Robert Asprin: Phule's Errand

“Good to get off that damned hellhole world,” growled General Blitzkrieg. “At first I was beginning to think Jester had drawn an ace in the hole, what with his private golf course, friendly natives, and all that. I tell you, Major, I had a good mind to pull Omega Company out and put somebody more deserving in there. No point in giving the screwups such a plum assignment.”

“No, sir,” agreed Sparrowhawk. “There are lots of regular companies that deserve good assignments.”

“Well, that’s just what I was thinking,” said Blitzkrieg. “But then-did you see some of those monsters that live in the desert outside that camp? I’m surprised half the complement hasn’t been eaten alive.”

“No, sir,” said Sparrowhawk. She’d heard the general’s description of the-what had he called it?-the gryff. “From what you tell me, I don’t want to.”

“I tell you, it’s enough to change my whole opinion of the place,” said Blitzkrieg. He swirled his drink, took a sip, and continued. “Ironically, that constant danger might just be the thing to turn Jester into a competent officer, after all. Much as I’d hate to admit it, there’s a hint of iron in his backbone. I don’t think he meant me to see it, but I caught him chewing out a squad after a surprise inspection. Most commanders want the top brass to think their units are perfect, of course. So they try not to ream ‘em out where I can see it.”

“Yes, sir,” said Sparrowhawk. She knew it well. Most of the time, she was the one who did the snooping to uncover the problem areas on bases the general went to inspect. The local officers might manage to hide things from the general, but very few of them could hide anything from her. She’d been ready to do it on Zenobia, but the general had been so involved in his golf match that he’d never asked her for her findings.

“I don’t have much use for Jester, but I give him credit for how he handled it,” said the general, staring out the window. “Clever dog called his troops out late at night, right when they’d least expect him, and gave ‘em the royal roasting, as hot as I could’ve done it myself. Did my heart good to see it. I think the boy’s beginning to understand how to treat those scum. If he’ll keep it up a few more years, Omega might actually start to look like a Legion company.” And shrimps might learn to whistle, too, he added silently. “Then, I might just remember where I filed Jester’s promotion papers.”

Blitzkrieg chuckled and took another sip of his drink. Then he leaned back, and said, “Or did I just pitch them? I suppose I’ll have to look into it… someday.”

“Yes, sir,” said Sparrowhawk, who knew exactly where those promotion papers were. Mailing them to the captain was one of several things-not the first, but high up-on her private list of actions to be taken if the general ever stepped over certain lines she had defined in her own mind. Being a powerful man’s confidential assistant brought with it a certain amount of power over one’s superior. She knew that exercising that power might be the last thing she did in her capacity as a Legion officer. But she knew that General Blitzkrieg’s subsequent career would also be quite short- and thoroughly unpleasant.

The general, who was naturally unaware of her thoughts, rubbed his chin. “Anyway, it’ll be good to get back to the office. I didn’t expect this visit to end up as a golfing vacation, but in a way I’m glad it did. My game’s as sharp as it’s been in ages-why, I whipped that young upstart five or six different ways, even though he did try bringing in that little lizard as a ringer. I must say, he got lucky the last day we played. And then, to run completely out of balls! You’d think that’s something any golf course would make sure to have plenty of.”

“Yes, it does seem odd,” said Sparrowhawk, smugly.

“Just as well in the long run,” mused the general. “I need to get back to Rahnsome Base. I expect the boys’ve missed me-and I’ve got some damn good stories for them, now. Some of those fellows never get out in the field, see the troops, at all. Good way to go soft, if you ask me.”

“Yes, sir,” said Sparrowhawk. “As much as I enjoy getting out of the office, there’s going to be plenty of work waiting when we’re back.”

“It’ll be a little longer, yet,” said Blitzkrieg. “We stop over at Lorelei, you know. I have a lucky feeling, and I’m going to put it to the test in those casinos. You need to play that kind of hunch when you have it.”

“Very good, sir,” said Sparrowhawk. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I catch up with some work, instead. I’m afraid I’ve never been very good at gambling.” Why gamble when you’ve got a sure thing in the market? was her unspoken thought.

“All work, no play, eh? You’ll wear yourself out at a young age,” said the general. “One reason I can keep going is that I’ve learned to pace myself, take time to smell the roses and pick a few, too. Why, I remember…” And the general was off on one of his rambling, self-congratulatory reminiscences.

Sparrowhawk smiled quietly. She’d heard it all a thousand times before. An occasional nod or “Yes, sir,” would suffice to convince Blitzkrieg that she was listening. And when they got to Lorelei, she’d take the opportunity to revamp her stock portfolio. All of a sudden, Phule-Pruf Mu-nitons was looking like a must-have commodity…

“Back again!” said Phule, as he stepped off the shuttle onto Zenobian soil. “Funny, this place is starting to feel like home.”

“I wouldn’t get too used to it, sir,” said Beeker. The butler followed close behind Phule, arm in arm with Nightingale. They’d decided, after some discussion, to end their vacation in Rome and travel back to Zenobia with Phule. He continued, “The Space Legion does have a policy of rotating its personnel from one assignment to another. In the normal course of things, another company will eventually get the Zenobia assignment. Now that General Blitzkrieg’s had a chance to see the place, he may realize that Zenobia is hardly the hardship duty he thought he was doling out when he agreed to let Omega Company come here.”

“Don’t bet on it, Captain,” said Lieutenant Armstrong, who’d accompanied Gears out to meet the shuttle. He chuckled, and added, “After some of what happened to him here, the general’s likely to think Zenobia’s the worst hellhole in the galaxy.”

“Really?” said Phule, raising an eyebrow. “I hope the company didn’t go out of its way to give the general trouble…”

“Oh, no,” said Armstrong. “In fact, we went out of our way to make him feel at home. Built a golf course for him and everything…“

“A golf course?” Phule’s eyebrow went up another notch. “That’s definitely bending over backward. I didn’t know anyone here even played. I mean, it’s been years since I even had a set of clubs, but I daresay I hit the ball pretty well back when I was in practice.”

“I-and a few other people on base-will be glad to give you the chance to prove that,” said Armstrong, grinning. “Just one warning-we’ve had a lot of practice since you were gone.”

“Practice?” Phule was even more puzzled. “I thought the general was here… How in the galaxy did you ever get a chance to practice golf while he was stalking around and growling at everything on the base?”

“Well, it’s a long story,” said Armstrong. “Why don’t we get you back to your office, and you can listen to it in comfort, with a cold drink in your hand.”

“Excellent advice,” said Beeker. “I suggest we follow it, sir. There are tales to tell on all sides.”

“So it appears,” said Phule, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Gears, pop open that luggage compartment and we’ll stow our gear for the ride back.”