No Phule Like an Old Phule

7

Journal #681

There are few things more aggravating than a person whose opinions on some important subject are essentially correct, but who insists on subordinating all other matters to that one area of discourse. One might even say that, the more correct the opinion, the more annoying it becomes to see it drive out all other topics of conversation. The only remedy for such people is to avoid their: company entirely. Unfortunately, they are often in a position such that avoiding them becomes difficult... ...

"I've never met such unreasonable people in my life," said Phule, pacing around his desk. The meeting with Chief Inspector Snieff had not been productive.

"That's a rather frightening assessment, especially considering that you've spent the last five years in the Space Legion..." Beeker left the thought unfinished.

Phule ignored him. "All I ask them to do is to keep their dog away from my people. You wouldn't think that would be so hard, would you?"

"The dog cannot be blamed for its response, sir," Beeker noted. "To put it frankly, sir, even a relatively sophisticated person such as I might find the, uh, characteristic odors of some races of nonhuman sophonts rather peculiar, if not downright unpleasant. You notice that it paid particular attention to poor Spartacus, and to the Gambolts. The poor animal, which has a far more sensitive nose than you or I, simply reacts to them as it has been trained."

"It must have been raised in a humans-only environment," said Phule. "But still-my legionnaires aren't polluting the planet. I took special pains to get the most up-to-date ecological protection features built into the base. We recycle everything, Beeker. Nothing goes to waste in Zenobia Base. Our environmental policies are far greener than the Legion's regulations for units in the field, and we stick to them, too."

"I believe you, sir," said Beeker. "But I should remind you that I am not the one you need to persuade in this instance. The relevant parties are Ms. Snieff-and her dog."

"I don't know which is worse," said Phule, plopping himself down on the edge of his desk. "At least she didn't try to bite anybody... though maybe that'd be better than having her spout slogans at me all afternoon. If she bit me, all I'd need to do is make sure my shots were up-to-date."

"It is unfortunate that there are no inoculations against fanaticism," said Beeker.

"The woman's employer is in my opinion one of the very few governmental organizations actually capable of making the world better than it finds it, and yet she seems to have the gift, so to speak, of alienating everyone around her. I suppose it is another example of the tendency of bureaucracies to promote those who most excel at bureaucratic infighting, rather than at the actual business of the organization."

Phule had picked up the remote for the office's video display wall and fiddled with it as he listened to Beeker. Now he looked at it, realized he wasn't about to use it for anything, and put it back down on his desk. "The bottom line is, we need to be able to work here," he said. "I can't just tell my people not to go near their camp, Beeker. They were out in the desert to investigate a possible threat to our security. And we never did find out what all those lights were about."

"Sir, now may be the time to prevail upon Flight Leftenant Qual to interest his government in the matter," said Beeker. "Point out to them that your mission is being jeopardized by this AEIOU team's officious meddling. Perhaps you might even persuade one or two Zenobians to stray out into the desert where they would encounter the dog. That might persuade them quickly."

"And if Barky went after them, what would stop them from shooting him?" said Phule. "Or maybe eating him for lunch. The Zenobians don't seem to-eat mammals they don't seem to have very many, in fact-but they might make an exception in this case. Getting an animal killed by the locals-not just any animal, but a beloved environmental dog with his own weekly tri-vee show, and fan clubs of adoring kids on every human-occupied planet-no, Beeks. No thank you. I've already survived more than my share of interplanetary incidents. But I don't think even Ambassador Gottesman could bail me , out of that one."

"It would have a very unfortunate effect on your public image, I am sure, sir," agreed Beeker. "However, I fear that something of the sort is inevitable unless you take steps to prevent it. I am - more than ever convinced that General Blitzkrieg has engineered this AEIOU visit in hopes of discrediting you."

"Old Blitzkrieg again, eh?" said Phule. "Well, by now, he's tried everything short of sending assassins. And the Mob has tried that. I'm still here, in case you haven't noticed, Beeks. Don't worry. It may take a little while, but I'll figure out some way to get rid that AEIOU team-and their little dog, too." Beeker shook his head mournfully. "Sir, I really wish you had pursued a classical education," he said. "It would help you avoid many infelicitous remarks." But Phule wasn't listening. Instead, his gaze had gone to the open window facing out onto the parade ground and beyond that, to the open land south of Zenobia Base. "Look, Beeker," he said. "There are lights moving out in the desert."

"YO, RABBITEARS! GET YER MOTHERLESS ASS IN HERE!" bellowed Sergeant Pitbull, glowering out of his office door.

