by RobertAsprin
“Oh, I understand, Captain,” the Zenobian replied quickly. “Believe me, we have no intent to contest your possession of this territory. Space is large, and there are sufficient habitats that we see no need to fight for those already inhabited. Now that we have discovered that these areas are already occupied, we will simply explore in another direction. In fact, we’ll be on our way as soon as … soon.”
“Now, let’s not be hasty,” Phule said. “Perhaps we can work something out—something mutually beneficial to both our peoples.”
“How? Excuse me, I don’t wish to challenge your veracity, but I thought you said the swamp was unavailable for use.”
“This swamp is, but there are others within our system which might serve your needs equally well. Information on their locations could ease or eliminate your need for exploration, and if permissions were obtained in advance, there would be no conflict involved in their settlement.”
Qual was suddenly very attentive. Such an arrangement would make him a hero within the Exploratory Forces as well as nullify any lingering disfavor he might be suffering under. Still, he had learned from past experience that offers that sounded too good to be true were usually just that.
“I don’t understand. Captain,” he said cagily. “Our races may be different, but I’ve always assumed that intelligence implies a certain degree of self-interest. Why should your people simply give us something which is theirs without asking for anything in return?”
“Oh, we’d want something in return, all right.” Phule smiled. “Remember I said an arrangement which would be mutually beneficial. I think you’d find, however, that our demands for return on the use of our swamps would be minimal.”
“How minimal?”
“Well … before we get down to specifics, would you mind telling me what the maximum accurate range is for those sporting stun weapons of yours?”
* * *
“What happened, Captain?”
“Is there going to be a fight?”
“What do they want?”
Discipline fell by the wayside as the Legionnaires swarmed out to meet their returning commander. Ignoring their questions, Phule waved them to silence as he activated his wrist communicator.
“Com Central.”
“Yes, Mother. Patch me through to an off-planet line. I need to get a call through to my father …”
He gave the code number, then glanced up at the impatient Legionnaires who were circling him.
“If you’ll listen in on my end of the conversation, you’ll hear the answers to most of your questions. For the moment, however, you can all stand down. The alien force is not—repeat, not—hostile. There will be no fight, unless someone—”
“Willie? Is that you?”
Phule turned his attention to his wrist communicator.
“Yes, Dad. I’m here.”
“What’s the problem? Don’t tell me you’re tired of playing soldier boy already.”
“Dad, I don’t say this to you often, but shut up and listen! I have a situation here that potentially involves you, and I don’t have time to trade jibes and insults this time. Okay?”
There was a few moments’ pause, then the reply came through, in notably more serious tones.
“All right, Willard. What have you got?”
“Does Uncle Frank still own that development company? The one that buys up cheap swamps, then tries to convert them to usable land?”
“I think so. Last thing I heard, he was using it as a tax write-off. It’s always been a marginal operation, and—”
“Get on the horn to him as fast as you can and buy it up … along with any other swampland you can get your hands on.”
“Just a second …”
There was another pause, this one broken by muffled comments through the speaker.
“Okay,” came the elder Phule’s voice again. “The wheels are in motion. I suppose there’s a reason I’m doing this?”
“You bet there is. I’ve got a deal on the line: a whole new alien race looking for swampland. No development necessary. Just let them know where it is.”
“New aliens? What have they got to offer in exchange?”
“I figure there’s a wealth of new technology to be bartered for, but for this particular deal how does exclusive production and distribution rights on a new weapon sound to you?”
“How new?”
“We’re talking a stun gun … easily portable power pack … effective range approximately three hundred meters. Law enforcement is the most obvious market, but I’m sure you can think of others.”
“Sounds good so far. Who’s their agent?”
The Legionnaires smiled along with their commander.
“That’s the bad news, Dad. I am. Don’t worry, though … I’m sure we can work something out.”
“Yeah … sure. Just like last time. Well, give me a call when you’re ready to squat down on the horse blankets and hammer out the details. Just do me a favor and don’t ever tell me what your commission is. Okay?”
“It’s a deal. Over and out.”
Phule shut down his communicator, drawing his first deep breath since the initial call on the aliens had come in.
His commission. He hadn’t even thought about that. Wonder if the Zenobians had any need for the mineral rights to their swamps … here or within the territory they already controlled?
Chapter Eighteen
Journal #162
While it is difficult to clearly define where one segment of my employer’s career ends and another begins, the first phase of his time with the Space Legion came to its climax, not with his encounter with the Zenobians, but with a “visit” from certain high-ranking members of the Legion Headquarters staff.
It seems that, with the single-mindedness so typical of bureaucracies everywhere, they were less concerned with the results of my employer’s actions than with the methods and procedures he utilized to achieve them.
* * *
The general public was usually apathetic regarding the movements of the Space Legion—even its high-ranking officers. As such, the party from Legion Headquarters was more than a little surprised at the crowd of civilians waiting for them when they disembarked from the shuttlecraft at the Haskin’s Planet spaceport. Most were curiosity seekers, to be sure, but there was at least a token attendance from the fifth estate, as the party was quick to discover.
