Phule's Company

by Robert Asprin

  The officers lapsed into silence then, as they searched their minds of a posting that would fill their needs.

  "If he were a captain," the major said to himself, breaking the silence, "we could ship him off to the Omega crew."

  "What was that, Major?" The colonel's voice was suddenly sharp.

  Joshua blinked as if waking from a dream, jolted into remembering that the court president was from Headquarters.

  "I... Nothing, sir. Just thinking out loud."

  "Did I hear you say something about an Omega Company?"

  "Sir?"

  "Do you know anything about this, Captain?"

  "About what, sir?" Captain Humpty said, mentally cursing the major's loose tongue.

  The colonel swept both men with an icy glare before speaking again.

  "Gentlemen, let me remind you that I've been in the Legion twice as long as either of you. I'm neither blind nor stupid, and I'll thank you not to treat me as if I were."

  The other two court members squirmed uncomfortably, like schoolboys in a principal's office, as she continued.

  "The Space Legion is smaller and less glamorous than the Regular Army, more like security guards than an actual fighting force. We don't enjoy the advantage they have of fielding units made up entirely of soldiers from one planet, hence our policy of accepting all applicants, no questions asked.

  "Now, I know this policy has always caused problems for field officers such as yourselves. Despite our loose discipline and regulations, there are always those who don't fit neatly into military life-misfits or losers, depending on how polite you want to be when describing them. I'm also aware that, in direct disregard for standing orders regarding the treatment of Legionnaires, from time to time there develops an Omega Company-a dumping ground for problem cases that field officers are too busy or lazy to deal with. They are usually broken up as soon as they are discovered by Headquarters, but they continue to pop up, and when they do, the word gets passed quietly through the Legion until someone inadvertently leaks the information to Headquarters, and then the game starts all over again."

  Her forefinger began to tap impatiently on the table.

  "I am aware of all this, gentlemen, and now I'm asking you bluntly: Is there an Omega Company currently operating in the Legion?"

  Confronted by the direct question, the other officers had little choice but to respond, and respond truthfully. Honesty was a primary requirement within the Legion (it didn't matter much what you told outsiders, but you weren't supposed to lie to your own), and while field officers were masters of half-truths and omissions, this particular approach left little maneuvering room... which was why the colonel used it.

  "Ummm..." Major Humpty farbled, searching for words to sugarcoat the confession. "There is a company that seems to be drawing more than its share of... Legionnaires who are having difficulty adjusting to life within-"

  "Losers and problem cases," the colonel cut in. "Let's call a spade a spade, Major. Where is it?"

  "Haskin's Planet, sir."

  "Haskin's Planet?" The Battleax scowled. "I don't believe I'm familiar with that one."

  "It's name after the biologist who explored the swamp there prior to settlement," Captain Joshua supplied helpfully.

  "Oh yes. The contract with the swamp miners. So that's the current dumping ground, eh?"

  Humpty nodded curtly, relieved that the senior officer seemed to be taking the news so calmly.

  "The CO... the commanding officer there has been consistently... lax in screening his transfers..."

  "And in everything else, as I recall," the colonel added grimly. "Lax... I like that. There may be a future for you in media relations, Major. Please continue."

  "Actually the situation may correct itself without Headquarters intervening," the captain said, hoping to evade the stigma of having betrayed their fellow officers to Headquarters. "Scuttlebutt has it that the CO's tour is over soon, and no one expects him to reenlist. A new CO will probably put a stop to things out of self-preservation."

  "Maybe... maybe not."

  "If you're worried about reallocating the... problem cases," the major put in hastily, "I'm sure normal attrition will-"

  "I was thinking about our problem of sentencing Lieutenant Scaramouche," the colonel interrupted dryly. "If you'll recall, that is the subject of our discussion."

  "Yes... of course." Humpty was relieved but surprised at the apparent change in subject.

  "What I was about to say," Battleax continued, "was that in light of this new information, I think Major Humpty's earlier suggestion has a certain degree of merit to it. "

  It took the other officers a moment to follow her train of thought. When they did, they were understandably taken aback.

  "What? You mean transfer him to the Omegas?" Captain Joshua said.

  "Why not? As I just pointed out, Omega Companies are a fact of life in the Legion. While Headquarters generally disbands them as being too easy a solution for our problems, at times they have their purposes... and it seems to me this is one of those times."

  She leaned forward, her eyes bright.

  "Think about it, gentlemen. An unpleasant, no-win assignment may be just what's needed to convince our young lieutenant to resign. If not, he's conveniently out of the way and in no position to cause us further embarrassment. The beauty of it is that no one, including his father and the lieutenant himself, can accuse us of not giving him a chance at redemption. "

  "But the only officer's post available there is-or will be-the CO slot," the major protested, "and that position calls for at least a captain. That's what I was saying when-"

  "So promote him."

  "Promote him?" the captain said, painfully aware they were talking about a rank equal to his own. "We're going to reward him for fouling up? That doesn't seem right."

  "Captain, would you consider it a reward to be placed in command of an Omega Company... even if there was a promotion attached?"

