But to judge by the reports coming back from the construction gangs, it wasn’t the large predators that were going to be a problem. The whole area was apparently the prime breeding grounds for some kind of Zenobian critter-Flight Leftenant Qual had identified them as “florbigs,” and dismissed them as harmless. Harmless they may have been, and there were even a few of the legionnaires who thought they were “sorta cute,” as Brick put it. They also had an unfortunate habit of darting out of the underbrush to steal any small object left unattended for more than a moment. This included hand tools, the workers’ lunch, and the occasional article of apparel. And they were fast-most of the time, the workers never got a glimpse of them until they were scurrying away with somebody’s sandwich. Harry’s first instinct was to send out another flamethrower squad to get rid of the vermin, once and for all.
But Harry made the mistake of asking Lieutenant Rembrandt’s permission, which was when he learned of a provision in the treaty that Captain Jester had signed with the Zenobians-a clause inserted on the insistence of the Extraterrestrial Protection Agency, forbidding the Legion to harass any local creature, no matter what the natives thought of the matter. And despite his attempts to prove the contrary, toasting the critters with flamethrowers was definitely a form of harassment. This left Harry with two choices: hire a squad of Zenobians to get rid of the florbigs or put up with them. After a discreet inquiry as to the going rate for local exterminators, he reluctantly chose the latter option.
Then there was some kind of gravitational anomaly in the middle of the tract. Nothing big and dangerous, like a stray white hole, but definitely something that didn’t match the gravitational profile of the rest of the plot of land. Harry’d sent a crew out to locate it, but the best they could do was report that it was something like a hundred yards underground, more trouble than it was worth to try to dig up. Besides, its profile on the surface was almost small enough to ignore entirely-an area about twenty feet across that, gravitationally, acted as if it were a sharp pinnacle instead of a flat surface. That would’ve been almost no problem at all-if it hadn’t been smack in the middle of something Armstrong’s plan marked as “second fairway.” Harry didn’t know what a fairway was, but according to the plan he had to get grass to grow on it. That was going to be tricky…
Then Harry shrugged. The antigrav anomaly meant that none of the players was ever going to have a ball land in the area. He might as well just leave it alone. It couldn’t possibly affect the game-could it?
Flight Leftenant Qual took a hefty swing and watched the ball fly down the driving range, curving rapidly from left to right. It was remarkable how a hard little sphere, no bigger than a vlort egg, could display such unpredictable aerodynamic effects when launched into the air with one of the striking objects-golf clubs, the humans called them, although the phrase seemed to have more than one meaning. The rocket scientists could undoubtedly learn something from the performance of the little spheres, although Qual had no idea whether it would be useful. He thought it unlikely to have much value as a weapon unless its accuracy could be improved-a task at which he had been laboring for some time now.
Qual understood that one of the humans’ chief leaders, General Blitzkrieg, was on his way to Zenobia to harass the members of Omega Company. Strong-arm seemed to believe that a display of proficiency in launching the golf balls would make the general less harsh toward the local humans. This made some sense if the balls were to be used as weapons, but it seemed that only the officers were being encouraged to launch them. Qual had noticed that in most human military organizations, the officers exposed themselves to danger as little as possible, avoiding the active use of weapons. His good friend Captain Clown seemed to be an exception to that rule, as he was in so many other ways.
Perhaps the balls, like the swords and spears his own race had employed in the distant past, were obsolete weapons used only in symbolic combat. Many human officers seemed to enjoy such symbolic combats-fencing, boxing, driving vehicles at unsafe speeds-so perhaps golf belonged in that category. One of the meanings of “club” did appear to refer to a kind of weapon-although Strong-arm had made it clear to Qual that it was extremely bad form to bash one’s opponents’ heads with the golf clubs. Humans were a curious species-but Qual already knew that.
He removed another ball from the bucket and balanced it on the conical plastic support called, for some nonobvious reason, a “tea.” It rested there while he addressed it with his club. (It had taken him a little while to understand that one did not actually need to inscribe the ball with the name of the place one intended to send it-though it occurred to him that perhaps if one did, it might arrive there more reliably.) He lifted the club-called a “chauffeur,” again for reasons undiscoverable by simple logic-keeping his left elbow straight, as Strong-arm had instructed him. A swift downward movement of the club and this ball soared off to join its companion, somewhere in the brush on the right fringe of the driving range. This was a sort of progress; the last few shots had ended up in more or less the same place.
Qual was taking the next ball out of the bucket when his translator spoke to him. “Greetings, Flight Leftenant Qual. How satisfactory to you is your progress in the practice of hitting balls with the chauffeur golf club?” Or words to that effect; Qual had long since learned that the translator’s output was not to be taken as utterly reliable. Much depended on both context and on the actual speaker’s choice of language. He looked up to see the legionnaire known as Thumper, a nonhuman like himself.
“Greetings, Dull Noisemaker,” Qual replied. “My progress remains uncertain; I have only recently managed to place several consecutive balls in a tight pattern. Unfortunately, that pattern is far to one side of my point of aim.”
Thumper made a movement with his head that, when humans did it, signified understanding or agreement. He said something which Qual’s translator interpreted as, “That is an awkwardness. I hope it would not be impertinent for someone of limited experience to suggest realigning your point of aim to compensate.
“That is a very rational suggestion,” said Qual, putting the golf club over his shoulder. “Of course, it requires consistency of effect, which is what I now strive to attain. With such a realigned aiming point, it would be a misfortune inadvertently to strike a ball so that it flies absolutely straight.”
“Agreement,” said Thumper. “Consistency is the usual result of assiduous application, so we can hope that principle will apply in this case.”
“I appreciate your encouragement,” said Qual. “I intend to exert myself to that end.” After a pause, he added, “Since this golf is a novel pursuit to my kind, I would appreciate any education you can offer me. I have not made great progress, but after all, this is only my first session. Perhaps you would even be so kind as to serve as my adviser during my attempts to compare golfing skills with the humans.”
“Thank you, Flight Leftenant,” said Thumper, via Qual’s translator. “I would much appreciate the opportunity to assist you in your competition, but golf is hardly my specialty. Also, having fallen into General Blitzkrieg’s ill graces through no fault of my own, I have been advised to hold myself as much as possible beyond the periphery of his awareness. I fear I will have to decline the invitation.”
Qual thought for a moment, leaning on his driver. “Perhaps not,” he said. “As a valued ally of the humans, I have certain privileges, including the choice of my own staff. If I elect to employ the services of one of their legionnaires, it should be seen as an honor to the Alliance, rather than a slight. And”-he paused for a moment-“if I have not guessed wrong, you have insights into human activities I am not likely to get from either a human or from one of my own species.”