Phule Me Twice

Chapter 10

Journal #550

Second Lieutenant Snipe was almost instantly dubbed "Lieutenant Sneak" by the Omega Mob. He was, if possible, more cordially hated by most of the enlisted legionnaires than even his superior, Major Botchup. And while the two other lieutenants were more or less forced to tolerate him, they were unable to find even the smallest ground for camaraderie with him.

This no doubt derived in large part from their having seen the transformation of Omega Company, under my employer's guidance, from the least desirable billet in the Legion into a place where one might build a career. Botchup and Snipe had not been part of that transformation; instead, they were seen (quite accurately) as being sent to tear down everything that Captain Jester had built.

Neither the callow major nor his smirking subaltern-and certainly none of the brass who had sent them on their mission-quite understood that before they could persuade the newly liberated genie to return to its bottle, they would have to reconstruct the original bottle, which had long since been broken into a million fragments.

"Well, Snipe, what do you think of this outfit?" said Maor Botchup. He was firmly established in Phule's office, which was specially set up as a command center in the event of military action. A thick stack of Omega Company personnel dossiers was on his desk, and the screen of the major's computer was already filled with his notes.

Snipe twisted his mouth. "A very poor excuse for a combat unit, sir," he said. "It's even worse than I expected. There's no sign of proper discipline, not even among the officers. Half the personnel is totally unsuited or the jobs they're doing. Believe it or not, the woman running communications can barely speak a coherent sentence. I suspect we'll want a psychological evaluation here, sir. The supply sergeant is grossly out of shape and its around reading hovercycle magazines. The enlisted personnel have no respect at all; there's a Volton who insulted me directly and tried to browbeat me when I nailed him on it."

"We can't allow that," said Botchup. "Give me a written report with the details, and I'll take care of it. Just looking at these files, I can see that Jester has let them run amok." He shook his head. "They're lucky they've lever had to deal with any real threats."

"Yes, sir," said Snipe. "It's a good thing General Blitzkrieg assigned you to set them right, sir. Captain Jester has let the company go completely to seed."

"I've been going over Jester's file in particular," said Botchup. He pointed toward a shipping box sitting on a hair by the door. The box was marked Captain Jester: Personal. It had been brought from Phule's office in the Company's Landoor headquarters. Now that the CO's office belonged to Botchup, these personal effects would normally be removed to Phule's quarters, but the sealing tape was cut and the top lay open. "No warm laser crystals yet, but with all you've told me, it's just a matter of time before I find something big enough to have him booted out of the Legion entirely."

"None too soon, sir, to judge from what I've seen," said Snipe, nodding vigorously. "I suspect their combat readiness is as pathetic as everything else Jester's had a hand in. It's appalling that Omega company was given a mission as crucial as this one."

"Chalk that up to Jester's being in bed with the politicos," said Botchup. "He pulled the wool over some ambassador's eyes and talked him into backing this company for Zenobia. I'm surprised he wanted it. Really-you'd think he'd have been happier with a soft billet like Landoor."

"Sir, perhaps Jester's angling for a political career after he leaves the Legion," said Snipe. "There's nothing quite like leading a unit in battle to convince the voters you're leadership material. They never ask how many casualties your unit took."

"That's the way of it," said Botchup. "The dilettantes get all the credit, while the real legionnaires do the dirty work. Well, this time, the real legionnaires are going to take back command of the company before the dilettantes know what hit 'em. And if I have to put half the company in the stockade to turn it around, that's what I'll do."

"Starting with the captain, sir?" Snipe grinned maliciously.

"Starting with the captain," agreed Botchup. "As soon as he gets back from his little junket to the native capital, he's going to have a lot of explaining to do."

"Very good, sir," said Snipe. After a moment's thought, he asked, "Should we order him back to base, sir? I'd think the sooner you can make him an example, the sooner this company will toe the line."

