The Keith Laumer MEGAPACK®: 21 Classic Stories. Keith Laumer
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humming coming from the speaker in the silence. “Well, let us dine,” the mighty Flap-jack said at last. “We can resolve these matters later. I am called Hoshick of the Mosaic of the Two Dawns.”
“I’m Retief.” Hoshick waited expectantly, “… of the Mountain of Red Tape,” Retief added.
“Take place, Retief,” said Hoshick. “I hope you won’t find our rude couches uncomfortable.” Two other large Flap-jacks came into the room, communed silently with Hoshick. “Pray forgive our lack of translating devices,” he said to Retief. “Permit me to introduce my colleagues….”
A small Flap-jack rippled the chamber bearing on its back a silver tray laden with aromatic food. The waiter served the four diners, filled the drinking tubes with yellow wine. It smelled good.
“I trust you’ll find these dishes palatable,” said Hoshick. “Our metabolisms are much alike, I believe.” Retief tried the food. It had a delicious nut-like flavor. The wine was indistinguishable from Chateau d’Yquem.
“It was an unexpected pleasure to encounter your party here,” said Hoshick. “I confess at first we took you for an indigenous earth-grubbing form, but we were soon disabused of that notion.” He raised a tube, manipulating it deftly with his fringe tentacles. Retief returned the salute and drank.
“Of course,” Hoshick continued, “as soon as we realized that you were sportsmen like ourselves, we attempted to make amends by providing a bit of activity for you. We’ve ordered out our heavier equipment and a few trained skirmishers and soon we’ll be able to give you an adequate show. Or so I hope.”
“Additional skirmishers?” said Retief. “How many, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“For the moment, perhaps only a few hundred. There-after…well, I’m sure we can arrange that between us. Personally I would prefer a contest of limited scope. No nuclear or radiation-effect weapons. Such a bore, screening the spawn for deviations. Though I confess we’ve come upon some remarkably useful sports. The rangerform such as you made captive, for example. Simple-minded, of course, but a fantastically keen tracker.”
“Oh, by all means,” Retief said. “No atomics. As you pointed out, spawn-sorting is a nuisance, and then too, it’s wasteful of troops.”
“Ah, well, they are after all expendable. But we agree: no atomics. Have you tried the ground-gwack eggs? Rather a specialty of my Mosaic….”
“Delicious,” said Retief. “I wonder. Have you considered eliminating weapons altogether?”
* * * *
A scratchy sound issued from the disk. “Pardon my laughter,” Hoshick said, “but surely you jest?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Retief, “we ourselves seldom use weapons.”
“I seem to recall that our first contact of skirmishforms involved the use of a weapon by one of your units.”
“My apologies,” said Retief. “The—ah—the skirmishform failed to recognize that he was dealing with a sportsman.”
“Still, now that we have commenced so merrily with weapons….” Hoshick signaled and the servant refilled tubes.
“There is an aspect I haven’t yet mentioned,” Retief went on. “I hope you won’t take this personally, but the fact is, our skirmishforms think of weapons as something one employs only in dealing with certain specific life-forms.”
“Oh? Curious. What forms are those?”
“Vermin. Or ‘varmints’ as some call them. Deadly antagonists, but lacking in caste. I don’t want our skirmishforms thinking of such worthy adversaries as yourself as varmints.”
“Dear me! I hadn’t realized, of course. Most considerate of you to point it out.” Hoshick clucked in dismay. “I see that skirmishforms are much the same among you as with us: lacking in perception.” He laughed scratchily. “Imagine considering us as—what was the word?—varmints.”
“Which brings us to the crux of the matter. You see, we’re up against a serious problem with regard to skirmishforms. A low birth rate. Therefore we’ve reluctantly taken to substitutes for the mass actions so dear to the heart of the sportsman. We’ve attempted to put an end to these contests altogether….”
Hoshick coughed explosively, sending a spray of wine into the air. “What are you saying?” he gasped. “Are you proposing that Hoshick of the Mosaic of the Two Dawns abandon honor….?”
“Sir!” said Retief sternly. “You forget yourself. I, Retief of the Red Tape Mountain, make an alternate proposal more in keeping with the newest sporting principles.”
“New?” cried Hoshick. “My dear Retief, what a pleasant surprise! I’m enthralled with novel modes. One gets so out of touch. Do elaborate.”
“It’s quite simple, really. Each side selects a representative and the two individuals settle the issue between them.”
“I…um…fear I don’t understand. What possible significance could one attach to the activities of a couple of random skirmishforms?”
“I haven’t made myself clear,” said Retief. He took a sip of wine. “We don’t involve the skirmishforms at all. That’s quite passe.”
“You don’t mean…?”
“That’s right. You and me.”
* * * *
Outside on the starlit sand Retief tossed aside the power pistol, followed it with the leather shirt Swazey had lent him. By the faint light he could just make out the towering figure of the Flap-jack rearing up before him, his trappings gone. A silent rank of Flap-jack retainers were grouped behind him.
“I fear I must lay aside the translator now, Retief,” said Hoshick. He sighed and rippled his fringe tentacles. “My spawn-fellows will never credit this. Such a curious turn fashion has taken. How much more pleasant it is to observe the action of the skirmishforms from a distance.”
“I suggest we use Tennessee rules,” said Retief. “They’re very liberal. Biting, gouging, stomping, kneeing and of course choking, as well as the usual punching, shoving and kicking.”
“Hmmm. These gambits seem geared to forms employing rigid endo-skeletons; I fear I shall be at a disadvantage.”
“Of course,” Retief said, “if you’d prefer a more plebeian type of contest….”
“By no means. But perhaps we could rule out tentacle-twisting, just to even it.”
“Very well. Shall we begin?”
With a rush Hoshick threw himself at Retief, who ducked, whirled, and leaped on the Flap-jack’s back…and felt himself flipped clear by a mighty ripple of the alien’s slab-like body. Retief rolled aside as Hoshick turned on him; he jumped to his feet and threw a right hay-maker to Hoshick’s mid-section. The alien whipped his left fringe around in an arc that connected with Retief’s jaw, sent him spinning onto his back…and Hoshick’s weight struck him.
Retief twisted, tried to roll. The flat body of the alien blanketed him. He worked an arm free, drumming blows on the leathery back. Hoshick nestled closer.
Retief’s air was running out. He heaved up against the smothering weight. Nothing budged.
It was like burial under a dump-truck-load of concrete.
He remembered the rangerform he had captured. The sensitive orifice had been placed ventrally, in what would be the thoracic area….
He groped, felt tough hide set with horny granules. He would be missing skin tomorrow…if there was a tomorrow. His thumb found the orifice and probed.
The Flap-jack recoiled.