Chapter 17

Journal #605

The one thing that consistently allowed my employer to triumph over his adversaries was their utter inability to escape their preconceived notions. In business, this ability to "think out of the box" was at least given lip service, although a true innovator often met more obstacles than rewards. But in the Space Legion, especially among the officer corps, any notion that hadn't been held by generations upon generations of legionnaires was suspect. So the reaction of a typical Legion officer to one of my employer's schemes was completely predictable.

I am informed that within military circles this inflexibility is considered an asset. Perhaps it is just as well that I was never tempted to follow that career myself. It was all I could stomach to watch the operation of the military mind at a safe and comfortable distance...preferably several kilometers away.

"Major, we have a mutiny on our hands," said Lieutenant Snipe, bursting into the command center.

"Mutiny?" Botchup snarled. "These damned incompetents couldn't organize a barroom brawl, let alone a mutiny." Then he frowned. "What are you doing away from your post?"

"The supply sergeant sent out a message, and he wouldn't let me look at it first!"

"Huh, I just got that damned message," said the major. He handed Snipe a printout. "What the hell do you make of this?"

Snipe squinted at the printout for a moment, then said, "I don't understand. This says that all full members of the Church of the New Revelation are to report to the supply shed at once, orders of Captain Jester. What in the world does he want with them in the middle of an attack?"

"Uh, that'll be me," said the legionnaire behind the console.

"You'll stay right where you are," Major Botchup grunted. He turned to Snipe and said, "I want to know what he's doing sending the supply sergeant to transmit the message when he ought to be bringing it here in person. Maybe you're right. We just might be looking at a conspiracy, Snipe."

Snipe rubbed his jaw, thinking fiercely. "That makes sense, Major, he might be trying to open a door to the very invaders we're digging in to repel. What other motive could he have for pulling essential personnel out of our defensive lines?"

"Exactly," said Botchup. "It looks as if our friend Jester is about to sell us out to the very enemy he was sent here to suppress. I'm not surprised that he's doing it, but it is a bit of a shock that he'd be fool enough to put it on record. This'll be all the grounds we need to expel him from the Legion-and clap him into prison for a good long term, as well."

"It'll serve him right!" agreed Snipe. "In fact, I wish they'd...What's that?"

"It's the distant motion detector alarm, sir," said the legionnaire at the command console. "Something really big seems to be approaching the perimeter."

"Seems to be?" said Botchup. "Seems to be? Is it approaching, or isn't it?"

"I dunno, sir," said the legionnaire, pouting. "Whyn't you take a look if you think you can tell any more than I can?"

"I'll do just that," snarled Botchup, and he elbowed the legionnaire out of the seat and slid in. The legionnaire said nothing but began sidling toward the exit.

Botchup fiddled with a control, muttered something foul-sounding under his breath, switched to a different control, hit a couple of buttons, cursed under his breath, fiddled some more, and then fell silent. Gradually his mouth began to fall open, and his hands began trembling. After a long silence, he gave a low whistle and said, "Great Ghu, how can anything that big not show up on visual?"

"I don't know," said Snipe. "But it sure is moving fast-"

"Told you so," said the legionnaire, smirking, just before he dodged out the door. But Major Botchup sat staring at the console, not even noticing the young man's departure. That was when Snipe really began to worry.

"What's the story, C. H.?" Rev looked at the supply sergeant, then at the group of legionnaires, all with variations on the same face, the sideburned, full-upped face with the Grecian nose that he himself wore. By his quick calculation, every member of the Church of the New Revelation-the Church of the King, as it was also known-was here by the supply shed in response to the cryptic message calling them all together at this tense moment.

"I'm just the dude carryin' the message, Rev," said Chocolate Harry. "The cap'n's the only one knows the whole story, and he said he'd be here to fill y'all in as soon as he got one other bit of work taken care of. So be cool, and I reckon he'll be along when whatever's happenin' is ready to happen."

"I can wait, sure 'nuff," said Rev. "Only thing that worries me is, I don't see where the major's signed off on whatever we're doing. That could get mighty touchy if the major decides we're away from our posts in the middle of an emergency-"

"Let me worry about that," said a familiar voice.

"Cap'n!" said Chocolate Harry. "Glad you're here. Looks like we got everybody you asked for-"

"That's right," said Rev. "Every single one of my flock is here, waitin' t' hear what you've got in mind."

"Good work, both of you," said Phule. "Now, here's what I want all of you to do..."

"What are we going to do, sir?" Snipe peered over Major Botchup's shoulder at the command center's combat situation screen. "What are we going to do?" The screen showed a large, amorphous blip sitting in the desert immediately outside the camp. But reports from the lookouts on that section of the perimeter reported nothing unusual.

"I still can't believe that none of those idiots can see anything out there," muttered Botchup. "Instruments don't lie, damn it." The major sat, staring at the screen and rubbing his chin a moment, then turned and looked at his adjutant. "Snipe," he said.

"Yes, sir?" said the adjutant. Then he saw Botchup's expression and said, "No, sir! You can't be thinking-"

"Don't you let me down, too, Snipe," said Botchup, a growl in his voice. "There's something fishy going on here, and I don't dare take any chances. Either these moronic Omega Company clowns are even more grossly incompetent than they've been up to now, or Jester's talked them into deliberately refusing to report a hostile incursion. I need somebody out there, Snipe, and you're the only one I've got."

"Sir," said Snipe resignedly. "What do you want me to do.

Botchup put a hand on Snipe's shoulder. "Get out to the perimeter in Blue Sector," he rumbled. "That's where the trouble seems to be-and tell me what's going on. And be ready for anything, Snipe, anything. When in doubt, assume the worst. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," said Snipe, his face a mask of discontent. He patted his hip, where a side arm rested in its holster. "I'll be ready, sir." He came to attention and saluted smartly, then turned and headed for the door. It would have been a very smart exit had he not misjudged his step and tripped over a heavy power cable on the floor. He landed flat on his face and lay there a second, then pulled himself up, saluted again, and headed for the door.

He almost made it this time, except for colliding with a legionnaire coming in as he went out. The legionnaire managed to get an arm around Snipe and prevent him from falling again. "Sorry, Lieutenant," she said. "Ah'll be mo' careful next time."

Snipe stared at her-an oval face with thick dark hair in a high pompadour, with locks combed into sideburns. Her thick lips had an expression somewhere between a sneer and a pout. "Didn't you just leave?" he said. He stared at her name tag, which read "Tupelo."

"No, suh, ah'm just at the start of mah shift," said Tupelo. "That must've been Private Sandbag."