"No, I want time to build my case against him," said Botchup. "Besides, there's nothing he can do from a distance, and by the time he gets back, I'll have gone a long way toward establishing my own authority."

Snipe leaned forward and spoke in a quiet voice. "Should we take any steps to prevent the other officers from warning him, sir?"

"No," said Botchup with a nasty smile. "Let them yell their heads off, Snipe. If Jester realizes just what's in store for him, he may just cut and run. That's the usual way with his kind, and it'd suit me fine. Then I could get down to the business of turning this company around without any interference from him-or his cronies."

"Very good, sir," said Snipe. "I can see you're not going to be satisfied with half measures."

"Not at all," said Botchup. "Now, why don't you get started on your report. I want to know every single rotten spot in this particular apple, Snipe. You name the names, and I'll kick the asses."

"Yes, sir!" said Snipe with a salute that could have been molded in plastic and used as a model in the Legion Academy. He turned and strode out of the command center, grinning like a madman. It didn't matter at all to Snipe that he was planning to take the best company in the Legion and return it to the mediocrity from which it had arisen. His orders said to do it, and the last thing Snipe would ever do was question an order...Unless, of course, it was to his personal advantage to do so.

The Zenobian desert baked under its glowing primary, a hot, yellow G star. Until recently, humans had looked at the system and seen only worthless real estate: all the planets were in orbits either too close to or too far away from the primary for the system to be of interest. Except for one very useful space station, there was no Alliance presence here. Only when a Zenobian scout ship had made an emergency landing on Haskin's Planet, halfway across the galaxy, did the Alliance learn the real story of this unappealing world-unappealing to human beings, but not to the lizardlike race that called it home.

The Zenobians were swamp dwellers, evolved from quasi-saurian stock. In the manner of all intelligent races, they had transformed much of their world into the sort of environment they favored. But much still remained in a state of nature, inhabited only by untamed indigenous lifeforms. A good third of its land surface was in fact arid, similar to this patch perhaps a hundred kilometers from the Alliance camp.

Neither the Zenobian astronomers nor human lookouts observed the fireball cross the, sky. After all, there were dozens of such events on any given day, far too many to be of interest, unless the objects causing them were large enough to damage a populated area. But this object was no threat, and so nobody even noticed when it rotated and fired braking rockets, or when, in the lower atmosphere, it popped a hatch and deployed a drogue parachute.

And when the escape capsule settled to the ground in a shallow depression that in the rainy season would briefly become a lake, only a few dull-witted desert creatures were there to see the main hatch spring open and a lone figure emerge.

This was just as well, since the figure that emerged looked ill prepared for the environment it had arrived in. Dressed in a white dinner jacket and starched shirt, it looked as if it had come directly from a formal dance at some exclusive country club. Its highly polished shoes were obviously designed for a polished parquet floor or at worst a well-manicured lawn-hardly for a trek across untracked wilderness. Any man with a lick of sense would have been sobered by his first glimpse of the forbidding desert that stretched away from the escape capsule in all directions.

Of course, this was not a man but a custom-made Andromatic robot, designed and programmed to impersonate its owner, Willard Phule in his role as owner/manager of the Fat Chance Casino on Lorelei. The Zenobian desert held no more fears for it than the hotel corridors from which it had been kidnapped. In fact, it had very few fears at all. In this detail, it was more like its human model than perhaps its builders realized.

After scanning the horizon in all directions, the robot Phule's delicate sensors detected a signal of human origin from a not-unreasonable distance. Without a glance at the considerable stock of survival gear with which its escape capsule had been supplied, the robot turned in the direction of the signal and began walking. There was an incongruous grin on its face.

The unimaginative desert creatures, having decided that the robot was neither a threat nor a potential meal, turned back to their business.

Double-X crossed his arms and stared at Brandy. "OK, Sarge, what's the story?" the legionnaire demanded. "Who's getting punished and how?"

