A Phule and His Money

13

Journal #393

The discovery that the government's secret project was a gigantic theme park answered a number of questions. Now we knew their strategy for bringing in off-world visitors: to make Landoor the amusement park and thrill-ride capital of the galaxy. The idea had its merits; with unmatched beaches, equable climate, and exotic scenery, the planet already had the makings of a tourist mecca. Supplementing these natural assets with the ultimate in technological excitement was a sound strategy, and one suited to the Landooran temperament.

Unfortunately, the government was laboring under several disadvantages. The recent war, combined with exaggerated reports of rebel activities, had made tourists distinctly leery of making the world a vacation destination. An aggressive publicity campaign could undoubtedly have overcome this, but the government had made almost no efforts in this direction. My employer, who well understood the power of positive publicity, found this inexplicable until a chance conversation put things into perspective.

"Wake up, honey-bun." Mother's voice came over the comm system, startling Phule. He hadn't been asleep, but he had been in a deep study about what his most recent intelligence reports meant. "We've got a local to see you," she said.

"Anybody we know?"

"Says his name is Okidata, and claims to know Super-Gnat and Qual," said Mother. "Just a young kid-I bet he'd like to know Gnat better. Says he's interested in joining the Legion."

"Suddenly I'm a recruiting officer, on top of everything else," muttered Phule, thinking of Laverna. For a moment he considered passing the kid on to someone with more time. On second thought, it might be refreshing to talk to someone outside the usual circle. Perhaps this local kid could give him insight for the company's mission here. "Send him in," he said.

Okidata was dressed in what, from Phule's limited contact with local civilians, seemed to be job interview clothes. He shook hands somewhat nervously and sat down in the seat Phule indicated. "I met some of your soldiers at the beach," he said. "I told them jobs were scarce around here, and they suggested I think about joining up. I don't know if they were serious, but jobs aren't getting any easier to find. So I'm here to find out what the Legion's about."

"Well, I can probably answer some of your questions," said Phule. "But maybe you'd do better by telling me what kind of job you're looking for, and I can tell you whether there's anything like it in the Legion."

"I used to be a roller coaster mechanic..." Okidata said. "When I lost my job, I applied to the new government park, but they turned me down because my cousin's out with the rebels. I guess I'm open to suggestions."

"Really?" said Phule, like a hungry dog jumping on an unguarded sirloin. "Suppose I show you a picture and you tell me what you make of it."

In the next fifteen minutes, Phule learned more about roller coasters and other thrill rides than he'd learned in his entire lifetime, and Okidata was still warming to his subject. Judging from the spy holos, the government park was erecting a sort of culmination of existing roller coaster design-an ultraride. "Unless you're totally wrong about the scale, that's gonna be the best ride on the planet," said Okidata, shaking his head appreciatively. "That first drop has to be ten meters higher than the Kingsnake, over in Dressage Park. Those cars will be hitting some crazy speeds-and look at those corkscrew loops! Everybody's gonna want to ride that baby."

"There's a problem with that, though," said Phule. "From what you tell me, this planet is close to fanatical about thrill rides and amusement parks. Am I right?"

"I guess so," said Okidata. "I've never been off-world, so that's hard to judge. We sure like 'em a lot, though." He turned his eyes longingly back toward the holo of the new government roller coaster.

Phule put both elbows on his desk and his chin on his folded hands. "OK, so the government has a master plan to build the biggest theme park in the planet's history-maybe the biggest in the galaxy. A circus big enough to make up for the shortage of bread. But they're keeping absolutely mum about it. You never heard of it, even though you applied for a job there. And my men had to go out snooping to figure out what they were doing with that big chunk of vacant land. Why aren't they shouting it from the rooftops?"

"Well, I sort of understand that," said Okidata. "We've got five or six ride parks, and they're all playing cutthroat against the others. Every time one of 'em has a new ride, they get more customers than the rest, until somebody tops it. So when word gets out they're building something new, all the others have spies, with hidden cameras and everything, trying to learn the secrets even before it opens. How steep is the main drop-off? How many flip-overs does it have? Are they using video enhancements? Sometimes, when a new ride opens, half the people in line are spies from the other parks, trying to figure out what they can steal for their own rides."

