14

Journal #573

One curious feature of life with a Legion company was that one was always being stationed in places where the normal amenities of civilization were rather thin on the ground. Of course, my employer had done what he could to alleviate this by moving his legionnaires into the best available accommodations on those worlds where he was assigned. For our stay on Zenobia, a planet with no human presence before ours, he had gotten a custom-made encampment module that supplied many of the essentials of the good life: running water, electricity, airconditioning, comfortable beds, a thoroughly modern kitchen.

But some things could not be done simply by throwing money at them, and this turned out to be particularly true of the military aspect of our assignments. Like it or not, a decent system for the distant detection and identification of incoming spacecraft-something most real planets take for granted-was sadly lacking on Zenobia. And, to my employer’s chagrin, neither the Legion commanders nor the Zenobian military seemed to think a single Legion company really needed one.

This was to have consequences.

“The major wants me?” Lieutenant Snipe looked up from the bed where he’d been hiding for several hours, covers over his head, until Major Botchup had sent a legionnaire to find out where his aide-de-camp had disappeared to. It was probably mere chance that the major hadn’t sent one of the legionnaires who’d remade their faces “in the image of the King,” as his followers called it. But it was definitely the right choice. If Snipe had looked up and seen that face again...

“Yes, sir,” said the legionnaire, Koko, one of the crop of recruits who’d joined the company on Lorelei, a gawky but very polite farm boy from an agrarian community on the planet Roosha. “He says it’s very important.”

“Everything the major wants is important to him,” said Snipe. The lieutenant’s attitude toward his commanding officer was somewhat less adulatory than it had been at the beginning of the day. “Let me just wash up and straighten my uniform, and I’ll be right there.”

Despite his sour mood, Snipe took less than five minutes to freshen up, and shortly thereafter he followed Koko into Major Botchup’s office and saluted. “Lieutenant Snipe reporting, sir!”

Botchup glanced up at his aide-de-camp and nodded. “Good, Snipe, about time you got here. Tell me what you make of these printouts.” He handed a sheaf of flimsies to the lieutenant and waited.

Snipe scanned the printouts and then looked up at the major. “When were these recorded, sir?”

“Within the hour,” said Botchup. Then he glowered at Snipe and said, “But I asked you what you make of ‘em.”

“A ship in orbit around this planet, sir,” said Snipe. “I assume it isn’t one of ours.”

“It’s not Starfleet, anyway; it may belong to the natives,” said the major. “I’ve had that woman in Comm Central trying to raise the native capital, but there’s nothing but bloody interference. You’d think a race that has its own space fleet could get up a few comsats, make it easier to talk. Stupid lizards.”

“Yes, sir,” said Snipe, thinking. “What’s our status?”

“It’s not responding to attempts to hail it, so we’re treating it as hostile,” said Botchup. “The natives brought us in here because of aliens they’d found spying on them. Apparently, they briefed Jester about it, not that I can get much sense out of him. Any data they passed on to him probably went down with his hoverjeep. If things ever settle down, we ought to send a team out to look for it-try to recover the vehicle at least, if not the data. In the meantime, we don’t know any more about these damned aliens than we did before we landed.”

“Yes, sir,” said Snipe again, nodding. “Your orders, sir?”

“I’ve put the base on full alert,” said Major Botchup. “I want you to go out there and make sure these people are vigilant and totally prepared-no slacking off. I think this is the real thing, Snipe. Promotions could be at stake.”

Snipe nodded, a grim expression on his face. If there was one thing about the Legion he understood, it was promotions. “There’ll be no slacking off while I’m out there, sir!”

“Good man,” said Botchup. “I’ll be monitoring the situation from in here. Send me a report at once of anything you notice. Our remote systems are good, but a CO needs a trustworthy pair of eyes and ears, too. You’ll give me that-and more. Jester’s people are soft. They’ve never done anything more dangerous than riding roller coasters. Put them in a real firefight-and this might just be one, Snipe, it just might be one-and they’re a good bet to crumple. I need you to put some steel in their spines. If you have to make examples of a few slackers, don’t be afraid to-do it.”

“Yes, sir!” Lieutenant Snipe saluted sharply and left the command center. He was ready to put some steel in the Omega Mob’s spines, whether they needed it or not. He looked forward to making some examples. After the day he’d been through, he wouldn’t mind making examples of the whole company.

“We’re getting closer,” said Sushi, looking at the dial of his detector.

“This is fine to hear, Sushi,” said Flight Leftenant Qual. “Do you have a concept of how close the Hidden Ones may be?”

“Nothing precise,” said Sushi. “But the signal’s started to cover a wider angle, and that means we’re getting closer. How close depends on just how big an area the signal sources are coming from. If it’s a couple hundred feet across, we’re real close; if it’s a couple hundred miles, we’re still a long way away.”

Qual nodded, then asked, “And there is nothing to distinguish between those cases?”

Sushi looked up from his machine and said, “Nothing objective; the signal’s growing stronger, which could mean a closer distance. But I assume that people only a few feet away from one another have some way more effective than radio signals to communicate.”

“That is not an infallible assumption,” said Qual. “One could postulate a race that sees radio frequencies the way we do visible light, and uses them to communicate. After all, Garbo and I see deeper into the infrared than you do.”

“Yeah, and we humans can hear lower pitches than either of you,” said Sushi. “I know it’s possible, Qual, I’m just trying to keep the number of variables down to a bare minimum until something proves I need to look in other directions. Otherwise, we’ll be spending so much time on woo-woo ideas that the serious probabilities will get lost.”

“How could they get lost?” asked Qual. “They will still be there, even if we are looking at the boo-hoo ideas.”

Sushi grinned, in spite of himself. “You know, Qual, sometimes I think you speak our language better than you let on.”

Qual returned the grin, showing a mouthful of predatory teeth. “I do not speak your language at all, Sushi, it is all done by the translator. Though I understand that the machine can learn from experience, so perhaps that is what you are hearing.”

“Guess that could make sense,” said Sushi. Then his brow wrinkled. “Say, that just gave me an idea. In fact, I feel like an idiot for not thinking of it earlier. If these signals we’re getting are some sort of messages, the translator ought to be able to make sense out of them. Maybe when we stop, I can borrow yours, and we can hook it up to the receiver...”

“That is a very interesting plan, Sushi,” said Qual. “Of course you can borrow it. Although it will leave me temporarily powerless to communicate, I think the risk of learning something useful is paramount here. Or, now that I think of it, Garbo has a translator, as well. Perhaps it would be better to use hers, so I can stay advised of what occurs.”

“Sure, that ought to work just as well,” said Sushi. “We’ll give it a try when we stop again. It shouldn’t take long to set up.”

The search party set out again in the direction Sushi’s detector indicated the signal was coming from. But it was only a short time when Sushi stopped and said, “Hold on, guys. This thing’s going crazy.”

“Crazy? How?” asked Brick. “Has it stopped picking up the signal?”

“No, the directional indicator’s gone haywire,” said Sushi. “It says the signal’s coming from all directions. Wait a minute...That could only mean one thing. Except it doesn’t make any sense.”

“I see what you mean,” said Qual. “If the signal comes from all directions, it means we are in the place where the signal comes from. Yet there is nothing but the desert here.” He had taken a handheld spotlight off his belt and was shining its beam in all directions.

“Be damn,” said Double-X. “Maybe them Hidden Ones really are invisible.”

“I still don’t believe that,” said Sushi. “More likely, they’re hiding underground.”

“Then the signal would come from below us, would it not?” said Mahatma. “Does the detector indicate that?”

“No, it’s from all directions including straight up,” said Sushi. “Maybe it’s time to hook up a translator to the detector-“

“Hey, what’s that?” said Brick, pointing off into the desert.

Qual swung his spotlight beam back in the direction she was pointing, and the legionnaires saw the reflection of the beam from something metallic.

“We’d better go check it out,” said Sushi. “What are your orders, Flight Leftenant?”

“Wait, I can see it well,” said Garbo, the gambolt. “It is a Legion hoverjeep!”

“It’s gotta be the captain’s jeep,” said Double-X. “What’s it doin’ this far out? That’s a hell of a hike for a guy without any supplies or protection.”

“That’s a good question,” said Sushi. “I expect we’re going to learn the answer to that, and to a lot of other questions, very soon now.”

“Yes, I think we are,” said Qual. “Here is the plan. Sushi and I will advance carefully and examine the jeep; the rest of you must take up positions whence you can observe and keep us covered in case of surprise; having the best night eyes, Garbo will command the covering party. Be certain to shout a warning if you see any movement other than ourselves. Is it understood?”

“Understood, Leftenant Qual,” murmured Garbo. She directed her group to fan out to positions with clear sight lines toward the hoverjeep, while Qual and Sushi carefully made their way forward. Stunners on the ready, they waited breathlessly to see what would happen next. Around them, the sounds of the desert filled the air.

The camp was full of activity as Lieutenant Snipe emerged from the CO’s office into the open area inside the perimeter-as active as he’d ever seen it. Brandy had the troops in their defensive emplacements, and everyone in sight was wearing a helmet and body armor. It made the lieutenant’s blood sing to see it.

A short distance away, Snipe spotted Lieutenant Armstrong scanning the sky with a pair of high-powered stereoculars. Snipe hurried over and stood next to Armstrong. “What can you see?” he said.

“The ship’s still below the horizon,” said Armstrong, with a casual air that Snipe wished he could emulate. “So far, no sign of missiles or landing craft.”

“Keep a sharp eye out,” said Snipe, not bothering to keep an edge out of his voice. “I’ll need to know instantly if you spot any sign of activity.”

Lieutenant Armstrong took the ‘ocs away from his eyes and fixed Snipe with a look that would have made an oyster flinch. “Sure, Lieutenant Snipe, just as soon as I see anything worth reporting. I hope you don’t mind if I use my judgment. It’ll be a few minutes before the ship clears the horizon, so if you need to do anything urgent-“

“Good, good, keep your eyes peeled,” said Snipe, oblivious to the chill in Armstrong’s voice. He turned and headed toward the perimeter to check out the defenses.

To Snipe’s surprise, there were only two legionnaires visible, sitting with their feet in the perimeter trench and quietly eating sandwiches, with their backs facing outward. One of them was looking at the centerfold of a men’s magazine, while the other was nodding his head in time to the music in the earphones he wore. “What are you doing?” Snipe shrieked, his voice going up an octave in pitch. “There’s an unidentified ship-probably an enemy-approaching the camp, and you’ve got nothing better to do than sit here reading a skin mag?”

