Phule`s Company

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Journal #153

I had the privilege of being the only civilian present at the confrontation with the "alien invasion force." This is not to say that I had any actual role in the proceedings or had any real business being there, but when those Legionnaires not on active duty for the initial contact scrambled to join their comrades in the field (leaving only Mother at The Club to serve as a communications link with the settlement), simple curiosity got the better of me and I decided to tag along. Normally I believe my employer would have sent me back, but he either decided he couldn't spare anyone to provide transportation or simply didn't register my presence at all. He was rather preoccupied at the time.

The bulk of the company was scattered along a one-hundred-meter line, crouching or flattened behind what little cover the swamp provided, as Phule huddled with Brandy and Rembrandt for his briefing. As they spoke, they kept their voices lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, occasionally raising their heads or leaning to one side to peer around the hummock they were kneeling behind.

The object of their attention, and the focal point of nearly two hundred primed weapons, was a scant thousand meters in front of them: a bulky ungainly-looking spacecraft which floated on pontoons at the end of a tether in one of the swamp's countless small pools of open, shallow water. There had been no signs of movement in or around the craft since the commander joined his force, but its proximity was enough to hone their caution to a fine edge.

"... they're small... well, big for lizards, but small compared to us," Rembrandt was explaining. "I'd put them at roughly half our height, judging from the few we've seen."

"Weapons make them taller," the commander commented grimly. "You're sure Do-Wop is all right?"

"As sure as we can be without having him checked over by a doctor," Brandy said. "It was like he got hit with an electrical jolt. It knocked him out, but doesn't seem to have done any permanent damage. Mostly he's hollering to rejoin the company."

"Let's keep him out of it for the moment. We don't know for sure if there are any hidden aftereffects yet, and there's no point in risking him unless he's really needed."

"Right."

"Any word from Armstrong?"

"He's still with the team escorting the miners back to the settlement," Rembrandt reported. "He wanted to break off and rejoin once they were a kilometer out of the area, but the way I understood your orders you wanted the miners under our protection all the way back to the settlement."

"That's correct, Lieutenant," Phule said. "Until we know for sure how many of them there are and where they are in the swamp, we have to keep the miners covered."

Though it had been proposed that Armstrong supervise the holding action while Rembrandt commanded the miners' escort, Phule had decided to reverse those assignments. Armstrong was clearly the better combat commander of the two, which to Phule's thinking made him the logical choice for escort duty in the event that another group of aliens was encountered during the miners' withdrawal. Rembrandt, on the other hand, had a better feel for the normal swamp terrain thanks to her earlier sketching expeditions, which made her a valuable asset to the scouting and information-gathering efforts.

"Has the settlement been alerted yet?" Brandy said, sneaking another look at the dormant craft.

"Goetz was with me when the call came in," the commander supplied. "He's standing by for further information from us as to what we're up against. In the meantime, he's pulling in all off-duty officers so that they'll have manpower ready to mobilize if things get rough."

"How rough is rough, sir?" Rembrandt pressed. "We've already had one person shot. "

"After he opened fire first," Phule pointed out. "What's more, from what you tell me, he's unharmed. There hasn't been any more shooting, has there?"

"No, sir... as per your orders," the first sergeant said hastily. "There was a bit of activity around the ship a while back, but no firing from either side. I think they saw us, but I can't be sure."

"What kind of activity?"

"Spartacus reported it. Hang on, you can ask him direct."

Before Phule could comment, Brandy gave a low, attention-getting whistle, then beckoned to the Sinthian to join their huddle. The Legionnaire came skimming across the open ground, his body compressed low so he looked a bit like a bean bag draped over the glide board.

The nonhuman would not have been the commander's choice for a scout, since the swift motion of his glide board would tend to catch and hold the eye more than would the slow, stealthy movements of his human teammates. Still, it was more maneuverable over water, and apparently he had completed his mission without drawing attention, or at least without drawing fire.

"Tell the captain what you saw, Spartacus," Brandy ordered. "He wants to know what the aliens were doing around their ship."

"Well, Captain," the Sinthian began, "they opened a panel on the side of their vessel and tinkered around inside for a while... I couldn't see exactly what they were doing. Then they sealed it up again and retreated back inside."

