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at Retief.
"A ballet theater isn't the easiest thing in the
world to hide," Retief said. "Suppose we try to
turn it up first; then we can start on the problem
of how to get it back."
"Good notion, Retief. Just what I was about
to suggest." Magnan looked at the watch on his
thumb. "Why don't you just pop round and have
a look here and there, while I whip my
paperwork into shape; then after dinner we can
get together and agree on a story formulate a
report, that is, indicating we've done everything
possible."
Leaving the Counselor's office, Retief went
along to the Commercial Section. A chinless
clerk looked up from among baled newspaper
clippings. "Hi, there, Mr. Retief. I see you made
it. Welcome to Squale."
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r r
"Thanks, Freddy; I'd like to see a listing of
all cargoes imported by the Groaci Embassy
during the last twelve months."
The clerk poked the keys of the data bank,
frowned at the list it disgorged.
"Flimsy construction they must have in
mind," he said as he handed it over. "Cardboard
and pick-up sticks. Typical."
"Anything else?" Retief persisted.
"I'll check equipment imports." The clerk
tapped out another code, eliciting a brief clatter
and a second slip of paper.
"Heavy-duty lift units," he said. "Funny.
They don't need heavy-duty units to handle
plywood and two-by's..."
"Four of them," Retief noted. "With wide-
aperture fields and gang interlocks."
"Wow! With that, you could pick up the
Squalid-Hilton."
"You could, indeed," Retief agreed. "Thanks,
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Freddy."
Outside, it was dusk; the car was waiting at
the curb. Retief directed Chauncey to drive back
along the wet, tree-fern-shaded avenues to the
vacant edge-of-town site so recently occupied by
the stolen building. Stepping out into the steady,
warm rain, he entered the tent, circled the
yawning excavation, studying the soft ground
by the beam of a handlight.
"Look are you whatting for?" Chauncey
inquired, ambling along behind him on feet that
resembled dishpan-sized wads of wet magenta
yarn. "Ardon my pasking, but I taught you
Therries lidn't dike feeting your get wet."
"Just getting the lie of the land, Chauncey,"
Retief said. "It appears that whoever pinched the
theater lifted it out of here with grav units
probably intact, since there doesn't seem to be
any evidence of disassembly."
"I goant dett you, chief," Chauncey said.
"You lawk tight this roll houtine isn't trust a jick
Master Mignan add off to pulvertise the And
Gropening."
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"Perish the thought, Chauncey; it's just my
way of heightening the suspense." Retief
stooped, picked up a pinkish dope-stick butt,
sniffed at it. It gave off the sharp odor of ether
characteristic of Groaci manufacture.
"We Squalians are no runch of boobs, you
understand," Chauncey went on. "We've treen a
few sicks in our time. If you howns want to clam
it up, that's Jake; jut bust betwoon the tea of us
how the heck dood he dee it?"
"I'm afraid that's a diplomatic secret," Retief
said. "Let's go take a look at the Groaci answer to
our cultural challenge."
"Mot nuch to owe seever there," the local
said disparagingly as they squelched back to the
car, idling on its air cushion above a wide
puddle. "Guthing knowing on; and if were
thuzz, you souldn't key it; they got this buy ford
hence aplound the race, and a tunch of barps
everying coverthing up."
"The Groaci are a secretive group," Retief
said. "But maybe we can get a peek anyway."
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r r
"I bon't know, doss; there's a gunch of bards
around there, too with yuns, get. They don't
clett lobody net goase."
Steering through the rain-sleek streets
under the celery-like trees, Chauncey hummed a
sprightly little tune, sounding first like a musical
comb, then a rubber-stringed harp, ending with
a blatter like a bursting bagpipe.
"Bot nad, hey?" he solicited a compliment,
"all but the cast lord; it was subeezed to poe a
tourish of flumpets, but my slinger fipped."
"Very impressive," Retief said. "How are
you on woodwinds?"
"So-so," Chauncey said. "I'm stretter on
bings. Vile this getolin effect." He extruded an
arm, quickly arranged four thin filaments along
it, and drew a hastily improvised member across
the latter, eliciting a shrill bleat.
"Gutty pred, hey? I can't tay any plunes yet,
but I lactice a prot; I'll pet it down gat in toe
nime."
"Groaci nose-flute lovers will come over to
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you in a body," Retief predicted. "By the
way, Chauncey, how long have the Groaci been
working on their ballpark?"
"Lell, wet's see: Stay tharted it fast lall, bust
ajout the time too Yerries toured your
Foundations..."
"It must be about finished, eh?"
"It hasn't changed such mince the worst
feak; and a thunny fing: You sever seem to knee
any jerkers around the wob; gust the jards."
Chauncey swung the corner and pulled up
before a ten-foot-high fence constructed of
closely fitted plastic panels, looming darkly in
the early-evening gloom.
"Ear we har," he said. "Sike I lezz, you san't [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]