15

Journal #732

The rationalist is convinced that every sophont is at bottom predictable, acting according to consistent (if not necessarily already well-known) rules. The mystic, for his part, believes that every creature conceals within its breast some element of the wild and unpredictable. Of the legionnaires who play parts in this ongoing chronicle perhaps young Sushi best characterizes the former point of view, with Rev perhaps the most obvious advocate of the latter.

The realist (a label I believe I may fairly apply to myself) is aware that both of these philosophies have merit. Most of us are predominantly creatures of habit and pattern; but even. the quietest of us has depths, from which the most unexpected actions can sometimes emerge...

Tonight, Thumper was standing perimeter guard duty for the first time. Brandy led him out to the position he'd be occupying, to show him the ropes and give a word or two of advice.

"The biggest thing to remember is that you've got instant comm contact with Mother, if anything weird happens," said Omega Company's Top Sergeant. "Don't worry about bothering her-first of all, she loves to talk, and second, whatever's going on, she's probably talked to a lot of legionnaires in exactly the same spot you're in-so she may have a pretty good idea what's happening. And third, if you really do need help, she can get it to you faster than anybody else. Got the picture?"

"Yes, Sergeant," said Thumper, peering out into the formless surrounding the base. He felt small and alone, even with the Zenobian stun ray he cradled in his arms.

Brandy nodded. "And the second thing to remember is, even though we're on a strange planet light-years away from your home or mine, there's not really much that can go wrong. The only other humans on the planet are the AEIOU team, over there, and the hunters who brought you. And none of them are going to invade the camp-though if those hunters get boozed up, they might do something stupid. The Zenobians are our allies-in fact, they're the ones who- invited us here. And the Nanoids, the microscopic colony intelligence that the captain and Beeker found out in the desert-nobody's seen them since the captain sent his robot double to deal with them. Not much chance they'll decide to come back on your watch.

As for the local animals, they pretty much keep their distance. If in doubt, buzz Mother, then shoot to stun if you think you're being threatened."

"Right, Sergeant," said Thumper. He was doing his best to sound confident and competent.

"OK, then, you're on your own," said Brandy. She gave the new legionnaire a friendly soft punch in the shoulder.

Moarbo will be here to relieve you in four hours. Do your rest to stay awake until then."

"Yes, Sergeant!" said Thumper, grinning a little bit now as Brandy headed back in toward the modular base building. His Lepoid eyes were already adapting well to the darkness, and he could see the vague outlines of some of the larger specimens of the local vegetation out against the starry horizon. After a couple of minutes, he heard the faint sound of the door to the base building opening and closing.

Now he really was alone.

Thumper looked around in all directions, taking his time to make sure he didn't overlook anything. Finally, satisfied that he wasn't under observation, he took a deep breath, and, as quietly as possible, slipped out across the perimeter of Omega Base into the cool desert night.

"Hey, kid, wake up," said a loud voice in Lola's ear. "We're back!"

"Ernie!" Lola sat bolt upright, her eyes suddenly focused. "You idiot! Where've you been all this time?"

"Hey, take it easy," said Ernie, backing away a pace. "Mr. Phule and I just went someplace quiet to talk things over without any audience or interference, OK?"

"No, it's not OK!" said Lola. She suddenly became aware of Victor Phule standing slightly behind Ernie, and Tullie Bascomb in his chair behind his big desk. Bascomb was rubbing his eyes; so at least she hadn't been the only one to fall asleep. "What time is it?" she asked, lamely trying for a graceful change of subject.

"Three in the morning," said Victor Phule. "Reminds me of old times, staying up to the wee hours to hammer out details of a deal. Exhausting, but there's nothing more rewarding. Why, I remember the foundry strikes of '58 we negotiated around the clock and finally convinced the union scum they'd lose thirty-five hundred jobs if they didn't settle! The rascals tried to put the best face on it for their followers, but it was all on our terms in the end, of course."

"Wonderful," said Lola, with a frozen smile. "And did you two uh, hammer out a deal this time?"

"Sure did," said Ernie. "Here's what's going down..."

"Wait a moment," said Tullie Bascomb, sitting up straighter. "We can't just wing it on something this important. Have you got anything written down, or shall I call in a stenobot?"