Instinctively, Thumper jumped. "Yes, Sergeant!" he said, scurrying for the office. The half dozen other recruits remaining in the barracks room looked at him with a mixture of mild curiosity and relief that they weren't the ones Pitbull had decided to harass during their final hours on Mussina's World. Then they went back to their reading, their card games, or whatever they had chosen to pass their remaining time before leaving Legion boot camp forever.

Even though Thumper had already gotten his assignment for Omega Company, the sound of the drill sergeant's voice was equivalent to a jolt of high-voltage electricity. Most of the other recruits had already been loaded onto ships headed for their new assignments. But Omega Company was on some isolated planet, a place without regular traffic. As anxious as Thumper was to join his new outfit, he would have to wait for transport to be arranged. And as Pitbull had already made clear, nobody was going to go out of his way to get a single bad-news rookie to a company full of rejects and troublemakers.

"Recruit Thumper reporting, Sergeant!" said Thumper, coming to attention just inside the office door.

"Close the door and sit down, Legionnaire," said the sergeant. He spoke in a voice Thumper had never heard him use. For one thing, it would barely have been audible beyond the confines of the office. For another, it didn't carry any of the menacing inflections he was used to hearing from Pitbull-in fact, he'd called him "Legionnaire" instead of some insulting nickname. And to top it all off, Thumper had never been invited to sit in the sergeant's presence before now. Wondering just what might be wrong, Thumper took the offered seat.

"I wanted to talk to you, so's you don't get the wrong idea," said Sergeant Pitbull. He had a strange expression on his face that Thumper couldn't quite recognize. "You know, and I know, that somebody set you up to take a big fall when General Blitzkrieg came to inspect the company. And if you think about it, you probably know why it happened."

"Some of the other recruits were mad at me for running the obstacle course too fast," said Thumper, nodding. "And for trying my best at other things, when they were happy just getting by."

"That's right," said Pitbull, nodding. "I knew you were smarter than the average sophont. You were showin' 'em up, so they decided they had to make you look so bad you couldn't ever recover from it. Except they forgot one thing. Or maybe they never even knew it."

"Forgot something?" Thumper was confused, now. "What was it you think they forgot?"

"General Blitzkrieg has a ripper up his ass about Omega Company," said the sergeant. "He thinks they're total screwups. What's more, he thinks their CO, Captain Jester, is the biggest screwup of all. So when he thinks he's got another troublemaker on his hands, where does he send him? Straight to Omega, natch."

"Yes, Sergeant, I gathered as much," said Thumper.

"I don't know if there's anything I can do to wipe this incident off my record..."

"Wipe it off your record?" Pitbull guffawed. "Why'd you want to do that?" He leaned forward and lowered his voice even more. "You want to know the dead-certain truth? General Blitzkrieg has been the biggest dorknose in the Legion since before I was a recruit, and that's damn near thirty years, now. I damn near hurt myself beyond repair trying to keep from laughing when he got that bucket of slop poured all over him."

"Excuse me?" said Thumper.

"You heard me right," said Pitbull. "The funniest thing is, whoever set you up there was doing you the biggest favor he could have done. I know people in Omega, and from all they tell me, it's the best damn outfit in the Legion for a heads-up guy to be in right now. You play your cards right, and Omega just might be the best thing that ever happened to you."

"Excuse me?" Thumper said again, still not quite convinced that what he was hearing made sense.

"GREAT GHU, YOU GOT THOSE BIG-ASS EARS AND YOU STILL CAN'T HEAR DIDDLYSHIT WITH 'EM?" roared Pitbull. Thumper almost reflexively flinched at the volume. Pitbull smiled and lowered his voice again. "You know those clowns outside are tryin' to listen in on us," he said, with an actual grin. "Gotta give' em somethin' to think about."

"Er-yes, Sergeant," said Thumper, still confused.

Pitbull leaned forward, and said, in an even lower voice, "The thing I wanted to tell you is, you're damn near the best recruit I've had in ten years. You need to loosen up some, but I figure Omega will do that for you. And you need to pay more attention to getting along with your buddies-no matter how good you are as an individual, it's how you play with the team that's gonna make or break you in the Legion. You hear me?"

"Yes, Sergeant," Thumper said again, wondering if he sounded as dull to the sergeant as he did to himself.

