“I have to admit it was a pleasant surprise when I learned that it was you who was being assigned to my unit as a military observer,” said Phule. He did not normally eat at the casino’s elite restaurant, although of course as majority owner it was his right-and would have cost him nothing. But Mess Sergeant Escrima was every bit as good a cook as the Fat Chance’s master chef, and Phule could settle down to a meal of Escrima’s cooking with far less fuss and expenditure of working time-he could sit there reading a report, or carry his plate over to another table to talk with his people without causing a disturbance. Nor was there any problem getting seconds…
But tonight was a special occasion: Phule and his officers were formally welcoming the Zenobian visitor, and it seemed appropriate to put on a bit of extra formality. The gleaming silverware, snowy-white linen, bone china and twenty-page wine list might not impress Qual in the same way they would a human visitor, but the little alien could easily recognize that he was being given a first-class reception by his hosts.
And, in fact, Qual was evidently enjoying himself. He sloshed a generous dollop of wasabi on a bit of tuna rolled in seaweed and popped it in his mouth. It had been agreed after a hasty conference that seeing the Zenobian bolting down live food-his race’s normal fare-might disconcert the other customers (not to mention his tablemates). But the chef was resourceful, and Qual had been perfectly willing to compromise on raw fish for the occasion-“After all, a soldier must accustom himself to hardship,” he had said, with what the translator chose to render as a chuckle. Noting Armstrong’s struggles to get the food past his nose, Phule decided it was a chuckle. Lieutenant Armstrong was not an adventurous man, especially when it came to eating.
“I hope you and, your troops have pardoned my little prank this afternoon,” said Qual, his translated voice coming through with a remarkably polished accent for all its occasional bizarre word-choices. “One of the first things one would like to grasp about unfamiliar troops is their reaction to the unexpected, and immediately upon arrival, before anyone knows what is occurring, is a splendid opening to observe this.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Lieutenant Armstrong, staring at his plate with the expression of a man who was wishing for a medium-rare deluxe plasmaburger with a side of vege-chips. “However, it would have been considerate to alert the commander as to your intentions, if no one else.”
“Captain Clown was notified that I was to be assigned to his company, is that not exact?” said Qual, looking at Phule.
“Yes, of course I was notified,” said Phule. “General Blitzkrieg informed me some time back.”
“And he made my mission transparent?”
Phule had to think for a beat before answering, “Yes, it was quite clear. You were coming to study our tactics…and ethics, I believe the general said. Now that I think about it, I’m not certain I entirely understood that last part.”
“Ah, but is it not self-evident, Captain Clown? Our races seek to conclude a treaty, and of course this would be a good thing. But we Zenobians want to know with whom we are about to treat, and what they are likely to do, and even more serious, whether they are likely to do what they say they will do. So I have come to study your company to learn all these things.”
It was impossible to read Qual’s expression, and the translator was shaky at rendering the nuances of his tone. Phule wondered suddenly what would happen if Qual reported that the humans were untrustworthy. That was a sobering thought. Any number of very unpleasant results might follow a very simple misunderstanding with this alien envoy… He began to wonder if General Blitzkrieg had somehow manipulated him into this situation.
Rembrandt had picked up the same train of thought. She paused with her wineglass in midair and asked, “Flight Leftenant, does this mean that your report on our company is going to determine whether or not your people will sign a treaty with us?”
The Zenobian gulped down another chunk of raw seafood-his teeth were undeniably formidable-looking-and said, equably, “To be sure, Lieutenant, we place great gravity on trust and ethics. Of course, I am but one observer; there are others visiting your leaders in trade, in political realms-it is of importance that we know enough to decide wisely. Of course, it was felicitous that Captain Clown was the first of your species to meet us-his generosity opened the dining coop for what we hope will continue to be a very beneficial relationship.” He popped a handful of shrimp into his mouth and grinned-at least Phule hoped it was a grin. Except for his impeccably fitted Legion uniform, the alien resembled nothing quite so much as a miniature allosaur. The display of all those teeth might mean anything at all.
But Qual’s stated intentions were benign, and he was an official envoy of his species. Until there was evidence to the contrary, Phule and his officers would have to take him at his word. Even if Qual’s table manners were not exactly comfortable to observe at close range…
The dinner had left Phule very satisfactorily fed-along with a couple of glasses of excellent wine (Boordy Grand Cru Blanc, of an excellent vintage). It would have been tempting, after his event-filled day, for the captain to make an early night of it. But he had promised his officers he was not going to neglect the looming crises. He’d stop off in Comm Central, find out if there had been any new developments, and then see if he had any bright ideas for dealing with them.
He had turned down the corridor to his destination and gone half a dozen strides when a voice from a shadowed alcove whispered to him: “Captain!”
Phule turned and peered into the shadows, where a slim figure in civilian clothes lurked. “Sushi!” he said, anger in his voice. “What’s going on? Do you know what’s been happening around here?”
“Some of it, sure, Captain,” said Sushi, putting a finger to his lips. “Keep it down, though-we haven’t got time to get anyplace more private, and if the wrong people overhear me, I’m in deep kimchee.”
“Some of us are beginning to think you’re the wrong people,” growled Phule, but he stepped into the alcove and lowered his voice. “Tell me everything-and it better be good.”
“It is good, Captain, very good,” said Sushi, but there was a worried look on his face. “You’ve heard about the couple that came to the casino this afternoon?”
“Yes. We still have the woman in custody, last I heard.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Sushi. “That reminds me, you can let her go now.”
“I suppose you’ve got a good reason for that,” Phule said, looking skeptical.
“Sure, Captain. But let me start at the beginning. You remember how when I got these Yakuza tattoos you were all worried about what would happen if a real Yakuza member showed up?”
Phule nodded. “I gather that’s what happened today.”
“Right. But there’s more to it than a family member just showing up,” said Sushi. “Somebody here tipped them off about me. In fact, the guy came looking for me, ready to rearrange my internal organs into some nonfunctional pattern if he found out I was bogus.”
“Which of course you were,” Phule pointed out. “Your internal organs appear still to be functioning-although I can rearrange them myself, if it seems necessary. For now, I’m still neutral on the subject. What did you say to him?”
Sushi gulped, then managed a sheepish grin. “Well, Captain, you remember how I told you that my family maintains certain business connections-strictly for informational purposes? After you convinced me that what I was doing might be more dangerous than I had anticipated, I called home and got one of my uncles to dig up some information for me. Specifically, he gave me a few names and passwords that only somebody very high in a family would know.”
“I hope he didn’t have to pay too high a price for them,” said Phule. “That kind of information can be very dangerous to use. Especially if you aren’t absolutely certain of its reliability.”
Sushi nodded, soberly. “Believe me, Captain, I knew that. But I figured that once somebody showed up looking for me-which was inevitable if we stayed here more than a couple of months-I was already in major trouble for impersonating a member of the families. Using the wrong password couldn’t get me any deader. So I had to take the gamble.”
“Someday that gambling fever’s going to get you into real trouble,” said Phule, shaking his head. “So you had these passwords-what then?”
“Well, you probably heard that the guy started a brawl in the casino. He’d picked a spot where I’d be among the ones responding, and he and the woman with him started cheating blatantly. When Moustache tried to put the pinch on them, they went into combat mode-but I was the real target. When I realized what was happening, I showed him a password, actually a sort of recognition sign.” Sushi made a quick gesture with his hand, then continued, “At first the guy-his name is Nakadate, not that that’ll mean anything to you-at first he was suspicious, but combined with some fast talking, the fact that I knew the sign convinced him that we needed to go off someplace to talk without the whole casino watching us. So we told the woman to wait for us, and we went to talk.”