No Phule Like an Old Phule

13

Journal #723

The fascination of some men-it is invariably men-with implements of destruction never ceases to amaze me. While all collectors are by definition fanatics, the connoisseur of weapons takes this quality to an extreme. Even if one grants in principle the historical, and (1 will even grant) the artistic appeal of certain weapons, surely no civilized person can entirely forget their gruesome purpose.

1 find it particularly paradoxical that these aesthetes of destruction insist on having the finest weapons possible at their command. As if the victims would somehow be insulted to learn that their demise had been brought about by bargain-basement artillery, with secondhand ammunition!

Phule and Armstrong came in sight of the hunters' camp just as another loud explosion shook the air. Armstrong involuntarily ducked. "Great Ghu, I hope they're paying attention where they point that thing," he said. "It sounds Eke a cannon."

"For all we know, it is," said Phule. "According to Ambassador Gottesman, they've come to Zenobia planning to shoot some dinosaurs. I don't even want to speculate on what kind of weapons they thought they'd need for that."

"Civilians," grumbled Armstrong-just before another, even louder explosion caused him to duck again. "What the hell?"

"It came from over there," said Phule, pointing to the left of the row of three luxury-grade Ultra-tents facing them. "Let's find out what's going on." They found the hunters in a group, huddled around a selection of weapons ranging from antique firearms to what looked alarmingly like a milspec rocket launcher, supposedly unavailable to the civilian trade.

"Let's try this one," said one of the group. "The salesman told me it'd knock anything up to five thousand kilos right off its feet."

"Five thou?" said another. "Hell, if they got real dinos on this planet, not that I've seen hide nor hair o'one..."

"You won't, either," said Phule, stepping forward. "The local fauna are pretty diverse, but I've yet to see anything with hair-at least nothing indigenous." Startled, the hunters whirled around to face them. "Captain Jester!" said the man who'd spoken first. "We didn't hear you coming."

"I'm not surprised, with all the noise you've been making," said Phule, with a smile. "You really ought to wear ear protection if you're going to be using those big cannons. By the way, would you mind pointing that one the other way?" He gestured toward the large-bore double barreled rifle the hunter was cradling under one arm.

"Oh yeah, sorry," said the hunter-Euston 0'Better, Armstrong recalled. He shifted the weapon to one side, and said, "It ain't loaded, anyways." To prove his point he pulled the trigger. The weapon roared, and O'Better nearly fell backwards from the recoil. At the same time, a gaping hole appeared in one of the ultra-tents.

"Hey, why don't you watch where you're shooting?" came a woman's voice from inside the tent, shortly followed by the emergence of a compactly built brunette in shorts. Her hair was up in curlers, and her expression could have curdled milk at a hundred yards. "Oh, hello," she said, "I didn't know we had company."

"Captain, this is my wife Dallas," said one of the other hunters, Austen Tay-Shun. "And don't you worry, honey we'll make sure Euston doesn't shoot you again."

"With that thing, once would be enough," said the woman. Then she turned to Phule, and a pleasant smile replaced her frown. "Hello, you must be Captain Jester. I'm Dallas Treat. And who's this handsome young man with you?" Phule introduced the blushing Lieutenant Armstrong, then turned back to the hunters. "Gentlemen, what just happened is a good example of why I came out here. It looks to me as if you need to pay a lot more attention to weapons safety generally. For example, not knowing whether a weapon is loaded before you pull the trigger..."

"Ahh, it's not such a big deal," said the third hunter, L. P. Asho. "It could've happened to anybody."

"It darn near happened to me," said Dallas Treat. "What do you need all those big guns for, anyway?"

"I tol' you, honey, we came to this planet to hunt the biggest game in the whole galaxy," said Tay-Shun.

"If you're fixin' to go toe to toe with the big 'uns, you better have your boots on."

"What's that have to do with guns?" said Dallas, pouting. "Sometimes I think you say things that don't make any sense just to make me feel stupid."

