“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 glumbions 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 I 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. Hyperspace 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?”
Chapter Four
Journal #772
The Space Legion’s recruiting posters urge civilians to “join the Legion and see the Universe.” The fact is, most of those who join see little more than the hold of a troop ship and the parade ground of a Legion base. My employer had given his legionnaires the chance to see a good bit more than that—including some of the more attractive vacation spots in the Alliance. What he forgot is that, for a man who must be on call at all times, even the most delightful vacation spot eventually begins to look a great deal like a workplace—and workplaces are, by definition, odious.
* * *
Normally, anyone traveling to or from Omega Company headquarters on Zenobia stopped over at space station Lorelei. For one thing, Lorelei was a major space liner stop, so travelers could make direct connections to the final destination at a considerable savings in time. But equally important, Omega Company was majority owner of the Fat Chance Hotel and Casino, so the traveling legionnaires could spend a night or two in a first-class hotel while awaiting their connections. Not only was that an additional savings, it almost guaranteed that the passengers were in a good mood for the rest of their trip.
For Phule, a visit to the Fat Chance was an additional responsibility. After giving up his share in the ownership to the legionnaires of his company, he felt he owed them a careful look at how the business was going. Sure, he’d put good people in charge; sure, the casino had managed to survive a potential disaster when an outsider won a huge jackpot when all the odds were rigged against it. But it didn’t hurt to cast his eye over the books on behalf of his people. And if it meant he was a day late catching up with Beeker—who surely hadn’t lingered on the station any longer than absolutely necessary—so be it.
As it turned out, he couldn’t have picked a worse time to arrive at the Fat Chance. A drug-resistant flu virus had hit the station, and a quarter of the casino staff—including Tully Bascomb, the casino manager—were suffering through it. Tully had ordered the dealers, waiters, bartenders, and others in public contact positions to take sick leave the minute they showed any symptoms, and that decision had managed to slow the spread of the bug among the Fat Chance employees and customers.
Of course, a shipload of high rollers—lawyers attending the Galactic Bar Convention—arrived at the Fat Chance just as the epidemic was at its peak. None of the estimable barristers (let alone the spouses and other vacation partners accompanying them) seemed to appreciate the pains the casino had taken to keep them from exposure to the virus. All they knew was that they had to wait in line at the hotel desk, and that the service in the restaurants and bars was slower than they liked, and that some of the gaming tables were closed for lack of trained staff to run them. Tully had rushed back from his own convalescence and brought on a fleet of temp workers to deal with the problem. That reduced the lawyers’ bitching and moaning to an acceptable level, but it sent Tully into a full-blown relapse.
Phule ended up spending two whole days at the casino, making everything run smoothly so Tully wouldn’t have to rush back yet again. A fair amount of his time was spent mingling with the crowd, playing the celebrity for the sake of the guests. By the time he was done, he was almost as exhausted as if he’d had the flu himself—but the casino was running smoothly, and Tully had regained his full strength. And Phule had gotten a look at the books and could tell Omega Company that its investment was in good shape.
In the meantime, he’d studied up on the planet where Beeker and Nightingale had been reported. They hadn’t stayed at the Fat Chance on their way through Lorelei. There would’ve been too many people who might recognize them, and too many questions, especially since Nightingale’s former employers, the Lorelei branch of the Syndicate, had bones to pick with her. But thanks to Sushi’s computer work, Phule already knew their immediate destination. An afternoon looking through travel brochures in the casino offices turned up a fair amount of material for Cut ’N’ Shoot.
Cut ‘N’ Shoot had a smaller land area than most inhabited worlds, having a single moderate-sized continent with a few mineral resources but no industrial prospects worth mentioning. After failing to find off-world customers for its decidedly inferior agricultural products, the governors of Cut ’N’ Shoot had brought in outside consultants who (after absorbing a hefty fee) advised them to reposition it as a vacation spot for the galaxy. If Beeker and Nightingale were staying there, they wouldn’t have very many places to hide, Phule decided.
The next day, he was on a space liner for Cut ’N’ Shoot, determined to bring the chase to an early end.
Journal #783
Cut ’N’ Shoot is widely advertised as “the world of wide-open spaces,” a claim that could be as easily made by any number of desolate, uninhabitable planets throughout the Alliance. One assumes that the marketing boffin who contrived the slogan expected it to resonate with some preconceived notion in the minds of the intended audience. In any case, the planet was originally colonized by refugees from Tejas, and the indigenous culture of Cut ’N’ Shoot evidently reflects whatever those escapees felt was lacking in their former world.
Perhaps too influenced by the planet’s name, I came to Cut ’N’ Shoot expecting nothing more than poverty and squalor. To my surprise, the place is a booming success. Tourists from throughout the galaxy come to experience its carefully constructed aura of “the Old West,” a mythical time and place in which (to paraphrase the brochures) the land was free and open, men were men, and the only law was right. I leave it to others to judge whether this picture bears any resemblance to historical reality.
My own visit to Cut ’N’ Shoot was moderately comfortable and suitably colorful. As for the cuisine, it was for the most part edible, if not especially varied.
* * *
Lieutenant Rembrandt w
as reading over Brandy’s draft of a plan for a training exercise using simulated enemies generated by the Zenobian sklern—a highly versatile long-distance holo projector—when her intercom buzzed. She flicked her wrist to turn on the talk switch, and answered, “Yes, Mother, what is it?”
Uncharacteristically, the voice of Comm Central wasted no time getting to the point. “Remmie, we’ve got trouble.”
“We usually do,” said Rembrandt. “What flavor is it this time around?”
“Brass,” said Mother. “I just got word from one of my spies on Lorelei that General Blitzkrieg has arrived, en route to Zenobia. It’s supposed to be a surprise inspection.”
“Oh, beautiful,” said Rembrandt, meaning exactly the opposite. “How am I going to explain why Captain Jester’s not on base? That’s the first thing the general’s going to ask about, and it’s the one thing we don’t dare tell him. He’d have the captain up on AWOL charges as fast as he could fill out the paperwork. There’s nothing he’d like better.”
“You don’t have to tell me about it, sister,” said Mother. “I’ve seen every message from Headquarters since the captain put me in charge of comms. You don’t have to read between the bytes to know that, if Blitzkrieg had his way, Captain Jester would be fighting off the geefle bugs and breaking up rocks in the rottenest military prison in the known galaxy.”
“Maybe the captain can get back in time,” said Rembrandt hopefully.
“Not a chance, sweetie,” said Mother. “He’s already left Lorelei—even if I sent a priority message right now, he couldn’t be back in less than two weeks. Meanwhile, the minute Blitzkrieg sees that the captain’s off premises, he’ll send for one of his brownnosers to run the company for him. Remember that Major Botchup he tried to stick us with?”
Rembrandt made a gagging noise. “Ghu’s toenails, who could forget! I thought we were going to be stuck with him forever.”
“Lucky for us the captain came back,” said Mother. “And that robot he had made to run the casino while he was gone kept Botchup from getting too suspicious until he did.”
Phule's Errand Page 5