Brandy stared back at him from behind the desk. In a lot of circumstances, she'd have bitten his head off for the impertinence. But this wasn't a lot of circumstances; the major's heavy-handed discipline had made her as angry as any of her troops. "The story is, the major's sticking to his guns. Which means punishment for the whole company."

Double-X's face turned red, and he angrily blurted out, "Yo, Sarge, you saw what the major did to Roadkill. I'm here to tell you, everybody in the company says that stinks."

"Tell me about it," she said wearily. "While we're telling each other about things, the major's pissed about discipline-like you guys talking back when I say something. He hears you interrupting me or griping about his orders, he's likely to bust humps a good bit more. Not that I can't handle it, or even worse, but a word to the wise, Double-X, a word to the wise."

Double-X looked around as if to check for eavesdroppers before answering. Then he put his hands on the desktop, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. "Man, that stinks even worse," he said.

"A brilliant deduction," said Brandy, slapping her hand on her desktop. "Just what do you suggest doing about the problem?"

Double-X fidgeted, his face screwed up in a frown. "I dunno, Sarge," he admitted at last. "If the cap'n was here, I bet he'd have some way to get us out from under this mess."

"I wish he was here, myself," said Brandy. "I don't think he'd be any happier than the rest of us with what's going down, but I know he'd have some ideas for fixing it." She paused and lowered her voice. "But don't get your hopes too high, Double-X. Botchup is the latest dirty trick from Headquarters, and he's got the full authority of the top brass backing him. I'm afraid not even the captain's going to be able to flick him aside all that easily."

Double-X shrugged. "All I know is, the captain's took 'em on and won before. If anybody can do it again, he's the man."

"Well, then you better hope he gets back soon," said Brandy. She paused a moment, then said, "You got anything else to gripe about, or are you going to hang out here until the major notices and puts you down for extra punishment?"

"Man, I don't need no part of that," said Double-X. "Catch you later, Sarge."

"Yeah, see you on punishment duty," said Brandy. She didn't laugh, and neither did Double-X.

"Where are we?" asked Phule. He had opened the jeep's canopy and was standing up, scanning the horizon for signs of...He realized he wasn't sure what he was scanning for, but at the moment there was nothing noteworthy in sight, unless the boulders and scrubby vegetation concealed secrets beyond his guessing.

Beeker looked up from the map he had taken out. "Very approximately, sir, we are midway between the Zenobians' capital and our own base. We have strayed some distance off our original course, however, and I cannot locate us exactly. Our instruments are not providing meaningful information at the moment."

"Yeah, I got that impression," said Phule. He sat down in the seat and looked over Beeker's shoulder. "Does the map show any landmarks in this general area?"

"Nothing, really," said the butler. "But this is an ordnance survey map provided by our hosts. They could conceivably have omitted items they preferred not to let us know about."

"That'd be a lot of trouble to confuse an ally," said Phule, although even as he said it, he remembered being ordered to provide similarly doctored information to Leftenant Qual when the Zenobian had been an observer with Omega Company. He shrugged. "Anyway, there's nothing obviously military in eyeball range. Unless they've got it pretty well camouflaged, that is." He paused. "Hmmm...we are trying to locate an invader that appears to have unusually effective camouflage..."

"You don't think the Hidden Ones brought us down here, do you?" Beeker laughed. "What reason could they have for that? Although I don't pretend to comprehend the psychology of an alien species; quite frankly, the human race gives me enough trouble." He accompanied this remark with a meaningful nod in Phule's direction.

Phule ignored the nod-or perhaps he simply missed it. "There's not much research on the psychology of interstellar warfare," he said, seriously. "There haven't been a whole lot of examples to study, partly because it's usually not cost-effective. But any race that gets cheap FTL has at least the capability to wage interstellar war. That's why there's a Legion-so that if some rogue species tries to attack another race's world, we can stop it."

"In theory," said Beeker, peering nervously at the landscape beyond the hoverjeep. "Still, someone appears to have invaded this world. Unless the Zenobians are deceiving us for some reason."

