his cloak in the process, while the
object of their attention hissed indignantly.
                "See?"
General Mub cried. "I tole you! Them five wiggly eyes is a dead giveaway.
Don't let him pull nothing, now. Say, fellow, just who are you, anyways?"
                The
Groaci, having been spun about, was now face to face with Retief. His eyes went
rigid, then wilted, indicating Total Incredulity (41 -b). "Retief!" he yelled.
                "No,
you can't fool me on that one," Mub dismissed the shout. "I got this
Retief locked up in my number three dungeon. You'll hafta do beter'n that.
Anyways, I know this Retief to be a 'miscreant o' the worst stripe', I think
Hish said. Now, who are you?"
                "To
be none other than that same Broodmaster Hish whose name you invoked so lightly
but now," the Groaci whispered.
                "You,
Hish?" Mub scoffed. "You're a Terry, I know the type. Got a nerve at
that, walking in here. Got some scheme to release this Retief, I guess."
                "To
perdition with Retief!" Hish shrilled, pointing at the tall Terran.
"There stands Retief, as bold as a brass Hoogan idol! Arrest him
forthwith! Clap him in irons this instant! I insist!"
                "You're
in no position to do no insisting, bub," Mub pointed out. "Now spill
it: what did you plan to do? What's the idea busting in here while I and my
distinguished guest, the Groacian Advisor-in-Chief are tryna have a little
chin-chin? Hah?" The General gestured peremptorily to a guard.
                "Number
four," he ordered. "And better double-padlock it. This one's the
tricky type."
                "To
rue the day!" Hish keened. "To kneel before a Tribunal of summary
expediency and beg forgiveness for this moment!"
                "Oh,
don't tear yourself up, fella," Mub replied in a tone which implied
Expansive Magnanimity (244-b). "You hadda job to do; you gave it a try—
but you run up against Major General Mub, DAC, FBY, and flunked out. I'll even
put in a good word for your brass at the trial."
                "To
be not I, but you, dolt," Hish yelled, "who is to stand at the bar of
practicality!" Then he was dragged away, still struggling, until the
hollow bonk! of a spear-butt against his cranial plates silenced him.
                "General,"
Retief said quietly in the hush following the pseudo-Terran's departure.
"You forgot to mention just when you plan to utter the signal."
                "Oh,
sorry about that, your Lordship," Mub replied briskly. "Just coming
to that, actually. Let's see ... how about daybreak? Catch 'em with their
sentries just doing the changing of the guard routine. Hit 'em fast and off
again in a couple o' them trices I hear the Constable here talking about."
                "That
sounds just a trifle impulsive, General," Retief told the officer.
"Not to me, of course, knowing your deliberative nature, but to the Board
of Inquiry."
                "Me?
I don't need to worry about no Board," Mub dismissed the thought. "I
got half them suckers on the payoff roll, and the other half are in on the
scheme up to their vibrational