“Chill, Lieutenant,” said the one wearing earphones-Snipe recognized him as the one named Street. “We on lunch break, is all.”

“Lunch break!” Snipe’s jaw dropped. “I never heard such bullshit! This is a war zone, legionnaire, and we’re under attack. Who told you to take a break?”

“Sergeant Brandy said it was OK,” said the other legionnaire. Snipe saw that his name tag read Gears.

“’Sides, ain’t no attack I can see,” said Street. “Somebody starts attackin’, we be there.”

“And meanwhile you think you can go off and do as you please,” snarled Snipe. “The major will hear of this, you know. Consider yourselves both on report!”

“You can go get yourself some vacuum,” said Street. “I take my orders from Brandy.” He reached down, turned up the volume control on his headset, and proceeded to act as if Snipe did not exist.

Furious, the lieutenant turned around and began to search for the first sergeant. To his surprise, she was nowhere near the two errant soldiers. Finally spotting her unmistakable figure across the camp, he marched over to her, stiff as an overwound toy soldier.

Brandy was standing on the parapet of the trench on this side, looking out over the desert. “Sergeant!” Snipe strode right up to her and put his hands on his hips. “Sergeant, I need to talk to you.”

Brandy turned slowly and looked at him. “We’re in the middle of a situation right now, Lieutenant Snipe. Is this important, or can you wait until we get it sorted out?”

“A situation! I should say so,” said Snipe. “You’ve left the entire western perimeter undefended, except for a couple of men who say you told them to take a break!”

“That ship’s coming from the east, Lieutenant,” said Brandy. “If it’s going to land west of us, we’ll get plenty of notice. We don’t even know if it’s landing at all. If it does, I’ve got time to get those men back.”

“That’s not the point, Sergeant,” said Snipe. “Discipline must be maintained-“

“Sure, sure,” said Brandy, waving the lieutenant off with a huge hand. “You Headquarters types always think discipline’s the whole game. But this is Omega Company “

“Yes, and your headline-hogging Captain Jester thinks he can throw away centuries of Legion tradition,” said Snipe. “Well, your little journey into unreality is over, Sergeant. We’re going to do things the Legion way from here on out. And you’re going to-“

“Here comes the ship,” a voice behind him called suddenly. It added, dryly, “Looks like she’s about to land.”

“Oh my God!” said Snipe, turning white as a sheet. He turned to Brandy, but she was already moving along the line, giving terse orders to her people. The whole line tensed, looking at the dot of light that was now visible to everybody in the camp. Lower it came, and lower still. Snipe watched in helpless fascination. It seemed to descend agonizingly slowly, but at last it touched down.

After a careful approach, Qual and Sushi reached the hoverjeep only to discover that it was unoccupied. That was a disappointment, though hardly a surprise. Inside the vehicle’s cab, the legionnaires found equipment belonging to both Phule and Beeker: notably the captain’s Port-a-Brain computer, an item that could put a serious dent in the budgets of most planetary governments.

“That’s not something the captain would leave behind unless he was out of choices,” said Sushi. “And if Beeker were in any position to protest, he’d have made him take it along anyway. I wonder why he didn’t bring it back to camp with him.”

“If I am not mistaken, it is still turned on,” said Flight Leftenant Qual, pointing at the light glowing on the Port-a-Brain. “Captain Clown must have been in a great rush to leave the vehicle without closing down his brain.”

“You’re right,” said Sushi, suddenly excited. He leaned in and peered more closely at the device. He blew a film of dust off the front panel and looked more closely at the readouts. “Look at that. The modem’s operating. I wonder what it’s connected to.”

“No doubt to whatever the captain was accessing when he left it,” said Qual.

“Let me see that computer,” said Sushi suddenly. “It wouldn’t stay connected to the web that long; the connection will automatically time-out unless there’s activity on the user side. So either the captain left only a short while ago...But that’s impossible: he’s been in camp since before we left. So it’s still tuned in to whatever it was picking up when he left here. And my guess is that the something else is-“

“The signal you have been following to here!” Qual finished the sentence. His mouth fell open in a broad grin. “Great Gazma! The Hidden Ones attempt to communicate with the computer!”

Sushi grinned back at him. “It’s probably a pretty one-sided conversation, but yeah, I think that’s exactly what’s going on. I bet they’re sending different test signals, trying to get it to respond to them.”

Qual’s translator emitted a sound the legionnaires had learned to recognize as laughter. “Can they not tell the difference between a sophont and a machine?”

Sushi’s expression turned serious. “Funny you should ask. There’s a famous experiment some old Earth computer scientist invented. And if the Port-a-Brain has the Hidden Ones fooled into thinking it’s a sophont, it’s passed the Turing test. Which I guess it ought to, considering the price tag.”

“Your machines are designed differently from ours,” said Qual. “We know directly whether we are confronting a machine or an intelligent being. Confusion is not wanted.”

“I guess machine intelligence is so useful, we humans are willing to put up with a bit of confusion,” said Sushi.

“Who needs stupid machines when we have so many stupid people? Besides, this Port-a-Brain may be smarter than all of us put together, but it doesn’t look like any living creature I’ve ever seen. The Hidden Ones must be very strange if they can’t tell it’s a machine they’re trying to talk to...Hey, wait a minute.”

“I suppose I can,” said Qual, with a reptilian shrug. “But I think it would better utilize our time searching for the captain’s butler.”

Sushi laughed. “No, I mean I’ve got an idea what could have happened. Those strange signals we’ve been receiving-they’re all around us here, but we don’t see any sign of civilization, except for the hoverjeep and the things in it.”

“That is manifestly true,” said Qual. “It is a jigsaw.”

Sushi frowned, then shrugged and said, “I think maybe the Hidden Ones haven’t hidden on purpose. They’re just too small for us to notice. And that may prevent them from noticing us-or at least, from recognizing what we are-as much as it prevents us from seeing them.”

“Too small?” Qual turned and looked in all directions. “Even very small creatures would need machines and buildings, and we do not see those, either.”

“No,” admitted Sushi. “But I suddenly feel very confident in this idea. I think it’s time to try that experiment I’ve been talking about. Didn’t the captain and Beeker take along translators on their visit to your capital?”

“I think they did,” said Qual. “No doubt they would be in the baggage compartments.”

The baggage compartment was locked, but that deterred Sushi only a few moments. Sure enough, there were a pair of translators there, neatly packed in their neoplastic carrying cases. By the time Sushi got them out, Qual had signaled the rest of the squad to join them, and (at the Zenobian officer’s direction) they began looking around the area for signs of the jeep’s occupants.

“With two translators to play with, I’ve got another idea,” said Sushi. “If the Hidden Ones are trying to communicate with this Port-a-Brain, I want to see if there’s some way we can hook a translator into it.”

Brick, who’d helped Sushi unload the baggage compartment, said, “Sounds like your kind of fun. But why don’t you hook it up to your own gizmo first? I mean, the captain’s fancy computer’s got more brainpower than the Alliance Senate. If it hasn’t cracked the language on its own by now-how long’s it been working at it, a week?-maybe us sophonts deserve a shot at it.”

Sushi laughed. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “I’ll give that a try first. If nothing else, I’ve been thinking about it long enough so I have some idea where to start.” He set down the translators and headed back to retrieve his receiver and his tool kit.

Perhaps an hour later, Flight Leftenant Qual wandered over to the hoverjeep, where Sushi had set up a makeshift workbench on the tailgate. He took off his dark sunglasses and peered at the electronic tangle. “How functions it, young one?” asked the Zenobian.

Sushi leaned back and sighed. “These things were never meant to fit together,” he said. “If I had a parts shop handy, I could probably find something off the shelf to make the job easier. Out here in the field, I’ve got to kludge it up pretty much from scratch.”

“So this signifies it will not perform?” said Qual.

“Oh, I think I can make it work,” admitted Sushi. “I’ve probably voided the captain’s warranty on his computer, and it’ll never win any beauty contests. But I think he’d approve the project, just on general principles.”

“Since you’re doing it to save his butler, I guess he would, “said Brick. “He can buy another computer, but Beeker’s not going to be easy to replace.”

“I just hope Beeker’s still in condition to save,” said Sushi quietly. “He’s been out in the desert for a long time, and all the emergency rations are still in the jeep. Unless he’s got some other source of food and water...”

“If the Hidden Ones have seized him, they ought to nourish him,” said Qual.

“I hope so,” said Sushi. “Problem is, until we can communicate with them, we don’t know whether they even know where Beeker is. For all we know, he tried to get back to base with the captain and didn’t make it. He’s not a young man-“

“I do not think something has happened to Beeker,” said Qual. “Captain Clown would surely have talked about it.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” said Sushi. “But something must have happened to him on that trek back to the base. He’s not acting anything like himself. Brick, you said he acted like he couldn’t even see you when you talked to him.”

“Yeah, it was weird,” she said solemnly. “He heard my voice and answered my questions, but he kept looking around for me, like I was hiding from him or something. And now that I think about it, some of his answers didn’t, like, totally add up.”

“Yes, they did not totally total,” said Qual. “I spoke to him, and it was as if we were of different species.”

“Weird,” said Sushi without looking up from his work. He twisted two wires together, then said, “Let’s see if I’ve got it right.”

He turned on the translator’s power switch, leaned close to hear if the speaker was on, then booted up the Port-a-Brain. Nothing happened.

“Aaah, bad luck,” said Brick. “Back to the blank screen, huh?”

Sushi was unperturbed. “Nah, I turned it off when I made the modifications. Now I’ve got to go back to the program that was up when we found it. I saved the settings. Let’s see...” The display changed rapidly as he entered a series of commands. “OK, let’s see what we get here,” said Sushi, and hit a key.

The translator’s speaker emitted a low warming-up buzz, then broke into articulate sounds. “Intersystem Sklern-two thousand at nineteen. Please instruct concerning exercise of pets. Research P/E on Pickup Pizza Ltd Common. Do you receive signals? Trantor Entertainment Preferred-hold until forty-five, then sell five hundred. We will take five hundred. Mark Pickup Pizza Ltd. Common to buy below ten...”

The legionnaires listened for a moment, then Sushi turned to his companions and grinned. “Hey, guess I know what I’m doing after all.”

“Acclamations, Sushi,” said Qual, showing all his teeth. “At long last the Hidden Ones speak to us!”

“Triff,” said Brick. “But what the hell are they talking about?”

