Phule Me Twice

Chapter 15

Journal #580

Unpleasant as our confinement had been, my employer and I had never entirely lost confidence in our eventual rescue. Still, when we learned the amount of time that had actually passed, we were surprised at how short it had been. Time inside a closed space, without clues to events in the exteral world, goes much more slowly than outside. This might account for the unusual trepidation with which even hardened criminals regard solitary confinement. In fact, even with each other as companions, my employer and I were quite relieved to learn that our captivity was at an end.

As attentive readers will have anticipated, once we were released into the light of day, we were thoroughly astonished to learn the nature of our captors.

"I don't understand it," said Phule, pointing to the robotlike being standing next to Sushi. "If this creature is what captured us, why didn't we ever see it?"

Sushi shrugged. "I wasn't here, Captain, but I don't think it existed in this form before we started talking to it.

"It didn't exist?" said Beeker. "How, then, Mr. Sushi, did it manage to take us captive?"

"I said, `in this form,' Beeker," said Sushi. "The creatures that captured you are nanotech intelligences: tiny machines that can combine into various larger units to accomplish specific tasks. Until we started talking to them, they didn't have any reason to make themselves visible to us."

"This explains much," said Flight Leftenant Qual. "Not only why our instruments could not detect them but why they thought that your machines were the intelligent creatures, and you some sort of captive animal companions."

Phule's jaw dropped so far it looked for a moment as if it had been dislocated. "What?" he blurted out. "They think that Beeker and I are...pets?"

Sushi managed to keep from grinning. "Yeah, that's about as close as I can describe what seems to be their basic assumption. As far as I can tell, when they saw you two leaving the hoverjeep, they thought you were running away, and so they captured you and took care of you until they could find out what your master-the jeep or the computer-wanted done with you. Apparently, Sir, they have a hard time imagining intelligent animal life..."

"Machines?" Beeker interrupted. "I beg your pardon, young Sir, but I cannot accept the notion of a machine intelligence evolving independently of some original organic creator."

"I'm with you on that, believe me," said Sushi. Then he shrugged. "Maybe they evolved from mechanical junk left behind by some off-world visitors. But that's just a guess. Bottom line is, we're dealing with a civilization of nanomachines. Individually, they're general-purpose units with fairly low intelligence, but when they combine, the larger unit-the macro, I'd call it-can have a total intelligence as high as ours."

"Theoretically higher, if your premise is correct," said Beeker grudgingly. "But I've never heard of such a thing evolving independently."

"Neither have I," said Sushi. "First time for everything, isn't there?"

"Sushi's right," said Phule. "We've got to accept the situation as we find it. And I think he was about to tell us just what that situation is." He turned to Sushi with an expectant smile.

"OK, like Qual was saying, they thought the hoverjeep and the Port-a-Brain were the intelligent beings, and they've been spending their time trying to communicate with them. If you'd been wearing your translators, you might have been able to make sense of the noise on the jeep's communicator. But once you were out of the jeep, not even that would've helped."

"And so they took us prisoner and tried to negotiate with the jeep," said Phule. "I imagine they didn't get very far with that."

"Well, they kept getting back a signal from the Port-a-Brain's modem trying to download your stock quotes," said Sushi. "They could tell it was intelligent, but they couldn't get any useful response from it. And of course they had no way to know that you guys were really in charge of the machines. They apparently had you in some sort of holding pen, being kept alive and healthy but not really getting much of their attention."

"That's not very flattering, I must say," grumbled Beeker.

"It could've been worse," said Phule. "Remember, for a while we were worried that they might decide to have us for lunch."

"I don't think they're interested in organics, anyway," said Sushi. "They were more likely just to turn you loose in the desert to go fend for yourself."

Beeker scoffed. "Not interested in organics? What do they use for fuel? For lubricants?"

Sushi shrugged, but there was a smile on his face. "We don't know, but it's worth finding out, isn't it? Maybe they could use another supplier..."

Phule sat up straight and clapped his hands. "Now, there's the kind of thinking the Legion can use! There's always an opportunity to make a few dollars, if you just ask the right questions. Sushi, I thank you for starting the ball rolling. We'll definitely want to explore that issue further."

