Phule Me Twice

Chapter 8

Journal #537

The curious thing about the Zenobian Empire was that it largely overlapped Alliance territory. The Zenobians had even settled colonies on planets in several systems the Alliance thought of as its own. But the lizardlike aliens preferred an environment that most of the Alliance races found oppressively hot and therefore tended to settle planets closer to the primaries than those settled by other sophonts. Since space travel was normally conducted at light speed, and the two races used entirely different frequencies for communication, there had been no direct contact between the races until one of their ships made an emergency landing on Haskin's Planet and was discovered by members of my employer's company.

Now that the Zenobians had declared their intention of working with the predominantly human Alliance, the two species were amazed to learn just how many systems they had inhabited in common without at all interacting, like fish in the depths of a mountain lake and gorgeous flowers on the bank.

One of the biggest surprises was the location of the Zenobians' home planet.

The knock on the stateroom door was expected. With a sigh, Lola stood up and went to open it. Out in the corridor stood a dark-haired man in ship's uniform, carrying an electronic notebook. He showed an ID card and said, "Good day, ma'am. I'm investigating an incident overnight. Would you mind answering a few questions?"

"Why, of course not," said Lola, looking at the card. "Master at arms-that sounds exciting. Was the ship attacked?"

"I could do without that kind of excitement, ma'am," said the officer with a low chuckle. "Master at arms is just an old-fashioned title for a ship's security officer. On a ship like this, that's a part-time job. I earn my keep by being purser, and second engineer in a real pinch."

"Well, I don't know whether to be disappointed or not," said Lola with a flippant gesture. "Space travel is so unromantic. I've had more excitement on a hoverbus. What kind of incident are you investigating, Mr...uh, Mr. Hernandez?"

"One of the lifeboats left the ship, and about the only way that could have happened was if there was a person on board. So we're checking to see if anyone's missing. I have this cabin listed as a double. You're Miss Miller, I presume-sharing with a Mr. Reeves?"

"That's right," said Lola. She took a seat on the love seat to one side of the small stateroom and crossed her legs. "Ernie's gone to the lounge for a drink. I expect he'll be back to change for dinner, say in an hour or so. Did you need to see him now?"

"Not really, ma'am," said Hernandez. "Right now, we're getting a quick count of passengers so we can determine who's missing. Then we'll know who took the lifeboat."

"What will you do when you learn that?" asked Lola, leaning forward and toying with a strand of hair. This officer might be an interesting person to get to know better, she thought. After all, the ship's purser might have access to a fair amount of money.

"I expect we'll try to attach the hijacker's assets," said the officer. "One of these lifeboats costs as much as a small intrasystem space yacht. If you've ever priced those, you know it's no joke. Even if we recover it in one piece, it'll cost us a fair amount to get it back into service."

"I can imagine," she said. "I wonder why anyone would take it. Where would this hijacker be planning to go?"

"His plans don't matter much, ma'am," said Hernandez. "Once the boat's launched, it's programmed to find the nearest planet that humans could survive on, and land there. There's no manual override at all. After all, the designers have to assume that it'll be carrying passengers with no astrogational skills. Trying to land other than by automatics would be sheer suicide."

"The nearest planet," mused Lola. "Where would that be, now?"

"When the boat deployed, we were still within the system where Lorelei station's located, ma'am," said the officer. "There's one marginally habitable planet, listed on our charts as HR-63. A hot one, but breathable air and a solid surface. Our fellow will be landing there, probably in two or three weeks' time, and the boat has sufficient supplies to keep one person alive for a couple of years. I doubt he'll need them for long, though. We've recently learned that the planet is inhabited, and the indigenes have joined the Alliance. We'll have to go through State, but maybe they can get them to take him into custody until he can be sent back to face charges."

"Oh, that would be good," said Lola, trying to sound enthusiastic about it. This was bad news. It meant that she and Ernie would have to take evasive measures, after all. She'd been hoping the boat and the robot would simply disappear into empty space, leaving no clues who had stolen it. On the other hand, it might take a while for the indigenes to turn over the robot, which would give her and Ernie plenty of time to disappear on their own. "What's this new race I haven't heard about?" she asked, fluttering her eyelids. If she was going to get this purser to pay attention to her, she had to keep him talking.

