“Where?” said Phule. Beeker’s pointing finger gave him the answer. One end of the enclosure was turning darker and becoming porous, as if it were made of some fibrous substance. Together, they backed off and stood watching. Whatever was going to happen to them, it was evidently happening now.
“What were you doing in the desert out there?” said Lieutenant Armstrong. He and Phule were huddled together in the comm center, just out of sight of Mother. Cool drinks had been brought out, and both were slaking their thirst-though the captain was taking only small sips. Satisfied that the captain was displaying no evidence of physical distress, Armstrong began a rapid-fire series of questions. “Did something happen to your hovercar? Are you hurt? And where’s Beeker?”
“Slow down, Lieutenant, slow down,” said the captain with an easy smile. “That’s a lot of questions to throw at a fellow all at once. But no, I’m not hurt, just a little dusted up, is all. I’ll be fine after a shower and a change of outfit-and a cool drink. As for Beeker, the old rascal’s off-station, taking care of some business for me. He’ll be back as soon as he’s got it all wrapped up.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not hurt, Captain,” said Armstrong, somewhat reassured. “How did the negotiations with the Zenobians go? We’re starting to wonder if-“
“Don’t worry, old fellow. Everything’s under control,” said Phule, still smiling. “Now’s when you should be relaxing, letting yourself enjoy things. There’ll never be a better chance.”