“That’s right. He’s actin’ kinda flaky, Remmie.”
“Flaky? How?”
Chocolate Harry rubbed his beard, considering his words. After a moment he said, “I dunno. He’s acting like he’s back at the Fat Chance. I mean, he’s walking around wearin’ that monkey suit, like he was gonna have dinner with the ambassador, and there’s no ambassadors here that I can see. Looks mighty like a desert out there, in fact.”
“Yes, that is unusual,” Rembrandt admitted. “He’s always told us to be proud of our uniform, and he’s set an example by wearing it.”
“Right, and he talks like we’re at the casino, too,” said Harry. He paused again and said, “I think somethin’s touched his brain, Remmie.”
“The heat out in the desert could have done that,” said Rembrandt. “The sentries who met him when he came in said he was already acting strangely, and Armstrong confirmed it. They fired the Zenobian stun ray at him before they knew who he was. Maybe that could’ve had an effect…”
“It could be the heat,” said Chocolate Harry. “But I’ll tell you what I think.” He leaned closer and whispered, “It was right after he got back from that conference with the Zenobians, Remmie. And Beeker ain’t come back yet. What do you want to bet they’ve got some game goin’?”
“What do you mean?” asked Rembrandt, surprised. She hadn’t even considered that the planet’s natives might have had something to do with the captain’s strange behavior.
“I think they slipped somethin’ into his food or maybe a drink, that’s what I think,” said the supply sergeant. “We’re sittin’ here with a camp full of state-of-the-art Alliance military equipment, and if they can get their claws on it, they’ll have a real edge on us. That business about invisible aliens-that sure sounds like jive to me. I bet the lizards figured they’d dope up the captain and he’d just hand it over to ’em.”