"Honey, you don't hardly need help with that," said Tay-Shun. "Now, if you'll pardon me, I need to talk with these here Legion officers that come to visit..."

"We're not really here for a social visit," said Phule, cutting him off. "I just have one point to make. You are not allowed to fire weapons indiscriminately as long as you're this close to our base. I'm going to insist that you stop shooting until you're someplace where you can't hurt one of my people by accident."

"I see," said L. P. Asho. "Tryin' to get rid of us, are you?"

"Mr. Asho, I want to get rid of anything that puts my people in danger," said Phule. "If you won't use weapons responsibly, that definitely includes you. I can't make you go home, but I can take your weapons away as long as you're in territory under my command. Or I can be a good deal of help."

"How's that?" asked O'Better.

Phule waved in the general direction of the Legion camp. "If you think you need weapons practice before you start hunting, I can give you guest privileges at our base firing range, with Legion instructors. Or if you'd prefer, I can help you move your camp out to a remote area with plenty of game, where you can fire away as you please. Your choice. But you just can't go popping off this close to my base; you don't even know where my people are, at any given time."

"All right, I take your point," said Tay-Shun, quieting Asho, who seemed ready to protest again. "I reckon we aren't quite ready to move out into the country just yet; we'd like to hire a native guide or two for when we do move. You think you can help us with that?"

"Our Zenobian liaison officer could probably help," said Phule. "But will you promise to put the guns away, or at least not to use them except at our range, until you're away from our base?"

"Fair enough, Captain," said Tay-Shun, and turned to look at the others. After a moment, they nodded reluctantly.

"Good, then," said Phule. "I'll talk to my local contact and see if he can connect you up with a guide or-two. And if you want to practice, just let me know, and I'll arrange for you' to use our facilities. Thank you for your understanding, gentlemen. And now, I'm afraid Lieutenant Armstrong and I need to get back to base."

"All right, then," said Tay-Shun. "Just get us that native guide, and we'll be out of your hair right quick."

"Can't be any too soon for me," muttered Armstrong, as the two officers turned. Phule shot him a warning glance, but he'd spoken too quietly for the hunters to hear. Together, they began jogging back to camp.

Willard Phule was back at his desk, eating a late breakfast and reading the daily performance summary of his investment portfolio, when his wrist communicator buzzed. That in itself was enough to alert him that something unusual was going on. The routine at Zenobia Base was sufficiently settled, by now, that Mother was unlikely to put a call through to him at mealtime for anything short of a genuine crisis.

On the other hand, the last few days had been characterized by a series of minicrises, involving Barky, the AEIOU team, the training exercise that had gone haywire, the "guests" that State had sent for him to entertain... Warily, Phule lifted his wrist close to his mouth, and said, "What is it, Mother?"

"I've got Tullie Bascomb on the line, sweetie," came the saucy voice. "I told the old goniff to call back when you're awake, but he just says it can't wait. Shall I tell him to go away?"

"Oh, Tullie's all right," said Phule, idly wondering where Mother had picked up Yiddish insults. "If he says it's important, I'm not going to make him wait."

"All right, but if he spoils your digestion, you know who to blame," said Mother. Phule nodded, silently, waiting. Something told him that Tullie's call arose from the fact that his father was on Lorelei Station, sticking his nose

into the casino business. He hoped Victor Phule wasn't being too tough on the staff...

Abruptly, Bascomb' s voice came through the speaker of the wrist communicator. "Captain, everything's hit the fan," he growled.

"Hit the fan?" Phule was nonplussed. "What's going on there, 'tullie?"

"I'll tell you what's going on," said Bascomb. "Between your know-it-all father and some third-rate con artist we never should have let into the joint..." Phule could hear shouting in the background, and Bascomb said, "Excuse me a second, Captain," and the line went quiet; evidently Tullie had pressed the mute button. Then, after a pause, Bascomb returned and began speaking again. "All right, Captain, this whole screw up was my idea, and I've got to take the heat for it. You've got my resignation as of right now, if you want it..."