"Think nothing of it, Captain," said Sushi, buffing his fingernails. "In fact, they seem to have played the stock market very successfully. They've got a lot of money to spend, once we can figure out what they're likely customers for. I wonder if a finder's fee might not be in order..."

"You'll be in on the ground floor," said Phule.

"Thanks, Captain, I knew you'd do the right thing," said Sushi. "But for now, let's concentrate on getting this situation untangled. I've set the modem to a kiddie Internet channel, and we're running a Roger Robot marathon, but the nanomachines will probably get tired of trying to talk back to it before long. Still, it'll give us some time to figure out how to get you out of here and back to camp-and what to do once you're there."

Phule laughed. "What to do? That doesn't seem too difficult to figure out. A nice long shower, a change of clothes, a cool drink, and then I'll settle down to solving whatever problems have come up since I left. Although, now that we've found the Hidden Ones, we've got to get them and the Zenobians talking-figure out what their interests are, what common ground there might be. That's obviously our main priority. I can't imagine anything more important that'd have come up-"

"Captain, you don't know the half of it," said Sushi, shaking his head. "You don't know the half of it."

Major Botchup was not happy about dealing with the press. It wasn't that he saw publicity as a bad thing; indeed, he had a small file of clippings of his own, carefully gathered and organized to show the highlights (such as they were) of his career to date. Nor was he at all averse to standing in front of cameras and answering reporters' questions at length, often at greater length than the reporters were interested in devoting to him. He well understood the power of positive press.

No, what annoyed Botchup was that the reporters were here not because of him but because of his deposed predecessor. That stuck in his craw. These media vultures ought to be focusing on the winners, not defeated second-raters like that mountebank Captain Jester. He was the commanding officer of Omega Company. It shouldn't matter that he hadn't done anything so far...

"Major, you don't seem to realize what the story is," said Jennie Higgins. "Captain Jester was responsible for putting this company into the public consciousness, and now he's suddenly been replaced in command. People want to know why this has happened, and they want to hear what he has to say about it."

"Miss Higgins, I'll remind you that this is a war zone," said Botchup, sweating despite the excellent climate control system Phule had installed in what had become his successor's office. Jennie's cameraman was lurking right behind her, and he had to measure his words carefully to avoid looking a fool on holoscreens half the galaxy away. His career could be ruined by a careless slip in front of billions of prime-time viewers. "As much as we in the Space Legion understand the public's interest in what we're doing here, at the same time, we have to be on constant guard against our enemies learning something that could compromise our mission here-"

"Of course we understand that, Major," said Jennie with a dazzling smile. "And I know none of our viewers want these brave legionnaires to be put in harm's way by a careless word or holo image." The smile broadened, and she leaned forward over the major's desk. "That's why I've come to you before talking to your people. We've found that the closer we work with the officers in charge of a given operation, the better we can walk that fine line between security and the public's need to know. So what I want from you now is background-off the record, if you'd prefer-and once I know that, we can work out ground rules for the rest of my stay here. Is that OK?"

Botchup found the room getting even warmer; he'd have to check the air-conditioning. But the pretty young reporter-she certainly was pretty-seemed to be making sense, after all. It might be his best chance to get his own name attached to the company's growing reputation, supplanting Jester in public esteem as well as in fact. Jester had played the media the way a trained musician plays a fine synth-organ; now it would be his turn.

Botchup looked into Jennie's eyes and murmured, "Why, Miss Higgins, I think we can work together after all. Now, just what did you need to know?"

"Tell us about yourself, Major," she said, almost cooing. "What brought you to a military career? How did you end up as commanding officer of this company?"

Major Botchup took a deep breath, and a self-satisfied smile came onto his lips. Now, he would tell the story his way. And, for the first time, people all over the Galaxy would understand what made Elmer Botchup the man he was. A man of some importance, a man worthy of respect. He looked straight at the holocam. "It all began when I was a small boy," he said. "That was when I first realized I had the gift of command..."

The holocam purred quietly, recording every word.

