Up ahead, the Gambolts had closed to within a few dozen yards of Flight Leftenant Qual, who had risen to his feet again. Now the Zenobian began to display the same kind of speed and elusiveness he’d given the legionnaires during the chase through the casino, with half the Omega Mob in pursuit.
Dukes had decided to try a full-speed-ahead charge at his quarry, and so he was nearly within arms’ reach of Qual when the lizardlike alien feinted to the left, took a sliding step to the right, and then suddenly dived under the Gambolt’s grasp. The maneuver put Qual in the clear for a moment, as Dukes somersaulted, recovering quickly from his headlong dive.
Qual did not have long to think about his next move, as Rube was on him almost instantly. This time, Qual put on a burst of speed directly away from Rube—and toward the recovering Dukes, who eagerly spread his arms to contain the fleeing Zenobian.
Just as it looked as if the two Gambolts had succeeded in cornering him, Qual made another sudden change of direction, and Rube, unable to slow down quickly enough, plowed into Dukes. The two went down in a heap, and lay there stunned as Qual sprinted away. That left Garbo, who had held back a few paces from the other two pursuers, the only Gambolt still on her feet. She changed direction, following Qual as if she were attached to his tail with a six-foot wire.
Qual had taken a twisting course, changing direction every few steps, but now he straightened out and sprinted directly back toward the starting line of the obstacle course. In pursuit was Garbo, sticking close but gaining no ground. A few yards behind her, Dukes and Rube were back on their feet, in the chase again. And ahead of Qual was the Omega Mob, picking up speed as it ran the course.
By now, the spectators were in a frenzy. Perched on a hill overlooking the course, they could see all the action. The bookies were now accepting side bets on which Gambolt would catch the Zenobian, with Garbo a clear favorite, although both Dukes and Rube were drawing some support. Despite Qual’s impressive show of speed, only the die-hard longshot players were still betting that he would elude all three pursuers.
And, in fact, Qual seemed to be running into a trap of his own making. Directly ahead of him was a high wall, a much more formidable barrier for the little lizard than for his pursuers. Qual had managed to scale the wall on his way out onto the course, but nowhere near as easily as the Gambolts, who had sailed over it almost without slowing down. Sensing their quarry’s predicament, Dukes and Rube spread out to either side, effectively closing off the Zenobian’s escape in those directions. As if conceding defeat, Qual stopped perhaps ten feet short of the wall, turning to face his pursuers with a smile.
Then, behind him, the wall fell down.
On the other side awaited the Omega Mob—over a hundred strong.
Phule stood at the head of the company. He pointed forward and shouted, “To the finish line! All together!”
The Omega Mob moved forward like a tidal wave. As they passed Qual and the Gambolts, they picked them up and carried them along with them, chairing them on the shoulders of their comrades, cheering as if they’d won a gravball championship. There were obstacles in their way, but it didn’t matter. The Mob didn’t slow until they’d reached the finish line, and behind them the course was flat as a pancake.
* * *
“I’m still not sure I understand what happened out there,” said Jennie Higgins, leaning back in her chair and clasping her hands behind her head. “The Gambolts chased the Zenobian around, and then the rest of the company came and swept them all along to the finish line, without settling anything—the bookies tried to argue that the Gambolts had lost, but eventually the bettors made them call off all the bets. What were you trying to accomplish?”
Phule smiled. It was easy to smile, sitting with someone as pretty as Jennie across the table from him. “There were two things we needed to do for the company, and I think we did them,” he said. “And there were a couple of longer-range things I hoped we’d accomplish, although the jury’s still out on those.”
“And are you going to tell me what those things were, or do I have to sit here and guess?” asked Jennie, teasingly.
Phule shrugged. “Oh, most of it’s no secret. The first thing we needed to do was show the new recruits they’re part of the company—family, is more like it. That’s the basic purpose of our obstacle course exercise, really. We run the course as a company, rather than individually, to show everyone that together they can overcome things very few of them could singly.”