The nonhuman's voice, as supplied by the translator he had hung diagonally across his body, was high and musical, almost like the tinkling of a bell. Try as he might, Phule could not escape the impression that he was receiving a military briefing from a Munchkin.

"Did it look like they were arming a weapon?"

"I... I don't think so, sir. There was no opening or fixture on the outside of the panel to suggest a firing capacity."

"Did they see you?"

"A few of them looked my way from time to time, but they were looking all around, not just at me. I don't think..."

A flicker of motion to the rear of their position caught Phule's attention, and he held up a restraining hand which silenced the Legionnaire in midsentence. There was a tense moment, then a small group of figures appeared, moving carefully from cover to cover.

"What are they doing here?"

It was Brandy who voiced the muttered question, though it echoed the thoughts of everyone in the huddle, as well as those Legionnaires positioned near enough to note the group's approach. The answer was forthcoming, as one figure detached itself from the group and crept forward to join them.

"Sorry to take so long getting here, Captain," Major O'Donnel said, nodding a curt acknowledgment to the others in the huddle. "We hadn't expected to need our full combat gear for a simple honor guard assignment, and it took us a while to get it all unpacked and issued."

He paused to survey the Legionnaires within his line of vision, then shot a glance back at his own Red Eagles.

"If you just fill me in on what you've got so far, I'll get my troops disbursed. Then you can pull your force out a few at a time while we cover you."

"Excuse me Major," Phule said coldly, "but what exactly do you think you're trying to pull here?"

"Pull?" O'Donnel was genuinely puzzled. "I'm not trying to 'pull' anything. We're simply taking command of the situation."

"By what authority?"

"Oh, come now, Captain. Isn't it obvious? Dealing with a new alien race, particularly one which is potentially hostile, is much more in the Army's line than the Legion's."

"I don't think it's all that obvious."

"Do you mean to say you think...

"In fact," the Legion commander continued, raising his voice slightly to cut off the major's protests, "what's obvious to me is that the Legion has been contracted to protect Haskin's citizens from whatever dwells in or comes out of these swamps, and that you and your force, Major, are interfering with our operation. Now, while I appreciate your offer of help, and would love nothing better than discussing military protocol with you, we're rather busy at the moment. Would you kindly take your force and retire?"

"You want authority?" O'Donnel said tightly, fighting to control his temper. "All right. I'll play your game. Pass me one of your communicators and I'll get authorization for you."

"I'm sorry, Major. Our communication network is for Legion personnel only. I'm afraid you'll have to hike back to the settlement to find and open-"

"Damn it, Willard!" the major exploded. "By what right do you have the gall to try to give orders to a unit of the Regular Army?"

"Well, Matthew," Phule said softly, "how about because at the moment we have you outnumbered by roughly ten to one?"

O'Donnel was suddenly aware that most of the nearby Legionnaires were listening to their conversation and that an uncomfortable number of weapons were now pointed in the general direction of the Red Eagles rather than at the alien ship.

"Are you threatening us?" he hissed, still watching the Legionnaires' weapons. "Would you actually order your troops to open fire on friendly forces from the Regular Army?"

"In a minute," Brandy said levelly.

"That's enough, Sergeant," Phule snapped. "As to your question, Major... Lieutenant Rembrandt?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Do we have any hard evidence that the aliens are not capable of shape changing or low-level illusionary mind control?"

"No, sir."

"So for all we know, they may have the ability to disguise themselves as humans, even a people we already know, to infiltrate our positions?"

"Well... I guess so... sir."

"There you have it, Major. If necessary, I would feel more than justified in allowing my troops to defend themselves from any intruders, even if those intruders happened to look like a Regular Army unit."

"But...

"And especially," Phule continued, dropping his voice, "if they were conducting themselves in a manner inconsistent with known behavior patterns. You're losing it, Matthew. Cool down and we'll try it again... from the top."

O'Donnel wisely followed the advice, taking and releasing several long breaths before resuming the conversation.

"Am I to understand," he said at last, "that you are refusing to relinquish the situation to the Regular Army?"

"That is correct, Major O'Donnel," the Legion commander confirmed. "In my opinion, it still falls within our contracted services and is therefore our responsibility and ours alone. Simply put, it's our fight, so back off."

