Robert Asprin - Phule Me Twice

But there weren't any obvious problems yet. The MBC had quietly begun to unfold along previously invisible joints in its surface, doubling, redoubling, and again redoubling the size of its footprint. Somewhere near the center, a pipe was augering its way down into the ground, anchoring the structure firmly. At the same time, it was seeking out the water that instruments had located somewhere below the surface. Combining the water with common elements from the soil and air, the MBC would synthesize many of its major structural elements within the next hour-assuming the water was where the instruments said it was.

With the structure's main skeleton now laid down, the rest of Harry's crew leapt into action, moving swiftly along the outflung structural members to throw switches, open valves, and check readouts. The unit sent additional anchors into the soil, and once they'd gotten a grip, began to erect uprights to support the walls and ceilings. Subunits of the main engine began to click on-line, and electrical outlets, comm connections, ventilation ducts, and plumbing fixtures began to unfold in place. Crew members marked them on their charts; later crews would verify that everything worked properly.

Reaching the center of the structure, Harry stopped and turned in a full circle, admiring the rapid progress of the job. The rest of the company had begun to come out of the shuttle, too, unloading equipment and supplies, setting up additional structures, and in general preparing the area for an extended stay on Zenobia. He smiled, but only for a moment. Then his eyes opened wide, and he shouted, "Yo, what the hell you think you're doin'? Let go of that thing! You wanna tear down the whole wall? Let go of it!" He began to move his considerable bulk in the direction of the impending disaster, cursing under his breath. Omega Company might have brushed up its image, but deep down, it still had the capability for instant catastrophe.

It made for interesting times, even when things seemed to be going right.

At last, darkness was falling on Zenobia, and Lieutenant Rembrandt scanned the Legion encampment with a satisfied expression. There had been screwups-with this outfit, there were always screwups-but on the whole, the MBC had gone up without a hitch and with a minimum of damage to the troops erecting it. A few sprains and minor cuts, not to forget a few frayed tempers, was a small price to pay for what they'd accomplished today. The captain's investment in the new equipment had more than repaid itself, she thought.

By dinner time, the troops had sat down together in the new mess hall to a hot meal. Of course, Sergeant Escrima ad complained vociferously about the primitive facilities he had to work with and the shortage of fresh ingredients-that last would be remedied as soon as they could find local sources of supply-but Rembrandt thought the food was every bit as tasty as what the cooks had turned out in a state-of-the-art hotel kitchen. And if anyone else ad noticed a decline in quality, she hadn't heard them say so. That was probably just as well, given the mess sergeant's hair-trigger temper and homicidal fury.

The other camp buildings had gone up quickly, too, and there was a second well already drilled in the center of the compound. Chocolate Harry had put up a supply depot as soon as the living quarters were done, and all the company's motorized equipment and electronics were now safely under cover. The company had only a general idea what kind of weather this planet offered, but unless a tornado sprang up out of nowhere, the equipment could probably survive it.

Meanwhile, the troops had established a secure perimeter and systematically begun to extend their control into the countryside beyond it. Electronic surveillance equipment had been put in place, and they were ready to tap into the natives' military intelligence satellite network as soon as the captain had gotten passwords from the government Rembrandt hoped those would come through soon; they were secure against anything local, but to do the job they had been sent for, the company needed to now what was brewing beyond their line of sight or on the planet's other continents.

What worried Rembrandt was the natives' silence about the exact nature of the threat they were facing. That made no sense. You didn't take your skimmer to a mechanic and then refuse to tell him what was wrong-not if you wanted the problem solved, you didn't. But the little lizards hadn't said word one about who or what they'd called the Omega Mob here to advise them how to fight. If they continued to keep their mouths shut, it could mean big trouble.

With any luck, they'd have the answer before much longer. The captain had landed directly in the Zenobian capital to meet representatives of the local government for a full briefing on their mission here. He wasn't likely to be satisfied until he'd found out exactly what mysterious mission the Zenobians had requested Omega Company for.

She hoped they wouldn't find out the hard way, before the captain got back.

Chief Potentary Korg grinned. It was not a spectacle calculated to put Phule at his ease. The xenosemanticists who'd briefed him back in the Alliance swore up and down that the expression meant exactly the same in the Zenobians as it did in humans. That didn't make it any more reassuring, given Korg's full complement of razor-sharp teeth. The oversized sunglasses the Zenobian wore did nothing to improve the image.

"It is great privilege at last to meet you, Captain Clown," said Korg. "Flight Leftenant Qual has been enthusiastic in detailing your species' peculiar adaptations for warfare, and it is very much our pleasure to see that you have accepted our invitation to advise us on defending ourselves against the invaders."

"I am honored to have been invited," said Phule, who along with Beeker had attended a welcoming ceremony in the Zenobian capital while his company set up their camp out in the boonies. They were sitting in a reviewing stand of sorts, constructed of some local vegetable material that, without quite being wood, had a similar degree of rigidity and ease of assembly into useful structures. Before them was arrayed a large assembly of Zenobian military in the uniforms of various service branches. They were distinguished primarily by their berets: red for the Mudrovers, blue for the Swamplurkers, green for the Paratreetoppers, and so on. And all of them wore sunglasses.

"I can assure you that the Alliance will do everything possible to assist your people in meeting the threat you are facing," Phule added. "But perhaps we should talk about the exact nature of this threat."

"But undeniably!" boomed Korg's translator. "As soon as we have done with the display of our disputatious spirit and thorough preparedness, all shall be revealed to you!"

The display was long and instructive. Having seen Flight Leftenant Qual in action, Phule already knew how agile the Zenobians could be; now he saw that Qual was merely a somewhat above average specimen of his race. Many of the troops in the review were larger, faster, stronger, and far more agile than the flight leftenant. Several of their weapons (such as the stun ray, the design of which Phule had acquired for his father's munitions company) were more advanced than those of the Alliance races. Korg's grin seemed to have grown wider with each contingent of troops or display of equipment that passed the reviewing stand. And Phule was quite certain that not everything was being shown to him. After all, the alliance was only a few months old and had barely been tested. Any sensible race would have a few hole cards it wouldn't be showing a newly acquired ally. He was just as glad he had gotten off on the right foot with them.

Finally, the demonstration concluded with a convincing demonstration of unarmed combat-a somewhat paradoxical concept when applied to a race naturally equipped with a saurian predator's teeth and claws. Korg turned to Phule and said, "Now, Captain, let us retire for refreshment and some candid conversation."