As usual, the area was full of activity. To one side, Gears had his head under the hood of a hoverjeep, fine-tuning the engine. To another, several off-duty legionnaires were throwing around a quarble, laughing and joking as it erratically changed course just as one of them thought he’d put himself in position to catch it. In the center of the area, Brandy sat under an open-sided tent, catching up on paperwork. Beyond her, a team with shovels was digging a shallow trench, sweating and griping in the warm desert sun. No obvious opportunities there.

Then Thumper’s eyes lit on two figures he’d often seen together: Sushi and Do-Wop. Like himself and Mahatma, they were partners. And like many of the long-term members of the Omega Mob, they had perfected the technique of always seeming to be busy, while doing as little actual work as possible. There, he thought, were two likely customers for his newfound specialty. He smoothed down his whiskers and hopped over to the two legionnaires. “Hello,” he said. “You are two experienced legionnaires. May a new recruit ask you a question?”

“Ya just did,” said Do-Wop, with a grin.

“That does put everybody in a bind,” said Sushi. “If we said no, you’d have to take that question back, wouldn’t you?”

Thumper hadn’t been prepared for that kind of response. He could see that being a pain was going to be tougher than he thought. Thinking quickly, he said, “Refusing me the chance to ask one question doesn’t automatically mean I can’t ask other, different ones. To stop that, you’d have to say I can’t ask you any questions at all.”

“You’re right, kid,” said Do-Wop. “Now go away.”

“Hang on, partner,” said Sushi. “I’d like to find out what the new guy wants-your name’s Thumper, right?”

“That’s right,” said Thumper. “And now you’ve asked me two questions, both of which I’ve already answered. If we’re going to be fair, you should be willing to answer mine in return.”

“Who said we’re supposed to be fair?” said Do-Wop. “This is the farkin‘ Space Legion.”

“That’s three questions,” said Thumper, calmly. Now he was beginning to hit his stride. “I’ll answer the last one if you’ll answer mine.”

That, at last, seemed to have exceeded Do-Wop’s ability to parse. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, while saying nothing-at least, nothing articulate.

But before Thumper could relish the taste of victory, Sushi took up the slack. “OK, new guy, it’s a deal. You may not ask us any questions. Now, you tell us who said we were supposed to be fair.”

Since Thumper hadn’t even considered the question as having a real answer, that left him as speechless as Do-Wop. Sushi laughed, and said, “Looks like we’re even, Thumper.” And with that, he took Do-Wop by the collar and led him off, leaving Thumper to wonder whether he might not need a few more lessons from Mahatma.

“Beeks? Beeks, where are you?” Phule peered around his office, a puzzled expression on his face. He wasn’t used to having to look for his butler. It was much more frequently the case that Beeker would appear, unasked for, at exactly-the time when his services were most useful.

Fortunately, there was a way to contact the butler even when he was out of earshot. Phule punched the intercom button on his wrist communicator and heard the answering buzz from the unit on the other end. Phule waited for the butler to acknowledge the call; undoubtedly Beeker had just gotten involved in some routine housekeeping task, and time had slipped away from him.

The buzz repeated. Phule stared at the comm unit in annoyance. This was starting to be a nuisance. It was too late in the day to assume that the butler might have removed the wrist comm for a short while to take a shower. (In fact, the comm was designed for all-weather operation, and its manufacturer touted it as capable of withstanding up to six hours of unprotected immersion in twenty fathoms of salt water. Even so, there were times when it was more convenient just to take it off-and this was far from an emergency.)

Phule pushed another button on the comm. “Mother- do you have any idea where Beeker is? I’ve been trying to raise him, and he doesn’t answer.”

“Well, honey, if you don’t know what he’s up to, what makes you think I’m gonna tell?” said the impertinent voice of Comm Central.

“I don’t need to know what he’s up to, Mother,” said Phule, a trifle impatient. “I just need to buzz him. Can you find him for me?”

“Why, sure, sweetie,” said Mother. “Let me try a quick trace on his wrist comm…” There was a brief pause, presumably while she called up the search programs connected to her console. When her voice came back, it was with a note of puzzlement. “Huh, that’s funny. I’m getting a location out in the desert. Wonder what he’s doing out there?”

“Desert?” Phule wrinkled his brow. “That doesn’t make sense at all. Give me the coordinates, and I’ll have somebody run out and check it.”

“You got it,” said Mother. “I’ll send the coordinates to your Port-a-Brain. Later, darlin‘.” She broke the connection.

A moment later, a series of numbers appeared on Phule’s screen. He punched them into his map program; sure enough, they corresponded to a spot some distance from camp. He raised his wrist comm to his mouth again. “Brandy, this is the captain. I want a search party to the following location, soon as they can get there.” He read off the numbers.

“Got it, Captain,” said the sergeant. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s the deal out there?”

“I’m not sure,” said Phule. “I’ve been trying to raise Beeker on his comm, and he doesn’t answer. Mother ran a trace, and it comes back with that location. Maybe he’s injured…”

“Maybe,” said Brandy. There was a moment of silence, then she said, “Uh, not to interfere with your plans, Captain, but I have a hunch that maybe you ought to run a trace on Nightingale’s comm. Just to see what turns up, y’know?”

Phule’s jaw dropped. “Good grief! Why didn’t I think of that?” he said, once he’d recovered. “Hang on a moment, Brandy. I’ll have Mother check it out-and thanks for the hint!”

Two minutes later he had his answer: Nightingale’s wrist comm was in the same location as Beeker’s, and both were evidently turned off. Mother snickered as she said, “Hey, Cap baby, doesn’t your butler have a private bedroom? You wouldn’t think he’d have to go all the way out in the desert for a little privacy with his lady…”

Phule’s face had turned an especially vivid shade of pink. “I would never have thought of it,” he said, glad (not for the first time) that he hadn’t ordered full video capabilities for the company’s wrist comms. He thought for a moment, then said, “Try them again in-uh, half an hour-no, make it an hour. If they don’t answer then, let me know, and I’ll decide what to do.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mother, and closed the connection. Phule didn’t even notice her unaccustomed formality. His butler’s uncharacteristic absence-and the even more uncharacteristic explanation for it-had driven everything else out of his mind.

It was only after an hour and a half, when he finally sent the search party, that he began to regret not following his first impulses. But by then, it was far too late.

“So, do you think you can trace them?” Phule said anxiously. Beeker had been his right-hand man for so long that he was having some difficulty even formulating a coherent plan in his absence. But the butler was undeniably off-planet, as the note Phule had just found on his desk made clear.

Sir: I have decided to take my vacation, effective at once. I will be traveling with Medic 2nd Class Nightingale-please consider this her formal application for her accumulated leave. Our apologies for giving such short notice, but we were fortunate enough to get reservations for some very desirable events. We shall return in approximately six weeks.-B.

Now Phule was going to have to do without his butler’s help-and that meant drawing on all the resources at his command. Ironic that the first job facing him was figuring out where Beeker had gone…