"Enlisting?" The chief's eyebrows collided with his hairline. "I knew the Legion wasn't picky about whom they recruited, but don't you think that the Weasel is stooping a bit... even for you? I mean, you've already got one fence and black marketeer working for you."
He stared pointedly at Chocolate Harry, who shifted uneasily in his chair.
"Regulations require me to speak with anyone who expresses an interest in enlisting," Phule interceded smoothly. "One's pre-Legion history is unimportant to us. As you've so tactfully noted, we take anyone... we've even been known to accept ex-cops."
That earned a guffaw from the policeman, though the best Harry could manage was a weak smile.
"You got me there, Captain," Goetz acknowledged with a mock salute. "I don't think you'll get the Weasel, though. It would mean too much of a pay cut for him... unless you're supplementing his enlistment bonus personally, that is."
"It was just talk," Harry mumbled, playing with his empty glass. "You know... nothin' definite."
The chief pursed his lips for a moment, then nodded.
"All right," he said. "We'll let it drop for now and keep it social. I'll tell you, though, if there's a chance it might get the Weasel off-planet and out of my jurisdiction, I'll help with the paperwork myself."
He paused as the bartender delivered his drink. By unspoken agreement, he paid for his own, lest there be any question as to whether he was accepting bribes from the Legionnaires.
"Mebbe I should get on back to The Club, Cap'n," Harry muttered, starting to rise, but Phule waved him back into his seat.
"Relax, C.H.," he said. "The chief here says it's just a social visit, and besides, it's about time you two got to know each other a little better."
"Where are the rest of your bandits, if you don't mind my asking?" Goetz said, taking a sip of his drink. "Haven't seen any of them around town today."
"It's a duty day," Phule explained. "The fearless forces of the Space Legion are hip-deep in muck, protecting the miners from the local ecology, and vice versa. The fact that C.H. and I happened to schedule our... meeting the same day as we would be normally joining our comrades in their discomfort is mere coincidence."
"Amen to that," Harry acknowledged with his first genuine grin since Goetz entered the lounge.
"Say"-the chief frowned, peering at one of the other groups in the lounges-"isn't that the Eagles' commander sitting over there with that little reporter... whatzername?"
"Jennie," the Legion commander said without looking. "I believe it is. Why do you ask?"
"I thought you had her staked out as private property. Or is she part of the settlement between you and the Army?"
"She's her own woman," Phule said. "Always has been, from all I can tell. Just because we had dinner together a couple of times doesn't mean-"
The shrill screech of his wrist communicator interrupted him in midsentence.
Annoyed, since he had left word he was not to be interrupted, the commander debated for a moment as to whether or not to acknowledge the call. Then it occurred to him that it would have to be important to override his orders, and he reached for the controls.
"Excuse me a moment, Chief... Phule here, Mother. What's the problem?"
"We've got trouble, Captain," came the communication specialist's voice without any of her normal banter.
"What...
"I'll let you hear it direct. Stand by for a patch from field operations... Go ahead, Lieutenant."
"Captain Jester? Rembrandt here."
"Go ahead, Lieutenant."
"We have a situation here. I thought I should alert you as soon as possible."
Phule felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, but kept his voice calm.
"Very well. What's happened? Start at the beginning."
"Well, Do-Wop took a shot at a lizard..."
"A lizard?"
"It sort of looked like a lizard... only bigger. Currently unidentified. Anyway, it shot back at him, and-"
"It what?"
"It shot back at him, sir. Hit him with some kind of a stun ray. He's alive but unconscious. We've got a force of previously unknown aliens in the swamp. Intelligent and armed."
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.