Phule Me Twice (23 page)

"Couple of days probably seems like forever to them," said Mother, shrugging. "Don't get your hopes too high, Remmie. I know you're looking for some way to fight back against the brass hats, and I'm all for it. The captain would be fighting them, if he were himself. I keep hoping he'll snap out of it-"

"So do I, Mother," said Rembrandt. "Until then, we've got to try to guess what he'd be doing, and do the same ourselves. I just wish we were getting better results."

"You want results?" Mother scoffed. "Girl, those pills the autodoc gave you must be making you giddy. This is the Legion. They don't believe in results; they just say they do." She chuckled, but her face was serious.

"Except for Captain Jester," said Rembrandt, lifting her chin. "He not only believes in results, he gets them."

"I know what you mean," said Mother. "I just worry whether his luck's run out at last. I hope not, but I'm afraid to hope for too much."

"The captain wouldn't want us to give up," said Rembrandt. "He'd want us to start figuring out a way around the system, and that's what I'm doing."

"I know," said Mother. "More power to you, because I don't want to think about what happens if the brass hats win this one."

"Neither do I," said Rembrandt. "I'm doing what I can to keep the bastards from winning."

"And if it's not enough?"

Rembrandt stood up, wincing. She looked down at Mother and said in a resigned voice, "I don't know. I don't have much else to throw into the fight."

Mother sighed. "Well, let's just hope it's enough, then." Rembrandt just nodded and made her way slowly out of Comm Central. Mother watched her leave, then shook her head sadly and turned back to her comet screen.

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 "