"A new CO," said Phule, shaking his head after Sushi had brought him up to date on the situation back at their base. "That's going to be trouble, all right. And you say there's somebody who's impersonating me, as well?"

"That's right, Captain," said Sushi. "He walked in from the desert one night; Garbo and Brick were on guard, then. They can tell you the story. But the main thing is, he was acting very strange, as if he didn't quite know where he was. They all just thought you'd gotten heat stroke in the desert. Now that I think back on it, though, there were plenty of clues that it wasn't you after all. Who do you think it could be? Do you think Headquarters sent somebody to replace you and play crazy so you could be discredited?"

"I doubt most of us would notice a difference, to tell the truth," said Beeker.

"I don't think Headquarters would try that," said Phule, ignoring the butler's jab. "They might be that devious, but they aren't that smart. I've got a pretty good idea what's happened back at base, though, and if I'm right, I won't have much trouble establishing who's who. I'm more worried about this Major Botchup, if he's as bad as you describe."

"Oh, man, he sure is," said Sushi. "Worse-he's like all the Legion horror stories about bad COs rolled up in one. Even the sergeants are acting worried. I've never seen that before."

"That's a bad sign," agreed Phule. "I didn't think there was anything in the galaxy that could faze a sergeant-well, not until the Renegades came after Chocolate Harry, anyhow. And I'll be really worried if the major's got Brandy off her usual track."

"You can judge for yourself when you get back," said Sushi. "And if you're lucky, you can convince the major not to have you cashiered for being AWOL along with the rest of us in the search party. Or maybe he'll throw you in irons for impersonating yourself. He's that kind of hardnose."

"I can get the search party off the hook," said Phule. "You'll claim I ordered you to look for the Hidden Ones before he got on base. Since I wasn't there, I couldn't tell him or the other officers about your mission. He can try to call me on that, but he won't get anywhere if we all stick to the story. I was the legal commander at the time I gave the order."

"Well, I appreciate your taking the heat on it," said Sushi. "He's still likely to try to come after us, but with you on our side, we ought to be all right. Thanks, Captain."

"No problem, Sushi," said Phule. "Remember, that was our main mission when we came here-to help Qual's people find the Hidden Ones, and now that you've found them, it'd look pretty bad not to give you credit for it."

"We're going to have to come up with some name other than Hidden Ones," said Sushi. "They aren't hiding, they're just very small-"

"Nanoids," suggested Mahatma. "From nanotech-"

"Well, that's catchy enough," said Sushi. "Nanoids-"

"A barbarism," sniffed Beeker. But the name stuck.

Jennie Higgins smiled. Her return to Omega Company-once she'd gotten past the new CO-had been like a reunion with old friends. When she stepped into the mess hall, Sergeant Escrima had made a point of filling her tray himself, proudly pointing out his new gourmet creations. Grinning broadly, Chocolate Harry had given her a purple camouflage T-shirt and fatigue cap with Omega Company insignia to wear-an instant icebreaker when she sat down to chat with the legionnaires. Brandy had thrown her arm around her like a kid sister and taken her on a personal tour of the modular base camp that was the company's field headquarters on Zenobia.

In fact, except for Major Botchup's snotty adjutant Lieutenant Snipe, everyone in the company had been eager to make her welcome. And-except for one subject-they'd been more than willing to talk to her. But the minute she mentioned the captain, their expressions turned serious. "You gotta talk to him yourself," said Chocolate Harry, and everyone else had given her some version or another on the same line, without responding to her attempts to pump them for more information. Jennie was very good at pumping interview subjects, and to hit such a pronounced dry spell was in itself unusual.

The problem was, she'd been unable to find Captain Jester-or Willard Phule, to give him the name he'd gone by before he'd joined the Legion. Immediately after her arrival, she'd spotted him sitting under a sort of awning with a pile of paperwork on a table in front of him while everyone else in the company acted as if an invasion was imminent. But Lieutenant Snipe had whisked her off to the command center before her old friend noticed her. When she returned, he'd disappeared, and nobody seemed able to tell her where he was. In fact, when she asked where his actual quarters were, nobody could tell her. They weren't trying to hide it from her-she was too good a reporter to miss the signs of that. They just didn't know.

