Robert Asprin - Phule Me Twice

"Yes, sir!" said Brick, replacing her cap and saluting. She turned and went back to her comrades, shaking her head.

"So, what's the word?" asked Roadkill. "We gonna fight the robots or not?"

"Captain says no," said Brick. "Problem is, I'm not sure just how far to trust his word, Roadie. I think that desert heat has cooked his brain. He was acting as if he couldn't even see me."

"Wow, that's a shame," said Roadkill, turning a sympathetic glance toward the captain, who was riffling through papers. "Let's hope he gets back to his old self. We sure need him to set things right. Maybe he could even figure out how to get the major off our backs."

Before Brick could reply, Brandy strode up to the group and barked, "Okay, okay, don't you birds have jobs to do? This is the Space Legion, in case you've forgotten it.

"Lord help me, Sarge, how could I forget it?" groaned Roadkill. He and the other legionnaires scattered to their morning assignments, and Brandy nodded. As long as the troops looked busy, the major had one less excuse to bust chops. She'd thought the days were long over when her main concern was keeping officers off her back.

Well, maybe the problem would be short-lived. She glanced over at Phule, who sat there grinning as he shuffled papers. Roadkill had been right about that; he was their best hope to figure out a way to reduce the major's influence. And until that happened, Omega Company was going to be a lot less fun than it had been, even for top sergeants.

A knock came at the door. Lieutenant Rembrandt looked up and smiled. "Chocolate Harry! Come in and sit down," she said. She put down the report she'd been reading. Before Major Botchup had arrived, she'd had the occasional report to read, usually something of importance to the company. Now she was drowned in reports, most of them irrelevant and unreadable. Any break from this routine was welcome. Any kind of break at all.

The supply sergeant nodded and took a seat opposite her. "Got a problem, Remmie," he said without prelude.

"I figured as much from the way you look," said Rembrandt. "What's up, C. H.? Don't tell me those bikers are after you again. We must be a dozen parsecs away from them. "

"Nah, nothin' that simple," said Chocolate Harry. He pulled his chair closer to the desk and leaned forward. "I'm worried about the cap'n," he said in a lowered voice. "We all are," said Rembrandt, also quietly. "He's let this new CO's being appointed over his head throw him for a loop. It can't be easy having your command taken away from you."

"Yeah," growled Harry. "That really stinks-not that it surprises me, knowin' the Legion like I do. This new major is pure chickenshit, the kind they only make at Legion Headquarters. He hasn't started messin' with my end of things so far, except for asking for a bunch of fool reports. If he never gets around to me, that'll be damn soon enough. But that ain't what I was worried about."

"You said it was the captain..." Lieutenant Rembrandt paused and looked inquisitively at Chocolate Harry.

"That's right. He's actin' kinda flaky, Remmie."

"Flaky? How?"

Chocolate Harry rubbed his beard, considering his words. After a moment he said, "I dunno. He's acting like he's back at the Fat Chance. I mean, he's walking around wearin' that monkey suit, like he was gonna have dinner with the ambassador, and there's no ambassadors here that I can see. Looks mighty like a desert out there, in fact."

"Yes, that is unusual," Rembrandt admitted. "He's always told us to be proud of our uniform, and he's set an example by wearing it."

"Right, and he talks like we're at the casino, too," said Harry. He paused again and said, "I think somethin's touched his brain, Remmie."

"The heat out in the desert could have done that," said Rembrandt. "The sentries who met him when he came in said he was already acting strangely, and Armstrong confirmed it. They fired the Zenobian stun ray at him before they knew who he was. Maybe that could've had an effect..."

"It could be the heat," said Chocolate Harry. "But I'll tell you what I think." He leaned closer and whispered, "It was right after he got back from that conference with the Zenobians, Remmie. And Beeker ain't come back yet. What do you want to bet they've got some game goin'?"

"What do you mean?" asked Rembrandt, surprised. She hadn't even considered that the planet's natives might have had something to do with the captain's strange behavior.

"I think they slipped somethin' into his food or maybe a drink, that's what I think," said the supply sergeant. "We're sittin' here with a camp full of state-of-the-art Alliance military equipment, and if they can get their claws on it, they'll have a real edge on us. That business about invisible aliens-that sure sounds like jive to me. I bet the lizards figured they'd dope up the captain and he'd just hand it over to 'em."

"That's a serious accusation," said Rembrandt. "We'd need something more to back it up before we took any action on it."

"That's why I'm talkin' to you, Remmie," said C. H. "Major Botchup, I don't know how he'd act. Except he'd try to do everything by the book, and that ain't gonna work. We gotta figure out what's really goin' on before we tell the major."

Rembrandt didn't answer right away; withholding something potentially so explosive from her commanding officer was asking for a court-martial. And like him or not, Botchup was her commanding officer now. On the other hand, he'd already decided there was something wrong with Captain Jester and taken the steps he considered appropriate. So there was no need to tell him that. All she'd be doing was refining the diagnosis. Until she knew for a fact that there was some external threat to Omega Company's security, she didn't need to get Botchup involved. But unless she was going to dismiss Chocolate Harry's suspicions out of hand, she needed to find out what was really going on, and she couldn't wait much longer.

"All right," she said. "Where do we start?"

"Damn good question," said Chocolate Harry, but he didn't volunteer an answer.

Journal #569

Being in command of Omega Company had greatly broadened my employer's horizons. For one thing, he had become familiar with members of several other intelligent races, from the sluglike Synthians to the feline Gambolts. He had even been so fortunate as to make the human race's first contact with the Zenobians, whom he subsequently helped bring into the Alliance. And he had been given ample opportunity to observe their differences from humanity, a species that was not by any means uniform in its culture or psychology.

But nothing had quite prepared him for the job of trying to understand a race that neither he nor anyone else had ever seen.

"Still no sign of them," said Phule. He had been pacing the small confines of their prison for the last hour. "When are they going to show themselves?"

"Perhaps they have, sir. Perhaps we're incapable of seeing or hearing them," suggested Beeker. The butler had scrunched into a corner and drawn up his legs to stay out from under the nervous captain's pacing.

"I still don't see how that could be," said Phule, stopping and turning to look at him. "The problem of invisibility has been pretty thoroughly investigated. Believe me, if there were some workable technique for it, every military unit in the galaxy would be using it. It only works in special circumstances, like on a magician's stage set."

"That is not an inapt comparison, sir," said Beeker. "Our captors may have set up almost any imaginable kind of equipment beyond these walls. Nor can we guess what substances they may have put into our air, our food, or our drinking water. One wonders what benefit they derive from the deception. It must cost them a fair amount of time and effort, if not actual money-assuming they use any such thing."