The major glanced at the waiting Eagles again.

"Seriously, Captain, are you sure you wouldn't like to have my boys around-at least as a backup?

Phule wavered. There was no denying the benefits of having a team like the Red Eagles around.

"Would you be willing to serve as a reserve unit under my command?"

O'Donnel straightened slightly and saluted.

"If that's the only way we can be included in this waltz, then yes, sir! Reporting for duty, sir."

It was far from an unconditional surrender, and everyone present knew there would be a reckoning later on. Still, if O'Donnel said he would take orders from the Legion, then his word would be good... at least until the engagement was over.

"Very well, Major," Phule said, returning the salute with equal formality, "then I want you to take your force and pull back about two hundred meters. I'll let you know when and if we need you... and thanks."

"How will we know if we're needed?" the major pressed, ignoring the offered thanks.

The Legion commander looked around, then raised his voice slightly.

"Tusk-anini!"

"Yes, sir?"

The large Legionnaire came crawling on his elbows at his commander's summons.

"I want you to go with Major O'Donnel and the Red Eagles while they take up a reserve position. We'll use your wrist communicator to send instructions if we need backup."

"No, sir!"

"What?"

Phule was momentarily stunned by the refusal.

"No send away. I work hard... train hard. Have much right anybody be here for fight. Send someone else... Please, Captain."

At a loss as to how to deal with the Voltron's obvious sincerity, the commander glanced about, seeking someone else to take the assignment. None of the other Legionnaires would meet his eyes, however, everyone suddenly developing intense interest in the alien spacecraft.

"All right, Tusk. Then give me your communicator."

"Sir?"

"Give it to me, then get back to your position."

After a moment's fumbling with the straps; Tusk-anini handed over his precious wrist communicator, then went squirming across the ground to resume his post.

"I thought he was supposed to be a pacifist," O'Donnel said, watching the Voltron go.

"So did I," Phule acknowledged absently as he worked the communicator's settings. "All right, Major. I've keyed this thing for a beeper cue so it won't give your position away when it goes off. Three beeps means we need you, then press this side lever here to go into talk/receive mode for specific instructions. Except for that, don't touch any of the controls. If you're not familiar with the unit, you might end up making noise at someone's else's position by mistake. Clear?"

"Got it." The major nodded, accepting the communicator. "We'll be waiting if you need us."

"All right, get moving. And Major... thanks."

O'Donnel threw him a wry salute and scuttled off to join the Eagles.

"Do you really trust him, Captain?" Brandy said skeptically.

"Just a moment... " Phule was busy working his own communicator. "Mother?"

"Com Central here, Captain."

"Major O'Donnel and the Red Eagles are now on the network using Tusk-anini's communicator. Do not-repeat, do not-allow him to make any calls outside this area. Also monitor his position and inform me immediately if he starts moving. Copy?"

"Got it. "

"Jester out." Phule shut down his communicator and turned to Brandy. "In answer to your question, Sergeant, of course I trust him. Trust is the cornerstone on which intra-service respect and cooperation are built."

"Right, sir. Sorry I asked."

"Now then, returning to the original reason for this party"-the commander flashed a quick smile-"I think we've learned about as much as we can about our visitors from watching them. Spartacus, I'm going to have to borrow your translator."

"My translator?" the Sinthian chimed.

"That's right. Then switch your position to where you're close enough to Louie for him to translate for you if necessary."

"Excuse me; Captain," Lieutenant Rembrandt said, scowling, "but what do you need a translator for?"

"I'm going to try to open communications with the beings in that ship, and I don't think it's safe to assume we speak each other's language."

"But that's... I mean... do you think that's wise, sir?"

"I figure it's wiser than opening fire on them if there's a chance they're friendly... or cooling our heels out here while they get ready to attack if they're not," the commander said. "One way or the other, we've got to find out what their intentions are."

"By setting yourself up to be a duck in a shooting gallery?" Brandy frowned. "Don't you think it would be better to send someone out who's a little more expendable than you are, Captain? We really don't need our chain of command blown apart on the first salvo."

"Lieutenant Rembrandt will be in command in my absence, however temporary or permanent that may be. Besides"-Phule flashed his smile again-"I don't intend to be completely vulnerable out there. How far did you say Do-Wop was from the alien when he squeezed off his shot?"