The other area she'd been unable to learn anything useful about was their mission here on Zenobia. Oh, everybody agreed that the Zenobians had called the company in to advise them how to deal with some mysterious problem. But, while everybody had an opinion, nobody seemed to know for sure just what the problem was. Even the Zenobians themselves had apparently never seen the mysterious invaders who were causing all the fuss. And the only one on the base who might have some more detailed information on the subject was none other than Captain Jester: the one man she couldn't find to talk to.

It had begun to gnaw at her. She'd racked her brain for reasons. Perhaps Phule was ill (she'd already heard the story of how he'd walked in from the desert, from far enough away that his hoverjeep hadn't been found yet). Perhaps the new major's arrival had been such a blow to his normally very healthy ego that he couldn't bear to talk to her. Perhaps it was some kind of conspiracy by top Legion brass to keep him from talking to the press. Perhaps it was something she had unwittingly done.

So it was almost a shock to come out of her tent-Major Botchup had allowed the press corps to set up its own little enclave within the legion perimeter-and see the captain sitting under the awning on a camp stool, riffling through a pile of papers. His expression was good-natured as always, but his body language said "Man Working-Do Not Disturb" as plainly as if he'd hung out a sign.

Jennie hadn't gotten to where she was in her profession without being willing to ignore that kind of message, even from people she didn't know. Willard Phule had taken her out wining and dining and dancing in first-class restaurants on two planets and one luxury space resort. More to the point, he'd given her blanket permission to interview any and every member of his company, with holocams running. He had been her best contact for one of the biggest stories of her career. She sensed that whatever was going on right now might be the single most fascinating twist in the entire story to date. And she certainly wasn't going to let the fact that he was busy get in her way of talking to him.

"Hey, there you are at last! How are you doing?" she called, waving heartily and striding purposefully over to where he sat. She straightened her new purple camouflage hat and smiled her best smile.

Phule raised his head at the sound of her voice and looked right through her. Jennie stopped dead in her tracks. She was used to being looked at-with appreciation by the male lookers, often with envy by the females. On any given day, several billion pairs of eyes might be scanning her face on holo sets all across the Galaxy. And when she walked into a place, it was a given that she'd be the center of attention.

To be looked at with a complete lack of interest-to be looked at as if she didn't even exist-and by someone with whom she'd shared good times and helped in bad times, that was beyond the pale. Jennie couldn't even begin to understand it. She tried to meet Phule's eyes for a moment, but she might as well have been trying to stare down a statue. After a moment, she averted her gaze. This wasn't the man she knew, and whatever had happened to him, she wanted nothing to do with it. She turned away and stumbled off in utter defeat for the first time in her long career.

Under the awning, the captain looked around in puzzlement, and muttered, "I could have sworn somebody was calling me." Then he shrugged and turned back to the pile of papers.

Journal #593

Our return journey to the Legion camp was slower than originally planned, since not all the legionnaires were able to ride in the hoverjeep. Since my employer thought it useful for the party to arrive all at once, he devised a shuttle system, whereby a part of the party would ride to a point within walking distance of camp and wait while the jeep returned for the balance of the party. Eventually, after three trips, all the personnel and equipment were within striking distance of the destination.

Now, though, my employer paused to consider how to go about entering the camp. With a new commanding officer in place, it was not going to be the triumphant homecoming he had envisioned. In fact, it might bear uncomfortable resemblances to attending a hanging-as guest of honor.

"Very well, Captain Clown, we are here," said Flight Leftenant Qual. The party had paused in a thick pack of scrub trees, just within sight of the Legion camp. "Now our difficulty is to bring you into the camp lacking any incident."

"I fear a bigger problem is going to be smuggling out that robot without the new commanding officer learning of it," said Beeker. He turned to Phule and said, "I told you it was a risky idea to depend on it, sir."

