A Phule and His Money

12

Journal #376

A peacekeeping mission by its very nature is an admission that the local government is unable to keep the peace. Thus, it was no surprise that the government of Landoor looked at Omega Company as a necessary evil on the level of game wardens and dogcatchers. My employer's overtures to the government, offering to lend his people to various public works projects, met with blanket refusals. The government made it clear that, in their opinion, Omega Company could justify its presence only by exterminating the rebels-the remnants of the former government, and their supporters.

The ordinary citizens, on the other hand, appeared to have no animosity against the Legion. On the captain's instructions, the legionnaires went out into the local community, spent their money in shops and restaurants, and tried to make themselves a visible benefit to the people they were here to protect. This policy paid the expected dividend. Legionnaires soon found themselves as popular with the public as they were unpopular with the government.

"Hey, lookit the big guy with the funny nose," came a small voice from across the street.

Tusk-anini stopped and peered at the group of local children. A few short blocks from the hotel, the neighborhood had changed rapidly, clearly showing its previous identity as a factory district. The dilapidated building in front of which the children stood bore a sign announcing its condemnation and imminent demolition to make way for Landoor Park.

"Hello," he said. "My name Tusk-anini. You live here?"

The children were whispering to one another, as if uncertain what to do now that they had attracted this strange creature's attention. One of them, bolder than the rest, stepped forward and asked, "Are you a soldier?"

"Not soldier," said Tusk-anini. "Space Legion-we better than soldiers." He strolled across the litter-strewn street, doing his best to appear nonthreatening. For someone who closely resembled a seven-foot-tall warthog, this was somewhat difficult. But the captain had briefed the company about the importance of being friendly with the natives of this world, and Tusk-anini was willing to do his part.

"My name's Bucky, and I'm not scared of you," said the child, scowling up at him from something like half his height.

From behind her another high-pitched voice said, "Her real name's Claudia."

"You shut up, Abdul," said Bucky/Claudia, throwing a hostile glance over her shoulder, then turning back to stare at Tusk-anini. She was wearing the same ragged clothes as her comrades. From the look on her dirty face, she wasn't about to back down from anybody. Tusk-anini decided that she was the leader of this little group.

"You live here, Bucky, or you come to look at me?" he said, dropping down on one knee to put himself closer to the children's face level. He'd discovered that humans found him less intimidating if he sat or knelt to reduce the perceived difference in their heights. There were times when it was useful to appear intimidating, but this wasn't one of them.

"I live over on Hastings Street," said the girl. "My family owns our own whole house." From the way she said it, that was a distinction she was proud of.

"You got candy, mister?" asked another urchin, stepping up next to Bucky. She had a straw-colored shock of hair and intense, large blue eyes that seemed out of proportion with the rest of her face.

"What your name?" asked Tusk-anini, avoiding the question. He didn't have any candy with him, but he could make sure to have some with him the next time he came by. For now, acting friendly would have to be enough.

"That's Cynthia,", said Bucky. "She's my baby sister, but she's all right." She looked at the smaller girl-there was a sort of resemblance, now that Tusk-anini knew to look for it-and said, "Remember Mom told you not to take candy from strange men."

"He's not a man," said Cynthia, with impeccable logic. One or two other children nodded in agreement. Tusk-anini might be a stranger, but he did not fit into any definition of man they considered relevant. Especially if it left open a loophole through which candy might be obtained.

"Tusk-anini no bring candy this time," he said. "Next time I come here, I bring some. But you ask Mom if it OK to take from me. No want her mad at me."

"He talks funny, too." One of the others had evidently decided that failure to bring candy was grounds for pointed commentary on the stranger's differences from local standards of appearance and speech.

"Shut up, Abdul," said Bucky. "He's. an alien. Aliens can't help it if they look and talk funny."

"I don't like him," said Abdul, pouting. "Aliens don't belong here, anyhow."

Tusk-anini was considering whether it would be diplomatic to point out that, except for the miracle of interstellar travel, neither did humans belong here, and that where everyone was an alien it was best to practice tolerance, when the children's attention was distracted by a new arrival on the scene. "Wow, what's that?" said Bucky, her jaw dropping.

