"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?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Journal #162
While it is difficult to clearly define where one segment of my employer's career ends and another begins, the first phase of his time with the Space Legion came to its climax, not with his encounter with the Zenobians, but with a "visit" from certain high-ranking members of the Legion Headquarters staff.
It seems that, with the single-mindedness so typical of bureaucracies everywhere, they were less concerned with the results of my employer's actions than with the methods and procedures he utilized to achieve them.
The general public was usually apathetic regarding the movements of the Space Legion-even its high-ranking officers. As such, the party from Legion Headquarters was more than a little surprised at the crowd of civilians waiting for them when they disembarked from the shuttlecraft at the Haskin's Planet spaceport. Most were curiosity seekers, to be sure, but there was at least a token attendance from the fifth estate, as the party was quick to discover.
"Jennie Higgens, Interstellar News Service," the reporter announced, blocking the path of the first Legionnaire in the party with her body, microphone, and camera crew. "Is it true that you're here to punish Captain Jester, the commander of the Space Legion company stationed here on Haskin's Planet, for his recent confrontation with the Zenobians?"
"No comment," Colonel Battleax mumbled, trying to edge around the obstacle. Despite her criticisms of Phule's activity with the media, the truth was she herself only had limited experience in dealing with reporters, and those encounters had left her wary and guarded in their presence.
"But if Captain Jester is not going to be punished, why was he relieved of command and placed under house arrest right after that incident?" the reporter persisted.
"The Space Legion felt it was its obligation to the citizens of the civilized planets we serve to suspend Captain Jester's authority until an investigation could be conducted to determine the propriety, not to mention the legality, of his actions."
General Blitzkrieg was one of the three ranking officers who made up the board which governed the Legion. Though he was as startled as Battleax at their reception, he was also nearing retirement and quickly reached the decision that a little media exposure wouldn't hurt his efforts to obtain postretirement employment. If nothing else, it might increase his chances of finding a publisher for his memoirs.
"So your actual purpose here is to perform that investigation rather than to court-martial Captain Jester as rumored?" Jennie said, shifting her attention easily to the talker of the group.
"That is correct," the general said, "though we are prepared to convene a court-martial if the investigation warrants it."
Blitzkrieg had only meant to cover himself for when the anticipated court-martial took place, but the reporter pounced on his implication.
"Could you tell our viewers why Captain Jester, who recently averted a potentially hostile alien invasion of the settlement here on Haskin's Planet, might be subject to court-martial and discipline by the Space Legion?"