Phule's Errand

3

Journal #770-

“Neurons, spare, freeze-dried, three cases,” said the tall Black woman, bending down to look at the bottom shelf of the medical supply closet.

“Neurons, spare, freeze-dried, three cases-check,” said Beeker. He marked the item on the handheld electrotablet he was using to record the information for transfer to the medical supply database that had just been set up. Until just a day ago, Chocolate Harry had been in charge of the base’s medical supplies. With an autodoc taking care of the legionnaires of Omega Company, there hadn’t been any particular reason to separate the medical materials from the general supplies. But with a live medic on-planet, that was about to change.

Nightingale-formerly known as Laverna-stood up and stretched. “OK,” she said, tiredly. “Looks as if we’ve got almost everything a detached company is going to need. Unless you’re planning on some kind of war breaking out here, I ought to be able to do the job.“

“I would have expected that of you,” said Beeker, who’d volunteered to help the company’s new medic inventory her infirmary’s supplies.

“You’re a trusting sort, aren’t you?” said Nightingale, deadpan. But there was a noticeable edge to her voice.

“Yes, when circumstances justify it,” said Beeker, raising an eyebrow. “I trusted you to finish training and come join this company, and so you have. Show me the fault in that.”

Nightingale said, “Well-ll…” Then she fell silent, with a sidelong glance at the butler.

Beeker elevated his other eyebrow. After waiting a long moment, he said (with an unaccustomed show of impatience), “Are you going to continue your remarks, or am I going to be forced to rely on guesswork? I don’t pretend to be expert at interpreting silences.”

Nightingale shrugged. “If you really want me to point out a fault in your behavior, you might consider that some men would have been glad to come with me instead of waiting for me to come back to them.”

“Some men,” Beeker repeated, stiffly. “Is that a general comment, or am I to infer someone in particular from it?”

“Infer whatever you like,” said Laverna, with a look that might have meant anything.

Beeker was having nothing to do with that gambit. “Actually, I’d like a direct answer,” he said, spreading his hands apart, palms up. “Hints and guesses are all very well in their place, mind you, but there comes a point when one needs to know what the other person is really trying to say. If you were expecting me to read your mind, I fear you’re in for a disappointment.”

Laverna looked at him over one shoulder. “Funny, I thought butlers were good at that kind of thing.”

“It’s often a professional advantage to give one’s master that impression,“ said Beeker. ”You may have found yourself in a similar position with your former employer.“ He favored her with a small, knowing smile. ”Of course, one never reveals that one’s employer’s unspoken wishes are so transparent that a none-too-bright child could see through them. The master might take it as a reflection on his intelligence.“

“Uh-huh,” said Laverna. “I’ve looked down the barrel of that gun a few times. All right, I get your point.” She took a deep breath, then said, “It seems to me that I’m the one who’s made all the adjustments in this relationship. I leave Lorelei, start over in a completely new field, going through Legion Basic-which is every bit as nasty as you’d expect-and then buckle down to a year of advanced medical training. Meanwhile, you get to lounge around luxury resorts, acting as father confessor to Omega Company, with occasional breaks to help your boss juggle his investments. I finally pull some strings to get myself reassigned to your boss’s outfit, and what do I find?”

There was a longish silence while Laverna glared at Beeker. At last, the butler shrugged, and said, “We appear to be back where we began. I could venture a guess at what you mean, but it appears highly likely that, unless I were to stumble upon the correct answer at once, it’d be a mark against me. So I’ll simply have to take the coward’s way out. I’m afraid you’re going to have to tell me, my dear.”

Laverna wrinkled her nose, opened her mouth, then shut it again. Slowly a broad grin spread over her face. “I happen to know you have some vacation time coming,” she said. “Guess where you’re taking me?”

Thumper lay back in his bunk, pleased with himself. He had to his credit one definite success at being a pain in the ass. On the negative side, the last couple of times he’d crossed paths with Chocolate Harry, the Supply sergeant had given him a withering look; but Mahatma had explained that being a pain in the ass wasn’t going to bring easy popularity with it. It was a duty, and sometimes duties weren’t really fun for those who had to perform them.