"So the government is acting on the same principles as the private parks," said Phule. "They think in terms of a limited customer pool, when the real game is drawing people from off-planet."

"I never thought of that," said Okidata, scratching his head. "Makes some sense, though."

"If you want to get people in from off-world, you need to tell them about it," said Phule, smacking his palm on the desk. "And if you get enough of them, you don't worry as much about the competition, because there's more business for everybody. The government's still playing by the old rules, but the game has changed. And maybe it's about to change some more..."

"Looks to me like maybe you could use a guy with my background," ventured Okidata. He smiled.

"I think you're right," said Phule, suddenly standing up. "Ask for an application in the outer office. I've got a job, and you're the man I want for it."

"Does this mean you want me to join the Legion?" said Okidata, watching Phule, who abruptly began stuffing holos and printouts into a briefcase.

Phule looked up at him. "Not yet, son-you'll be a civilian consultant. But I do have a job you're perfect for. Now, go fill out that application-things are about to get exciting around here, and we need you on board!"

Journal #405

To date, the rebels remained an unknown factor in our picture of Landoor. The legion troops were here, in theory, as much to protect their interests as the government's. But with the possible exception of the shots fired at my employer upon our landing-and there was much room for doubt about that incident-we had seen nothing of them. This did not sit well with my employer, and I knew that he would eventually decide to remedy the situation by meeting them face to face. Discovering the true nature of Landoor Park gave him the incentive he had lacked.

Needless to say, I considered this an overoptimistic approach to the problem. Not that I had any reason to believe that my employer would pay any attention to my doubts...

"So here's what they're building," said Phule. Once he knew exactly what to look for, it had been a simple matter to drop a few handfuls of tiny robot cameras in the proper vicinity. Government counter-bots had hunted them down and eliminated them, but not before they'd returned enough holointelligence to give Phule a clear picture of the government's gigantic roller coaster.

"It is quite a surprise, sir," said Beeker, looking over his employer's shoulder. "A rather quixotic undertaking, if you want my opinion."

"But brilliant, in its way," said Phule, leaning back in his chair. "If anything could attract enough money from off-world to revitalize this planet, a theme park is exactly the ticket. Why, it must be the biggest thing of its kind I've ever seen."

"You would be a better judge of that than I, sir," said Beeker. The butler was obviously not as impressed as his employer. "It strikes me as imprudent in the extreme to invest all their capital in this single project. And as you discovered, they are not interested in off-world investors."

"Well, at least not if the investor is me," said Phule. "It's too bad-the one lesson they've learned from their history is not to let off-world money control their economy. As a result, they've put all their eggs in one very precarious basket."

"The time-tested road to ruin," said Beeker, solemnly. "If this project fails..." He let the sentence trail off.

Phule finished it for him, "If it fails, they're wiped out." He leaned forward and pointed to the pictures. "The devil of it is, this isn't at all a bad idea, in and of itself. It's almost enough to do the job they want it to do. Almost..." A dreamy look came over his face.

Beeker recognized what Phule's expression meant. "Sir, if you are looking for a way to throw away money, you would be better advised to return to Lorelei and bet against the house in one of Maxine Pruett's casinos. It would be considerably slower and less frustrating than what I fear you are contemplating."

Phule chuckled. "You know my mind, don't you, Beeker? But listen to this: The only thing really wrong with what the government is doing is that they're relying on the park to restart their economy. And nobody else on the planet has either the capital or know-how to make it succeed."

"Nobody except you," said Beeker, straight-faced.

"Nobody except me," Phule agreed. His smile was the epitome of self-satisfaction.

"You were sent here to keep the locals from killing one another, not to ruin yourself trying to bail out their economy."

"Well, they aren't trying to kill each other, so I must be doing something right," said Phule.

"They haven't been trying to kill one another since the war ended," Beeker pointed out. "On the other hand, someone definitely tried to kill you."

"That's not proven," said Phule. "The government wants me to think the rebels did it, in hopes that I'll send out my people to suppress the rebels for them. In fact, I wouldn't put it past Colonel Mays to send one of his own men to fire off a couple of shots in my direction."

