Phule's Company Read online

  The words froze in the major’s throat as he barely caught himself on the brink of the worst social gaff a Legionnaire can commit. Suddenly uncomfortable, he turned the pistol over in his hands again to avoid the icy stares of the other officers. While it was a definite breach of regulations for the colonel to reveal the lieutenant’s personal background, the one question no one was ever allowed to ask of or about any Legionnaire was “Why did he or she join?”

  After an awkward few moments had passed, the colonel resumed the discussion.

  “Now, what we need to consider before reaching our verdict is not only that Phule-Proof Munitions is the largest arms manufacturer and distributor in the galaxy, not to mention the current supplier of arms and munitions for the Space Legion, but also that it is the largest single employer of Legionnaires who quit or retire. I think we have to ask ourselves whether the lieutenant’s offense was so great that it’s worth jeopardizing the relationship between the Legion and its main supplier, not to mention our individual careers.”

  “Excuse me, Colonel, but didn’t I read somewhere that the lieutenant and his father were on the outs?”

  Colonel Battleax fixed the captain with her coldest stare. “Possibly. Still, family is family, and I’m not sure I’d want to bet on how the father would react if we threw his only son into the stockade for a few years. Then, too, assuming the lieutenant eventually inherits the company, I wouldn’t relish going to him for a job when I retired … not if I was one of the ones who sentenced him to jail.”

  “It would be a lot easier if he just resigned,” Major Joshua muttered darkly as he mulled over this new development.

  “True,” the colonel said, unruffled. “But he didn’t … and you know Legion regulations as well as I do. We can level any kind of punishment we want on a Legionnaire, but we can’t drum them out of the service. He can resign, but we can’t force him to quit.”

  “Maybe if the sentence was rough enough, he’d resign rather than accept it,” Captain Humpty suggested hopefully.

  “Perhaps, but I wouldn’t count on it. I, for one, don’t like to bluff if I’m not willing to live with the consequences if it’s called.”

  “Well, we’ve got to do something to him,” the major said. “After all the coverage he’s gotten from the media, we’d look silly if we didn’t make an example of him.”

  “Perhaps.” The colonel smiled tightly.

  Major Joshua scowled. “What do you mean by that … sir?”

  “I mean it wouldn’t be the first time a Legionnaire has been renamed to keep the media hounds off his track.”

  “You aren’t seriously suggesting that we let him off scot-free, are you?” the captain broke in. “After what he’s done? I don’t favor ignoring—”

  “I wasn’t suggesting we let the lieutenant escape unscathed,” Colonel Battleax interrupted hastily. “I merely think that in this particular situation, it might be wisest if we considered some alternatives to confinement in the stockade for punishment. Perhaps we could find a new assignment for our misfit … a tour sufficiently unpleasant that it would leave no doubt in his or anyone else’s mind as to the opinion this court has of his little Wild West show.”

  The officers lapsed into silence then, as they searched their minds of a posting that would fill their needs.

  “If he were a captain,” the major said to himself, breaking the silence, “we could ship him off to the Omega crew.”

  “What was that, Major?” The colonel’s voice was suddenly sharp.

  Joshua blinked as if waking from a dream, jolted into remembering that the court president was from Headquarters.

  “I … Nothing, sir. Just thinking out loud.”

  “Did I hear you say something about an Omega Company?”

  “Sir?”

  “Do you know anything about this, Captain?”

  “About what, sir?” Captain Humpty said, mentally cursing the major’s loose tongue.

  The colonel swept both men with an icy glare before speaking again.

  “Gentlemen, let me remind you that I’ve been in the Legion twice as long as either of you. I’m neither blind nor stupid, and I’ll thank you not to treat me as if I were.”

  The other two court members squirmed uncomfortably, like schoolboys in a principal’s office, as she continued.

  “The Space Legion is smaller and less glamorous than the Regular Army, more like security guards than an actual fighting force. We don’t enjoy the advantage they have of fielding units made up entirely of soldiers from one planet, hence our policy of accepting all applicants, no questions asked.

  “Now, I know this policy has always caused problems for field officers such as yourselves. Despite our loose discipline and regulations, there are always those who don’t fit neatly into military life—misfits or losers, depending on how polite you want to be when describing them. I’m also aware that, in direct disregard for standing orders regarding the treatment of Legionnaires, from time to time there develops an Omega Company—a dumping ground for problem cases that field officers are too busy or lazy to deal with. They are usually broken up as soon as they are discovered by Headquarters, but they continue to pop up, and when they do, the word gets passed quietly through the Legion until someone inadvertently leaks the information to Headquarters, and then the game starts all over again.”

  Her forefinger began to tap impatiently on the table.

  “I’m am aware of all this, gentlemen, and now I’m asking you bluntly: Is there an Omega Company currently operating in the Legion?”

  Confronted by the direct question, the other officers had little choice but to respond, and respond truthfully. Honesty was a primary requirement within the Legion (it didn’t matter much what you told outsiders, but you weren’t supposed to lie to your own), and while field officers were masters of half-truths and omissions, this particular approach left little maneuvering room … which was why the colonel used it.