Thumper could understand that. He’d spent most of Legion Basic being the most unpopular recruit in his unit. But he knew it was more important to work hard and become a good legionnaire than to be popular with the guys. Looking back, he realized that even then, he’d been a pain in the ass. It was good to know that he’d found his niche in the Legion.

But who should he practice on next? He didn’t get much chance to interact with the command structure of Omega Company; mostly he dealt with First Sergeant Brandy, who led his training squad. And Mahatma was already making sure that Brandy stayed on her toes. He saw a good deal of Mess Sergeant Escrima; but it was clear that the volatile Escrima wasn’t a case for a rank beginner like himself. Even Mahatma tended to tread softly around the volatile mess sergeant. As for the officers, he saw them mostly at a distance; he couldn’t really dream up a good excuse for striking up a conversation with Lieutenant Armstrong or Lieutenant Rembrandt-let alone Captain Jester.

As far as his fellow legionnaire recruits, he could see that most of them were having enough trouble without anyone trying to “give them a little eye-opener,” as Mahatma liked to describe his endless questioning and probing. Oh, every now and then one of them would get too cocky, and display the need for some instant deflation; but most of the time the entire squad would make it a point to apply the corrective, and if they missed the chance, Brandy was an expert at giving a recruit a quick lesson in the way things worked in the real world of Omega Company. So Thumper’s talents probably weren’t needed there, either.

Thumper sat up in his bunk; he had a good half hour left on his break. If he was serious about his new mission, he shouldn’t just wait for an opportunity to come his way.

Time to go out and find one! He pulled on his Legion boots, custom-made to fit a Lepoid’s feet, and bounced out the door into Zenobia Base’s spacious parade ground.

As usual, the area was full of activity. To one side, Gears had his head under the hood of a hoverjeep, fine-tuning the engine. To another, several off-duty legionnaires were throwing around a quarble, laughing and joking as it erratically changed course just as one of them thought he’d put himself in position to catch it. In the center of the area, Brandy sat under an open-sided tent, catching up on paperwork. Beyond her, a team with shovels was digging a shallow trench, sweating and griping in the warm desert sun. No obvious opportunities there.

Then Thumper’s eyes lit on two figures he’d often seen together: Sushi and Do-Wop. Like himself and Mahatma, they were partners. And like many of the long-term members of the Omega Mob, they had perfected the technique of always seeming to be busy, while doing as little actual work as possible. There, he thought, were two likely customers for his newfound specialty. He smoothed down his whiskers and hopped over to the two legionnaires. “Hello,” he said. “You are two experienced legionnaires. May a new recruit ask you a question?”

“Ya just did,” said Do-Wop, with a grin.

“That does put everybody in a bind,” said Sushi. “If we said no, you’d have to take that question back, wouldn’t you?”

Thumper hadn’t been prepared for that kind of response. He could see that being a pain was going to be tougher than he thought. Thinking quickly, he said, “Refusing me the chance to ask one question doesn’t automatically mean I can’t ask other, different ones. To stop that, you’d have to say I can’t ask you any questions at all.”

“You’re right, kid,” said Do-Wop. “Now go away.”

“Hang on, partner,” said Sushi. “I’d like to find out what the new guy wants-your name’s Thumper, right?”

“That’s right,” said Thumper. “And now you’ve asked me two questions, both of which I’ve already answered. If we’re going to be fair, you should be willing to answer mine in return.”

“Who said we’re supposed to be fair?” said Do-Wop. “This is the farkin‘ Space Legion.”

“That’s three questions,” said Thumper, calmly. Now he was beginning to hit his stride. “I’ll answer the last one if you’ll answer mine.”

That, at last, seemed to have exceeded Do-Wop’s ability to parse. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, while saying nothing-at least, nothing articulate.

But before Thumper could relish the taste of victory, Sushi took up the slack. “OK, new guy, it’s a deal. You may not ask us any questions. Now, you tell us who said we were supposed to be fair.”

