The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set

by Robert Asprin

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

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

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

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

  “Keep it down, OK?” said Sushi. “I’ll come right in where you can see me—”

  “No way, you stay there ’less you wan’ get shot,” said Street. “What the password?”

  “Password?” Sushi said softly. “There wasn’t any password before, was there?”

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

  “Who’s the other one with him?” said Sushi. “Maybe they’ll listen to me.”

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

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

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

  “You gots to have the password, Soosh,” said Street. “Major’s busting chops somethin’ fierce.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Bad news?” It was Gears’s voice this time, sounding concerned. “What kind of bad news?”

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

  * * *

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

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

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

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

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

  “imperthnthnthn,” explained Mother, sinking lower behind her console.

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

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

  “Don’t know yet,” said Tusk-anini. “Snipe be quiet; Mother listening.”

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

  Chapter Sixteen

  Journal #600

  My employer had thought that getting inside the Legion camp would put him in position to untangle all his remaining problems. He would find the robot and reprogram it verbally to act as liaison to the Nanoids, then take its place—his own proper place—as a Legion officer. From there, he could present his solution to the Zenobians’ problems and possibly use the prestige of that accomplishment to regain command of his company. It would take some politicking and an end run around the Legion brass, but with patience—and the liberal use of a Dilithium Express card—it ought to be possible.

  Little did he realize just how fast events were already moving.

  * * *

  “Where you want to go now, Captain Clown?” Flight Leftenant Qual asked in a reptilian whisper. Once inside the Legion camp’s perimeter, the group had taken cover behind Chocolate Harry’s supply depot, a Legion-issue prefabricated metal shed across the compound from the MBC, where most of the company were undoubtedly sleeping.

  “I’m not sure,” said Phule. Then, after a pause, he said, “I should probably try to find the robot so I can reprogram it and take its place. Does anybody have any
idea where it’s quartered?”

  “Officer’s quarters, I’d think,” said Sushi, peering around a corner of the shed. “You don’t want to go there. You’re likely to run into the major.”

  “That’s no problem,” said Phule. “He’ll just think I’m the robot. No, he doesn’t know about the robot, does he?”

  “None of us knew about the robot until you told us,” said Sushi. He chuckled. “I know a few people who’re going to feel pretty weird when they find out it wasn’t really you they were talking to. I heard a couple of funny stories before I left—”

  “Shhh! Something’s happening,” said Brick, who’d been keeping lookout for the party.

  “What?” said Phule, instantly alert. But the answer came not from Brick but from the MBC, where a Klaxon began to blow. The legionnaires looked at one another. That signal had been drummed into their nerves by drill after drill. It was the battle stations alarm. Either it was an extremely ill-timed drill, or someone thought the camp was under attack!

  “What do we do, Captain?” asked Sushi. Already, armed legionnaires were beginning to emerge from the MBC, headed for their assigned places.

  Phule didn’t miss a beat. “You know what you’re supposed to do, all of you. You’ve all got your equipment. Now get to your battle stations and be ready for action.”

  “But … we just snuck into the camp,” said Brick. “They must have us all listed as AWOL.”

  “They aren’t going to argue with you as long as you’re where you’re supposed to be,” said Phule. “Go ahead, it’s the one place nobody’ll pay any attention to you.”

  “He’s right,” said Sushi, giving Brick a shove. “If we stay here, we’ll stick out like half a dozen sore thumbs. Come on, everybody head for your stations. Captain, you know where to find us when you need us.”

  “Right,” said Phule. “Now, hurry up before somebody notices we didn’t all come from the same place as everybody else.”

  The legionnaires didn’t argue. The group split up as they each headed toward their assigned place. But Flight Leftenant Qual had no assigned place. He watched the others for a moment, then turned and said to Phule, “This is very good, but where does Captain Clown go?”

  “First thing I have to do is let Beeker know what’s up so he can get under cover,” said Phule. “If the camp’s on alert, somebody’s likely to pick up the hoverjeep on the sensors and assume he’s a hostile. I’m sure Beek can talk his way out of almost any kind of trouble, but I have a hunch he’d be willing to forgo the added excitement of people shooting at him while he’s doing it.”

  “Yes, that would be congruent,” said Qual. “What might I do to assist you?”

  “Maybe you can find out where my robot duplicate is,” said Phule. “I ought to reprogram it before anybody figures out there are two of me. And if you can keep the new CO off my back, that’ll be even better.”

  “I do not think he will get on your back,” said Qual with his reptilian grin. “But in case he attempts it, I will repel him.”

  “Good man,” said Phule absently, and he began trotting toward the MBC. He hadn’t decided exactly what course of action to take, but he knew things would begin falling into place before long. They always did. For now, he just headed for the one place where, unless he was very unlucky, nobody should bother him until he was ready.

  * * *

  Jennie Higgins had not slept well. It wasn’t like her. She’d slept in rougher accommodations on a dozen worlds, out on assignment. It wasn’t even that uncomfortable; hot as the desert air was in full sunlight, it quickly cooled to something quite pleasant at night. There was even a bit of a breeze stirring. And while the desert creatures of this world made sounds unlike the soft night music the flenders and oloxi sang on her home planet, they were hardly the kind of thing to keep her awake. Her cot and sleeping bag were the best money could buy.

