Phule Me Twice

Chapter 14

Journal #573

One curious feature of life with a Legion company was that one was always being stationed in places where the normal amenities of civilization were rather thin on the ground. Of course, my employer had done what he could to alleviate this by moving his legionnaires into the best available accommodations on those worlds where he was assigned. For our stay on Zenobia, a planet with no human presence before ours, he had gotten a custom-made encampment module that supplied many of the essentials of the good life: running water, electricity, airconditioning, comfortable beds, a thoroughly modern kitchen.

But some things could not be done simply by throwing money at them, and this turned out to be particularly true of the military aspect of our assignments. Like it or not, a decent system for the distant detection and identification of incoming spacecraft-something most real planets take for granted-was sadly lacking on Zenobia. And, to my employer's chagrin, neither the Legion commanders nor the Zenobian military seemed to think a single Legion company really needed one.

This was to have consequences.

"The major wants me?" Lieutenant Snipe looked up from the bed where he'd been hiding for several hours, covers over his head, until Major Botchup had sent a legionnaire to find out where his aide-de-camp had disappeared to. It was probably mere chance that the major hadn't sent one of the legionnaires who'd remade their faces "in the image of the King," as his followers called it. But it was definitely the right choice. If Snipe had looked up and seen that face again...

"Yes, sir," said the legionnaire, Koko, one of the crop of recruits who'd joined the company on Lorelei, a gawky but very polite farm boy from an agrarian community on the planet Roosha. "He says it's very important."

"Everything the major wants is important to him," said Snipe. The lieutenant's attitude toward his commanding officer was somewhat less adulatory than it had been at the beginning of the day. "Let me just wash up and straighten my uniform, and I'll be right there."

Despite his sour mood, Snipe took less than five minutes to freshen up, and shortly thereafter he followed Koko into Major Botchup's office and saluted. "Lieutenant Snipe reporting, sir!"

Botchup glanced up at his aide-de-camp and nodded. "Good, Snipe, about time you got here. Tell me what you make of these printouts." He handed a sheaf of flimsies to the lieutenant and waited.

Snipe scanned the printouts and then looked up at the major. "When were these recorded, sir?"

"Within the hour," said Botchup. Then he glowered at Snipe and said, "But I asked you what you make of 'em."

"A ship in orbit around this planet, sir," said Snipe. "I assume it isn't one of ours."

"It's not Starfleet, anyway; it may belong to the natives," said the major. "I've had that woman in Comm Central trying to raise the native capital, but there's nothing but bloody interference. You'd think a race that has its own space fleet could get up a few comsats, make it easier to talk. Stupid lizards."

"Yes, sir," said Snipe, thinking. "What's our status?"

"It's not responding to attempts to hail it, so we're treating it as hostile," said Botchup. "The natives brought us in here because of aliens they'd found spying on them. Apparently, they briefed Jester about it, not that I can get much sense out of him. Any data they passed on to him probably went down with his hoverjeep. If things ever settle down, we ought to send a team out to look for it-try to recover the vehicle at least, if not the data. In the meantime, we don't know any more about these damned aliens than we did before we landed."

"Yes, sir," said Snipe again, nodding. "Your orders, sir?"

"I've put the base on full alert," said Major Botchup. "I want you to go out there and make sure these people are vigilant and totally prepared-no slacking off. I think this is the real thing, Snipe. Promotions could be at stake."

Snipe nodded, a grim expression on his face. If there was one thing about the Legion he understood, it was promotions. "There'll be no slacking off while I'm out there, sir!"

"Good man," said Botchup. "I'll be monitoring the situation from in here. Send me a report at once of anything you notice. Our remote systems are good, but a CO needs a trustworthy pair of eyes and ears, too. You'll give me that-and more. Jester's people are soft. They've never done anything more dangerous than riding roller coasters. Put them in a real firefight-and this might just be one, Snipe, it just might be one-and they're a good bet to crumple. I need you to put some steel in their spines. If you have to make examples of a few slackers, don't be afraid to-do it."