Since Thumper hadn’t even considered the question as having a real answer, that left him as speechless as Do-Wop. Sushi laughed, and said, “Looks like we’re even, Thumper.” And with that, he took Do-Wop by the collar and led him off, leaving Thumper to wonder whether he might not need a few more lessons from Mahatma.

“Beeks? Beeks, where are you?” Phule peered around his office, a puzzled expression on his face. He wasn’t used to having to look for his butler. It was much more frequently the case that Beeker would appear, unasked for, at exactly-the time when his services were most useful.

Fortunately, there was a way to contact the butler even when he was out of earshot. Phule punched the intercom button on his wrist communicator and heard the answering buzz from the unit on the other end. Phule waited for the butler to acknowledge the call; undoubtedly Beeker had just gotten involved in some routine housekeeping task, and time had slipped away from him.

The buzz repeated. Phule stared at the comm unit in annoyance. This was starting to be a nuisance. It was too late in the day to assume that the butler might have removed the wrist comm for a short while to take a shower. (In fact, the comm was designed for all-weather operation, and its manufacturer touted it as capable of withstanding up to six hours of unprotected immersion in twenty fathoms of salt water. Even so, there were times when it was more convenient just to take it off-and this was far from an emergency.)

Phule pushed another button on the comm. “Mother- do you have any idea where Beeker is? I’ve been trying to raise him, and he doesn’t answer.”

“Well, honey, if you don’t know what he’s up to, what makes you think I’m gonna tell?” said the impertinent voice of Comm Central.

“I don’t need to know what he’s up to, Mother,” said Phule, a trifle impatient. “I just need to buzz him. Can you find him for me?”

“Why, sure, sweetie,” said Mother. “Let me try a quick trace on his wrist comm…” There was a brief pause, presumably while she called up the search programs connected to her console. When her voice came back, it was with a note of puzzlement. “Huh, that’s funny. I’m getting a location out in the desert. Wonder what he’s doing out there?”

“Desert?” Phule wrinkled his brow. “That doesn’t make sense at all. Give me the coordinates, and I’ll have somebody run out and check it.”

“You got it,” said Mother. “I’ll send the coordinates to your Port-a-Brain. Later, darlin‘.” She broke the connection.

A moment later, a series of numbers appeared on Phule’s screen. He punched them into his map program; sure enough, they corresponded to a spot some distance from camp. He raised his wrist comm to his mouth again. “Brandy, this is the captain. I want a search party to the following location, soon as they can get there.” He read off the numbers.

“Got it, Captain,” said the sergeant. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s the deal out there?”

“I’m not sure,” said Phule. “I’ve been trying to raise Beeker on his comm, and he doesn’t answer. Mother ran a trace, and it comes back with that location. Maybe he’s injured…”

“Maybe,” said Brandy. There was a moment of silence, then she said, “Uh, not to interfere with your plans, Captain, but I have a hunch that maybe you ought to run a trace on Nightingale’s comm. Just to see what turns up, y’know?”

Phule’s jaw dropped. “Good grief! Why didn’t I think of that?” he said, once he’d recovered. “Hang on a moment, Brandy. I’ll have Mother check it out-and thanks for the hint!”

Two minutes later he had his answer: Nightingale’s wrist comm was in the same location as Beeker’s, and both were evidently turned off. Mother snickered as she said, “Hey, Cap baby, doesn’t your butler have a private bedroom? You wouldn’t think he’d have to go all the way out in the desert for a little privacy with his lady…”

Phule’s face had turned an especially vivid shade of pink. “I would never have thought of it,” he said, glad (not for the first time) that he hadn’t ordered full video capabilities for the company’s wrist comms. He thought for a moment, then said, “Try them again in-uh, half an hour-no, make it an hour. If they don’t answer then, let me know, and I’ll decide what to do.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mother, and closed the connection. Phule didn’t even notice her unaccustomed formality. His butler’s uncharacteristic absence-and the even more uncharacteristic explanation for it-had driven everything else out of his mind.

It was only after an hour and a half, when he finally sent the search party, that he began to regret not following his first impulses. But by then, it was far too late.