Tusk-anini turned to follow the children's gaze, and saw a familiar sight: Spartacus, one of the Synthian legionnaires, had come around the corner and was casually zigzagging down the street on his glide-board. Tusk-anini waved. "Friend Spartacus, come over here," he said.

"Wow, is that your friend?" said Abdul. "What's that thing he's riding?" He seemed entirely oblivious to the fact that the Synthian resembled nothing so much as a large slug in a Legion uniform.

"I am riding a glide-board," said Spartacus. The translator rendered his voice as a rich baritone, with an aristocratic accent that always surprised those meeting him for the first time. It was also an incongruous touch, considering the Synthian's strong populist leanings-but of course these children would have no notion of that.

"Triff," said Bucky. "Can you show us how to ride it?"

"I think I can do better than that," said Spartacus. "If my friend Tusk-anini will help, I think the captain will let us bring several glide-boards along the next time we visit. Then you can all learn how to ride."

"Wow," said Abdul, his eyes growing round. "You guys are really cool."

Tusk-anini chuckled in his warthoggish fashion. Perhaps he wouldn't need to give Abdul that lesson on tolerance, after all. An alien bearing a new toy trumped human chauvinism every time.

Journal #378

Landoor turned out to be not only a welcome change from life on a space station, but an extremely attractive environment in and of itself. As the legionnaires began to explore the city and the surrounding region, they discovered that the nearby beaches and the mountainous northern end of the island were every bit as scenic as the tourist brochures made them appear. The local cuisine, which drew on several Terran traditions, was good enough to offer an attractive alternative to the excellent fare provided by Mess Sergeant Escrima-who eagerly began to add local dishes to his own repertoire.

Escrima looked around the hotel kitchen. From the gleaming equipment on display, and the delicious aromas permeating the air, this was the kitchen of a world-class restaurant. It was a rare Legion mess sergeant who'd had the opportunity to actually prepare food...

Most of the odors were familiar. There was garlic and bay leaf, peppers and onions, tomatoes, the blander aromas of rice and beans in simmering pots. There was also meat, possibly several different kinds, being roasted, grilled, stewed, and sauteed. This last aroma Escrima could not identify, which puzzled him. Evidently it was some indigenous meat. But it was almost unheard of for humans to be able to eat the flesh of a local animal.

Well, he'd find out. He had an appointment with the hotel's head chef-who was somewhat apprehensive about turning his kitchen into a Legion mess hall. Escrima was here to cure him of that preconception.

He walked over and took the lid off a simmering pot for a closer look. The contents was a spicy stew, with savory meat and onions-and more. He was looking around for a spoon to taste a sample when a voice behind him said, "Ah, would you be the Army cook?"

"Not Army, Space Legion," said Escrima, doing his best to keep his voice from snapping at the newcomer, who was dressed in the traditional chef's hat and white apron. "I'm Sergeant Escrima, Food Preparation Specialist E-9, here to inspect the facilities. You've been told that we're going to be sharing the kitchen."

"Yes, Sergeant," said the chef. "This will be a very...ah, interesting...experience, I think."

"You're telling me?" said Escrima. "I got an appetite just walking into this kitchen. If the Legion won't eat this stuff, they ought to be checked for signs of life. I can see there's a whole new cuisine for me to learn. What do you call this dish?"

"Nutria jambalaya," said the cook. "One of our Creole-style dishes. We also have sweet and sour nutria with bingo beans, and nutria parmigiana on the menu tonight."

"Nutria?" Escrima was puzzled. "That must be the meat, but I don't recognize the name. Is it vat-grown?"

"No, no, you have missed it completely," said the cook, smiling. "Nutria is our most famous animal, imported from Earth by the Moguls. In their day, it was rare, and as expensive as horse or pompano. But the nutria thrived in the lowland swamps, and now the animal is so common that it has become our major indigenous source of protein."

"An Earth animal," said Escrima. "That should be good, then-when there's real meat locally, I'll almost never use vat protein. What kind of animal is it?"

