Something sharp poked Retief in the side, a vigorous jab that bruised even through the leather strip that joined the dorsal and ventral plates of his costume. He made an effort, sat up, reached to investigate the extent of the skull fracture, felt the metallic clang as his claw touched the painted Voion headpiece. The tough armor, it seemed, had its uses. He pushed the helmet into alignment, looked around at a torch-lit clearing among the boles of great trees, and a ring of three-foot blue-green Quoppina, members, he saw, of the Ween tribe, all eyeing him with faintly luminous oculars, their saber-like fighting claws ready, their scarlet biting apparatus cleared for action.
"Hoo. Meat-fall-from-sky moving around," a tiny, penetrating voice keened in heavily accented Tribal. "Us better slice it up quick, before it get clean away."
Retief got to his feet, felt for the gun with his elbow. It was gone—lost in the crash. One midget meat-eater, bolder than the rest, edged closer, gave a tentative snap of his immense white-edge claw. Retief worked levers, clacked back at him.
"Stand back, little fellow," he said. "Don't you recognize a supernatural apparition when you see one?" He moved to put his back to a tree.
"What you mean, big boy?" one of the natives demanded. "What that big word mean?"
"It means it's bad medicine to cook a stranger," Retief translated.
"Hmm, that mean we is got to eat you raw. How is you, tough?"
Retief drew the short sword. "Tough enough to give you a bellyache, I'd estimate."
"Hey, what kind of Quopp is you, anyway?" someone inquired. "I ain't never see one like you before."
"I'm a diplomat," Retief explained. "We mostly lie up during the day and come out at night to drink."
"A Dipple-mac. Hmmm. Ain't never heard of that tribe before, is you, Jik-jik?"
"Can't say as I is. Must come from over the mountain."
"How you get here, Meat-from-sky?" somebody called. "You ain't got the wingspan for no flying."
"In that." Retief nodded toward the smashed shell of the skiff.
"What that?" one native inquired. Another prodded the machine with a small wheel, adapted for rough jungle trails. "Whatever it is, it dead." He looked at Retief. "You friend no help to you now, big boy. You is all alone."
"You a long way out of your territory, Stilter," another said. "Ain't never see one like you before. What you doing here in Ween country?"
"I'm just passing through," Retief said. "I'm looking for a party of Terrans that wandered off-course. I don't suppose you've seen them?"
"I heard of them whatchacallums—Terrans. They twelve feet high and made out of jelly, I hears; and they takes their wheels off at night and leaves 'em outside."
"That's the group. Any sign of them in these parts?"
"Nope," the Ween crossed their rear oculars, indicating negation.
"In that case, if you'll stand aside, I'll breeze on my way and let you get back to whatever you were doing when I dropped in."
"What we was doing, we was starving, Meat-from-sky. Your timing good."
"Jik-jik, you all the time talking to something to eat," someone said from the ranks. "What you all say to a nice barbecue sauce on this meal, with greens on the side?"
There was a sudden flurry of sound from the near distance, punctuated by shrill cries.
"Get your feather-picking members off me, you ignorant clodhoppers!" a thin Voion voice screeched. "I'm a member of the Planetary Armed Forces! There's a big reward—" the speech cut off in mid-sentence; threshing sounds followed. Moments later, three Ween pushed into the clearing, hauling the limp figure of a bright-polished member of the Planetary Police. He groaned as they dropped him; one of his wheels, badly warped, whirled lopsidedly.
"Hoo, this evening shaping up," someone said. The Voion was lying on his back, waving all four arms feebly.
"You can't do this to me," the captive tweeted. "In the name of the Wo—" The Ween standing closest to the fallen policeman brought his immense claw around and with a sound like a pistol shot nipped off the newcomer's head with a single snap.
"Well, that the first of them big noises I see trimmed up like he ought to be," Jik-jik said. "You got him just in time, Fut-fut, before he call on the Name of the Worm—" He broke off, looked at Retief.
