Retief Unbound Read Online Free Page B

by heavy buffeting in
the backwash from the departing mail boat.' Retief watched the tiny screen, his
hands on the manual controls. He was dropping rapidly: forty miles, thirty-nine
. . .
    At five miles Retie f threw the
light skiff into maximum deceleration. Crushed back in the padded seat, he
watched the screen and corrected the course minutely. The planetary surface was
rushing up with frightening speed. Retief shook his head and kicked in the
emergency retro-drive. Points of light arced up from the planet face below. If
they were ordinary chemical warheads the skiffs meteor screens should handle
them. The screen on the instrument panel flashed brilliant white, then went
dark. The skiff leaped and flipped on its back; smoke filling the tiny
compartment. There was a series of shocks, a final bone-shaking concussion,
then stillness, broken by the ping of hot metal contracting.
    Coughing, Retief disengaged himself
from the shock- webbing, groped underfoot for the hatch, and wrenched it open.
A wave of hot jungle air struck him. He lowered himself to a bed of shattered
foliage, got to his feet . . . and dropped flat as a bullet whined past his
ear.
    He lay listening. Stealthy
movements were audible from the left. He inched his way forward and made the
shelter of a broad-boled dwarf tree. Somewhere a song lizard burbled. Whining
insects circled, scented alien life, and buzzed off. There was another rustle
of foliage from the underbrush five yards away. A bush quivered, then a low
bough dipped. Retief edged back around the trunk and eased down behind a fallen
log. A stocky man in a grimy leather shirt and shorts appeared, moving
cautiously, a pistol in his hand.
    As he passed, Retief rose, leaped
the log, and tackled him. They went down together. The man gave one short yell,
then struggled in silence. Retief flipped him onto his back, raised a fist—
    "Hey!" the settler
yelled. "You're as human as I am!"
    "Maybe I'll look better after
a shave," said Retief. "What's the idea of shooting at me?"
    "Lemme up—my name's Potter.
Sorry 'bout that. I figured it was a Flap-jack boat; looks just like 'em. I
took a shot when I saw something move; didn't know it was a Terrestrial. Who
are you? What you doin' here? We're pretty close to the edge of the oasis.
That's Flap-jack country over there." He waved a hand toward the north,
where the desert lay.
    "I'm glad you're a poor shot.
Some of those missiles were too close for comfort." "Missiles, eh?
Must be Flap-jack artillery. We got nothin' like that."
    "I heard there was a
full-fledged war brewing," said Retief. "I didn't expect—"
    "Good!" Potter said.
"We figured a few of you boys from Ivory would be joining up when you
heard. You from Ivory?"
    "Yes. I'm—"
    "Hey, you must be Lemuel's
cousin. Good night! I pretty near made a bad mistake. Lemuel's a tough man to
explain anything to."
    "I'm-"
    "Keep your head down. These
damn Flap-jacks have got some wicked hand weapons. Come on . . ." He began
crawling through the brush. Retief followed. They crossed two hundred yards of
rough country before Potter got to his feet, took out a soggy bandanna, and
mopped his face.
    "You move good for a city man.
I thought you folks on Ivory just sat under those domes and read dials. But I
guess bein' Lemuel's cousin—"
    "As a matter of fact—"
    "Have to get you some real
clothes, though. Those city duds don't stand up on 'Dobe."
    Retief looked down at his charred,
torn, sweat-soaked powder-blue blazer and slacks, the informal uniform of a
Third Secretary and Vice-Consul in the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne.
    "This outfit seemed pretty
rough-and-ready back home," he said. "But I guess leather has its
points."
    "Let's get on back to camp.
Well just about make it by sundown. And look, don't say nothin' to Lemuel about
me thinkin' you were a Flap-jack."
    "I won't; but—"
    Potter was on his way, loping off
up a gentle slope. Retief pulled off the sodden blazer, dropped it over a bush,
added his string