"Of course, that does not mean the rebels wish you no harm," said Beeker. "They evidently have learned of your responsibility for the strafing incident."

"Yes, well, I suppose I was going to have to confront that part of my past sooner or later," said Phule. "Nobody was really hurt, you know...I guess it'd be better to tackle it head-on than to keep dodging it...Say, that's not a bad idea, come to think of it. I wonder where the rebel headquarters is?"

Beeker's jaw dropped. "Sir! It was bad enough when you contemplated throwing away your money, but I really must advise against throwing away your life as well."

"Don't be such a nanny, Beeker," said Phule. He was on his feet and pacing, a sure sign that his mind was racing at top speed. "We're not here to work for the current government, whatever they want to think. My orders are to help all the people, and that certainly includes the rebels, if they want to take advantage of my generosity."

"So you mean to offer them the opportunity to put a noose around your neck," said Beeker. "Sir, you cannot expect me to stand aside and allow you to do this."

"No, of course not," said Phule. "I was planning on taking you along when I go to meet them. You and the chaplain, I think."

"What?" Beeker's eyes went wide. "What good can the chaplain possibly do?"

Phule spread his hands. "Why, he's a man of peace-what better symbol of my peaceful intentions? And you're obviously a noncombatant-no kind of threat. Unless everything we know about them is wrong, neither of you will be in the least danger. And you'll serve as insurance for me-even if they have a grudge against me, I don't think they'll act too hastily if there are innocent witnesses."

"Very well, sir. You have obviously made up your mind," said Beeker, rising from his chair. "I suppose I had best prepare for the journey. When do you intend to leave? And will you at least inform your officers of your intentions? Perhaps they can offer some competent military advice."

Phule shook his head. "Their advice would be to take along a squad of armed legionnaires, and that would be exactly the wrong thing to do. This needs to be a secret mission. I've found a young civilian who's got a cousin in the rebel camp, and he claims to know the way. And unless we want to lose valuable time, we should leave as quickly as possible."

"As you wish, sir," said Beeker. "I only hope you have some idea what you are doing."

"Of course I do," said Phule brightly. "I'm going to save the entire planet. Isn't that what we're here for?"

Journal #406

Our departure from Lorelei had left behind an unstable situation, and potentially a very dangerous one. My employer's confidence in the android double he had programmed to impersonate himself seemed to me excessive. Eventually, the local gangsters were bound to see through the deception. What would happen then was anyone's guess.

Maxine Pruett glared at the holoscreen. "That conniving son of a bitch!" she shouted. The scene had only been in view for a moment, but she knew that face almost as well as the picture on a dollar bill. In all the years she'd been running the Syndicate on Lorelei, he was the one person who'd thwarted her. Captain Jester, AKA Willard Phule, the munitions heir.

There he was on some planet a quarter of the way across the galaxy. She hadn't caught exactly what it was he was doing. In fact, she'd only had the news on out of a sense of guilt. Laverna had been her eyes and ears on the outside world, the one who kept her apprised of things that might affect her while she paid attention to running the business and enjoying the fruits of her hard-won (albeit ill-gotten) gains. Now Laverna had run away from her, and she had nobody to monitor outside events for her. Phule was responsible for that, too.

What she couldn't figure out was how he'd managed to get off-station without her knowing it. Her snoops had reported seeing him in the Fat Chance nearly every day, and there were plenty of uniformed legionnaires on guard-so what did it mean that he and his company were on Landoro, or whatever that place was in the news story? The answer must be that one of the Phules was a double. It made sense-there'd been times she'd had the "same" act booked in two or three of her casinos at once, with the star making token appearances in each show, and using doubles to make it appear he was onstage more than he really was. Phule must be running a hustle like that...

So how was she going to take advantage of her discovery? There was no question that she was going to take advantage of it-you get an edge, you take it. That was how the game was played. It would be sweet revenge to finally take the Fat Chance away from him after all he'd done to balk her.

A lot depended on which "Phule" was the impostor, of course. She wasn't about to make an overt move against him if he was actually here to counter it. She'd already had a lesson in the Legion's brand of hardball, and didn't want to repeat it. But if the fellow over in the Fat Chance was the double...well, that might be a very different story.