"Ahh, we don't need no stenobot," said Ernie. "Mr. Phule and me have got a gen'lman's agreement..."

"Send for the stenobot," said Lola, cutting him off. "I don't want anything these two gentlemen have agreed on slipping between the cracks while everybody's getting a good night's sleep and sobering up."

"And just maybe we will have a few little suggestions on how to make the language more precise," said Tullie Bascomb, with a smile that would do a piranha proud. He pushed a button on the desk and winked at Lola, who gave him a slight nod in return. She wasn't anywhere near as confident as Bascomb seemed to be. They'd come up with a more or less workable understanding, but there was still the chance that Victor Phule and Ernie would dig in their heels, either together or separately. Especially after Phule's bragging about the good old days of union-busting...

A side door slid open and a small officebot glided through, with an almost inaudible whirring sound. It rolled over and stopped next to the desk, waiting. Bascomb said, "Record," and a light began winking off and on. "All right, Mr. Phule, Mr. Erkeep, tell us what you've arrived at. Once it's in memory, we can look at it and see what needs to be twiddled."

"Very well," said Victor Phule, sitting up and clearing his throat. He looked at Ernie. "I'll explain this, and Mr. EJkeep can confirm it." He waited for Ernie to nod, then continued. "What we've agreed on, in principle, is a, buyout. Mr. Erkeep agrees to assign his share of the casino stock to me, and renounces the right to any input into the day-to-day operation of the business."

"I don't wanna go to an office every day and sit through all those business meetings," said Ernie, spreading his hands apart. "Suits make me look fat, anyway."

"Your lip's going to look fat if you didn't get something worthwhile in return," said Lola, staring hard. She turned to Victor Phule. "Just how large is the share of stock you want him to assign you?"

"I was getting to that," said Victor Phule, smoothly. "The jackpot my friend here won was sixteen thousand shares of stock, from the portion that was held by my son, Willard-as Mr. Bascomb told us earlier today."

"And what's the current market value?" asked Lola, a suspicious expression on her face.

Phule tucked his thumbs into the lapels of his jacket. "Well, since this is a closely held stock that isn't normally traded on the open market, that's a bit of a tricky question," he began.

"Oh, su-ure," said Lola. "I think I'm going to insist on an independent confirmation of whatever value you claim."

"Hey, hey," said Ernie, making shushing motions. "Don't queer the deal, Lola. You haven't even heard what we're getting..."

"All right, I'll listen," she said. "But it better be mighty good."

Victor Phule raised his brows and said, "Our best estimate of current market value is 250 dollars a share. That would yield a gross value of four million dollars for the shares in question."

"Yess!" said Ernie, pumping a fist into the air.

Lola thought for a moment, then said, "Your previous valuation was a lot higher." She stared pointedly at Phule.

"Something like fifty million dollars, if my client quoted you correctly."

"Well, you can't really hold me to that," said Victor Phule. "That was an off-the-cuff estimate. These figures are much more scientific..."

Lola cut him off. "For a thousand-dollar bet, that makes it only a four-thousand-to-one jackpot. Not very impressive odds, if you ask me."

Victor Phule held up a hand. "You haven't heard the whole agreement," he said. "We are also prepared to pay an annual royalty of one percent of par value per share for twenty-five years, for a total of another one million dollars; deferred payments if the stock remains at its current value. Naturally, the payment could fluctuate, but under good management, I'd expect the value to go steadily up."

"I tried to get him up to fifty years, but he wouldn't bite," said Ernie, sheepishly.

Tullie Bascomb shook his head. "I'm going to have to run this past the captain, but I think he'll okay it. I don't see where he has a lot of choice. Is that everything? I can have the stenobot print it up and send it to the captain. Are you satisfied with the terms, Miss?"

Lola exchanged a quick glance with Bascomb. She was amazed. These two clowns had somehow managed to come up with a workable scheme-one she- could actually live with. There was, of course, no point in Ernie's having a serious interest in any kind of legitimate business, let alone a casino. He'd run it into the ground in record time if he ever tried to manage it. And he'd be robbed blind if he tried to hire somebody to run it for him. Lola knew that. And Tullie Bascomb, who was as shrewd an operator as she'd ever laid eyes on, probably knew it, too. So a flat buyout was the most sensible deal they could have asked for. The only question was whether they could realistically jack up the buyout price any higher.