  No, she knew very well what was keeping her awake. She was worried about Willard Phule—or, to give him his Legion name, Captain Jester. She hadn’t realized she cared quite so much. Tough, spunky Jennie Higgins didn’t let things bother her, did she? In the news business, you learned not to get too close to a story. Maybe it was time for her to back off from this one.

  Except that backing off was turning out to be a lot easier to say than to do.

  She liked Phule. Liked the men and women in Omega Company, too. And she was angry that they’d evidently become pawns in the political games of Legion brass. But she’d never thought Phule would just knuckle under and submit to having a new CO sent in over his head. The Captain Jester she’d known would have found some way to fight back, and his legionnaires would have gleefully joined in the fight.

  The man she’d seen sorting papers this morning hadn’t shown even a hint of fighting spirit. He hadn’t even had enough spirit to look her in the eye.

  She knew what she ought to do. She ought to put together a story that showed the Legion brass in their true colors, a story that would have generals quaking in their boots when she came on their holoscreens. But she couldn’t muster the energy to do it all, not without Phule’s help. And from what she’d seen of him, he had nothing left to bring to the fight.

  Maybe coming to Zenobia had been a mistake after all. She hated to think of herself letting down the Omega Mob—men and women she’d come to think of as her friends—but a reporter had to choose her fights. And this one didn’t look like one she could win. Not unless—

  The sound of a Klaxon made her sit bolt upright on her cot. Something was happening out there in the camp. Already she could hear voices raised, the sound of men and women in a hurry.

  She leapt from the cot and quickly threw on a set of Legion-issue fatigues, a gift from Omega Company in the old days. Maybe this was her chance to salvage some kind of story from this miserable trip.

  She ran her fingers quickly through her hair, not even bothering to turn on a light to check her appearance. She was confident enough to take her chances with a camera. If the story was good enough, the viewers would forgive her for coming on-camera without fixing her face. She ducked through the tent flap and went to roust her cameraman out of his sleeping bag while there was still a chance to get some action shots. In the distance, the Klaxon kept up its urgent call.

  * * *

  The Andromatic robot aroused itself from the semidormant state it assumed to recharge its batteries and repair any minor wear and tear its mechanical components had sustained during its last active period. Its delicate sensors had detected the sound of people moving about, and that meant it had a job to do.

  Its internal monitors ran through a quick system check; everything was in perfect working order. After checking the chronometer to determine local time, it adjusted its external appearance from the “Legion uniform” configuration that seemed to be most common hereabouts to the “Evening formal” that it had been programmed to wear at night, as the hours between 2100 and 0600 were officially designated. It had not observed any of the humans in this area adopting that appearance, but it had its orders. It was very good at following orders … at least, as long as the orders came from an authorized source.

  It waited until the sounds in the corridor immediately outside its hiding place died down. That didn’t take long. But no unauthorized humans could be allowed to learn its location when it was in a dormant state, and if it were observed leaving its hiding place, it would have to find a new one … not to forget the effect of alerting someone that it might not be what its external appearance said it was. It did not know exactly what a Legion officer was, but it knew that Legion officers did not spend their nights in broom closets.

  Satisfied that it could emerge unobserved, the robot quickly moved into the corridor and began walking toward the nearest exit. The humans were apparently all gathering outside. Time for it to go to work.

  * * *

  “What is this shit, man?” Chocolate Harry came stumbling out into the night, a Legion fatigue cap on his head and a purple camo vest thr
own hastily on over his size-XXXXL pajamas. He was clearly unhappy at being rousted out of bed.

  “I bet it’s another drill,” said another legionnaire, blocked by Harry’s considerable bulk in the doorway he was trying to get out of. “The CO’s real big on farkin’ drills.” Then, after a pause, “Yo, Sarge, you wanna let me past? Brandy’s gonna chew my ass off if I’m the last one on the crew to get there.”

  “Yeah, sure,” grumbled Chocolate Harry, scowling as he stepped aside. He was starting to get tired of drills in the wee hours, but the major hadn’t consulted him on whether or not it was a good idea. He consoled himself with the thought that he didn’t have to run out to the perimeter and act as if he were repelling an invasion of heavily armed nasties. He began ambling toward the supply depot, where he’d be on call if any of the frontline troops turned out to have a dead battery in their laser rifles. It was a dirty job, but somebody had to do it.

  He was halfway to his destination when a familiar figure came toward him, jogging. “Hey, Cap’n!” he called out. “They got you up and scramblin’ too, huh?”

  The captain stopped and gave him a friendly punch to the biceps. “Good to see you, Harry. Any idea what’s happening?”

  Harry scoffed. “Man, if they ain’t tellin’ the cap’ns, what makes you think they be tellin’ the sergeants?” Then he stopped and squinted. “’Scuse me askin’, Cap’n, but maybe I oughta ask you—and if it ain’t my business, just say so—but is there somethin’ goin’ on I oughta know about? I didn’t know you was into hangin’ out behind the supply depot late at night.”