“The captain had the computer automatically checking and trading his stocks on the net,” said Sushi. “It’s sending out commands, and the Hidden Ones obviously thought it was trying to communicate to them. I’d guess they’ve been trying to get it to respond to them, and it’s been carrying on the original program, of course. Now that we’ve got the communication channel open, we can try to start them talking to us instead of to the Port-a-Brain.” He turned to Qual. “Leftenant, you’re the officer in charge. What do we want to say to them?”

“Why, that is obvious,” said Qual. “Where is the human known as Beeker?”

“OK, you’ve got it,” said Sushi, and he began entering commands as the rest of them looked on expectantly.

The unidentified ship was dropping rapidly, and the legionnaires in their defensive positions kept a wary eye out for possible hostile action on its part. “If it was gonna launch missiles, it woulda done it ‘fore it cleared the horizon,” said one private.

“Yeah, but laser beams are line-of-sight,” Brandy reminded him. “Stay low, and be ready to move when I tell you.”

“Can you make out what model it is?” Lieutenant Snipe asked Armstrong, who was still tracking it with his stereoculars. From the corner of his eye, Snipe saw one of the Synthians whiz down the defensive line on a glideboard, wearing a bizarre helmet and carrying some kind of huge weapon.

“Not yet, still too much atmospheric distortion,” said Armstrong. “She’s midsized, is all I can really tell.” He looked at Snipe and said, “If you went over to Comm Central, Mother may have been able to raise them. Maybe they called for authorization to land or something sensible like that.”

Snipe nodded, trying to decide what to do. He skipped aside as Chocolate Harry roared by on his hovercycle, leaning over the handlebars with an expression that meant business. Major Botchup had been monitoring the electronic traffic, so he should have picked up any such communication-and the major had not changed his orders. Snipe shook his head and said, “The CO will tell us if there’s any word on that front. For now, stay ready for anything.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Lieutenant, that’s what we were doing,” said Armstrong. He picked up the stereoculars and looked at the approaching ship again, pointedly turning his back to Snipe.

After a few moments, while the noise of the approaching ship got progressively louder, Snipe turned to Brandy. “Sergeant, what plan do you have if the ship opens hostilities?”

Brandy snorted. “Depends a whole lot on what they throw at us, Lieutenant. Landing this close, I don’t think they’re going to be using any nukes, do you?”

“Nukes?” Snipe gulped. He hadn’t even considered that possibility.

“Course, this could be some kind of fanatical suicide mission,” Brandy continued. “Maybe they’ll try a quick push with conventional force, and then blow the ship’s core if we’re too tough a nut to crack. Been done before. Not much we can do if that’s what we’re looking at, is there?”

“Uh, I suppose not,” said Snipe. His face was growing pale.

Brandy continued in a voice that carried over the sound of space drives throttling down. “More likely what we get is some softening up with whatever heavy armament the ship’s carrying. Something that size could have Class 4 UV lasers, I’d say. Shouldn’t hurt as long as you’re behind about six inches of lead shielding, or maybe ten feet of packed earth.”

“Ten feet?” Snipe looked around, trying to determine where in the trenches he’d have that much cover.

“Yeah, ten feet oughta do,” said Brandy. “Once they’ve got us keeping our heads down, they turn loose whatever they’ve got in the way of infantry-and then it gets nasty.”

“Nasty?” Snipe gulped.

“Yeah, nothing worse than close-quarters combat,” said Brandy at top volume. “But you’ve probably seen it all before, being a second lieutenant and all that.”

Snipe had his mouth open, gulping air, when Armstrong called out, “Ship’s touching down. Look alive there.”

“Look alive!” repeated Brandy at the top of her voice, turning to look at the dust cloud rising around the ship. “Once that dust settles, they can cut loose with any rays they have, so be ready to get down.”

The infernal racket of the ship’s engines abruptly ceased, and there was a long moment of expectant silence. The dust began to thin out, and Snipe cringed at the notion that death rays might even now be warming up to fry him. He looked around for something to crouch behind and finally settled for a nearby hoverjeep. It wasn’t perfect cover, but perhaps it was thick enough to protect against the Class 4 UV that Brandy had warned of. From somewhere out of sight he heard Armstrong say, “Hatches opening.”

Snipe stuck his head around a corner, only to fall almost instantly backward as something large came roaring directly at him. From a position flat on his butt he watched Chocolate Harry rush past on his “hawg,” and heard the shouted warning, “Yo, man, heads up!” as the supply sergeant whipped on past at incredible speed.

Another more cautious peek around the corner showed him shadowy figures in the dust cloud by the mysterious ship. Several of them were busy catching and stacking unidentifiable equipment being tossed to them from an open cargo bay. Now some kind of vehicle emerged from the ship, followed by several more figures (were they humans?) on foot.

Deciding that it was for the moment safe to expose himself to possible fire, Snipe ran quickly to join Armstrong, who stood behind a waist-high pile of crates, surveying the action through the stereoculars. “What’s going on?” Snipe asked, panting a bit from the exertion. He crouched behind the crates, admiring Armstrong’s coolness in the face of the enemy.

“They’re unloading their equipment,” said Armstrong helpfully. He looked down at the cowering Snipe and added, “Here they come.”

Snipe risked a peek over the crates. Here came the vehicle, slowly advancing toward the Legion position. It had the look of a hoverjeep, and several of the figures seated in it were carrying what might be beam projectors-or almost anything else, Snipe realized. A small group of invaders trudged along behind it. In the defensive line, Snipe could hear Brandy talking to her troops: “Steady now, steady.”

Seeing that the invaders had so far done nothing that could be taken as a hostile move, Snipe decided it was safe to stand up. The dust had settled enough for him to make out that the hoverjeep was painted a bright yellow. That’s not a military color, he realized. There appeared to be some sort of writing on the side, although from this angle Snipe couldn’t make it out. A figure in the front of the jeep was standing up, exposed to the Legion defenders. “This doesn’t look like an invasion force,” he muttered;

“No, it doesn’t, does it?” said Armstrong. “But if they’re who I suspect they are, you and the major may wish they had been.”

“What?” said Snipe. He peered at the approaching jeep. Now it was close enough for him to discern the figure standing up: a woman, smiling and waving to the Legion camp. “I’ve seen that face somewhere,” he said, frowning.

“I bet you have,” said Armstrong, lowering the stereoculars and waving back. The troops in the front line were also standing and waving. What was going on?

Then the jeep turned to avoid a spot of rough terrain, and at last Snipe could clearly see what was painted on its side: Interstellar News Service. The woman standing in the jeep was none other than Jennie Higgins, the reporter who had made Captain Jester a media darling.

They’d been invaded, all right-by the intergalactic press corps.

Being confined in a dimly lit enclosure, even with companionship, was boring. There was no other term for it. It was quite some time since Phule and Beeker had run out of useful observations to make on their current condition, and no other topic of conversation got very far. It was incredibly boring.

At one point, Phule had gotten so bored he’d tried bouncing the gravball their captors had given them against the opposite wall of their cell, but the bell inside jingled every time the ball moved. That got on his nerves-and on Beeker’s, as well-after about three bounces, and he went back to slouching against the wall, trying to think of a way to escape-or to communicate with their captors. So far, Beeker had relentlessly shot holes in all his good ideas.

Even so, every once in a while, when he was starting to get really bored, he’d cast an eye over at the ball again. Maybe there was some way to get the bell out...but trying it would undoubtedly make more noise, and then he’d have to put up with more of Beeker’s baleful looks and sarcastic comments. Compared to that...well, he thought he could put up with the boredom a little while longer, anyhow.

Maybe it was starting to get to him, though. He hadn’t touched the ball, and yet he could swear he’d heard the bell jingling again very softly. The ball wasn’t visibly moving. His nerves must be starting to fray. They said that solitary confinement could drive a person mad. They didn’t say anything about confinement with one’s butler, but Phule was beginning to think it must be at least as bad.

“Sir, would you please stop that?” snapped Beeker, as if to reinforce Phule’s thoughts.

“Stop what?” said Phule. “Can’t a fellow sit and think without you complaining?”

“You’re doing something to the ball, sir,” said Beeker, glaring at him. “I hear the bell ringing.”

Phule sat up straight. “Do you hear it, too? I thought it was my imagination.”

“No-look, sir, it’s moving,” said Beeker, pointing. Sure enough, the ball was wobbling slightly, as if the floor below it were shaking.

They both stood, instinctively moving away from the vibrating gravball; whatever was happening, it was something new. The previous changes in their cell, when their captors had delivered food or the ball, had been accompanied by almost no noise or vibration. As they looked, the wall at the far end of the cell began to change color-or rather, its color seemed to become more diffuse, almost like paint being diluted by a colorless liquid.

After the phenomenon continued for a few moments, shapes could be seen through the wall. Phule clapped his hands and said, “I think they’re going to let us out, Beek.”

“You may be right, sir,” said Beeker. “Equally possible is that they intend to come in here and interrogate us.”

“There’s not enough room in here,” said Phule. “Well, maybe if they’re the size of Synthians...”

“Yes,” said Beeker. “They’ve done very little so far to indicate what race they are-if in fact they are any race we know.”

Phule put a hand on Beeker’s arm. “I think we’re about to find out,” he said. The opening was almost transparent now, and the shapes outside seemed to be moving closer.

To their surprise, one of the figures bent over to look through the opening and said, “Hey, Beeker! Is that you in there?”

“I know that voice!” said Phule, leaning forward. “Sushi, what are you doing here?”

“Captain!” said Sushi, now plainly visible through the opening. “What are you doing here? Or maybe I should ask, if you’re here, who’s that back at the camp?”

“I haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re talking about,” said Phule. He and Beeker scrambled quickly out of their prison. They found themselves in the shade of a small hill, just outside a sort of cave dug into the sandy soil. In front of them were Sushi, Flight Leftenant Qual, and a group of other legionnaires. But as glad as they were to see their comrades, Phule and Beeker’s gaze inevitably turned to the other figure standing there.

Phule’s first impression was that he was seeing a mechanical man born of an illicit union between a hoverjeep and a portable computer...with a very bad hangover thrown on top of it.

On second impression, the thing looked even more like the offspring of an illicit union between a hoverjeep and a portable computer-although it had a curious shimmer about it, as if it were a badly focused holo. But he had a strong suspicion he’d have plenty of other things to worry about, and for the moment he was enjoying just being out of his cell.

Harsh reality would undoubtedly assert itself before he got too comfortable.

