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Read Ebook: Aide Memoire by Laumer Keith Burns Illustrator
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Ebook has 167 lines and 7309 words, and 4 pages
of the shed. The old fellow had put up a struggle.
There were deep drag-marks in the dust behind the building. Retief followed them across the yard. They disappeared under the steel door of a warehouse.
Retief glanced around. Now, at the mid-hour of the fourth cycle, the workmen were heaped along the edge of the refreshment pond, deep in their siesta. He took a multi-bladed tool from a pocket, tried various fittings in the lock. It snicked open.
He eased the door aside far enough to enter.
Heaped bales loomed before him. Snapping on the tiny lamp in the handle of the combination tool, Retief looked over the pile. One stack seemed out of alignment ... and the dust had been scraped from the floor before it. He pocketed the light, climbed up on the bales, looked over into a nest made by stacking the bundles around a clear spot. The aged Fustian lay in it, on his back, a heavy sack tied over his head.
Retief dropped down inside the ring of bales, sawed at the tough twine and pulled the sack free.
"It's me, old fellow," Retief said. "The nosy stranger. Sorry I got you into this."
The oldster threshed his gnarled legs. He rocked slightly and fell back. "A curse on the cradle that rocked their infant slumbers," he rumbled. "But place me back on my feet and I hunt down the youth, Slock, though he flee to the bottommost muck of the Sea of Torments."
"How am I going to get you out of here? Maybe I'd better get some help."
"Nay. The perfidious Youths abound here," said the old Fustian. "It would be your life."
"I doubt if they'd go that far."
"Would they not?" The Fustian stretched his neck. "Cast your light here. But for the toughness of my hide...."
Retief put the beam of the light on the leathery neck. A great smear of thick purplish blood welled from a ragged cut. The oldster chuckled, a sound like a seal coughing.
"Traitor, they called me. For long they sawed at me--in vain. Then they trussed me and dumped me here. They think to return with weapons to complete the task."
"Weapons? I thought it was illegal!"
"Their evil genius, the Soft One," said the Fustian. "He would provide fuel to the Devil himself."
"The Groaci again," said Retief. "I wonder what their angle is."
"And I must confess, I told them of you, ere I knew their full intentions. Much can I tell you of their doings. But first, I pray, the block and tackle."
Retief found the hoist where the Fustian directed him, maneuvered it into position, hooked onto the edge of the carapace and hauled away. The immense Fustian rose slowly, teetered ... then flopped on his chest.
Slowly he got to his feet.
"My name is Whonk, fleet one," he said. "My cows are yours."
"Thanks. I'm Retief. I'd like to meet the girls some time. But right now, let's get out of here."
Whonk leaned his bulk against the ponderous stacks of baled kelp, bulldozed them aside. "Slow am I to anger," he said, "but implacable in my wrath. Slock, beware!"
"Hold it," said Retief suddenly. He sniffed. "What's that odor?" He flashed the light around, played it over a dry stain on the floor. He knelt, sniffed at the spot.
"What kind of cargo was stacked here, Whonk? And where is it now?"
"The VIP boat. Who's scheduled to use it?"
"I know not. But what matters this? Let us discuss cargo movements after I have settled a score with certain Youths."
"We'd better follow this up first, Whonk. There's only one substance I know of that's transported in drums and smells like that blot on the floor. That's titanite: the hottest explosive this side of a uranium pile."
"A sign of the times," said Whonk, glancing inside the empty shelter. "A guard should stand here, but I see him not. Doubtless he crept away to sleep."
"Let's go aboard and take a look around."
They entered the ship. Soft lights glowed in utter silence. A rough box stood on the floor, rollers and pry-bars beside it--a discordant note in the muted luxury of the setting. Whonk rummaged in it.
"Curious," he said. "What means this?" He held up a stained cloak of orange and green, a metal bracelet, papers.
"Orange and green," mused Relief. "Whose colors are those?"
"I know not." Whonk glanced at the arm-band. "But this is lettered." He passed the metal band to Retief.
"SCARS," Retief read. He looked at Whonk. "It seems to me I've heard the name before," he murmured. "Let's get back to the Embassy--fast."
Back on the ramp Retief heard a sound ... and turned in time to duck the charge of a hulking Fustian youth who thundered past him and fetched up against the broad chest of Whonk, who locked him in a warm embrace.
"Nice catch, Whonk. Where'd he sneak out of?"
"The lout hid there by the storage bin," rumbled Whonk. The captive youth thumped fists and toes fruitlessly against the oldster's carapace.
"Hang onto him," said Retief. "He looks like the biting kind."
"No fear. Clumsy I am, yet not without strength."
"Ask him where the titanite is tucked away."
"Speak, witless grub," growled Whonk, "lest I tweak you in twain."
The youth gurgled.
"Better let up before you make a mess of him," said Retief. Whonk lifted the Youth clear of the floor, then flung him down with a thump that made the ground quiver. The younger Fustian glared up at the elder, mouth snapping.
"This one was among those who trussed me and hid me away for the killing," said Whonk. "In his repentance he will tell all to his elder."
"That's the same young squirt that tried to strike up an acquaintance with me on the bus," Retief said. "He gets around."
The youth scrambled to hands and knees, scuttled for freedom. Retief planted a foot on his dragging cloak; it ripped free. He stared at the bare back of the Fustian--
Retief looked at the scarred back. "I thought he looked a little old. But I thought--"
"This is not possible," Whonk said wonderingly. "The great nerve trunks are deeply involved. Not even the cleverest surgeon could excise the carapace and leave the patient living."
"It looks like somebody did the trick. But let's take this boy with us and get out of here. His folks may come home."
"Too late," said Whonk. Retief turned.
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