"A bunch of miniature dinosaurs," said Hernandez with a quirky grin. "They call themselves Zenobians."

"Invisible alien drones, huh? That's one I ain't heard before," said Do-Wop.

"There's got to be an explanation for it," said Sushi. "Invisibility doesn't work, except in specially rigged circumstances. It's easy to make something hard to find from a certain angle or direction-say, for a magician working on holovision or on a stage. But even when it's invisible from the audience, somebody watching from backstage or the wings would usually be able to see how it's done."

"I'll take your word for it," said Phule, who'd called his new base as soon as the conference with Korg was over. "The point is, you two are the champion tricksters in the company, and that means you're the best I'm likely to get. If there's any way to make something invisible, you'll either know it or figure it out. So that's your job, Figure out how these drones are staying invisible. I'll bring you the Zenobians' intercepts of the alien signals. Anything you need in the way of equipment, it's yours. I want results as soon as you can get 'em."

"Sure, Captain, you got it," said Do-Wop. He rubbed his hands together and said, "Me and Soosh can't figure it out, it can't be done."

"We'll get an equipment list to Chocolate Harry as soon as we've checked out the data," said Sushi. "Any chance of a look at the Zenobians' equipment? I could tell a lot more if I knew what its capabilities are."

"I think we can manage that," said Phule. "Korg says he's ordered his military people to cooperate with us, although I doubt they'll show us any really secret stuff. Anything else?"

"Sure, some dancing girls and a keg of beer, while you're at it," said Do-Wop. "Can't expect us to come up with brainstorms without the necessities."

Phule smiled. "I'll remind you that we're a bit off the usual supply routes for dancing girls; they may take a while to deliver. You can requisition beer through the usual channels."

"Man, that's just not the Omega Mob way," griped Do-Wop. "This outfit does everything first class, don't ya know?"

"I'm glad to hear you say that," said Phule, laughing. "If you'll think back a moment, you just might recall that I'm the one who invented the Omega Mob way. Or have you mercifully blanked the swamps of Haskin's Planet out of your memory?"

Without batting an eye, Do-Wop pointed out the window to the desolate Zenobian landscape: scraggly brush, sun-baked rocks, arid streambeds, low hills in the distance. He turned back to the communicator pickup and said, "You're telling me this joint is some kind of improvement, Cap?"

"Sure," said Phule, deadpan. "Think about it. Back on Haskin's, you were either up to your boot tops in swamp or sitting in a run-down camp waiting to go back to the swamp. Here, you've got the latest state-of-the-art field encampment, and the Zenobians probably won't let you anywhere near the swamps."

"It's still way too much like bein' in the Legion for my blood," said Do-Wop. "But I guess I don't have any selection as far as that."

"Of course not," said Phule, leaning closer to the pickup on his end. "You two draw up the list of equipment you'll need, and get it to Harry ASAP. I want you to drop everything else for this project, understand?"

"You got it, Cap'n," said Do-Wop, suddenly enthusiastic. He nudged Sushi, then (just to be on the safe side) asked Phule, "This means no regular duty of any kind, right?"

"Consider this your regular duty for now, and give it your full attention," said Phule. "I'll expect a preliminary report to be on my desk as soon as I return to camp-the day after tomorrow, if things go according to schedule. Anything else? Good, then go to work." He cut the connection.

The two partners looked at each other. "Well, you heard the captain," said Sushi. "Let's get to work on this job before he decides to give it to somebody else and puts us back to doing real work."

"Man, I was really hoping for the dancing girls," said Do-Wop, pretending to sulk.

"Keep that up and you'll have Sergeant Brandy doing the not-so-soft-shoe on your behind," said Sushi. He punched his partner playfully in the shoulder and said, "Grab your comp-u-note and start listing stuff we can use."

"OK, then, first thing we gotta have is the beer," said Do-Wop. "Gimme enough of that, and I can think of almost anything."

"That's what I'm afraid of," said Sushi with a very convincing shudder. The shudder might even have been real.