After a moment's reflection, Lola decided not to press her-luck, and shrugged. "I think we can live with that." she said. "Are there any other conditions you haven't told us? Any reason we can't pick up our money and go as soon as the captain's OK comes through?"

"No, that's the whole deal," said Ernie, and Victor Phule nodded.

A high-pitched mechanical voice spoke-the stenobot "The agreement is subject to two legal restrictions that have not been made explicit. Shall I include them in the memo to Captain Jester?"

"Uh-legal restrictions?" Lola was frowning, now. "Just what are those?"

"First is the security and exchange commission registration fee for transfer of stocks. Since the stocks are being transferred twice, the fee is doubled. It comes to twelve hundred dollars."

"Twelve farkin' hundred? No way!" said Ernie.

"You cannot own the stocks without registering them, and you cannot sell the stocks unless you own them," said the stenobot, in an irritatingly pedantic tone.

"I don't care," said Ernie. "I'm not payin' no fees."

"We'll pay the fees," said Tullie Bascomb, raising a hand. "What else?"

"Lorelei casino regulation statutes require winners of all jackpots in excess of ten thousand dollars to have their holo image taken and put on file for use in casino publicity. A copy will also be kept on file in the station police headquarters."

"That's a completely unacceptable condition," said Lola. "Mr. Erkeep will not allow his image to be used."

"Aww, why not, Lola?" said Ernie. "I always wanted to see my picture on the cover of a mag-even if it's the back cover, in an ad." Lola grabbed him and pulled his head down close to her mouth. "You want Mr. V to see that image?" she hissed in his ear. "Or have you forgotten just why we came back here 1"

"Oops, that's right, no pictures!" said Ernie. "Completely unacceptable condition!"

"I'm afraid we're gonna have a problem with that," said Bascomb. "The casino security system automatically takes a picture of all big winners. It's been on file with the police ever since the jackpot bell went off. And unless the publicity department is asleep on the job, I'd bet we've been sending it to every media outlet in the galaxy, too."

"Oh shit," said Lola, with utter sincerity. Abruptly she stood up. "Come on, Ernie, we're out of here," she said, and before anyone else could say a word, the two of them stalked out of the office, leaving Bascomb and Phule standing openmouthed.

"Captain, there's something you need to know," said Sushi.

Phule looked up from the screen of his Port-a-Brain. Sushi was leaning against the frame of his office door, looking dead tired. "Come on in and sit down, Sushi," he said, activating the computer screen. When the legionnaire was seated opposite him, he said, "From the way you look, it's pretty important. I hope it's not bad news..."

"it is if we don't do anything about it," said Sushi. "But I think I know what we can do--if we're quick enough, and if I'm right about what I think the Zenobians are doing."

"This is getting complicated," said Phule. "Why don't you go back to the beginning and tell it straight through? Maybe that'll make it easier to figure out."

"All right, there are a couple of parts to it," said Sushi. "First of all, I've figured out what those so-called hunters are really here for."

Phule sat up and pushed his Port-a-Brain aside. "Now that's something we've been wondering about ever since they showed up. I didn't think they acted all that interested in getting out into the wilds and finding game. What are they up to?"

"Yes, I've been wondering that myself," said Beeker.

"They certainly aren't here for the cultural experience."

"Nor for the waters," said Sushi. "In fact, as best I can tell, they're here to spy on us."

"Spy?" said Beeker. "To steal military secrets? If young Mr. Phule will pardon my saying so, I find it difficult to believe that the commanders of the Legion would entrust this company with any highly sensitive information. For that matter, even if there were such secrets to be found, to whom would they be sold? The Alliance has no enemies that I know of."

"Well, Beeks, that may be," said Phule. "On the other hand, I'm inclined to give a certain amount of weight to Sushi's suspicions-at least until I find some reason to doubt them. What makes you think they're spying, Sushi?"

Sushi cleared his throat. "Captain, I happened to be present at a highly unofficial gathering where the hunters and some of our personnel were present..."

