Qual watched from the shadows, then turned to the Gambolts. “Now we travel softly,” he said to them, and they nodded; Qual’s dark-adapted vision registered the nods, as theirs registered his silent “follow me” gesture. They followed.
They were travelling light, planning to live off the land rather than slow themselves with unnecessary food and equipment. All were from hunting races, and experiment had proven that they could eat the native wildlife as well as the earthling species introduced by the original settlers. The Gambolts, in fact, were especially fond of nutria. When Escrima first offered that dish on the Legion menu, Duke had sampled it and said approvingly, “It tastes much like rodent-but of unusual size.” The others had nodded. Brandy, who overheard the compliment, had very carefully made sure it did not get back to Escrima-at least, not accurately translated.
At first the team followed a broad stream that took them west and north into the interior. Qual set a rapid pace, and the Gambolts followed him easily. Toward midnight, they came to a natural-looking log bridge across the stream, with a narrow game trail leading off in either direction. They examined both banks for traces of human passage.
“The odor of humans is stronger to the left,” murmured Garbo. “There must be a settlement in that direction.” She lashed her tail in involuntary excitement.
Qual pulled out a map and examined it. “The humans’ chart does not illustrate a town in this vicinity,” he said after a moment. “However, there are shown a few trappers’ camps, and a trading post that seems more continuous.”
“I smell too many humans for a camp or trading post,” said Garbo. “But perhaps they hunt in large packs, like the goulfes of our world.”
Dukes and Rube nodded their agreement. “There are males and females both,” Rube added, wriggling his nose.
“Do their trappers hunt in mixed-sex groupings?” asked Qual. “Our people hunt alone, so I cannot judge humans by our customs.”
“Their military mixes the sexes, as ours does. Perhaps they hunt together as well,” said Garbo. “If we moved closer, perhaps we could distinguish the captain’s scent.”
“Gazma’s tail! I find it quaint that such a meagerly toothed species hunts at all,” said Qual, with a grin that brought a feline gurgle of amusement from the Gambolts. “We shall do as Garbo suggests and explore the trail to the left.”
They set off into the darkness again. Along toward dawn, they surprised a small, leaping creature; Rube captured it before it took two bounds, and they breakfasted quickly before moving along. Ahead, the scent of humans grew stronger.
Lieutenant Rembrandt was toweling off from her morning shower when her communicator alarm went off. She dropped the towel and picked up the communicator. “Rembrandt here,” she said. “What’s cooking, Mother?”
“Hot stuff, Remmy,” came the saucy voice. “Our little lizard wizard and the three pussycats have found the rebel camp, and the captain’s there.”
“Is the captain free or a prisoner?” asked Rembrandt.
Mother paused before saying “Well, honey, that’s the tricky part. You know how Qual talks kind of strange…”
“Great Gazma, do I ever!” said Rembrandt, laughing. Then her voice turned sharper. “What are you telling me, Mother?”
“Well, they found the captain. But they only saw him for a moment before they set off some kind of alarm. A patrol came out looking for them and they had to skedaddle. So they didn’t see enough to figure out whether he’s free. Qual said one of the rebels was always there with a gun, but that doesn’t prove Cap’s a prisoner, does it?”
“Not necessarily, no,” said Rembrandt. “Damn-now I realize it was a mistake not to have sent at least one human in the scout party. Then we’d have a better idea whether the captain was under duress. Now I’ve got to read a Zenobian’s mind to decide whether to send the rescue party or stay clear.”
Mother’s voice cut through her spoken-aloud thoughts. “Any orders, Remmie? I’ve got other calls coming in.”
Rembrandt answered without hesitation, “If one of them’s Qual, patch him straight through to me. If not, keep trying to raise him. And put the rescue team on alert. I want them ready to go on a moment’s notice. I’ll be over to Comm Central as soon as I get my uniform on.”
“Ooooh, should I send somebody over with a camera?”
Rembrandt chuckled. “Not if you want the camera back in one piece,” she said. “Remember, hook me up right away if you get Qual. Rembrandt out.” She grabbed the towel again and finished dressing in a hurry.
“Sir, I am concerned that you have not communicated with Headquarters,” said Beeker, coming into the tent assigned to him and his employer. “If I were your lieutenants, I would be concerned about your safety.”
“This is one of those operations where secrecy is the most important concern, Beeker,” said Phule. He saved the work he had in progress on his Port-a-Brain computer, then leaned back in his seat to look his butler in the eye. “If the government learns we’re out here, they’re likely to see what we’re doing as aiding and abetting the rebels.”
“Isn’t that precisely what you are doing, sir?”
“Only in the narrowest sense, Beeker,” Phule said. “I can make an excellent case that what we’re doing will benefit the entire planet. But that case will look a whole lot stronger if we’ve made reasonable progress toward getting the project under way when somebody starts asking questions.”
Beeker’s face took on a faintly disapproving expression. “I expect the government to judge that case by its own lights, sir. If they can represent your actions as taking the rebels’ side, they’re likely to petition for your company’s removal from the planet. You’ll have invested a great deal of time and effort only to get a black eye. More to the point, I’m afraid that something like that would give General Blitzkrieg exactly the pretext he’s been looking for to cashier you from the Legion.”
“Blitzkrieg and his ilk have made the Legion the laughingstock of the Federation,” said Phule. “Luckily, there are some good officers at the top of the Legion. Some of them must have noticed that I’m getting them favorable press coverage, which is a novelty for the Legion. I hope they’ll listen to my case before they do anything they’d regret, Beeker. They’ve got too much invested here for them to toss me overboard at the first sign of a little rough weather.”
“In fact, they strike me as likely to do exactly that if you push them too far,” said Beeker. “I must caution you not to overestimate your value to the Legion, sir-the generals do not necessarily share your view of what is best for them.”
Phule leaned farther back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind the nape of his neck. “Good old Beeker, always the mother hen. Don’t worry, old fellow, I know what I’m doing this time. We’ll come out with flying colors.”
“Perhaps, sir,” said Beeker, stiffly. “Still, I feel it my responsibility to call your attention to another scenario you may not have taken into account.”
“What’s that?”
“Suppose that when the government learns of your involvement here, they decide not to protest to the Federation, but to launch a preemptive strike against this base? If they have managed to conceal any significant military resources, they could destroy this camp in an afternoon. You would be a regrettable collateral victim-or they might claim that the rebels killed you when they came under attack. Naturally, there’d be no one to contradict their account. The Legion could award you a posthumous medal, if it were so minded.”
“Well, that confirms my belief that we need to keep this operation secret,” said Phule. “Don’t worry, old fellow, we’ll get out of this one all right. If you want, I can have the rebels smuggle you back to Headquarters so you can get out of danger.”
“Sir, I resent the implication that I am motivated primarily by a fear of danger.”
Phule’s eyebrows went up a notch. “You mean you’re not? I’m surprised, Beeker. I thought you considered self-preservation a cardinal virtue.”
“And so I do, sir,” said the butler. “But protection of my assets is also a considerable factor in my course of action at any given time. In fact, I have not necessarily rejected your offer of an escort back to civilization. But it strikes me that what you are planning here, should it succeed, would be an excellent investment opportunity for me, as well. Thus, I would like to have a degree of input into its planning that my absence would render impractical.”
Now Phule broke into a broad grin. “Aha. I knew you had some sort of agenda. In that case, why don’t you help me look over these plans, and let’s see if we can get this project under way before the government decides to try stopping us?” He pointed to the Port-a-Brain computer, and Beeker leaned forward to examine the screen. Within a few minutes, the two were exploring the best ways to advance the project. Nothing more was said of Beeker leaving.