15

Journal #580

Unpleasant as our confinement had been, my employer and I had never entirely lost confidence in our eventual rescue. Still, when we learned the amount of time that had actually passed, we were surprised at how short it had been. Time inside a closed space, without clues to events in the exteral world, goes much more slowly than outside. This might account for the unusual trepidation with which even hardened criminals regard solitary confinement. In fact, even with each other as companions, my employer and I were quite relieved to learn that our captivity was at an end.

As attentive readers will have anticipated, once we were released into the light of day, we were thoroughly astonished to learn the nature of our captors.

“I don’t understand it,” said Phule, pointing to the robotlike being standing next to Sushi. “If this creature is what captured us, why didn’t we ever see it?”

Sushi shrugged. “I wasn’t here, Captain, but I don’t think it existed in this form before we started talking to it.

“It didn’t exist?” said Beeker. “How, then, Mr. Sushi, did it manage to take us captive?”

“I said, ‘in this form,’ Beeker,” said Sushi. “The creatures that captured you are nanotech intelligences: tiny machines that can combine into various larger units to accomplish specific tasks. Until we started talking to them, they didn’t have any reason to make themselves visible to us.”

“This explains much,” said Flight Leftenant Qual. “Not only why our instruments could not detect them but why they thought that your machines were the intelligent creatures, and you some sort of captive animal companions.”

Phule’s jaw dropped so far it looked for a moment as if it had been dislocated. “What?” he blurted out. “They think that Beeker and I are...pets?”

Sushi managed to keep from grinning. “Yeah, that’s about as close as I can describe what seems to be their basic assumption. As far as I can tell, when they saw you two leaving the hoverjeep, they thought you were running away, and so they captured you and took care of you until they could find out what your master-the jeep or the computer-wanted done with you. Apparently, Sir, they have a hard time imagining intelligent animal life...”

“Machines?” Beeker interrupted. “I beg your pardon, young Sir, but I cannot accept the notion of a machine intelligence evolving independently of some original organic creator.”

“I’m with you on that, believe me,” said Sushi. Then he shrugged. “Maybe they evolved from mechanical junk left behind by some off-world visitors. But that’s just a guess. Bottom line is, we’re dealing with a civilization of nanomachines. Individually, they’re general-purpose units with fairly low intelligence, but when they combine, the larger unit-the macro, I’d call it-can have a total intelligence as high as ours.”

“Theoretically higher, if your premise is correct,” said Beeker grudgingly. “But I’ve never heard of such a thing evolving independently.”

“Neither have I,” said Sushi. “First time for everything, isn’t there?”

“Sushi’s right,” said Phule. “We’ve got to accept the situation as we find it. And I think he was about to tell us just what that situation is.” He turned to Sushi with an expectant smile.

“OK, like Qual was saying, they thought the hoverjeep and the Port-a-Brain were the intelligent beings, and they’ve been spending their time trying to communicate with them. If you’d been wearing your translators, you might have been able to make sense of the noise on the jeep’s communicator. But once you were out of the jeep, not even that would’ve helped.”

“And so they took us prisoner and tried to negotiate with the jeep,” said Phule. “I imagine they didn’t get very far with that.”

“Well, they kept getting back a signal from the Port-a-Brain’s modem trying to download your stock quotes,” said Sushi. “They could tell it was intelligent, but they couldn’t get any useful response from it. And of course they had no way to know that you guys were really in charge of the machines. They apparently had you in some sort of holding pen, being kept alive and healthy but not really getting much of their attention.”

“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 yourself.”

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 prime-time 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.

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 latenight 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 offplanet 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.

16

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 thrown 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.”

Phule leaned closer and lowered his voice. “There’s a new top-secret operation starting up,” he said. He put his hand on the supply sergeant’s elbow. “In fact, it’s a good thing I ran into you here. We need a man with a good head on his shoulders, and I think you’re right for it. Can you keep this completely to yourself?”

“Top-secret?” echoed Chocolate Harry. He looked over his shoulder, then nodded. “You know I can keep things quiet, Cap’n,” he rasped. “What’s the poop?”

Phule looked around with an exaggerated air of conspiracy. “You know that Beeker and I were away from the base, talking to the Zenobian leaders,” he said. “Well, the Zenobians have got a lot of advanced military gear the Alliance hadn’t known about before, and we were trying to get an agreement to try it out just like the stun rays, you know.”

“Cool,” said Harry, nodding eagerly. The Zenobian stun rays had made a big impression on him. And, as supply sergeant, he’d be the first to get his hands on any new goodies coming to the company. “What kind of stuff are we getting?”

“That’s the secret part,” said Phule, still whispering. “I left Beeker behind to make arrangements for the delivery, and now he’s finished with that part. But we can’t let anybody see him returning to camp, or the enemy is likely to guess that something big is about to happen. You know what I mean...” He let his voice trail off.

“I get it,” said the supply sergeant eagerly. “We got to smuggle him in so nobody spots him. Ain’t no need to ask twice. If that’s your business, Chocolate Harry’s your man! What you want me to do, Cap’n?”

“Here’s the plan,” said Phule, and he whispered into Chocolate Harry’s ear.

After a few moments, the supply sergeant began to nod enthusiastically. By the time Phule was finished, he was grinning from ear to ear. “You got it, Cap’n,” he said. “You got every bit of it.”

“Good,” said Phule. “Now, let’s go do it!”

Major Botchup’s first reaction upon being wakened from a sound sleep by the Klaxon was annoyance. I didn’t schedule another drill, he thought to himself. Snipe’s going to pay for this. Then he heard another noise under the racket of the horn: the beep of his wrist communicator’s alarm, a few feet away on his nightstand. Something was going on.

He sat up and grabbed the communicator. “Botchup here,” he growled. “What’s going on?”

“Trouble, sir,” came Lieutenant Snipe’s whining voice.

“I know that, you twit!” roared Botchup. “What kind of trouble?”

“We’ve got an alarm in Sector Blue, sir,” said Snipe, whining even more annoyingly. “The guards on that part of the perimeter aren’t responding to signals. Considering that we’re in hostile territory, I’ve called a full alert, just to be on the safe side. What are your orders, sir?”

Botchup nodded; he’d been expecting something like this. “Stay on top of it, Snipe,” he barked. “Keep me informed of anything that happens-anything at all. I’m on my way to the command center.” He cut the connection before Snipe could answer.

The MBC’s command center was, logically enough, immediately adjacent to the CO’s sleeping quarters, a setup that Botchup would have been surprised to learn had been designed by Phule himself. But it showed in the details: the soundproofing between the work area and the sleeping area and the quick and easy access to every part of the encampment. Unlikely as it was that the CO’s personal presence was required at a given point on the perimeter, he could get there in under five minutes if he was seriously determined to do so.

Botchup pulled on his uniform, ran a comb through his hair, and quickly ducked through the metal sliding door into the command area. A legionnaire was already on duty, a young human with long sideburns and a hint of a smart-assed expression. There was something about him that Botchup instinctively didn’t like, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Was there a hint of insolence, perhaps, in that little half-smile?

“You,” said Botchup. “What’s the situation?”

“Uh, we have a possible intruder, sir,” said the legionnaire. From the voice it might have been a woman, thought the Major, though he could have sworn this legionnaire was male. Those sideburns certainly gave that impression.

The answer would just have to wait, he decided; there were more important problems right now. “Where’s the encroachment, and what’s being done about it?” he snapped, leaning over to peer at the readout the legionnaire had been consulting.

“Uh, it was over behind Chocolate Harry’s, sir,” said the legionnaire, gesturing vaguely.

“Was?” said Botchup. “Was? Are you telling me that it’s already over

“Uh, no, sir,” said the legionnaire. “It’s just that-“

He was interrupted by a cheerful new voice. “Good evening, how’s everybody doing? Is everybody feeling lucky tonight?” It was Captain Jester, wearing a freshly ironed tuxedo. A broad smile was on his face as he sauntered into the command center, and he swirled a martini glass in his left hand.

“Jester! Are you out of your mind?” barked the major. “The base is under attack-“

“Security will take care of it,” said Jester, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “Why don’t we let them handle it. It’s nothing you need to worry about, is it? You’re here to forget your worries. And you’ve come to the right place, let me tell you.” He lifted the martini glass in a salute, then lifted it to his lips.

“Damn you!” shouted Botchup, and took a swipe at the glass, trying to dash it from Jester’s hand. “You’re drunk! And out of uniform! I’ll have you cashiered from the Legion-“

“The cashiers are on the first floor, right by the casino entrance,” said Jester, nimbly protecting the glass from Botchup’s clumsy swing. “Remember, you’re here to forget your troubles. Have a drink, play a few games, and you’ll find yourself looking at the world with a new attitude. Remember, though, play with your head, not over it. Well, got to move along. The place is really jumping tonight!” He spun around and was out the door without waiting for an answer.

Botchup was still trying to make sense of what Captain Jester had just said, and coming up short, when the legionnaire on duty said, “Uh, Major, you’ve got a call from Lieutenant Snipe.”

The major snatched the comm set from the legionnaire’s hand. “Snipe! What the hell is going on in this crazy place?”

“Excuse me, sir?” said Snipe. “As I reported before, we’ve had an alarm in Blue Sector-“

“I know that, you nincompoop,” said Botchup. “Have you sent anybody out to see what’s actually going on there?”

To Snipe’s credit, he only stammered for a moment before answering, “Uh, sir, I’ll take care of it at once, sir.”

“If it takes any longer, the damned base is going to be overrun,” barked the major. “I needed that report five minutes ago, you understand? Now do it!”

“Yes, s-“ Botchup cut the connection before Snipe could finish and turned to the command center’s sensors to try to make sense of them. As he quickly discovered, that was a lot easier to try than to accomplish.

The camp was full of black-uniformed legionnaires running headlong toward positions on the defensive perimeter. Jennie Higgins stopped to try to get her bearings; without the night vision goggles the legionnaires would be wearing, it was hard to make out details. She ought to ask the captain for a pair. No, she wouldn’t. She’d accepted her last favor from him.

“Where do you want me to set up, Jen?” asked a familiar voice nearby. It was her cameraman, Sydney, ready for action despite being rousted out of bed on a moment’s notice; there was a dark mass perched on his right shoulder that had to be his holo equipment.

Jennie looked around. “I’m not sure yet, Sydney,” she said. “Can you get anything in this light?”

“Light? There’s light out here?”

“OK, that answers the question,” said Jennie resignedly. “I don’t think the Legion would appreciate your turning on a floodlight just to get a few action shots. In fact, if there’s really an attack under way, I might not appreciate it.