“Jennie Higgens, Interstellar News Service,” the reporter announced, blocking the path of the first Legionnaire in the party with her body, microphone, and camera crew. “Is it true that you’re here to punish Captain Jester, the commander of the Space Legion company stationed here on Haskin’s Planet, for his recent confrontation with the Zenobians?”
“No comment,” Colonel Battleax mumbled, trying to edge around the obstacle. Despite her criticisms of Phule’s activity with the media, the truth was she herself only had limited experience in dealing with reporters, and those encounters had left her wary and guarded in their presence.
“But if Captain Jester is not going to be punished, why was he relieved of command and placed under house arrest right after that incident?” the reporter persisted.
“The Space Legion felt it was its obligation to the citizens of the civilized planets we serve to suspend Captain Jester’s authority until an investigation could be conducted to determine the propriety, not to mention the legality, of his actions.”
General Blitzkrieg was one of the three ranking officers who made up the board which governed the Legion. Though he was as startled as Battleax at their reception, he was also nearing retirement and quickly reached the decision that a little media exposure wouldn’t hurt his efforts to obtain postretirement employment. If nothing else, it might increase his chances of finding a publisher for his memoirs.
“So your actual purpose here is to perform that investigation rather than to court-martial Captain Jester as rumored?” Jennie said, shifting her attention easily to the talker of the group.
“That is correct,” the general said, “though we are prepared to convene a court-martial if the investigation warrants it.”
Blitzkrieg had only meant to cover himself for when the anticipated court-martial took place, but the reporter pounced on his implication.
“Could you tell our viewers why Captain Jester, who recently averted a potentially hostile alien invasion of the settlement here on Haskin’s Planet, might be subject to court-martial and discipline by the Space Legion?”
The general leveled his best steely gaze at the reporter.
“Young lady,” he said, “you are employed by the Interstellar News Service as a reporter … is that correct?”
“Yes, I am,” Jennie answered firmly, though she was unsure where the question was leading.
“Do you feel that position authorizes you to negotiate a peace treaty with an alien race, such as the Zenobians?”
“Of course not.”
“Excuse me, Ms. Higgens,” Colonel Battleax said, breaking her self-imposed silence, “but if, as a reporter—or in any other capacity—you were the first to make contact with a force of potentially hostile aliens, would you feel justified to do or say whatever was necessary to remove the immediate threat to yourself and others, regardless of your actual authority?”
“That will be enough, Colonel,” Blitzkrieg snapped before the reporter could answer. “I believe this interview is over, Ms. Higgens. We will release a formal statement of the Legion’s position upon the completion of our investigation.”
Turning on his heel, he strode off toward the spaceport terminal, with Battleax trailing along behind.
Bringing up the back of the party, Major Joshua made no effort to hide his grimace of distaste. He had been the silent witness to this argument between the colonel and the general for the entire trip here, and they seemed no closer to an agreement than when the voyage started. At least it would all be over soon, except that indications were that he would be placed in command of the Omega Company to oversee its dismantling and reassignment after the court-martial … for the general was determined that there would be one. The major viewed both these occurrences with equal lack of enthusiasm, yet both seemed inevitable.
* * *
“‘Saved the planet from an invasion by hostile aliens,’” Blitzkrieg fumed, mimicking the reporter’s voice. “Do you believe this bullshit?”
“You must admit though, General, it’s a pleasant change to have the Legion getting hero treatment by the media, isn’t it?” Colonel Battleax said, unable to keep herself from twisting the knife a little.
“It would be nicer if it were justified,” the General snarled irritably. “From the reports that were filed, the Zenobians were scared to death and just wanted to get back off-planet with their hides intact. To my thinking, that’s a far cry from an invasion.”
Both the colonel and the major refrained from pointing out that the general himself had passed up numerous opportunities to correct the mistaken impression created and maintained by the media. By unspoken agreement, the Headquarters delegation was united in its desire to keep the favorable publicity generated for the Legion by the stories of the Zenobian “invasion.” What divided them was the question of whether or not they retain that impression while punishing the man who was at the focus of the incident. Battleax didn’t think it could be done … not that she had any real desire to punish Phule in the first place.
The party was ensconced in one of the spaceport’s courtesy meeting rooms, the general having repeatedly rejected suggestions that they hold their proceedings at the facilities currently enjoyed by the Legion’s company.
“Captain Jester does seem to have achieved a certain popularity locally,” the colonel tried again. “Justified or not, he and his crew of cutthroats are currently the toast of the settlement.”
“All the more reason to get this over with and get him out of here as soon as possible,” Blitzkrieg muttered, deliberately missing the point Battleax was trying to make. “What’s the delay, anyway? Where is this Captain Jester?”
