Phule's Errand

“Do not worry,” said Mahatma, patting his new partner on the back. “What if is exactly the kind of question you need to be asking, because others have not asked it. The result of your asking will be greater awareness, and that will make Omega Company better able to perform its mission. Is that not what a good legionnaire should be doing?”

“I guess so,” said Thumper. “I just remember that, back in Legion Basic, asking the sergeants a question was a quick way to get in trouble.”

“This is not Legion Basic,” said Mahatma, smiling quietly. “And while Chocolate Harry is undeniably a sergeant, he is not likely to do much more than express himself loudly in very flamboyant language. That is why I am starting you with him; we will work our way up to more challenging interactions. In time you will find that you can even pose questions to Sergeant Escrima without undue anxiety. It is all a matter of the correct attitude.”

“OK,” said Thumper, still looking a bit dubious. “I’ll give it my best shot-wish me luck.”

“Luck is an illusion,” said Mahatma. “All will be well if you preserve a calm demeanor. Go to it!”

“Yeah,” said Thumper. He stepped out of the shadows and walked as nonchalantly as possible toward the Supply depot. Preserve a calm demeanor… preserve a calm demeanor, he repeated to himself. The mantra must have worked; there was even a trace of a bounce in his stride as he came through the door. “Good morning, Sergeant Chocolate Harry,” he said in his politest tone of voice.

“Yo, Thumper,” rumbled Harry, looking up from the Biker’s Friend catalog he’d been reading. “You need somethin‘?”

“Uh, actually, Sergeant, I wanted to ask you a question,” said Thumper, self-conscious again. Without Mahatma standing next to him, his demeanor was drifting farther away from calmness with every passing moment.

“Question?” Harry frowned. “This here’s the Supply depot, Thumpy—not the freakin‘ Answer depot. But give it a shot, anyway. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“Luck is an illusion,” said Thumper. He felt more confident remembering Mahatma’s words.

“Huh? You been talkin‘ to Qual?” Chocolate Harry’s brows knit as he attempted to figure out whether or not Thumper was serious, and whether or not to take it as an insult.

Seeing Harry’s confusion, Thumper hastened to ask his question before the Supply sergeant decided he wasn’t in the mood to bandy words with nearly raw recruits. “I understand you have a large supply of purple camouflage, Sergeant. Am I right?”

“Sure, got anything you want,” said Chocolate Harry, relaxing as he thought he recognized a sucker asking to be fleeced. “Caps, vests, capes, socks, knapsacks-you name it, I got it. How much you need?”

“I don’t know,” said Thumper. “Uh, that is, I don’t know whether I need it or not. How do you know it works?”

Harry scoffed. “Man, everybody in the company knows it works. Time the robots come over the hill lookin‘ to kick butt, the purple cammy did the job. Ask the captain; ask Brandy; ask anybody-they’ll tell you. You want to be safe from robots, you gotta be wearin’ the purple.”

“I see,” said Thumper, his ears perking up. “But do we know that it protects against alien robots, Sergeant? Wouldn’t those have different laws?”

“What you mean, different laws?” asked Harry.

“Everybody knows robots can’t see purple-they just built that way.”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant, I must not have explained my point clearly,” said Thumper. “Let me try again. The brains of Alliance robots are all built with Asimov circuits that make them obey the Three Laws. Am I right?”

“Sure,” said Harry. “They can’t build ‘em no other way. And one of the things they build into those circuits is purple-blindness. I can show you that in writin’, Thumper, writin‘ straight from the gov’ment.”

“That’s very good, Sergeant,” said Thumper. “Of course I know the Three Laws-a robot mustn’t harm a sophont, or let a sophont come to harm if it can prevent it-we learned all that in kiddygarden. And the teachers wouldn’t tell us something if it wasn’t so. But what happens if we run into robots that weren’t made in the Alliance? Wouldn’t alien robots have different laws?”

“Alien robots? There ain’t no alien robots, on account of there ain’t no aliens,” said Harry, his voice getting louder. “Everybody’s part of the Alliance-all the so-phonts in the galaxy. So all the robots is the same.”

“But there are new sophonts discovered all the time,” said Thumper. “There are two races of them, both living right on this planet, that nobody knew about until the captain discovered them. What if the Zenobians had been building robots before we met them? Wouldn’t their laws be different? What about the Nanoids?”

Harry glowered. “Look a-here. Point you’re missin‘ is, they didn’t build no robots before we met ’em,” he said. “So it don’t matter, see?”

“But what about the next new race we discover?” asked Thumper, doing his best to preserve a calm demeanor. “Can we be sure they’ll build the same laws into their robots? And even if they do, will their robots recognize us as sophonts?”

“Damn it, there ain’t no alien robots,” growled Chocolate Harry. “If you gonna come around bustin‘ chops, I just might decide not to sell you any freakin’ purple cammy- and then when the renegade robots come bubblin‘ out of the underbrush with their eyes shootin’ sparks and their grasping mechanisms reachin‘ out for your little furry tail, you’ll be sorry. You bet your ass is gonna be sorry!”

Thumper decided he had time to make one more point. “But if the Three Laws are correct, then the only robots I need to be afraid of are alien robots…”

“Take your freakin‘ alien robots and put ’em where the sun don’t shine, bunny!” Harry’s voice was a full- throated roar, now. He stood up from his chair, looming over Thumper.

Wisely deciding not to finish his argument, Thumper made a rapid exit, quickly scurrying out the door and back to where Mahatma awaited him.

Mahatma pointed to the Supply depot, from which Harry’s voice could still be heard, using language that certainly qualified as flamboyant. He grinned broadly as he said, “Congratulations, Thumper. I believe you have succeeded in being a pain in the ass.”

“Mother, have you seen Beeker?” Phule said into the office intercom.

“That depends, sweetie. Do you mean have I seen him today?” said Mother. “Or recently today? Or just have I seen him?”

Phule rolled his eyes. In any other Legion unit, Mother’s ongoing impertinence to her commanding officer would’ve been grounds for a reprimand-possibly some even harder disciplinary measure. But when Phule first came to Omega Company, she’d been a different person. So different that her name among her fellow legionnaires was “Shrinking Violet.” Only when he’d put her behind a microphone and let her communicate to the company without showing her face did her assertiveness become apparent. That simple step had turned a cringing liability into one of the company’s main assets-and if a bit of smart-mouthed repartee was the price for it, it was one he was willing to pay.

Of course, at times like now, when he was in a hurry, the price seemed a bit stiff.

“Recently today would be good,” he said. “And if not recently, just tell me the last time you did see him.”

“Oh, let me see… it must have been just after eleven hundred hours,” she said. “That’d be a little before lunchtime, hon,” she added helpfully.

“Eleven hundred…” Phule looked at the time readout on his wrist communicator. “That’s nearly three hours ago. Where was he when you saw him, Mother?”

“Headed out toward the perimeter,” said Mother. She paused a beat, then added, “with Nightingale. They make a really cute couple, don’t you think, sweetie?”

Phule sputtered for a few moments, trying to figure out how to fit his mental image of his butler into the same lobe of his brain as the words cute couple. After several unconvincing tries, he asked the first reasonable question that came to mind. “Which way were they headed, Mother?”

He could almost hear the smirk that accompanied her reply. “Now, dearie, that’d be telling, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, er, yes,” said Phule, dully. “That’s what I was asking you to do, I thought.”

“You should think again, silly boy,” said Mother. “Or maybe that’s your problem. Using your head when it’s the totally wrong thing to do. Don’t worry, they’ll be back, and then you can ask poor old Beekie whatever it was you wanted to ask. I’m sure it can wait until then.”