"Game, sergeant," said the sergeant. "Has a very robust flavor, goes nicely roasted or in a spicy sauce. Very versatile, like chicken or cow, but much cheaper. The jambalaya won't really be ready until I add the rice to the meat and vegetables. But this will give you an idea of how it will taste."

Escrima filled a spoon and tasted. "Excellent," he said. "You're right, that meat will fit a lot of places-this dish will have 'em lining up for seconds. If it really is cheaper than chicken, the troops are going to eat a lot of this nutria.

The cook smiled. "Trust me, Sergeant, once you've gotten used to nutria, you'll be using it in all your recipes."

"Well, no time like the present," said Escrima. "Why don't you show me what else you're cooking tonight?"

Within minutes, the two chefs were comparing notes on spices and discussing the best local sources for fresh produce. The undercooks listened in growing awe to a pair of culinary artists picking each other's brains. The food was going to be even better than usual that evening...

Journal #381

Directly across the street from the Landoor Plaza Hotel was a large vacant area, fenced off and posted. When he inquired about it, my employer was informed that it was destined to be part of Landoor Park, a large project funded by the government as part of its economic revival plan. However, as to the exact nature of Landoor Park, the locals had nothing to say...

"Captain, I must inform you that stock in our projects is not being offered to off-world investors." Boris Eastman's tone and expression made it clear that he considered the question an impertinence. And both the size and decor of his office made it clear that he had no authority to change policy even if he were so inclined. But he was the only official willing to meet with the captain of the peacekeeping team, and Phule was determined to get what he could out of the interview.

"Mr. Eastman, I am not about to lecture you on economics," said Phule, with more than a trace of annoyance in his voice. He had gone into town to the Ministry of Development, a large building in the neo-Bauhaus style, and despite having made a firm appointment, had been kept waiting in an outer office while several locals were ushered in and out. The receptionist behind the desk had treated his inquiries with ill-disguised disinterest. But he had persevered, and finally was ushered into the deputy's office.

"That is good," said Eastman, "because I would not expect a foreigner to understand our local situation. We have a long history, and we have arrived at policies based on our unique experience."

"I am aware that your grasp of local conditions may exceed my own," said Phule, with more tact than customary. Given his extensive research into the economy of Landoor, he probably knew more about local conditions than the deputy. "But perhaps you will do me the favor of explaining your rejection of foreign capital. I would think that bringing resources in from off-planet would be the quickest way to give your economy the boost it needs."

"That is a superficial assessment," said Eastman, sniffing. "As you would know if you were a native, our world was originally a mining colony..."

"Yes, I have read your history," said Phule, losing his patience. "This world was discovered in 2521 CE by an expedition from New Baltimore. A geologist on the expedition, Alberto Belperio, found igneous formations on the northern continental mass-now named for him-bearing an unusually high concentration of several rare minerals. He and the ship's captain, Martin Landoor, returned to New Baltimore and raised four hundred seventeen million credits to exploit the deposits. Mining began in 2526..." He continued from memory for several minutes, piling detail upon detail.

"Enough, Captain!" Eastman, whose face had turned bright red, finally interrupted him. "You have convinced me that you know our history." He wiped his forehead with a large handkerchief and continued, "Perhaps you also know about the collapse of the economy a generation ago."

"Yes. A series of improvements in mining technique made it feasible to extract the minerals from the poorer ore on several other planets. All of a sudden, the Moguls lost their monopoly."

"And the foreign scum, having sucked us dry, took their profits and left us to wither away," said Eastman, pounding his fist on the desktop. "We have learned one key lesson from that, Captain. Never again will Landoor be held hostage by foreign money. Landoor Park will be financed by money we raise from our own people, not from the likes of you."

Somehow, Phule kept his temper. "Mr. Eastman, you are making a mistake. If you will notice, my legionnaires and I are already pumping a fair amount of money into this economy. If your plans to attract foreign tourism succeed, you will be even more heavily dependent on off-planet money. If a little foreign seed money helps you get on your feet, why not take it? This isn't a zero-sum game we're playing."