"Good," said Pitbull, pushing his chair back from the desk. "The other thing you need to know is that we found you transport to Zenobia, which is where Omega Company is based. There's a bunch of rich civilians taking some kind of damn junket to Zenobia, and somebody convinced 'em to take on a passenger, which turns out to be you. So you'll be traveling in style, which ain't so bad after all. Don't let nobody know it-it's supposed to be punishment."

"Yes, Sergeant!" said Thumper, considerably more enthusiastically now. "When do I have to be ready to depart?"

"You have to get on the shuttle to Wayne's World, oh six-hundred tomorrow morning." Pitbull stood up, took a deep breath, and suddenly his voice took-on its normal bellow. "YOU MISS IT, I'LL KICK YOUR STINKING ASS FIVE DIFFERENT WAYS, AND THEN I'LL REALLY GO TO WORK. NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT, RABBITEARS!"

"Yes, Sergeant," said Thumper, one last time, and he scuttled out the door. It was a real job to keep from grinning as he came into view of his fellow recruits, but somehow he managed it.

"If that goddamn dog wasn't an interplanetary mascot for a clean green 'vironment, knowed and beloved throughout the galaxy, I'd've shot his raggedy ass four, maybe five times, right then and there," said Double-X. He was sitting in the Desert Lounge, Zenobia Base's bar for legionnaires, with a group of his buddies, sharing a cold beer and the story of his encounters in the wilds outside the camp that day.

"Su-u-ure, I can just see the story on the tri-vee news, Space Legionnaire Kills Beloved Environmental Mascot," said Street, scoffing. "With your picture-nah, they wouldn't put somethin' that ugly on. They'd put on Barky, the Environmental Dog instead. Even shot full of holes, he be a little bit cute."

"Cute?" Double-X slapped his hand against his forehead. "He gets his choppers in your leg, you tell me about cute then. That's the bitin'est dog you ever seen-you or anybody else."

"Well, 1 thought I'd seen everything in the Legion," said Slayer. "But when 1 drove up and saw Spartacus halfway up a tree, 1 about busted open laughing. If the captain hadn't been. there, 1 bet 1 would have. 1 didn't know Sythians could climb trees."

"More like, he flew up there on his glide-board," said Street. "You're right, though-if I'd seen that, I'd have bust open laughing, too."

"I don't think is funny," said Tusk-anini. "Barky try to hurt legionnaires. Captain must stop Barky."

"You Voltons must not have any pets," said Super-Gnat, sitting on a bench next to her huge partner. She grinned, then went on, "The thing is, Barky is kind of cute. 1 mean, kids allover the Galaxy have his holo in their rooms, and they send money to save the trees because of Barky. When 1 was a kid, 1 used to think it was really blurgin' how he could sniff out pollutants..."

"When you was a kid?" said Do-Wop. "Man, that's one long-lived dog... OW!" he yelled, as Super-Gnat punched him.

"Barky's genetically engineered," said Sushi, laughing at his partner. "They didn't want to have to replace him every few years, so while they were giving him the genes to let him sniff out methane and fluorocarbons and so on, they made him long-lived, too. If 1 remember right, he'd be going on eighty years old even if he'd never started space-traveling."

"Eighty or eight, don't give him no right to bite folks," said Double-X, slapping a fist into his open hand. "I was the captain, I'd be tellin' those AEIOU suckers to lift their ship before the sun sets on 'em."

"I bet he would like to do that," said Sushi, swirling the ice cubes in his rum and Neocoke. "Problem is, the captain can't just order another government agency off the planet except under martial law, which doesn't apply here. If he could get the Zenobians to ask them to leave, that'd be another story. But so far, the Zenobians don't seem interested in them one way or another."

"Hey, maybe 1 can get Barky to chase Leftenant Qual up a tree," suggested Do- Wop, pointing toward the ceiling to illustrate the idea.

"That'd get 'em interested, all right."

"You ever get a good look at Qual's teeth?" asked Super-Gnat. "He's got about twice as many as any dog you ever saw, and mostly twice as big-plus, he runs even faster than a Gambolt. If Barky has enough sense to find the meat in a hamburger-and at least, his bio says he does-he'll steer clear of that fight for all he's worth."

"Bio? The farkin' dog's got a bio?" said Double-X.

"Hey, watch your mouth," said Super-Gnat. "Barky, the Environmental Dog, was my favorite icon when 1 was a kid. 1 cried for a week when we moved to a new town and my mom forgot to bring along my Barky doll. You talk bad about Barky, I'll whap you." She flexed her right arm to show him she meant business.