“Yes, that was clear,” said Jennie. “That strong esprit de corps has marked your company as long as I’ve known it. But that doesn’t explain why you let the Zenobian run out first, or sent the Gambolts after him.”
“Leftenant Qual got off on a bad foot when he came to join us,” said Phule. “Some of the company had the impression he was spying on us. Well, a couple of nights back he rescued one of our people who got in a tough spot, which did a lot to change that false impression. But I wanted to solidify the company’s sense that he was working with us, and luckily the Leftenant was willing to play the role I offered him, as a rabbit for the Gambolts to chase.”
“Willing?” Jennie laughed. “It looked to me as if he was really enjoying himself out there. At least, as far as I can judge a Zenobian’s expression.”
“Yes, I think he was,” said Phule. “He has kind of an odd sense of humor, but I think he gets a kick out of being pursued. Possibly because, on their own world, his people are the hunters, and so it amuses him to play the quarry instead.”
“OK, that makes sense, but why have only the Gambolts chase him, instead of the whole company?”
“Two reasons,” said Phule. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Now we’re getting to the part I don’t want spread too widely—though I suppose some people will guess it by themselves.”
“I won’t write anything that could damage the company,” said Jennie. “You should know that, by now.”
“You’ve been very supportive,” said Phule. “Anyhow, you know the Gambolts’ reputation as the finest fighting troops in the Galaxy. They’ve always served in their own elite units, so it was quite an honor when they asked to join my company.”
“I can imagine,” said Jennie. Then, seeing Phule’s expression, she guessed, “But it has its downside, too.”
“You’ve got it,” said Phule. “They’re so obviously superior to our other new recruits that it was affecting morale. I had to counteract that. Chasing Qual let them show how good they are, which is important—they need to feel success, too.”
“But not catching Qual right away took them down a notch, as well, I assume.”
Phule nodded. “They didn’t manage to get Qual cornered until they worked as a team, which was what I hoped for. They tend to be loners, and it was important to get them thinking as members of a team. That was a bit of a gamble on my part—it depended on Qual staying free until then.”
Jennie put a forefinger on her chin. “And right when they got him cornered, the company swept them all up.”
“Yes, that’s exactly it,” said Phule, smacking his fist into his palm. “I wanted the company to catch up to the Gambolts just at the moment they’d succeeded in running Qual down—to make them associate that feeling of success with being part of the whole company. The timing was tricky, but Qual carried it off—and I don’t mind telling you, it was a relief that he managed to. It all fell together when the rest of the company gathered them up and treated them as comrades. I wanted to inspire them to stop thinking of themselves as competing individuals, and become members of the family—to take pride in each other’s abilities. Now we can build on that.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” said Jennie. “After what I saw today, I’m glad they’re on our side. I’d hate to have somebody that good as my enemy.”
“Jennie, we count you among our very best friends,” said Phule, smiling even more broadly than before. If her response was typical, the exercise had a chance to achieve his final, unspoken goal. Now, h
e had to hope the right people had been watching …
Chapter Nine
The shortest route from the officer’s mess to the Comm center went through the hotel’s ballroom wing. Phule and Lieutenant Armstrong, on their way to their offices after a working breakfast, happened to pass the Grand Ballroom as Flight Leftenant Qual, grinning from ear to ear, led the recruits in warm-up exercises before unarmed combat training. He was leading them through a set of jumping jacks to an improvised cadence that, after the translating circuits had mangled it, had even Brandy falling out with laughter. The recruits looked as enthusiastic as they’d been since joining the Legion.
Phule smiled at the sight. “Well, I think we’ve finally scotched the rumor that Qual’s a spy,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” said Armstrong, striding alongside. “It was a stroke of genius to have him play bait for the Gambolts in that exercise. That made him the underdog, and the recruits were all rooting for him. That broke down a lot of barriers.”
“Yes, that went a long way toward solving the problem,” said Phule. “But we got a piece of sheer luck, when Qual rescued Gears—you know him from the motor pool—from robbers out in town. That stun ray of his probably saved our man’s life.”