"In the Name of the Worm," Retief said, "what about a little hospitality?"
"You and your big vocalizing apparatus," someone said disgustedly. "Well, back to camp. At least us can fry up some policeman to tide us over." A quartet of Ween lifted the limp body; someone picked up the head.
"Lucky for you you call on the Name of the Worm," Jik-jik said conversationally. "Old Hub-hub ready to dine right now, what I mean."
"Mentioning the Worm takes me off the menu, eh?"
"Well, it give you time to get you thoughts in order, anyway."
"I have a feeling that remark is pregnant with meanings, none of them pleasant."
"Hoo, it simple enough, big boy. It mean us keep you pen up for five days, and then skin you out for a old-fashioned tribal blowout."
An aggressive-looking Ween pushed forward. "How about if us trim off a few edges now—just to sample the flavor?"
"Get back there, Hub-hub," Jik-jik admonished. "No snacking between meals."
"Come on, Meat-from-sky," the aggressive pygmy called. "Get you wheels in gear." He reached out with his claw to prod Retief—and jumped back with a screech as the heavy sword whipped down, lopped off an inch of the member's pointed tip.
"Look what he do to my chopper!" he shrilled.
"You ask for it, Hub-hub," Fut-fut said.
"I like a lot of space around me," Retief said, swinging the sword loosely in his hand. "Don't crowd me."
The Ween edged back, fifty or more small, dark-glittering creatures like oversized army ants in a wide ring around Retief, his armor a splash of vivid color in the gloom. Hub-hub jittered, holding his damaged claw high, torchlight glinting on his metallic sides. "I is hereby taking this piece of meat off the chow list!" he screeched. "I is promoting him to the status of folks!"
"Hey, Hub-hub, is you gone out of you head? What the idea of doing a trick like that . . . ?" A chorus of protest broke out.
Jik-jik confronted the outraged tribesman.
"He chop off a piece of you, and now you chumming up to him. What the idea?"
"The idea is now I ain't got to wait no five days to get a piece back!" Hub-hub keened. "Get back, all of you . . ." He waved the two-foot long, steel-trap claw in a commanding gesture. "I is now going to snip this Stilter down to size!"
The Ween drew back, disappointed but obedient to tribal custom. Hub-hub danced before Retief, who waited, his back to the tree, the sword held before him, torchlight glinting along its steel-hard razor-sharp edge. Hub-hub darted in, legs twinkling, snick-snacked a double feint high and low with the big fighting arm, lashed out viciously with a pair of small pinchers, then struck with the big claw, eliciting a loud clang! from Retief's chest armor—and staggered as the flat of Retief's blade knocked him spinning.
"Hoo!" Jik-jik shrilled. "Old Hub-hub chew off more than he can bite this time!"
"Let's call this off, Shorty," Retief suggested. "I'd hate to have to skewer you before we've really gotten acquainted—"
The Ween danced in, pivoting on spider legs, feinted, struck with his fighting claw—
Retief's sword flashed in a lightning arc, sang as it bit through steel-hard metallo-chitin. The oversized claw dropped to the ground.
"He . . . he done chop off my chopper . . . !" Hub-hub said faintly. "Now he going to stick me for sure . . ." He crouched, waiting, a drop of syrupy dark fluid forming on the stump.
"Serve you right, Hub-hub," someone called.
"Suppose I let you go?" Retief stepped forward and prodded the Ween's slender neck with the sword point. "Promise to be good and speak only when spoken to?"
"Way I feels now, I done talking for good," Hub-hub declared.
"Very well." Retief lowered the blade. "Go with my blessing."
"Well, that a neat trick, big boy," Jik-jik commented. "Take him six months to grow a new arm, and meantime he learn to keep his mandibles buttoned."
Retief looked around. "Anybody else?" he inquired. There were no takers.
"In that case, I'll be on my way. You're sure you haven't noticed a ship crashing in the vicinity in the past few hours?"