  Joshua made no effort to hide his grimace.

  "I see your point," he conceded, "but will the lieutenant realize he's being punished? I mean, he's new to the Legion. He may not even know what an Omega Company is."

  "If not, he'll learn," the colonel said grimly. "Well, gentlemen? Are we in agreement?"

  With this decision, made out of desperation, a new chapter was begun in the Space Legion's already spotty history. Without knowing it, the court officers had just provided a head, not to mention a soul and spirit, to the group that was to become known as the Omega Mob, or, as the media liked to call them, Phule's Company.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Journal File #004*

  Some have commented that the executive mind tends to expand work to fill, or overfill, available time. While I will not attempt to comment on the overall accuracy of this statement, it was certainly the case during our preparations prior to departure for my employer's new assignment.

  For my employer, this meant countless shopping expeditions, both in person and by computer. As you will note in these chronicles, unlike many of his financial level, he was never reluctant to part with his money. In fact, when confronted by a choice of two items, he seemed to invariably solve the dilemma by simply purchasing both-a habit I found less than endearing as I was the one required to store and track these acquisitions.

  Of course, his pursuit of equipment and wardrobe meant that other important chores tended to be neglected... such as conducting research on the situation which we had been thrust into. As is so often the case, I felt compelled to step into this void rather than allow my employer to begin this new endeavor without proper preparation.

  *Throughout this journal, there will be file gaps where I have deleted or withheld files which are either pointlessly caught up in the petty details of the time or contain evidence which might be utilized in court should certain activities of this period ever come to public attention.

  The Port-A-Brain computer system was designed to be the ultimate in pocket computers. Its main str
ength was that it enabled the user to tap into nearly any data base or library in the settled worlds, or place an order with most businesses above a one-store retail level, or communicate directly with or leave messages for anyone or any business which utilized any form of computerized telecommunications, all without so much as plugging into a wall outlet or tapping into a phone line. What's more, the unit, complete with folding screen, was no larger than a paperback book. In short, it was a triumph of high-tech microcircuitry... but there was a small problem. Each unit cost as much as a small corporation, placing it well out of the financial reach of the individual and all but the most extravagant conglomerate executive officers; and even those who could afford one usually contented themselves to use the cheaper modes of data access, particularly since their job positions were lofty enough to allow them to delegate such menial tasks as research and communications to lower echelon staffers. As such, there were fewer than a dozen Port-A-Brain units in actual use in the entire galaxy. Willard Phule had two: One for himself and one for his butler. He reasoned the expense was worth avoiding the inconvenience of waiting in line for a pay terminal.

  Camped in one of the spaceport's numerous snack bars, he had been putting his personal unit to good use for the last several hours, tirelessly tapping in message after message in his clawlike two-fingered style. Finally he signed off with a flourish and replaced the computer in his pocket.

  "Well, that's all I can think of for now, Beek," he declared, stretching mightily. "The rest can hold until we've had a chance to look over our new home."

  "Nice of you to curb your enthusiasm, sir," the butler said dryly. "It may enable us to be on time for our transport."

  "Don't worry about it." Phule started to finish his cardboard cup of coffee, then set it aside with a grimace when he realized any trace of heat in the liquid had long since fled. Some things remained untouched by technological advances. "It's not like we're taking a commercial flight. This ship has been hired specifically to transport us to Haskin's Planet. I doubt it'll leave without us if we're a few minutes late."

  "I wish I shared your confidence, sir. More likely the pilot will cancel the flight completely and make do with half payment for a no-show."

  Phule cocked his head quizzically at his companion.

  "You're certainly a Gloomy Gus today, Beeker. In fact, you've been more than a bit dour ever since the court-martial. Anything in particular bothering you?"

  The butler shrugged. "Let's just say I don't have the greatest faith in the generosity of the Legion, sir."

  "For example?"

  "Well, for one thing, there's this chartered flight. Considering the tight-fisted nature of the Legion, I find it a bit out of character for them to allow the added expense of a private ship rather than using normal commercial transport."

  "That's easy." Phule laughed. "The commercial lines only fly to Haskin's Planet once every three months."

  "Exactly." Beeker nodded grimly. "Has it occurred to you that this new assignment is more than a bit away from the mainstream of activity?"

  "Beeker, are you trying to say you suspect that my promotion and subsequent assignment are something less than a reward?"

  There was an edge on his employer's voice that made the butler hesitate before answering. While normally pleasant enough to deal with, Phule also had a temper that ran to icy exactness rather than blind rage, and Beeker had no wish to become the focus of it. Still, there had always been an unspoken agreement of total honesty between them, so he summoned his courage and plunged onward.

  "Let's just say I find the timing of both to be... questionable, considering the fact that you were being court-martialed at the time. If nothing else, their insistence that you change your Legion name would seem to indicate there's more to the matter than meets the eye."

  "I'm afraid I'll have to disagree," Phule said coldly, then flashed one of his sudden grins. "I don't think there's any question at all. The whole thing stinks on ice. Whatever I'm headed into, it's a cinch I'm not supposed to enjoy it."

