by Keith Laumer
Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT INFO
A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER
INTRODUCTION: KEITH LAUMER
THE FROZEN PLANET
GAMBLER’S WORLD
THE YILLIAN WAY
THE MADMAN FROM EARTH
RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN
AIDE MEMOIRE
CULTURAL EXCHANGE
THE DESERT AND THE STARS
SALINE SOLUTION
MIGHTIEST QORN
THE GOVERNOR OF GLAVE
THE KING OF THE CITY
THE LONG REMEMBERED THUNDER
THE NIGHT OF THE TROLLS
THE STAR-SENT KNAVES
GREYLORN
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
EPILOGUE
IT COULD BE ANYTHING
A BAD DAY FOR VERMIN
END AS A HERO
DOORSTEP
A TRACE OF MEMORY
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
EPILOGUE
Wildside Press’s MEGAPACK® Ebook Series
COPYRIGHT INFO
The Keith Laumer MEGAPACK® is copyright © 2020 by Wildside Press, LLC.
All rights reserved.
Published by Wildside Press LLC.
wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com
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Version 1.0.
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The MEGAPACK® ebook series name is a registered trademark of Wildside Press, LLC. All rights reserved.
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An earlier version of this ebook was published as The Golden Age of Science Fiction, Vol. 35: Keith Laumer. It has been revised and expanded for this edition.
A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER
Welcome to our Keith Laumer MEGAPACK®! Here are 21 stories—including entries in both the Retief and Bolo series—by one of the great science fiction writers to emerge in the 1960s and 1970s.
If this ebook seems familiar, we did a Laumer volume for our “Golden Age of Science Fiction” series. It overlaps this one in a big way—but I know Laumer fans might hesitate at buying volume 35 of a series, so here is a new, updated and expanded collection.
Enjoy!
—John Betancourt
Publisher, Wildside Press LLC
wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com
ABOUT THE SERIES
Over the last few years, our MEGAPACK® ebook series has grown to be our most popular endeavor. (Maybe it helps that we sometimes offer them as premiums to our mailing list!) One question we keep getting asked is, “Who’s the editor?”
The MEGAPACK® ebook series (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt (me), Carla Coupe, Steve Coupe, Shawn Garrett, Helen McGee, Bonner Menking, Sam Cooper, Helen McGee and many of Wildside’s authors…who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!)
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Do you know a great classic science fiction story, or have a favorite author whom you believe is perfect for the MEGAPACK® ebook series? We’d love your suggestions! You can email the publisher at [email protected].
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TYPOS
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INTRODUCTION: KEITH LAUMER
John Keith Laumer (1925–1993) was an American science fiction author. Prior to becoming a full-time writer, he was an officer in the United States Air Force (which provided background for his Bolo series) and a diplomat in the United States Foreign Service (which provided ample source material for his Retief series). His older brother March Laumer was also a writer, known for his adult reinterpretations of the Land of Oz (also mentioned in Laumer’s The Other Side of Time). Frank Laumer, their youngest brother, is a historian and writer.
Keith Laumer was born in Syracuse, New York. He attended Indiana University, 1943-44, and then served in the United States Army in the Second World War in Europe. He later attended Stockholm University, 1948-49, and then received a bachelor’s degree in architecture in 1950 from the University of Illinois. He served twice in the US Air Force, 1953-56 and 1960-65, attaining the rank of Captain in the latter tour. In between the two terms in the military, Laumer was a member of the US Foreign Service in South Asia.
In the late 1950s, Laumer returned to Florida and purchased a small two-acre island on a lake in Hernando County near Weeki Wachee. He resided there the rest of his life.
Around this time he turned his attention to writing science fiction. His first work, a short story, was published in April 1959.
Today Laumer is remembered for the Bolo and Retief stories. Stories from the former chronicle the evolution of super tanks that eventually become self-aware through the constant improvement resulting from centuries of intermittent warfare against various alien races. The latter deals with the adventures of a cynical spacefaring diplomat who constantly has to overcome the red-tape-infused failures of people with names like Ambassador Grossblunder. In an interview with Paul Walker of Luna Monthly, Laumer states “I had no shortage of iniquitous memories of the Foreign Service.”
In addition to his Bolo and Retief stories, Laumer’s more serious adventures included the subjects of time travel and alternate-world adventures such as found in his The Other Side of Time, A Trace of Memory, and Dinosaur Beach.
Four of his shorter works received Hugo or Nebula Award nominations (“In the Queue” was nominated for both) and his novel A Plague of Demons (1965) received a nomination for the Nebula Award for Best Novel in 1966.
—Karl Wurf
Rockville, Maryland
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THE FROZEN PLANET
Originally published in Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961.
I
“It is rather unusual,” Magnan said, “to assign an officer of your rank to courier duty, but this is an unusual mission.”
Retief sat relaxed and said nothing. Just before the silence grew awkward, Magnan went on.
