Phule Me Twice (25 page)

Snipe stuck his head around a corner, only to fall almost instantly backward as something large came roaring directly at him. From a position flat on his butt he watched Chocolate Harry rush past on his "hawg," and heard the shouted warning, "Yo, man, heads up!" as the supply sergeant whipped on past at incredible speed.

Another more cautious peek around the corner showed him shadowy figures in the dust cloud by the mysterious ship. Several of them were busy catching and stacking unidentifiable equipment being tossed to them from an open cargo bay. Now some kind of vehicle emerged from the ship, followed by several more figures (were they humans?) on foot.

Deciding that it was for the moment safe to expose himself to possible fire, Snipe ran quickly to join Armstrong, who stood behind a waist-high pile of crates, surveying the action through the stereoculars. "What's going on?" Snipe asked, panting a bit from the exertion. He crouched behind the crates, admiring Armstrong's coolness in the face of the enemy.

"They're unloading their equipment," said Armstrong helpfully. He looked down at the cowering Snipe and added, "Here they come."

Snipe risked a peek over the crates. Here came the vehicle, slowly advancing toward the Legion position. It had the look of a hoverjeep, and several of the figures seated in it were carrying what might be beam projectors-or almost anything else, Snipe realized. A small group of invaders trudged along behind it. In the defensive line, Snipe could hear Brandy talking to her troops: "Steady now, steady."

Seeing that the invaders had so far done nothing that could be taken as a hostile move, Snipe decided it was safe to stand up. The dust had settled enough for him to make out that the hoverjeep was painted a bright yellow. That's not a military color, he realized. There appeared to be some sort of writing on the side, although from this angle Snipe couldn't make it out. A figure in the front of the jeep was standing up, exposed to the Legion defenders. "This doesn't look like an invasion force," he muttered;

"No, it doesn't, does it?" said Armstrong. "But if they're who I suspect they are, you and the major may wish they had been."

"What?" said Snipe. He peered at the approaching jeep. Now it was close enough for him to discern the figure standing up: a woman, smiling and waving to the Legion camp. "I've seen that face somewhere," he said, frowning.

"I bet you have," said Armstrong, lowering the stereoculars and waving back. The troops in the front line were also standing and waving. What was going on?

Then the jeep turned to avoid a spot of rough terrain, and at last Snipe could clearly see what was painted on its side: Interstellar News Service. The woman standing in the jeep was none other than Jennie Higgins, the reporter who had made Captain Jester a media darling.

They'd been invaded, all right-by the intergalactic press corps.

Being confined in a dimly lit enclosure, even with companionship, was boring. There was no other term for it. It was quite some time since Phule and Beeker had run out of useful observations to make on their current condition, and no other topic of conversation got very far. It was incredibly boring.

At one point, Phule had gotten so bored he'd tried bouncing the gravball their captors had given them against the opposite wall of their cell, but the bell inside jingled every time the ball moved. That got on his nerves-and on Beeker's, as well-after about three bounces, and he went back to slouching against the wall, trying to think of a way to escape-or to communicate with their captors. So far, Beeker had relentlessly shot holes in all his good ideas.

Even so, every once in a while, when he was starting to get really bored, he'd cast an eye over at the ball again. Maybe there was some way to get the bell out...but trying it would undoubtedly make more noise, and then he'd have to put up with more of Beeker's baleful looks and sarcastic comments. Compared to that...well, he thought he could put up with the boredom a little while longer, anyhow.

Maybe it was starting to get to him, though. He hadn't touched the ball, and yet he could swear he'd heard the bell jingling again very softly. The ball wasn't visibly moving. His nerves must be starting to fray. They said that solitary confinement could drive a person mad. They didn't say anything about confinement with one's butler, but Phule was beginning to think it must be at least as bad.

"Sir, would you please stop that?" snapped Beeker, as if to reinforce Phule's thoughts.

"Stop what?" said Phule. "Can't a fellow sit and think without you complaining?"

"You're doing something to the ball, sir," said Beeker, glaring at him. "I hear the bell ringing."

Phule sat up straight. "Do you hear it, too? I thought it was my imagination."

"No-look, sir, it's moving," said Beeker, pointing. Sure enough, the ball was wobbling slightly, as if the floor below it were shaking.

They both stood, instinctively moving away from the vibrating gravball; whatever was happening, it was something new. The previous changes in their cell, when their captors had delivered food or the ball, had been accompanied by almost no noise or vibration. As they looked, the wall at the far end of the cell began to change color-or rather, its color seemed to become more diffuse, almost like paint being diluted by a colorless liquid.

After the phenomenon continued for a few moments, shapes could be seen through the wall. Phule clapped his hands and said, "I think they're going to let us out, Beek."

