At last, the trail crossed a little stream on stepping stones, and on the other side was the guerilla camp. Phule thought to himself that the camp was completely vulnerable to an air attack. Given the government’s manifest eagerness to put the rebels out of business, the fact that they hadn’t done so was proof of how thoroughly they had been disarmed.
There were a good number of two-person tents in camouflage colors-obviously off-planet in origin, since the hues clashed with the local vegetation. Open cooking fires were scattered at intervals among them. Here and there were small groups of armed men and women, sitting on the ground or engaged in various tasks, from cooking to construction of larger, more permanent buildings. There was nothing resembling a consistent uniform, although many appeared to have adopted the red bandanna as a quasiofficial badge.
Buster pointed to the center of the clearing, where a large tent stood next to an improvised pole bearing a colorful flag, different from the one flying over the government buildings: the rebel flag, no doubt. “That-a-way,” he said. Phule and his group followed, drawing curious stares from the groups of rebels they passed on their way through the camp.
The main tent had an awning protecting a folding table at which sat a lean man with a fringe of stringy gray hair beneath a field cap. He wore the closest thing to a real uniform that Phule had seen so far, although it bore no recognizable insignia. He looked up as Buster herded Phule and his companions into the shade of the tent. “Who’s this?” he said, squinting at the newcomers.
“Found ’em out in the woods,” said Buster. “They drove right up in a hovercar, asked to see you. So here they are.”
“Have they been searched or questioned?” said the man, looking at the uniformed legionnaires.
“Nah, they weren’t showin’ no hardware, so we just brought ’em in,” said Buster. “Like I say, this guy in the front wanted to talk to you.”
“This is an inexcusable lapse in security,” said the rebel leader-for that was obviously what he was. “If these men had been carrying concealed weapons…”
“Oh, give us a break, will ya?” said Buster, with a sweeping gesture. “Look at these jaspers and tell me any of ’em has the brass to sneak in a weapon. Minute they pull it, they’s gonna be buzzard meat even if they do get a few of us. They look like the suicidal type to you?”
“Perhaps not, but we have security procedures for a reason,” said the leader. “This is not the first time you have shown a lack of judgment…”
“I think he showed excellent judgement in bringing us directly to you,” Phule interrupted. “I think you will find what I have to say very interesting-and very much to your advantage.”
“And you are?” asked the rebel leader, glaring at Phule.
“Captain Jester, Space Legion,” said Phule, with a little nod. “With me is Chaplain Rev, as well as my chauffeur and my personal butler. And whom am I speaking to?”
“A chauffeur and a butler, eh?” said the rebel leader. “And a chaplain, too. That’s a first, for sure-most people who come looking for me bring along an infantry brigade or so.” Belatedly, remembering that Phule had asked his name, he puffed up his chest and said, “I am Le Duc Taep, Provisional President of the Restored Republic of New Atlantis.”
“Ah, then I am speaking to the right man,” said Phule. “Mr. President, I have come to show you how to win your revolution.”
“What did you say?” said Le Duc Taep. He looked at Phule’s uniform again. “Aren’t you from the peacekeeping team?”
“That is correct. In fact, I am its commanding officer,” said Phule, smiling broadly.
“You!” Le Duc Taep rose to his feet and pointed at Phule, “You are the officer formerly known as Captain Scaramouche?”
Phule’s smile didn’t waver. “Mr. President, perhaps you aren’t familiar with our Legion traditions. A legionnaire’s previous identity is unimportant. Even when a member has been…”
“You are Scaramouche!” shouted Le Duc Taep. He turned to Buster and the guards and exclaimed, “Seize him!”
“Salutations, Lieutenant Strongarm!” Flight Leftenant Qual came bouncing into Comm Central, located in the penthouse suite of the Landoor Plaza.
Armstrong looked up from the printout he was scanning. “Good morning, Qual. What’s the good word?”
“If you mean news of Captain Clown, I am afraid the word is a bad one,” said Qual. “Or no word at all, to be more exact. Have you received intelligence of him?”
“Heard nothing,” said Tusk-anini, stationed behind a bank of electronic intelligence monitors. “Best guess is rebels holding captain prisoner.”