"Sarge, we got a bone to pick with you."

Chocolate Harry looked up. He'd been sitting at his makeshift desk, reading Biker's Dream magazine. There stood half a dozen legionnaires with grim expressions on their faces. Only a veteran could have spotted (as Harry did) the edge of worry behind their determined front.

"Sure, dudes, what's up?" Harry shifted his bulk on the reinforced camp stool he occupied. Without making any particular deal out of it, he picked up a bayonet and began cleaning his fingernails with the finely honed point. Behind him was the prefabricated shed that was the company's supply depot here on Zenobia.

"Well, it's like this," said Street, who seemed to be the leader of this delegation. "You told everybody we were goin' to be fightin' them renegade robots, off on some asteroid-"

"Well, bro, that was the scuttlebutt at the time," said C. H. "You stay around the Legion long enough, you hear all kinds of stuff, and after a while you get a feel for what you can believe and what you can't."

Street's face took on a puzzled expression. "Man, it was you done told us that."

Chocolate Harry didn't look up from his fingernail cleaning. "Was it, now? You sure 'bout that, Street?"

Street turned to his companions for support, and when he saw them nodding their heads, he turned back to the supply sergeant and said, "Yeah, it was you, all right. You kep' tellin' , us 'bout that asteroid full of renegade robots and how we was gonna need this here robot camo to keep 'em from zappin' us. Ain't that right?"

"What if it is?" asked Harry casually.

"Well, looks to me like this ain't no freakin' asteroid," said Street, sweeping his arm around the horizon in a grand circle. "So we done been skanked, is what I think."

Chocolate Harry's broad face took on an expression of profound sympathy. "Skanked? What makes you think that, Street?" He looked around at the others. "I'm surprised at you. Double-X, what're you doin' here? Brick, Slayer, you too? And Spartacus-you and me have always been tight."

"Sarge, you told us we needed that robot camo, and we paid you a pretty stiff price for it," said Double-X, trying to regain control of the encounter. Like the other legionnaires in the group, he wore several garments made of the purple-splotched fabric Chocolate Harry had represented as robot-proof. "But they sent us to this here world, not that asteroid."

"Now, you all must have misunderstood me," said Harry. "I never said we were gonna get sent to that asteroid, did I? I said that's where the robots was from, that's all. Now, here we are on a planet with an unknown enemy. Who's to say it ain't the renegade robots, huh? How you know it ain't, Street?"

"Hmmm..." Street scratched his head. "Well, you got me there, Sarge." He looked around at his companions again, fishing for support.

Chocolate Harry didn't give the moment of silence a chance to linger. "Now, the thing about a robot is, it's a machine," he said. "You can't fight a robot like you would a regular organic sophont. These Zenobian stun rays, they ain't worth a nickel 'gainst a bot, no way."

"I can see that could be a problem," said Brick, nodding. She'd experienced the stun ray firsthand and was among the company's best long-range experts with it. Then she furrowed her brow and said, "But it's only a problem if the robots show up here. How do we know they're going to show up, Sarge?"

"Well, that's where an old legionnaire like me can just feel a few things in his bones," said Chocolate Harry, leaning back and slipping the bayonet back into its sheath. "These Zenobians, they've had the stun ray longer than anybody, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," said Brick. The others nodded, too. It seemed a logical conclusion.

Chocolate Harry spread the fingers of his left hand and began to count off his points as he made them. "So, they call us here. That's gotta mean they found an enemy they can't handle, right?"

"Yeah, that must be what it mean," said Street, a frown of concentration on his face.

"So what kinda enemy can't they handle with the stun ray?" said Harry, looking at the faces of his audience. "Gotta be robots!" He slapped his hand on his thigh with a loud smack.

"Sarge's makin' sense," said Double-X, almost against his will.

"Damn straight I'm makin' sense," said Chocolate Harry, seizing his advantage. "They've brought us in here because they have a robot invasion. It's as plain as the nose on Tusk-anini's face. The stun ray's worthless, and it's the Legion that's gotta pick up the pieces. And you know who that means."