Eastman shook his head. "Captain, we appreciate the fact that your troops are spending their money in our local businesses. You realize, of course, that this is a pittance. Your troops would be of far greater benefit to us if you sent them to the mainland to end the rebellion once and for all."

"Really?" Phule's eyebrows rose a notch. "I was under the impression that the rebels were a joke-from what the previous peacekeeping troops reported, the only thing they've done in years is take a potshot at me, back when we landed."

"They are a symptom of all that was wrong with the old government," fumed Eastman. "Far from working to liberate the people, they are behind most of the crime here in the capital. They are constantly sabotaging our efforts to rebuild the economy-why, nearly one in three of our signs for Landoor Park has been defaced by them."

"I saw that, but it seemed like petty vandalism to me," said Phule. "I'll look into it, of course."

Eastman was livid. "Look into it? Better you should suppress the rebels once and for all."

"Mr. Eastman, that is not my mission," said Phule. "My orders strictly forbid offensive operations on this planet. If the rebels attack the city, or take other military action, we will stop them. By the same token, if your government takes any direct action against the rebels, we will stop you. Frankly, I don't want to take action against either side. I would be much happier investing my money to help rebuild this planet. That's what I came here to talk about."

"And, as I told you, we do not want your money," said Eastman. "I believe this interview is at an end, Captain."

"I'm afraid you're right about that," said Phule, rising to his feet. "It may be the only thing you've been right about all day." And he stalked out of the deputy's office, slamming the door behind him.

The eastern beaches of Atlantis were widely considered the choicest on Landoor. They offered broad expanses of amber sand, warm water, a gentle slope from wading to swimming depth, serious surf beyond the outer bar, as well as what most locals considered the right balance of natural beauty and such amenities as cabanas, boardwalks, and food vendors. So as soon as the new Legion base was sufficiently set up to give a few personnel a day's leave, a rented hoverbus arrived at Sunrise State Beach and unloaded a large pack of legionnaires in swimsuits, carrying blankets, picnic coolers, and an assortment of beach toys.

It was early enough in the morning that only a few blankets and umbrellas were in place on the sand, so the Legion contingent had its pick of spots to set up. Brandy chose a large dune well above the surf line, where they dropped off their baggage. Then, she made a beeline for the surf, with two dozen legionnaires whooping and hollering behind her. A riot of ducking, splashing, and other horseplay broke out at the water's edge. The few non-Legion bathers quickly withdrew to a safe distance, casting wary looks toward the frolicking newcomers.

After a while, two civilians strolled up to the little group that hadn't gone into the water. "You guys ain't from around here," one of them said to Flight Leftenant Qual, who was allowing Super-Gnat to bury him in the sand.

"You are observant," said Qual, flashing his allosaurus grin.

The local drew back a pace, but then noticing the tiny woman fearlessly dumping handfuls of sand onto the toothy alien's torso, tried another conversational gambit. "You talk pretty good for a foreigner."

"Oh, I hasten to assure you, everyone on my world talks, some even better than I," said Qual, with a jovial chuckle. "You should hear Chief Potentary Korg when he gets his jaw wagging."

"Is that so? I reckon he's something, then," said the Landooran, a skinny youth with an asymmetrical haircut that needed retrimming. "I'm Okidata, by the way, and this is my girlfriend Wandalune. We're from out South Worton, down by Dunes Park."

"I do not know that district," said Qual. "Perhaps I shall visit it now that I have met someone from there."

"When somebody gives you their name, you're supposed to introduce yourself in return," said Super-Gnat, laughing. She turned to the two locals. "This is Qual-he doesn't know human customs too well yet-and they call me Gnat. We're staying in the Landoor Plaza, out west of town."

"Wow, I hear that's a fancy place," said Wandalune, wide-eyed. "Are you rich tourists?"

"Nope," said Gnat. "We're here to do a job, is all. The boss gave us the day off, so a bunch of us decided to see what your beach was like. I'm glad we did."