“There are four planets in the group,” he said. “Two double planets, all rather close to an unimportant star listed as DRI-G 33987. They’re called Jorgensen’s Worlds, and in themselves are of no importance whatever. However, they lie deep in the sector into which the Soetti have been penetrating.
“Now—” Magnan leaned forward and lowered his voice—“we have learned that the Soetti plan a bold step forward. Since they’ve met no opposition so far in their infiltration of Terrestrial space, they intend to seize Jorgensen’s Worlds by force.”
Magnan leaned back, waiting for Retief’s reaction. Retief drew carefully on his cigar and looked at Magnan. Magnan frowned.
“This is open aggression, Retief,” he said, “in case I haven’t made myself clear. Aggression on Terrestrial-occupied territory by an alien sp
ecies. Obviously, we can’t allow it.”
Magnan drew a large folder from his desk.
“A show of resistance at this point is necessary. Unfortunately, Jorgensen’s Worlds are technologically undeveloped areas. They’re farmers or traders. Their industry is limited to a minor role in their economy—enough to support the merchant fleet, no more. The war potential, by conventional standards, is nil.”
Magnan tapped the folder before him.
“I have here,” he said solemnly, “information which will change that picture completely.” He leaned back and blinked at Retief.
* * * *
“All right, Mr. Councillor,” Retief said. “I’ll play along; what’s in the folder?”
Magnan spread his fingers, folded one down.
“First,” he said. “The Soetti War Plan—in detail. We were fortunate enough to make contact with a defector from a party of renegade Terrestrials who’ve been advising the Soetti.” He folded another finger. “Next, a battle plan for the Jorgensen’s people, worked out by the Theory group.” He wrestled a third finger down. “Lastly; an Utter Top Secret schematic for conversion of a standard anti-acceleration field into a potent weapon—a development our systems people have been holding in reserve for just such a situation.”
“Is that all?” Retief said. “You’ve still got two fingers sticking up.”
Magnan looked at the fingers and put them away.
“This is no occasion for flippancy, Retief. In the wrong hands, this information could be catastrophic. You’ll memorize it before you leave this building.”
“I’ll carry it, sealed,” Retief said. “That way nobody can sweat it out of me.”
Magnan started to shake his head.
“Well,” he said. “If it’s trapped for destruction, I suppose—”
“I’ve heard of these Jorgensen’s Worlds,” Retief said. “I remember an agent, a big blond fellow, very quick on the uptake. A wizard with cards and dice. Never played for money, though.”
“Umm,” Magnan said. “Don’t make the error of personalizing this situation, Retief. Overall policy calls for a defense of these backwater worlds. Otherwise the Corps would allow history to follow its natural course, as always.”
“When does this attack happen?”
“Less than four weeks.”
“That doesn’t leave me much time.”
“I have your itinerary here. Your accommodations are clear as far as Aldo Cerise. You’ll have to rely on your ingenuity to get you the rest of the way.”
“That’s a pretty rough trip, Mr. Councillor. Suppose I don’t make it?”
Magnan looked sour. “Someone at a policy-making level has chosen to put all our eggs in one basket, Retief. I hope their confidence in you is not misplaced.”
“This antiac conversion; how long does it take?”
“A skilled electronics crew can do the job in a matter of minutes. The Jorgensens can handle it very nicely; every other man is a mechanic of some sort.”
Retief opened the envelope Magnan handed him and looked at the tickets inside.
“Less than four hours to departure time,” he said. “I’d better not start any long books.”
“You’d better waste no time getting over to Indoctrination,” Magnan said.
Retief stood up. “If I hurry, maybe I can catch the cartoon.”
“The allusion escapes me,” Magnan said coldly. “And one last word. The Soetti are patrolling the trade lanes into Jorgensen’s Worlds; don’t get yourself interned.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Retief said soberly. “In a pinch, I’ll mention your name.”
“You’ll be traveling with Class X credentials,” Magnan snapped. “There must be nothing to connect you with the Corps.”
“They’ll never guess,” Retief said. “I’ll pose as a gentleman.”
“You’d better be getting started,” Magnan said, shuffling papers.
“You’re right,” Retief said. “If I work at it, I might manage a snootful by takeoff.” He went to the door. “No objection to my checking out a needler, is there?”
Magnan looked up. “I suppose not. What do you want with it?”
“Just a feeling I’ve got.”
“Please yourself.”
“Some day,” Retief said, “I may take you up on that.”
II
Retief put down the heavy travel-battered suitcase and leaned on the counter, studying the schedules chalked on the board under the legend “ALDO CERISE—INTERPLANETARY.” A thin clerk in a faded sequined blouse and a plastic snakeskin cummerbund groomed his fingernails, watching Retief from the corner of his eye.
Retief glanced at him.
The clerk nipped off a ragged corner with rabbitlike front teeth and spat it on the floor.
“Was there something?” he said.
