Robert Asprin - Phule Me Twice

"Uh, Mr. Snipe, the comm engineer is rather sensitive," said Armstrong, leaping to Mother's defense. "She really isn't at her best in a face-to-face situation with superior officers-"

"Well, it's time she got over that quirk. If she won't talk to her officers, she should be replaced with somebody competent," barked Snipe. "Whose idea was it to put her in such a critical position?"

"Captain Jester's, of course," said Armstrong, uncomfortably aware that Snipe was likely to take it as evidence in the case the new regime was obviously building against the captain. "You see, she's really completely different on the air-"

"No reason to coddle her neurosis," said Snipe, looking around. His eye focused on a doorway at the end of the counter where they were standing. "Ah, there's someplace I want to see. I hope this is more in keeping with the Legion tradition than the rest of the base."

"That's the officers' lounge," said Armstrong.

"Yes, of course," said Snipe. "That's why I wanted to see it. Or did you forget that I am also an officer?"

"Lieutenant, you hardly give me a chance to forget it," said Armstrong, attempting a rare ironic sally.

Snipe ignored him and made a beeline for the lounge. But he stopped at the door with an astonished expression on his face. There on the couch sat Tusk-anini, seven feet tall with the face of a giant warthog and a thick book in his hands, taking up half the room. "What on earth are you doing here?" said Snipe after gaining his composure.

"Am reading Seven Types of Ambiguity," said Tuskanini, peering truculently at Snipe. "Your-planet people never read twentieth-century Earth books?"

"Is this...sophont an officer?" Snipe turned to Armstrong and asked, quite unnecessarily.

"No," said Armstrong. "We let Tusk-anini come in here to read when he's not helping Mother. He's the only one who uses the place much, late at night."

"A very bad precedent," said Snipe, peering at the Volton.

Tusk-anini peered back at him. "What you got against new critics?" he growled. "You deconstructionist?"

"I am an officer," sputtered Snipe. "And you are not. "

"Noticing that already," said Tusk-anini, closing the book but keeping his place with a large foredigit. He stood up, looming over the two lieutenants. "You making a point, or you just like a lot talking?"

"This is insubordination!" said Snipe, turning to Armstrong. "And he's threatening an officer, as well! I want this legionnaire arrested!"

Armstrong blinked. "Tusk-anini? Threatening you? That's preposterous, Mr. Snipe. Why, he wouldn't harm a fly-"

"Would, too," said Tusk-anini pedantically. "But only if fly biting me."

"I want this legionnaire confined to quarters!" howled Snipe.

"Lieutenant, you're overreacting," said Armstrong. "I'm as much a rulebook man as anybody, but you have to make allowances. Tusk-anini's been an asset to the company, and his reading doesn't lower our effectiveness in any way."

"I see, Lieutenant, " said Second Lieutenant Snipe. "Well, if that's the way the wind blows, I'll just take the matter up with Major Botchup. And if he sees things my way, I suspect you'll have something to answer for, as well."

"Mr. Snipe, I'll take my chances," said Armstrong. "Would you like to finish inspecting the base before you report to the major?"

"Very well," snapped the other lieutenant. He stomped out the door, and a keen nose would have detected smoke coming from his ears.

Armstrong turned to Tusk-anini and shrugged. "Things are going to be tricky until the captain gets back," he said quietly. "Until then, I suggest you lay low."

The Volton nodded but said nothing, and Armstrong hurried to catch up with Lieutenant Snipe. He managed to avoid any overt confrontations for the rest of the inspection tour, but he knew very well that Snipe would concoct some pretext to find fault.

Chocolate Harry flipped through the pages of his latest issue of Biker's Dream. Somewhere, he'd seen an ad for a new modification package that sounded like just what he needed to get that extra millimeter of performance out of his hawg. Thanks to the traffic in antirobot camouflage, he'd accumulated a nice bit of spare change for just such a purpose. The ad had been somewhere in the back of the mag...

He was still searching when a voice broke through his concentration. "Yo, Sarge, I gotta have a couple of reels of sixteen-gauge copper wire!"

With a sigh, Chocolate Harry set down the magazine. "Couple of reels? What for you need all that copper, Do-Wop?" He didn't bother shifting his feet from off the desktop.

"Captain's orders, C. H.," said Do-Wop, leaning over the supply sergeant's desk. "Me and Soosh gotta find the Hidden Ones, special assignment, top priority. Just ask the captain, you don't believe me-"

Chocolate Harry held up a hand for silence. "I know all about the special assignment, dude, that ain't what I asked you. What for you need that much copper? That's damn near a year's supply for the whole company, and we aren't exactly where I can resupply all that easy. If there's somethin' else you can substitute I-"

"Nah, Soosh says it's gotta be copper, Sarge," said Do-Wop; a distinct whine in his voice. "You don't wanna mess up this special assignment Captain Jester gave us, do ya? He'll be really mad if it don't get finished because you wouldn't give us the stuff we needed."

"Ain't nobody said I wouldn't give it to you," said C. H. He swung his feet off the desk and sat up straight in the chair. "But you do have to give me all the right paperwork, cap'n's orders or not. Now, for starters, where's your Form SL-951-C-4? Can't give out strategic supplies without that one, in triplicate."

"Man, nobody told us we needed no forms," said Do-Wop, a look of dismay on his face. "Can you give me the wire and the forms, and I'll bring 'em back later?"

Chocolate Harry shook his head gravely. "Not unless I want to get in a heap of trouble, myself. This new major's a stickler for routine. Forms first, then your copper. That's definitely strategic supplies. Unless maybe you're gonna use it for some nondesignated strategic purpose, in which case maybe I can dispense with the SL-951-C-4. But I gotta know up front."

"Uh, yeah, nondesignated strategic purpose, that's the ticket," said Do-Wop, grinning. "Got yer strategic purpose right here. Soosh tells me, he's gonna set up a biomass detector to search for the Hidden Ones the lizards have been trying so hard to catch, which they ain't seen hide nor hair of 'em except their comm signals."

"Biomass detector?" The supply sergeant frowned. "With two whole reels of copper wire; you oughta be able to track a stray geefle bug halfway across the galaxy. What do you clowns think you're looking for?"

"All we know is it's too hard to find by bare eyeball," said Do-Wop. "That's why Soosh decided to rig something special. He dug out the designs from some old program, and he's doin' some custom mods..."

Chocolate Harry rubbed his bearded chin, speculating. "Man, I know you're just followin' the captain's orders, but maybe you should look around a minute before you get in over your head. Have you dudes ever thought that maybe the reason the Zenobians can't find no enemy is that the enemy ain't alive?"

Do-Wop frowned. "Ain't alive? You mean we're looking for spooks?"

"Nah, nothin' like that," said Chocolate Harry. "I'm thinkin' robots."

Do-Wop laughed. "Robots! You trying to run that crazy scam on me? Half the company must be wearin' that purple junk you're sellin'."

Chocolate Harry's face turned solemn. "Do-Wop, it pains me to have you question my good intentions. This here robot camo is guaranteed effective. Ain't a robot in the Alliance can spot you, if you're wearin' it. If one of those renegade robots gets you in its sights, and you ain't camouflaged-"