"Yes, sir!" Lieutenant Snipe saluted sharply and left the command center. He was ready to put some steel in the Omega Mob's spines, whether they needed it or not. He looked forward to making some examples. After the day he'd been through, he wouldn't mind making examples of the whole company.

"We're getting closer," said Sushi, looking at the dial of his detector.

"This is fine to hear, Sushi," said Flight Leftenant Qual. "Do you have a concept of how close the Hidden Ones may be?"

"Nothing precise," said Sushi. "But the signal's started to cover a wider angle, and that means we're getting closer. How close depends on just how big an area the signal sources are coming from. If it's a couple hundred feet across, we're real close; if it's a couple hundred miles, we're still a long way away."

Qual nodded, then asked, "And there is nothing to distinguish between those cases?"

Sushi looked up from his machine and said, "Nothing objective; the signal's growing stronger, which could mean a closer distance. But I assume that people only a few feet away from one another have some way more effective than radio signals to communicate."

"That is not an infallible assumption," said Qual. "One could postulate a race that sees radio frequencies the way we do visible light, and uses them to communicate. After all, Garbo and I see deeper into the infrared than you do."

"Yeah, and we humans can hear lower pitches than either of you," said Sushi. "I know it's possible, Qual, I'm just trying to keep the number of variables down to a bare minimum until something proves I need to look in other directions. Otherwise, we'll be spending so much time on woo-woo ideas that the serious probabilities will get lost."

"How could they get lost?" asked Qual. "They will still be there, even if we are looking at the boo-hoo ideas."

Sushi grinned, in spite of himself. "You know, Qual, sometimes I think you speak our language better than you let on."

Qual returned the grin, showing a mouthful of predatory teeth. "I do not speak your language at all, Sushi, it is all done by the translator. Though I understand that the machine can learn from experience, so perhaps that is what you are hearing."

"Guess that could make sense," said Sushi. Then his brow wrinkled. "Say, that just gave me an idea. In fact, I feel like an idiot for not thinking of it earlier. If these signals we're getting are some sort of messages, the translator ought to be able to make sense out of them. Maybe when we stop, I can borrow yours, and we can hook it up to the receiver..."

"That is a very interesting plan, Sushi," said Qual. "Of course you can borrow it. Although it will leave me temporarily powerless to communicate, I think the risk of learning something useful is paramount here. Or, now that I think of it, Garbo has a translator, as well. Perhaps it would be better to use hers, so I can stay advised of what occurs."

"Sure, that ought to work just as well," said Sushi. "We'll give it a try when we stop again. It shouldn't take long to set up."

The search party set out again in the direction Sushi's detector indicated the signal was coming from. But it was only a short time when Sushi stopped and said, "Hold on, guys. This thing's going crazy."

"Crazy? How?" asked Brick. "Has it stopped picking up the signal?"

"No, the directional indicator's gone haywire," said Sushi. "It says the signal's coming from all directions. Wait a minute...That could only mean one thing. Except it doesn't make any sense."

"I see what you mean," said Qual. "If the signal comes from all directions, it means we are in the place where the signal comes from. Yet there is nothing but the desert here." He had taken a handheld spotlight off his belt and was shining its beam in all directions.

"Be damn," said Double-X. "Maybe them Hidden Ones really are invisible."

"I still don't believe that," said Sushi. "More likely, they're hiding underground."

"Then the signal would come from below us, would it not?" said Mahatma. "Does the detector indicate that?"

"No, it's from all directions including straight up," said Sushi. "Maybe it's time to hook up a translator to the detector-"

"Hey, what's that?" said Brick, pointing off into the desert.

Qual swung his spotlight beam back in the direction she was pointing, and the legionnaires saw the reflection of the beam from something metallic.