"Chocolate Harry's poker game?" said Phule, raising an eyebrow. "I knew they showed up there, and I heard that Harry took a good bit of their money, which is fine with me. If they don't know any better than to gamble with a veteran Legion sergeant, that's their bad judgment. But what secrets could they be looking for there?"

"Weapons, Captain," said Sushi. "You may forget Omega Company has become the de facto testing unit for your father's munitions line. Every experimental weapon in the Legion comes to us first, and Harry's got samples of everything sitting right there in his Supply depot. It seems to me that every time one of the hunters dropped out of a hand, he'd go over and ogle the hardware. My best guess is that these guys are from a rival weapons manufacturer, trying to grab samples of Phule-Proof's latest products to knock off. Or maybe they're trying to supply a revolution somewhere, maybe on their home world."

Phule leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, that's certainly possible. I've pretty much given Harry blanket permission to turn a buck any way he sees fit, as long as the company doesn't run out of anything it needs. So if he's sold them a few spare weapons, I don't see how it hurts us. He's probably hit them with an outrageous markup-I wouldn't be at all surprised if they paid more than if they'd gone directly to the factory. At Harry's prices, it's going to be one very expensive revolution, if that's what they have in mind."

Sushi considered a moment before responding. "I didn't see them trying to talk Harry into selling them anything, though it could have happened after I left. I think maybe they just plan to come back and help themselves some time when nobody's looking. It's not as if Harry guards the place all that carefully."

"Hmm... that's a different story, Sushi," said Phule. "I'll certainly have to look into it. Stealing from the depot? I don't see how they expect to get away with something mat blatant. If there's enough reason to think they're going to try that, I'll just order them off the planet."

"1 would advise caution, sir," said Beeker. "Remember who sent them here, your friend in high places, Ambassador Gottesman. I don't know whether-the ambassador is their accomplice or their dupe, but I do recall that he appeared quite anxious to ensure that you would extend the company's hospitality to them. One ought to be very certain of their criminal intentions before expelling them summarily. You do not have so many influential friends that you can afford to alienate one of them without excellent reasons."

"I see," said Phule. He mused for a while, then asked, "What if I get the Zenobians to demand that we kick them out? Chief Potentary Korg didn't particularly want them here to begin with. I suspect he'd welcome a good pretext to send them packing. If Sushi's right, I wouldn't mind it myself."

"That is quite understandable, sir," said Beeker. "However, you are in a somewhat difficult position. Ambassador Gottesman may take it amiss if you appear to take the natives' side against your own species. Even if we can find solid evidence of intended malfeasance, these rascals may be sufficiently well connected to defy us. Better if we could resolve the matter without their becoming aware of our part in foiling their intentions."

"Which brings me to the second half of my plan," said Sushi. "Have you noticed the machine that Flight Leftenant Qual and his team are working on-the Sklem?"

"One could hardly help noticing it," said Beeker. "It seems quite an eccentric device, although I've yet to fathom its purpose. Ah... but perhaps you were going to inform us on that point, young man?"

Sushi smiled. "Why, yes, Beeker. Not only that, but unless I've completely misunderstood everything so far, I think it's the whole answer to your problem."

"Now you've got me really interested," said Phule. "I tried to get Qual to explain it, but I couldn't understand the first thing he was saying. Either he was giving me doubletalk, or that stupid translator was acting up again."

"Funny you should mention that," said Sushi. "As it happens, that's exactly the problem that led to my finding out what the Sklem really does. It started when Rev got an idea about trying to get the Zenobians to listen to his spiel about the King..."

"What we really need is to find out what those people want," said Tullie Bascomb. "They were all ready to accept a buyout at something like eight cents on the dollar, and they walked on it when we told them their pictures had

gone out as part of the casino's standard publicity package.

"That doesn't make sense."

"Well, it looks very much as if they don't want publicity." said Rex, who was in charge of the Fat Chance's lavish entertainment program. "That doesn't make a lot of sense to me; but then again, I've never-been one to pass up a chance to get my face in front of a holo camera. You never know when somebody'll come along with a job ... you can't refuse."

"Funny you should use that phrase," said Bascomb, drumming his fingers on the desk. "I wonder..."