"All right, all right," said Double-X trying to smooth things over. He probably outweighed Super-Gnat by fifty kilos, but everybody in the company knew that what the little legionnaire started, she finished---with Tusk-anini ready to step in if he thought she wasn't getting a fair shake.

He rubbed his chin, and mused, "I guess all those big media stars got bios; so why not Bark?"

"Barky's bio says he's the most intelligent dog ever, too," said Super-Gnat, somewhat 'placated. "I read the whole thing when 1 was a kid. And watched his show every week. It was really triff, watching him chase the polluters."

"Yeah, except now he seems to think that we're polluters," said Sushi. "I don't know how he got that idea-the camp's about as green as you can get-I think we recycle everything we can, certainly anything likely to be useful if we ever had to fight somebody. Of course, the AEIOU probably doesn't take that point into consideration."

"War not healthy for ecologies," said Tusk-anini. "Best reason to prevent war, I thinking."

"Maybe that dog do be smarter than he looks." said Street, nodding. "Course, I knowed he was right smart all along when he went bitin' on Double-X." That set off another round of good-natured insults and arguments that went on until closing time. The legionnaires went to bed without figuring out what to do about Barky, or how to deal with the AEIOU mission to Zenobia, although they talked enough about those problems to solve them half a dozen times.

It probably would not have made them any happier to know that their superior officers were having no better luck.

Victor Phule popped a token into the slot of the machine facing him and pulled the lever. There was something gratifying about the activity; just enough mechanical resistance, a sound of gears engaging and wheels spinning-even though he'd been told that the sounds were actually synthesized effects, and the gears and wheels were simulations that had nothing to do with the choice of which symbols the machine would display. Instead, an elaborately sealed Heisenberg circuit determined the winning (or more often, losing) combination. Whoever had designed the machines had done her job well, Phule grudgingly admitted. It felt as if you could actually use the handle to control which symbols appeared, even when your brain knew the facts to 'be otherwise.

The "wheels" spun to a halt, and Victor Phule inspected the three symbols in front of him: a bell, a cherry, and a lemon. No payout; this time. Phule picked up his Slate-omat and entered the result. On the whole, he was fortyseven thousand dollars in the red at this point. Considering that the bank of machines he was playing took nothing less than five-thousand-dollar tokens, that was a pittance. One decent payout, and he'd be ahead of the game. One significant jackpot, and he'd rake in more for one play than any but the top casino executives made in a year. And if he hit the big one... He chuckled. It was only a matter of time.

He was mildly surprised that nobody else seemed interested in these particular machines. Yes, the price of a play was high, but the payouts were proportionate1y richer than anything else in the Fat Chance Casino. Even thirty-five to one, the odds for playing a single number at the roulette table, was a paltry reward compared to the million-to-one superjackpot the casino had posted for these machines.

Well, if no one else played, no one else had a chance to win, did they? Determinedly, Victor Phule fished in his pocket and took out another token.

He was about to feed it into the machine when someone close behind him said, "Having any luck today?"

He turned to see a woman's face-youngish, darkhaired, and rather pretty, though not on the vidstar level. Almost inevitably, she knew who he was and how much money he had; Victor Phule was not without ego, but he had no reason to believe he was the type of man who would appeal to many women if his wealth were suddenly to disappear. On the other hand, he had an excellent notion of just how attractive that-wealth was to almost everyone else he met. After all, the galaxy has room for only a limited number of multibillionaires--which meant that the vast majority of those around him at any given time had far less money than he, and had at least some interest in altering what they perceived as. an unnatural imbalance. From Victor Phule's point of view, of course, that imbalance was very much the natural state of affairs, and he saw no reason to give anyone a chance to change it to his disadvantage.

So his first response to the question was to verify, out of the comer of his eye, that his bodyguard was nearby, paying due attention to the situation. Sure enough, Eddie Grossman was only a step or two away, pretending to play the slots while looking in his direction. The guard lifted a forefinger to his left ear, signaling that he had already scanned the woman for weapons and found nothing to set off his alarms. Good-that eliminated one source of worry, although there were of course plenty of ways to damage or kill someone without carrying a detectable weapon.

That verified, Victor Phule decided to indulge himself with a few moments' conversation. "Luck doesn't enter into it," he said. "Beating these machines is easy, if you have a good system and stick to it"

"You must have a lot of faith in your system," said the woman, eyeing the machine that Phule had just been playing. "Could you teach me how you play?" Victor Phule looked at her again, sizing her up.. "You don't look as if you have enough money to play on these machines," he said. "They're five thousand dollars minimum..."