It shouldn't be hard to figure it out. Phule could afford to hire somebody good enough to pass a fairly close inquisition. Still, there'd be things Phule hadn't briefed the double on, questions he wouldn't be able to answer if somebody caught him off his guard. She wouldn't even have to confront him in person. A phone call could tell her who she was dealing with, if she knew the right card to play. But she had to have the right card before she called.

"Holo off," snapped Maxine. The picture abruptly winked out of existence, and the room fell silent. The holo hadn't used to interfere with Maxine's thinking, but that had been when she'd had Laverna to do a lot of that thinking for her. Now she realized that she'd been an idiot to buy Phule's line about his butler eloping with her assistant. Most likely he'd taken them both with him. Well, that wouldn't be hard to find out, either. And when she'd found them, there were favors she could call in. That was one of the advantages of running the Syndicate's favorite resort. She'd been generous with free rooms, free meals, special seats at shows for visitors from other Syndicate families-paying forward in anticipation of future need. Now it was payback time, in more ways than one.

She tried to remember who she knew on that planet-what was its name again? She must not have been paying close enough attention. Well, if she turned the holo back on and watched another twenty minutes the news story would cycle back again. No-she hired people to do that. She'd order somebody to turn on the news and take notes while she figured out what to do about Phule. She picked up the comm handset and pressed a button.

Unexpectedly, it didn't ring. Instead, after a few moments, a synthesized voice came on. "There is no answer at the extension you are calling. If you wish to leave a message, please wait until..." She broke the connection, cursing. She wasn't used to getting recorded messages, or waiting. What the hell was she paying these clowns for, if they weren't there when she needed them? That had never happened with Laverna.

She thought a moment about trying another extension, then slammed the handset down. She felt like shaking things up, and she was going to start by finding the lazy goon who'd been supposed to answer that call and reminding him who was boss here. It had been a while since she'd had to do that, but she hadn't forgotten how. The guy on the other end wasn't likely to forget it, either, once she'd finished with him. She stepped toward the door, a grim smile on her lips.

The door opened before she reached it.

She stopped, astounded. Nobody else was supposed to be able to open that door. She was reaching for her weapon when a man stepped forward and said, "I wouldn't do that, Mrs. Pruett. We have the place surrounded, and the penalties for attacking a Federation agent are very severe."

"Federation agent?" she gasped. She recovered her aplomb almost immediately. "What the hell are you doing in my private quarters? You're out of your jurisdiction. Lorelei law says I'm justified in blowing you away for breaking and entering. Get out before I do just that."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken-this is my jurisdiction," said the man, and he flipped open a wallet to show a holo-ID. Below the letters IRS it read, Roger Peele, Special Agent. "The Federation allows localities a good bit of autonomy in criminal and civil law," said Peele solemnly. "But the tax code applies everywhere."

"Tax code? You can't bust me for taxes," said Maxine. "I'm the one who called and tipped you off about the Fat Chance. It's those damned Legion crooks you should be after, not me."

"We make our own decisions about whom to go after," said Agent Peele. "We are looking into the situation at the Fat Chance, and we will deal with it in our own time. Meanwhile, we have good reason to believe that you are systematically underreporting your income. I will ask you to come with me, Mrs. Pruett-we have quite a few questions to ask you."

"I'm not answering any questions till I see my lawyer!" shouted Maxine. "Now get out of here before I call Security."

"We have your lawyer and your security people already in custody," said the agent. "You can talk to them down at headquarters." He held out his hand, palm up. "Now, I suggest you surrender your weapon before you find yourself in even more serious trouble."

Maxine cursed. But she handed over the weapon and went quietly. She'd owned a casino long enough to tell when her luck had run out. Today, it had come up snake eyes.

General Blitzkrieg knew he was in trouble the minute he heard the commotion in his outer office. There was only one person with the chutzpa to charge into his office and demand to see him without an appointment. "I know he's in there, Major. Now, you can stand in my way and get run over, or you can step aside and let me in. Either way, I'm going to see him, whether he likes it or not."