"Wonder what?" barked Victor Phule, who'd been sitting with growing discontent during the casino managers' meeting. "I negotiated the deal, good old Ernie accepted, and it was your harebrained publicity department that queered it by forwarding his picture to the media without asking anybody whether it had been cleared. Send me to talk to him and that woman, and I can have them both eating out of our hand in no time fiat."

Bascomb grunted. "Hell, if you hadn't stuck your nose in and left deal-making to somebody who knew the rules everybody else was playing by, we'd have had the whole thing settled two days ago," he said. "Now, if you'd let me finish what I was about to say..."

"Gentlemen, this is getting no place," said Doc, the former character actor now playing the role of commanding officer of the Fat Chance Casino's security force-a picked band of actors in black uniforms, backed up by a few Legion veterans to supply real muscle on the off chance they had to deal with anything worse than an unruly drunk. "Why don't you both back off instead of butting heads every thirty seconds? We might get even figure out something to do, if the rest of us could get a word out of our mouths." Victor Phule and Tullie Bascomb glared at one another for a moment, but by their silence they appeared to accept Doc's reprimand. Doc nodded. "Now, Tullie, what was the point you were about to make?"

Bascomb laid his hands on the table, palms up. "I've got an idea why Erkeep doesn't want his name in the media, and maybe- an idea what we can do about it," he said. "I think he's on a hit list somewhere, and he's afraid the publicity's going to give away his location."

"There ought to be ways to deal" with that," said Rex. "Our makeup people can fix the winner so his own mother wouldn't recognize him. And 1 suspect, with Mr. Phule's help, we can find ways to get him and the young lady to almost any destination in the Alliance without attracting undue attention."

"That's fine, if the people looking for them aren't too mad at them," said Tullie. "But from the way they reacted, 1 suspect it won't be enough."

"I don't get it," said Victor Phule. "I mean, Ernie is a fine fellow-salt of the earth, if you know what I mean but 1 don't see us as having an infinite obligation to him. Pay the fellow off, whatever it costs, and give him and his lady first-class tickets to wherever they want to go, and that's all. Story over."

"It'd be nice if that was the whole story," said Doc. "But I'm afraid the ending wouldn't be anything we'd want to take credit for. Maybe I'm getting softheaded in my old age, but I'd like to think we'd take better care of somebody we promised we'd make a part owner of the casino. And I think Captain Jester would agree with me."

"Perhaps he would," said Victor Phule. "That doesn't mean it's a sound business decision."

"Well, when you get right down to it, the captain put his own shares up for grabs at our urging, and lost them despite some pretty long odds," said Rex. "And good business decision or not, maybe just out of basic consideration, he ought to get some say in how we treat the fellow that won them. Even if it wasn't the fellow we originally meant to win." He glanced significantly in Victor Phule's direction. Phule snorted, but said nothing.

"That makes sense to me," said Tullie. "Why don't we give the captain a call and see what he suggests? It's midevening, his time-so unless that planet's got a lot of nightlife than it looks like on tri-vee, he ought to be in hailing range of his desk."

"You're bound and determined to involve him, so I see no point in wasting my breath," said Victor Phule. "Go but don't expect the boy to have anything sensible to say. I'd lay odds we'll be no better off when you've talked to him than we are now."

"I'd take that bet," said Tullie Bascomb, reaching for the phone.

"That's the sticking point," said Tullie Bascomb to Phule. "I thought your father had talked them into accepting a buyout for a fraction of actual value-I have to give the old rascal credit, for once. I figured they'd hold out for at least ten million, more likely twenty, but he had them ready to bite on five! I was having a hard time keeping a straight face. But once they learned the casino had taken Erkeep's picture, they hollered bloody murder and walked out."

Phule sighed. The problem with the casino shares was not solving itself as smoothly as he'd expected. He didn't particularly mind having lost them; he'd never have put them up as a prize if he'd cared that much. Besides, it was -probably a good idea to hand his father some of the responsibility for keeping the business profitable for the members of Omega Company, who were the real majority stockholders. The old fellow's business experience was nothing to sneeze at, even if it was in a different industry. Meanwhile, Phule could keep his attention focused on managing Omega Company-and his own portfolio.