"Wait a minute," said Phule. "Con artist? Screwup? Resignation? 'tullie, I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about. Will you go back to the start and tell me the whole story?"

"All right," said Bascomb. "It all started with your father..."

"I'm not surprised," said Phule. "Go ahead, Tullie."

"You remember we set up the thousand-dollar slots to get him to play, and you authorized a really big prize to lead him on? We all figured the odds were so long there wouldn't be a bug's chance on a hot griddle of our actually having to give the prize..."

"Yes, 1 remember," said Phule. He suddenly sat bolt upright. "Don't tell me..."

"I am telling you, Captain," said Bascomb. "But that's not the worst of it. Your damn-fool father wasn't satisfied with playing the slots himself, he had to go and give his chips to other people to play for him. Now I've got some smirking greaseball sitting in my office..."

"Hey, buddy, show a li'l respect," Phule could hear a muffled voice say in the background.

"All right, all right," said Bascomb, resignedly. "Captain, the long and short of it is this: this guy sitting in my office is named Ernie Erkeep, and I'm sorry to tell you that, thanks to your old man, the bum now owns a controlling share-what used to be your share, in fact-in the Fat Chance Casino. Here, I'm tired of looking at the sleazy bastard. Why don't you talk to him while I go get myself a couple of stiff drinks?" And the speaker again went silent while Phule sat looking stupidly at his wrist, waiting for someone on the other end to say something.

Thumper and the group of legionnaires he'd eaten breakfast with arrived in the center of the parade ground just before Sergeant Brandy emerged from the modular structure that was the main building on Zenobia Base. The Top Sergeant of Omega Company was one of the largest humans Thumper had ever seen, although she was a good bit shorter than the Volton legionnaire named Tusk-anini.

"All right, people, this is the Legion. Let's see something I could mistake for a formation," said Brandy, resignedly. She flipped through papers on a clipboard as the squad lined up, with only a minimum of grumbling.

Thumper took a -place in the middle of three rows, toward one end, waiting to see what would happen. He'd been in formations before, and had learned not to be either too eager to catch the leader's attention or too obviously trying to escape it.

When everyone was more or less in place, Brandy looked up, and said, "We don't usually do roll call-I know all of you by now. But we've got a new guy today, and I think it'd be a good idea to call roll until he gets an idea who everybody else is, and you get to know who he is. So sound off when I call your names-you've all done this before, so don't make things any -harder than they've gotta be."

"Sergeant, I have a question," said Mahatma, raising his !mid in the front row.

Brandy rolled her eyes. "Gimme a break, Mahatma! Can't it wait until after roll call? I'd like to get through at least that much before the philosophical seminar for the day."

"But I just want to know how hard things have got to x," said Mahatma. "Do Legion regulations specify the degree of difficulty of roll call?"

"As a matter of fact, they do," growled Brandy. "They Say you're supposed to answer when I call your name, unless you aren't here, in which case I mark you absent. Is ;hat hard enough for you?"

"Maybe not for him, but it's a real challenge for some of these grunts," came a voice from the back of the formation.

Brandy glared. "Shut up; Roadkill," she barked. Then, after a pause, she added, "Haven't you feebs figured out I know your voices by now? OK, come on, let's hear a nice clear answer when I call your names. Brick?"

"Here, Sergeant," said a thin human female just in front of Thumper. Brandy put a mark on her pad and continued. "Cheap-sho?"

"Yo!" said another voice from the ranks.

Brandy dropped the hand with the clipboard to her side and glowered. "Look here, Cheapshot, we're trying to show Thumper how we do things in Omega Company.

How many times have I told you not to answer 'Yo' when I call the roll?"

"Bunch of times, Sarge," said Cheapshot. "Never convinced me, though. You wanna show the new guy how we do things in Omega, you gotta include the bad with the good, right?"

"Cheapshot makin' sense," said another voice, and Thumper could hear still others murmuring their agreement.