“I wasn’t about to offer, if you want to know the truth,” said Sydney. “Maybe we should just wait and see if there’s any action. Maybe there’ll be a few explosions. That’d make good footage, I think.”

“I like good footage as much as anybody, but if there are any explosions, I hope they’re way out in the desert,” said Jennie. “I’ve got a lot of friends here in the camp.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I wanted close-ups of explosions,” protested Sydney. “Out in the desert’s fine with me.”

Jennie said, “Good. Let’s see what we can find out, then. This whole scramble might be just a drill, in which case I want to go back and get some sleep. Maybe one of the officers will let us in on the scoop.”

“OK, just don’t hold your breath expecting the time of day from Major Botchup,” said Sydney. “He’s about as helpful as snot on a doorknob.”

“If that,” agreed Jennie. “Let’s see if they’ll let us into Comm Central. Somebody there’ll know what’s happening. And if something is going on, there’ll be enough light there for you to get some footage.” She turned and headed toward the MBC, with Sydney close behind.

“Yo, Mother!” Chocolate Harry burst into Comm Central, sweeping past the startled Lieutenant Snipe as if he were invisible. “Cap’n needs a message sent.”

“Sergeant, aren’t you forgetting something?” said Snipe, frowning. He drew himself up to his full height, still nearly a foot shorter than the supply sergeant and not even in the same arm of the bell curve in terms of sheer bulk.

“No, man, it’s cool. I got it all,” said Chocolate Harry, paying about as much deference to the lieutenant as a battle cruiser would to a garbage scow. “Now listen, Mother, here’s the deal-“

“Sergeant, this base is in a state of emergency,” Snipe said, in a nagging tone of voice. “The equipment has to be reserved for essential military communications, and as officer on duty, that is my decision to make.”

“Look here, the cap’n told me to send this,” said Harry, turning for the first time to face Snipe. “You got a problem, go talk to him, OK? Better yet, go-“

Before Harry could complete the sentence, the door burst open again, and in came Jennie Higgins and her holocam operator. “Hi!” said Jennie, with her best professional smile. “Can anybody tell me whether this is a drill or not? If it’s the real thing, I’ve got to put together a story.”

“Honey, this is some serious shit goin’ down,” said Chocolate Harry with a wink. “I can’t tell you nothin’ now, but you come talk to me when it’s over, and I’ll tell you stuff make your hair curl.”

“Her hair already curling,” said Tusk-anini, looking up from his book.

Lieutenant Snipe raised his voice. “I want this area cleared at once,” he shouted. “The major has put the base on full alert status-“

“He didn’t do that,” interrupted Tusk-anini. “You do that, just a few minutes ago.”

“Can I get your statement?” said Jennie, stepping up to the lieutenant and turning on her microphone. Sydney hovered behind her, his holocam humming almost inaudibly. “I’m speaking to Lieutenant Erwin Snipe of Omega Company. Can you tell my viewers whether the base is under attack?”

“Yo, Jennie, don’t go botherin’ Snipe with questions,” said Chocolate Harry, waving his hand. “You’ll just get him worse confused. Nobody tells baby lieutenants what’s happenin’.”

“That’s not true!” said Snipe, his voice going up an octave. “I have reports from the front line-“

He was interrupted again as the door swung open and a new voice boomed out, “Hi, it looks as if I’ve finally found the party!” It was Phule, wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo and holding a martini glass in one hand.

“Cap’n!” said Chocolate Harry. “I thought you was goin’-“

“Change of plans,” said Phule with a wink. “You know, there’s very little in life that’s so important that a fellow can’t afford to stop and smell the roses, is there?”

“Captain, I have reason to believe that this base is under attack!” said Lieutenant Snipe. “If I could get the comm center clear of unauthorized personnel...”

Jennie stepped forward. “Captain, can you confirm the lieutenant’s rumor of an attack?”

Snipe tried again, a little bit louder. “All unauthorized personnel will leave the comm room at once, or I will have security clear it!”

“Oh, man, will you get off that jive?”

“Tgfrblt...”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to go attack the free lunch buffet over by the dollar slots. It’s the best deal in the casino!”

“Captain, can you confirm or deny the rumor?”

“Tgfrblt!”

“I’m calling Security right now, do you hear me?”

“Who you calling Security?”

“Come on, let’s go see the action at the roulette tables!”

“Will everybody please shut up for one freaking minute?” The voice booming through the loudspeaker behind the comm console made everyone in the room jump and turn to look. There was Mother, standing at the console with a mike in her hand, glaring at the room. Suddenly realizing that six pairs of eyes and one Galaxy-wide network holocam were pointing at her, she gave a little shriek and ducked back behind the console almost as if someone had grabbed the collar of her jumpsuit and yanked her down.

In the silence came Phule’s voice: “Well, time to go see about that free lunch,” and before anyone could respond, he was out the door. Not that anyone was paying particular attention to anything except Mother’s uncharacteristic outburst.

“Uh, did you wanna say somethin’, Mother?” said Chocolate Harry very sheepishly.

“She say it already, but people weren’t listening,” said Tusk-anini, shrugging. “Now it too late.”

“Too late for what?” said Lieutenant Snipe, making one more try to control the rapidly deteriorating situation.

“Yes, too late for what?” said Phule, slipping quietly into the room. He was wearing a legion jumpsuit that, for the first time in anyone’s memory, seemed not to have been cleaned and pressed within the last twenty-four hours.

“Cap’n!” said Chocolate Harry. He stared for a moment, then shook his head. “That’s two of the fastest clothes changes I’ve ever seen, dude. You gonna have to tell me how you did that.”

“Oh, good, you back,” said Tusk-anini. “Mother have message for you from Beeker, but she thought you gone already.”

“From Beeker!” said Phule, surprise on his face. He lifted up his communicator and pressed a button. “If Beeker’s breaking comm silence, it’s got to be a serious emergency. Patch him through on a secure channel, Mother, I’m ready to receive him.” He lifted the communicator close to his ear.

Silence reigned in Comm Central as everyone present strained to hear what Beeker was saying, but with Phule holding his wrist communicator inches from his ear, only an undifferentiated buzz was audible.

Phule’s replies were singularly unhelpful: “Yes?” “Really!” “I’ll get someone on that at once,” and “Good man, Beeker!”

When he lowered the communicator, every pair of eyes in the room was staring at him. He looked back at them and grinned. “Well, I guess we’ve all got jobs to do, don’t we?” he said, and turned and went out the door again.

It was Chocolate Harry who broke the silence. “Man, he flies lower than any dude I ever seen.” Then he shook his head and turned to Mother. “That reminds me. Orders from the Cap’n-he didn’t say nothin’ to change ‘em, so get this out to all personnel ASAP.”

“Excuse me, Sergeant,” said Lieutenant Snipe. “We are in an emergency situation, and I am the OD. I am responsible for all communications until further notice.”

Chocolate Harry stared at him for a long moment. “Dude, you just got further notice. Mother, send this out, and if any jive-ass Lieutenant wants to put his mark on it, he’s gonna have to do it on the fly.”

“Chocolate Harry right,” said Tusk-anini, and he folded his arms, adding his stare to Chocolate Harry’s. After a moment, Snipe blinked. He stood up hastily and made a rapid exit from Comm Central. Nobody watching had any doubt where he was going, but nobody bothered to stop him. The only question was whether he and the major had any way to stop them.

“Hey, Brandy, is this a drill or not?” said one of the legionnaires in the trenches looking out into the night. “I got a nice soft bunk back in the air-conditioning, if we ain’t doin’ anything in particular out here.”

“You think I’m out here trying to get a date?” said Brandy. “All I know is, if this ain’t a drill, some nasty BEM’s likely to hear you jawin’ and put a laser hole through your butt. And if the BEM don’t do it, you got a top sergeant right here that’ll kick it halfway back to Lorelei. Either way, you lose. So maybe you ought to act like it’s the real thing and keep your mouth shut.”

“Aw, gimme a break, Brandy,” said the legionnaire, but he kept his voice low and his eyes toward the desert beyond the perimeter. If anything was happening out there, it was too subtle to be visible, even with the help of night vision goggles. But Brandy wasn’t in the habit of issuing idle threats, and if she wanted the troops to treat the situation as a genuine emergency, that was what she’d get.

After an indeterminate length of time, Brandy’s wrist communicator buzzed. She sighed and reached out to touch the miniature control that would let her hear the incoming message, undoubtedly the recall signal, ending tonight’s drill. Another pointless exercise. That seemed to be Major Botchup’s stock in trade. At least Captain Jester’s exercises usually had some objective she could understand. It wasn’t until she realized that she had also heard the buzz from all the other communicators within earshot that she began to wonder whether this might be something other than an ordinary drill, after all.

17

Journal #605

The one thing that consistently allowed my employer to triumph over his adversaries was their utter inability to escape their preconceived notions. In business, this ability to “think out of the box” was at least given lip service, although a true innovator often met more obstacles than rewards. But in the Space Legion, especially among the officer corps, any notion that hadn’t been held by generations upon generations of legionnaires was suspect. So the reaction of a typical Legion officer to one of my employer’s schemes was completely predictable.

I am informed that within military circles this inflexibility is considered an asset. Perhaps it is just as well that I was never tempted to follow that career myself. It was all I could stomach to watch the operation of the military mind at a safe and comfortable distance...preferably several kilometers away.

“Major, we have a mutiny on our hands,” said Lieutenant Snipe, bursting into the command center.

“Mutiny?” Botchup snarled. “These damned incompetents couldn’t organize a barroom brawl, let alone a mutiny.” Then he frowned. “What are you doing away from your post?”

“The supply sergeant sent out a message, and he wouldn’t let me look at it first!”

“Huh, I just got that damned message,” said the major. He handed Snipe a printout. “What the hell do you make of this?”

Snipe squinted at the printout for a moment, then said, “I don’t understand. This says that all full members of the Church of the New Revelation are to report to the supply shed at once, orders of Captain Jester. What in the world does he want with them in the middle of an attack?”

“Uh, that’ll be me,” said the legionnaire behind the console.

“You’ll stay right where you are,” Major Botchup grunted. He turned to Snipe and said, “I want to know what he’s doing sending the supply sergeant to transmit the message when he ought to be bringing it here in person. Maybe you’re right. We just might be looking at a conspiracy, Snipe.”

Snipe rubbed his jaw, thinking fiercely. “That makes sense, Major, he might be trying to open a door to the very invaders we’re digging in to repel. What other motive could he have for pulling essential personnel out of our defensive lines?”