But who'd have thought the jackpot winner would turn down a quick and easy payment of several million dollars just because the casino had taken his photo?

"There has to be an explanation," said Phule. "Have they made any kind of counteroffer?"

"No, that's what has me puzzled," said Bascomb. "They just walked out and left us trying to figure out where we'd gone wrong. At first we thought they'd figured out how low our offer really was. It was only when the stenobot played back their conversation that we even got a clue what the problem was."

"Have they stayed in touch?" asked Phule. "I can't imagine they'd give up that easily, when everything else seemed to be in place."

"My guess is they'll be back within a couple of days at the outside," said Bascomb. "I called to run a few scenarios past you, to see how you want to handle them."

"Tullie, you don't need to ask me about every detail of the business," said Phule. "You're where you are because I trust your experience and your common sense. Use them, and don't worry about me second-guessing you."

"It's not you I'm worried about, Captain," said Bascomb.

There was a long pause.

Phule finally said, "Is it Dad you're worried about? I don't think you need to. He's run a business for most of his life, and made it one of the most profitable in the galaxy..."

Bascomb cut him off. "And because of that, he thinks he knows everything there is to know about the business I've been running most of my life, and making a damned good profit at. It's because of him that we're in this mess, Captain. That's why I want you signing off on our plans to handle the most likely reactions from Mr. Erkeep."

Phule sighed. "All right, I understand," he said. "If I know Dad, it's not going to make much difference. I'm the one he thinks is incompetent, Tullie, not you. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd gained a degree of respect for you by now. But I'll give you what you need to cover your-ass, If you think it'll help. Tell me what you're looking at."

They spent the next half hour going over different scenarios Bascomb had sketched out, with Phule making occasional comments, but for the most part simply approving Bascomb's plans without modification. On one occasion, Beeker broke in with a suggestion that both Phule and Bascomb immediately recognized as better than anything they'd thought of. Finally, Bascomb said, "All right, I .. think that covers everything I can foresee. Any other suggestions, Captain?"

"No." said Phule. "If they manage to pull any more surprises out of their hats, you'll just have to deaf with them according to your best judgment. Don't feel you have to call me-I trust you, Tullie. And if Dad has any problems with that, tell him to call me. All right?"

"I'll tell him, Captain," said Bascomb. He chuckled, then said, "And I wish I could listen in on that conversation," before he broke the connection.

Phule turned to Beeker with, a wry grin. "Well, I hope that's the worst problem we have to deal with today," he said.

The butler raised one brow. "I still find it anomalous that you would so easily part with your stock in what must be one of the more profitable of your investments, sir. Are you really so certain your father can handle it as well as you can?"

"He can if he keeps his hands off, which is all I've really done." said Phule. "Besides, Beeks, 1 intend to write off the shares as a promotional expense, which in my tax bracket will be almost more valuable than the shares themselves.

And there's no shortage of profitable investments. Speaking of which-what do you think of Sushi's description of the Zenobian Sklern? I'd bet we could get the off-planet marketing rights to it for a song..."

The nighttime desert air was still bone-dry, but on the cool side, as Thumper made his way along a well-trodden path out of Zenobia Base toward his destination. Brandy had shown him where the electronic sensors of the perimeter defenses were, and with that knowledge in his head, it wasn't -too hard to dodge around them. He'd know soon enough if he didn't dodge around one; the perimeter alarm would alert Mother, who'd signal him to go investigate the disturbance-and send backup just in case it wasn't something he couldn't handle by himself. That would pretty much put an end to this little unauthorized excursion. If he didn't run into anything unexpected, he'd be back in camp well before his relief guard showed up. And he was confident he could convince Mother he was still at his post, if she decided to call him on the wrist comm to chat, or (just as likely) to check up on how well he was managing to stay awake. His new friend Mahatma had told him Mother was often like that, going out of her way to make sure the newer legionnaires didn't get into trouble when they weren't actively looking for it. That was good to know-but just now, he didn't need anybody to hold his forepaw.