“So, do you think you can trace them?” Phule said anxiously. Beeker had been his right-hand man for so long that he was having some difficulty even formulating a coherent plan in his absence. But the butler was undeniably off-planet, as the note Phule had just found on his desk made clear.

Sir: I have decided to take my vacation, effective at once. I will be traveling with Medic 2nd Class Nightingale-please consider this her formal application for her accumulated leave. Our apologies for giving such short notice, but we were fortunate enough to get reservations for some very desirable events. We shall return in approximately six weeks.-B.

Now Phule was going to have to do without his butler’s help-and that meant drawing on all the resources at his command. Ironic that the first job facing him was figuring out where Beeker had gone…

“I have a couple of ideas,” said Sushi. “Let me log on and see if what I can find out. Some of it’s going to depend on just how hard Beeker and Nightingale are trying to cover their tracks…”

“Cover their tracks?” Phule frowned. “Do you mean they might not want to be found?”

“That’s not such a weird idea,” said Sushi. “I mean, you notice he didn’t give you his destination. Look at it from Beeker’s point of view. This is the first time I can remember him being away since you took over the company. If you go get him and bring him back to Zenobia, all he’s got to look forward to is going back to work again. That’s not exactly something to get all enthusiastic about, is it?”

“Perhaps not,” said Phule. “But if he wanted some time off, why didn’t he just come and ask me? I would have given him his vacation time, either here or off-planet. I’m not that hard to get along with. Why would Beeker just leave?“ Phule hadn’t ever considered the possibility that Beeker might be far less enthusiastic about returning to his assigned duties than his employer was to have him back.

“Don’t ask me, ask him,” said Sushi. “You want me to run that trace?”

“Of course. How long do you think it’ll take to find out?”

Sushi turned to his view screen and considered. “If we’re lucky and they didn’t bother to hide their backtrail, I should be able to tell you something right away. If not…”

“If not?” asked Phule, leaning forward to peer at Sushi’s view screen.

“If not, I can call in some of my family contacts and get you the real dope,” said Do-Wop, with a sneer. He’d been sitting in the opposite corner of the room, playing a handheld martial arts game. “Computers is OK when they work, but there’s nothing like the good old grapevine when you wanna find somethin‘ out.”

“Right, your family contacts might be able to tell us whether they bought any pizza and put it on their credit cards,” said Sushi. “That’s assuming either one of them used their right name, which is what we’re trying to figure out to begin with.”

“I was with a broad like that, I sure wouldn’t give my right name,” said Do-Wop. He followed that statement with an appreciative wolf whistle.

“If you were with somebody like her, you’d be likely to get both your arms cut off within fifteen minutes,” said Sushi, without looking up from his view screen. “No, make it fifteen seconds. She’s probably the most dangerous person ever to set foot on this planet, and I think I’m pretty well qualified to make that statement.”

“Dangerous? Compared to who?” said Do-Wop. “You wouldn’t know dangerous if it bit you in the ass…”

“Hang on, here’s something that might help us find them,” said Sushi. “Hmmm… Captain, do you know off the top of your head what model Port-A-Brain you two have?“

“Uh… I’ll have to look it up,” said Phule. “Why, is there some way you can trace it?”

“Not as precisely as I’d like,” said Sushi. “But if it’s the model I think it is, there’s an antitheft feature built in that might let me trace it. It’s limited-somebody who spends as much for it as you did doesn’t want anybody else always knowing where he is or what he’s doing. So the antitheft trace is password-enabled-which means it won’t tell us exactly where Beeker is unless he wants us to know. But there’s one other trace feature he can’t turn off. Every time it goes through interplanetary customs, it records its passage-that’s supposedly an antismuggling feature certain reactionary local governments insisted on. And that means we can figure out what world they’re on even if Beeker never boots it up.”

“Ah, that ain’t much use,” said Do-Wop. “What if they don’t go through customs?”