"You may be right, sir," said Beeker. "Equally possible is that they intend to come in here and interrogate us."

"There's not enough room in here," said Phule. "Well, maybe if they're the size of Synthians..."

"Yes," said Beeker. "They've done very little so far to indicate what race they are-if in fact they are any race we know."

Phule put a hand on Beeker's arm. "I think we're about to find out," he said. The opening was almost transparent now, and the shapes outside seemed to be moving closer.

To their surprise, one of the figures bent over to look through the opening and said, "Hey, Beeker! Is that you in there?"

"I know that voice!" said Phule, leaning forward. "Sushi, what are you doing here?"

"Captain!" said Sushi, now plainly visible through the opening. "What are you doing here? Or maybe I should ask, if you're here, who's that back at the camp?"

"I haven't the vaguest idea what you're talking about," said Phule. He and Beeker scrambled quickly out of their prison. They found themselves in the shade of a small hill, just outside a sort of cave dug into the sandy soil. In front of them were Sushi, Flight Leftenant Qual, and a group of other legionnaires. But as glad as they were to see their comrades, Phule and Beeker's gaze inevitably turned to the other figure standing there.

Phule's first impression was that he was seeing a mechanical man born of an illicit union between a hoverjeep and a portable computer...with a very bad hangover thrown on top of it.

On second impression, the thing looked even more like the offspring of an illicit union between a hoverjeep and a portable computer-although it had a curious shimmer about it, as if it were a badly focused holo. But he had a strong suspicion he'd have plenty of other things to worry about, and for the moment he was enjoying just being out of his cell.

Harsh reality would undoubtedly assert itself before he got too comfortable.

Journal #580

Unpleasant as our confinement had been, my employer and I had never entirely lost confidence in our eventual rescue. Still, when we learned the amount of time that had actually passed, we were surprised at how short it had been. Time inside a closed space, without clues to events in the exteral world, goes much more slowly than outside. This might account for the unusual trepidation with which even hardened criminals regard solitary confinement. In fact, even with each other as companions, my employer and I were quite relieved to learn that our captivity was at an end.

As attentive readers will have anticipated, once we were released into the light of day, we were thoroughly astonished to learn the nature of our captors.

"I don't understand it," said Phule, pointing to the robotlike being standing next to Sushi. "If this creature is what captured us, why didn't we ever see it?"

Sushi shrugged. "I wasn't here, Captain, but I don't think it existed in this form before we started talking to it.

"It didn't exist?" said Beeker. "How, then, Mr. Sushi, did it manage to take us captive?"

"I said, `in this form,' Beeker," said Sushi. "The creatures that captured you are nanotech intelligences: tiny machines that can combine into various larger units to accomplish specific tasks. Until we started talking to them, they didn't have any reason to make themselves visible to us."

"This explains much," said Flight Leftenant Qual. "Not only why our instruments could not detect them but why they thought that your machines were the intelligent creatures, and you some sort of captive animal companions."

Phule's jaw dropped so far it looked for a moment as if it had been dislocated. "What?" he blurted out. "They think that Beeker and I are...pets?"

Sushi managed to keep from grinning. "Yeah, that's about as close as I can describe what seems to be their basic assumption. As far as I can tell, when they saw you two leaving the hoverjeep, they thought you were running away, and so they captured you and took care of you until they could find out what your master-the jeep or the computer-wanted done with you. Apparently, Sir, they have a hard time imagining intelligent animal life..."

"Machines?" Beeker interrupted. "I beg your pardon, young Sir, but I cannot accept the notion of a machine intelligence evolving independently of some original organic creator."

"I'm with you on that, believe me," said Sushi. Then he shrugged. "Maybe they evolved from mechanical junk left behind by some off-world visitors. But that's just a guess. Bottom line is, we're dealing with a civilization of nanomachines. Individually, they're general-purpose units with fairly low intelligence, but when they combine, the larger unit-the macro, I'd call it-can have a total intelligence as high as ours."

"Theoretically higher, if your premise is correct," said Beeker grudgingly. "But I've never heard of such a thing evolving independently."

"Neither have I," said Sushi. "First time for everything, isn't there?"

"Sushi's right," said Phule. "We've got to accept the situation as we find it. And I think he was about to tell us just what that situation is." He turned to Sushi with an expectant smile.

"OK, like Qual was saying, they thought the hoverjeep and the Port-a-Brain were the intelligent beings, and they've been spending their time trying to communicate with them. If you'd been wearing your translators, you might have been able to make sense of the noise on the jeep's communicator. But once you were out of the jeep, not even that would've helped."