"Well, now, that different," Jik-jik stated. "They was a big smash over yonder way a while back. We was looking for it when we found you, Stilter."
"The name's Retief. Now that we're all friends and tribesfellows, how about a few of you showing me the spot where it came down?"
"Sure, Tief-tief. It not far from where you was."
Retief walked over to examine the body of the decapitated Voion. He had obviously been a member of Ikk's police—or army—complete with brand-new chromalloy inlays and an enameled cranium insignia with a stylized picture of what looked like a dragonfly.
"I wonder what this fellow was doing out here, so far from town," Retief said.
"I don't know," Jik-jik said; "but I got a feeling when us finds out us ain't going like it."
The bright disk of Joop was high above the treetops, shedding a cold white light on the village street. Retief followed as Jik-jik and two other tribesmen led the way along a trail worn smooth by the wheels of generations of forest dwellers. It was a fifteen minute trek to the spot where Pin-pin halted and waved an arm. "Yonder's where I found that policeman," he said. "Back in the brush. I heard him cussing up a cyclone back there."
Retief pushed through, came to a spot where fallen limbs and scattered leaves marked the position of the injured Voion. Above, the silvery ends of broken branches marked a trajectory through the treetops.
"What I wondering, how he get up there?" Pin-pin inquired. "Funny stuff going on around here. Us heard the big crash—that why us out here—"
"The big crash—which way was that?" Retief asked.
"Yonder," Pin-pin pointed. Again he led the way, guided by the unerring Quoppina instinct for direction. Fifty feet along the trail, Retief stooped, picked up a twisted fragment of heavy, iron-gray metallo-chitin, one edge melted and charred. He went on, seeing more bits and pieces—a bright-edge shred here, swinging from a bush, a card-table-sized plate there, wedged high in a tree. Then suddenly the dull-gleaming mass of a major fragment of the wrecked Rhoon loomed through the underbrush, piled against the ribbed base of a forest giant.
"Hoo, that big fellow hit hard, Tief-tief," Pin-pin said. "Wonder what bring him down?"
"Something he tried to eat disagreed with him." Retief made his way around the giant corpse, noting the blaster burns on the stripped hub of the rotors, the tangle of internal organic wiring exposed by the force of the crash, the twisted and shattered landing members. The rear half of the body was missing, torn away in the passage through the trees.
"Wonder what a Rhoon meet big enough to down him?" Pin-pin wondered. "He the toughest critter in this jungle; everybody spin gravel when a Rhoon flit overhead." The Ween dipped a finger in a smear of spilled lubricant, waved it near an olfactory organ.
"Fool!" he snorted. "That gone plumb rancid already! I guess we don't make no meal off this fellow!"
Retief clambered up the side of the downed behemoth, looked down into an open cavity gouged in the upper side of the thorax, just anterior to the massive supporting structures for the rotating members. Wires were visible; not the irregular-diametered organic conduits of the Quoppina internal organization, but bright-colored cables bearing lettering . . .
"Hey, Tief-tief!" Pin-pin called suddenly. "Us better get scarce! This boy's relations is out looking for him!"
Retief looked up; a great dark shape was visible, hovering a few hundred feet above treetop level. By the bright light of Joop, a second and a third Rhoon appeared, cruising slowly back and forth over the position of their fallen comrade.
"They going to spot him any minute now," Pin-pin said. "I say let's get!"
"They can't land here," Retief said. "They've already spotted him; they're patrolling the location . . ." He looked around, listening. There was the whine of the breeze among metallic leaves, the high throb of idling Rhoon rotors, a distant rustle of underbrush . . .
"Somebody's coming," Retief said. "Let's fade back and watch."
"Look, Tief-tief, I just remembered, I got a roof needs patching—"
"We'll lie low and pull back if it's more than we can handle, Pin-pin. I don't want to miss anything."