Blitzkrieg wished, not for the first time, that he had gotten an office with an emergency exit for these situations. But that would only postpone the inevitable. Like a trip to the dentist, this confrontation could be put off only at the price of worse pain later on. He pushed a button on his intercom and said, doing his best to sound nonchalant, "Major, no need to detain Colonel Battleax. Send her right in, if you will." It sounded phony even to him.

The door opened and Colonel Battleax marched in. Through the open portal the general caught a glimpse of Major Sparrowhawk, whose expression indicated that she was no happier at being made the scapegoat for the delay than Colonel Battleax was at being made to wait. He was going to pay for both those mistakes, he realized. Sometimes he wondered what good being a general was if it afforded no protection from subordinates.

"Good morning, sir," said Colonel Battleax. That was some small relief, he thought as he returned her very proper salute. At least she was going to observe the forms of military courtesy. Beyond that, he was unlikely to. find this a pleasant interview.

"Have a seat, Colonel," he said, returning the salute. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Keep up the fiction that you're glad to see her, he thought, and maybe she won't bite your head off this time. He didn't put much trust in that notion, though.

Colonel Battleax settled into the chair facing Blitzkrieg's desk. "I've been watching the news, General," she said. "You've been pulling strings again."

Blitzkrieg feigned surprise. "What are you referring to?"

"A news story from Landoor. It seems there were shots fired at the spaceport, presumably by antigovernment rebels."

"Landoor...that name is familiar..."

"Of course it's familiar," said the colonel, losing patience. "You went horse-trading to the Joint Chiefs to get a Legion company posted there as the peacekeeping force. You don't do that so often that you're likely to have forgotten it, unless you're getting senile even faster than anyone thought. You sent Phule's Company-Captain Jester's Company-to Landoor."

"Why, yes, I suppose I did," said Blitzkrieg. "It seemed a feather in the cap for the Legion..."

"Don't pull that guff on me, General," said Battleax. "Jester was a complete nonentity until he ordered that strafing on New Atlantis, as it was called then. You've taken his subsequent rise as a thorn in your side. Now you transfer him to the one place in the galaxy where there are people with a bigger grudge against him than yours. You expect me to believe this is unpremeditated?"

"Why, yes...er, no..." Blitzkrieg turned red. "Damn it, Colonel, what are you getting at?"

The colonel stood up and leaned forward over the general's desk. "General, it's time you realized that, whether or not you like Jester, he's a rising star. If you'd accepted that all along, the entire Legion would have gotten credit for everything he's done. Instead, he's the shining exception. I can't think of another Legion unit the Joint Chiefs would've been willing to put in such a sensitive position. Now if he falls on his face, he'll take the entire Legion down with him. You may not be able to see beyond your own nose, but those of us who can aren't going to let you get away with it." She glared at him, then straightened up and added as an afterthought, "With all due respect, sir."

"This is preposterous," said the general. "I deny it all, of course." He was sweating.

"Frankly, General, I didn't expect anything else," said Colonel Battleax. "If Jester comes a cropper on Landoor, there are some of us who will see that blame for it comes back to roost where it belongs. So I suggest you do whatever you can to insure that nothing untoward does happen to him."

Blitzkrieg shrugged. "Really, Colonel, I don't see where this is any matter for great concern. A Legion captain ought to be able to take care of himself. If he can't, that's a pity, but ultimately no reflection on us."

The colonel nodded, grimly. "Very well, sir, if that's how you intend to play the game, that's how it'll be played. Good day, sir." She saluted and left the office.

Blitzkrieg leaned back in his chair. That hadn't gone so badly, he thought. Still, best to keep a closer eye on the Landoor situation. If Jester got in trouble there, he might be able to devise a way to burnish his own reputation by riding to the rescue. Yes, that might be a very satisfactory way to profit from his enemy's distress. He'd have to keep it in mind.

"He's gone where?" Lieutenant Armstrong's disbelief was written plainly on his face. He'd just poured his first cup of coffee, so his normal stiff bearing hadn't quite had time to set in.

"Here's the note he left with Mother," said Lieutenant Rembrandt, shoving a piece of paper at her fellow officer. "At least he left a note-I'd have liked it a lot more if he'd told us in person, though."