"I've considered that," said Phule. "Even the ambassador had some suspicions on that score. Don't worry, old man, I'm keeping an open mind about it. On balance, I think they're telling the truth about the invasion. There are still some questions I haven't gotten good answers to..."

"Sir..." said Beeker, tentatively.

Phule ignored him. "The ambassador was worried they might be trying to get a fully equipped Alliance military unit on-planet, so they could knock us out quickly and gain access to our equipment. But that assumes that our equipment is superior enough to theirs that they'd risk an interplanetary incident to get some, then expect to be able to replicate it before the Alliance could respond. I can't see that."

"Sir!" said Beeker, touching his employer's elbow.

"Not that it wouldn't be a good idea to develop some defense to the stun ray," Phule continued. "I'll bet you they have one, even though they haven't mentioned it to us. You don't deploy a weapon that powerful without some...What is it, Beeker?" The butler was now tugging on Phule's sleeve.

The butler pointed abruptly to the left. "Sir, that boulder over there iust moved."

Phule turned abruptly. "What boulder?" he said, reaching for his side arm.

But it was too late.

"Don't like Major Botchup," said Tusk-anini with characteristic bluntness.

"Well, that puts you with the majority," said Super-Gnat, sitting at the far end of the mess hall table. "He's about as popular as the itch."

"Itch not popular," said Tusk-anini, squinting at his partner.

"Sure it is," said Do-Wop, scratching his left armpit. "Everybody's got it, ain't they? If it was a vid show, it'd be numero one-o."

"Having it doesn't mean you like it," said Super-Gnat. She took a spoonful of soup and continued, "Besides, Do-Wop, you shouldn't confuse Tusk. It just makes him ask more questions."

"There's nothing wrong with asking questions," said Mahatma, setting down his tray at a vacant spot at the table. "It's the best way for people to learn things. I have to keep telling Sergeant Brandy that."

"The NCOs aren't sure your main reason for asking questions is to learn something," said Super-Gnat with a frown. "Then again, maybe you've got a better reason."

Mahatma shrugged. "I didn't say that the one asking the question was the only one to learn things, did I?"

"Well, I wish you'd go ask Major Botchup some questions, then," said Do-Wop. "That sucker's got a lot to learn, and I hope he learns it fast."

"I hope he learns it without getting anybody hurt," said Super-Gnat. "That kind of ignorance is dangerous-and not just to the ignoramus, if you know what I mean."

"Who you callin' ignoramus?" said a booming voice. They jumped and looked up to see Chocolate Harry, balancing a mess tray and grinning at them. After they relaxed, he said, "Mind if a sergeant sets his tray down?"

"What we gonna say if we do mind?" said Do-Wop. "Hey!" he added as Super-Gnat elbowed him in the ribs.

"Sure, C. H., join the party," said Gnat, acting as if nothing particular had happened. Do-Wop glared at her for a moment, but he knew better than to say any more.

Chocolate Harry slid his tray onto the table and settled into a chair. He took a sip of his coffee and smacked his lips. "Man, Escrima is a genius," he said. "Dude can cook as good a meal in the middle of no place as in the best hotel you ever saw." He paused and thought a moment, then added, "Course, on this planet, maybe we're in the best hotel there is."

"Well, I'm not griping about the food," said Super-Gnat.

"Right," said Chocolate Harry. "So what are you gripin' about?"

There was an uncomfortable silence as the group around the table glanced at one another. Even Mahatma, who was usually eager to make his opinion known, seemed reticent. At last, Tusk-anini broke the silence. "New major making everything worse," he said with characteristic directness.

"Everything?" said the supply sergeant, raising an eyebrow. "Hell; the food ain't any worse. What else?"

When Do-Wop muttered something foul sounding, Harry turned to him and said, "Yo, Do-Wop, either tell me what you wanna say or keep it buttoned. I can't fix somethin' I can't hear about."