  “Ummm …” Major Humpty fumbled, searching for words to sugarcoat the confession. “There is a company that seems to be drawing more than its share of … Legionnaires who are having difficulty adjusting to life within—”

  “Losers and problem cases,” the colonel cut in. “Let’s call a spade a spade, Major. Where is it?”

  “Haskin’s Planet, sir.”

  “Haskin’s Planet?” The Battleax scowled. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with that one.”

  “It’s named after the biologist who explored the swamp there prior to settlement,” Captain Joshua supplied helpfully.

  “Oh yes. The contract with the swamp miners. So that’s the current dumping ground, eh?”

  Humpty nodded curtly, relieved that the senior officer seemed to be taking the news so calmly.

  “The CO … the commanding officer there has been consistently … lax in screening his transfers …”

  “And in everything else, as I recall,” the colonel added grimly. “Lax … I like that. There may be a future for you in media relations, Major. Please continue.”

  “Actually the situation may correct itself without Headquarters intervening,” the captain said, hoping to evade the stigma of having betrayed their fellow officers to Headquarters. “Scuttlebutt has it that the CO’s tour is over soon, and no one expects him to reenlist. A new CO will probably put a stop to things out of self-preservation.”

  “Maybe … maybe not.”

  “If you’re worried about reallocating the … problem cases,” the major put in hastily, “I’m sure normal attrition will—”

  “I was thinking about our problem of sentencing Lieutenant Scaramouche,” the colonel interrupted dryly. “If you’ll recall, that is the subject of our discussion.”

  “Yes … of course.” Humpty was relieved but surprised at the apparent change in subject.

  “What I was about to say,” Battleax continued, “was that in light of this new information, I think Major Humpty’s earlier suggestion has a certain degree of merit to it.”


  It took the other officers a moment to follow her train of thought. When they did, they were understandably taken aback.

  “What? You mean transfer him to the Omegas?” Captain Joshua said.

  “Why not? As I just pointed out, Omega Companies are a fact of life in the Legion. While Headquarters generally disbands them as being too easy a solution for our problems, at times they have their purposes … and it seems to me this is one of those times.”

  She leaned forward, her eyes bright.

  “Think about it, gentlemen. An unpleasant, no-win assignment may be just what’s needed to convince our young lieutenant to resign. If not, he’s conveniently out of the way and in no position to cause us further embarrassment. The beauty of it is that no one, including his father and the lieutenant himself, can accuse us of not giving him a chance at redemption.”

  “But the only officer’s post available there is—or will be—the CO slot,” the major protested, “and that position calls for at least a captain. That’s what I was saying when—”

  “So promote him.”

  “Promote him?” the captain said, painfully aware they were talking about a rank equal to his own. “We’re going to reward him for fouling up? That doesn’t seem right.”

  “Captain, would you consider it a reward to be placed in command of an Omega Company … even if there was a promotion attached?”

  Joshua made no effort to hide his grimace.

  “I see your point,” he conceded, “but will the lieutenant realize he’s being punished? I mean, he’s new to the Legion. He may not even know what an Omega Company is.”

  “If not, he’ll learn,” the colonel said grimly. “Well, gentlemen? Are we in agreement?”

  * * *

  With this decision, made out of desperation, a new chapter was begun in the Space Legion’s already spotty history. Without knowing it, the court officers had just provided a head, not to mention a soul and spirit, to the group that was to become known as the Omega Mob, or, as the media liked to call them, Phule’s Company.

  Chapter One

  Journal File #004*

  Some have commented that the executive mind tends to expand work to fill, or overfill, available time. While I will not attempt to comment on the overall accuracy of this statement, it was certainly the case during our preparations prior to departure for my employer’s new assignment.

  For my employer, this meant countless shopping expeditions, both in person and by computer. As you will note in these chronicles, unlike many of his financial level, he was never reluctant to part with his money. In fact, when confronted by a choice of two items, he seemed to invariably solve the dilemma by simply purchasing both—a habit I found less than endearing as I was the one required to store and track these acquisitions.

  Of course, his pursuit of equipment and wardrobe meant that other important chores tended to be neglected … such as conducting research on the situation which we had been thrust into. As is so often the case, I felt compelled to step into this void rather than allow my employer to begin this new endeavor without proper preparation.

  * * *

  The Port-A-Brain computer system was designed to be the ultimate in pocket computers. Its main strength was that it enabled the user to tap into nearly any data base or library in the settled worlds, or place an order with most businesses above a one-store retail level, or communicate directly with or leave messages for anyone or any business which utilized any form of computerized telecommunications, all without so much as plugging into a wall outlet or tapping into a phone line. What’s more, the unit, complete with folding screen, was no larger than a paperback book. In short, it was a triumph of high-tech microcircuitry … but there was a small problem. Each unit cost as much as a small corporation, placing it well out of the financial reach of the individual and all but the most extravagant conglomerate executive officers; and even those who could afford one usually contented themselves to use the cheaper modes of data access, particularly since their job positions were lofty enough to allow them to delegate such menial tasks as research and communications to lower echelon staffers. As such, there were fewer than a dozen Port-A-Brain units in actual use in the entire galaxy. Willard Phule had two: one for himself and one for his butler. He reasoned the expense was worth avoiding the inconvenience of waiting in line for a pay terminal.