“This comes of acting like the hero of some holodrama,” said Armstrong. He slapped the printout down on the desktop with a degree of force that underscored his frustration. “Going out to find the rebel camp was like asking to be taken prisoner. We can only hope the rebels have sense enough to keep him alive. As long as he’s alive, at least we’ve got a chance to rescue him.”
“Well spoken, Strongarm,” said Qual. “With resources of this company, such should be within ready capability. But a clever plan must be made before commencing, no?”
“Before even that, we have to figure out where the rebels are,” said Armstrong. “Of course, the captain went squiring off without bothering to leave an itinerary. I suppose he went out and followed his nose, so maybe we could find them the same way. But even if we find their main camp, there’s no guarantee the captain’s there…”
“No, but that a good place to start,” said Tusk-anini. “We find rebel camp, then good chance we also find somebody know where captain is.”
“Tusk-anini speaks reason,” said Qual, flashing his allosaurus grin. “You dispatch your best jungle scouts, and when you find the rebel camp, you will find Captain Clown.”
“Best jungle scouts,” mused Armstrong. “Now there’s a specialty we haven’t had to identify before. The Gambolts would probably be good at that. Who else…?”
“Yours truly was hatched and nurtured in an environment not dissimilar to this world’s, I hasten to inform you,” said Qual. “I would eagerly volunteer to direct such a hazarding, if you wish to make use of my native competencies.”
Armstrong rubbed his chin, then said, “I’d have to run that past Lieutenant Rembrandt-she’s officially in command in the captain’s absence. The question would be whether a foreign officer should lead Legion troops.”
“If Qual best for doing job, why he not do it?” asked Tusk-anini.
Armstrong shook his head. “That’s your problem, Tusk-anini: You’ve never really understood why we in the military have to do things a certain way…”
“Understand perfectly,” grunted Tusk-a-nini. “Too polite to say what think about it.”
“I admire your support, Voltonish friend,” Qual said, grinning. “But Lieutenant Strongarm is correct. Shackle of command must be followed. We shall request approval of this plan from Lieutenant Rembrandt. Perhaps, though, it is best to approach her with a fully realized stratagem. Oh Layer-of-Eggs, do our computers indicate which legionnaires are from planets similar to this in terrain?”
“aghidpgtie,” said Mother, who had been doing her best to ignore the presence of others in her work area until addressed directly. But she began punching search parameters into her keyboard, and soon Qual and Armstrong were working on the tentative rescue plan. It was a wild idea, even for the Omega Mob, but as he reviewed the plan, Armstrong began to think it might work…
“What are you waiting for?” shouted Le Duc Taep, pointing at Phule. “Seize him!” There was a stunned moment of silence in the rebel camp.
“Uh, do you mean that like literally, Taep?” said Buster, scratching his jawbone below the right ear. “We pretty much got him in hand, y’know. You want us to hog-tie him or somethin’?”
“Secure him so he can’t escape, you idiots!” shouted Le Duc Taep, stepping around the folding table. “This man is one of the greatest enemies of the revolution!”
The guards raised their weapons, suddenly looking alert. Buster stepped over and put a hand on Phule’s shoulder. “Don’t you or your friends try nothing funny, OK? If Taep’s tellin’ the truth, you might be in a good bit o’ trouble.”
“I fail to see how that’s so,” said Phule, returning Le Duc Taep’s gaze. “Even if I admitted being Captain Scaramouche-which I haven’t-my position within the Federation peacekeeping force gives me diplomatic immunity. It would be very unwise to interfere with me in the course of my duties.”
“Unwise?” said Le Duc Taep. He sneered. “There is wisdom, and there is satisfaction. I mean to have my satisfaction, and whatever follows I will take in stride.”
“Now, just a minute, Taep,” said Buster, leaning on the butt of his weapon. “Your satisfaction is dandy, but so far I ain’t heard what’s in it for the grunts. Say we execute this bird, and the Federation sends in a battle cruiser to vamp on us. What do the kids out there get in the way of satisfaction while they’re dodgin’ the assault lasers and pocket nukes?”