"Well . . ." The three Ween went into a hurried consultation, then clacked palps in reluctant agreement. "OK—but if it's a bunch of them no-good Voion coming to see what can they steal, us leaving," Pin-pin announced. "They getting too quick with them clubs lately."
It was five minutes before the first of the approaching group came into view among the great scarlet- and purple-boled trees, laden with full field packs and spare tires.
"What I tell you?" Pin-pin whispered shrilly. "More of them policemen! They all over the place!"
Retief and the Ween watched as more and more Voion came up, crowding into the clearing leveled by the passage of the Rhoon, all chattering in a subdued buzz, fingering their blackwood clubs and staring about them into the forest.
"Plenty of them," a Ween hissed. "Must is six sixes of sixes if they's a one . . ."
"More than that. Look at 'em come!"
An imposing-looking Voion with a jewel in his left palp appeared; the others fell back, let him through. He rolled up beside the dead Rhoon, looked it over.
"Any sign of Lieutenant Xit?" he demanded in trade dialect.
"What he say?" Pin-pin whispered.
"He's looking for the one you fellows found," Retief translated.
"Oh-oh; they ain't gonna to like it if they finds him."
The conversation among the Voion continued:
" . . . trace of him, Colonel. But there a native village not far away; maybe they can help us."
The colonel clacked his palps. "They'll help us," he grated. "Which way?"
The Voion pointed. "Half a mile—there."
"All right, let's march." The column formed up, started off in a new direction.
"For a minute I figure they mean Weensville," Pin-pin said. "But they headed for the Zilk town."
"Can we skirt them and get there first?" Retief asked.
"I reckon—but I ain't hungry just now—and besides, with them policemens on the way—"
"I'm not talking about grocery shopping," Retief said. "Those Voion are in a mean mood. I want to warn the villagers."
"But they's Zilk. What we care what happen to them babies?"
"The Terries I'm looking for might be there; I'd prefer to reach them before the Voion do. Beside which, you villagers should stick together."
"Tief-tief, you is got funny ideas, but if that's what you wants . . ."
Retief and his guides pushed through a final screen of underbrush, emerged at the edge of a cleared and planted field where the broad yellow leaves of a ripening crop of alloy plants caught the Jooplight.
"Them Zilk a funny bunch," Pin-pin said. "Eats nothing but greens. Spends all they time grubbing in the ground."
"In that case, I don't suppose they have to wait until a policeman drops in to plan a meal," Retief pointed out. He started across the open field.
"Hoo, Tief-tief!" Pin-pin hurried after him. "When I say they don't eat folks, that don't mean they don't snap a mean chopper! Us is tangled with them before, plenty of times! You can't just wheel in on 'em!"
"Sorry, Pin-pin. No time for formalities now. Those cops aren't far behind us."
A tall, lean Quoppina appeared at the far side of the field—a bright yellow-orange specimen with long upper arms tipped with specialized earth-working members, shorter, blade-bearing limbs below.
"Oh-oh; they sees us. Too late to change our minds now." Jik-jik held his fighting claw straight up in a gesture indicating peaceful intentions.
"What d'ye want here, ye murderous devils?" a high, mellow voice called.
"I'm looking for a party of Terrans whose boat crash-landed near here a few hours back," Retief called. "Have you seen them?"
"Terrans, is it?" the Zilk hooted. "I've not seen 'em—and if I had, I'd not be likely to turn 'em over to the likes o' you."
Other Zilk were popping from the low, domed huts now, fanning out, moving forward on both flanks in an encircling pincer movement. At close range, Retief could see the businesslike foot-long scythes tipping the lower arms.
"Listen here, you Zilk," Jik-jik called in a voice which may have quavered a trifle. "In the Name of the Worm—us ain't just here to ask foolish questions; us is got news for you folks."
"And we've got news for you—not that ye'll ever have the chance to spread it about—"
"Us come to tip you folks off," the Ween persisted. "They a mob of mean-looking Voion on the way! Less you wants to tangle with 'em, you better head for the brush!"