  Camped in one of the spaceport’s numerous snack bars, he had been putting his personal unit to good use for the last several hours, tirelessly tapping in message after message in his clawlike two-fingered style. Finally he signed off with a flourish and replaced the computer in his pocket.

  “Well, that’s all I can think of for now, Beek,” he declared, stretching mightily. “The rest can hold until we’ve had a chance to look over our new home.”

  “Nice of you to curb your enthusiasm, sir,” the butler said dryly. “It may enable us to be on time for our transport.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Phule started to finish his cardboard cup of coffee, then set it aside with a grimace when he realized any trace of heat in the liquid had long since fled. Some things remained untouched by technological advances. “It’s not like we’re taking a commercial flight. This ship has been hired specifically to transport us to Haskin’s Planet. I doubt it’ll leave without us if we’re a few minutes late.”

  “I wish I shared your confidence, sir. More likely the pilot will cancel the flight completely and make do with half payment for a no-show.”

  Phule cocked his head quizzically at his companion.

  “You’re certainly a Gloomy Gus today, Beeker. In fact, you’ve been more than a bit dour ever since the court-martial. Anything in particular bothering you?”

  The butler shrugged. “Let’s just say I don’t have the greatest faith in the generosity of the Legion, sir.”

  “For example?”

  “Well, for one thing, there’s this chartered flight. Considering the tight-fisted nature of the Legion, I find it a bit out of character for them to allow the added expense of a private ship rather than using normal commercial transport.”

  “That’s easy.” Phule laughed. “The commercial lines only fly to Haskin’s Planet once every three months.”

  “Exactly.” Beeker nodded grimly. “Has it occurred to you that this new assignment is more than a bit away from the mainstream of activity?”

  “Beeker, are you trying to say you suspect that my promotion and subsequent assignment are something less than a reward?”

  There was an edge on his employer’s voice that made the butler hesitate before answering. While normally pleasant enough to deal with, Phule also had a temper that ran to icy exactness rather than blind rage, and Beeker had no wish to become the focus of it. Still, there had always been an unspoken agreement of total honesty between them, so he summoned his courage and plunged onward.

  “Let’s just say I find the timing of both to be … questionable, considering the fact that you were being court-martialed at the time. If nothing else, their insistence that you change your Legion name would seem to indicate there’s more to the matter than meets the eye.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree,” Phule said coldly, then flashed one of his sudden grins. “I don’t think there’s any question at all. The whole thing stinks on ice. Whatever I’m headed into, it’s a cinch I’m not supposed to enjoy it.”

  Beeker experienced a quick wave of relief.

  “Forgive me, sir. I should have realized you couldn’t be totally unaware of the situation. It’s just that you seem abnormally cheerful for someone who knows he’s being, as they say, set up.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” Phule shrugged. “Think about it, Beek. Whatever’s waiting for us on Haskin’s has got to be better than rotting in a stockade for a couple years. Besides, I’ve always wanted to command a company. That’s why I went for officer status in the first place.”

  “I’m not sure it’s safe to assume this assignment is preferable to a stockade,” the but
ler cautioned carefully.

  “Oh?” The reply was accompanied by a raised eyebrow. “Is there something in the company’s personnel records I won’t like?”

  “I am virtually certain of it, sir.” Beeker smiled tightly. “I’ve taken the liberty of loading them into your personal computer files so you can review them without having to deal with hard copy. I know you’ve never mastered traveling light.”

  He gave a slight jerk of his head toward the porters standing by their luggage.

  “Whoops! That’s right. We’ve got a flight to catch.”

  Phule surged to his feet and gestured to the waiting baggage handlers.

  “Follow me, men. Time and spaceflights wait for no one. C’mon, Beeker. Let’s roll.”

  * * *

  “Captain Jester?”

  It took Phule a moment to recognize his new name and rank.

  “That’s right,” he acknowledged hastily. “Are we about ready to depart?”

  “Yes, sir. As soon as you … What’s that!?”

  The pilot had spotted the caravan of porters wheeling three cart loads of baggage with them.

  “Hmm? Oh, that’s just my personal luggage. If you’ll show them where to stow it, they’ll take care of the loading.”

  “Hey, wait a second! All weight for a flight has to be cleared in advance. You can’t just waltz up here at the last minute with a load like that and expect me to let you on board with it!”

  Inwardly Phule sighed. He had been afraid something like this would happen. Though under contract to the Legion, on board ship the pilot had ultimate authority. Like many minor bureaucrats, this gave him an exaggerated opinion of his power. Fortunately, Phule had been raised on bureaucratic infighting.

  “Look … Captain, is it? Yes. If you’ll check your manifest, you’ll notice that the cargo that’s been loaded so far is lighter than the weight you were contracted to transport—substantially lighter. My baggage is the balance of that weight. While it’s more than is normally allotted to military personnel, I’ve paid for the extra poundage out of my own pocket, and am therefore understandably reluctant to leave it behind.”