"That's a triff boss," said Okidata. "Last guy I worked for, he bounced me for going to my sister's funeral without asking. He didn't warn me fair, so I managed to get unemployment, but jobs are scarce. There's a new government park hiring, but they had a waiting list longer than the Weasel. I'm still looking, but the unemployment may run out before I get anything."

"That rots, for sure. What kind of work were you doing?" said Gnat.

"I was a mechanic at a ride park," said Okidata. "An apprentice mechanic, really-lug the tools and clean up grease spills and do the dirty work. They think you don't have anywhere else to go, the dirty work can get pretty dirty. You wanna eat, you do it, though."

Then he grinned. "Besides, it's what I wanted to do ever since I was a kid. My old man wanted me to be a printer, like him, but I always wanted to work in a park." His voice changed, and he squinted at the legionnaires. "What about you guys? I didn't know they were bringing in foreigners to work here. There's not enough real jobs for us natives."

"I know all about that," said Gnat. She dumped a final load of sand on Qual and dusted off her hands. "Jobs were pretty scarce back on my home world, too-so I joined the Space Legion. Our job here is to keep you guys from shooting each other. Want to join up and help us?" She grinned.

"If that's the whole job, you might get a lot of people to join up," said Okidata. "Hasn't been any shooting since the war ended, which is about the only good thing I can say about this place. I'd take that chance, for a regular paycheck."

"So would I," said Wandalune. "I got out of school a year ago, and I've been looking for work ever since. I've had a few fill-in jobs, but nothing longer than a couple weeks. Same with all my friends. Most of 'em have quit looking."

"Uh-huh," said Gnat. "Well, the Legion's a steady paycheck and three squares a day, and a chance to get offworld, if you want to see something besides home. But there's plenty of dirty work here, too. Maybe you should talk to our captain-find out whether it's really your idea of what you want to do for the next few years."

"Maybe I will," said Okidata, though he looked doubtful.

"It is an honorable calling," said Qual, from underneath the sand pile. "Captain Clown has given his troops opportunities of great rarity. Ambitious hatchlings could do far worse."

"We'll think about it," said Wandalune. Then she reached out and took her boyfriend's hand. "Come on, Okey, let's go see if the rides are open yet." And the two locals wandered up the beach toward a medium-sized amusement park visible beyond the boardwalk.

As they departed, Tusk-anini came out of the surf and trotted up to Super-Gnat. He was dripping wet, with a thick pair of dark goggles covering his light-sensitive eyes. "Who those people, Gnat?" he said, noting her frown. "They bothering you?"

"Not the way you mean," said Super-Gnat, looking after the departing locals. "What bothers me, if they're telling the truth, is that a lot of kids here can't find jobs. That could make our job here tougher, if it's true."

"You mean they think we taking jobs from them?" said Tusk-anini. "Not true. We come here, bring in money from off-world. More money for everyone here."

"They're still likely to resent us if they see we've got money to spend when they don't," said Gnat, shaking her head.

"This may produce a problem," said Qual. "Alas, our power to change that is circumscribed."

"You said a mouthful," said Gnat. "I hope this whole job isn't more than we can swallow."

"Do not fear, small strong one," said Qual, chuckling. "My people have a saying: `Better the swamp than the desert, but the river is swifter than either one.' "

"Huh? What's that mean?" Super-Gnat wasn't always sure the Zenobian's translator was correctly wired.

"Don't care," said Tusk-anini. "Right now we on the beach, so I not going to worry. Come on, you want to go in water?"

"Race you there," said Super-Gnat, and they took off running. Qual lay back and closed his eyes, grinning.

Journal #387

My employer's attitude toward the current government of Landoor had taken on a degree of skepticism. Despite his professed desire to help rebuild the planet, they were clearly reluctant to provide him with much useful information concerning their plans to develop a tourist industry-in which they claimed to put great stock. And they told him they did not want him investing his money in the Landoor Park project.

His suspicion of the government was only heightened by Boris Eastman's clumsy attempt to portray the shots fired at him at the spaceport as grounds to undertake operations against the rebels. However, I suspect that being balked in his desire to invest in the project made him decide to find out exactly what was going on in Landoor Park. When the usual interplanetary databases turned up no useful information, he decided to do his own research-right on the ground.

