Robert Asprin - Phule Me Twice

The captain's voice chuckled. "I'm not going anywhere," it said. "Not yet."

Brick barely had time to start wondering about that before the backup arrived, and she and Garbo were off the hook.

Journal #560

The Andromatic robot duplicate of my employer was programmed to impersonate him in his role as casino owner. It had seemed sufficient to give it only a perfunctory knowledge of military protocol. After all, the "troops" at the Fat Chance Casino were in fact actors, most of them without actual military experience. On the off chance that the casino might play host to a current or former Legion officer, the robot was programmed to sidestep any talk of military matters in favor of more general topics. To date, nobody had noticed the impersonation.

It was only when the robot walked into a Legion camp, where its real-life counterpart was a key figure, that these omissions became critical. And, of course, the one person who could have set things straight was a considerable distance away.

Phule came awake to find himself in a tentlike structure, except that the walls and roof seemed to be made of something other than cloth. There was a dull ache at the base of his skull, as if he'd been drinking at the kind of place the enlisted Legion frequented. "Where am I?" he asked, aware even as he said the words that he was acting out the oldest cliché in the books.

"Sir, we seem to have been taken prisoner by the Hidden Ones," said Beeker's voice, close to his right ear. "They apparently used something much like the Zenobian stun ray to subdue us."

"Have you seen them?" Phule sat up and reached out to touch the walls of their current lodging. The material was soft and smooth but had very little give to it. There was no sign of any opening to the outside, although the air seemed reasonably fresh.

"Not a glimpse of them," said Beeker. "But I haven't been conscious much longer than you, sir. Perhaps they'll make their appearance now that we're both awake."

"I hope they're going to make an appearance," said Phule, experimentally poking another portion of the walls. "I can't see any way out of here."

"One would assume we've been kept alive deliberately, sir," said Beeker. "Had our captors intended our demise, I doubt we would have awakened at all."

Phule grimaced. "That assumes a lot. If we've been captured by aliens of an unknown race, we can't take anything for granted. Remember, the Zenobians like their meat freshly killed..."

"I should certainly hope we aren't being saved for that purpose, sir," said Beeker, his face unperturbed as ever, although Phule thought he noticed an unusual degree of stress in the butler's voice.

"I'll settle for not being starved to death," said Phule. "Whoever's captured us doesn't necessarily know what we like to eat-or how often. We could be in a real pickle."

"Sir, I should consider our present situation to be a `real pickle,' as far as I understand the term," said Beeker. "It is not too early to begin thinking of escape."

"Yeah, we've got to look into that," said Phule. "But we're not going to rush into it. We've got a golden opportunity to find out who these Hidden Ones are-or whatever they call themselves. It's a good thing we have a couple of translators in the jeep; at least, when they do show up, we'll be able to communicate with them."

"A very debatable assumption, sir," said Beeker. "Why, I find some of your legionnaires all but incomprehensible, despite our nominal possession of a common tongue. But above and beyond that question, we cannot take it for granted that our captors will allow us to retrieve our equipment from the hovercar."

"Hmmm...that would complicate things," said Phule. "How are you at sign language?"

"Quite competent within a very narrow range, sir," said Beeker. "I am certain that I can communicate hostility and frustration with no risk of misunderstanding. More complex matters might exceed my abilities."

Phule nodded. "Well, I might not be able to do much better. But between the two of us, we'll have to figure out how to convince them to let us get hold of those translators. Once I can actually talk to them-"

"Sir!" said Beeker, in an urgent whisper. "Something's happening."

"Where?" said Phule. Beeker's pointing finger gave him the answer. One end of the enclosure was turning darker and becoming porous, as if it were made of some fibrous substance. Together, they backed off and stood watching. Whatever was going to happen to them, it was evidently happening now.

"What were you doing in the desert out there?" said Lieutenant Armstrong. He and Phule were huddled together in the comm center, just out of sight of Mother. Cool drinks had been brought out, and both were slaking their thirst-though the captain was taking only small sips. Satisfied that the captain was displaying no evidence of physical distress, Armstrong began a rapid-fire series of questions. "Did something happen to your hovercar? Are you hurt? And where's Beeker?"

"Slow down, Lieutenant, slow down," said the captain with an easy smile. "That's a lot of questions to throw at a fellow all at once. But no, I'm not hurt, just a little dusted up, is all. I'll be fine after a shower and a change of outfit-and a cool drink. As for Beeker, the old rascal's off-station, taking care of some business for me. He'll be back as soon as he's got it all wrapped up."

"Well, I'm glad you're not hurt, Captain," said Armstrong, somewhat reassured. "How did the negotiations with the Zenobians go? We're starting to wonder if-"

"Don't worry, old fellow. Everything's under control," said Phule, still smiling. "Now's when you should be relaxing, letting yourself enjoy things. There'll never be a better chance."

"Do you really think so, sir?" said Armstrong, surprised. "I know you think I'm a bit inflexible sometimes, but with a new CO on board, this hardly seems the time to slack off-"

"No time better, Lieutenant," said Phule. "Here we are jawing at each other, when you could be out winning yourself a fortune. And I need to get that shower."

"A fortune?" Armstrong frowned. "Well, perhaps I haven't paid as much attention to my investments...not that this seems quite the proper time for that...Besides, we need to get you ready to meet the new CO as soon as possible."

But even as he spoke, Phule clapped him on the back and winked at him. Then the captain turned and headed back toward the center of the camp, leaving Armstrong to puzzle over what he'd meant. Since Armstrong had been trying, without notable success, to figure out his captain ever since Phule had first arrived at Omega Company, Phule's words set off no alarm bells in his head.

The fact that they didn't goes a long way to explain why, after three years in the Legion, Armstrong had risen to no higher rank than Lieutenant.

"We've got some kind of signal," said Sushi. His gaze was fixed on the primitive instrument sitting atop the makeshift desk in the room he shared with Do-Wop.

"Y'know, that's about the tenth time you've said that," said Do-Wop, looking up from the handheld action game he was playing. "Last about nine times, what you got when it was all over was nothin'. Flat-out, I mean, nothin'. And that's just with this gizmo-what is it, the third different one you've built?"

"I really appreciate the support," said Sushi, his gaze still on the readouts. His hand moved a potentiometer a tiny notch higher, and one of the readouts registered an increase in the signal. "It's times like this, when a man starts to think he's completely on the wrong track, that positive input from coworkers is so important."

"Huh?" said Do-Wop.

Now Sushi looked up at his partner. "What I'm saying is, you're part of this project, too. And this isn't just some wild-banth chase; we're here to help the Zenobians find those invisible aliens. The captain gave us this job, and until he tells us to quit, we're going to keep working on it. Even if there are a few false starts."