"Maybe you can't fix this, neither, so why tell you?" said Do-Wop. Harry just stared at him. After an uncomfortable couple of moments, Do-Wop shrugged. "OK, man, it's just all the chicken shit. You're outta uniform, you gotta shave, you gotta salute your officers, you gotta get up at O-five-hundred hours, you gotta say `sir' when you talk to me, yada yada yada, blah blah blah. We were doin' fine without that crap, so what's the major gotta bring it in for?"

"He does not respond to questions," added Mahatma.

"He says he going to break up partners," said Tusk-anini, glowering as only he could. His huge hand rested on Super-Gnat's shoulder.

"That's his rights, you know," said Chocolate Harry reasonably. "Most other Legion units, they ain't got partners."

"We Omega Mob, not other Legion," said Tusk-anini. "Omega Mob better than other Legion. Don't care about other units. Major take good company, make it bad again. Don't like that."

Chocolate Harry looked at Tusk-anini, then at the other faces all turned toward him, awaiting his answer. "Yeah," he said at last, "I hear ya. Now, bein' a sergeant, there ain't much I can say against the major. But maybe there's a few things people could do. You didn't hear it from me, but think about this..."

The supply sergeant spoke briefly and quietly. By the time he was done, his little circle of listeners was nodding in approval. "Yeah," said Super-Gnat. "I think you've got an idea or two there, Sarge. I'll pass word along to a couple of people, and we'll see what happens."

"You're on your own. You know that," cautioned Chocolate Harry. "Remember, you never heard anything from me."

Super-Gnat grinned. "Heard from you? I haven't heard anything from you except that spiel about renegade robots, and we all know better than to believe that stuff."

Perimeter guard duty was assigned on a rotating basis. Tonight, Garbo and Brick had drawn the first nighttime watch. They'd come on board at the same time, new recruits assigned to the Omega Mob at Lorelei. Noticing that both of them were standoffish in the company of their own kind, Phule decided to try the two of them as a team. Surprisingly, after a brief period of awkwardness, the two loners-one Gambolt, one human-had forged some sort of bond and were now almost inseparable, off duty as well as on.

Lieutenant Armstrong met them at their post and checked their equipment. "Most of this is standard Legion issue," he said. "Brandy should've shown you how it works. Have you had a chance to check out the new night goggles, though?"

"Yeah, they're super triff," said Brick, who'd picked up a fair share of Landooran slang during their stay on that planet. "I don't think Garbo likes 'em, though."

"Really?" said Armstrong. "Why not?"

"They hurt my eyes. All the colors are wrong," said the Gambolt, speaking through the translator. "Besides, they don't show me anything I can't already see."

"Ah, that's right," said Armstrong, snapping his fingers. "Our Terran cats can see in the dark. Stands to reason that you Gambolts can, too."

"She sees as much without 'em as I can with 'em," said Brick, her voice showing pride at her partner's abilities. "And she's right about the colors-they are weird, but I can see so much more, I don't mind."

"Well, you're not likely to see much tonight," said Armstrong. "We've swept the area for a kilometer in all directions, and there's nothing bigger than a floon out there-and none of it is dangerous to something humansized. So stay alert, but don't get trigger-happy."

"Yes, sir," said Brick. "What if something unexpected shows up?"

"As long as it doesn't attack, let it be," said the lieutenant. "We've got a perimeter fence set to give a little warning zap to any local vermin that try to cross it. Anything that keeps coming in spite of the zap, don't be heroes. Hit it with the stunners, then call Mother, and she'll get you backup pronto. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," said Garbo. "Stun and call in. Will do, sir."

"Carry on, then," said Armstrong, and he strode back to the MBC.

After the lieutenant was out of earshot, Brick peered out into the brush and said, "fbis place gives me the freddies, Garbo. I've never been anyplace where it gets so dark at night."

"You grow up in the city, no?" the Gambolt asked.