He stared around at the ring of now-worried faces, hanging on his every word. "If I was you, I'd be makin' sure I had plenty of robot camo, and I'd be practicin' my conventional weapons. 'Cause when the hammer comes down, you're the ones gotta stop it. Got it?"

"Sure do, Harry, sure do," said Street. "Thanks for the tip-off." He began backing slowly away, and the others followed suit.

"If you need any more camo, you know where to get it," said Harry, managing somehow to keep a straight face. Nobody took him up on the offer. But he knew they would. All he had to do was wait for his new story to spread. He picked up the biker magazine and began searching for the article he'd been reading.

Journal #540

At the same time as my employer and I were visiting the Zenobian commanders, they had sent a delegation to our camp. Appropriately, it was headed by the Zenobian most familiar with our race and with Omega Company. It did not escape my observation that this state of affairs deprived my employer of his most likely ally in dealing with the aliens. And while my employer claimed to see nothing suspicious in this circumstance, the phrase "exchange of hostages" inevitably came to mind.

"Lieutenant Strong-Arm, it is a pleasure for me to welcome you to Zenobia!" The translator-altered voice startled Lieutenant Armstrong, but he recognized it even before he'd finished turning around to face the speaker.

"Flight Leftenant Qual!" Armstrong allowed himself a broad smile. The little Zenobian had been a military observer with Omega Company, both on Lorelei Station and on Landoor, and after an initial period of distrust, he had become a favorite with the company's officers and enlisted legionnaires. Now, here he was, stepping out of a hovercar of what must be the local design. Two uniformed companions followed him through the doorway. "Welcome to our camp," said Armstrong.

"This is a very fine station, Lieutenant." Flight Leftenant Qual made a sweeping gesture, indicating the entire Omega Company encampment, nodding vigorously. "The resourcefulness of you humans impresses. I am here to provide briefing as to your mission, at the same time as Captain Clown receives it from my superiors."

"Very good," said Armstrong, who had already been informed of Qual's imminent arrival. "Would you like me to show you the camp, or do you need to get to work?"

"I will instruct my subordinates to set up our shelter," said Qual, indicating a large bundle the other two Zenobians were unloading from the Zenobian hover vehicle, which had landed just outside Omega Company's perimeter. He turned and gave instructions to his soldiers, who replied in his own language. After a bit, Qual nodded and turned to Armstrong again. "All is preparing. We locate adjacent to our machine, so that attaching to it, we do not depend on your power supply. Now, the time is to provide briefing."

"OK, Rembrandt's in command while the captain's away, so she'll need to hear this," said Armstrong. "She may want to bring in the sergeants, too. Let's go to headquarters and find out." He led the way to the MBC, with Qual waving to various legionnaires who recognized their old friend.

At headquarters, Rembrandt, Armstrong, and Brandy were waiting: Phule's major subordinates. Sushi and Do-Wop, who'd been assigned to investigate the invaders' invisibility, had also come to the briefing.

After a quick round of greetings, Qual came directly to his point. "What I am here for is to find what you need in the way of intelligence to carry out your mission against the Hidden Ones," he said.

"Hidden Ones?" Sushi's eyebrows went up a notch. "Oh, I get it-you're talking about the invaders. The captain's told us a little about the problem. We're working on it, although we haven't had time to get much beyond the basics. What I'd really like to figure out is how these aliens have avoided detection."

"Yes, manifest accordance," said Qual. "There is a great military secret there, I am sure, and one that both our forces would doubtless wish to have access to."

"That's right," said Rembrandt. "Do you have any leads yet, Sushi?"

"It's a stumper," admitted Sushi. "But as far as theory goes, I can't see any easy explanation that fits in with accepted science. You shouldn't be able to change the molecules of a living body so that light can pass through them unaffected-not and keep the body alive."

"Maybe the theory's wrong," said Armstrong, fiddling with a pencil. He was always impatient with abstractions.

"Could be," said Sushi, shrugging. "But molecular structure's just one problem. Invisibility flies in the face of half a dozen principles. With all those impossibilities piled on top of one another, maybe the original premise is wrong somehow."