"We'd better go check it out," said Sushi. "What are your orders, Flight Leftenant?"

"Wait, I can see it well," said Garbo, the gambolt. "It is a Legion hoverjeep!"

"It's gotta be the captain's jeep," said Double-X. "What's it doin' this far out? That's a hell of a hike for a guy without any supplies or protection."

"That's a good question," said Sushi. "I expect we're going to learn the answer to that, and to a lot of other questions, very soon now."

"Yes, I think we are," said Qual. "Here is the plan. Sushi and I will advance carefully and examine the jeep; the rest of you must take up positions whence you can observe and keep us covered in case of surprise; having the best night eyes, Garbo will command the covering party. Be certain to shout a warning if you see any movement other than ourselves. Is it understood?"

"Understood, Leftenant Qual," murmured Garbo. She directed her group to fan out to positions with clear sight lines toward the hoverjeep, while Qual and Sushi carefully made their way forward. Stunners on the ready, they waited breathlessly to see what would happen next. Around them, the sounds of the desert filled the air.

The camp was full of activity as Lieutenant Snipe emerged from the CO's office into the open area inside the perimeter-as active as he'd ever seen it. Brandy had the troops in their defensive emplacements, and everyone in sight was wearing a helmet and body armor. It made the lieutenant's blood sing to see it.

A short distance away, Snipe spotted Lieutenant Armstrong scanning the sky with a pair of high-powered stereoculars. Snipe hurried over and stood next to Armstrong. "What can you see?" he said.

"The ship's still below the horizon," said Armstrong, with a casual air that Snipe wished he could emulate. "So far, no sign of missiles or landing craft."

"Keep a sharp eye out," said Snipe, not bothering to keep an edge out of his voice. "I'll need to know instantly if you spot any sign of activity."

Lieutenant Armstrong took the 'ocs away from his eyes and fixed Snipe with a look that would have made an oyster flinch. "Sure, Lieutenant Snipe, just as soon as I see anything worth reporting. I hope you don't mind if I use my judgment. It'll be a few minutes before the ship clears the horizon, so if you need to do anything urgent-"

"Good, good, keep your eyes peeled," said Snipe, oblivious to the chill in Armstrong's voice. He turned and headed toward the perimeter to check out the defenses.

To Snipe's surprise, there were only two legionnaires visible, sitting with their feet in the perimeter trench and quietly eating sandwiches, with their backs facing outward. One of them was looking at the centerfold of a men's magazine, while the other was nodding his head in time to the music in the earphones he wore. "What are you doing?" Snipe shrieked, his voice going up an octave in pitch. "There's an unidentified ship-probably an enemy-approaching the camp, and you've got nothing better to do than sit here reading a skin mag?"

"Chill, Lieutenant," said the one wearing earphones-Snipe recognized him as the one named Street. "We on lunch break, is all."

"Lunch break!" Snipe's jaw dropped. "I never heard such bullshit! This is a war zone, legionnaire, and we're under attack. Who told you to take a break?"

"Sergeant Brandy said it was OK," said the other legionnaire. Snipe saw that his name tag read Gears.

"'Sides, ain't no attack I can see," said Street. "Somebody starts attackin', we be there."

"And meanwhile you think you can go off and do as you please," snarled Snipe. "The major will hear of this, you know. Consider yourselves both on report!"

"You can go get yourself some vacuum," said Street. "I take my orders from Brandy." He reached down, turned up the volume control on his headset, and proceeded to act as if Snipe did not exist.

Furious, the lieutenant turned around and began to search for the first sergeant. To his surprise, she was nowhere near the two errant soldiers. Finally spotting her unmistakable figure across the camp, he marched over to her, stiff as an overwound toy soldier.

Brandy was standing on the parapet of the trench on this side, looking out over the desert. "Sergeant!" Snipe strode right up to her and put his hands on his hips. "Sergeant, I need to talk to you."