“He’s waiting in the next room,” Major Joshua supplied. “Has been since before we disembarked.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
“We’re trying to locate the court recorder, sir. She seems to have wandered off.”
“Shall we get started, anyway?” Battleax suggested casually. “At least with the inquiry?”
“Oh no,” the general said. “I want everything legal and by the book when I nail this guy’s hide to the wall … no ‘procedural mistrial’ loopholes for him to wiggle out of. Major, go out and see if you can find … What the hell is that?”
There was a loud rumble of powerful engines outside. The sound had begun softly as they spoke but had slowly risen in volume until now it could no longer be ignored.
Joshua had moved to the window overlooking the shuttle pads and was staring at something outside the line of vision of the other officers.
“General,” he said without turning away from his post, “I think you should look at this.”
The sound was from a full dozen hover cycles, whose Legionnaire riders kept revving the engines noisily despite their slow pace. What was even more attention-getting, however, was the procession they were escorting.
The entire company of Legionnaires was marching into the area between the shuttle pads and the spaceport. There were no flashy maneuvers such as the Red Eagles had performed during the intra-service competition, yet something in the grim determination of their approach made them nonetheless impressive, if not intimidating, as they drew up in full formation. Of course, this image was enhanced by the fact that they were garbed in full combat uniform and gear, including what appeared to be loaded weapons.
At a barked command echoed by the sergeants, the formation halted and stood at attention. At the same time, the hover cycle riders shut down the engines of their vehicles, and for several moments the resulting silence seemed even louder than had the earlier noise.
“What are they doing out there?” the general said as the three officers stared at the display outside their window.
“If I had to guess, sir,” Battleax murmured, not taking her eyes from the formation, “I’d say it was a demonstration of support for their commander.”
“A demonstration? It looks like they’re getting ready to assault the spaceport.”
“I didn’t say it looked like a peaceful demonstration.” The colonel smiled humorlessly.
“They’ve got clips of ammo in those weapons,” Blitzkrieg noted. “Who authorized that? Whom did you put in temporary command when you relieved Jester?”
“Lieutenant Rembrandt had the most seniority,” Battleax said. “That’s her at the head of the formation. I believe that’s the other lieutenant, Armstrong, standing beside her. Ummm … is it necessary for me to point out to you gentlemen that they’re between us and the shuttle?”
“Do you want me to call the local police?” Joshua asked nervously.
“Those are supposed to be our troops out there, Major,” the general retorted tersely. “We’d look pretty damn silly asking the police to protect us from them, now, wouldn’t we?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“I want you to go out there and take command of that formation, Major Joshua. Break it up and tell them to return to their barracks and await further orders.”
“Me, sir?”
Fortunately rescue appeared that moment in the form of the missing court recorder, who slipped into the room and took her position by her equipment, blissfully unaware of what was going on outside the spaceport. She was one of those drab, horse-faced women who gave lie to the holo-movie stereotype of the sexy secretary.
“Sorry I’m late, General,” she said.
“Where the hell have you been?” Blitzkrieg demanded, finding a focal point for his anger and nervousness.
“Begging the general’s pardon,” Battleax interceded, “but isn’t it more important that we begin the proceedings
… without further delay?”
“Oh! Yes … quite right. Thank you, Colonel. Someone tell Jester we’re ready for him.”
The trio of officers barely had time to settle into their seats before the captain entered. With careful precision, he strode to the center of the room and saluted crisply.
“Captain Jester … reporting as ordered, sir!”
General Blitzkrieg returned the salute with a sketchy wave of his hand as he looked over at the court recorder.
“Let the record show that a court of inquiry is convened to review the actions of Captain Jester. General Blitzkrieg presiding, Colonel Battleax and Major Joshua in attendance.”
He turned his attention to the figure in front of him.
“Well, Captain,” he said conversationally, “I assume you know why we’re here.”
“No, sir, I don’t. I was told my actions were to be reviewed, but I am unaware of any activity on my part which might warrant such scrutiny.”
Even Battleax was startled by this statement. She had been prepared to favorably review whatever defense Jester might have to offer, but it had never occurred to her that he would attempt to defend himself by arguing his innocence.
This was potentially disastrous. The captain might have been able to obtain special consideration by claiming that extenuating circumstances forced him to overstep his authority, but not acknowledging he was in error at all indicated a permanent, not a temporary, lapse in judgment.
The general sensed an easy victory, and his smile took on shark proportions as he pressed on.
“Captain Jester, do you feel that you, or anyone else in the Space Legion, has the authority to negotiate a peace treaty with a culture or society of aliens previously unknown to us?”
“No, sir. That power rests solely with the Alliance Council.”
“Well, then …”
“But I fail to see where the question has anything to do with me or anyone in my command … sir.”
“You don’t?” Blitzkrieg frowned.
“General … if I may?” Battleax broke in quickly. “Captain Jester, how would you describe your recent interaction with members of the Zenobian Empire?”