The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set

by Robert Asprin

  “Shhh!” warned Qual. He continued in a dry whisper. “You are seeing sprvingers and gryffs. They are a distance away, but they hear excellently. And the large creatures we hope to ambush hear even better. Quiet is obligatory if we are to accomplish anything.”

  In fact, several of the animals had paused in their activity, and were peering around as if alerted. One or two of the larger ones—the gryffs?—were staring straight at the hunting blind, although the hunters had taken considerable pains to make it indistinguishable from the rest of the nearby vegetation.

  “So these ain’t the ones we’re looking for,” said Asho, in a much lower voice. “When do they show up?”

  “When they desire to,” said Qual. “Sooner than we really want, I expect.”

  “Hell, bring ’em on—I’m ready for ’em,” said Asho.

  “If you continue to make so much noise, they will be here sooner than you think,” said Qual, very softly. “But I don’t think you will get very much chance to shoot at them.”

  “All right, L.P., let’s listen to the native guide,” said Austen Tay-Shun. “Let’s bide our time so we can get a really good trophy. I’m a few bucks down, anyways—if the critters take their time, maybe I can win some of it back.”

  “That is the best plan,” said Qual. “Softly, softly, catch a sproinger.”

  The hunters returned to their cards—and their beer—as the sun sank gradually lower in the west, and the heat of midday began to wane. For his part, Qual remained by the view screen, watching carefully, every now and then softly warning the card players to keep their voices down.

  Finally, as the rim of the sun stood just a hand’s breadth above the horizon, Qual let out another hiss. “Here is something different,” he added in an almost inaudible whisper, pointing to the view screen.

  “What is it now?” said L.P. Asho, but when he turned around and saw the screen, his mouth fell open, and he said nothing more. There on the screen was possibly the largest animal any of the three hunters had ever seen, on this world or any other. It had the general conformation of one of the Zenobian natives, but scaled up to nearly thirty meters in height. Its teeth were long and pointed, and its claws were almost the length of an adult human being. The hoverjeep-sized gryff lumbered away from it in panic, scattering like slow-motion mice before a cat. “What the hell is that?” gasped Asho.

  “It is a grggh,” whispered Qual. “It has not sensed us yet.”

  “Is that what we’re hunting?” asked O’Better, in a quavering voice.

  “Until it begins hunting us, yes,” said Qual. “Perhaps our weapons are adequate to repel it; this is one of the small ones.”

  “Repel it?” L.P. Asho’s jaw dropped. “I don’t want to repel it, I want somethin’ for my trophy room.”

  “Shh!” said Qual. “We do not want to attract it any sooner than we must. It may have pack mates in the vicinity.”

  “Pack mates? You mean there might be more than one of these things?”

  “They hunt in packs,” said Qual. He peered at the screen. “I do not see another, yet; perhaps it is not hunting. That would be a rare piece of luck.”

  “Rare? What do you mean?”

  “Grggh are constantly hunting,” said Qual. “Do you think a beast can achieve those dimensions by restricting its caloric intake?”

  “I guess not,” said Asho. “Damn, I’d love to have that sucker’s head in my trophy room. Couldn’t get much more than that in without rebuildin’ …”

  “Hell, we’d have trouble gettin’ it back to the ship, let alone liftin’ off with it,” said Austen Tay-Shun. “And that’s not even thinkin’ about trophies for the rest of us. I ain’t goin’ home with nothin’ to show for it.”

  “Silence!” hissed Qual. “Something approaches!”

  “Wha …?” said L.P. Asho, but before he could complete the thought, the roof of the hunting shelter disappeared skyward, and a large, tooth-filled visage leaned down inquisitively toward the little group. The mouth opened, and a wave of heat—accompanied by the worst stench imaginable—filled the little shelter. With a choral scream of terror, the hunters bolted.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Journal #751

  While I have never been attracted to a military career, my employer’s tenure in the Space Legion has given me ample opportunity to assess the qualities requisite for success in that branch of life. I do not think I flatter myself excessively if I state that I might have done better than most, had I been placed in such circumstances. Many of the necessary qualities of a gentleman’s gentleman would serve, with little need for adaptation.