Brandy turned slowly and looked at him. "We're in the middle of a situation right now, Lieutenant Snipe. Is this important, or can you wait until we get it sorted out?"

"A situation! I should say so," said Snipe. "You've left the entire western perimeter undefended, except for a couple of men who say you told them to take a break!"

"That ship's coming from the east, Lieutenant," said Brandy. "If it's going to land west of us, we'll get plenty of notice. We don't even know if it's landing at all. If it does, I've got time to get those men back."

"That's not the point, Sergeant," said Snipe. "Discipline must be maintained-"

"Sure, sure," said Brandy, waving the lieutenant off with a huge hand. "You Headquarters types always think discipline's the whole game. But this is Omega Company "

"Yes, and your headline-hogging Captain Jester thinks he can throw away centuries of Legion tradition," said Snipe. "Well, your little journey into unreality is over, Sergeant. We're going to do things the Legion way from here on out. And you're going to-"

"Here comes the ship," a voice behind him called suddenly. It added, dryly, "Looks like she's about to land."

"Oh my God!" said Snipe, turning white as a sheet. He turned to Brandy, but she was already moving along the line, giving terse orders to her people. The whole line tensed, looking at the dot of light that was now visible to everybody in the camp. Lower it came, and lower still. Snipe watched in helpless fascination. It seemed to descend agonizingly slowly, but at last it touched down.

After a careful approach, Qual and Sushi reached the hoverjeep only to discover that it was unoccupied. That was a disappointment, though hardly a surprise. Inside the vehicle's cab, the legionnaires found equipment belonging to both Phule and Beeker: notably the captain's Port-a-Brain computer, an item that could put a serious dent in the budgets of most planetary governments.

"That's not something the captain would leave behind unless he was out of choices," said Sushi. "And if Beeker were in any position to protest, he'd have made him take it along anyway. I wonder why he didn't bring it back to camp with him."

"If I am not mistaken, it is still turned on," said Flight Leftenant Qual, pointing at the light glowing on the Port-a-Brain. "Captain Clown must have been in a great rush to leave the vehicle without closing down his brain."

"You're right," said Sushi, suddenly excited. He leaned in and peered more closely at the device. He blew a film of dust off the front panel and looked more closely at the readouts. "Look at that. The modem's operating. I wonder what it's connected to."

"No doubt to whatever the captain was accessing when he left it," said Qual.

"Let me see that computer," said Sushi suddenly. "It wouldn't stay connected to the web that long; the connection will automatically time-out unless there's activity on the user side. So either the captain left only a short while ago...But that's impossible: he's been in camp since before we left. So it's still tuned in to whatever it was picking up when he left here. And my guess is that the something else is-"

"The signal you have been following to here!" Qual finished the sentence. His mouth fell open in a broad grin. "Great Gazma! The Hidden Ones attempt to communicate with the computer!"

Sushi grinned back at him. "It's probably a pretty one-sided conversation, but yeah, I think that's exactly what's going on. I bet they're sending different test signals, trying to get it to respond to them."

Qual's translator emitted a sound the legionnaires had learned to recognize as laughter. "Can they not tell the difference between a sophont and a machine?"

Sushi's expression turned serious. "Funny you should ask. There's a famous experiment some old Earth computer scientist invented. And if the Port-a-Brain has the Hidden Ones fooled into thinking it's a sophont, it's passed the Turing test. Which I guess it ought to, considering the price tag."

"Your machines are designed differently from ours," said Qual. "We know directly whether we are confronting a machine or an intelligent being. Confusion is not wanted."

"I guess machine intelligence is so useful, we humans are willing to put up with a bit of confusion," said Sushi.

"Who needs stupid machines when we have so many stupid people? Besides, this Port-a-Brain may be smarter than all of us put together, but it doesn't look like any living creature I've ever seen. The Hidden Ones must be very strange if they can't tell it's a machine they're trying to talk to...Hey, wait a minute."

