pal," Chief Smudge squeaked. "Killing my boys in the line o'
duty!"
"Whom are you
addressing, sir?" Magnan demanded. "You appear to direct that
ridiculous charge at me and my subordinate with a fine impartiality!"
"Gee, thanks,"
Smudge replied. "I been working on the old impartiality in my spare time;
glad it shows."
"Actually, as you see,
Chief," Magnan persisted, "I, myself am and have been unarmed."
"Right!" Smudge
agreed promptly. "That'd leave this Retief here as the felon, unless ya
wanna count old Bill, which he's a nice-looking kid. He never slaughtered
no cops."
"I hardly think—"
Magnan started, but was cut off by Smudge.
"Yeah, I noticed,"
the chief concurred. "So I'll just put the cuffs on this crinimal here,
and get going; you're cutting inta my alky break." He turned briskly to
Retief, but instead encountered the hard hand of the Marine guard.
"Don't go off
half-cocked, Bub," Bill advised the local. "I done the shooting,
which I aimed over their heads and din't kill no cops which that's a arrow I
could correct. So you can leave Mr. Retief out of it. Fact is, he told me not
to shoot, but when I seen fifty o' your hookbellies coming at us, I loosed one
off And I still got the weapon ..." He patted the holstered power gun.
"So don't tempt me."
The chief abruptly became
interested in adjusting his harness, which had been wrenched somewhat awry by
the sergeant's grip.
"Nobly spoken,
Sergeant," Magnan commended the lad. "Now just hold the chief here
whilst Mr. Retief and I repair to our offices to set in motion the wheels of
process to restore a modicum of order to this developing chaos," Magnan
ordered crisply, and set off toward the elevator bank, casting a haughty look
on the discomfited Smudge as he passed.
"Hey, don't go casting
no haughty looks on me!" the cop objected. "And tell this here
gorilla to aim that thing at his foot!"
"That cut it,"
Bill commented, and grabbing the offensive fellow by one of his multiple arms,
he swung him around and released him into the path of his own advancing
minions, who carelessly knocked him down en passant.
"You seen
that!" Smudge squeaked, when he had regained half a dozen of his feet.
"The Terry rent-a-cop laid hands on me; Hunk and Dopey seen it too; right,
Dopey?"
"I din't see nothing
except you stepped on my favorite foot," Dopey replied resentfully, miming
dire distress as he limped away.
"That leaves you and
me, Constable Hunk," Smudge told his lone remaining subordinate.
"Now, you gonna put the cuffs on this here killer, or what?"
"I don't see no dead
bodies laying around, Chief," Hunk demurred. "Who'd the sucker kill,
anyways?"
"It hardly behooves
you, Detective Hunk," Smudge objected, "to raise these fine technical
distinctions at this here juncture."
"What juncture?"
the promotee demanded, looking around confusedly. "I don't see no
juncture."
3
In the
conference room on the third floor of the Chancery, twelve senior Embassy
Officers sat at the long table, listening to the shouting from the street, and
awaiting the arrival of the Chief of Mission. Beyond the high, draped windows,
the view was of deteriorated facades elaborately woven of twigs, vines and
plastic gribble-grub bags, and linked by cables along which local pedestrians
crept in their deliberate way; when two met, one simply swung to the underside
of the narrow cable. The rickety structures were interspersed with tall,
palmlike whicky trees overgrown with glowering goobloom vines, all silhouetted
against a
duty!"
"Whom are you
addressing, sir?" Magnan demanded. "You appear to direct that
ridiculous charge at me and my subordinate with a fine impartiality!"
"Gee, thanks,"
Smudge replied. "I been working on the old impartiality in my spare time;
glad it shows."
"Actually, as you see,
Chief," Magnan persisted, "I, myself am and have been unarmed."
"Right!" Smudge
agreed promptly. "That'd leave this Retief here as the felon, unless ya
wanna count old Bill, which he's a nice-looking kid. He never slaughtered
no cops."
"I hardly think—"
Magnan started, but was cut off by Smudge.
"Yeah, I noticed,"
the chief concurred. "So I'll just put the cuffs on this crinimal here,
and get going; you're cutting inta my alky break." He turned briskly to
Retief, but instead encountered the hard hand of the Marine guard.
"Don't go off
half-cocked, Bub," Bill advised the local. "I done the shooting,
which I aimed over their heads and din't kill no cops which that's a arrow I
could correct. So you can leave Mr. Retief out of it. Fact is, he told me not
to shoot, but when I seen fifty o' your hookbellies coming at us, I loosed one
off And I still got the weapon ..." He patted the holstered power gun.
"So don't tempt me."
The chief abruptly became
interested in adjusting his harness, which had been wrenched somewhat awry by
the sergeant's grip.
"Nobly spoken,
Sergeant," Magnan commended the lad. "Now just hold the chief here
whilst Mr. Retief and I repair to our offices to set in motion the wheels of
process to restore a modicum of order to this developing chaos," Magnan
ordered crisply, and set off toward the elevator bank, casting a haughty look
on the discomfited Smudge as he passed.
"Hey, don't go casting
no haughty looks on me!" the cop objected. "And tell this here
gorilla to aim that thing at his foot!"
"That cut it,"
Bill commented, and grabbing the offensive fellow by one of his multiple arms,
he swung him around and released him into the path of his own advancing
minions, who carelessly knocked him down en passant.
"You seen
that!" Smudge squeaked, when he had regained half a dozen of his feet.
"The Terry rent-a-cop laid hands on me; Hunk and Dopey seen it too; right,
Dopey?"
"I din't see nothing
except you stepped on my favorite foot," Dopey replied resentfully, miming
dire distress as he limped away.
"That leaves you and
me, Constable Hunk," Smudge told his lone remaining subordinate.
"Now, you gonna put the cuffs on this here killer, or what?"
"I don't see no dead
bodies laying around, Chief," Hunk demurred. "Who'd the sucker kill,
anyways?"
"It hardly behooves
you, Detective Hunk," Smudge objected, "to raise these fine technical
distinctions at this here juncture."
"What juncture?"
the promotee demanded, looking around confusedly. "I don't see no
juncture."
3
In the
conference room on the third floor of the Chancery, twelve senior Embassy
Officers sat at the long table, listening to the shouting from the street, and
awaiting the arrival of the Chief of Mission. Beyond the high, draped windows,
the view was of deteriorated facades elaborately woven of twigs, vines and
plastic gribble-grub bags, and linked by cables along which local pedestrians
crept in their deliberate way; when two met, one simply swung to the underside
of the narrow cable. The rickety structures were interspersed with tall,
palmlike whicky trees overgrown with glowering goobloom vines, all silhouetted
against a
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