Robert Asprin - Phule Me Twice

"Yes, ma'am," said Brandy. "All present and accounted for. Say the word, and we can blow that ship to atoms."

"I hope I don't have to say that word," said Rembrandt. Her voice was calm, but Brandy thought she detected an edge to it. There had to be some emotion at the prospect of facing combat after all their time in the Legion. Every legionnaire expected this moment, trained for it, knew it could come at any time. It was still an unsettling feeling, standing in a defensive perimeter, waiting to see if the hammer was about to fall.

"Ship's landing," said somebody in the defensive line ahead of Brandy. Sure enough, it had lost more speed and was descending steadily, under power but committed to a touchdown. Now was the point at which it could most easily be destroyed. Once it was down, almost anything could happen. Brandy wished it would identify itself. Failing that, all she could do was wait for word from Rembrandt-or outright hostile action by the ship. If it came to that, it might be too late to do anything useful. She clenched her jaw. The ship continued its descent.

"Still no response from the ship," came Rembrandt's voice from the wrist communicator. "Maybe their equipment's just on the blink, or maybe it means something. We aren't going to take any chances, Brandy. Anything that looks like an attack, don't wait for word from me to defend yourselves. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am, " said Brandy. She turned and shouted to her squad, "All right, you bleepers. Get a bead on the exits from that ship the second it touches down, and be ready to take out anything you see moving. Nobody fires until I give the word, but everybody better have a target when I do give it."

"Sergeant?" said Mahatma's voice, not far away. "I have a question."

"This isn't the time for questions," roared Brandy. "Get in your position and pick a target. And be ready for my signal. Do it now!"

The nervous tension along the line went up perceptibly. Out in the open, less than half a kilometer away, the ship was settling down, kicking up a cloud of dust. Brandy growled. The dust would make it harder to see what was going on. She hoped there wasn't anybody aboard that ship planning to take advantage of that momentary cover. "Hold steady," she muttered into her communicator. The ship was definitely on the ground now.

Through the cloud of dust she could make out a hatchway beginning to open. She lifted her stereoculars to her eyes, trying to make out more detail. This hatchway could be a decoy, with the main force unloading on the far side of the ship. Was there movement inside the ship? She fiddled with the resolution, trying to cut through the dust.

Something was coming out the hatchway, down the ramp that had deployed beneath it. Something dark, and mansized. "Brick, Slayer, Mahatma, take a bead on that hatchway," she ordered-those were the squad's best marksmen. "The rest of you, keep an eye out for anything coming from behind the ship."

The figure exiting the ship was now all the way on the ground and moving steadily toward the Legion camp. Another figure, also clad in black, emerged from the hatchway behind it. "Keep a steady bead, but hold your fire," said Brandy.

Now the dust had settled enough for her to make out the figures more clearly. "What the hell?" she said. "Hold your fire, people; those are Legion uniforms." What Legion officer-she had no doubt these were officers, to justify a special ship to bring them here-would be coming here? She waited as the two men came closer. Steadily they marched toward the camp, the smaller figure behind carrying a couple of briefcases and a computer bag. Behind them, a robot baggage handling cart was emerging from the open hatchway, piled high with luggage.

Straight ahead came the two Legion officers. At last, perhaps a dozen paces from the perimeter, the lead figure stopped and looked at the startled Omega Company defenders. "Well, it looks like a Legion base," said a high-pitched, whining voice. After a suspenseful pause, it added, with a definite snarl, "Enough to fool a civilian, maybe," and started forward again.

Brandy still didn't know who she was looking at, but she stood up and said, "Halt and identify yourself."

The lead figure didn't even slow down. Instead, it said, "Major Botchup, Commanding Officer, Omega Company, Space Legion." It kept on coming.

"Commanding officer?" Brandy's jaw fell. "Sir, the CO of Omega Company is Captain Jester."

"Was Captain Jester," said Major Botchup. He was now close enough that Brandy could make out his sneering face. He was surprisingly young, she thought. He looked up and down the line and made a sour face. "You clowns have had your little picnic long enough. I'm your new CO, by orders of General Blitzkrieg, and things are by God about to change around here!"

Journal #545

Modern communications are a wonderful thing. They allow persons to wait endless hours for the download of information that the possession of a few choice reference books would put at their fingertips. They make it possible for salesmen and bill collectors to harrass their customers during the dinner hour or at other inconvenient times without the least risk of a poke in the snoot. They allow the young of both sexes to carry on endless conversations, if the term may be applied to a verbal exchange almost entirely devoid of actual content. All these are good things, especially if one is a stockholder in the communications cartels that provide these dubious services. Others will no doubt consider them in a less positive light.

Curiously, the petty annoyances of a civilized world are often precisely those things one most fervently desires when one is roughing it in the wilds of Zenobia, and they fail to function in the accustomed manner.

Word of Major Botchup's arrival spread like wildfire through Omega Company. The new commanding officer had commandeered the office set aside for Phule, then summoned Lieutenants Armstrong and Rembrandt for a closed-door executive conference with him and his adjutant, Second Lieutenant Snipe. This left Brandy with the unpleasant task of trying to inform Captain Jester of Legion headquarters' latest stratagem to counteract the innovations he'd instituted with Omega Company.

As usual, Comm Central had already heard the news. After all, Mother's job was to monitor all communications and make sure that information got passed to those who needed it most. So when Brandy came into the equipment-crowded room, Mother had already taken it upon her own initiative to contact the absent captain. Tusk-anini was standing behind the desk, looking over Mother's shoulder with an unusually deep frown as Brandy swept through the door.

"I can see you two are on the ball," said Brandy, coming to a halt by the main comm desk. "Have you talked to the captain? How's he taking the news?"

"wblftgrwmmmtfts," whispered Mother, shrinking down behind her equipment as she was suddenly confronted with an actual person instead of a disembodied comm signal.

"Oh, damn, I forgot," said Brandy. "Sorry, Mother, but this is priority one. Tusk, can you fill me in? What's the story?"

"Is no story," said the Volton. "Noise and more noise is all we receive. Some bad storm in desert, we think. Mother sends messages, but no way to tell if captain getting them." As if to confirm his words, a rattle of static emerged from the speakers.

"Oh, great," said Brandy. After a moment's thought, she asked. "How about calling on the Zenobian military frequencies? They ought to be reliable, if anything on this planet is. Maybe you can get in touch with them and ask if they'll relay a message."

"Is good idea. Mother already trying it, too," said Tusk-anini. "Having nothing for luck, is what happens."

"Well, if that's the deal, that's the deal," said Brandy. She stalked over to a nearby chair and took a seat. "I can probably hang out here until the major decides he wants me for something, which if I'm lucky won't be until sometime tomorrow. Keep trying, OK, Mother? And let me know if you get even a momentary connection. The captain may not be able to do anything about this bird coming in over his head, but he at least deserves a chance to walk in with some advance notice."