Then Brandy said, "Shut up!" and the murmurs stopped.

"OK," she said, "maybe you've got a point, Cheap shot. I'll agree that there's a lot of good things about the Omega way, but this is one of those times when I just want the good old Legion way. Believe me, there'll come a time when you'll thank me for this."

"If we thank you now, will you stop?" said another voice from the ranks.

"SHUT UP!" said Brandy, before the murmurs could get started. "If you just want to screw things up, I can make you stand here all day and never get to the fun stuff. I was gonna take you out to the obstacle course today, so Thumper can get a look at how Omega runs it." Suddenly the entire formation fell silent, and Thumper could see the spines of his fellow legionnaires straighten as they came to attention in a way they'd only hinted at before. Even Cheapshot stood up straighter, and said, "I meant, Here, Sergeant!"

"That's a lot better," said Brandy, bringing up the clipboard and checking off the legionnaire's name. "Dukes?" The rest of the roll call went so smoothly that even Thumper was impressed. What was it about the obstacle course that had such influence over Omega Company?

Whatever it was, he was about to find out...

Qual and his squad of Zenobians were out in the central compound of Zenobia Base again, busy at work as Sushi walked up to them. "Hey, what's new, Qual?" he said, waving to the Zenobian Flight Leftenant.

Qual looked up from the piece of equipment he and his crew were working on. It was apparently called the Sklern. At least, that was what Qual had told Sushi it was. But after hearing Qual explain how no two Zenobians spoke their language in exactly the same way, Sushi wasn't sure he could assume that the words Qual told him for local objects had any universal validity for other Zenobians. The explanation still didn't quite make sense to him. But today, he had other things to think about, in particular Rev's quest for the mysterious 'L'VlZ.

"Oh ho, welcome, Rawfish!" said Qual. "All goes rippingly with us today, our alignments are exemplary!"

"Uh... triff," said Sushi. Then, recognizing an apparent opening, he went on, "Really interesting machine you guys have here. What does it do?"

Qual's face assumed what Sushi took to be a serious expression. "Much of what it does is organized," the Zenobian officer said.

It took Sushi a moment to make the mental connection between the translator's wording and Qual's probable meaning. "Oh, I didn't mean to pry into military secrets," he said. "Just curious about the apparatus, y'know."

"Oh, no offense received," said Qual, calmly. "In fact, I will tell you as much as I am permitted. The sklem-the meaning of the name is of course obvious-is in essence merely a triaxial projector of nonrandomized heebijeebis. As you can undoubtedly see, it is of considerably higher power than such units produced for the consumer market."

"Right," said Sushi, little wiser than before. He thought he grasped at least one point, though. "So this is basically the latest milspec version of one of your standard bits of hardware."

"Outstanding, Rawfish!" said Qual, slapping Sushi on the lower back. "Your intellectual capacity is, as usual, of the highest grade."

"Er,.thanks, Qual," said Sushi. He didn't think he knew much more than before he'd asked, but maybe if he mulled over Qual's answer he'd come up with something. Meanwhile. .. "I've got a favor to ask you guys;" he said.

"We're still trying to figure out how to adjust these translators to give the best results so you guys can understand us and vice versa."

"That is hardly mandatory," said Qual. "Misunderstanding is a fact of life. If you were a Zenobian, you would accept it as it is."

"Maybe," said Sushi. "But as it happens, I'm a human, and an inquisitive one at that. So I can't help tinkering with stuff that doesn't work quite the way it ought to. Here's what I'd like to do." He pulled a small rectangular black object out of his pocket. "This is a minirecorder I'd like you guys to turn on while you're talking about things. It'll give us a good sample of your normal conversation, with three or four of you talking at once, and then we can analyze it for common patterns. Is that OK?" Qual looked at the minirecorder with lidded eyes, then turned to his crew and spoke a few sentences. They replied, and a brief conversation ensued.