"Oh, I'm not worried about the robot," said Phule. "We'll have Sushi bring it out of camp. It's attuned to my vocal patterns, so I can reprogram it verbally. Beeker, you'll put the robot in the hoverjeep and transport it back to the Nanoids' base. When you get there, you'll take the translator off the Port-a-Brain and connect it to the robot so it can communicate with the Nanoids. Then you come back with the jeep, and don't forget the Port-a-Brain! I'll put out the story that I left you behind on some private mission. If everything goes right, they'll never even suspect there was more than one of me here."

"Seems a shame to waste the potential for creative chaos," said Sushi. "We could play some interesting games with the major's head if we had both you and the robot here."

"Don't even think about it," said Phule. "It's much more important for, the robot to serve as a liaison to the Nanoids. We need to set up a permanent communications link with them. If what we've seen of their capabilities is any evidence, they'd be an incredibly valuable addition to the Alliance as a whole. But I guess the diplomats will have to settle that question. I wonder if the Nanoids have diplomats."

"If they don't, I suspect they soon will. Their adaptability is their most impressive trait," said Beeker. He paused a moment, then added, "With proper instruction, I believe they could learn to be quite adequate butlers."

For a moment, Phule was speechless. Then he shook his head and said, "Let's just hope they don't try it. Civilization in this Galaxy has withstood everything from supernovas to clouds of dark matter, but a race of Beekers would be the final straw."

"To the contrary, sir," said Beeker, pulling himself up to his full height. "It would be the first opportunity for a real civilization to exist."

"You two could probably go on about this all night long," said Sushi with a crooked grin. "But I think we'd better get everything else taken care of before you get started on it-if you know what I mean, Captain."

"You're right," said Phule, chuckling. "All right, Beeker, you wait here with the hoverjeep until we bring the robot back. If anybody from the camp comes out looking for you, do what you have to do to lose them. Call me on our private frequency, and we'll figure out an alternate rendezvous point if we need to."

Beeker settled into the hoverjeep's cockpit, and the rest of the party began a careful approach to the perimeter. Not knowing what security measures Major Botchup had put in place since their departure, they couldn't assume they'd be able to walk in unchallenged. For all they knew, the major had ordered the camp guards to shoot any intruders on sight. And while odds were fairly good that the shooting would be done with Zenobian stun rays, being immobilized and brought in for questioning would put a serious crimp in their plans. All of them were technically AWOL, and even before that, all the legionnaires had been ordered confined to the base. The major would most likely throw the book at them without bothering to listen to explanations.

Closer they crept, making use of what little cover remained in the area around the camp. Unfortunately, Phule had chosen the campsite with some awareness of security, which meant that cover was sparse along the approaches to the camp, and thus the returnees were exposed to the eyes of any reasonably vigilant sentries within. Fortunately, this was Omega Company, so there was a fair chance that the sentries were somewhat less vigilant than their new CO might hope.

Suddenly, a voice rang out. "Yo, who that out there? You got half a second 'fore I fry your ass."

"I know that voice," said Sushi. Before Phule could say anything, he stood up and waved his arms. "Hey, Street, it's me," he called. "Keep it down before somebody hears you."

"Stay right there," said Street, somewhat more quietly. He and another figure were silhouetted against the dim lights of the camp, and the group of returnees heard a few lines of muttered conversation between the two before Street called out. "How I know you who you say?"

"Keep it down, OK?" said Sushi. "I'll come right in where you can see me-"

"No way, you stay there 'less you wan' get shot," said Street. "What the password?"

"Password?" Sushi said softly. "There wasn't any password before, was there?"

"Yeah, the major made us start using them," whispered Brick, who was closest to him in the group. "You must not have been on guard duty before you left."

"Who's the other one with him?" said Sushi. "Maybe they'll listen to me."

"Can't tell," said Brick. "They haven't said anything yet. Get 'em to talk, and maybe I can figure it out."

"No need for that," said Garbo's translated voice. "The wind comes from behind them, so I can identify his scent from here. That is the one called Gears."

"Good, he's not one of the major's brown-nosers," said Sushi. "If nobody else has been alerted, we may be in luck. I just have to convince 'em who we are. He lifted his voice again. Yo, Street, is that Gears with you?"