“Exactly,” said Botchup. “It looks as if our friend Jester is about to sell us out to the very enemy he was sent here to suppress. I’m not surprised that he’s doing it, but it is a bit of a shock that he’d be fool enough to put it on record. This’ll be all the grounds we need to expel him from the Legion-and clap him into prison for a good long term, as well.”

“It’ll serve him right!” agreed Snipe. “In fact, I wish they’d...What’s that?”

“It’s the distant motion detector alarm, sir,” said the legionnaire at the command console. “Something really big seems to be approaching the perimeter.”

“Seems to be?” said Botchup. “Seems to be? Is it approaching, or isn’t it?”

“I dunno, sir,” said the legionnaire, pouting. “Whyn’t you take a look if you think you can tell any more than I can?”

“I’ll do just that,” snarled Botchup, and he elbowed the legionnaire out of the seat and slid in. The legionnaire said nothing but began sidling toward the exit.

Botchup fiddled with a control, muttered something foul-sounding under his breath, switched to a different control, hit a couple of buttons, cursed under his breath, fiddled some more, and then fell silent. Gradually his mouth began to fall open, and his hands began trembling. After a long silence, he gave a low whistle and said, “Great Ghu, how can anything that big not show up on visual?”

“I don’t know,” said Snipe. “But it sure is moving fast-“

“Told you so,” said the legionnaire, smirking, just before he dodged out the door. But Major Botchup sat staring at the console, not even noticing the young man’s departure. That was when Snipe really began to worry.

“What’s the story, C. H.?” Rev looked at the supply sergeant, then at the group of legionnaires, all with variations on the same face, the sideburned, full-upped face with the Grecian nose that he himself wore. By his quick calculation, every member of the Church of the New Revelation-the Church of the King, as it was also known-was here by the supply shed in response to the cryptic message calling them all together at this tense moment.

“I’m just the dude carryin’ the message, Rev,” said Chocolate Harry. “The cap’n’s the only one knows the whole story, and he said he’d be here to fill y’all in as soon as he got one other bit of work taken care of. So be cool, and I reckon he’ll be along when whatever’s happenin’ is ready to happen.”

“I can wait, sure ‘nuff,” said Rev. “Only thing that worries me is, I don’t see where the major’s signed off on whatever we’re doing. That could get mighty touchy if the major decides we’re away from our posts in the middle of an emergency-“

“Let me worry about that,” said a familiar voice.

“Cap’n!” said Chocolate Harry. “Glad you’re here. Looks like we got everybody you asked for-“

“That’s right,” said Rev. “Every single one of my flock is here, waitin’ t’ hear what you’ve got in mind.”

“Good work, both of you,” said Phule. “Now, here’s what I want all of you to do...”

“What are we going to do, sir?” Snipe peered over Major Botchup’s shoulder at the command center’s combat situation screen. “What are we going to do?” The screen showed a large, amorphous blip sitting in the desert immediately outside the camp. But reports from the lookouts on that section of the perimeter reported nothing unusual.

“I still can’t believe that none of those idiots can see anything out there,” muttered Botchup. “Instruments don’t lie, damn it.” The major sat, staring at the screen and rubbing his chin a moment, then turned and looked at his adjutant. “Snipe,” he said.

“Yes, sir?” said the adjutant. Then he saw Botchup’s expression and said, “No, sir! You can’t be thinking-“

“Don’t you let me down, too, Snipe,” said Botchup, a growl in his voice. “There’s something fishy going on here, and I don’t dare take any chances. Either these moronic Omega Company clowns are even more grossly incompetent than they’ve been up to now, or Jester’s talked them into deliberately refusing to report a hostile incursion. I need somebody out there, Snipe, and you’re the only one I’ve got.”

“Sir,” said Snipe resignedly. “What do you want me to do.

Botchup put a hand on Snipe’s shoulder. “Get out to the perimeter in Blue Sector,” he rumbled. “That’s where the trouble seems to be-and tell me what’s going on. And be ready for anything, Snipe, anything. When in doubt, assume the worst. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” said Snipe, his face a mask of discontent. He patted his hip, where a side arm rested in its holster. “I’ll be ready, sir.” He came to attention and saluted smartly, then turned and headed for the door. It would have been a very smart exit had he not misjudged his step and tripped over a heavy power cable on the floor. He landed flat on his face and lay there a second, then pulled himself up, saluted again, and headed for the door.

He almost made it this time, except for colliding with a legionnaire coming in as he went out. The legionnaire managed to get an arm around Snipe and prevent him from falling again. “Sorry, Lieutenant,” she said. “Ah’ll be mo’ careful next time.”

Snipe stared at her-an oval face with thick dark hair in a high pompadour, with locks combed into sideburns. Her thick lips had an expression somewhere between a sneer and a pout. “Didn’t you just leave?” he said. He stared at her name tag, which read “Tupelo.”

“No, suh, ah’m just at the start of mah shift,” said Tupelo. “That must’ve been Private Sandbag.”

“Oh, yes, I guess you’re right,” said Snipe. “Well, sir, I’m off.” He turned abruptly and made a dash for the door, and this time he managed to find the way out.

It took Lieutenant Snipe a moment to get his bearings in the dark; too late, he remembered that he had a pair of night vision goggles back in the Comm Center. But the major was in a hurry for answers; no time to get the goggles now. His eyes would just have to adjust.

Now, which way was Blue Sector? Snipe remembered that the incursion had reportedly begun somewhere near the supply depot, which was to the...to the left of the exit he’d taken from the MBC? Yes, that must be right. He’d looked at the screen before leaving the command center but wasn’t sure just how it was oriented in relation to his present position. Well, the encampment wasn’t that large. He’d find it soon enough.

He jumped as a voice behind him said, “Excuse me, sir, can I help you?”

He turned to see a legionnaire with a dark pompadour, sideburns, and night vision goggles hanging around the neck. “Aren’t you supposed to be on duty in the command center?” he asked.

The legionnaire grinned. “No, I wish I was. Working there’s got to be a lot more fun than running around in these stupid drills.”

From the voice, Snipe realized that this one was a male. Obviously not the same as the one he’d just seen...except the face was uncannily close. Snipe shivered, then said, “I need to inspect the perimeter in Blue Sector. And don’t assume it’s a drill, either. This is a war zone, you know.”

“Uh-yeah,” said the legionnaire, whose nameplate Snipe couldn’t make out in the dark. “Blue is over that way, sir”-he gestured to the left just past the supply depot, if you know where that is. I’d take you there, but I’ve got to get to my post.”

“That’s good enough,” said Snipe, and he set off in the direction indicated. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark. Above him, the desert sky was full of brilliant stars in unfamiliar constellations-not quite enough light to see by, but perhaps enough to help him avoid crashing into objects the size of a hoverjeep. He made his way gingerly, wondering just what he was supposed to be looking for.

After a short distance, he made out a vague shape ahead of him: the supply depot, he assumed. He moved purposefully toward it, but barely had he covered half the distance when a hulking figure loomed in front of him and said softly, “Who goes there?”

Snipe drew back a pace, noting even in the dark that his challenger was aiming a large weapon toward him. “Point that thing the other way,” he said. “It’s Lieutenant Snipe, on orders from the major.”

“Oh, sorry, sir,” said the legionnaire. A small red light appeared in his hand, briefly illuminating Snipe’s face-and his own. Snipe got a momentary glimpse of a dark pompadour, long sideburns...

“I thought you had to go the other way,” said Snipe, beginning to wonder if this legionnaire was following him for some reason.

“No, sir, this is my post,” said the legionnaire, just loud enough to be heard. Then he drew closer and whispered, “Say, if you don’t mind telling me, sir, are we going to see action tonight? Seems awful long for a drill.”

“I’m damned if I know what’s going on anymore,” said Snipe. “That’s why I’m out here. Have you seen any sign of action?”

“No, sir,” said the legionnaire. “Quiet as a mouse, right here. You’re the first person I’ve seen.”

“I see,” said Snipe. “Wait a minute. I hear something over there!” He pointed toward the dark shadow he assumed was the supply depot.

Before they could react, a group of dark figures dashed up to them. Snipe felt what had to be the muzzle of a weapon pressed against his midsection. “What are you doing here?” growled a low voice.

“L-l-lieutenant Snipe,” he managed to stammer. “M-major’s orders.”

“Snipe? Not bloody likely,” said one of the newcomers. “He’s probably sitting in his soft bunk while the real legionnaires run the show. Give me a light, here.”

Again a soft red light gleamed, and in its brief flare Snipe saw the legionnaires around him. After the first instant of shocked recognition, he gave a terrified shriek and fainted dead away.

Major Botchup paced, stopping occasionally to look at the Command Center console over the shoulder of the legionnaire on duty. What was taking Snipe so long? The approaching...entity that showed, now larger than the Legion camp itself, on the Command Center’s screens, surely must be visible from the defensive perimeter. Even Snipe must be able to see it.

He’d tried paging the lieutenant on the communicator, but the interference that had plagued communications ever since he’d arrived on this planet had suddenly increased again. He suspected sabotage. It had to be sabotage. Not even Omega Company could rise to this level of incompetence. The camp was in a state of siege, the enemy was gathering its strength for a final assault, and now the enemies were boring from within.

“Try him again,” he snapped.

Obediently, the legionnaire at the console went through the routine of trying to hail Botchup’s adjutant, but the speakers kept up an unrelenting rumble and rattle of white noise. Or was it noise? Botchup could swear there were patterns in it, but the cryptological analysis devices in the company’s arsenal could detect no meaning in them. Either the code was subtler than anyone expected, or...He didn’t want to think about what the alternatives might be.

Suddenly the door to the outside burst open. He turned to glare at the intruder. But his heart sank when he saw Captain Jester come through the door along with Lieutenant Armstrong. Supported between them was the limp, pale form of Lieutenant Snipe.

“What the hell?” said Botchup, as Jester and Armstrong maneuvered the unconscious Snipe to a seat.

“Stand back, sir, let him have some air,” said Armstrong. He stepped over to the water cooler and filled a disposable cup and brought it back to Snipe. “We think he’ll be all right, but he’s got to get a few moments to breathe.”

“Yes, yes, but what the hell happened?”

“He appears to have passed out,” said Phule. At least now he was in proper uniform, Botchup noted absently. “He was found on the ground out in Blue Sector. It could have been the heat, or it could have been sheer terror...”

“Terror?” Botchup asked, his brows going upward at least an inch. “Terror? The man’s a Legion officer. What in the world could have frightened him?”