"About fifty meters. Why?"

"That means they can't be sure of the maximum range of our weapons. It's my intention to try to set up this little powwow well within small-arms range. Believe me, I won't mind having a little extra cover while I'm out there. Now pass the word... I'm going out in five minutes."

"Yes, sir."

"And Sergeant? If you don't mind doing me a favor, double-check to be sure everyone has his safety on. I'm not that wild about being downrange of this trigger-happy bunch."

Obviously I am not privy to the personalities or procedures present in the alien force we were facing, so this next portion is pure speculation as to the goings-on in the alien craft. Two things, however, lead me to believe my reconstruction is not totally inaccurate.

First, of course, is the eventual outcome of the confrontation.

Second is the logical observation that, since the humans and their allies had never encountered this race of aliens before, the alien force were as far or farther away from their home base as we were. That is to say, it is doubtful that those chosen for such an assignment were viewed as elite or exemplary by their own hierarchy.

Flight Leftenant Qual of the Zenobian Exploratory Forces was far from pleased with the situation. If anything, his frame of mind was closer to blind panic as he felt any chance of personal redemption slipping away from his grasp with each new report. It had been his hope that the success of his mission, if not the length of its duration, would mollify the annoyance of the part of Second Supremo Harrah which had led to this assignment. Zenobians were not supposed to be a grudge-holding race to begin with, so how long could Harrah remain upset with one little lapse of judgment... really? Besides, could a lowly leftenant reasonably be expected to be able to distinguish between a 2,000-cycle-old antique urn and a fancy receptacle for the disposal of bodily wastes? Especially after an entire evening's drinking at a mating reception? That particular social blunder, however, was rapidly being eclipsed by the current disaster.

"How could you be so stupid as to shoot an intelligent alien, Ori?" he hissed at the crewman before him. "Didn't it even occur to you that it was a flagrant violation of our standing orders to avoid direct contact with any alien cultures we might encounter?"

"But Leftenant, they shot at me first!"

"That in itself is an indication of intelligence on their part. "

"Excuse me, Leftenant," his second-in-command said, joining the conversation, "are you saying that the aliens' possession of weapons and uniforms is a sign of intelligence... or their specific choice of Ori as a target?"

"Both," the leftenant retorted heatedly. "But don't note that, Masem. In fact, none of this conversation should be entered in the log."

"But sir, the completeness of the mission log is one of my specific duties, and I would be negligent if I-"

"Scanning for signs of intelligent life before we landed was one of your duties, too!" Qual interrupted. "What happened to your sense of duty there?"

"If I might remind the leftenant," Masem said, unruffled, "the scanners were inoperative at the time. In fact, they were partially dismantled in an effort to comply with the leftenant's order to repair our communications gear at any cost."

Qual found himself wondering, not for the first time, if the crew he had been assigned was, in fact, part of his punishment.

"Well, are they operative now?"

"Almost, Flight Leftenant. Of course, to effect those repairs we had to-"

"I don't care what it takes! Just get those scanners working! We've got to find out-"

"Leftenant! The scanners are working!"

The conversation as well as the niceties of rank were forgotten as the two officers joined the rush to the viewscreens, treading on more than one tail in the process.

"What's out there?"

"How many... ?"

"Great Gazma! Look at that!"

"There must be thousands of them!"

Actually there were barely hundreds of the glowing blips on the screen, but substantially more than the scant half dozen Zenobians crewing their own vessel.

"That's interesting," Masem said thoughtfully. "Look at these two-no, there's a third! Flight Leftenant, these readings indicate there's more than one intelligent life-form out there. It would seem that we're being faced by a combined force of alien races, though one race is clearly in the majority."

"I don't care if they're talking mushrooms!" Qual snapped. "There are more of them than there are of us-lots more-and probably armed, to boot. Stand by to lift off! We're getting out of here while we can!"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Leftenant."

"Now what, Masem?"

"Well, we used parts from the lift-off relays to repair the scanners... as you ordered, sir."

Qual wondered briefly if the craft's self-destruct mechanism was functioning, then remembered there wasn't one.

"You mean we're stranded here while an unknown hostile force is surrounding-"

"Leftenant! You'd better look at this!"

