“I’m glad to hear you say that,” said Phule, laughing. “If you’ll think back a moment, you just might recall that I’m the one who invented the Omega Mob way. Or have you mercifully blanked the swamps of Haskin’s Planet out of your memory?”
Without batting an eye, Do-Wop pointed out the window to the desolate Zenobian landscape: scraggly brush, sun-baked rocks, arid streambeds, low hills in the distance. He turned back to the communicator pickup and said, “You’re telling me this joint is some kind of improvement, Cap?”
“Sure,” said Phule, deadpan. “Think about it. Back on Haskin’s, you were either up to your boot tops in swamp or sitting in a run-down camp waiting to go back to the swamp. Here, you’ve got the latest state-of-the-art field encampment, and the Zenobians probably won’t let you anywhere near the swamps.”
“It’s still way too much like bein’ in the Legion for my blood,” said Do-Wop. “But I guess I don’t have any selection as far as that.”
“Of course not,” said Phule, leaning closer to the pickup on his end. “You two draw up the list of equipment you’ll need, and get it to Harry ASAP. I want you to drop everything else for this project, understand?”
“You got it, Cap’n,” said Do-Wop, suddenly enthusiastic. He nudged Sushi, then (just to be on the safe side) asked Phule, “This means no regular duty of any kind, right?”
“Consider this your regular duty for now, and give it your full attention,” said Phule. “I’ll expect a preliminary report to be on my desk as soon as I return to camp-the day after tomorrow, if things go according to schedule. Anything else? Good, then go to work.” He cut the connection.