"Oho, Sushi, I see how you are intending," said Qual. He opened and closed his mouth, with a very impressive display of fangs. "Nonetheless, I can tell you, we have left nothing to chance. The coordinates of the Hidden Ones' transmissions were most carefully plotted, and the arrival of our forces was kept masked until the ultimate moment. The site was investigated with thoroughness, and nothing was learned. I can speak with certainty, for I was among the investigators."

"Well, I'd trust you to spot anything that was there to be spotted," said Rembrandt. "I can see what Sushi's getting at, too, but I think we've got to assume the Zenobians know what they're talking about."

"I'll take Qual's word for the observations," said Sushi. "What I question is the Zenobians' conclusion. The Alliance uses a lot of camouflage and stealth technology. What's to say that these invaders don't have even more advanced stealth technology than our forces?"

"Well, that's precisely what we're assuming," said Rembrandt. "But the Zenobians detected the Hidden Ones' signals very easily once they found the frequency. That argues that their technology isn't particularly advanced. Why, any properly stealthed signal is practically indistinguishable from normal background radiation."

"So it is," said Qual. "Our inability to locate these Hidden Ones is strong evidence that in one respect, at least, they are more advanced than either of us. It is not a good idea to underestimate them."

"That's what I'm worried about, yes," said Armstrong.

"It's never a good idea to underestimate somebody who might be invading you."

"Captain Clown can tell you that we are estimating the Hidden Ones as a big difficulty," said Qual. "It is clear from their transmissions that they are already on our planet, scouting for suitable sites to establish settlements. But they make no attempt to contact us, do not reply to our signals on their own wavelengths. We must by default conclude that their intentions are hostile."

"Yeah, I'm afraid that's the obvious conclusion," said Rembrandt. "The question that raises is, what are we going to do about it?" She looked around the room, but nobody seemed to have an answer.

"Do you really intend to give that pair of scamps carte blanche to investigate this problem, sir?" Beeker's disapproval was plain on his face.

"Sure, why not?" Phule looked puzzled. "I'm sure the Zenobians have their experts working on all the conventional ways to solve the problem. We might as well put our money on the unconventional approach. Sushi's as good on the computer as anybody in the company, and Do-Wop's got the equivalent of a master's degree in low cunning. Maybe they'll crack it-and if they don't, this'll keep them out of trouble for a while."

"You assume that the aliens' apparent invisibility is the result of some kind of trickery," said the butler. "What if it is inherent in their very nature?"

"Natural camouflage of some sort?" Phule rubbed his chin. "I suppose it's possible. There are plenty of species that can blend into the landscape almost undetectably. Although here, we're talking about electronic surveillance, which is a lot harder to fool than the bare eyeball. Besides, you'd think that a species from another planet would be evolved to match the landscape of its own home world, not one they've invaded."

Beeker steepled his fingertips. "That argument overlooks how similar the environments of life-bearing planets are, sir. The minerals that make up the soil are very much the same here as on the other worlds we've been on, although they differ in their proportions. A desert creature from Earth-or from a dozen other worlds-would blend in very well with the dry country we flew over on the way here, I think. I suspect that their swamp creatures will turn out to mimic the color of the local mud."

"Parallel evolution," Said Phule, nodding. "Sure, the scientists have found plenty of examples of that. But at the same time, there are always unique qualities to a planet's style of life. Tusk-anini's face may look like a warthog, but he's got opposable thumbs and upright posture-"

"Which I must point out, sir, are parallel to features found in other Earth creatures," said Beeker, unperturbed.

Phule raised his hand, forefinger in the air. "The Synthians-"

"Yes, sir," said Beeker, cutting him off. "I am certain we could trade examples and counterexamples all day. That would not prove or disprove my point, which is simply that life adapted to one planet is not automatically out of place on another. Look how many worlds we humans have successfully colonized. My original point, sir, is that Sushi and Do-Wop ought to be reminded to look for solutions that do not depend on advanced stealth technology.

"I'll trust Do-Wop to check out the low-tech end," said Phule. "The lower it is, the more likely he is to think of it-"

"Undeniably," said Beeker. His face remained placid.