"We'd have tried to talk him out of it, which is why he didn't ask us," said Armstrong, glancing up from the note. "He has Beeker and Rev along, I see. Do we have any idea where specifically they've gone?"

"The rebel headquarters is somewhere on the mainland," said Rembrandt. She waved a hand vaguely. "We don't know exactly where. Mother couldn't find any intelligence reports on it. The captain had already asked her. I was glad to hear that-at least he didn't set out completely blind. But the rebels haven't been enough trouble to justify close surveillance, up until now."

Armstrong frowned. "No satellite intelligence?"

"The satellite network here is pretty rudimentary," said Rembrandt, wearily. "The captain learned that when he was looking for that secret government project. There are a couple of old weather sats, dating back to the mining days, with add-ons for GPS and communications. But nothing military."

"Nothing? Didn't these people just have a war?"

"Sure," said Rembrandt. She walked over to the coffee urn and topped up her cup. "But remember, with only one nation on this world, they didn't have an enemy to keep tabs on. When that civil war broke out, their economy had collapsed, and neither side had off-world allies. It was a low-tech war all around-no armor, no air force, no long-range missiles. And no intelligence sats. Even after the war, the Army peacekeeping team never took the rebels seriously enough to spend the money on sats."

"Well, I guess we should be thankful for small favors," said Armstrong. "At least nobody's got enough firepower to overwhelm a single Legion company if they decide to start shooting. I guess that's an acceptable trade-off for the extra set of eyes."

"I agree," said Rembrandt, adding a dash of cream to her coffee. "Except we still need to figure out where the captain's gone. If an emergency comes up, I want to talk to him before I do anything drastic."

Armstrong looked up from his coffee cup. "I don't see how that's a problem," he said. "We can zero in on their wrist communicators, right? Or is there something else you haven't told me?"

"You got it. Everybody except the captain left their communicators behind," said Rembrandt. "And he's turned his off. I think he didn't want the rebels to get their hands on advanced tech if they decided to take him prisoner. One communicator won't do them much good; they need two or more to get any advantage from them."

"Rats," said Armstrong. "So we can't get in touch with the captain unless he initiates the contact."

"That's the story," said Rembrandt. "We better hope that nothing happens until he decides to come back."

"We better hope the rebels don't decide they've got a useful hostage on their hands," said Armstrong.

"Yeah, I thought about that, too," said Rembrandt. She drained her coffee and set down the cup. "Maybe you better get over to the comm center and see if you and Mother can figure out some alternate way to track down the captain."

Armstrong picked up his coffee cup and rose from his chair. "I'll get right on it," he said. "Let you know if I hear from him."

"Right," said Rembrandt. She watched Armstrong leave, then turned to the day's schedule. She'd be running the company in the captain's absence-this time without even Beeker's help. There had better not be any emergencies while she was in charge. She expected to have her hands full finding the captain.

They found the rebel base by following a bayou that led deep into the mainland, passing a little trading post, and turning up a broad jungle trail that rapidly became narrower as the lush vegetation closed in. Various stinging and biting insects closed in, as well. If the trail had been a bit better, it might have been possible to outrun them. As it was, the passengers spent half their time swatting pests. Phule wondered how the rebels managed to control the insects-or whether they simply put up with them as part of the price for their freedom.

Okidata, who was acting as driver as well as guide, stopped the hoverjeep outside the camp. "I don't know what kind of electronics they have, but there must be something they can pick us up on," he said, slapping a mosquito. "From here on in, we're probably being watched."

"I've been taking that for granted ever since we left our own base," said Phule, mopping his sweating brow. It was no exaggeration. Ever since the spaceport sniper had taken two shots at him, he'd assumed that every time he came outside Legion headquarters he might become a target again. So far, it hadn't happened. But up until now, he hadn't come strolling right up to the rebels' camp, either. Well, he ought to be all right as long as the rebels respected a flag of truce. If they respected it..."See if you can open up a comm connection," he said. "Might as well do what we can to keep from startling some trigger-happy sentry."