“What if they never go to a planet?” said Phule. “For now, let’s assume we can trace them. If it turns out we can’t, we’ll figure out what our next step’s got to be. Get to work on it, Sushi. Until I tell you otherwise, this is your highest priority. OK?”

“I hear you, Captain,” said Sushi, grinning. “Just get me the model number of Beeker’s Port-a-Brain, and the serial number, if you have a record of that. I’ll find them for you-or Do-Wop can remove my Yakusa tattoos-the hard way.”

“I’d better get those numbers for you then,” said Phule, standing up and heading toward the door.

“No hurry, Captain,” said Do-Wop. “It ain’t often I get to see Soosh sweat, and I plan to enjoy it while I got it.”

“Yes, but as long as Beeker’s gone, I’m the one who’ll be sweating,” said Phule. “Sorry to cut into your pleasure.” He turned and went out the door, walking fast.

An hour later-an anxious hour, from Phule’s point of view, Sushi sauntered in the door of Phule’s office. “OK, Captain, here’s what I’ve found,” he said. “Beeker’s computer went through customs on a planet called Cut ‘N’ Shoot.”

“Cut ‘N’ Shoot?” Phule frowned. “I never heard of it.”

“Neither did I until just a little while ago,” said Sushi. “It’s a fairly new colony, discovered by explorers from Te-jas and mostly settled from there. Main industry right now is mining, but there’s some local agriculture and the usual mix of misfits who want a new place to start over.”

“Just like the Omega Mob,” said Rembrandt, chuckling.

“I would take exception if it weren’t mostly true,” said Phule. “I wonder what’s the quickest way to get there?” He blinked. Beeker had always been the one who arranged travel plans for him. Now he would have to learn to do it himself…

“I already had Mother check that out, Captain,” said Sushi. “We can get a private shuttle to Lorelei-which is what Beeker and Laverna did-and from there we catch the regular liner to the Tejas sector, where we catch the local. The shuttle can be here on twenty-four-hour notice, so just say when you want it.”

“Three days ago,” said Phule, wryly. “Remmie, you know the routine-you’re the senior lieutenant, so you’re acting CO while I’m gone. And I honestly don’t know how long that’ll be, so you’re going to have to be ready for a long haul if that’s what it takes.”

“We aren’t worried about that, Captain,” said Lieutenant Rembrandt, smiling bravely. “We can manage, if you really need to be away. But wouldn’t it be easier to hire somebody on Cut ‘N’ Shoot to find them than to go running off yourself? I mean, with your family’s connections…”

“This is something I have to do in person, Rembrandt,” said Phule. “If Beeker runs off without a word, something unusual is going on. I can’t trust a stranger with that, not halfway across the Alliance. I’ve got to be there and talk to him myself. Now, are you sure you can handle the company by yourself?“

Rembrandt nodded. “Armstrong and I have done it before, remember? And if things get really sticky, Brandy and the other noncoms are there to bail us out. Just don’t get into anything you can’t get out of by yourself.”

“Oh, he don’t have to worry about that,” said Do-Wop. “Me and Soosh are goin‘ along to get him out of trouble.”

“What?” said Phule. “You can’t! You’re more likely to get me into trouble than out of it. Besides, Sushi’s the best computer jockey in the company, and if something goes wrong, Lieutenant Rembrandt is going to need him-and maybe even you-right here.”

“Geez, go a little easy on the flattery,” said Do-Wop. “You ever stop and think-maybe you need to take a sly mofo like me along to Cut ‘N’ Shoot to show you how to talk nice to the farkin‘ natives?”

“Right,” said Sushi. “And while he’s at it, he can take along Tusk-anini to give ‘em ballet classes.”

“Hey!” protested Do-Wop. “Watch it, Soosh-I thought we was in this together!”

“Well, the final answer is, neither one of you are going,” said Phule. “I can travel a lot faster by myself than if I have to keep track of you two. I’d have to check every bar and casino-and maybe a jail or two-before I could leave a town. So you’re staying here. It’s not as if I can’t run my own computer, you know.”

“You heard the captain,” said Rembrandt, with a warm smile. “I’m sure he can find his way around a frontier world just fine all by himself. Besides which, I’ll be needing both of you here. So that’s settled.”