"I suppose I can," said Qual, with a reptilian shrug. "But I think it would better utilize our time searching for the captain's butler."

Sushi laughed. "No, I mean I've got an idea what could have happened. Those strange signals we've been receiving-they're all around us here, but we don't see any sign of civilization, except for the hoverjeep and the things in it."

"That is manifestly true," said Qual. "It is a jigsaw."

Sushi frowned, then shrugged and said, "I think maybe the Hidden Ones haven't hidden on purpose. They're just too small for us to notice. And that may prevent them from noticing us-or at least, from recognizing what we are-as much as it prevents us from seeing them."

"Too small?" Qual turned and looked in all directions. "Even very small creatures would need machines and buildings, and we do not see those, either."

"No," admitted Sushi. "But I suddenly feel very confident in this idea. I think it's time to try that experiment I've been talking about. Didn't the captain and Beeker take along translators on their visit to your capital?"

"I think they did," said Qual. "No doubt they would be in the baggage compartments."

The baggage compartment was locked, but that deterred Sushi only a few moments. Sure enough, there were a pair of translators there, neatly packed in their neoplastic carrying cases. By the time Sushi got them out, Qual had signaled the rest of the squad to join them, and (at the Zenobian officer's direction) they began looking around the area for signs of the jeep's occupants.

"With two translators to play with, I've got another idea," said Sushi. "If the Hidden Ones are trying to communicate with this Port-a-Brain, I want to see if there's some way we can hook a translator into it."

Brick, who'd helped Sushi unload the baggage compartment, said, "Sounds like your kind of fun. But why don't you hook it up to your own gizmo first? I mean, the captain's fancy computer's got more brainpower than the Alliance Senate. If it hasn't cracked the language on its own by now-how long's it been working at it, a week?-maybe us sophonts deserve a shot at it."

Sushi laughed. "Maybe you're right," he said. "I'll give that a try first. If nothing else, I've been thinking about it long enough so I have some idea where to start." He set down the translators and headed back to retrieve his receiver and his tool kit.

Perhaps an hour later, Flight Leftenant Qual wandered over to the hoverjeep, where Sushi had set up a makeshift workbench on the tailgate. He took off his dark sunglasses and peered at the electronic tangle. "How functions it, young one?" asked the Zenobian.

Sushi leaned back and sighed. "These things were never meant to fit together," he said. "If I had a parts shop handy, I could probably find something off the shelf to make the job easier. Out here in the field, I've got to kludge it up pretty much from scratch."

"So this signifies it will not perform?" said Qual.

"Oh, I think I can make it work," admitted Sushi. "I've probably voided the captain's warranty on his computer, and it'll never win any beauty contests. But I think he'd approve the project, just on general principles."

"Since you're doing it to save his butler, I guess he would, "said Brick. "He can buy another computer, but Beeker's not going to be easy to replace."

"I just hope Beeker's still in condition to save," said Sushi quietly. "He's been out in the desert for a long time, and all the emergency rations are still in the jeep. Unless he's got some other source of food and water..."

"If the Hidden Ones have seized him, they ought to nourish him," said Qual.

"I hope so," said Sushi. "Problem is, until we can communicate with them, we don't know whether they even know where Beeker is. For all we know, he tried to get back to base with the captain and didn't make it. He's not a young man-"

"I do not think something has happened to Beeker," said Qual. "Captain Clown would surely have talked about it."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" said Sushi. "But something must have happened to him on that trek back to the base. He's not acting anything like himself. Brick, you said he acted like he couldn't even see you when you talked to him."

"Yeah, it was weird," she said solemnly. "He heard my voice and answered my questions, but he kept looking around for me, like I was hiding from him or something. And now that I think about it, some of his answers didn't, like, totally add up."

"Yes, they did not totally total," said Qual. "I spoke to him, and it was as if we were of different species."

"Weird," said Sushi without looking up from his work. He twisted two wires together, then said, "Let's see if I've got it right."