“There’s something uncanny going on out there,” said Phule. “Something’s lurking just beyond the perimeter. Look at your readouts! It’s there, all right, but nobody can see it. It’s the reason the Zenobians called us here.”

“I don’t believe one word of it,” said Botchup, jaw firmly clenched. “Invisible menaces are the stuff of bad holodramas-something to scare babies with. Whatever’s out there-“

“He’s waking up,” said Armstrong, hovering near Lieutenant Snipe. “Here, try to drink some of this water,” he urged, holding out the cup he’d filled.

“Good, maybe now we can get some sense out of him,” said Botchup. He walked over to Snipe and barked, “Wake up, man! What did you see out there?”

“Dark,” muttered Snipe, his eyelids half-open. “Dark. That face...looking at me...”

“Face?” said Botchup. “What’s he talking about?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” said Phule. “Or perhaps...No, that can’t be. It’s just a native superstition.”

“What native superstition?” growled Botchup. “Out with it, man! There may be lives at stake.”

“Captain Clown!” The door burst open again, and a diminutive lizardlike creature came scrambling in, dressed in what was obviously a uniform. It stopped when it noticed the major and made a complex gesture-a salute, apparently. “Major Snafu! It is my onerous duty to report to you!”

“Who the hell is this?” said Botchup.

“It’s our native liaison, Flight Leftenant Qual of the Zenobian military,” said Phule. “He’ll know what’s going on, if anyone does. What’s happening, Qual? Our instruments show something out there, but nobody can see anything.”

“Ah-hhh,” the Zenobian hissed. “It is as I feared, Captain Clown. The Hidden Ones come, and we shall be powerless against them.”

“Powerless?” Major Botchup smirked. “You underestimate us, Flight Leftenant. A Space Legion company is nothing to sneeze at, and even considering the sorry shape they were in when I came on board, I fancy I’ve got these fellows in pretty decent fighting trim by now.”

“With all respectability, it is not so effortless, Major Snafu,” said Qual. “The Hidden Ones appear to be where one can strike at them, but when one strikes, the effect is as of nothing. I have seen it. We Zenobians have concentrated the fire of an entire Swamplurkers battalion on them, without consequence except the expenditure of munitions. And when they become agitated, they begin to play tricks on the mind.”

“Tricks on the mind?” Botchup scoffed. “Now you’re really telling fairy tales. Invisible bogeymen that you can’t shoot and that play tricks on the mind when you annoy ‘em-go tell it to the Regular Army!”

“It is quite true,” insisted Qual. “They cause the victim to become unable to distinguish between persons. It is as if everyone in the world were hatched from the same egg.”

Botchup laughed, a harsh braying laugh that conveyed no warmth. “Pardon my Vegan, Flight Leftenant, but that’s bullshit, plain and simple. If I had a plot of tomatoes to fertilize I might buy some, but until then, I’ll pass.”

“Hey, it looks as if I’ve found the party,” came a jaunty voice from the doorway. It was Phule, dressed for a night on the town, with a half-full martini glass in one hand.

Major Botchup turned and stared. “You!” he snarled. Then his eyes flicked back to Phule, standing there in Legion uniform, cool and correct as a recruiting poster, and a sudden doubt crossed his face. “Two of you?”

“Excuse me, Major?” said the Phule in uniform, with a carefully neutral expression.

“We could use a few babes to liven things up,” said the Phule in the tuxedo. “I know the answer to that. It’s ladies’ night in the hotel disco. How about we go down there and check out the action?” He whirled and was out the door before anyone could stop him.

Oblivious to the entire episode, Armstrong had been helping Lieutenant Snipe get down a glass of water. Now at last Snipe managed to sit up straight and to look around. “How did I get back inside?” he said. “Thank goodness for the light-and for a friendly face. I was beginning to think-“

“Easy, now,” said Armstrong. “Why don’t you tell the major what happened?”

“Excuse me, Major, we’ve got somethin’ new on the screen,” said the legionnaire sitting at the console. He swung around to look over his shoulder.

In that instant Snipe saw his face. “Oh my God!” he screamed. “He’s everywhere! He’s everywhere!” His eyes rolled up into his head, and he fell back unconscious yet again.

There were four officers in the command center, now. Major Botchup, Phule, Lieutenant Armstrong, and Flight Leftenant Qual. Snipe was back in his own quarters, under sedation, with a large, sympathetic legionnaire outside the door to make certain nobody disturbed him. Externally, Botchup remained calm; but he kept casting a suspicious eye toward the other three officers, as if expecting them to metamorphose into identical triplets.

“The Hidden Ones are upon us,” said Qual mournfully. “It remains to be seen whether we can escape utter madness.”

“I know what you mean. Damn it, my adjutant’s already close to the edge,” said Botchup. “For a while there, I was beginning to think I was seeing things myself.”

“Well, sir, it’s a good thing that didn’t happen,” said Armstrong. “We need a sound mind at the helm, if you’ll pardon a naval metaphor, sir.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Botchup glumly. He turned to Qual and asked, “The thing is, if these, uh, Hidden Ones, keep up the pressure, how long can we, uh, hold out against them?”

“That alters according to the specific, Major Snafu,” said Qual. “They do tend to focus their attention on the leaders. But a strong-headed sophont such as you...There is no reason to believe you could not withstand it for hundreds of hours.” He flashed a toothy grimace and waved a foreclaw toward the console, which still showed the mysterious presence beyond the camp’s perimeter. “In any case, they are present, and we shall undoubtedly learn the answer.”

“Yes, I suppose we will,” said Botchup glumly.

“Yes, sir,” said Armstrong. “Omega Company is lucky to have a commander who’s willing to take these risks for his people.”

“Not as if I have much choice,” said Botchup. “The only way I have to get off-world is the landing shuttle. That’d get me up to orbit with some power to spare, but there’s no way to get me to an inhabited world. I’d starve waiting for another ship to come.”

“Oh, it is not so difficult as that,” said Qual. “You may not be aware-in this same system your Alliance has a large space station, easily reached in one of your landers. Lorelei, I believe your name is for it. But of course that does not signify, since you intend to stay and fight the Hidden Ones.”

Botchup raised his brows. “Lorelei? The resort station? You mean Zenobia is in the same system as Lorelei?”

“Yes, we were very surprised to learn that,” said Phule. “Of course, nobody had any notion this world was inhabited. It’s not one we’d have settled for ourselves. It wasn’t until after the Alliance signed a treaty with the Zenobians that we found out where their home world was located.”

“A sensible precaution, with the other party’s intentions unknown to us,” said Qual. “Of course, now we are allies together, and we trust you to know these things.”

“Lorelei,” mused Botchup. “You know, poor Snipe might need to be evacuated-“

“That’s a very humanitarian thought,” said Armstrong. “Of course, he couldn’t pilot the lander himself. Somebody would have to go with him. I’d be glad to-“

“Let me think about it,” said Botchup. “This isn’t the kind of decision that should be made on the spur of the moment. If Snipe recovers, it wouldn’t be necessary. On the other hand-“

The door opened and in came Phule, dressed in a tuxedo. “Just a reminder,” he said. “Free breakfast on the casino floor!” He waved his martini glass and ducked back out.

Botchup turned several shades paler. “You know, I think I have the most experience piloting that particular shuttle model. We really need to get Snipe to safety.”

“Sir, that’s a dangerous voyage,” said Armstrong. “Shouldn’t you let one of your subordinates take the risk?”

“Major, I think you should send the most expendable officer,” said Phule. “That’s obviously me...”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” said Botchup. “I happen to know that you own the biggest casino on Lorelei! You’ll run off and check into a luxury hotel suite and live the life of leisure. We’re wise to your tricks, Jester. You’re not taking that shuttle, not on your life.”

“Very well, Major, I’m sorry you trust me so little,” said Phule. “But if we’re going to evacuate poor Lieutenant Snipe, who’s to take him?”

The door opened to admit Chaplain Jordan Ayres, better known to Omega Company as Rev. “’Scuse me, gen’lemen, I reckon we got to talk about the morale problem here...”

Major Botchup’s jaw dropped. He stared at Rev for fifteen seconds, then abruptly said, “Get Snipe ready to travel! And send a man to my quarters to pack up my personal belongings! I’m taking him to Lorelei myself!”

Armstrong said, “Sir, I admire your courage, but you need to designate someone to command in your absence-“

“Jester can do it,” snarled Botchup on his way out the door. “He’s half crazy already. Let the Hidden Ones have their way with him! I’m going to get off this crazy planet while I still have a few brain cells left!” He stormed out and left the other four staring at the doorway.

It was Flight Leftenant Qual who finally broke the silence. “It is a pity he was not more adamant. We did not even get to deploy our most interesting effects.”

“That’s all right,” said Armstrong. “We can save ‘em in case General Blitzkrieg ever visits.”

But Rev stood there with a puzzled expression. “I guess y’all are gonna have to let me in on the secret sometime,” he said. “I could swear that feller took one look at me and jes’ flat-out lost his cool. I didn’t think there was anything that disturbin’ about my face.”

Phule grinned. “Rev, I’m not going to explain it until later, but I will say that I’ve never been gladder to see your face than right now.” Armstrong and Qual joined in the laughter.

18

Journal #611

Having regained de facto command of Omega Company, my employer moved quickly to solidify his gains. First of all, he made certain that Major Botchup and Lieutenant Snipe were able to leave the planet without undue difficulty or delay. He had no personal animus toward them, although many of his legionnaires seemed to. Besides, getting them to their destination with all due speed and safety would work more in his favor than otherwise.

His next priority was to reprogram the Andromatic robot; it had finally remained in his vicinity long enough for him to give it the verbal command that deactivated it. He had been tempted to return it to Lorelei in the same shuttle as the major, but that would have been unnecessarily cruel; Here was little enough room in the ship. He had more useful tasks planned for the robot, in any case.

His most important task was to pass along to the Zenobians the full details of his encounter with the Nanoids and his suggestion for a codification of the relationship of the two races: both, as he had reason to believe, authentic natives of this world. Flight Leftenant Qual was useful as a go-between in this matter, and we soon had a broad-based approval of the general terms of the agreement from the Zenobian side. Now all that remained was to bring the two races together and consolidate his diplomatic victory.

Oddly enough, while there were a hundred details to check and loose ends to tie together, everything moved extraordinarily swiftly once things were set in motion. After waiting outside the camp during most of the action, I drove the hoverjeep in at dawn and found I barely had time for a proper bath and change of uniform before I was up to my ears in work. But by late afternoon, everything was in readiness.