"We will do it," said Qual. "But only if you show me how to turn it off. I hope you understand me, Rawfish, my friend-sometimes we need to talk about things we do not want others to hear." Sushi nodded. "Sure, I know what you mean. Even friends need privacy once in a while. See this red switch? Slide it to the left-toward this red LED-and it's off, back to the right, and it's on." Qual took the device and slid the switch back and forth, then asked, "There should also. be some way we can resolve what it has recorded, and remove it if by mischance we have forgotten it was working while we talked."

"Yeah," said Sushi. "This is the playback switch, and this is the erase button. Let me show you..." A few minutes later, with Qual and his crew satisfied they knew the workings of the recorder, Sushi said his good-byes to the Zenobians and walked back to report to Rev. Rev and Do- Wop looked up at him as he entered the room. "They took it," he said.

"Good," said Rev. "Were them boys suspicious?"

"Maybe a little, but I showed them how it worked," said Sushi. "That seemed to satisfy them."

"Good," said Rev again. "I hope you didn't show them how everything worked."

"No way," said Sushi. "Unless they're experts in Terran milspec hardware, they'll never figure out that it's a transmitter as well as a recorder-and that you can't turn the transmitter off. You should be getting their signals now." Sushi and Rev smiled at each other. They turned to the receiver Sushi had rigged up on a bench in Rev's office.

Sure enough, a little light was blinking, showing that the unit was receiving. Attached to it was another small box, automatically recording every word the Zenobians said within range of the recorder Sushi had given to Qual. Now all they had to do was wait...

"You won what?" For once, Lola's openmouthed surprise at Ernie was not for his having done something stupid. Just the fact that he hadn't done anything stupid-at least, not anything she knew about yet-was sufficient cause for surprise, as far as she was concerned.

"I won the casino," Ernie repeated, smirking. "Er-at least, a big share of the stock. The old man told me my share is worth maybe fifty million smeltonians."

"I still don't believe it," said Lola. "They wouldn't offer that big a prize. Even if the odds are close to impossible, the risk of losing is too big..."

"Hey, you come down to the office with me and talk to the casino guys," said Ernie. "That's what I came to get you for, anyway. They' want me to sign papers, do all sorts of other stuff. I may be dumb, but I ain't dumb enough to sign somethin' I don't understand. That's what you're for."

"To sign something you don't understand?" Lola raised an eyebrow. "That applies to just about anything more complicated than a bar chit, and I'm sure not signing any of those for you. Well, if Phule's lawyers are as good as the rest of his staff, I doubt anybody could understand the papers they're going to want us to sign. We'll probably have to find a lawyer of our own to tell us what we're getting into--and I don't know who the legal heavies are on Lorelei. But give me a couple of minutes to fix my face, and we'll go see what they're trying to put over on us." It took Lola more like half an hour. She changed into a dark designer suit that stamped her as a no-nonsense professional who insisted on getting the absolutely best quality without worrying about her purchases going out of fashion within three weeks. Lola had picked it up last year from an acquaintance who fenced for a haute couture shoplifting ring, and considered it worth every penny it had cost-a serious outlay of money even after the five-finger discount. Her makeup took longer-she wiped it off and started over twice before she nodded and turned away from the mirror. In the end, she looked about five years older than her usual style-and ten times more formidable.

Nobody was likely to underestimate her, not now.

It took her another fifteen minutes of browbeating to get Ernie to change into something that might induce the Fat Chance Casino's legal staff to take him seriously. Then they boarded the local hoverbus and headed back to the casino. The Lorelei buses catered mainly to casino workers, and the vehicle was nearly empty, this being the middle of a shift.

"What's our plan?" asked Ernie, keeping his voice low just in case the driver was spying for the Fat Chance.

"I don't really have one yet," said Lola, shrugging.

"Find out what they're offering, and figure out how much more we can get by being a pain in their butts. That's what negotiating's all about."

"Well, they gotta make good on their promise, right?" said Ernie. "They say I own a hunk of the casino..."