One of the blips had detached itself from the bulk of the force arrayed before them and was approaching their position.

"Quick! Put it on visual!"

The screen display changed to show the actual scene outside the ship. Whatever or whoever the blips had shown before were now visible behind brush and fallen trees, except for the one black-garbed figure standing out in the open.

"What a revolting creature."

"Big, though, isn't he?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Qual was studying the figure in silence as the crewmen chattered nervously.

"I wonder if there's any significance to the white cloth he's waving?" he said finally.

"You know, sir," Ori piped up, "I remember back in basic training, we used little pieces of cloth like that to sight in our weapons. "

The flight leftenant favored him with a withering glare.

"I seriously doubt, Ori, that he's inviting us to shoot at him. "

"Well, they shot at me!"

"True, but indications are that they're intelligent."

"Look, Leftenant," Masem broke in, interrupting the exchange.

The figure on the viewscreen was making a big show of holding up its weapon, then carefully setting it on the ground at his feet.

"Well, that's pretty clear."

"Unless it's some kind of ritual challenge to fight."

"For the moment we'll assume that it means they want to parley," Qual said, reaching his decision. "I'm going out there. "

"Do you think that's wise, Leftenant?" his second-in-command queried.

"No... but I don't see where we have much choice at the moment. See if you can get the lift-off units repaired while I try to buy us some time."

"Do you want us to cover you with the ship's guns, sir?"

"That would be great if we had any ship's guns. This is an exploration vessel, not a battleship, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry, sir."

"Leftenant," Masem said softly, drawing him to one side, "it might be prudent to be guarded in your conversation with the aliens. We wouldn't want to betray how strong the Zenobian Empire really is."

"Believe me, Masem," Qual hissed, giving one last glance around the control room, "I certainly don't want them to find out our true strength."

"Now that we've established communications, Leftenant," Phule said, "I'd like to begin by apologizing for the unprovoked attack on one of your crew. It was a fear reaction to the unexpected, made before we realized yours was an intelligent species. Further, I'd like to thank you for the merciful nature of your force's counterattack. It is impressive that my underling was only stunned and not killed outright."

Qual was impressed with the translator, though he did his best to act as if it were commonplace. It had taken some time for him to realize he was to hang it around his neck, but once it was in place and in contact with his hide, the various grunts and clickings this strange alien used for speech were readily transformed into images and contacts in his mind. The translation of his own foremost thoughts into those same weird noises was a bit disquieting, but it was worth it to be able to establish that neither force was particularly eager to fight.

"Thank you for the apology, Captain Clown, but-"

"Excuse me, but that's Captain Clown."

"I... see."

The image provided by the translator was identical to the one Qual had formed in his mind when addressing the alien commander. Apparently the mechanism was not as effective as it first appeared.

"Anyway, as I was saying, Captain... Captain, I'm afraid there has been a minor misunderstanding. You see, my crewman was hunting for food when he was attacked, so the weapon he was carrying was designed specifically for that purpose. "

"I... I'm afraid I don't understand, Leftenant."

"Well, we Zenobians prefer to eat our food while it's still alive, so hunting weapons are made to stun instead of kill like our war weapons."

"Oh. I see. Well, no harm done," Phule flashed his smile again.

"Pardon me, Captain, but is that supposed to be a friendly gesture?"

"What?"

"The baring of your fangs. You've done it several times now, but your manner does not indicate a matching hostility."

"Oh. That's a smile... and yes, it's a sign of friendship. I'll try to stop doing it if it offends you."

"No need. I just wanted to be sure I was interpreting it correctly. "

There was an awkward moment of silence, as each representative mentally dealt with this new awareness of the differences between their species.

"Tell me. Leftenant," Phule said at last, "now that we've established that your purposes here are not hostile, might I ask what your actual assignment is? Perhaps we could be of assistance."

Qual considered the question carefully, but could see no danger in answering truthfully.

"We are an exploratory expedition," he explained, "assigned to search for new planets suitable for colonization or research stations. We landed here because swamps such as this are ideal habitats for our needs."

"I see." Legion commander nodded thoughtfully. "Unfortunately this particular swamp has been designated as a preserve by my people. In fact, the presence of my force is to specifically serve as guardians."

"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?