After a moment, Phule frowned. "All right, Beek, I know that act," he said, pointing a finger at his butler. "You think I'm doing something stupid, but you don't think it's your place to call me out on it. So you'll let me fall all over myself doing it, and then pick me up with a smug I-told-you-so expression. Or you'll pull strings behind my back to make me do what you think I ought to be doing, without knowing it was your idea. Am I right or wrong?"

"I would not put it in quite those terms, sir."

"I don't care what terms you want to put it in," said Phule. "We're in a different situation; this is a military operation, and more than just saving face could be at issue. If it's something I need to know, I need to know it before we get into real trouble. So cough it up, Beek."

Beeker drew himself up straight. "Sir, as I have told you more than once, I have no special expertise-nor special interest, either-in military affairs."

"I don't think that's relevant," said Phule sharply. "Come on, now. There's something you're holding back, and I want to know it."

Beeker put his hands behind his back and said, "Very well, sir. Is there someplace we can speak in complete privacy?"

"What's wrong with here?" said Phule, looking around at the apartment the Zenobians had given him for his use during his stay in their capital. Then a light came into his face, and he said, "Aha, I see what you're getting at. Sure, I think we can find someplace. Let's take a walk."

Phule and Beeker walked out the door-ducking their heads, since it had been built for a race just over half normal human height-and headed down the hallway toward the street exit. A Zenobian in uniform-a Mudrover, to judge by its color-was on guard in the hallway. The alien rose to its feet and made a hissing sound; Phule had donned a translator for the purpose, and almost as the Zenobian spoke, he heard a mechanical voice in his ear: "Greetings, Captain! May I be of service?"

"Thank you, no," said Phule. "My butler and I have decided to get some exercise before our meal. We will walk around on your streets for a while and return here shortly."

"It may not be safe," protested the Zenobian. "I must accompany you, to see that you encounter nothing perilous."

"You are welcome to join us," said Phule solemnly. He looked at Beeker, raising an eyebrow.

Beeker shrugged. "I suppose this simply confirms what I had suspected. However, there may be a way around the problem."

"To begin with, I'll turn off my translator," said Phule, reaching down to his belt and touching the switch. "Then they'll have to record and replay our conversation through a translator to get any idea of what we're talking about."

"I believe we can expect them to do exactly that," said Beeker. "However, I think there may be a way to complicate their task." A little smile came to the corners of his mouth, and he said, "Ow-hay ell-way o-day anslatorstray andle-hay ig-pay atin-lay?"

Journal #542

Conveying my concerns to my employer was a simple matter once we hit upon a proper method for clandestine communication, which, if I properly read the expression on the face of our Zenobian chaperon, the mechanical translator rendered as pure gibberish. The Zenobians would undoubtedly find ways to penetrate the subterfuge, but it would probably take them long enough that my employer and I had a short period, at least, during which we could communicate privately.

And, while my employer did not entirely agree with my assessment of the situation, he did agree that Sushi and Do-Wop needed to take my questions into consideration. For, the moment, unless we got strong evidence that something more than we had so far seen was taking place on Zenobia, that would have to suffice.

However, I had the strong premonition that only with our return to Omega Company would we begin to see the full scope of the problem facing Zenobia and of our role in solving it.

As it happened, I was almost right.

Mahatma had just finished tightening down a few final bolts in the MBC's windscreen. Stopping to take a breather and glance at the surrounding territory, he noticed a bright object in the sky. From its motion, there was only one thing it could be. He set the wrench he'd been using carefully into its proper niche in the toolbox-Mahatma was very solicitous to treat his tools with proper respect, an attitude he only rarely extended to his military superiors-and hurried off to find someone to tell.

He found Chocolate Harry by the off-ramp of the landing shuttle, taking inventory of supplies. "Sergeant," said Mahatma, "There is a ship about to land nearby."

"A ship, huh?" Chocolate Harry looked at Mahatma, then followed the pointing finger to the bright object in the sky, now obviously lower and moving in a way that left its artificial nature unmistakable. "Yeah," he agreed. "That's a ship, or I'm full of it." He pointed to the communicator on Mahatma's wrist. "How come you didn't just use that thing, tell Mother to pass the word along?"

