Robert Asprin - Phule's Errand

The locals had plenty of modern machinery, although most of it was well hidden in kitchens, back rooms, and other areas where tourists rarely intruded. Robots were configured to resemble mules, oxen, and other “authentic frontier creatures.” Cut ‘N’ Shoot’s founders were sensible businessmen, not members of some cult of perverse self-denial. Even the most authenticity-hungry tourists weren’t usually ready to leave behind basic conveniences. You might as well have asked them to do without their personal entertainment and communications devices.

Sushi looked around and shrugged. “It doesn’t look as if there’s much else to do here,” he said. He opened his duffel and took out his pocket computer. “I might as well run a search and see if I get lucky. Maybe this planet’s smaller than I think.”

“Can’t be any smaller than I think,” said Do-Wop, but Sushi ignored him. He was already at work.

The group in Phule’s office was the entire command cadre of Omega Company. Lieutenant Rembrandt presided, sitting behind Phule’s desk. To her left sat Lieutenant Armstrong, and to her right Flight Leftenant Qual, the representative of their Zenobian hosts. First Sergeant Brandy and Supply Sergeant Chocolate Harry sat in two chairs facing the three officers. Unseen, but present via comm, was Mother, who had announced the bad news that was the reason for the emergency meeting.

“All right, people,” said Rembrandt. “As we all know, Captain Jester is off-planet and can’t get back fast enough to make any difference. The ball’s in our court. This can’t be the worst thing that’s happened to this company. We’ve dealt with mobsters, monsters, revolutionaries, robots, and enough brass hats to ground a starship. So we ought to be able to deal with a surprise visit from the Legion’s commanding general, right?”

“Yeah, oughta be a snap,” said Chocolate Harry, the huge Supply sergeant. He spread his hands, with a convincing display of nonchalance. “We doin‘ our jobs, right? We keepin’ Zenobia safe for the Zenobians.”

“Demanding your clemency, large one, but Zenobians are doing a great deal toward that end,” said Flight Left-enant Qual. He looked like a diminutive dinosaur- perhaps an allosaurus -dressed up like a military officer for some costume tri-vee, and his language regularly defied the translator’s efforts to make his statements into comprehensible English. But he had a fine military mind, and he was afraid of nothing.

“The sergeant doesn’t mean we want to take credit for your efforts, Qual,” said Rembrandt. “What he means is that we’re doing the job we came for, and that ought to be enough for the general. Which would be true, except that we all know that General Blitzkrieg has a major grudge against this company and especially against our captain.” .

“That’s an understatement,” said First Sergeant Brandy. “Fact is, the general’s going to be looking for reasons to shove this company right back in the shitcan it was in before Captain Jester came here, and if he can’t find any, he’ll make some up. Looking at the crazy people we’ve got here, it’s not going to be much of a stretch for him to find ‘em. Don’t get me wrong, Remmie-I love this company, but we damn sure have to admit we’re never gonna win any spit-’n‘-polish contests.“ She gestured at the others in the room. With only two of the five present wearing complete uniforms, her point was obvious.

Rembrandt responded with a wry grin. “We’d have enough trouble filling out the entry forms,” she admitted. “Still, we’ve got a good thing here, and I think we all agree it’s worth protecting. The question is, what can we do to keep the general from destroying everything the captain’s built up?”

“Be a lot easier if the captain was here,” said Chocolate Harry. “Him and Beeker, they can pretty much make their own rules and convince the brass that was the rules all along. Last time we had to do without the both of ‘em, all we had to do was get around that jive-ass Major Botchup. And that robot the captain fixed up to mess with the mobsters’ heads back on Lorelei did half the work for us.”

“Well, give the troops some credit, too,” said Rembrandt. “They did plenty of messing with Botchup’s head, too. But I don’t think we can expect the general to be such an easy mark.”

“Why not?” said Brandy, a sudden glint in her eye. “He’s the one who sent Botchup here, isn’t he? If he was stupid enough to do that, he’s likely to fall for just about anything. And knowing my troops, I can guarantee that’s exactly what they’re going to come up with.”

“Yeah, I think we can trust the troops to rise to a challenge,” said Rembrandt, dryly. “But what if General Blitzkrieg just happens to bring along somebody smart enough to know when he’s being played for a sucker? Colonel Battleax, for example-she’s got more than her share of brains.”

“Yeah, and that’s why he won’t bring her,” said Brandy, confidently. “He’s coming here with one thing in mind, and that’s making the captain into a scapegoat. Colonel Bat-tleax plays by the rules, but she’s always been willing to give Captain Jester and Omega Company a fair shake- even if it means bending the rules a little. She’s the last person the general wants looking over his shoulder when he’s trying to screw us over.”

“So maybe we’ve got a chance to keep him off-balance,” said Rembrandt. “That still leaves us with one big problem-how long can we keep him from noticing the captain’s not here? Especially since he’s coming all the way here for the particular pleasure of chewing him out face-to-face…”

“I am thinking I have a solution to that,” said Flight Leftenant Qual, bouncing out of his seat. “You should severally attend to your own assignments, and I will undertake to provide the general with diversion in that department.” The little Zenobian flashed a toothy reptilian grin and, before anyone could ask what he meant, was out the door.

“What the hell’s ol‘ Qual up to?” asked Chocolate Harry, scratching his head.

“I haven’t the vaguest idea,” said Rembrandt, shrugging.

“Whatever it is, I hope it’s good,” said Armstrong. “General Blitzkrieg may not have the quickest mind in the Legion, but he’s still got stars on his shoulders. If he realizes we’re playing games with him, he can make life really lousy for everybody here.”

“In that case, we’d better get to work,” said Rembrandt. “I think we’ve all got plenty to do, don’t we?”

“No kiddin‘,” said Chocolate Harry, rolling his eyes. “And when the general gets here, ain’t none of it gonna matter.” He lifted his ample bulk out of the chair and headed out the door.

“I sure hope he’s wrong about that,” said Armstrong.

“I don’t know whether he is or not,” said Rembrandt. “But we’ve got to act as if he is, don’t we?”

There was a resigned murmur of agreement, and the cadre of Omega Company scattered to prepare-as best they could-for General Blitzkrieg.

Journal #789-

During the settlement of Cut ‘N’ Shoot considerable effort went into re-creating the ambience of “the Old West,” even down to details not strictly necessary to the functioning of the colony as a vacation spot. Evidently it was felt that tourists-on whom the colony placed much of its hope for income-would expect, upon a visit to the Old West, to encounter Indians, as the aboriginal inhabitants of that legendary territory were designated.

Unfortunately, the historical evidence on these people is rather contradictory. There were evidently three groups to whom the title was applied, and the founders of Cut ‘N’ Shoot were uncertain just which ones to incorporate into their re-creation. A committee chosen to solve the problem arrived at the Solomonic decision to invite all three groups to participate. And so, East, West, and Wild Indians all arrived and set up villages where tourists could appreciate their exotic lifestyles.