"Yeah, sure did," said Brick. "Plenty of light, plenty of people. This place is just too...empty for me."

"City's scarier, if you ask me," said Garbo. The two sentries began walking slowly along the perimeter, keeping their gaze turned out into the dark around the camp.

"You get too many beings in one place, some of them are going to be bad ones. Out here, just a few animals to worry about, and mostly they mind their own business."

"Just a few animals?" Brick stared out into the darkness. "Maybe. But if there's just animals, why's the major got us out on guard duty? There's got to be something else out there-maybe those Hidden Ones the Zenobians are talking about."

"If you ask me, I think the Hidden Ones will stay hidden," said Garbo, scoffing. "They have no reason to bother us-"

There was a loud crack from somewhere in the dark outside the perimeter. "Ssst! What's that?" Brick hissed suddenly. She turned and pointed into the darkness, crouching to present a smaller target.

"Something moving," said Garbo, ducking down beside her partner. "Something big. Wind's the wrong way to pick up scent."

"There's not supposed to be anything big out there," said Brick, her voice a whisper. "What do we do?"

"Remember orders," murmured Garbo. "First wait and see. It might not come any closer. If it does, we use stunners and call for backup."

"Stunners, right," said Brick nervously. She clicked off the safety on her stunner and peered over its sights toward where the sounds had come from. Not for the first time, she wished she had the Gambolt's hypersensitive ears and nose. Even with the night vision goggles, it was hard to make out anything beyond the edge of the camp. The landscape appeared in false colors, according to temperature; in Earth-like ecologies, that meant that large lifeforms generally stood out in bright contrast to the cooler background. But here, with only a few warm-blooded native life-forms, the colors were uniformly muted. And despite the noise they'd heard, nothing seemed to be moving.

Then, slowly, from a small arroyo a short distance away, a large form loomed up and began advancing toward them. In the night goggles, it stood out as a bright, throbbing presence, big as a man, moving directly toward the waiting sentries. "Gemini!" said Brick, and without waiting, she raised her weapon toward it.

"Hold it; that's a person," said Garbo, but she was too late: Brick had already depressed the firing stud.

In the night goggles, the stun ray appeared as a narrow cone of blue green light expanding toward the target. The cone enveloped the approaching figure, which was suddenly surrounded by a haze of reflection, and Brick lowered the muzzle of her weapon, waiting for the target to fall.

Except, this time, nothing happened.

The figure continued to advance on them. "Stop or I'll shoot," shouted Brick, now thoroughly befuddled by her stunner's failure. "Put your hands up!" She aimed the stunner toward its head, even while she wondered what she was supposed to do now that the weapon wasn't working. It must be broken; she'd seen it hit the target, no question at all. But if it wasn't working, what was she going to do if the intruder attacked? Then it came to a stop, facing them, and raised its hands.

"Identify yourself!" she shouted. Behind her, Garbo was calling Mother, asking for backup.

"No reason to shoot," came an eerily familiar voice. "I'm not armed. Can I come closer?"

"The captain!" Brick said, standing up to look more closely. It was impossible to make out facial features at this distance, especially with the odd color substitutions she saw in the night goggles; but the voice was undeniably Captain Jester's.

Garbo turned to look. "It can't be," the Gambolt said; then, after a long stare into the darkness, she whispered, "Let's play it safe. Keep him covered till the backup gets here. We'll let somebody else decide." She raised her voice. "Stay right there; we've got you covered. Don't move, and we won't hurt you."

"I won't move," came Phule's voice, sounding far more cheerful and reasonable than someone stopped at gunpoint by his own troops ought to sound. "I hope your backup comes before too long, though. It's no fun waiting in the dark."

"It'll be here," said Brick, trying to sound tougher than she felt. "You just stay put till then."

The captain's voice chuckled. "I'm not going anywhere," it said. "Not yet."

Brick barely had time to start wondering about that before the backup arrived, and she and Garbo were off the hook.