A dim light in the middle distance pointed out the way to his goal. He struck off in that direction, and shortly found a smoother path going his way-the clean-swept ground mark of a recent hoverjeep passage. He considered for a moment whether he needed to worry about leaving footprints, then shrugged and stepped onto the path. If he succeeded, nobody would pay any attention to a stray set of Legion-issue boot marks. And if his plan fell through, they'd have a lot more to worry about than figuring out who'd been along this trail-and when.

He was almost to his destination. He slowed down, making sure he could see everything in his pathway. (The night-vision goggles Brandy had given him for sentry duty brought out the landscape almost as clearly as in bright daylight, although there were funny color substitutions, especially where a large rock or other object glowed warmer than its surroundings.) There, a short distance ahead, was what he'd been expecting: a low-lying shape to one side of the trail, glowing brightly with the warmth of a living body. He came to a halt, not wanting to intrude on the other's territory. "Hello," Thumper said softly. "You can probably see me as well as I can you. Can we go somewhere to talk where we won't wake everybody else up?"

"Why should I trust you?" the other said, in a strangely familiar guttural voice. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"To talk to you," said Thumper. "I'm by myself, incase you hadn't noticed."

"You have weapons."

"sure do," said Thumper. "It's part of my job to carry them. If I wanted to use them, I would have sneaked up on you from downwind and got you before you knew where I was. You know I could do it."

There was a pause, as if the other were thinking things over then the voice said, "Follow me." The bright shape got to its feet and began to walk quietly away from the camp it had been guarding. Thumper followed, at a distance.

Perhaps a hundred meters from the camp, the figure turned and faced Thumper. "All right, this should be safe," it said. "What does a legionnaire want with me?"

"1 told you, I want to talk," said Thumper. "What do you have against the Legion?"

"Stinking humans," growled Barky, the Environmental dog. "Make other sophonts do all the work, take all the credit."

"Not everybody in the Legion's human," said Thumper. "There's me, for one. And the Gambolts, and the Volton, and the Synthians."

"All the leaders are human," said Barky.

"That's true," said Thumper. "Especially the commanding general. I got in trouble with him back in basic training. But that's a long story, and it's not what I came here to talk about." Barky said nothing, waiting.

"All right," said Thumper, shrugging. "All I really need to say is that you and your humans are doing your jobs, and we're doing ours, and there's no reason we need to be enemies. Have you 'caught us polluting or destroying the environment?"

"Not yet," said Barky, reluctantly. "But if you do your job, sooner or later it will hurt the environment. War is not healthy..."

"For living things," Thumper said. "I learned that in school. They had us watch your show a lot."

"Then you know what I mean," said the Environmental Dog.

"Sure," said Thumper. "But we aren't here fighting a war. In fact, I don't think there's a war anywhere in Alliance space we could be going to fight. So we've got to do other jobs. If the other guys are telling me the truth, what we're doing here is keeping a war from getting started."

"I'm sure that is very wonderful," said Barky. "You will no doubt be able to tell me how bringing more soldiers and weapons to a place where there is no war is going to keep one from starting."

"Some of the other guys can answer that better than I can," said Thumper. "I came out here to talk about something else, though. Answer me this: Your job is to fight pollution, but is it better to fight it, or to prevent it from happening at all?"

"You know the answer to that," growled Barky. "What are you telling me?"

"I'm telling you something you'll be very interested in hearing," said Thumper. "Listen to this..." Thumper spoke quickly, skipping over all but the most

crucial details. But Barky only interrupted him with questions twice. By the end, the Environmental Dog was growling and gnashing his teeth. "All right, you've convinced me," he said at last. "You can count on me."

"Good," said Thumper. "We'll let you know when we need you to help." He turned and headed back along the path to his guard post. It was with considerable relief that he discovered that his little excursion hadn't been noticed at all.

Or so he thought. He settled into his assigned guard post, ready to spend the rest of his shift doing the duty to which he'd been assigned. He had a feeling of accomplishment--he had done his part to counteract what he saw as the greatest threat to the missions' of both the Legion and the AElOU here on Zenobia.

A more experienced legionnaire might have noticed the shadowy figure that had trailed him all the way to the AEIOU camp and eavesdropped on his entire conversation with Barky. Perhaps a more experienced legionnaire would have circled back to observe the AEIOU camp after he had announced his departure. Then he might have seen that his conversation with Barky was just the beginning of the evening's events...