“Two twenty-eight, due out today for the Jorgensen group,” Retief said. “Is it on schedule?”
The clerk sampled the inside of his right cheek, eyed Retief. “Filled up. Try again in a couple of weeks.”
“What time does it leave?”
“I don’t think—”
“Let’s stick to facts,” Retief said. “Don’t try to think. What time is it due out?”
The clerk smiled pityingly. “It’s my lunch hour,” he said. “I’ll be open in an hour.” He held up a thumb nail, frowned at it.
“If I have to come around this counter,” Retief said, “I’ll feed that thumb to you the hard way.”
The clerk looked up and opened his mouth. Then he caught Retief’s eye, closed his mouth and swallowed.
“Like it says there,” he said, jerking a thumb at the board. “Lifts in an hour. But you won’t be on it,” he added.
Retief looked at him.
“Some…ah…VIP’s required accommodation,” he said. He hooked a finger inside the sequined collar. “All tourist reservations were canceled. You’ll have to try to get space on the Four-Planet Line ship next—”
“Which gate?” Retief said.
“For…ah…?”
“For the two twenty-eight for Jorgensen’s Worlds,” Retief said.
“Well,” the clerk said. “Gate 19,” he added quickly. “But—”
Retief picked up his suitcase and walked away toward the glare sign reading To Gates 16-30.
“Another smart alec,” the clerk said behind him.
* * * *
Retief followed the signs, threaded his way through crowds, found a covered ramp with the number 228 posted over it. A heavy-shouldered man with a scarred jawline and small eyes was slouching there in a rumpled gray uniform. He put out a hand as Retief started past him.
“Lessee your boarding pass,” he muttered.
Retief pulled a paper from an inside pocket, handed it over.
The guard blinked at it.
“Whassat?”
“A gram confirming my space,” Retief said. “Your boy on the counter says he’s out to lunch.”
The guard crumpled the gram, dropped it on the floor and lounged back against the handrail.
“On your way, bub,” he said.
Retief put his suitcase carefully on the floor, took a step and drove a right into the guard’s midriff. He stepped aside as the man doubled and went to his knees.
“You were wide open, ugly. I couldn’t resist. Tell your boss I sneaked past while you were resting your eyes.” He picked up his bag, stepped over the man and went up the gangway into the ship.
A cabin boy in stained whites came along the corridor.
“Which way to cabin fifty-seven, son?” Retief asked.
“Up there.” The boy jerked his head and hurried on. Retief made his way along the narrow hall, found signs, followed them to cabin fifty-seven. The door was open. Inside, baggage was piled in the center of the floor. It was expensive looking baggage.
Retief put his bag down. He turned at a sound behind him. A tall, florid man with an expensive coat belted over a massive paunch stood in the open do
or, looking at Retief. Retief looked back. The florid man clamped his jaws together, turned to speak over his shoulder.
“Somebody in the cabin. Get ’em out.” He rolled a cold eye at Retief as he backed out of the room. A short, thick-necked man appeared.
“What are you doing in Mr. Tony’s room?” he barked. “Never mind! Clear out of here, fellow! You’re keeping Mr. Tony waiting.”
“Too bad,” Retief said. “Finders keepers.”
“You nuts?” The thick-necked man stared at Retief. “I said it’s Mr. Tony’s room.”
“I don’t know Mr. Tony. He’ll have to bull his way into other quarters.”
“We’ll see about you, mister.” The man turned and went out. Retief sat on the bunk and lit a cigar. There was a sound of voices in the corridor. Two burly baggage-smashers appeared, straining at an oversized trunk. They maneuvered it through the door, lowered it, glanced at Retief and went out. The thick-necked man returned.
“All right, you. Out,” he growled. “Or have I got to have you thrown out?”
Retief rose and clamped the cigar between his teeth. He gripped a handle of the brass-bound trunk in each hand, bent his knees and heaved the trunk up to chest level, then raised it overhead. He turned to the door.
“Catch,” he said between clenched teeth. The trunk slammed against the far wall of the corridor and burst.
Retief turned to the baggage on the floor, tossed it into the hall. The face of the thick-necked man appeared cautiously around the door jamb.
“Mister, you must be—”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Retief said, “I want to catch a nap.” He flipped the door shut, pulled off his shoes and stretched out on the bed.
* * * *
Five minutes passed before the door rattled and burst open.
Retief looked up. A gaunt leathery-skinned man wearing white ducks, a blue turtleneck sweater and a peaked cap tilted raffishly over one eye stared at Retief.
“Is this the joker?” he grated.
The thick-necked man edged past him, looked at Retief and snorted, “That’s him, sure.”
“I’m captain of this vessel,” the first man said. “You’ve got two minutes to haul your freight out of here, buster.”
“When you can spare the time from your other duties,” Retief said, “take a look at Section Three, Paragraph One, of the Uniform Code. That spells out the law on confirmed space on vessels engaged in interplanetary commerce.”