"You folks already way too late for that," came a voice from surprisingly nearby. Phule looked up to see a large weapon pointed at him. Behind the weapon was a wiry, bearded man in jungle camouflage with a red bandanna headband. Closer inspection revealed that he was wearing gold hoop earrings to match a gold front tooth. "Guess you better put them hands up," the rebel added, almost as an afterthought.

"Hey, take it easy-I'm on your side," said Okidata, indignantly.

"I ain't got the time to figure that out right now," said the rebel. "Get them hands up and we'll settle it later."

"We're here under a flag of truce," said Phule, reasonably. "Besides, our driver can't control the hoverjeep with his hands up."

"I wouldn't put too fine a point on it, sir," said Beeker, raising his hands. "At the moment, the gentleman appears to be in a position to insist on his demands."

"We ain't gonna worry about the hoverer," said the man with the gun. "Why don't you jes' get out so I don't have to worry 'bout you drivin' off all of a sudden? You don't wanna go makin' me jumpy, do you?"

"I reckon not," said Rev, his hands high above his head. "Looky here, of buddy, don't shoot-I'm jes' gettin' out, like you asked."

"That's a smart feller," said the rebel, nodding. He watched Rev get out, motioned him off to one side with the gun barrel, then said, "OK, next out-you with the bowler hat, there. Shake a leg."

"Very well," said Beeker. "Please be careful where you point that weapon. I'm afraid my health insurance doesn't cover acts of war, and I fear that any injury I receive under these conditions might be construed as such."

Two other armed rebels showed up while the man with the gun directed Phule and Okidata out of the hoverjeep. They gawked when they saw the Legion uniforms, but kept their weapons aimed at their captives, and managed to give the impression that they would fire if provoked. Nobody provoked them. When all four captives were standing together, hands raised, one of the newcomers whistled. "Whoo-ee, Buster, looks like you done made a real haul."

"He certainly has," said Phule. "Now, if you want to make the most of it, I suggest you take us to your superior officers."

"Suggestion noted," said Buster. He turned and spit into the underbrush, then said, "Durn if you ain't the fanciest bunch I seen in a while, though. Two of you in them black uniforms, and the other two wearin' their Sunday best, too. You all got the look of some kind o' face cards-what's your game, anyway?"

"We've come here to help you win," said Phule. "Now, will you take us to your officers?"

"Help us win?" said Buster, his eyes wide. "That's the damnedest proposition I've heard all month, and I keep some mighty strange company. What makes you think you can help us?"

"This," said Phule, pointing to the leather pouch strapped around his waist.

"Keep them hands up," said Buster. "What you got in there, anyway? If it's some kind of secret weapon, it's a mighty small one."

"Nothing secret about it," said Phule. "But it's the one weapon every fighting force needs more than any other. Now, if you'll take me to your superior, maybe he'll let you stick around while I open it up and show him. If you don't delay us unnecessarily, I'll even put in a good word for you."

Buster laughed. "The day I need a good word with the brass is gonna be a long time comin'. But I like your style, mister, so I'm gonna do what you say. This here vehicle oughta be safe right where it is. If you boys will just start walkin' along that trail, you ought to come to the camp in no time at all. Don't do anything rash, though-'cause I'll be right behind you."

"Believe me, friend, coming here was as rash an act as I'm prepared to engage in for some time to come," said Beeker. "We'll be greatly obliged if you keep it in mind that we are here under a flag of truce."

"I'll keep it in mind, long as nothin' happens to jar it out of my memory," said Buster. "Let's get a move on."

They started off along the jungle trail. Behind them, Buster began to whistle a jaunty melody. Phule trudged along, his hands held high. Perspiration had begun to soak his uniform, and the jungle flies swarmed around his face. It was inconvenient not being able to swat the flies, but Buster and his men might misunderstand any sudden notions. Off to the side, there was a droning chorus of spooky sounds-indigenous animals, he assumed. Presumably the creatures weren't dangerous. At least, the rebels seemed to pay them no mind. Then again, the rebels were armed, and he wasn't.

Faced with the reality of the jungle, Phule belatedly began to wonder if everything was going to be as easy as it had looked when he was planning it. If he'd miscalculated, he might have gotten himself in far worse trouble than he'd bargained for...