“I’m tough enough to take it, Major,” said Chocolate Harry. “It’ll put a hole in my bottom line, but I can take it.” He shrugged and looked back at Sparrowhawk. “But you didn’t haul me in here to talk about that-or did you?”
“My, you’re slow,” said Sparrowhawk. “Getting the general off this godforsaken base and back to Legion Headquarters is exactly what I’m trying to do. And the whole reason he’s still here is that stupid game. Bad enough he putzes around with it in his office. Outdoors? In those silly shorts? Puh-leez! About the only good side of things is that he hasn’t asked me to cabby for him.”
“I think it’s called caddy, Major,” said Harry.
“Whatever it’s called, I’m glad I’m not doing it,” said Sparrowhawk. “Now-it has occurred to me that you can put a stop to the game if you’re so inclined. And I mean to see that you are so inclined.”
“Say what?” Harry’s voice went up an octave, and his frown betrayed utter bewilderment. “How you think I can stop the game?”
“What’s the one thing they can’t play without?”
Harry rubbed his chin. “You got me, Major. Grass? Clubs? Those flags that show ‘em were the holes are? Whisky?”
“Balls,” said Major Sparrowhawk.
“Hey, no need to get nasty,” said Chocolate Harry, drawing himself up to his full height, which was impressive even in a sitting position. “I’m tryin‘ to give you a straight answer…”
“Balls,” repeated the major. “Those little white balls they keep hitting around the park. They can’t play the game if they run out of those, can they?”
“I guess not,” said Harry. “Only thing is, there’s plenty of ‘em. The captain had me order-up three gross of Titleists when we were settin’ up the golf course, and the supplier threw in six dozen PoDos for a bonus…”
“They’re all going to disappear,” said Sparrowhawk, grimly. “All of them. I don’t care how you do it-I don’t need to know how you do it, as long as it’s done. I don’t want a single golf ball to be on this base by this time tomorrow.”
“I could do that,” said Harry. “It’ll be a little chancy, but 1 can do it.” He leaned forward. “What’s in it for me?”
“Getting the general off your back isn’t enough?” Sparrowhawk sat back in the chair, an expression of disbelief on her face.
“It ain’t my skanky ass he’s after, pardon my French,” said Chocolate Harry. “What’s the worst gonna happen to me? Kicked out of the Legion? Transferred to another unit? He can’t throw me into a combat unit, ‘cause there ain’t no wars to begin with.“
“How about military prison?” said Sparrowhawk. “You’ve run up a rather spectacular record of corruption…”
“Which is different from the rest of the Legion how?” said Harry, with the demeanor of an utterly reasonable man. “Alls I say is, you take care of me, I take care of you. Here’s what I got in mind…”
They talked for another hour, but at the end they had an agreement.
It was a beautiful morning. The air was clear and pristine; the temperature on the warmer side of moderate; and the sounds of birds (or something with very birdlike vocal equipment) wafted upon the gentle breeze.
Do-Wop stepped out onto the immaculately kept lawn in front of the hotel and sneezed loudly-twice. “Jeez, this dump makes me itch all over,” he said, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his uniform. “Can’t they do somethin‘ ’bout the air?”
“I think they already took care of that,” said Sushi. “Or didn’t you read the Mandatory Visitor and Immigration Notices they handed out on the shuttle down?”
“Who had time for that?” said Do-Wop. “I had twelve replays on the padouki console, best run in years.”
“Well, good for you. But all those replays kept you from finding out that because of the environmental regulations, the air here is the healthiest in the galaxy,” said Sushi, shrugging. “Or so the Hixians claim. Maybe you’re just allergic to uncontaminated air…”
Do-Wop interrupted him with another sneeze. “If this is healthy, gimme some industrial fumes,” he growled. “Where we goin‘ today, anyhow?”
“The captain’s staying in a little place a couple of miles away,” said Sushi, pointing in the general direction. “He must think Beeker’s somewhere in the neighborhood, so we have to work on the same assumption…“
“Why?” interrupted Do-Wop. “What if the captain’s wrong, and Beeker’s halfway around the planet?”
Sushi rolled his eyes. “If he’s wrong, we’ve got the whole planet to search-and no idea where to start. If he’s right, we’ve at least got a plan. Which way do you want to play it?”
“Depends,” said Do-Wop, wiping his nose on his sleeve again. “Is there somewheres else we could go look, where maybe the air’s a bit unhealthier?”
“Gee, great attitude from a guy who’s met Barky, the Environmental Dog,” said Sushi. “If you’d read the Notices, you’d have found out that the whole planet is a pollution-free zone, which means there isn’t going to be a whole lot of difference in the air wherever you go. So the best thing for you is probably to work your butt off trying to help the captain find Beeker, so we can get off this planet and back to Zenobia before your nose falls off.”
“That’d be a great idea except for the part about work,” said Do-Wop. “It don’t look like I’ve got a whole lot of other choices, though. So how are we gonna find ol‘ Beeker?”
“Good question, considering we already haven’t managed to find him on two other worlds,” said Sushi. “I guess the best place to start is to ask ourselves where we’d be on this planet if we were Beeker?”
“I already know that,” said Do-Wop. “I’d be on some other planet, where there’s some life. This place is way too laid-back for any city boy.”
“If that’s the way you feel, you ought to be even more anxious to get the job done and head for home,” said Sushi. “Come on, there’s supposed to be a row of touristy shops in the center of town. Let’s take a stroll down there and see if we spot our guy-or our Nightingale.”
“Aw right, aw right,” said Do-Wop. “I can’t feature Beeker doin‘ touristy stuff, though. You think the dude even owns a T-shirt?”
“For all I know, he’s got a hundred of ‘em,” said Sushi, as the two legionnaires started off toward town at a leisurely pace. “Who knows what he wears underneath that starched shirt of his?”
Do-Wop frowned, then answered, “For all I know, it’s purple antirobot cammy.”
Having exhausted the subject of Beeker’s wardrobe, Do-Wop and Sushi trudged along, staring at the pathway leading into town. Like most paths they’d seen on Hix’s World, it was paved with native flagstones, carefully chosen to harmonize with the scenery. It rarely held to an absolutely straight line, preferring gentle curves that followed the natural contours of the local terrain. A split-rail fence paralleled it on one side. It was thoroughly lovely, in a self-righteously rustic way.
Around the curve just ahead of them, there came a woman riding a bicycle. She saw the two pedestrians, and reached out to squeeze the bulb of an old-fashioned air horn mounted to the handlebars. Sushi and Do-Wop looked up and automatically moved to the side to let her by. It was only after she was past them and rolling around the next curve in the path that Sushi turned around and stared after her. “Hey, did you see that? That was Nightingale!”
“No shit?” said Do-Wop, wheeling around. “Hey, let’s go get her!”
But she had more than enough of a head start to outrun them both.