Phule Me Twice

"He's going to Zenobia," said Blitzkrieg, smirking. "A mission of that importance can't have a mere captain in command of it, let alone a bumbler like Jester. Botchup is due for an important command of his own. And if anybody can whip Omega company into shape, he's the man for the job. A genuine respect for Legion traditions-you don't see that very often these days, Sparrowhawk."

"No, sir," said Sparrowhawk. Herself, she was just as glad the old Legion ways were starting to die out. But that wasn't something to admit to Blitzkrieg, who fancied himself the last bastion of Legion tradition-and the legacy of ineptitude that went with it. She was pretty sure that was the main reason he'd taken such a hatred of Phule, far beyond any provocation the captain of Omega Company had given his superiors. "Shall I cut orders for Major Botchup to join the company on Landoor, then?"

The general rubbed his chin, musing. "No, I think that'd give Jester too much time to get ready for him. We'll have him join his new command at their destination on Zenobia. And we'll keep it under our hats for now. No point in having somebody try to undercut the plan before it's had a chance to work."

"Yes, sir," said Sparrowhawk. She knew the reasoning behind that one: easier to ask forgiveness than to get permission. It was no surprise to find out that Blitzkrieg operated on that principle. It was probably the oldest of all Legion traditions.

"Thank you very much, sir," said Phule. He shook Ambassador Gottesman's hand. "I didn't really want to get my hopes up for this assignment. Quite frankly, some of the top Legion commanders can be counted on to oppose anything that looks like a reward for this unit. But I must say, you came through rather quickly."

"I made use of a few co

Phule gri

"Yes, and they say they're trying to repel an alien invasion," said the ambassador, spreading his hands.

"I see," said Phule, leaning his elbow on his desk. "Who are the invaders, sir:"

"I wish I had a good answer to that, and I'm afraid I don't," said Gottesman. "The Zenobians are being closemouthed about it." He paused and took a sip of his tea, then looked Phule straight in the eye. "I have the distinct impression they're...well, embarrassed might be the best description of how they're acting."

"Embarrassed?" Phule leaned his other elbow on the desk. Now he was frowning. "Can you be more precise? Are they embarrassed because they can't repel the invaders or because they need help or what?"

The ambassador shrugged. "I don't really know. In fact, it's just my interpretation of how they act. And you must know how hard it can be to read a nonhuman sophont's emotions." He set down the teacup with a wry smile and spread his hands. "I have enough trouble with my teenage daughters, half the time."

"I can imagine," said Phule, thinking that even parenting teenage girls might be easier than commanding the motley outfit he'd been put in charge of. "But this puts my people at a serious disadvantage, going into a possible combat situation without reliable intelligence. If we don' know what we're up against-"

"I understand, Captain," said the ambassador. He stood up and put his hand on Phule's shoulder. "We at State have our intelligence branch working overtime on it, believe me. We don't want to send anybody into a booby trap. The minute we get something useful, you'll get it from us. You have my word on that. Until then, just try to be ready for anything-anything at all."

Phule nodded. "I guess we'll have to be ready, then," he said. He stood up and shook Gottesman's hand. Then he added, "That's what we're supposed to do anyhow, isn't it?"

"I have complete confidence in you and your people. Captain," said the ambassador. Then he added darkly, "I wish I had the same confidence in your superiors." He allowed himself a thin smile and left the office.

Beeker, who had sat silently listening to the entire interview, watched the ambassador leave, then said, "Are you quite certain you want to stick your head into this particular noose, sir?"

Phule turned to look at his butler. "Is that how you read it, Beeker?" He placed high value on Beeker's opinions and advice-not that he always allowed them to influence his decisions. If he had, he'd never have joined the Space Legion. But when the butler smelled trouble, it was worth listening to him.

Beeker steepled his fingers. "Consider the evidence, sir. The Zenobians have asked for help against some sort of external threat that they ca

"Well, as much as we can, of course," said Phule. "I suspect most of our role will be in training and in tactical and strategic consultation. After all, we're being brought in as advisors, not to engage the enemy directly."

Beeker's face grew solemn. "Sir, I hope you have not entered into negotiations to purchase any bridges from the Zenobians."

Phule laughed. "I leave that to State, Beeker," he said. "With Ambassador Gottesman on our side, I'm not really worried about any surprises."

"You should be," scolded Beeker. "Ambassador Gottesman has done a great deal for us when it was to his advantage to do so. Now it is to his advantage to send us to Zenobia, but I have no idea whether it is to our advantage to go there. The Black Hills undoubtedly looked like a plum assignment to George Armstrong Custer."

"Good old Beeker, always seeing the bright side," said Phule, gri

"Sir, that's exactly what worries me the most," said Beeker.

Journal #505

It did not take long for word of the company's impending move to filter down to the rank and file. Indeed, within a few short hours of Phule's conversation with the ambassador, the tables at the Landoor Plaza's Poolside Bar were buzzing with speculation. As a rule, the better a position a person was in to know what was really likely to happen, the less they were willing to say about it. However, this rule could definitely be modified in the case of Chocolate Harry.

Chocolate Harry stared at Do-Wop and shook his head sadly. "Man, if you knew half as much as you think you know, you'd be a mortal danger."

"He's a mortal danger already," said Super-Gnat, deadpan. "Just ask any woman who's gone on a date with him."

"Ahh, I got girls lined up ten deep waitin' for the chance to go out with me," said Do-Wop, swelling up his chest and making a perfunctory grab at Gnat, who ducked away and stuck out her tongue at him. Frustrated in his effort to demonstrate his appeal, he turned back to the supply sergeant. "But I can't let you get away with that, C. H. I got inside info as good as anybody in the company. You don't know who I been talkin' to."

"Don't matter who you talk to, you wouldn't understand it if they told you two and two is four," said Chocolate Harry. "You'd figure it was six, and by the time you got done tellin' the rest of us, it'd be fifteen or twenty."

"And worth absolutely nothin'," added Slammer, one of the new recruits who'd been assigned to the supply depot under Harry's supervision. He'd quickly picked up the supply sergeant's conversational style: half humorous insults, half bragging, and half plain lies. That's three halves, but those who knew Harry were willing to make allowances for a good bit of surplus.