"Don't try to put us off with wild tales, Ween!"
"It's the truth, if I ever told it."
"Why would ye tell us—if t'were true?"
"It beat me; it were Tief-tief here had the idea."
"What kind o' Quoppina is he?" the Zilk called. "I've seen no Stilter wi' half the length o' member that one shows."
"He a out-of-town boy; just passing through."
"T'is a trick, Wikker," a Zilk beside the spokesman hooted. "I'd not trust the little butchers as far as I could kick 'em—nor the big Stilter, neither."
"The Voion are looking for a friend of theirs," Retief said. "They have an idea you'll help them look."
"We'll help 'em off our land," a Zilk stated. "I seen a mort o' the scoundrels about the acreage lately, running in packs and trampling the crops—"
"They're armed and they mean business," Retief said. "Better get ready."
The Zilk were closing in now; the three Ween crowded up against Retief, their fighting claws clicking like castanets. Retief drew his sword.
"You're making a mistake," he told the advancing Zilk leader. "They'll be here any minute."
"A sly trick, ye heathens—but we Zilk are too shrewd for ye—"
"Hey!" A Zilk called. The others turned. The lead elements of the Voion column were just emerging from the forest. At once, the Zilk formation broke, fell back in confusion toward the town.
"Get the females and grubs clear," the Zilk chief honked, and dashed away with the rest. The Voion colonel, seeing the tribesmen in confusion, barked an order; his troops rolled forward through the fields, clubs ready.
"Let them have the town." Retief seized the arm of the chief as he shot by. "Disperse in the jungle and you can reform for a counterattack!"
The Zilk jerked free. "Well—maybe. Who'd ha' thought a crowd of Ween were telling the truth?" He rushed away.
The Voion were well into the village now; startled Zilk, caught short, dashed from the huts and wheeled for cover burdened with hastily salvaged possessions, only to drop them and veer off, with hoots of alarm, as fast-wheeling Voion intercepted them.
"Us better back off," Jik-jik proposed from the shelter of a hut on the sidelines.
"Scout around and try to round up the survivors," Retief said. "Pin-pin, you make it back to Weensville and bring up reinforcements. The Voion need a little lesson in intertribal cooperation before their success goes to their heads."
Half an hour later, from a screen of narrow pink leaves that tinkled in the light breeze, Retief, several dozen Zilk, and seventy-odd Ween watched by the waning light of the fast-sinking Joop as a swarm Retief estimated at three hundred Voion, a few showing signs of a brisk engagement, prodded their captives into a ragged lineup.
"I don't know what's got into them babies," Jik-jik said. "Used to be they garbage-pickers, slipping around after Second Joop, looking for what they could pick up; now here they is, all shined up and acting like they rule the roost."
"They've gotten a disease called ambition," Retief said. "The form they have causes a severe itch in the acquisitive instinct."
"Not much meat on a Zilk," someone mused. "What you reckon they want over here? Can't be they just looking for they boy; them Voion never frets over no trifles like that."
"Hoo!" Fut-fut said, coming to Retief's side. "Look what they up to now!"
The Voion, having arranged the captive Zilk in two columns of a dozen or so individuals of both sexes, were busy with strips of flexible metallo-plastic, welding shackles to the arms of the first in line, while others of their number poised with raised clubs to punish any resistance. The lead Zilk, seeing the chain about to be linked to him, lashed out suddenly with his scythe, severing a Voion arm at the first joint, then plunged through the circle around him, dashed for the jungle. A Voion wheeled into his path, brought his club around in a whistling arc—and bounced aside as the Zilk snapped out an overlong digging arm, just as two more Voion closed from the off side, brought their clubs down in unison. The Zilk skidded aside, arms whirling, crashed in a heap and lay still.
"Nice try, Wikker," the Zilk chief muttered. "Don't reckon I'd endure chains on me, either."
