It was early afternoon, so only a few of the tables were occupied by off-duty enlisted personnel. The action here would normally begin to pick up a couple of hours later, when the troops gathered for happy hour just before dinner. But for now, Mahatma and Thumper had a corner all to themselves.
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Thumper, his gaze cast down at the tabletop. “I guess that means the captain thinks we each have something the other needs. But I can’t think of what I might have that you need. You’re a veteran legionnaire, and I’m just a rookie…“ The little Lepoid’s shoulders slumped, and he looked overwhelmed by the news Brandy had just given them.
“Not quite so,” said Mahatma, smiling sheepishly. “I have been in Omega Company less than one standard year, and have seen nothing that resembles combat. I hardly qualify as any kind of veteran, though I do know a fair bit about how this company works.”
“Maybe that’s what he thinks I can learn from you,” said Thumper. “But what does he think you can learn from me?”
“That remains to be seen,” said Mahatma. “I will keep my eyes and ears open, and perhaps something resembling useful knowledge will come; perhaps you should do the same. I do not think the captain expects us to work from a printed syllabus.”
“I sure hope not,” said Thumper, scratching behind one ear. “If he did, he should have given it to us.”
“I don’t think he wants much more than for us to help each other when we can,” said Mahatma, calmly. “That ought to be enough until we decide what else is required.”
“OK, I guess that’d be a start,” said Thumper. He looked at Mahatma for a moment, then asked, “What do you need help with?”
Mahatma looked at Thumper with wide-open eyes, then broke into helpless laughter.
Thumper sat watching for a moment, steadily growing more perplexed. After a few moments, he said, “OK, what’s the joke?”
Mahatma finally recovered his composure enough to say, “Sorry-it’s just that this is the first time since I joined the Legion that anyone has really offered to help me without any strings attached or ulterior motives. And, of course, I can’t think of anything at all that I need right now. But I think I will, soon enough. Yes, we are going to be fine partners!”
“I’m not sure,” said Thumper, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “I mean, you’re always asking questions that nobody can answer. I don’t know what good that does anybody. Isn’t the idea that we all work together in one team?”
“All one team, yes,” said Mahatma, nodding. “But every team has specialists, too. Escrima is the cook; Chocolate Harry looks after supplies; Mother handles communications. And I ask the questions nobody else has thought of yet. Sometimes they are questions that really need answers-and by asking them, I am doing an important service. Other times I do it just to keep people from taking things for granted-even a good sergeant like Brandy needs that, now and then. So that is helping, too.”
“I suppose so,” said Thumper, skeptically. “I thought you did it just to be a pain in the ass.”
“Of course,” said Mahatma, with a broad smile. “Being a pain in the ass is very important in the Legion. If this company ever has to face a military emergency, the enemy is going to try very hard to be a pain in the ass-and anywhere else they can. I am working to keep us prepared for that situation.”
“Gee, I guess I hadn’t thought it through,” said Thumper, his ears standing up straight and twitching with excitement. “Maybe I haven’t been giving you enough credit, Mahatma. This puts everything in a whole new light.”
“It is a humble mission, yet I must confess that I take some pride in it,” said Mahatma, lowering his eyes.
“Say, Mahatma,” said Thumper, hesitantly. “Not that I’m trying to butt in on your department, or anything, but do you think somebody like me could leam how to do that kind of thing? I’d be willing to study and work hard…”
Mahatma sat back in his chair and appeared to ponder the question. The silence grew. At last, Thumper began to wonder if he’d made a mistake in asking for something so important. Just as he was about to back down from his request, Mahatma’s face broke out in a beatific smile. “Why yes, my Lepoid partner,” he said. “I am sure we can combine our talents to make the company even better prepared for the unexpected.”
“Wow, do you really think so?” said Thumper. “You really think I can be a pain in the ass, too?”
“Oh, yes,” said Mahatma, nodding wisely. “You are a clever sophont, and you pick things up quickly. I am sure we can find a role worthy of your talents. But first things first. Give me a little time to think about something you can do just to get started, and we will build from there.”
“Triff!” said Thumper. He sat back and waited, confident that Mahatma would think up something appropriate.
He was right, of course.
It was already getting hot in the Zenobian desert as Phule and Lieutenant Armstrong set out on their morning run. It had become a pleasant addition to their routine, a chance to see the ever-fascinating scenery of an alien landscape while keeping themselves in the top physical condition that Space Legion regulations specified for officers. Not all Legion officers took those regulations as seriously as Phule, which might explain the Legion’s low status among the Alliance military.
But Phule enjoyed the runs, and was actively annoyed when anything prevented him from getting out in the morning. Even so, he knew that running alone in unfamiliar territory would be begging for trouble. Luckily, Armstrong had turned out to be a willing training partner and a useful sounding board when Phule needed to bounce his ideas off someone besides Beeker.
As usual, they’d begun by heading toward the low hills east of the Legion base. Once they reached the rising ground, there were several routes, but the first mile out they invariably took the same level path. It was a good warm-up before they got to the hills and had to decide just how hard they wanted to work today.
They’d gone just over half a mile when a small, black-clad figure emerged from the woods and began to run alongside Phule. “Many salutings, Captain Clown,” said Flight Leftenant Qual. The host planet’s liaison officer to Omega Company had to take two strides to Phule’s one just to maintain the same pace, but Qual did it without apparent strain.
“Hello, Qual,” said Phule. “What brings you out this way?” He already knew that something had to be on the Zenobian’s mind. Qual was naturally one of the fastest runners on the base, but he rarely exerted himself without good reason. Phule sometimes wondered if that was a trait the Zenobians derived from their reptilelike forebears, who preferred to bask in the sun until either an imminent threat or passing prey spurred them to action.
“A very curious thing that I have observed,” said Qual, keeping pace with Phule and Armstrong. His endurance was as good as his speed. “Perhaps you have also seen it?”
Phule automatically cast his mind back over the past few days, trying to think of what Qual might be referring to. At various points in the past, Qual had been utterly fascinated by things that most humans took utterly for granted-like shaving, or the makeup many female legionnaires wore. It was impossible to predict what might catch Qual’s attention and sometimes impossible to explain it to his satisfaction. Phule had thought shoes would be trivially obvious, but they apparently weren’t-at least, not to Qual.
He thought a few moments-whatever Qual was curious about, it was enough to bring him out into the desert to run instead of just dropping by Phule’s office. Finally, he had to admit, “I haven’t noticed anything that unusual, Qual. What have you seen?”
“Oho,” said Qual, showing his sharp-pointed teeth in a broad grin. “Perhaps it is not curious, after all. I regret to have intercepted your rush.”