"It seemed important to get a corroborative witness," said Mahatma. "When I approach Sergeant Brandy, she takes on a skeptical expression. While it is good that she is learning to question appearances, it is perhaps better in this case for the company to act in response to the appearance and question its meaning later."

"Sure," said Chocolate Harry, although by his expression he was anything but. Nonetheless, he lifted his own wrist and activated the communicator. "Mother, we got a visual sighting of unknown ship approaching from the east, looks like it's gonna land near the camp. Get word to the officers pronto. ETA, maybe five minutes. Can't tell whether they're on our side or not, but I think we better be ready for anything."

"Got it, oh Large Sarge," said Mother. There was just a hint of a crackle around the edge of her voice-some kind of local interference, no doubt. "Is there anything out there big enough for you to hide under if they start shooting?"

"You talkin' to the man with all the guns," said Harry, but Mother had already cut the connection, presumably to alert the officers. He squinted at the sky again, trying to make out any identifying characteristics of the approaching ship. "Can't see squat in this light," he grumbled.

"What should we be doing, Sarge?" said Mahatma.

"What you should be doin' is the last thing you were told to do, until somebody tells you to do somethin' else," said Chocolate Harry.

"That is why I was asking you that question," said Mahatma, "but you have only answered half of it."

Chocolate Harry turned and frowned at him. The massive black sergeant's frown was rumored to have the power to dent heavy armor at short range, but Mahatma stood his ground, a beatific smile in place. After a moment, Harry shrugged. "Hell, I guess the same applies to me as to you. Until somebody tells me to do somethin' else, I got supplies to inventory. As for you-"

Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by the alarms on both their wrist communicators buzzing at once. "General alert!" came Mother's voice. "Unidentified intruder approaching base. All personnel report to battle stations. Repeat, all personnel to battle stations. This is not a drill."

"O-kay, you heard the lady," said Chocolate Harry. "Let's get it on!" He dropped his clipboard next to the pallet of battery packs he'd been checking in and headed off at a surprisingly quick pace, considering his bulk.

"That is a curious expression," said Mahatma, but the supply sergeant was already out of earshot. Deprived of an audience, Mahatma turned and headed toward his assigned position. There would be someone-probably Brandy-there to answer his questions, he knew.

And maybe, at last, he'd find out whether all the training he'd been questioning since his first day in the Legion made some kind of sense, after all.

That was a lot faster than I'd have expected, thought Brandy, impressed in spite of herself. The months of drill seemed to have paid off, even when the company found itself in a completely new situation where the assignments and stations weren't already second nature, the way they ought to be in a real emergency.

Brandy smiled as she checked the disposition of her troops. Oh, there'd been enough screwups-everybody knew there'd be screwups. There was always going to be somebody in the latrine or the shower or otherwise less than prepared to have the whistle blow right now. Brick and Street were going to have people making wisecracks about their simultaneous arrival at their stations, both more than half out of uniform, for weeks to come. And Super-Gnat had taken a pratfall that might have been grounds for medical evacuation if Tusk-anini hadn't nudged her just enough for her head to miss a heavy structural beam. But everybody was in place, more or less ready for action, and now all they had to do was wait and see if there was going to be any action. Easier said than done.

The unidentified ship was definitely on course to land at their encampment; nobody doubted that now. Mother had been trying to hail it for several minutes, but the local interference was noticeably stronger. Maybe their signals had gotten through, and maybe not. Transponder signals indicated that the intruder was an Alliance transport of a standard model, although a clever enemy could fake that very easily. The best policy was to be ready for trouble. Brandy just hoped they were ready for the right kind of trouble. As to whether they could handle it-well, that was what they were paying her for, wasn't it?

The ship swooped lower, losing speed now. Brandy knew there would be weapons trained on it, in case of hostile action on its part; but if the transponder readings were correct, this model wasn't likely to be armed-or armored, either. That didn't rule out jury-rigged weaponry or a faked signal. She lifted her wrist and spoke into the communicator. "Any word from that ship, Mother?"

"Nothing, Brandy," said Comm Central. "Either there's too much interference, or they're up to no good."