"And if you believe that, I've got a couple of nice planets for sale, cheap," said Lola. "The best thing we can do is go in there expecting the worst, and let them surprise us by doing better. And if we can keep them from figuring out where we're coming from, maybe we can even fool them into offering us something they didn't plan on."

Ernie nodded. "I got it," he said. "We play the dumbs, and wait for them to screw up."

"Uh... not quite," said Lola. "Your job is to sit there looking as if you're in charge, but let me do all the real talking. Just pretend I'm your lawyer, and you don't make my move involving money or your rights without my sayso. And I don't commit you to anything until I think we've got the best deal they're going to give us. Got it?"

"Sure," said Ernie. "Just what I said before:-we play the dumbs and wait for them to screw up."

Lola sighed. "OK, have it your way," she said. "Just let me do all the talking." The hoverbus changed lanes and came to a stop. Across the street was the Fat Chance. Smiling bravely, Lola took Ernie's arm and steered him out to the sidewalk. This isn't going to be easy, she thought to herself. Then again, the alternatives all looked a lot worse...

"if you don't mind my saying so, sir, I find it difficult to understand your father's involvement in this scheme," said Beeker, over a hot cuppa tea. "It is hardly in character."

"Oh, I'd have to disagree, Beeks," said Phule, looking ::p from his Port-a-Brain computer. "Dad's always had a inborn streak-when he's got a point to make, he insists on ramming it down the throat of anyone who doesn't instantly agree. I didn't even mind giving him a chance to win my share of the casino, even though it was a long shot.

He could run the place as well as I ever did, and the troops will still get the dividends from their shares."

"And now you've delivered a controlling share to some unknown gambler, like a handout to some beggar on the street," sniffed Beeker. "What if he tries to run the casino himself? He's likely to run it into bankruptcy in no time at all." Phule scoffed. "Oh, he can't do anything significant without winning a stockholder's vote. The fellows in Omega Company would never back him--they know Tullie and Lex and the others too well to, turn them loose just because the new fellow wants to make a change."

"Do they?" asked Beeker, sharply. "What if this new fellow claims a new management team could increase profits? Or what if he offers a price for their shares that's too good to resist? It wouldn't be the first time stockholders have gotten greedy when somebody dangled cash in front of their noses."

"Oh, it's not impossible," said Phule, leaning back in his chair and looking at his butler. "We still don't know very much about this fellow-but I doubt he's got the capital to pull off that kind of trick. If he did, I think we'd have heard about him before he showed up at the Fat Chance."

"A very dubious assumption, sir," said Beeker. "The fellow could come from almost anywhere. If I were in charge of the casino, I'd be checking the databases to see if he has a criminal record anywhere in the Alliance."

"I think we can trust Tullie Bascomb to find that out for us," said Phule. "In fact, I think that's one of the things we'd know by now, if there were anything to concern us. My suspicion is that the big winner's just a regular fellow maybe a salesman, or a small businessman-who wanted to play with the high rollers and ended up getting luckier than he had any right to. When he realizes he's in deep water with all the big fish, he'll listen to reason and let the professionals handle things."

"It would be pleasant to think there was such an elegant solution," said Beeker. "Unfortunately, sir, in my experience the ability to recognize that one is out of one's depth is a rare commodity--especially among those most in need of such insight. Far more common is an indomitable thickness of skull bordering on complete absence of gray matter." Before Phule could answer, Mother's voice came over me intercom.

"Captain, we've got trouble," she said. At that very instant, Chief Inspector Snieff of the AEIOU burst through his office door. She was one step ahead of Lieutenant Rembrandt, this morning's OD.

"Captain, I demand an explanation of this outrage," Snieff barked;

"Do you, Chief Inspector?" Phule' s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. "And what outrage do you want me to explain? I haven't noticed any outrages in particular, unless maybe you're talking about your dog."

"Aha!" said Chief Inspector Snieff, pointing a finger at me captain. "And exactly why do you mention our beloved mascot, Barky, the Environmental Dog?"