  In fact, I doubt one officer in ten could match the average butler in the ability to tell when one’s position has so grievously deteriorated that nothing remains but to make one’s escape without undue regard for one’s dignity. Indeed, in my experience, the higher one rises in the military rank, the more conspicuous is the lack of this invaluable quality.

  On the other hand, the hunters from Tejas, whom I had never before observed to be in the possession of any outstanding virtue, proved to be quite sensible when it came to mounting a timely retreat. Indeed, they did it every bit as well as any general could have, and with a good bit less fuss.

  * * *

  Phule’s hoverjeep pulled up to the hunters’ camp just as Euston O’Better dashed out of his tent carrying a huge duffel bag. Ignoring the captain—and Beeker, who sat observing the scene with raised eyebrows—O’Better rushed breathlessly over to the shuttle and tossed the bundle through the cargo hatch. Then he turned and headed back to the tent.

  “Good morning,” said Phule, in a conversational tone.

  O’Better jumped as if someone had set off a small explosive in his near vicinity. He landed facing the hoverjeep, at which point his mind apparently managed to process it as something not likely to eat him, and he snapped, “Durn it, you oughtn’t sneak up on a fellow that way.” Then, realizing there was no immediate threat, he relaxed, and said, “Sorry, Captain, but we’ve had a bit of a scare. Your planet’s got some mighty ferocious critters on it, y’know?”

  “Well, it’s not really my planet,” said Phule. “And I can’t say I’ve really had time to do a proper survey of the local wildlife. Of course, the Zenobians do tell stories …”

  “They don’t do the critters justice,” said O’Better, closing his eyes and shuddering. “Not even close … but I’m sorry, Captain. I guess you didn’t come here just to chitchat, and to tell you the truth, I don’t have a lot of time myself. What brings you out this way, Captain?”

  No sooner had he finished speaking than Austen Tay-Shun and L.P. Asho dashed out of their tents, each carrying a large bundle that they proceeded to stow in the cargo hold of the shuttle. They turned, then, noticing the hoverjeep, lined up behind O’Better, staring at Phule and Beeker, with unmistakably unfriendly expressions.

  The silence built for a long moment before Phule broke it. “I’m sorry, Mr. O’Better,” he said, scratching his head. “It looks as if I’m interrupting something. Were you gentlemen getting ready to move out?” He stepped out of the jeep, peering casually around the campsite. Sure enough, much of the fancy equipment that had been visible on his previous visit was out of sight—presumably packed up and stowed away in the shuttle.

  O’Better grimaced, then said, “What the hell—there’s no point telling anything but the truth. What happened is, me and the boys went out in the sticks with your local guide, plannin’ to get those big trophies we’d come here lookin’ for. So, naturally enough, we asked the native boy to take us where the really big critters were. And when he did, we found out we were in way over our heads—that’s all, Captain. Way over our heads. I don’t know how the natives manage to keep from being eaten right up by some of the critters we seen. We brought some pretty serious weaponry with us, but I’ll tell you this—I don’t reckon there’s anything short of siege artillery that’ll bring one of those monsters down.”

  “Monsters?” said Phu
le. “I grant I haven’t spent much time researching local fauna, but I’d think Flight Leftenant Qual would’ve warned us of anything really dangerous. I hope they aren’t going to become a nuisance to the camp.”

  “Well, if they do, your boys are goin’ to find out just what your weapons can and can’t do,” said L.P. Asho, sullenly. “Ain’t nobody payin’ me to stand and get chewed up like a light snack, but maybe the Legion is willin’ to give it a try. You’re welcome to it. As for us—we’re gettin’ the hell out while we still can.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Phule began.

  Asho cut him off. “You damn well ought to be. We come here not just for a little huntin’ and recreation, but to look into this planet’s mineral development potential, which I reckon it has a lot of. But there ain’t nobody goin’ to sink his money into a place where his people are goin’ to get et up by Godziller if they make a wrong step.”

  “Godziller?” said Phule.