“Yes, that was very lucky,” said Armstrong. “He couldn’t have sat down and planned things any better to rehabilitate his reputation.”
Phule came to a sudden stop and looked at his lieutenant. “Hmm—tell me the truth, Armstrong. You don’t think that could be exactly what happened, do you?”
Armstrong’s jaw fell. “Why, that’s imposs … No, I guess it’s not impossible. It is far-fetched, but I suppose Qual could have arranged it. But if the robbers were hired to take the fall, or tricked into it, Qual couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t talk.”
“I think you should call to Station Security and make sure those fellows are thoroughly questioned before they’re sent off to prison,” said Phule. “Odds are they’re smalltime robbers who picked the wrong victim. But if there’s anything fishy about Qual’s being there to make the rescue, we need to know about it as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” said Armstrong, although he didn’t look happy. “That’s the way things, have been lately, isn’t it? Just as we think a problem’s solved, it turns out there’s a new twist we haven’t thought of.”
“I’m afraid that’s the way of it, Lieutenant,” said Phule, nodding sympathetically. Armstrong always wanted problems to be simple, with simple solutions. It had taken Phule a good while to learn that real life didn’t always work that way. With luck, his lieutenant would make the necessary adjustment before he had a command of his own. It was one thing to go through life thinking you could ignore all the shades of gray in the world; it was another thing to stake the lives and safety of people under your command on that assumption. Well, Armstrong was learning, a bit slower than he might have, but there was hope for him.
The two officers burst through the door to the command center together. Mother shot them a panicked look, then ducked behind her console. “Good morning, Mother,” said Phule. As usual, the reply was inaudible. Phule gave a sigh, and continued into his own office. He’d been working on the assumption that pretending everything was perfectly normal might keep Mother from ducking into a shell every time she had to deal with someone in person. The jury was still out on this approach.
But when he entered his private office, the light on his desktop communicator was blinking. He picked it up. “Yes, Mother?”
“Well, honey-bun, I thought you’d never notice,” came the saucy voice in his ear, suddenly bold now that she didn’t have to look him in the face. “Got some people want to see you, not that I can figure out why. I assume you’re still not interested in talking to those pesky IRS agents.”
“That’s right, Mother,” said Phule. “What did you tell them?”
“Your morning schedule’s full, they should check back later, like ten years from now. It’s close enough to true, sweetums. You haven’t left yourself much time to get organized for this reassignment.”
“We’ll be ready,” said Phule. “And with any luck, I can put off the IRS until we’ve left the station. That’ll give Beeker time to work on my taxes. What else is on the menu today?”
“Another group of civilians dyin’ to see you,” she said. “You’ll love this bunch—all three of ’em look like flunk-outs from charm school. Act like it, too. You wanna know their names?”
“Three of them, you say?” Phule’s interest suddenly picked up. “Sure, let’s have the names.”
“OK, sweetie.” There was a moment while Mother retrieved the names. “Stonecutter Johnson, Joe the Blade, and Asteroid Annie. Representing the Renegades Hovercycle Club, they say. Shall I give ’em the brush-off?”
Phule sat up straight in his chair. “Oh, send them in, by all means,” he said, suddenly alert. “But first, why don’t you patch me through to the supply depot? I think the time may finally have come to solve another of our outstanding problems.”
* * *
“So, Sarge, when these Renegade guys show up, what do we do?” Double-X peered through a slit between the board Chocolate Harry had nailed over the casino loading dock, now converted to Omega Company’s supply depot. The view outside was unchanged.
“We kick ass,” said Louie’s translator voice. The Synthian brandished his automatic shotgun, as if eager for the impending showdown. “Blow them away.”
“Easy for you to say,” said Chocolate Harry, “Problem is, it ain’t enough to blow away the first guys they send. We finish this bunch off, there’ll be others—and more after them. These dudes don’t give up a grudge just because they have a tough time settling it.”