"What are we looking for, anyway, Soosh?" Do-Wop asked. He and his partner were in a former industrial quarter of Landoor City, dressed in civilian clothes. Except for the two legionnaires, the trash-filled streets were almost deserted. The few pedestrians they did encounter crossed the street or ducked into alleyways, seeking to avoid notice. It seemed clear that few honest citizens had business here, nowadays.

"The captain isn't sure," said Sushi, peering through the links of a rusting fence that bore a sign reading, FUTURE SITE OF LANDOOR PARK. The factory wall inside bore enigmatic graffiti, above a small pile of broken liquor bottles. A tall plant bearing bright blue flowers sprang from a patch of weeds. Nothing of apparent value was visible.

"Oh, great," said Do-Wop. "So he sends us out to the ugliest chunk of landscape I've seen since the swamps back on Haskin's Planet, and tells us to look around for somethin' he ain't sure about. How do we know when we find it.

"Use your brains," said Sushi. "I know you've got some. The captain says the government here has some sort of secret project going on-he isn't sure what, but apparently they've put a lot of their resources into it. Something like that ought to be big enough to notice. Especially in this part of town-I don't think anybody could build a hotdog stand here without it sticking out like a sore thumb."

Do-Wop frowned. "If it's that easy to spot, you'd think he could see it from the hotel roof as well as we can down here. Maybe better, with those high-powered glasses of his."

Sushi shrugged. "I know for a fact he's been up there looking, but it's not really high enough. I'd be surprised if he hasn't sent out a few spy-bots, as well. I guess he wants to get the grunt's-eye view. If he thinks we can give him something useful, I say we do our best to come up with something."

"OK, I guess you got a point, there," said Do-Wop. He kicked a fragment of shattered brick that must have fallen from a nearby building. "All I know is, whatever the captain's after, it ain't out here."

"Well, not anywhere we've been so far, anyway," Sushi agreed. "We've got plenty of time left, though. Let's go see what's down the street. Maybe there'll be a bar open, and a few local pigeons we can lure into a little game of chance, and ask them to tell us about secret government projects while we take their money."

"Dream on, dude," said Do-Wop. "We've got about as much chance of that as we do of finding a couple kilos of loose diamonds on the corner...Hey, what's that noise?"

Sushi stopped and listened. A muffled rhythmic pounding was coming from somewhere in the distance; the timbre of the sound suggested a heavy hammer striking a thick wooden block. He grinned and said, "I don't know what it is, but I think we just found something worth a closer look. Which way do you think it is?"

"Ahead and to the right," said Do-Wop. "Let's go check it out, then."

They walked along the street between rubble-strewn vacant lots and decaying buildings, the sound gradually becoming louder. "It's a mechanical sound-maybe a pile driver," said Sushi.

"Or a really big guy with a sledgehammer," said Do-Wop, feigning worry. "Don't wanna mess with him."

"Hey, he'd better not mess with us," said Sushi, laughing. "Not only are we the best company in the Legion, I'm the number one man in the local Yakuza family."

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot," said Do-Wop. "In that case, you go first."

Sushi punched him in the biceps. "Right, tiger. Odds are, we're going to find some local kids building a clubhouse. The only thing to worry about is them mobbing us for candy and handouts."

"Yo, man, I grew up in a neighborhood a lot like this," said Do-Wop, his eyes shifting from side to side. "Had me a vibroblade when I was eight years old, and a zapper before I was shavin'. Any kids around here, you and me could be in real trouble if they mob us."

"Yeah, but we have two advantages on them, Do-Wop."

"What's that, Soosh?"

"First, you've learned fifteen years worth of dirty tricks that no kid could possibly know. And second, I've got a whole bag full of tricks you haven't even learned yet."

Do-Wop nodded. "Hey, that's cool, man. But there's still one thing has me worried."

"OK, I'll bite. What's that?"

"What if it ain't kids?"

Sushi grinned. "In that case, they're the ones who'd better be worried. Come on, let's go." They walked together toward the pounding noise.

