Robert Asprin - Phule Me Twice

After a short distance, he made out a vague shape ahead of him: the supply depot, he assumed. He moved purposefully toward it, but barely had he covered half the distance when a hulking figure loomed in front of him and said softly, "Who goes there?"

Snipe drew back a pace, noting even in the dark that his challenger was aiming a large weapon toward him. "Point that thing the other way," he said. "It's Lieutenant Snipe, on orders from the major."

"Oh, sorry, sir," said the legionnaire. A small red light appeared in his hand, briefly illuminating Snipe's face-and his own. Snipe got a momentary glimpse of a dark pompadour, long sideburns...

"I thought you had to go the other way," said Snipe, beginning to wonder if this legionnaire was following him for some reason.

"No, sir, this is my post," said the legionnaire, just loud enough to be heard. Then he drew closer and whispered, "Say, if you don't mind telling me, sir, are we going to see action tonight? Seems awful long for a drill."

"I'm damned if I know what's going on anymore," said Snipe. "That's why I'm out here. Have you seen any sign of action?"

"No, sir," said the legionnaire. "Quiet as a mouse, right here. You're the first person I've seen."

"I see," said Snipe. "Wait a minute. I hear something over there!" He pointed toward the dark shadow he assumed was the supply depot.

Before they could react, a group of dark figures dashed up to them. Snipe felt what had to be the muzzle of a weapon pressed against his midsection. "What are you doing here?" growled a low voice.

"L-l-lieutenant Snipe," he managed to stammer. "M-major's orders."

"Snipe? Not bloody likely," said one of the newcomers. "He's probably sitting in his soft bunk while the real legionnaires run the show. Give me a light, here."

Again a soft red light gleamed, and in its brief flare Snipe saw the legionnaires around him. After the first instant of shocked recognition, he gave a terrified shriek and fainted dead away.

Major Botchup paced, stopping occasionally to look at the Command Center console over the shoulder of the legionnaire on duty. What was taking Snipe so long? The approaching...entity that showed, now larger than the Legion camp itself, on the Command Center's screens, surely must be visible from the defensive perimeter. Even Snipe must be able to see it.

He'd tried paging the lieutenant on the communicator, but the interference that had plagued communications ever since he'd arrived on this planet had suddenly increased again. He suspected sabotage. It had to be sabotage. Not even Omega Company could rise to this level of incompetence. The camp was in a state of siege, the enemy was gathering its strength for a final assault, and now the enemies were boring from within.

"Try him again," he snapped.

Obediently, the legionnaire at the console went through the routine of trying to hail Botchup's adjutant, but the speakers kept up an unrelenting rumble and rattle of white noise. Or was it noise? Botchup could swear there were patterns in it, but the cryptological analysis devices in the company's arsenal could detect no meaning in them. Either the code was subtler than anyone expected, or...He didn't want to think about what the alternatives might be.

Suddenly the door to the outside burst open. He turned to glare at the intruder. But his heart sank when he saw Captain Jester come through the door along with Lieutenant Armstrong. Supported between them was the limp, pale form of Lieutenant Snipe.

"What the hell?" said Botchup, as Jester and Armstrong maneuvered the unconscious Snipe to a seat.

"Stand back, sir, let him have some air," said Armstrong. He stepped over to the water cooler and filled a disposable cup and brought it back to Snipe. "We think he'll be all right, but he's got to get a few moments to breathe."

"Yes, yes, but what the hell happened?"

"He appears to have passed out," said Phule. At least now he was in proper uniform, Botchup noted absently. "He was found on the ground out in Blue Sector. It could have been the heat, or it could have been sheer terror..."

"Terror?" Botchup asked, his brows going upward at least an inch. "Terror? The man's a Legion officer. What in the world could have frightened him?"

"There's something uncanny going on out there," said Phule. "Something's lurking just beyond the perimeter. Look at your readouts! It's there, all right, but nobody can see it. It's the reason the Zenobians called us here."

"I don't believe one word of it," said Botchup, jaw firmly clenched. "Invisible menaces are the stuff of bad holodramas-something to scare babies with. Whatever's out there-"

"He's waking up," said Armstrong, hovering near Lieutenant Snipe. "Here, try to drink some of this water," he urged, holding out the cup he'd filled.

"Good, maybe now we can get some sense out of him," said Botchup. He walked over to Snipe and barked, "Wake up, man! What did you see out there?"

"Dark," muttered Snipe, his eyelids half-open. "Dark. That face...looking at me..."

"Face?" said Botchup. "What's he talking about?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea," said Phule. "Or perhaps...No, that can't be. It's just a native superstition."

"What native superstition?" growled Botchup. "Out with it, man! There may be lives at stake."

"Captain Clown!" The door burst open again, and a diminutive lizardlike creature came scrambling in, dressed in what was obviously a uniform. It stopped when it noticed the major and made a complex gesture-a salute, apparently. "Major Snafu! It is my onerous duty to report to you!"

"Who the hell is this?" said Botchup.

"It's our native liaison, Flight Leftenant Qual of the Zenobian military," said Phule. "He'll know what's going on, if anyone does. What's happening, Qual? Our instruments show something out there, but nobody can see anything."

"Ah-hhh," the Zenobian hissed. "It is as I feared, Captain Clown. The Hidden Ones come, and we shall be powerless against them."

"Powerless?" Major Botchup smirked. "You underestimate us, Flight Leftenant. A Space Legion company is nothing to sneeze at, and even considering the sorry shape they were in when I came on board, I fancy I've got these fellows in pretty decent fighting trim by now."

"With all respectability, it is not so effortless, Major Snafu," said Qual. "The Hidden Ones appear to be where one can strike at them, but when one strikes, the effect is as of nothing. I have seen it. We Zenobians have concentrated the fire of an entire Swamplurkers battalion on them, without consequence except the expenditure of munitions. And when they become agitated, they begin to play tricks on the mind."

"Tricks on the mind?" Botchup scoffed. "Now you're really telling fairy tales. Invisible bogeymen that you can't shoot and that play tricks on the mind when you annoy 'em-go tell it to the Regular Army!"

"It is quite true," insisted Qual. "They cause the victim to become unable to distinguish between persons. It is as if everyone in the world were hatched from the same egg."

Botchup laughed, a harsh braying laugh that conveyed no warmth. "Pardon my Vegan, Flight Leftenant, but that's bullshit, plain and simple. If I had a plot of tomatoes to fertilize I might buy some, but until then, I'll pass."

"Hey, it looks as if I've found the party," came a jaunty voice from the doorway. It was Phule, dressed for a night on the town, with a half-full martini glass in one hand.

Major Botchup turned and stared. "You!" he snarled. Then his eyes flicked back to Phule, standing there in Legion uniform, cool and correct as a recruiting poster, and a sudden doubt crossed his face. "Two of you?"

"Excuse me, Major?" said the Phule in uniform, with a carefully neutral expression.

"We could use a few babes to liven things up," said the Phule in the tuxedo. "I know the answer to that. It's ladies' night in the hotel disco. How about we go down there and check out the action?" He whirled and was out the door before anyone could stop him.