Another voice crackled out of the loudspeaker: Lieutenant Rembrandt, acting as CO in Captain Jester's absence. "Brandy, are your people in position?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Brandy. "All present and accounted for. Say the word, and we can blow that ship to atoms."

"I hope I don't have to say that word," said Rembrandt. Her voice was calm, but Brandy thought she detected an edge to it. There had to be some emotion at the prospect of facing combat after all their time in the Legion. Every legionnaire expected this moment, trained for it, knew it could come at any time. It was still an unsettling feeling, standing in a defensive perimeter, waiting to see if the hammer was about to fall.

"Ship's landing," said somebody in the defensive line ahead of Brandy. Sure enough, it had lost more speed and was descending steadily, under power but committed to a touchdown. Now was the point at which it could most easily be destroyed. Once it was down, almost anything could happen. Brandy wished it would identify itself. Failing that, all she could do was wait for word from Rembrandt-or outright hostile action by the ship. If it came to that, it might be too late to do anything useful. She clenched her jaw. The ship continued its descent.

"Still no response from the ship," came Rembrandt's voice from the wrist communicator. "Maybe their equipment's just on the blink, or maybe it means something. We aren't going to take any chances, Brandy. Anything that looks like an attack, don't wait for word from me to defend yourselves. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am, " said Brandy. She turned and shouted to her squad, "All right, you bleepers. Get a bead on the exits from that ship the second it touches down, and be ready to take out anything you see moving. Nobody fires until I give the word, but everybody better have a target when I do give it."

"Sergeant?" said Mahatma's voice, not far away. "I have a question."

"This isn't the time for questions," roared Brandy. "Get in your position and pick a target. And be ready for my signal. Do it now!"

The nervous tension along the line went up perceptibly. Out in the open, less than half a kilometer away, the ship was settling down, kicking up a cloud of dust. Brandy growled. The dust would make it harder to see what was going on. She hoped there wasn't anybody aboard that ship planning to take advantage of that momentary cover. "Hold steady," she muttered into her communicator. The ship was definitely on the ground now.

Through the cloud of dust she could make out a hatchway beginning to open. She lifted her stereoculars to her eyes, trying to make out more detail. This hatchway could be a decoy, with the main force unloading on the far side of the ship. Was there movement inside the ship? She fiddled with the resolution, trying to cut through the dust.

Something was coming out the hatchway, down the ramp that had deployed beneath it. Something dark, and mansized. "Brick, Slayer, Mahatma, take a bead on that hatchway," she ordered-those were the squad's best marksmen. "The rest of you, keep an eye out for anything coming from behind the ship."

The figure exiting the ship was now all the way on the ground and moving steadily toward the Legion camp. Another figure, also clad in black, emerged from the hatchway behind it. "Keep a steady bead, but hold your fire," said Brandy.

Now the dust had settled enough for her to make out the figures more clearly. "What the hell?" she said. "Hold your fire, people; those are Legion uniforms." What Legion officer-she had no doubt these were officers, to justify a special ship to bring them here-would be coming here? She waited as the two men came closer. Steadily they marched toward the camp, the smaller figure behind carrying a couple of briefcases and a computer bag. Behind them, a robot baggage handling cart was emerging from the open hatchway, piled high with luggage.

Straight ahead came the two Legion officers. At last, perhaps a dozen paces from the perimeter, the lead figure stopped and looked at the startled Omega Company defenders. "Well, it looks like a Legion base," said a high-pitched, whining voice. After a suspenseful pause, it added, with a definite snarl, "Enough to fool a civilian, maybe," and started forward again.

Brandy still didn't know who she was looking at, but she stood up and said, "Halt and identify yourself."

The lead figure didn't even slow down. Instead, it said, "Major Botchup, Commanding Officer, Omega Company, Space Legion." It kept on coming.

"Commanding officer?" Brandy's jaw fell. "Sir, the CO of Omega Company is Captain Jester."

"Was Captain Jester," said Major Botchup. He was now close enough that Brandy could make out his sneering face. He was surprisingly young, she thought. He looked up and down the line and made a sour face. "You clowns have had your little picnic long enough. I'm your new CO, by orders of General Blitzkrieg, and things are by God about to change around here!"