"You gots to have the password, Soosh," said Street. "Major's busting chops somethin' fierce."

"Take it easy. The major doesn't need to know about this," said Sushi. "Just be cool." He turned to Phule and said, "If the major's got Street asking for passwords, he's really got people scared. What do we do now, Captain?"

"Time to take the bull by the horns," said Phule. "Brick, you go to the left, and Garbo to the right, and move in on the perimeter. We'll keep Street and Gears busy until you're closer." The two legionnaires leaned closer as he outlined his plan, their heads nodding as he told them their roles.

"We can do it, Captain!" said Brick with quiet confidence. She and the Gambolt began creeping carefully away from Phule's position.

Meanwhile, Sushi was keeping up a stream of talk. "Look here, Street, you know I've been off base for a while-on a secret mission, you know. The major must have forgotten I was away, because he didn't tell me what the password was gonna be. But now I'm back, and I have to report. How do I get back in without you shooting me?"

"Man, I dunno," said Street, obviously confused. "We gotta send somebody to ask the major."

"No, no, no," said Sushi quickly. "We don't want to wake him up. You know how cheesed off he gets. Just let me come in so I can clean up and get a little rest before I have to report to him. I don't want him giving me the eyeball about my uniform when I'm giving him bad news."

"Bad news?" It was Gears's voice this time, sounding concerned. "What kind of bad news?"

His answer was the soft buzz of Zenobian stun rays, wielded by Garbo and Brick. "Bad news for you," said Sushi softly. The returning group waited a moment, then began to move quietly forward. They were inside the perimeter well before the stunned sentries awoke.

At this time of night, Comm Central was the only place in Omega Company's camp with much activity, and for the most part, it was pretty much a dead zone. Not even the officer of the day usually bothered to spend the latenight hours at the cluttered desk provided in one corner of the comm area. Thanks to Phule's introduction of the wrist communicators, it was normally a matter of moments for Mother to contact the OD-or the CO himself-if something required an officer's attention.

But Lieutenant Snipe had not trained with Omega Company. In his eyes, the company's officers were unpardonably slack in their duties; he'd been sent here to put things right again, So when the rotation came around to him, he spent his OD duty exactly as the Legion academy had taught him: at the desk, alert and prepared for any emergency. After all, as the major kept pointing out (not that anybody seemed to pay attention), this planet was technically a war zone. Anything could happen, and somebody had better be ready to deal with it. According to the books, tonight that somebody was Snipe.

The only other human in Comm Central was Mother, hunched behind her console, keeping tabs on the minimal late-night comm traffic: mostly routine messages from offplanet mixed with perfunctory "all's well" reports from the unlucky legionnaires who'd drawn late-night sentry duty. She steadfastly refused to acknowledge Snipe's presence. At the other desk sat Tusk-anini. So far, Lieutenant Snipe's disapproving glances had drawn no response whatsoever from the Volton, who was steaming along at high speed through the second volume of Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. The night was starting to look like another of those deadly dull intervals that had been the primary feature of Snipe's military career to date.

Having finally abandoned his futile attempts to intimidate Tusk-anini, Snipe found a challenge more worthy of his efforts: keeping himself from dozing off. He was well on his way to losing that battle, as well, when something in the faint buzz of comm traffic brought him to full alertness.

"What was that?" he said, staring in Mother's direction. "I could have sworn I heard something about intruders."

"imperthnthnthn," explained Mother, sinking lower behind her console.

"I hear it, too," said Tusk-anini. He marked his place and set the book down on the desk, then stood up and walked over behind Mother, looking over her shoulder at the readouts on her console. His piggish countenance took on even more of a frown than it usually wore.

Lieutenant Snipe stood and made as if to join him, but the Volton raised a huge paw and shook his head with unmistakable meaning. Snipe managed to resist the impulse to point out that, as an officer, he should be giving the orders. Instead, he asked in a somewhat timorous voice, "What's going on?"

"Don't know yet," said Tusk-anini. "Snipe be quiet; Mother listening."

Snipe opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say a word, all hell broke loose.