Robert Asprin - Phule's Errand

But before she could say anything, another voice broke the silence. “Well, well, Captain-what the devil’s going on here?”

Brandy turned her head to see none other than General Blitzkrieg, with an expression that might have made a full-grown gryff turn and run for its life.

Journal #852-

Many humans, when first encountering Zenobians, think of them as a backward and slow-witted species. I believe there are two reasons for this: their reptilian appearance and their short stature. Their appearance leads humans to think of them as more primitive than they are; the small size conveys, to many of us, the suggestion of immaturity. Those impressions ignore the fact that the first Zenobians our race encountered were aboard a spacegoing survey vessel, a considerable distance from the Zenobian home world.

I do believe that the Zenobians have fostered these mistaken assumptions about their species. It can be a considerable advantage if the other party in a business transaction consistently underestimates one’s intelligence and sophistication.

I have sometimes wondered if my employer is familiar with this strategy. It would explain a great deal…

Phule’s trip back to his hotel was somewhat more of an adventure than he’d planned on. He’d been warned about Old Earth’s ubiquitous pickpockets, con artists, and identity thieves, as well as Pitti’s news about rumors connecting the Space Legion with the IRS-guaranteed to make the black uniform unpopular. Still, nothing he’d heard matched the experience of walking through the streets of Rome. In fact, the only thing that came close was spending an equivalent amount of time with some of the enlisted legionnaires of the Omega Mob.

Phule knew enough not to carry anything valuable when he went out on the streets. He knew more than enough not to fall for the myriad sob stories and come-ons that someone on every street corner seemed ready to offer to prosperous-looking passersby. And his personal information had been specially encrypted in the experimental Zenobian-based code that Sushi was developing. Sushi had assured him that only a native speaker of Zenobian was going to have any chance to crack the code. Earth’s hackers and crackers might be the best in the galaxy, but Agent Fox’s ignorance about Zenobia was a pretty good indication that nobody on Old Earth was likely to have the necessary knowledge to make use of his information, even if they did manage to steal it.

Meanwhile, he was enjoying the energy and the color of the bustling Roman streets, which had become far safer for pedestrians with the arrival of hovercars, which the Romans drove with the same recklessness they’d driven ground cars-but well above street level, and with better automatic safety devices. It might be fun to walk around the city with Samantha Beliveau, the pretty redhead he’d met going to the landing shuttle. He’d been meaning to call her and make a lunch date, possibly at the restaurant Uncle Pitti had mentioned-Trattoria something or another. They’d probably know at the hotel…

He was still trying to remember the name of the restaurant when he heard a woman scream. The sound came from an alley he’d just walked past. He turned and looked carefully down the narrow passageway-no sense sticking his neck out unless he knew what he was getting into.

Just as he looked, a weasel-faced man in a shiny dark suit struck a young woman across the face with a backhanded slap. The woman was nearly knocked off her feet by the blow. Only the man’s rough grip on her arm with his other hand prevented her from falling outright.

“What’s going on here?” shouted Phule. At the sound of Phule’s voice, the man turned and looked at him-. indignant at being interrupted, to judge from his expression. But at the same time, the woman broke the grip and stumbled toward Phule, who stepped forward to shelter her. He quickly pulled her out of the alleyway and onto the crowded street.

“What’s the matter?” said Phule. The woman looked to be in her early twenties, and wore something that Phule mentally classified as a “peasant dress”-not that he had any knowledge of what peasants wore these days, let alone whether any peasants were still around to wear it.

The woman cast her gaze back over her shoulder. There was a bruise starting to form under her left eye. “That man-he tried to kill me!” she gasped, turning to look up into Phule’s eyes. Her eyes were dark and pleading as she held onto his arm, obviously frightened.

“You get in my way, I kill you too!” said the man, waving a fist. He took a threatening step forward.

That made up Phule’s mind. “Come on!” He grabbed her hand and set off at a pace he hoped she would be able to keep up with. A block away, he looked back at the alleyway; Weasel-face was standing there, hands on hips, staring angrily at them. But he had made no effort to follow.

“I think we’re safe,” he said. “Do you have anywhere safe to go?”

“I do, but I am afraid of him,” she said. “What if he follows up?”

“Well, come along with me,” said Phule. “We’ll go someplace he can’t follow us, and then we’ll figure out how you can get away from him. I can’t really do much else for you-I’m just here for a short time, and have important business of my own.” He made a mental note to himself to stay alert for any funny business on the woman’s part; it wouldn’t be unheard of for an attractive “victim” to lure an off-world tourist into following her someplace where Weasel-face, who would of course turn out to be her accomplice, could rob him.

“Yes, I will come with you,” said the woman, darting another glance backward. “But hurry, please-I am afraid of him.”

“He doesn’t look very frightening to me,” said Phule. “Just stay close to me and I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you.” He led her in the direction of his hotel, glancing over his shoulder to see if Weasel-face was following. Apparently not; so far, so good, he thought. He wondered if there was some way to give the woman any long-term security. She did seem to be genuinely afraid. Pitti da Phule might have some suggestions on that score…

Suddenly he realized that it seemed to be taking a long time to get to the hotel. It should be just a block or so ahead, on the right-hand corner… but no, it was nowhere to be seen. I ought to stop and get my bearings, Phule thought to himself. “Hold on a second, miss,” he said to the woman. To his surprise, she just kept walking-and he kept walking with her. His feet didn’t seem to want to stop…

“What’s happening?” he said. For some reason, he couldn’t raise his voice above a husky whisper. Then, he remembered: When she’d taken his arm after coming out of the alleyway, her nails had dug into his skin. A glance down showed a small red mark on his wrist. Putting two and two together at last, he blurted out, “You’ve drugged me! Where are you taking me?”

“Not to worry, signore,” she said. “Nobody wants to hurt you. I’m sure you are worth very much more unharmed, and I don’t think you would enjoy it, either. Just come along quietly with me. Don’t fight the ‘zombie’ shot, and my friend Carmelo doesn’t have to do anything. He is so much happier when he doesn’t have to do anything, capisceT

Phule looked behind him, and saw Weasel-face- undoubtedly Carmelo-walking a short distance behind, a sardonic smile on his face. But whatever drugs the woman had given him, they seemed to work just fine. He followed her without question along the Roman streets, his feet moving steadily despite his urgent desire to turn and run away.

General Blitzkrieg let out a deep breath. The charging Zenobian monster hadn’t breached the base perimeter. And he felt good that he’d managed to sprint a solid thirty meters-or at least, as close to a sprint as was consonant with the dignity of a senior officer. His heart had stopped pounding after no more than five minutes, and he’d managed to avoid being seen by any low-ranking legionnaires. Only that phony chaplain, Rev, had seen him flee in panic, and Rev had looked genuinely scared himself when the beast put on its charge. So the story wasn’t likely to leak out from that quarter.