"Maybe just one eye," said Whonk grudgingly. "That would leave him four."
"Be a sport," said Retief.
"Well."
"It's a deal then," said Retief. "Yith, on your word as a diplomat, an alien, a soft-back and a skunk, you'll set up the mission. Groaci surgical skill is an export that will net you more than armaments. It will be a whissle feather in your cap—if you bring it off. And in return, Whonk won't sit on you. And I won't prefer charges of interference in the internal affairs of a free world."
Behind Whonk there was a movement. Slock, wriggling free of the borrowed carapace, struggled to his feet ... in time for Whonk to seize him, lift him high and head for the entry to the Moss Rock.
"Hey," Retief called. "Where are you going?"
"I would not deny this one his reward," called Whonk. "He hoped to cruise in luxury. So be it."
"Hold on," said Retief. "That tub is loaded with titanite!"
"Stand not in my way, Retief. For this one in truth owes me a vengeance."
Retief watched as the immense Fustian bore his giant burden up the ramp and disappeared within the ship.