"That ought to be pretty obvious," said Phule, staring at her. "He's been attacking my people ever since he set foot an this planet."

Snieff pulled her self up into a fair semblance of wrongly accused innocence. "Barky never attacks unprovoked," she said. "He only responds to pollution, or: to direct harassment. He would not attack your people unless they were causing some kind of ecological problem. And he is 'trained not to injure the suspects he apprehends, merely to hold anyone who has detectable levels of a carefully delimited list of pollutants on their person, or in their ongings, until one of the human members of our team arrives to take charge."

"I'm sorry, Inspector, but you'll have to find somebody else to swallow that line," said Phule. "Your dog was chasing one of my legionnaires all around the dining hall just last night. You saw him, too--you were there."

"I am surprised at you, Captain," said Snieff. "The incident was clearly provoked by your legionnaire."

Beeker, who had been sitting quietly until now, snorted and said, "Provoked? Good Lord, madam, provoked in what way? By walking to the salad bar to get his dinner?"

"I saw him taunting poor Barky," said Snieff, lifting her chin and looking down her nose at the butler.

Beeker looked up at her, and said quietly, "Madam, you might discover more insight into the unfortunate animal's lack of manners by looking to the character of his human guardians than by postulating any provocative acts by his unlucky victims. If your dog is so poorly trained that he responds to this supposed taunting, then an objective observer would have no choice but to interpret that as proof of malfeasance on the part of his handlers."

Acting quickly, before Snieff could respond to Beeker's indictment, Phule smiled, and said, "Have a seat, Inspector. Tell me what the trouble is, and we'll try to sort it out." Snieff glared at Beeker, then settled into a chair next to Phule's desk.

"I'll get directly to the point, Captain. The last two days, I have heard your people firing weapons out in the desert-no doubt shooting at the local wildlife, possibly even harming it."

"I beg your pardon, ma' am," said Rembrandt. "If our people are shooting at something, you can be dead certain they're harming it. That's what weapons do, you know."

"Easy, Lieutenant," said Phule, raising a hand to quiet Rembrandt. He turned to Snieff. "Yes, Inspector, our people do shoot weapons out in the desert. Weapons training is an important part of the Legion's job, you know. But we aren't shooting at any local fauna--or the local flora, either, in case you're worried about that. We have a regulation practice range set up out beyond the perimeter. If you'd care to inspect it, I think we can even let you and your people fire a few test rounds..."

"I think not," said Snieff. She stood, abruptly. "However, I do intend to make certain your people aren't taking potshots at the local animals. Be very careful, Captain. You military types may not think much of the AEIOU, but we have considerable power of our own when we decide to put it to use. Good day." She turned and stalked out of the office, nearly knocking- down Rembrandt as she went past.

"Well, well," said Phule, after the door had closed behind her. "I think we're going to have to do something about those hunters sooner than I planned."

"I wouldn't delay, sir," said Rembrandt, shaking her head. "She may be annoying as all get-out, but she's right about the AEIOU's power. And we're already way over on the wrong side of her. If she ever gets wind of a real violation we could be in worse trouble than anything Headquarters has ever thought up for us."

"You're right, Remmie," said Phule. "We've got to get the hunters out of the vicinity. The only problem is where we're going to move them to..." He rubbed his head then raised his wrist comm to speaking range and said, "Mother, find Flight Leftenant Qual for me. I think it's time we made use of his local knowledge again."

"Your wish is my command, sweetie pants," came Mother's mockingly sultry voice. Phule sighed. At least one thing was still more or less normal around Omega Company.

Brandy and the training squad-plus a handful of other leqionnaires who seemed to have nothing better to do-hiked a couple of kilometers out into the desert. Thumper gazed curiously at the exotic landscape around him-this was only the third planet he had been to in person. And, of course, the incident with General Blitzkrieg had resulted in his entire basic training squad being confined to camp-so he'd seen very little of Mussina's World beyond the Legion boot camp and the spaceport.