“OK, Captain,” said Sushi, calmly. “So I’m assuming you want the Lorelei shuttle here ASAP-and connections from Lorelei to Tejas and Cut ‘N’ Shoot. I’ll get those right away-shouldn’t take more than an hour. Anything else?“

“A little luck wouldn’t hurt,” said Phule, wryly.

“Here’s hoping you don’t need it,” said Rembrandt. “But if I were you, I’d start packing now. If Sushi does get lucky with the shuttle, maybe we can have one earlier than we expect.”

“Good idea,” said Phule. “Let me know as soon as you know when the shuttle will be here, Sushi.”

“Right on, Captain,” said Sushi, turning to his console and starting the call to Lorelei shuttle service.

As soon as Phule had left the room, he turned to Do-Wop. “Are you ever going to learn when to keep your mouth shut?” he said. “Now we’re going to have to stay out of the captain’s sight the whole way to Cut ‘N’ Shoot.”

“Hey, if he bought it, we’d‘ve been riding up in first class with him,” said Do-Wop, with a shrug and a grin. “You never try, you never win.”

“And when you try something that stupid, you’re blowing your chances before you even start to play,” said Sushi.

“All right, you guys, cut it out,” said Rembrandt. “I’ll give you the same advice I gave the captain-get your stuff packed and be ready to go. If you miss the special shuttle, you’re going to be a day behind him by the time he gets to Lorelei-and that might be enough for you to miss him altogether. We need somebody to make sure the practical details get taken care of, now that he doesn’t have Beeker to look after him. And you’re the best I’ve got-as sad a commentary as that is.”

“Don’t worry, Remmie, we’ll stick to him like glum-bions to a cressleback,” said Do-Wop. He spun on his heel and swept out, leaving the other two with mouths wide open.

“Glumbions?” said Rembrandt, in a dazed tone of voice. “Cressleback?”

Sushi shrugged. “I’ll fill you in if I ever find out,” he said. “Which probably won’t turn out to be worth the effort…”

“I know what you mean,” said Rembrandt. “But thanks, anyway.”

Phule had just returned to his office when there was a knock on the door behind him. He turned to see Lieutenant Rembrandt standing in the doorway. “Captain, may I speak to you privately, sir?” Rembrandt’s voice was-well, not quite urgent, but certainly insistent. So was the look in her eyes.

Phule nodded. “Sure, Lieutenant, come on in.” He sat on the edge of his desk and waved a hand. “Have a seat,” he said as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “What’s on your mind?”

“Thank you, sir, I’ll stand,” the lieutenant said. She stood awkwardly for a moment, then began. “Captain, I didn’t want to bring this up in front of everybody else, because I don’t want anyone to think I can’t handle the company while you’re gone. But I really do need to know this: What’s so important about Beeker’s going away that somebody else can’t go to bring him back? Or why don’t you ask some of your off-world contacts to find him? It’d be way easier, I’d think.”

Phule cleared his throat and said, “Well, Rembrandt, to tell you the truth, I thought I was overdue for a little bit of vacation myself…”

“No, sir,” said Rembrandt, firmly. “That’s a good story, and most of the troops will buy it. But it’s not the real reason. I’m going to be running Omega while you’re gone, Captain. If I don’t know the whole story, I’m likely to say something that everybody can see through-or that has consequences I can’t foresee. I need to know the real story. Nobody else needs to know it, but / do. And if you don’t think so, I respectfully suggest you give this job to somebody else.

Phule nodded. “You’re right, Lieutenant. My apologies- I should’ve been straight with you. The real reason has to do with the Port-a-Brain…”

“Surely you’re not worried about Beeker stealing it, sir?”

“Oh, that’s the last thing old Beeks would do,” said Phule. “Even if he decided to give me notice, he’d make it a point of honor to send back the Port-a-Brain-and anything else that belonged to me. No, the problem is a security feature my father had built in when he ordered the twin ‘puters for us.”