"That's what happens when you play it their way," Retief said. "I suggest we work out some new rules. We'll decoy them into the jungle, break up their formation, and take them one at a time."
"What you mean, Tief-tief? Us going to tackle them ugly babies?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Well, I guess you is right. Us ain't got nothing else scheduled for the evening."
"Good," Retief said. "Now, here's what I've got in mind . . ."
Three Voion working busily to pry the lid from the Zilk town grain bin paused in their labors. Again the thin cry sounded from the forest near at hand.
"Sounds like a lost grub," one said. "A little tender roast meat wouldn't go bad now; pounding in the skullplates of farmers is hard work."
"Let's take a look. The colonel's busy overseeing the looting; he won't notice us."
"Let's go." The three dropped their pry-bars, wheeled briskly across to the deep shadow of the thicket whence the sound emanated. The first in line thrust branches aside, rolled slowly forward, peering through the shadows. There was a dull snack! and he seemed to duck down suddenly. The Voion behind him hurried forward. "Find it?" he inquired, then skidded to a halt. "Juz!" he whistled. "Where's your head . . . ?" Something small and blue-green sprang up before him, a huge claw opening—
At the sound—a sharp whock!—the third Voion halted. "Huj?" he called. "Juz? What's go—" A scythe swung in a whistling arc, and his head bounced off to join those of his comrades. Jik-jik and Tupper, the Zilk leader, emerged from the brush.
"Work like a charm," the Ween said. "Let's do it again."
Behind him, Retief turned from surveying the work in progress in the town.
"I think the colonel's beginning to suspect something; he's falling his men in for a roll call. How many have we given haircuts to so far?"
"Half a six of sixes, maybe."
"We'll have to stage a diversion before he figures out what's going on. Tell Fut-fut and his group to wait five minutes, then kick up a disturbance on the far side of the trail we came in on."
Jik-jik keened orders to a half-grown Ween who darted away to spread the word.
"Now we'll string out along the trail. They'll probably come out in single file. Keep out of sight until their lead unit's well past our last man; at my signal, we'll hit them all together and pull back fast."
"It sounds slick. Let's roll."
Three minutes later, as a Voion sergeant continued to bark out names, the small messenger darted up to the position where Retief and Jik-jik waited beside the trail. "Old Fut-fut, he ready, he say," the lad chirped breathlessly. "Hey, Jik-jik, can I get me one?"
"You ain't got the chopper for it, Ip-ip; but you can scout around the other side of the town, and soon as you hear them policemen's heads popping, you set up a ruckus. That'll keep 'em guessing—them that still has guessing equipment. Now scat; it's time for the fun to begin."
A shrill yell sounded from Fut-fut's position, then an angry yammer of Ween voices, accompanied by sounds of scuffling. From his concealment behind a yard-wide tree with a trunk like pale blue glass, Retief saw a stirring in the Voion ranks as they looked toward the outcry. The colonel barked an order. A squad of Voion fell out, rolled quickly to the trail mouth. There was a moment of confusion as the troops milled, not liking the looks of the dark tunnel; then, at a shrill command from a sergeant, they formed a single file and started in. The first rolled past Retief's position, his club swinging loosely in his hand; he was followed closely by another, and another. Retief counted twenty before they stopped coming. He stepped from behind the tree, glanced toward the village; the roll call went on. He drew his sword, put two fingers in his mouth, and gave a shrill blast. At once, there was a crash of underbrush, a staccato volley of snicks and snaps, followed in an instant by a lone Voion yell, quickly cut off. The last Voion in the column, ducking back from the attacking Ween, spun, found himself confronting Retief. He brought his club up, gave a shrill yelp as Retief, with a roundhouse stroke, cut through the weapon near the grip.
"Go back and tell the colonel he has two hours to get to town," Retief said. "Any Voion found loose in the jungle after that will be roasted over a slow fire." He implemented the command with a blow of the flat of the blade that sent the Voion wobbling villageward; then he whirled and plunged into the dense growth, made for a vantage point overlooking the village.