  “You heard the man,” said O’ Better. “If the Legion takes matters in its own hands and exterminates the monsters, there may be some room for investors to move in and develop the place good and proper. But short of that, I’m keeping my money in my pocket. Now, Captain, if you’ll pardon us, we’d like to get loaded and lift off before the creatures come looking for us.” He and the others turned and went back into the tent.

  “Creatures?” said Phule. He looked at Beeker. “Exterminate?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what they’re talking about, either, sir,” said Beeker. “I have a strong suspicion who will know, though. If I may be so bold, shall we return to camp and speak to Mr. Qual?”

  “Qual!” said Phule. “I think you’re right, Beeker. Let’s go see if we can get to the bottom of this. For starters, I think we’re going to talk to Sushi.” He hopped back into the hoverjeep, just as Asho and Tay-Shun began to strike the tents. By the time the hoverjeep was over the hill, they’d already gotten the first one folded and ready to pack into the shuttle.

  “So all those funny lights in the desert are Qual’s doing,” said Phule, bemused.

  “Yes, sir,” said Sushi. He leaned forward, both his hands placed casually on Phule’s desk. “That big machine of theirs, the sklern, is a hologram projector, programmable in real time, that they invented for psychological warfare. They were using our camp to test it, figuring this might be a useful base for it if the Nanoids ever became a hostile force.”

  “I ought to be annoyed that he didn’t bother to tell me what he was doing, especially considering the trouble it got some of our people into,” said Phule.

  “I’d guess he was under orders not to,” said Armstrong, the officer on duty. His rigid posture was the exact opposite of Sushi’s. “Even allies have secrets from each other, you know. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that Legion HQ has a detailed plan for invading Zenobia if our friendship suddenly falls apart at the seams.” He looked at Phule, who sat staring back at him without saying anything. After a moment, Armstrong looked away. “But I suppose that’s none of my business until the situation arises,” he added, lamely.

  “Which none of us expects to happen,” said Phule, quietly. He turned back to Sushi. “You’ve put me in something of an embarrassing spot, as well, you know,” he said, wagging a pointed finger. “Spying on Qual could sour relations between us and the Zenobians. Even if Qual doesn’t take it as hostile, his superiors might. Now we have to figure out what to do if Qual finds out about it,”

  “More importantly, we have to figure out how to prevent him from finding out about it,” said Armstrong. “If they don’t know that we know about their secret project, they can’t hold it against us that we found it out by spying on them, if you follow my logic.”

  “I don’t think so, Captain,” said Sushi. “Qual wouldn’t have set the thing up right in our faces if he was trying to keep it secret—let alone using it to help us get rid of those so-called hunters. That’d require a good bit of conscious duplicity, and I don’t think the Zenobians think that way.”

  “If you’ve figured out how the Zenobians think, you’re a couple of steps ahead of the rest of us,” said Armstrong. “Half the time, I can’t even figure out the plain sense of what they’re saying, let along what might be behind it.”

  “Well, that’s something we found out from the project Rev’s been running,” said Sushi. “Or rather, the project he recruited me to run for him, more or less, trying to find out about the Zenobians’ legend of ‘L’Viz. Well, you saw yesterday what that came to—I thought Rev was going to be disappointed when he realized it was just a delayed copy of something he already knew about. He managed to turn it his own way, though. But that’s not the whole story. Along the way, I’ve found out some very interesting things on my own. Things about the Zenobians’ language, which is a lot weirder than I expected.”

  “I’m not surprised,” said Phule. “I’ve probably spoken to as many of the natives as any human alive, and even with translators I wouldn’t rate the communication as very fluent. A lot of the time what they say has nothing to do with what I’ve been saying. It’s as if we’re carrying on two separate conversations.”

  Sushi grinned. “Believe it or not, a lot of conversations between one Zenobian and another seem to be like that, as well. I know—I’ve been listening to quite a few of them talking. Their society doesn’t seem to have a common language in the same sense that ours does.”