“A security feature?” Rembrandt frowned. “What kind of security feature?”

“Well, of course a Port-a-Brain’s got some fairly advanced antitheft and antihacking features as standard equipment,” said Phule. “Dad was worried about one of us being abducted along with our ‘puter. Somebody might try to kidnap Beeker and use the Port-a-Brain to tap into my stock portfolio, for example-we do have a lot of sensitive data on them.”

“So what happens if somebody does snatch one of you?”

“If either of us enters a certain code, they both shut down. It kicks in automatically if the two computers are out of range of one another-which basically covers a normal-sized planetary system-for three standard days. You can turn them back on, but you can’t open any programs unless Beeks and I both enter two different passwords within fifteen minutes-and each of us only has our own password.”

“OK, I can see how that’d be a pain,” said Rembrandt. “You’d have to wait till he gets back to use your computer-unless you can get him to enter the password from wherever he’s going…”

Phule nodded. “That’s not even the worst of it. If we’re still out of range and the right codes aren’t entered after another five standard days, the Port-a-Brain completely wipes its memory. As far as I know, there’s no way to recover it. I’d have to send it back to the factory just to get it restarted.“

“Ouch!” Rembrandt made a face. “Well, you’ve definitely got to email Beeker and set up a time when you can both enter your passwords. I wonder why he didn’t take care of this before he left? It’s not at all like him to leave you with this kind of problem.”

“Well, I have sent an email, of course. But I wish it was that easy,” said Phule. He drummed his fingers on the desk and said, “If the ‘puters aren’t within about sixty light-minutes of each other, it’s physically impossible to punch in both passwords within fifteen minutes. Hyper-space asynchronicity, they call it. So now I’ve got to go chasing after Beeks, in hopes I can stay close enough to keep the security from shutting me down. Luckily, the timing circuits go into stasis during starship travel, to avoid FTL paradoxes. That ought to give me enough time to catch him before the memory wipes. Then I can just ask him to give me his Port-a-Brain until he’s ready to return. And then I can come home and let him have his vacation.”

“Well, if I were you, I’d start backing up my data,” said Rembrandt. “That way, even if you don’t catch him quickly enough, you’ll lose as little as possible.”

“Oh, my data’s backed up, all right,” said Phule. He stood up and began to pace. “I know enough to do that. But there’s one more problem-and I’m afraid Beeks doesn’t even know about this one. My dad bought a special anti-kidnapping chip. If the computers are outside the sixty-light-minute range for more than five days, a special chip shuts me down.”

“What?” Rembrandt’s eyes opened wide. “You mean…”

“Yeah, I do,” said Phule. “The chip’s implanted in me, and if the computer goes down, it triggers this stasis chip which taps into my central nervous system and throws me into induced super-hibernation. Think of it as like a deep coma, except it’s externally controlled. I tried to argue Dad out of it…“

“I can see why,” said Rembrandt, clearly appalled. “But isn’t there an override? What’s the point of something that drastic, anyway?”

Phule paced nervously. “If there was an override, kidnappers could make me punch it in, and then what good’s the security? There was a case a few years back-the Sojac kidnapping on Arbutus-they bullied a kid into giving up a whole batch of his family’s access codes and passwords, then buried him alive in the desert. But you can’t threaten someone in stasis. In fact, the super-hibernation field protects the, uh, subject from almost everything. You can apparently even survive hard vacuum for a couple of years. Of course, you can’t do anything while you’re in stasis.”

“That’s triff, if somebody finds you in time,” said Rembrandt. “If they don’t?”

“The chip sends out a locator signal,” said Phule. He looked around nervously. “I’m not supposed to tell anybody this… If kidnappers knew about it, they’d try to dig out the chip before the field kicked in. That’s why Dad didn’t let me tell Beeker…”

Rembrandt shook her head. “Well, Captain, I’m certainly not going to put out the word. But you’ve convinced me. Now, let’s just hope Beeker isn’t one of those guys who takes a computer on vacation and never looks at his email.”

“Let’s hope, indeed,” said Phule. “How soon can you get me on that shuttle?”