"Yes, that's what convinced me you must have a good system," said the woman. She paused, then said, "My name's Lola, by the way."

Phule ignored her attempt to get his name. "You need to get a set of five machines and protect them from anyone else playing them until you've won your quota. So if you were thinking about putting a token in one of these, forget about it" Lola smiled.

"I'm afraid that even if I had your confidence, I don't have your bankroll. If I like your system enough to try it, it'll be on the five-dollar machines. But go ahead, Mr... . ?

"Next thing is, you have to set yourself an amount you're going to win, and once you win it, you stop for the day. Slot machines are calibrated to take a certain percentage of the bets made on them, so you have to resist the belief that you can hit the jackpot twice in a row."

"I see," said Lola. "So you're feeding your own bank of machines until they payoff, then quitting while you're ahead."

"Yes, essentially that's it," said Victor Phule. "I'm betting that most of the players are too undisciplined to follow a system like mine. So their losses build the jackpot even bigger for me, you see."

"I guess so," said Lola, nodding dubiously. "But what happens if..." But by then Victor Phule had decided that the young woman was interesting, but not enough so to distract him from his mission of breaking the bank at the Fat Chance Casino. He rubbed his palms together, a signal to the bodyguard, and said, "Well, Miss, it's been a pleasure talking to you. But I really have to get back to work here." And no sooner were the words out of his mouth than Eddie Grossman was there, gently taking the woman by the elbow and steering her toward the exit, talking quietly to her. Eddie was good at what he did-most likely, the young woman would never be aware that she'd been given the brush-off. If he wanted to renew The conversation, it would be as if nothing had ever broken it off.

He put a token in the slot and pulled the lever... .

Lola walked out of the High Rollers' Lounge in the Fat Chance Casino burning with curiosity. Her first encounter with Victor Phule had been, much stranger than shed had expected. About the only thing that fit any predictable pattern was the bodyguard's moving in gently to encourage her to end the conversation with his client Phule must have flashed him some signal she'd missed. But that was all right-she'd actually gotten to talk to him much longer than she'd hoped to. Unfortunately, she hadn't learned very much of use. Victor Phule's explanations of why he was playing the casino's quantum slots didn't make any sense-and that set off all her alarms. She didn't see any reason to point out.

that nobody else but the armaments tycoon was playing the five-thou sand-dollar machines. Without the undisciplined players he depended on to build up the losses, his supposed "system" was nonsense. Besides, everybody but the most unthinking fish knew that the slots gave the worst odds in the whole casino. Obviously, nobody who could build a financial empire like Phule-Proof Industries could be so cavalier about throwing away his money. So there must be something else going on here. What was Victor Phule's real game? Was his conspicuous high rolling nothing more than shilling, meant to encourage others to play recklessly? Was his so-called system just a way to convince players that the slots might not be the bad investment that every sensible gambler claimed they were? Or was something even deeper going on here? Lola did her best to keep her face cheerful, to keep Victor Phule talking. Whatever his game was, she intended to find out-and to be there to scam him out of a share of the proceeds, whenever it did payoff. It wasn't going to be an easy job, Lola told herself. But it had a lot better chance of paying off than Victor Phule's system for playing the slots. And whether or not he realized it, she had a lot more at stake than he did. She smiled again. Always bet on the hungry fighter, said the old gambler's cliche. One thing for sure: she was a lot hungrier than Victor Phule. And she was going to get her bite out of him, one way or another.

Back at Zenobia Base, Willard Phule's wrist intercom buzzed, then Mother's voice came through the speaker.

"Hate to wake you up, cutie pie, but we've detected an incoming ship. You might want to tidy up before they get here."

Phule, who had been wide-awake {it was midaftenoon, after all) and working at his desk, grinned "Thanks, Mother," he said.

"That must be the party of bigwigs we've got to entertain for Ambassador Gottesman. Try to hail them, and patch me in when they answer."

"Will do, sweetums," puited Mother, and she broke the connection.

"Do you plan to meet these, uh, bigwigs in person?" asked Beeker, looking up from the financial program he'd been running.

"Sure, if it really is them," said Phule. "I'm not going to go charging out to meet just anybody again. I learned my lesson with those AEIOU inspectors. I all but rolled out the red carpet for them, and they've been nothing but trouble ever since."

"That's an understatement, sir," said Beeker, sniffing faintly. "I found them an unpleasant company from the beginning. I am more and more convinced that they were dispatched here by one of your enemies and now need to find sufficient violations to justify the expense of shipping them to this planet."

