“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 yourselves.”
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 primetime 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.
The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set Page 106