Joe thing for sure-Zenobia was certainly different from the urban areas where he'd grown up, on his home world Teloon. He knew there were deserts and mountains and arctic tundra there, of course-he'd studied the geography of Teloon in school. But being there was a whole new experience. He'd joined the Legion to see the galaxy-and here it was, right under his long furry feet. If only his mama could see him now!

Finally, Brandy turned around and called out, "All right, squad, take five. We want everybody in shape for the obstacle course." The little group gratefully complied. The walk had been short enough, over mostly level terrain, but hauling along full combat gear-as per Brandy's orders-made it a bit of a chore nonetheless. Looking around, Thumper wondered what they had stopped for. The landscape here looked pretty much the same as every other chunk of desert they'd marched past: interesting in a wild and foreign way. But there was no sign of the kind of obstacle course Thumper had run in Legion basic.

More surprising, when Thumper turned around, was the sight of a large fraction of Omega Company standing behind the training squad. Had they all heard of his record setting obstacle course run back on Mussina's World?

Were they here to see if he was as good as he claimed, or had they come hoping see him put in his place? Even the captain had come along. All the hints his fellow trainees had dropped about the obstacle course at Omega Company being different suddenly came back into his head. Just what was he going- to have to do to prove himself to his new company?

Thumper looked out into the desert again, wondering whether Omega Company might have created an obstacle course using only the natural terrain. Thinking about it, he realized it might be a logical response to the different environments the Legion must find on the different worlds it was sent to. If Omega Company was going to operate on Zenobia, it made plenty of sense to train in Zenobian conditions...

His thoughts were interrupted by Brandy calling the squad to attention. "All right, people, form up and listen up!" She paused a moment while the Thumper and his fellow trainees gathered in front of her, then went on, "We have a new member of the company, one that's never run the obstacle course with us before. Now all of you know that we in Omega Company have own way of running the course-and it's the best damn way in the Legion!" Thumper wasn't quite sure what she was talking about, but he joined in automatically with the rest of the squad in a general cheer. Legion Basic had taught him that was a good thing to do, even when he didn't understand what everybody else was so enthusiastic about. He seemed to attract enough unwelcome attention from the sergeants and officers without asking for more.

Brandy nodded. "Now, some of you may have heard that Thumper set a record on the obstacle course in Legion basic. That's good-Omega Company wants the best legionnaires we can get."

"How'd Do-Wop get in?" yelled someone from in back of the group, but Brandy ignored the voice, and went on.

"But now we're out in the field, and what matters is getting the job done," she said. "Everybody has to get through the course, not just the two or three fastest guys."

"Right on, Sarge," said another voice from the back of the group-or maybe it was the same one. This time, others rumbled their agreement. Thumper began to wonder whether he'd been quite so wise to own up to his record setting performance in basic. Not that these legionnaires seemed to hold it against him. But there was obviously a different standard in effect with Omega Company. He began to wonder just what was going to be demanded of him here.

"OK, then, here's the drill," said Brandy. "Thumper, you and the three Gambolts are the fastest here. So your job is to get out ahead of the rest, identify all obstacles, and decide how to get them out of the way for the rest of the guys. If you can't do it by yourselves, come back to the group and get help."

"Yes, Sergeant," said one of the Gambolts-his Legion name was Rube, Thumper remembered. "How about the machine guns? You want us to take them out, or do you have another team for that?"

"Mahatma and Brick will do that," said Brandy. "All right, the course runs directly west two hundred meters, then takes a turn to the northwest for another two hundred. You'll start at my signal-ready: go!" The Gambolts looked at Thumper, then all four of them slapped paws together. "All right, let's rom" growled Dukes, and together they dashed off into the desert. Behind them there was a roar as the remainder of the squad-and, most of the spectators-fell in behind them.

At last Thumper began to understand-this was what Omega Company was about! He grinned and began moving forward, proud to be part of the team.