There was a high-pitched cry from the far side of the town—Ip-ip at work. The Voion were milling now, unsettled by the sudden noises. The one whose club Retief had clipped off charged into the midst of the platoon, shrilling and waving the stump of the weapon.
" . . . forest demon," he was yelling. "Nine feet high, with wheels like a juggernaut, and a head like a Voion, except it was red! Hundreds of them! I'm the only one got away . . . !"
Branches rustled and clanked as Jik-jik came up. "Hoo, Tief-tief, you quite a strategist. Got a passel of the trash that time! What's next?"
The colonel was shrilling orders now, the roll call abandoned; Voion scurried to and fro in confusion.
"Let them go. I see they're not bothering with their prisoners."
The Voion were streaming away down the wide trail in considerable disorder, flinging loot aside as they went. In two minutes the village was deserted, with the exception of the ranks of chained Zilk, staring fearfully about, and the crumpled bodies of their relatives.
"We'll go in quietly so as not to scare them to death," Retief said. "And remember, the idea is to make allies of them; not hors d'oeuvres."
Fifty-one Zilk, three of them badly dented, had survived the attack. Now they sat in a circle among their rescuers, shaking their heads mournfully, still not quite at ease in the presence of seventy fighting Ween.
"Ye warned us, I'll gi' ye that," one said ruefully. "Never thought I'd see the day a bunch of Voion'd jump us Zilk, face to face—even if they did have us six to one."
"The Voion have a new mission in life," Retief said. "Their days of petty larceny are over. Now they're after a whole planet."
"Well, I guess we fix them, hey Tief-tief?" Jik-jik chuckled. "The way them babies run, they going to need retreads before they gets to town."
"That was just a minor scuffle," Retief said. "They're shaken up at the moment, but they'll be back."
"You sure enough reckon?" Fut-fut executed a twitch of the palps indicating sudden alarm.
"For a Stilter what just hit town at First Joop, you sure is take in a lot of ground in a hurry," Jik-jik said plaintively. "If you knowed them rascals coming back, how come you tell us to mix it in the first place?"
"I thought it would save a lot of talk all around if you Ween saw a demonstration of Voion tactics first hand. Then, too, it seemed worthwhile to help out the Zilk."
"We lost good old Lop-lop," Jik-jik pointed out. "His head plumb bashed in. He was a good eater."
"They lost thirty-five club swingers," Retief said. "We've gained fifty-one new recruits."
"What that?" Jik-jik clacked his secondary claws with a br-r-rapp! "You ain't talking about these here greens-eaters . . . ?"
"Why, ye murdering spawn o' the mud devil, d'ye think we Zilk'd have any part of ye'r heathen ways?" one of the rescuees hooted, waving his scythe. "Ye can all—"
"Hold it, fellow," Retief said. "If it comes to a fight with the city boys, you tribes will stick together or lose. Which will it be?"
"Where you get a idea like that, Tief-tief? They always been a few Voion sneaking around, getting they antennae in—"
"Just before I arrived here, Ikk declared himself proprietor of the planet; if the rest of you are good, he promises to make you honorary Voion."
There was a chorus of indignant buzzes and hoots from Ween and Zilk alike.
"Well, I'm glad to see an area of agreement at last," Retief said. "Now, if you Zilk are recovered, we'd better be pulling out—"
"What about our crop?" Tupper protested. "It's all ready to harvest—"
"This here grass?" Jik-jik contemptuously plucked a wide golden leaf from the row beside him, waved it under his olfactory organ. "Never could figure out what a Quoppina thinking of, all the time nibbling leaves . . ." He paused, sniffed at the leaf again. Then he bit off a piece with a sound like a sardine can being torn in two, chewed thoughtfully.
"Hey," he said. "Maybe us been missing something. This plumb good!"
Fut-fut snorted his amusement, plucked a leaf and sniffed it, then bit.