“Yeah, I can get into that,” said Double-X. “Back on Crumbo, where I grew up, the Slambeens and the Ratzers used to go at it like that. Those were some tough guys—steal the glimmer right off a cragbolt, and laugh about it like it was nothin’.”
“Yeah, well, you never saw me back down from no cragbolt, neither,” said Chocolate Harry, sneering. He asserted this with a certainty bolstered by the fact that he had never to his knowledge been on the same planet as a cragbolt. “A man’s got a rep to live up to, he can’t pick and choose his fights.”
“I guess that’s right, Sarge,” said Double-X, who like most sensible legionnaires was more in awe of his own sergeant than of any potential adversary—human, alien, or monster.
“Somebody coming,” said Louie, in what sounded like a hoarse whisper despite the translator’s limited range of expression.
Chocolate Harry leaned over to look at the monitor screen showing the output of the security cameras he had covering the approaches to the supply compound. “Relax,” he said, after a moment. “It’s the captain.” Then, after a longer pause he added, “At least it looks like the captain.”
“Should I challenge him, Sarge?” asked Double-X, picking up the microphone.
“Nah, I’ll hail him on his private frequency,” said C. H. “The Renegades might be able to rig somebody up to look like him, but they can’t jigger the whole comm system without a lot of work. That ain’t their style, anyway—more likely they’d walk up to the door and call me out.” He reached to activate the wrist communicator, but before he could do so, Phule’s unmistakable voice came from the speaker.
“C. H., are you in there? I have something we need to talk about.”
“Sure, Cap’n,” said the supply sergeant. “Come on in—we aren’t gonna shoot you.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried about you shooting me,” said Phule’s voice. “But you might start trying to shoot the people I’ve got with me, and get careless.”
“What do you mean, Cap’n?” said Chocolate Harry. Then, as he saw who stood next to Phule, his voice went up an octave. “Look out, Cap’n! It’s the Renegades!”
Phule’s calm voice came back: “They’ve promised not to try anything, C. H.—I think they’ve realized they’ll get more by talking to you than any other wa
y. Will you let us come in and talk?”
Chocolate Harry said nothing for a long moment, his face impassive but his mind racing. At last he said, “You vouch for ’em, Cap’n? They ain’t carryin’ heat?”
“They’re clean, Harry,” said Phule. “Are you going to let us in?”
“OK, Cap’n. Yo, Double-X, Cap’n comin’ in, with hos-tiles. Keep ’em covered, but no shootin’ unless they make the first move. Got it?”
“Yeah, Sarge,” said Double-X, and he went to unbar the door.
Phule and the three Renegades picked their way through the obstacles outside the supply depot, and finally entered the door. Inside, the Renegades stopped and stared. Phule stepped over to the side of his supply sergeant, who stood with his fists balled at his sides. “Relax, Harry,” he said in a low voice. “I think we’re going to solve your problems.”
“I know these guys,” said Chocolate Harry, his eyes fixed on the intruders. “Stonecutter Johnson, ain’t it? And your old sidekicks, Joe the Blade and Asteroid Annie. Never thought I’d see your nasty faces up here.”
“Not a bad setup you got, Harry,” the big Renegade said, nodding appreciatively. “Anybody starts a rumble with you boys, he better know how to take care of hisself.”
“The Legion knows its business,” said Phule calmly. “You saw a sample of that.”
“You put on a pretty convincin’ show,” said Johnson, with a grudging nod. “Them cats can move. And they’re only part of what you got. Make a dude stop and think.”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “You do that, Stonecutter, and maybe nobody gets hurt. OK?”
“Hey, Harry, we been thinkin’. OK?” said Johnson. “When we got word that you was on this station, the club took a vote. Maybe it’ll surprise you to know that some of the new guys didn’t think it was worth comin’ after you, after so many years. But us old-timers remembered what you done to our bikes, and payback is payback, no matter how long it’s been.”
The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set Page 65