Phule and Brandy sat at a poolside table in the Landoor Plaza, enjoying the sun while reviewing the new recruits' progress. They were by now far enough along in their training to perform most of the company's regular jobs, and Phule wanted to integrate them into the unit as broadly as possible.

The question was whether to pair some of the new troops with more experienced members of the company, or to leave existing partnerships intact. Brandy argued for keeping things as they were, while Phule favored creative tinkering. By now, the discussion had boiled down to individual cases. Both agreed that certain pairings ought to be considered untouchable: Tusk-anini and Super Gnat were the prime example. But what about Sushi and Do-Wop?

"I put them together because I thought they'd both learn something," said Phule. "Do-Wop was too impulsive for his own good, or anybody else's-he'd steal anything that wasn't nailed down. And Sushi was way too calculating-a classic cold fish. But I'm afraid they've learned their lessons too well. If we put one of them with Mahatma, maybe that'll give them a better sense of ethics."

"It'd turn Mahatma into a cynic," said Brandy. "Heaven help us if that happens. Leave 'em alone, I say. They're perfect together, Captain."

"Too perfect," said Phule, shaking his head. "After that escapade the day we left Lorelei..."

"Easy, Captain, here they come," said Brandy, looking across the pool. "Grinning from ear to ear, too."

"Trouble, I bet," said Phule, He turned to look at the two arriving legionnaires. "All right, what have you two been up to?" he said, as they approached the table.

"Doing our job, Captain," said Sushi. "We've been scouting the government park, and guess what we found?"

"From the look of you, I'm not sure I want to know," said Phule. "But go ahead and report."

"Aww, Captain, you really oughta trust us more," said Do-Wop. "We learned our lesson, no foolin'."

"I don't think he wants to hear what we found," said Sushi, nudging Do-Wop. "He'll find out in a few months, anyway."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. He can always go over and take a look for himself," said Do-Wop, winking.

"I should have known better," moaned Phule. He looked the two grinning legionnaires in the eye and said, with all the sincerity he could muster, "I apologize for any aspersions cast on your character, and humbly request your report."

"Does that mean what I think it does?" said Do-Wop, looking at Sushi. "Are we out of the doghouse?"

"Sounds like it to me," said Sushi. He came to attention. "Sir, we wish to report our observations in the area we were dispatched to scout. We set out from the hotel entrance at thirteen hundred hours, on a bearing of..."

"OK, you clowns, enough is enough!" Brandy barked. "Now, what did you find?"

"Top don't want us to have any fun at all," muttered Do-Wop. "See if I reenlist in this outfit..."

"Keep it up, and you'll find out what my idea of fun is," said Brandy, in a menacing tone. "Spill it!"

"Well, if you both insist," said Sushi, with an offended expression that might have been convincing if he hadn't then broken into a grin and said. "We found roller coasters."

"A roller coaster?" said Brandy and Phule, almost in unison.

"Roller coasters," Sushi corrected. "At least three of 'em, all different designs."

Phule's jaw hung open. "Are you sure?"

"Sure as a rigged election," said Do-Wop.

"Go look for yourself," said Sushi, shrugging. "If you can think of anything else those babies could be, I'll be glad to listen, They're still under construction, but if they aren't roller coasters, I've never seen one. Anyhow, here are the map coordinates, best we could figure them out-we had to look over the fence from the roof of a condemned factory building."

"Roller coasters," repeated Brandy. "I don't get it."

"I do," said Phule. "Now I know the government's plan to turn around the local economy. It should have been obvious! They're going to build a giant theme park!"

"If it's so obvious, why the secrecy?" said Brandy, frowning. "You'd think they'd want the whole galaxy to know about it."

"Yes, you'd think so," said Phule. "The only answer I can think of is fear that somebody will find out about the idea and steal it. The government here is very suspicious of off-planet influences. They aren't used to thinking of outsiders as a source of help. Well, we're going to have to change that."

"Sure," said Brandy. "But how?"

"I'll tell you when I figure it out," said Phule.