"Hoo!" he announced. "Taste like prime Flink, dog if it don't!"
In a moment, every Ween in sight was busily sampling the Zilk greens.
"Don't s'pose it matters," a Zilk grumbled. "We'll never get the crop in anyway, wi' these Voion robbers on the loose."
"Don't worry about that," a Ween called. "Us'll have these here greens in in ten minutes flat!"
Jik-jik nodded, still masticating. "Maybe us Ween and you Zilk could work together after all," he said. "Us'll do the fighting and you fellows grow the greens."
Retief, Jik-jik and Tupper watched by the trail as the last of the grubs were carted away by nervous mothers to shelter in the deep jungle along with the village pots and pans, and the newly acquired store of alloy plants. Suddenly Topper pointed.
"Look up there," he boomed. "A flight of Rhoon—big ones! Coming this way!"
"Scatter!" Retief called. "Into the woods and regroup on the trail to the north!"
Ween and Zilk darted off in every direction. Retief waited until the lead Rhoon had dropped to almost treetop level, heading for a landing in the village clearing; then he faded back into the shadows of the jungle. One by one ten great Rhoon settled in, their rotors flicking back glints of Jooplight as they whirled to a stop. In the gloom, dark figures moved: Voion, filing out from between the parked leviathans, forming up a loose ring among the deserted huts, fanning outward, clubs ready.
"Come on, Tief-tief," Jik-jik said softly. "If them Rhoon wants the place I says let 'em have it—" He broke off. "Look there!" he hissed. "Voion—swarms of 'em—wheeling right under them big babies' snappers!"
"They got here a little sooner than I expected," Retief said softly. "They must have already set up a field HQ nearby."
"Tief-tief, you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking them Voion and them Rhoon is working together! But they can't! Ain't no tribe never worked with no other tribe, not since the Worm's first Wiggle!"
"The Ween and the Zilk got together," Retief pointed out. "Why not the Voion and the Rhoon?"
"But that ain't fair, Tief-tief! Ain't nobody can fight a Rhoon! And they always been such peaceable babies. Just set on their mountaintops and leave the flatland to us."
"It seems they've changed their ways. We'll have to fall back. Spread the word to the troops to move off—and keep it quiet."
"Sure is getting dark fast," Jik-jik commented nervously. "Us Ween figure it bad luck to move around in the dark of Joop."
"It'll be worse luck if we stay here. They're forming up to sweep this stretch of jungle clear."
"Well—if you says so, Tief-tief," Jik-jik conceded. "I'll spread the word."
Half an hour later, the party paused on the trail, in total darkness now.
Tupper was peering through the blackness. "I'd give a pretty to know where we are," he said. "Stumping along a trail in the dark—'tis no fit occupation for a sane Quopp."
"We'll have to call a halt until Second Jooprise," Retief said. "We can't see where we're going, but neither can the Voion. They're not using torches either."
"But I can hear 'em; they're not far behind us—the night-crawling heathen!"
"It'll be Second Jooprise in another half hour, maybe," Jik-jik said. "I hopes them Voion is as smart as we is and set still for a while instead of cooking up surprises."
"I don't like it," Tupper stated. "There's something about this spot—I got a feeling hostile eyes are on me!"
"They'll be hostile clubs on you, if you keeps talking so loud," Jik-jik said. "Hush up now and let's all set and rest whiles we can."
Tupper was moving carefully about in the darkness. "Oh-oh," he said softly.
"What that?" Jik-jik demanded.
"It feels like . . ."
"What it feel like?" Jik-jik asked breathlessly.
"Tief—better give us a light," Tupper said tensely.
Retief stepped to his side, took out a lighter, fired a torch supplied by a Ween. The oily brand flared up, cast dancing light on a purplish-gray mound blocking the path.
"Was there something?" a deep voice boomed out.
"Now we is done it," Jik-jik choked out. "Us is right smack dab in the middle of Jackooburg!"