voice of Comm Central.
“I don’t need to know what he’s up to, Mother,” said Phule, a trifle impatient. “I just need to buzz him. Can you find him for me?”
“Why, sure, sweetie,” said Mother. “Let me try a quick trace on his wrist comm…” There was a brief pause, presumably while she called up the search programs connected to her console. When her voice came back, it was with a note of puzzlement. “Huh, that’s funny. I’m getting a location out in the desert. Wonder what he’s doing out there?”
“Desert?” Phule wrinkled his brow. “That doesn’t make sense at all. Give me the coordinates, and I’ll have somebody run out and check it.”
“You got it,” said Mother. “I’ll send the coordinates to your Port-a-Brain. Later, darlin‘.” She broke the connection.
A moment later, a series of numbers appeared on Phule’s screen. He punched them into his map program; sure enough, they corresponded to a spot some distance from camp. He raised his wrist comm to his mouth again. “Brandy, this is the captain. I want a search party to the following location, soon as they can get there.” He read off the numbers.
“Got it, Captain,” said the sergeant. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s the deal out there?”
“I’m not sure,” said Phule. “I’ve been trying to raise Beeker on his comm, and he doesn’t answer. Mother ran a trace, and it comes back with that location. Maybe he’s injured…”
“Maybe,” said Brandy. There was a moment of silence, then she said, “Uh, not to interfere with your plans, Captain, but I have a hunch that maybe you ought to run a trace on Nightingale’s comm. Just to see what turns up, y’know?”
Phule’s jaw dropped. “Good grief! Why didn’t I think of that?” he said, once he’d recovered. “Hang on a moment, Brandy. I’ll have Mother check it out-and thanks for the hint!”
Two minutes later he had his answer: Nightingale’s wrist comm was in the same location as Beeker’s, and both were evidently turned off. Mother snickered as she said, “Hey, Cap baby, doesn’t your butler have a private bedroom? You wouldn’t think he’d have to go all the way out in the desert for a little privacy with his lady…”
Phule’s face had turned an especially vivid shade of pink. “I would never have thought of it,” he said, glad (not for the first time) that he hadn’t ordered full video capabilities for the company’s wrist comms. He thought for a moment, then said, “Try them again in-uh, half an hour-no, make it an hour. If they don’t answer then, let me know, and I’ll decide what to do.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mother, and closed the connection. Phule didn’t even notice her unaccustomed formality. His butler’s uncharacteristic absence-and the even more uncharacteristic explanation for it-had driven everything else out of his mind.
It was only after an hour and a half, when he finally sent the search party, that he began to regret not following his first impulses. But by then, it was far too late.
“So, do you think you can trace them?” Phule said anxiously. Beeker had been his right-hand man for so long that he was having some difficulty even formulating a coherent plan in his absence. But the butler was undeniably off-planet, as the note Phule had just found on his desk made clear.
Sir: I have decided to take my vacation, effective at once. I will be traveling with Medic 2nd Class Nightingale-please consider this her formal application for her accumulated leave. Our apologies for giving such short notice, but we were fortunate enough to get reservations for some very desirable events. We shall return in approximately six weeks.-B.
Now Phule was going to have to do without his butler’s help-and that meant drawing on all the resources at his command. Ironic that the first job facing him was figuring out where Beeker had gone…
“I have a couple of ideas,” said Sushi. “Let me log on and see if what I can find out. Some of it’s going to depend on just how hard Beeker and Nightingale are trying to cover their tracks…”
“Cover their tracks?” Phule frowned. “Do you mean they might not want to be found?”
“That’s not such a weird idea,” said Sushi. “I mean, you notice he didn’t give you his destination. Look at it from Beeker’s point of view. This is the first time I can remember him being away since you took over the company. If you go get him and bring him back to Zenobia, all he’s got to look forward to is going back to work again. That’s not exactly something to get all enthusiastic about, is it?”
“Perhaps not,” said Phule. “But if he wanted some time off, why didn’t he just come and ask me? I would have given him his vacation time, either here or off-planet. I’m not that hard to get along with. Why would Beeker just leave?“ Phule hadn’t ever considered the possibility that Beeker might be far less enthusiastic about returning to his assigned duties than his employer was to have him back.
“Don’t ask me, ask him,” said Sushi. “You want me to run that trace?”
“Of course. How long do you think it’ll take to find out?”
Sushi turned to his view screen and considered. “If we’re lucky and they didn’t bother to hide their backtrail, I should be able to tell you something right away. If not…”
“If not?” asked Phule, leaning forward to peer at Sushi’s view screen.
“If not, I can call in some of my family contacts and get you the real dope,” said Do-Wop, with a sneer. He’d been sitting in the opposite corner of the room, playing a handheld martial arts game. “Computers is OK when they work, but there’s nothing like the good old grapevine when you wanna find somethin‘ out.”
“Right, your family contacts might be able to tell us whether they bought any pizza and put it on their credit cards,” said Sushi. “That’s assuming either one of them used their right name, which is what we’re trying to figure out to begin with.”
“I was with a broad like that, I sure wouldn’t give my right name,” said Do-Wop. He followed that statement with an appreciative wolf whistle.
“If you were with somebody like her, you’d be likely to get both your arms cut off within fifteen minutes,” said Sushi, without looking up from his view screen. “No, make it fifteen
“Dangerous? Compared to who?” said Do-Wop. “You wouldn’t know dangerous if it bit you in the ass…”
“Hang on, here’s something that might help us find them,” said Sushi. “Hmmm… Captain, do you know off the top of your head what model Port-A-Brain you two have?“
“Uh… I’ll have to look it up,” said Phule. “Why, is there some way you can trace it?”
“Not as precisely as I’d like,” said Sushi. “But if it’s the model I think it is, there’s an antitheft feature built in that might let me trace it. It’s limited-somebody who spends as much for it as you did doesn’t want anybody else always knowing where he is or what he’s doing. So the antitheft trace is password-enabled-which means it won’t tell us exactly where Beeker is unless he wants us to know. But there’s one other trace feature he can’t turn off. Every time it goes through interplanetary customs, it records its passage-that’s supposedly an antismuggling feature certain reactionary local governments insisted on. And that means we can figure out what world they’re on even if Beeker never boots it up.”
“Ah, that ain’t much use,” said Do-Wop. “What if they don’t go through customs?”
“What if they never go to a planet?” said Phule. “For now, let’s assume we can trace them. If it turns out we can’t, we’ll figure out what our next step’s got to be. Get to work on it, Sushi. Until I tell you otherwise, this is your highest priority. OK?”
“I hear you, Captain,” said Sushi, grinning. “Just get me the model number of Beeker’s Port-a-Brain, and the serial number, if you have a record of that. I’ll find them for you-or Do-Wop can remove my Yakusa tattoos-the hard way.”
“I’d better get those numbers for you then,” said Phule, standing up and heading toward the door.
“No hurry, Captain,” said Do-Wop. “It ain’t often I get to see Soosh sweat, and I plan to enjoy it while I got it.”
“Yes, but as long as Beeker’s gone, I’m the one who’ll be sweating,” said Phule. “Sorry to cut into your pleasure.” He turned and went out the door, walking fast.
An hour later-an anxious hour, from Phule’s point of view, Sushi sauntered in the door of Phule’s office. “OK, Captain, here’s what I’ve found,” he said. “Beeker’s computer went through customs on a planet called Cut ‘N’ Shoot.”
“Cut ‘N’ Shoot?” Phule frowned. “I never heard of it.”