"It does seem like the kind of thing General Blitzkrieg would try," Phule said, musing. "Although it might even be a bit too subtle for him. He's more the kind to try something direct, like sending Major Botchup to replace me in command. That's the old Legion way, which is all Blitzkrieg seems to understand."

"I don't think I'd use the term understand to describe the general's mental processes," said Beeker. "Still, I wouldn't be so quick to overlook the possibility that he might from time to time come into the possession of competent advice and actually follow it. Even as you do on occasion, sir."

Phule stared at Beeker, trying to figure out whether or not the butler expected him to take offense at the comment.

After a long moment, he shrugged, and said, "Well, I can't deny the possibility. But now that they're here, figuring out who sicced them on us is secondary to figuring out how to get them off the company's back. 1 think we're about as environment-friendly..."

"A barbarous locution," muttered Beeker.

Phule hesitated one beat, then continued, "About as environmental-friendly as we can be and still carry out our mission," he said. He was used by now to the butler's correcting his grammar and diction on the fly, although he couldn't always figure out exactly what Beeker was objecting to. Judging from Beeker's sour expression, his attempt to correct himself hadn't made things any better. "Besides, this is the Zenobians' home world," he added. "I'd think as long as they're happy with the company's performance, a bunch of Alliance bureaucrats don't have much to say about it."

"Don't be so sure of that, sir," said Beeker. "Have you looked into the precise terms on which Zenobia joined the Alliance? 1 would be very surprised if the natives of a new world were allowed to come in without major concessions to the powers that be-of which the regulatory bureaucracy is a not insignificant constituent. Having gotten a toehold on this world, the AEIOU is bound to do all it can to increase its power and influence here. No sensible person could expect otherwise."

"Hmmm . .." Phule frowned. "I think I'm going to send Chief Potentary Korg a note about these people, emphasizing that they came without our being informed.

From the way he acted when 1 told him about the hunting party, he's pretty touchy about what off-worlders try to do on Zenobia..." Phule was interrupted by the buzz of his communicator.

"Captain, we've made contact with the incoming ship," said- Mother. "Just as you thought-it's those' fat cats Ambassador Gottesman sent here. You want talk to them, or shall I send them away?"

"Oh, thanks, Mother," said Phule. "Of course I'll talk to them-put them through." Then a new thought crossed his mind. "Umm... actually, give me a moment to think about where to have them land. I'd rather not have the AEIOU people notice them."

"It'll be rather a challenge to keep someone from noticing a nearby shuttle landing, sir," said Beeker. "At least, I can think of nothing short of having them alight on the opposite side of the planet, which hardly seems compatible with the ambassador's orders to treat them as honored guests."

"You're right," muttered Phule. "Wait a moment! Why don't we invite the AEIOU people to tour our base, show them all the latest environment-friendly features built into it..."

"It's still a barbarous locution," said Beeker.

"And while they're indoors, the bigwigs' shuttle can land without the AEIOU team noticing it," Phule continued. He was grinning, now. "We just have to keep the two groups from noticing one another! Mother, you call the AEIOU team and extend the invitation-nicely, mind you! I'll talk to the hunters and stall them while we get the environmentalists out of the way. If we play our cards right, we can keep them from ever knowing of each other's presence. And maybe we can even persuade the AEIOU that we're really nice guys, after all."

"It's a really stupid idea, but it just might work," said Mother. "I'll do my best, sweetie. But if they bring Barky, all bets are off."

"I doubt we can get them to leave Barky behind," said Phule. "Well, just warn everybody-particularly the nonhumans in the company-that he's coming, and that they might want to watch their step."

"In case Barky decides to drop a little pollution on his own?" asked Mother. Before Phule could answer, she said, "I'll pass the word, sweetie-poo. Hold on, now-I'm patching the hunters through." There was a light crackling sound from Phule's wrist communicator, and a red LED glowed.

"Hello!" said Phule. "This is Captain Jester of Omega Company. Welcome to Zenobia! I've got my people preparing a landing area for you, so I'm going to ask you to take one more orbit of the planet." Beeker rolled his eyes. He knew, as surely as he knew Zenobia's sun would rise the next morning, that there was going to be more trouble. And he knew perfectly well whose job it was going to be to get Phule out of it. He sighed. He'd taken the job with open eyes, and there was no point getting annoyed about it now. Still, the boy ought to have learned something by now...