"That's not a bad idea," said Phule. "I don't think we're in quite that much trouble, though. But I'll keep it in mind in case things get dangerous."
"All righty, you're a big boy-but don't ever say I never gave you a chance to get rid of that pest," said Mother. She cut the connection, and Phule turned to his crew. In moments, the rescue party was loaded on the personnel carrier. At Phule's command, Slayer took the controls, lifted it off, and started moving forward at top speed.
Phule stood on the forward bench, looking through his stereoculars in an attempt to see what was going on up ahead. He could hear what sounded like distant shouting, though not in any language he recognized. Had the Synthian lost his translator, or was there some other species there? He realized he didn't know who else was on the original search team-he'd left it to Brandy to choose its members, and hadn't thought to ask once the crisis had arisen. In a sense, it didn't really matter who was out there. They were all valued members of Omega Company. Their comrades in arms would do whatever it took to bring them back safe. Omega Company took care of its own. And anyone who stood in the way....ell, too bad for them, Phule thought.
The personnel carrier had quickly, covered the ground between the camp and the trees, and was coming up on the position where Phule had decided to drop off the Gambolts. "Slayer, bring tire vehicle to a halt," he ordered.
"Dukes, Rube, Garbo--make ready to dismount."
Slayer expertly cut the vehicle's speed and dropped it to within a hand's breadth of the ground. The Gambolts quickly slipped off the tail end-Protected from any possibility of hostile fire, although there had so far been no overt hostilities-and began working their way through the underbrush, quickly fading out of clear visibility. Phule waited until they were well clear, then signaled for the personnel carrier to move forward again. There was still no clear indication what sort of enemy had attacked the original search party. Evidently their comm units were still not working correctly-there'd been no further transmissions since the truncated conversation Phule had had with Spartacus.
It was quiet, Phule realized. Too quiet. The faintly purring engine of the personnel carrier was the only sound; even the shouting that Phule had heard previously had now faded into silence, leaving only an uncomfortable anticipation. Somewhere ahead of him, the Gambolts were noiselessly working their way toward the site of the disturbance. .. .
Suddenly, a loud sound erupted from the underbrush perhaps fifty meters off the left front of the vehicle. As Phule stood up to stare-realizing even as he did so that he was exposing himself to possible enemy fire-a Gambolt jumped seemingly two meters straight up, yowling. It was Dukes, the largest of the three catlike aliens in Omega Company. As soon as the Gambolt landed on his feet, he let out another yowl and began sprinting for the nearest tree.
"What the hell?" said a voice somewhere behind Phule. Dukes reached the tree and, without losing any of his speed, made a right-angle turn and went at least halfway up the trunk before reaching a convenient branch and stopping, with a harassed air about him. The seat of his black Legion jumpsuit was tom, Phule noticed.
At the foot of the tree, now, Phule made out a squat creature, quivering with rage. When it spoke, everything became clear. He didn't even need the stereoculars to recognize it, or to make out what it said.
"Woof!" said Barky, the Environmental Dog, taking off at top speed to find another Gambolt to chase up a tree.
"Woof! Woof!"
7
Journal #681
There are few things more aggravating than a person whose opinions on some important subject are essentially correct, but who insists on subordinating all other matters to that one area of discourse. One might even say that, the more correct the opinion, the more annoying it becomes to see it drive out all other topics of conversation. The only remedy for such people is to avoid their: company entirely. Unfortunately, they are often in a position such that avoiding them becomes difficult... ...
"I've never met such unreasonable people in my life," said Phule, pacing around his desk. The meeting with Chief Inspector Snieff had not been productive.
"That's a rather frightening assessment, especially considering that you've spent the last five years in the Space Legion..." Beeker left the thought unfinished.
Phule ignored him. "All I ask them to do is to keep their dog away from my people. You wouldn't think that would be so hard, would you?"
"The dog cannot be blamed for its response, sir," Beeker noted. "To put it frankly, sir, even a relatively sophisticated person such as I might find the, uh, characteristic odors of some races of nonhuman sophonts rather peculiar, if not downright unpleasant. You notice that it paid particular attention to poor Spartacus, and to the Gambolts. The poor animal, which has a far more sensitive nose than you or I, simply reacts to them as it has been trained."
"It must have been raised in a humans-only environment," said Phule. "But still-my legionnaires aren't polluting the planet. I took special pains to get the most up-to-date ecological protection features built into the base. We recycle everything, Beeker. Nothing goes to waste in Zenobia Base. Our environmental policies are far greener than the Legion's regulations for units in the field, and we stick to them, too."
"I believe you, sir," said Beeker. "But I should remind you that I am not the one you need to persuade in this instance. The relevant parties are Ms. Snieff-and her dog."
"I don't know which is worse," said Phule, plopping himself down on the edge of his desk. "At least she didn't try to bite anybody... though maybe that'd be better than having her spout slogans at me all afternoon. If she bit me, all I'd need to do is make sure my shots were up-to-date."
"It is unfortunate that there are no inoculations against fanaticism," said Beeker.
"The woman's employer is in my opinion one of the very few governmental organizations actually capable of making the world better than it finds it, and yet she seems to have the gift, so to speak, of alienating everyone around her. I suppose it is another example of the tendency of bureaucracies to promote those who most excel at bureaucratic infighting, rather than at the actual business of the organization."
Phule had picked up the remote for the office's video display wall and fiddled with it as he listened to Beeker. Now he looked at it, realized he wasn't about to use it for anything, and put it back down on his desk. "The bottom line is, we need to be able to work here," he said. "I can't just tell my people not to go near their camp, Beeker. They were out in the desert to investigate a possible threat to our security. And we never did find out what all those lights were about."
"Sir, now may be the time to prevail upon Flight Leftenant Qual to interest his government in the matter," said Beeker. "Point out to them that your mission is being jeopardized by this AEIOU team's officious meddling. Perhaps you might even persuade one or two Zenobians to stray out into the desert where they would encounter the dog. That might persuade them quickly."
"And if Barky went after them, what would stop them from shooting him?" said Phule. "Or maybe eating him for lunch. The Zenobians don't seem to-eat mammals they don't seem to have very many, in fact-but they might make an exception in this case. Getting an animal killed by the locals-not just any animal, but a beloved environmental dog with his own weekly tri-vee show, and fan clubs of adoring kids on every human-occupied planet-no, Beeks. No thank you. I've already survived more than my share of interplanetary incidents. But I don't think even Ambassador Gottesman could bail me , out of that one."