Phule's Errand

find any, he’ll make some up. Looking at the crazy people we’ve got here, it’s not going to be much of a stretch for him to find ‘em. Don’t get me wrong, Remmie-I love this company, but we damn sure have to admit we’re never gonna win any spit-’n‘-polish contests.“ She gestured at the others in the room. With only two of the five present wearing complete uniforms, her point was obvious.

Rembrandt responded with a wry grin. “We’d have enough trouble filling out the entry forms,” she admitted. “Still, we’ve got a good thing here, and I think we all agree it’s worth protecting. The question is, what can we do to keep the general from destroying everything the captain’s built up?”

“Be a lot easier if the captain was here,” said Chocolate Harry. “Him and Beeker, they can pretty much make their own rules and convince the brass that was the rules all along. Last time we had to do without the both of ‘em, all we had to do was get around that jive-ass Major Botchup. And that robot the captain fixed up to mess with the mobsters’ heads back on Lorelei did half the work for us.”

“Well, give the troops some credit, too,” said Rembrandt. “They did plenty of messing with Botchup’s head, too. But I don’t think we can expect the general to be such an easy mark.”

“Why not?” said Brandy, a sudden glint in her eye. “He’s the one who sent Botchup here, isn’t he? If he was stupid enough to do that, he’s likely to fall for just about anything. And knowing my troops, I can guarantee that’s exactly what they’re going to come up with.”

“Yeah, I think we can trust the troops to rise to a challenge,” said Rembrandt, dryly. “But what if General Blitzkrieg just happens to bring along somebody smart enough to know when he’s being played for a sucker? Colonel Battleax, for example-she’s got more than her share of brains.”

“Yeah, and that’s why he won’t bring her,” said Brandy, confidently. “He’s coming here with one thing in mind, and that’s making the captain into a scapegoat. Colonel Bat-tleax plays by the rules, but she’s always been willing to give Captain Jester and Omega Company a fair shake- even if it means bending the rules a little. She’s the last person the general wants looking over his shoulder when he’s trying to screw us over.”

“So maybe we’ve got a chance to keep him off-balance,” said Rembrandt. “That still leaves us with one big problem-how long can we keep him from noticing the captain’s not here? Especially since he’s coming all the way here for the particular pleasure of chewing him out face-to-face…”

“I am thinking I have a solution to that,” said Flight Leftenant Qual, bouncing out of his seat. “You should severally attend to your own assignments, and I will undertake to provide the general with diversion in that department.” The little Zenobian flashed a toothy reptilian grin and, before anyone could ask what he meant, was out the door.

“What the hell’s ol‘ Qual up to?” asked Chocolate Harry, scratching his head.

“I haven’t the vaguest idea,” said Rembrandt, shrugging.

“Whatever it is, I hope it’s good,” said Armstrong. “General Blitzkrieg may not have the quickest mind in the Legion, but he’s still got stars on his shoulders. If he realizes we’re playing games with him, he can make life really lousy for everybody here.”

“In that case, we’d better get to work,” said Rembrandt. “I think we’ve all got plenty to do, don’t we?”

“No kiddin‘,” said Chocolate Harry, rolling his eyes. “And when the general gets here, ain’t none of it gonna matter.” He lifted his ample bulk out of the chair and headed out the door.

“I sure hope he’s wrong about that,” said Armstrong.

“I don’t know whether he is or not,” said Rembrandt. “But we’ve got to act as if he is, don’t we?”

There was a resigned murmur of agreement, and the cadre of Omega Company scattered to prepare-as best they could-for General Blitzkrieg.

5

Journal #789-

During the settlement of Cut ‘N’ Shoot considerable effort went into re-creating the ambience of “the Old West,” even down to details not strictly necessary to the functioning of the colony as a vacation spot. Evidently it was felt that tourists-on whom the colony placed much of its hope for income-would expect, upon a visit to the Old West, to encounter Indians, as the aboriginal inhabitants of that legendary territory were designated.

Unfortunately, the historical evidence on these people is rather contradictory. There were evidently three groups to whom the title was applied, and the founders of Cut ‘N’ Shoot were uncertain just which ones to incorporate into their re-creation. A committee chosen to solve the problem arrived at the Solomonic decision to invite all three groups to participate. And so, East, West, and Wild Indians all arrived and set up villages where tourists could appreciate their exotic lifestyles.

I for one could never understand how the founders could ignore the evidence, plain as the noses on their faces, that the aboriginals of a territory known as the Old West must have been the West Indians. This group, with its quaint traditions of cricket matches, carnival season, and rum-laced drinks, was easily the most exotic we saw during our entire visit.

“Man, you really look stupid,” said Do-Wop, pointing at Sushi’s furry chaps, fringed vest, and ten-gallon hat.

“Yeah, well, you’ll look even stupider trying to ride a robosteed wearing a Legion uniform,” said Sushi. “In fact, you look…”

“Don’t say it,” warned Do-Wop, cocking a fist threateningly. He looked mournfully at the bed, where his own Western outfit was laid out. Like Sushi’s, it had been provided-supposedly at no extra charge-by the stable that rented them the robosteeds they were going to ride west in search of the captain.

Sushi grinned. “I’ll just think it, then. Come on, bucka-roo. Get your duds on, and let’s go ridin‘.”

“You ever been on a robosteed before?” asked Do-Wop, picking up the hat. “I don’t like the looks of ‘em.”

“Just another kind of machine,” said Sushi. “Think of it as a hovercycle with hair. Chocolate Harry would understand.”

“Harry wouldn’t wear this crap,” said Do-Wop. He looked at himself in the mirror, then flung the hat back on the bed.

“I doubt they make it his size,” said Sushi; then he shook his head. “Cancel that-this is a tourist world. They’ve probably got it in all the sizes, patterns, and colors you ever thought of, and a few you wish you hadn’t.”

“I wish I hadn’t thought of coming here,” said Do-Wop, rolling his eyes.

“At least this once, it wasn’t your dumb idea,” said Sushi. “Blame it on Remmie and Armstrong. Or maybe on the captain, since it was his idea to come after Beeker.”

“Yeah,” griped Do-Wop. “How come he didn’t just call in some of his family connections? I mean, that’s what any Italian would do.”

“In case you didn’t notice, the captain’s not Italian,” said Sushi. “But I wondered about that, too. Seems like a waste of his time to come looking for Beeker when he could hire a whole team of detectives to do the job for him.”

“Well, maybe he just wanted to get away from the base for a while,” said Do-Wop, dismissing the question from his mind nearly as quickly as he’d asked it. “The real kicker is why he decided to come to this joint. I can only think of about nine hundred more interesting planets to come to…”

“Well, this place was Beeker’s choice, not the captain’s,” said Sushi. “Or maybe it was Nightingale’s-who knows? When we catch them, we can ask them why they came here.”

“Sure,” said Do-Wop. “Tell me again why we gotta wear these stupid outfits to catch ‘em.”

“These are special riding outfits,” Sushi explained. “We’re going to wear them so we don’t tear up our uniforms riding across the countryside. And we have to ride across the countryside because that’s the only way to get around on this planet-unless you just happen to be going someplace you can reach by stagecoach. Or unless you feel like walking the whole way.”