He turned on the translator's power switch, leaned close to hear if the speaker was on, then booted up the Port-a-Brain. Nothing happened.

"Aaah, bad luck," said Brick. "Back to the blank screen, huh?"

Sushi was unperturbed. "Nah, I turned it off when I made the modifications. Now I've got to go back to the program that was up when we found it. I saved the settings. Let's see..." The display changed rapidly as he entered a series of commands. "OK, let's see what we get here," said Sushi, and hit a key.

The translator's speaker emitted a low warming-up buzz, then broke into articulate sounds. "Intersystem Sklern-two thousand at nineteen. Please instruct concerning exercise of pets. Research P/E on Pickup Pizza Ltd Common. Do you receive signals? Trantor Entertainment Preferred-hold until forty-five, then sell five hundred. We will take five hundred. Mark Pickup Pizza Ltd. Common to buy below ten..."

The legionnaires listened for a moment, then Sushi turned to his companions and grinned. "Hey, guess I know what I'm doing after all."

"Acclamations, Sushi," said Qual, showing all his teeth. "At long last the Hidden Ones speak to us!"

"Triff," said Brick. "But what the hell are they talking about?"

"The captain had the computer automatically checking and trading his stocks on the net," said Sushi. "It's sending out commands, and the Hidden Ones obviously thought it was trying to communicate to them. I'd guess they've been trying to get it to respond to them, and it's been carrying on the original program, of course. Now that we've got the communication channel open, we can try to start them talking to us instead of to the Port-a-Brain." He turned to Qual. "Leftenant, you're the officer in charge. What do we want to say to them?"

"Why, that is obvious," said Qual. "Where is the human known as Beeker?"

"OK, you've got it," said Sushi, and he began entering commands as the rest of them looked on expectantly.

The unidentified ship was dropping rapidly, and the legionnaires in their defensive positions kept a wary eye out for possible hostile action on its part. "If it was gonna launch missiles, it woulda done it 'fore it cleared the horizon," said one private.

"Yeah, but laser beams are line-of-sight," Brandy reminded him. "Stay low, and be ready to move when I tell you."

"Can you make out what model it is?" Lieutenant Snipe asked Armstrong, who was still tracking it with his stereoculars. From the corner of his eye, Snipe saw one of the Synthians whiz down the defensive line on a glideboard, wearing a bizarre helmet and carrying some kind of huge weapon.

"Not yet, still too much atmospheric distortion," said Armstrong. "She's midsized, is all I can really tell." He looked at Snipe and said, "If you went over to Comm Central, Mother may have been able to raise them. Maybe they called for authorization to land or something sensible like that."

Snipe nodded, trying to decide what to do. He skipped aside as Chocolate Harry roared by on his hovercycle, leaning over the handlebars with an expression that meant business. Major Botchup had been monitoring the electronic traffic, so he should have picked up any such communication-and the major had not changed his orders. Snipe shook his head and said, "The CO will tell us if there's any word on that front. For now, stay ready for anything."

"In case you hadn't noticed, Lieutenant, that's what we were doing," said Armstrong. He picked up the stereoculars and looked at the approaching ship again, pointedly turning his back to Snipe.

After a few moments, while the noise of the approaching ship got progressively louder, Snipe turned to Brandy. "Sergeant, what plan do you have if the ship opens hostilities?"

Brandy snorted. "Depends a whole lot on what they throw at us, Lieutenant. Landing this close, I don't think they're going to be using any nukes, do you?"

"Nukes?" Snipe gulped. He hadn't even considered that possibility.

"Course, this could be some kind of fanatical suicide mission," Brandy continued. "Maybe they'll try a quick push with conventional force, and then blow the ship's core if we're too tough a nut to crack. Been done before. Not much we can do if that's what we're looking at, is there?"

"Uh, I suppose not," said Snipe. His face was growing pale.

