Robert Asprin: Phule's Errand

Phule automatically cast his mind back over the past few days, trying to think of what Qual might be referring to. At various points in the past, Qual had been utterly fascinated by things that most humans took utterly for granted-like shaving, or the makeup many female legionnaires wore. It was impossible to predict what might catch Qual’s attention and sometimes impossible to explain it to his satisfaction. Phule had thought shoes would be trivially obvious, but they apparently weren’t-at least, not to Qual.

He thought a few moments-whatever Qual was curious about, it was enough to bring him out into the desert to run instead of just dropping by Phule’s office. Finally, he had to admit, “I haven’t noticed anything that unusual, Qual. What have you seen?”

“Oho,” said Qual, showing his sharp-pointed teeth in a broad grin. “Perhaps it is not curious, after all. I regret to have intercepted your rush.”

Armstrong raised a quizzical eyebrow, but by now Phule had mostly figured out how to interpret Qual’s speech despite the sometimes bizarrely phrased remarks that came out of the translating machine. “No problem, Qual,” he said, almost unconsciously changing his course to avoid a large rock along the left side of the path. “Glad to have the company. But tell me, just so I know-what do you think is so curious?”

Qual ran a few steps before answering, jumping over the same rock that Phule had dodged around. “I am wondering if Beeker is below the wind,” he said.

“Below the…” Phule’s brow wrinkled as he attempted to work out what Qual meant. “Oh, under the weather. No, not as far as I know. What makes you think so?”

Qual’s reptilian grin grew even broader, showing far more teeth than most humans found comfortable. Despite its fierce appearance, the expression meant exactly the same as a human smile-at least, as far as Phule had been able to determine. “He is spending much time with the new medician, which is not to be expected if he is healthy.”

Phule’s face turned red, but Armstrong broke out laughing. “Well, Captain, it looks as if we’ve solved one problem and stirred up another,” he said. “We make the troops healthier, and poor old Beeker…” He left the thought unfinished.

“I’d wondered why he hadn’t been hanging around my office quite so much,” said Phule. “He and Nightingale were pretty close back on Lorelei, just before we lifted off. I guess I should have expected something like this when she turned out to be the new medic. Well, with any luck, they’ll settle back down before long.”

Armstrong nodded, then said, “I wonder, though, Captain… is this one of General Blitzkrieg’s little ploys to make life difficult for Omega Company, or just another coincidence?”

Phule’s jaw clenched. “Lieutenant, I wish you hadn’t asked that question,” he said. He ran on for nearly a hundred yards before adding, “At least, they’re both grownups. That’s supposed to help.”

But he didn’t sound as if he really believed it.

“I’m worried,” said Thumper, in a near whisper. “What if… ?” He and Mahatma were standing in the shadows of the observation tower in the center of Zenobia Base, facing toward the Supply depot.

“Do not worry,” said Mahatma, patting his new partner on the back. “What if is exactly the kind of question you need to be asking, because others have not asked it. The result of your asking will be greater awareness, and that will make Omega Company better able to perform its mission. Is that not what a good legionnaire should be doing?”

“I guess so,” said Thumper. “I just remember that, back in Legion Basic, asking the sergeants a question was a quick way to get in trouble.”

“This is not Legion Basic,” said Mahatma, smiling quietly. “And while Chocolate Harry is undeniably a sergeant, he is not likely to do much more than express himself loudly in very flamboyant language. That is why I am starting you with him; we will work our way up to more challenging interactions. In time you will find that you can even pose questions to Sergeant Escrima without undue anxiety. It is all a matter of the correct attitude.”

“OK,” said Thumper, still looking a bit dubious. “I’ll give it my best shot-wish me luck.”

“Luck is an illusion,” said Mahatma. “All will be well if you preserve a calm demeanor. Go to it!”

“Yeah,” said Thumper. He stepped out of the shadows and walked as nonchalantly as possible toward the Supply depot. Preserve a calm demeanor… preserve a calm demeanor, he repeated to himself. The mantra must have worked; there was even a trace of a bounce in his stride as he came through the door. “Good morning, Sergeant Chocolate Harry,” he said in his politest tone of voice.

“Yo, Thumper,” rumbled Harry, looking up from the Biker’s Friend catalog he’d been reading. “You need somethin‘?”

“Uh, actually, Sergeant, I wanted to ask you a question,” said Thumper, self-conscious again. Without Mahatma standing next to him, his demeanor was drifting farther away from calmness with every passing moment.

“Question?” Harry frowned. “This here’s the Supply depot, Thumpy—not the freakin‘ Answer depot. But give it a shot, anyway. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“Luck is an illusion,” said Thumper. He felt more confident remembering Mahatma’s words.

“Huh? You been talkin‘ to Qual?” Chocolate Harry’s brows knit as he attempted to figure out whether or not Thumper was serious, and whether or not to take it as an insult.

Seeing Harry’s confusion, Thumper hastened to ask his question before the Supply sergeant decided he wasn’t in the mood to bandy words with nearly raw recruits. “I understand you have a large supply of purple camouflage, Sergeant. Am I right?”

“Sure, got anything you want,” said Chocolate Harry, relaxing as he thought he recognized a sucker asking to be fleeced. “Caps, vests, capes, socks, knapsacks-you name it, I got it. How much you need?”

“I don’t know,” said Thumper. “Uh, that is, I don’t know whether I need it or not. How do you know it works?”

Harry scoffed. “Man, everybody in the company knows it works. Time the robots come over the hill lookin‘ to kick butt, the purple cammy did the job. Ask the captain; ask Brandy; ask anybody-they’ll tell you. You want to be safe from robots, you gotta be wearin’ the purple.”

“I see,” said Thumper, his ears perking up. “But do we know that it protects against alien robots, Sergeant? Wouldn’t those have different laws?”

“What you mean, different laws?” asked Harry.

“Everybody knows robots can’t see purple-they just built that way.”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant, I must not have explained my point clearly,” said Thumper. “Let me try again. The brains of Alliance robots are all built with Asimov circuits that make them obey the Three Laws. Am I right?”

“Sure,” said Harry. “They can’t build ‘em no other way. And one of the things they build into those circuits is purple-blindness. I can show you that in writin’, Thumper, writin‘ straight from the gov’ment.”

“That’s very good, Sergeant,” said Thumper. “Of course I know the Three Laws- a robot mustn’t harm a sophont, or let a sophont come to harm if it can prevent it -we learned all that in kiddygarden. And the teachers wouldn’t tell us something if it wasn’t so. But what happens if we run into robots that weren’t made in the Alliance? Wouldn’t alien robots have different laws?”

“Alien robots? There ain’t no alien robots, on account of there ain’t no aliens,” said Harry, his voice getting louder. “Everybody’s part of the Alliance-all the so-phonts in the galaxy. So all the robots is the same.”