  “In light of certain locutions I’ve heard from the members of this company, I would consider it a debatable proposition that we have a common language,” said Beeker. “Why, just this morning I heard one of the legionnaires say …”

  Phule’s intercom buzzed. “Hold on a second, Beeks,” he said, and lifted his wrist to his mouth. “What is it, Mother?” he asked.

  “Flight Leftenant Qual wants to see you, cutie,” said the saucy voice of Comm Central. “Ordinarily I’d have just sent him down, but seeing as how you have people in your office …”

  “Ah, perfect! Send him in, Mother,” said Phule. “No problem. In fact, I think he can clear up a few questions for us.”

  “Just make sure he’s answering the same questions you’re asking, lovey,” said Mother. “I’m sending him down.”

  “Great,” said Phule, and he broke the connection, smiling.

  “I sure hope so, Captain,” said Lieutenant Armstrong. He was definitely not smiling.

  * * *

  A few moments later, Flight Leftenant Qual entered. For the first time any of the legionnaires could remember, he was in mufti—a ragged outfit, half camouflage and half what looked like homemade garments. A straw hat that might have been stolen from an out-of-work farmhand completed the ensemble. “Greetings, Captain Clown!” he said. “Acting on the advice of your legionnaire Thumper and the famous Environmental Dog, we have completed a worthy mission this day.”

  “So I hear,” said Phule. “Uh, why don’t you tell us about it, Qual, so we can get your viewpoint on the whole thing?”

  “Of a certainty,” said Qual. “The entire business began when Rawfish approached me as my team was calibrating the sklern. At first, I could not understand his purpose, although I believed it had to do with learning our secrets.”

  Sushi blushed. “Oh, no, that was totally the farthest thing from my mind,” he said.

  “Don’t put yourself in a binder, Rawfish,” said Qual. “The sklern is not a secret project, or we doubtlessly never would have come to your base to set it up.”

  “Not a secret?” Phule looked puzzled. “Your crew acted really evasive every time I or one of my people tried to ask what it was and why you were testing it here.”

  “Oh, I see what the problem was,” said Sushi. “It’s what I’ve been telling you about the Zenobian language, Captain. No two Zenobians speak exactly the same way, so our translators don’t work the way they’re designed to. With most other sophonts, the differences between one speaker and another are pretty minimal, but if I’ve understood wh
at Qual says, Zenobians vary all over the chart.”

  “And if the Zenobian gentleman is so hard to understand, how do you know that you do understand him?” asked Beeker. Everyone ignored him.

  Armstrong wrinkled his brow. “You know—this could have security implications, Captain,” he said.

  “You’re right, Armstrong,” said Phule. He was grinning, now. “And I think I’ve got just the way to make use of that phenomenon.”

  “Make use of it?” Armstrong’s eyes opened wide. “How in the world can we make use of an inability to communicate?”

  “You’re not thinking big enough,” said Phule. “Modern industry and business need secure communication. Every businessman in the galaxy would give his eyeteeth for a really secure code. But as Sushi has shown us more than once, modern computers—in the right hands, and with a little bit of time—can break any code that’s been devised.”

  “Well, maybe not everything,” said Sushi, shrugging. “But I’d be willing to promise a pretty good success rate against most of the commercial stuff I’ve run across.”

  “From what I’ve seen, I’d rate you a lot better than pretty good,” said Phule.

  “Yes, Rawfish is a most intelligent human,” agreed Qual, wagging his tail.

  Phule grinned. “I’m sure he appreciates the endorsement. But here’s my point, Sushi—how well would you do with an encrypted signal when the clear text was two Zenobians speaking in their own language?”

  Sushi looked at Phule a long moment, then said, “It’d slow me down a lot. I mean, in most communication you assume the two sides are speaking the same language, and with two Zenobians that’s only mostly true. If you run it through an encryption circuit, on top of all that—I can’t say my equipment would never figure it out, but it could sure make things tougher.”

  “Exactly what I thought,” said Phule. He turned to Beeker. “I think we’re sitting on a dilithium mine here, Beeks. Remind me to look into it—I’ve been looking for another high-yield investment, and this just might be it. I’m sure we can figure out ways to structure it to benefit the company, as well.”