Brandy continued in a voice that carried over the sound of space drives throttling down. "More likely what we get is some softening up with whatever heavy armament the ship's carrying. Something that size could have Class 4 UV lasers, I'd say. Shouldn't hurt as long as you're behind about six inches of lead shielding, or maybe ten feet of packed earth."

"Ten feet?" Snipe looked around, trying to determine where in the trenches he'd have that much cover.

"Yeah, ten feet oughta do," said Brandy. "Once they've got us keeping our heads down, they turn loose whatever they've got in the way of infantry-and then it gets nasty."

"Nasty?" Snipe gulped.

"Yeah, nothing worse than close-quarters combat," said Brandy at top volume. "But you've probably seen it all before, being a second lieutenant and all that."

Snipe had his mouth open, gulping air, when Armstrong called out, "Ship's touching down. Look alive there."

"Look alive!" repeated Brandy at the top of her voice, turning to look at the dust cloud rising around the ship. "Once that dust settles, they can cut loose with any rays they have, so be ready to get down."

The infernal racket of the ship's engines abruptly ceased, and there was a long moment of expectant silence. The dust began to thin out, and Snipe cringed at the notion that death rays might even now be warming up to fry him. He looked around for something to crouch behind and finally settled for a nearby hoverjeep. It wasn't perfect cover, but perhaps it was thick enough to protect against the Class 4 UV that Brandy had warned of. From somewhere out of sight he heard Armstrong say, "Hatches opening."

Snipe stuck his head around a corner, only to fall almost instantly backward as something large came roaring directly at him. From a position flat on his butt he watched Chocolate Harry rush past on his "hawg," and heard the shouted warning, "Yo, man, heads up!" as the supply sergeant whipped on past at incredible speed.

Another more cautious peek around the corner showed him shadowy figures in the dust cloud by the mysterious ship. Several of them were busy catching and stacking unidentifiable equipment being tossed to them from an open cargo bay. Now some kind of vehicle emerged from the ship, followed by several more figures (were they humans?) on foot.

Deciding that it was for the moment safe to expose himself to possible fire, Snipe ran quickly to join Armstrong, who stood behind a waist-high pile of crates, surveying the action through the stereoculars. "What's going on?" Snipe asked, panting a bit from the exertion. He crouched behind the crates, admiring Armstrong's coolness in the face of the enemy.

"They're unloading their equipment," said Armstrong helpfully. He looked down at the cowering Snipe and added, "Here they come."

Snipe risked a peek over the crates. Here came the vehicle, slowly advancing toward the Legion position. It had the look of a hoverjeep, and several of the figures seated in it were carrying what might be beam projectors-or almost anything else, Snipe realized. A small group of invaders trudged along behind it. In the defensive line, Snipe could hear Brandy talking to her troops: "Steady now, steady."

Seeing that the invaders had so far done nothing that could be taken as a hostile move, Snipe decided it was safe to stand up. The dust had settled enough for him to make out that the hoverjeep was painted a bright yellow. That's not a military color, he realized. There appeared to be some sort of writing on the side, although from this angle Snipe couldn't make it out. A figure in the front of the jeep was standing up, exposed to the Legion defenders. "This doesn't look like an invasion force," he muttered;

"No, it doesn't, does it?" said Armstrong. "But if they're who I suspect they are, you and the major may wish they had been."

"What?" said Snipe. He peered at the approaching jeep. Now it was close enough for him to discern the figure standing up: a woman, smiling and waving to the Legion camp. "I've seen that face somewhere," he said, frowning.

"I bet you have," said Armstrong, lowering the stereoculars and waving back. The troops in the front line were also standing and waving. What was going on?

Then the jeep turned to avoid a spot of rough terrain, and at last Snipe could clearly see what was painted on its side: Interstellar News Service. The woman standing in the jeep was none other than Jennie Higgins, the reporter who had made Captain Jester a media darling.