  Beeker experienced a quick wave of relief.

  "Forgive me, sir. I should have realized you couldn't be totally unaware of the situation. It's just that you seem abnormally cheerful for someone who knows he's being, as they say, set up."

  "Why shouldn't I be?" Phule shrugged. "Think about it, Beek. Whatever's waiting for us on Haskin's has got to be better than rotting in a stockade for a couple years. Besides, I've always wanted to command a company. That's why I went for officer status in the first place."

  "I'm not sure it's safe to assume this assignment is preferable to a stockade," the butler cautioned carefully.

  "Oh?" The reply was accompanied by a raised eyebrow. "Is there something in the company's personnel records I won't like?"

  "I am virtually certain of it, sir." Beeker smiled tightly. "I've taken the liberty of loading them into your personal computer files so you can review them without having to deal with hard copy. I know you've never mastered traveling light."

  He gave a slight jerk of his head toward the porters standing by their luggage.

  "Whoops! That's right. We've got a flight to catch."

  Phule surged to his feet and gestured to the waiting baggage handlers.

  "Follow me, men. Time and spaceflights wait for no one. C'mon, Beeker. Let's roll."

  "Captain Jester?"

  It took Phule a moment to recognize his new name and rank.

  "That's right," he acknowledged hastily. "Are we about ready to depart?"

  "Yes, sir. As soon as you... What's that!?"

  The pilot had spotted the caravan of porters wheeling three cart-loads of baggage with them.

  "Hmm? Oh, that's just my personal luggage. If you'll show them where to stow it, they'll take care of the loading."

  "Hey, wait a second! All weight for a flight has to be cleared in advance. You can't just waltz up here at the last minute with a load like that and expect me to let you on board with it!"

  Inwardly Phule sighed. He had been afraid something like this would happen. Though under contract to the Legion, on board ship the pilot had ultimate authority. Like mangy minor bureaucrats, this gave him an exaggerated opinion of his power. Fortunately Phule had been raised on bureaucratic infighting.

  "Look... Captain, is it? Yes. If you'll check your manifest, you'll notice that the cargo that's been loaded so far is lighter than the weight you were contracted to transport-substantially lighter. My baggage is the balance of that weight. While it's more than is normally allotted to military personnel, I've paid for the extra poundage out of my own pocket, and am therefore understandably reluctant to leave it behind."

  The pilot had indeed noticed that the loaded cargo was light, but had figured it for an oversight, mentally licking his lips over the extra profit from saved fuel. Now he saw that extra profit slipping away.

  "Wellll... if you're sure all that stuff is still within the paid-for poundage. Just don't expect me to load it for you."

  "Certainly not," Phule soothed. "Now if you'll direct the porters, they'll take care of everything."

  Beeker hefted the two suitcases that contained their necessities for the trip and started up the gangplank.

  "I'll go ahead and start unpacking, sir," he called back over his shoulder.

  "Now, who's that!?" the pilot snarled.

  "That's Beeker. He's my butler and traveling companion."

  "You mean he's coming with us? No way! The Legion hired me to transport one-count it, one-person and you're it!"

  "Not surprising, as Mr. Beeker is not enlisted in the Legion. He's attached to me personally. "

  "Fine. That means he's not going."

  Phule studied his fingernails.

  "Actually, if you care to check the weights, you'll find that the extra poundage I purchased includes allowance for Beeker. "

  "Oh yeah? Well, there's a big difference between baggage and transporting a person."

  The Legionnaire was studying the ship.

/>   "That's a Cosmos 1427, isn't it, Captain? I believe it sleeps six comfortably. Realizing this is a charter flight and there are no other passengers, I'm sure we can find room for Beeker somewhere. "

  "That's not the point," the pilot insisted. "It takes paperwork and clearances to transport a person to another planet. I got no orders for this Beeker guy."

  "As a matter of fact," Phule said, reaching into his jacket pocket, "I have the necessary paper right here."

  "You do?"

  "Certainly. I couldn't expect you to break regulations on my say-so, could I?"

  He dropped something onto the pilot's clipboard. "Hey! This isn't...

  "Study it carefully, Captain. I'm sure you'll see that everything's in order."

  The pilot stared in silence, which wasn't surprising. In fact, Phule found it was the usual reaction of laymen when suddenly confronted with a thousand-credit note.

  "I... guess this will cover the necessary clearances," the pilot said slowly, unable to take his eyes from the money.

  "Good." Phule nodded. "Now, if you'll just show the porters where to stow my luggage, we can be under way."

  Journal File #007

  In reviewing my entries so far, I notice that the comments regarding my employer's preparations for his new assignment seem less than complimentary. Please realize that we are two separate people with different modes of setting priorities. While we more than occasionally disagree, my noting of those differences is not intended as criticism, but rather an effort for completeness. The fact that I am the one keeping this record gives me a certain advantage in stating my opinions and preferences, and while I shall endeavor to keep my observations as impartial as possible, there is an understandable slanting where my own role in the proceedings is concerned. I trust you will take that into account in your readings.