"And so they took us prisoner and tried to negotiate with the jeep," said Phule. "I imagine they didn't get very far with that."

"Well, they kept getting back a signal from the Port-a-Brain's modem trying to download your stock quotes," said Sushi. "They could tell it was intelligent, but they couldn't get any useful response from it. And of course they had no way to know that you guys were really in charge of the machines. They apparently had you in some sort of holding pen, being kept alive and healthy but not really getting much of their attention."

"That's not very flattering, I must say," grumbled Beeker.

"It could've been worse," said Phule. "Remember, for a while we were worried that they might decide to have us for lunch."

"I don't think they're interested in organics, anyway," said Sushi. "They were more likely just to turn you loose in the desert to go fend for yourself."

Beeker scoffed. "Not interested in organics? What do they use for fuel? For lubricants?"

Sushi shrugged, but there was a smile on his face. "We don't know, but it's worth finding out, isn't it? Maybe they could use another supplier..."

Phule sat up straight and clapped his hands. "Now, there's the kind of thinking the Legion can use! There's always an opportunity to make a few dollars, if you just ask the right questions. Sushi, I thank you for starting the ball rolling. We'll definitely want to explore that issue further."

"Think nothing of it, Captain," said Sushi, buffing his fingernails. "In fact, they seem to have played the stock market very successfully. They've got a lot of money to spend, once we can figure out what they're likely customers for. I wonder if a finder's fee might not be in order..."

"You'll be in on the ground floor," said Phule.

"Thanks, Captain, I knew you'd do the right thing," said Sushi. "But for now, let's concentrate on getting this situation untangled. I've set the modem to a kiddie Internet channel, and we're running a Roger Robot marathon, but the nanomachines will probably get tired of trying to talk back to it before long. Still, it'll give us some time to figure out how to get you out of here and back to camp-and what to do once you're there."

Phule laughed. "What to do? That doesn't seem too difficult to figure out. A nice long shower, a change of clothes, a cool drink, and then I'll settle down to solving whatever problems have come up since I left. Although, now that we've found the Hidden Ones, we've got to get them and the Zenobians talking-figure out what their interests are, what common ground there might be. That's obviously our main priority. I can't imagine anything more important that'd have come up-"

"Captain, you don't know the half of it," said Sushi, shaking his head. "You don't know the half of it."

Major Botchup was not happy about dealing with the press. It wasn't that he saw publicity as a bad thing; indeed, he had a small file of clippings of his own, carefully gathered and organized to show the highlights (such as they were) of his career to date. Nor was he at all averse to standing in front of cameras and answering reporters' questions at length, often at greater length than the reporters were interested in devoting to him. He well understood the power of positive press.

No, what annoyed Botchup was that the reporters were here not because of him but because of his deposed predecessor. That stuck in his craw. These media vultures ought to be focusing on the winners, not defeated second-raters like that mountebank Captain Jester. He was the commanding officer of Omega Company. It shouldn't matter that he hadn't done anything so far...

"Major, you don't seem to realize what the story is," said Jennie Higgins. "Captain Jester was responsible for putting this company into the public consciousness, and now he's suddenly been replaced in command. People want to know why this has happened, and they want to hear what he has to say about it."

"Miss Higgins, I'll remind you that this is a war zone," said Botchup, sweating despite the excellent climate control system Phule had installed in what had become his successor's office. Jennie's cameraman was lurking right behind her, and he had to measure his words carefully to avoid looking a fool on holoscreens half the galaxy away. His career could be ruined by a careless slip in front of billions of prime-time viewers. "As much as we in the Space Legion understand the public's interest in what we're doing here, at the same time, we have to be on constant guard against our enemies learning something that could compromise our mission here-"

"Of course we understand that, Major," said Jennie with a dazzling smile. "And I know none of our viewers want these brave legionnaires to be put in harm's way by a careless word or holo image." The smile broadened, and she leaned forward over the major's desk. "That's why I've come to you before talking to your people. We've found that the closer we work with the officers in charge of a given operation, the better we can walk that fine line between security and the public's need to know. So what I want from you now is background-off the record, if you'd prefer-and once I know that, we can work out ground rules for the rest of my stay here. Is that OK?"

Botchup found the room getting even warmer; he'd have to check the air-conditioning. But the pretty young reporter-she certainly was pretty-seemed to be making sense, after all. It might be his best chance to get his own name attached to the company's growing reputation, supplanting Jester in public esteem as well as in fact. Jester had played the media the way a trained musician plays a fine synth-organ; now it would be his turn.

Botchup looked into Jennie's eyes and murmured, "Why, Miss Higgins, I think we can work together after all. Now, just what did you need to know?"