The command cadre of Omega Company stood facing Phule near the perimeter of the camp. While many of them were smiling, there were also several dazed expressions; the pace of events over the last twenty-four hours had been too much for almost anyone to keep track of without a script. Phule himself was not quite sure he understood everything that had happened, and he was sure that most of the things that had happened were best kept from the Legion’s high command.

Next to him stood the Andromatic robot that had been his stand-in at the Fat Chance Casino on Lorelei and, after its kidnapping and escape, his unofficial double here in camp. Even now, several of the legionnaires kept looking back and forth between him and the robot, as if they weren’t entirely sure which was which.

Lieutenant Armstrong spoke for all of them. “It’s really uncanny,” he said. “Even when it stands there, entirely motionless, it’s hard to tell you apart.”

“It would be even more difficult if he hadn’t engaged the robot’s override protocols,” said Beeker.

“What’s that?” asked Chocolate Harry.

“They prevent it from doing anything other than what I give it a specific order to do,” said Phule. “But when I have it set to impersonate me, it’ll follow a general program of doing things I might be doing, and it’ll respond appropriately to events around it, subject to the robotic laws.”

“Respond appropriately is an understatement,” said Rembrandt with a nervous laugh. “If you hadn’t come back, I guess we would have figured out it wasn’t really you, but it would have taken a good while longer. And somebody like the major, who didn’t know you from before-I don’t think he ever had a chance.”

Phule grimaced. “I suppose I ought to be glad I got my money’s worth from the manufacturer,” he said wryly. “But I can’t help feeling a bit miffed that none of my officers noticed any difference between me and the robot.”

“Yo, if folks paid attention, they’d a spotted it pretty quick,” said Chocolate Harry. “Every time somebody came up to it wearing my purple camo, it couldn’t see ‘em. If somebody had tipped me to that, I’d have spotted that sucker for a bot in no time flat.”

“At least, I’m glad it wasn’t you ignoring me like that,” said Jennie Higgins. Then she stopped and peered at Phule more closely. “It wasn’t you, now, was it?”

“On my word as a gentleman and an officer,” said Phule, holding up his hand as if taking a pledge.

Jennie feigned a pout. “Coming from you, I’m not sure how much that’s worth.”

“Oh, coming from me, it’s worth a great deal,” said Phule.

“And he’s got the Dilithium Express card to prove it,” said Rembrandt, winking.

Before anyone could reply to that, Brandy pointed out into the desert and said, “Something’s coming, Captain.”

“Ah, that may be what we’re waiting for,” said Phule. “The Nanoids coming to finalize their agreement.”

“Movin’ mighty fast,” said Chocolate Harry. “They on a bike or somethin’?”

“Conceivably, yes,” said Beeker. “They evidently have the ability to form themselves into aggregations for special purposes, so perhaps they’ve adopted a form not dissimilar to one of your hovercycles.”

“Whatever you say, man,” said Chocolate Harry, shading his eyes with a huge hand. “Still comin’ in fast. Are y’ sure this is all cool, Cap’n? We can still get a couple antitank lasers zeroed in on it ‘fore it gets too close.”

“I doubt they’d hurt it any,” said Sushi. “It’d do about as much damage as shooting a rifle at a swarm of ripners.”

“I just hope it has good brakes,” said Armstrong. “Shouldn’t we stand out of its direct line of approach?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” said Phule, stepping off a half-dozen paces to one side. The group of legionnaires followed him and watched as the cloud of dust came closer, eerily quiet for something so fast-moving. At last, just as it seemed it would inevitably crash into the camp, the oncoming entity came to a pinpoint stop a few meters away from the group of officers who, observing Phule’s cool unconcern, stood quietly waiting for it. Only when the dust began to settle did anyone react to what had arrived in their midst.

“Sheeee-it! It’s the renegade robots!” cried Chocolate Harry, and he fell flat to the ground, reaching for a weapon.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” said Sushi. “We’ve been showing them kids’ adventure holos, and they must have decided they want to look like Roger Robot. You can get up, Harry. Meet the Nanoids.”

“Nanoids? What the hell is that?” said Harry, slowly getting to his feet. He eyed the new arrival suspiciously.

“They’re the whole reason we came to this planet,” said Phule. “They share Zenobia with the Zenobians, and now we’ve got to arrange it so the two species can coexist in peace. And as it happens, I’ve got the perfect ambassador in mind.”

“Ambassador? Who’s that?” said Armstrong.

“Yours truly, of course,” said an uncannily familiar voice. The voice came from the Andromatic robot, which they now saw was dressed in a tuxedo, carrying an impressive-looking portfolio under one arm.

“The robot?” said Jennie Higgins.

“That’s right,” said Phule. “The Zenobians will accept it because it looks like me, and they already think of me as a human of unusual integrity and leadership-“

“I can’t imagine where they got that notion,” said Beeker, dryly.

Phule ignored him. “And the Nanoids will respond to its robotic logic in a way they couldn’t to any organic ambassador. So both sides will trust it, and meanwhile, it’ll remain completely loyal to the Alliance, because it can’t conceive of any other course of action.”

“Man, are you sure about that?” asked Chocolate Harry, squinting carefully at the Andromatic robot.

“Absolutely, Sergeant,” said the robot. It gave a very passable imitation of a wink. “And, by the way, it’s a pleasure finally to see you without all that silly purple. Awkward for me to pretend I didn’t see you.”

“Say what?” said Harry. “You mean you could see me all along, even with the camo? I be damn-“

“That is exactly right, Sergeant,” said the robot.

“Why did you pretend you couldn’t see us, then?” said Jennie, her eyes beginning to smolder.

“Very simple, Miss Higgins,” said the robot. “That purple antirobot camouflage is distributed by Phule-Proof Industries. For me to reveal that it was ineffective would be to damage my owner’s interests, which of course I am programmed to protect. So until he reprogrammed me, I had to pretend that it did, in fact, work as advertised.”

Chocolate Harry let out a long, low whistle. “Man, that’s way too fast for my speed. I got to tell you, Cap’n, I’m glad this sucker is on our side.”

“So am I, Harry,” said Phule, chuckling. “So am I”

Journal #612

General Blitzkrieg was not at all happy when he received the news from Zenobia. To begin with, he was forced to pay off his thousand-dollar bet with Colonel Battleax when the arbiters-General Havoc, Ambassador Gottesman, and the third judge chosen by them, Chief Plenipotentary Korg of Zenobia-declared that Omega Company had successfully achieved the mission’s stated objectives. And that was only the beginning.

Next, the Alliance Senate had called him in to testify on the treaty that my employer had concluded between the Zenobians and the Nanoids, who had turned out to have great potential as trading partners for the Alliance, once communications channels had been opened up. Having gone on record as opposing Omega Company’s being given the Zenobia assignment, he was caught completely off guard by this development. It was particularly aggravating that he was forced to depend almost entirely on Captain Jester’s reports to prepare himself for the Senate hearings.

Most annoying of all, the man he’d hand-picked as CO of Omega Company had evidently turned tail and run away just as the new race was arriving to make its overtures to the Legion company. There was very little the general could do to make his choice of Major Botchup look like anything but a blunder.

He didn’t understand how so many things could have gone wrong at once. Still, if there was a way to make himself into the hero of the day, he intended to find it.

General Blitzkrieg gripped the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. There was the beginning of a headache lurking just behind his sinuses. He wanted nothing more than to go lie down, but he had to appear before the Alliance Senate in half an hour, and he didn’t dare go in there without some kind of coherent story-not unless he wanted to be even more a laughingstock than he already was.

“All right, tell me again how we’re going to explain this,” he said. “Not only did Major Botchup and his aide desert from Omega Company in the face of what they thought was an enemy incursion; they ran away to Lorelei. Lorelei! Why the hell did they have to pick the plushest resort station in the sector to escape to?”

Major Sparrowhawk looked on at her superior, tightlipped. She’d hitched her career to Blitzkrieg’s, and she’d always been careful to tell him what he wanted to hear. But it was beginning to look as if her best bet for survival was to start telling him what he needed to hear. And there was no better time to start than right now. She drew a star on her notepad and said, “Sir, Lorelei was the closest Alliance outpost. You need to keep emphasizing that fact, General.”

“I just hope the senators buy this bill of goods,” said Blitzkrieg. He opened his eyes and glared. “It looks bad, damn it, very bad.”

“It doesn’t help a bit that it was your picked commanding officer ran off,” snarled Colonel Battleax, pausing in her pacing back and forth around the anteroom to which the Legion delegation had been sent to wait until the Senate was ready for them. “The Legion’s lucky Jester was there to pick up the pieces. If you were smart, you’d make the most of that point. He’s the Legion’s golden boy, as far as the civilians are concerned, and that includes the Senate. Our best chance to profit from this episode is to give him full credit for it.”

“It galls the hell out of me,” said the general. “That son of a bitch is leading a charmed life, Colonel. If it weren’t for the good of the Legion-“

“The next time you give a damn about the good of the Legion will be the first time,” said Battleax. “You didn’t have the sense to leave Jester alone to take care of a situation he was perfectly suited to handle, and you’ve ended up saddling Botchup with a failure he may never get off his record. Not that anybody expected much of him to begin with.”

“We don’t want the senators to focus on any of that, ma’am,” said Major Sparrowhawk quietly. “General, you are going to tell them we had an important mission that required Botchup’s presence on Lorelei. And to make the most capital out of Jester’s diplomatic coup-“

“Diplomatic farking coup!” moaned Blitzkrieg. “How the hell does a complete idiot keep coming up with diplomatic coups?”

“Idiot or not, he keeps doing it,” growled Battleax. “His company did everything they were asked to do, and more. By my count, this is the third time he’s saved our bacon.” Her expression made it very clear who she thought was the idiot.

“Don’t rub it in, Colonel,” growled Blitzkrieg. “You’ve won your damned bet, thanks to Jester and his rabble-and those half-blind judges. I don’t need your gloating-“

Sparrowhawk cleared her throat. This wasn’t going to be easy to say, but somebody had to say it. “As I was suggesting, General, Colonel, the Legion will look a lot better if you claim that Captain Jester was acting in furtherance of your orders, instead of letting everybody know he did it in spite of you. And the best way to make capital out of his accomplishments would be to return him to official command of Omega Company and promote him to-“

General Blitzkrieg sat bolt upright. “Promote him! I’d sooner promote the devil!”

“Have it your own way, sir,” said Sparrowhawk with a shrug. “I suspect the senators will have their own ideas of what Captain Jester deserves, though.”

As it turned out, she was right again.