They'd been invaded, all right-by the intergalactic press corps.

Being confined in a dimly lit enclosure, even with companionship, was boring. There was no other term for it. It was quite some time since Phule and Beeker had run out of useful observations to make on their current condition, and no other topic of conversation got very far. It was incredibly boring.

At one point, Phule had gotten so bored he'd tried bouncing the gravball their captors had given them against the opposite wall of their cell, but the bell inside jingled every time the ball moved. That got on his nerves-and on Beeker's, as well-after about three bounces, and he went back to slouching against the wall, trying to think of a way to escape-or to communicate with their captors. So far, Beeker had relentlessly shot holes in all his good ideas.

Even so, every once in a while, when he was starting to get really bored, he'd cast an eye over at the ball again. Maybe there was some way to get the bell out...but trying it would undoubtedly make more noise, and then he'd have to put up with more of Beeker's baleful looks and sarcastic comments. Compared to that...well, he thought he could put up with the boredom a little while longer, anyhow.

Maybe it was starting to get to him, though. He hadn't touched the ball, and yet he could swear he'd heard the bell jingling again very softly. The ball wasn't visibly moving. His nerves must be starting to fray. They said that solitary confinement could drive a person mad. They didn't say anything about confinement with one's butler, but Phule was beginning to think it must be at least as bad.

"Sir, would you please stop that?" snapped Beeker, as if to reinforce Phule's thoughts.

"Stop what?" said Phule. "Can't a fellow sit and think without you complaining?"

"You're doing something to the ball, sir," said Beeker, glaring at him. "I hear the bell ringing."

Phule sat up straight. "Do you hear it, too? I thought it was my imagination."

"No-look, sir, it's moving," said Beeker, pointing. Sure enough, the ball was wobbling slightly, as if the floor below it were shaking.

They both stood, instinctively moving away from the vibrating gravball; whatever was happening, it was something new. The previous changes in their cell, when their captors had delivered food or the ball, had been accompanied by almost no noise or vibration. As they looked, the wall at the far end of the cell began to change color-or rather, its color seemed to become more diffuse, almost like paint being diluted by a colorless liquid.

After the phenomenon continued for a few moments, shapes could be seen through the wall. Phule clapped his hands and said, "I think they're going to let us out, Beek."

"You may be right, sir," said Beeker. "Equally possible is that they intend to come in here and interrogate us."

"There's not enough room in here," said Phule. "Well, maybe if they're the size of Synthians..."

"Yes," said Beeker. "They've done very little so far to indicate what race they are-if in fact they are any race we know."

Phule put a hand on Beeker's arm. "I think we're about to find out," he said. The opening was almost transparent now, and the shapes outside seemed to be moving closer.

To their surprise, one of the figures bent over to look through the opening and said, "Hey, Beeker! Is that you in there?"

"I know that voice!" said Phule, leaning forward. "Sushi, what are you doing here?"

"Captain!" said Sushi, now plainly visible through the opening. "What are you doing here? Or maybe I should ask, if you're here, who's that back at the camp?"

"I haven't the vaguest idea what you're talking about," said Phule. He and Beeker scrambled quickly out of their prison. They found themselves in the shade of a small hill, just outside a sort of cave dug into the sandy soil. In front of them were Sushi, Flight Leftenant Qual, and a group of other legionnaires. But as glad as they were to see their comrades, Phule and Beeker's gaze inevitably turned to the other figure standing there.

Phule's first impression was that he was seeing a mechanical man born of an illicit union between a hoverjeep and a portable computer...with a very bad hangover thrown on top of it.

On second impression, the thing looked even more like the offspring of an illicit union between a hoverjeep and a portable computer-although it had a curious shimmer about it, as if it were a badly focused holo. But he had a strong suspicion he'd have plenty of other things to worry about, and for the moment he was enjoying just being out of his cell.

Harsh reality would undoubtedly assert itself before he got too comfortable.