"Tell us about yourself, Major," she said, almost cooing. "What brought you to a military career? How did you end up as commanding officer of this company?"

Major Botchup took a deep breath, and a self-satisfied smile came onto his lips. Now, he would tell the story his way. And, for the first time, people all over the Galaxy would understand what made Elmer Botchup the man he was. A man of some importance, a man worthy of respect. He looked straight at the holocam. "It all began when I was a small boy," he said. "That was when I first realized I had the gift of command..."

The holocam purred quietly, recording every word.

"A new CO," said Phule, shaking his head after Sushi had brought him up to date on the situation back at their base. "That's going to be trouble, all right. And you say there's somebody who's impersonating me, as well?"

"That's right, Captain," said Sushi. "He walked in from the desert one night; Garbo and Brick were on guard, then. They can tell you the story. But the main thing is, he was acting very strange, as if he didn't quite know where he was. They all just thought you'd gotten heat stroke in the desert. Now that I think back on it, though, there were plenty of clues that it wasn't you after all. Who do you think it could be? Do you think Headquarters sent somebody to replace you and play crazy so you could be discredited?"

"I doubt most of us would notice a difference, to tell the truth," said Beeker.

"I don't think Headquarters would try that," said Phule, ignoring the butler's jab. "They might be that devious, but they aren't that smart. I've got a pretty good idea what's happened back at base, though, and if I'm right, I won't have much trouble establishing who's who. I'm more worried about this Major Botchup, if he's as bad as you describe."

"Oh, man, he sure is," said Sushi. "Worse-he's like all the Legion horror stories about bad COs rolled up in one. Even the sergeants are acting worried. I've never seen that before."

"That's a bad sign," agreed Phule. "I didn't think there was anything in the galaxy that could faze a sergeant-well, not until the Renegades came after Chocolate Harry, anyhow. And I'll be really worried if the major's got Brandy off her usual track."

"You can judge for yourself when you get back," said Sushi. "And if you're lucky, you can convince the major not to have you cashiered for being AWOL along with the rest of us in the search party. Or maybe he'll throw you in irons for impersonating yourself. He's that kind of hardnose."

"I can get the search party off the hook," said Phule. "You'll claim I ordered you to look for the Hidden Ones before he got on base. Since I wasn't there, I couldn't tell him or the other officers about your mission. He can try to call me on that, but he won't get anywhere if we all stick to the story. I was the legal commander at the time I gave the order."

"Well, I appreciate your taking the heat on it," said Sushi. "He's still likely to try to come after us, but with you on our side, we ought to be all right. Thanks, Captain."

"No problem, Sushi," said Phule. "Remember, that was our main mission when we came here-to help Qual's people find the Hidden Ones, and now that you've found them, it'd look pretty bad not to give you credit for it."

"We're going to have to come up with some name other than Hidden Ones," said Sushi. "They aren't hiding, they're just very small-"

"Nanoids," suggested Mahatma. "From nanotech-"

"Well, that's catchy enough," said Sushi. "Nanoids-"

"A barbarism," sniffed Beeker. But the name stuck.

Jennie Higgins smiled. Her return to Omega Company-once she'd gotten past the new CO-had been like a reunion with old friends. When she stepped into the mess hall, Sergeant Escrima had made a point of filling her tray himself, proudly pointing out his new gourmet creations. Grinning broadly, Chocolate Harry had given her a purple camouflage T-shirt and fatigue cap with Omega Company insignia to wear-an instant icebreaker when she sat down to chat with the legionnaires. Brandy had thrown her arm around her like a kid sister and taken her on a personal tour of the modular base camp that was the company's field headquarters on Zenobia.

In fact, except for Major Botchup's snotty adjutant Lieutenant Snipe, everyone in the company had been eager to make her welcome. And-except for one subject-they'd been more than willing to talk to her. But the minute she mentioned the captain, their expressions turned serious. "You gotta talk to him yourself," said Chocolate Harry, and everyone else had given her some version or another on the same line, without responding to her attempts to pump them for more information. Jennie was very good at pumping interview subjects, and to hit such a pronounced dry spell was in itself unusual.

The problem was, she'd been unable to find Captain Jester-or Willard Phule, to give him the name he'd gone by before he'd joined the Legion. Immediately after her arrival, she'd spotted him sitting under a sort of awning with a pile of paperwork on a table in front of him while everyone else in the company acted as if an invasion was imminent. But Lieutenant Snipe had whisked her off to the command center before her old friend noticed her. When she returned, he'd disappeared, and nobody seemed able to tell her where he was. In fact, when she asked where his actual quarters were, nobody could tell her. They weren't trying to hide it from her-she was too good a reporter to miss the signs of that. They just didn't know.