“That’s easy.” Phule laughed. “The commercial lines only fly to Haskin’s Planet once every three months.”
“Exactly.” Beeker nodded grimly. “Has it occurred to you that this new assignment is more than a bit away from the mainstream of activity?”
“Beeker, are you trying to say you suspect that my promotion and subsequent assignment are something less than a reward?”
There was an edge on his employer’s voice that made the butler hesitate before answering. While normally pleasant enough to deal with, Phule also had a temper that ran to icy exactness rather than blind rage, and Beeker had no wish to become the focus of it. Still, there had always been an unspoken agreement of total honesty between them, so he summoned his courage and plunged onward.
“Let’s just say I find the timing of both to be … questionable, considering the fact that you were being court-martialed at the time. If nothing else, their insistence that you change your Legion name would seem to indicate there’s more to the matter than meets the eye.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree,” Phule said coldly, then flashed one of his sudden grins. “I don’t think there’s any question at all. The whole thing stinks on ice. Whatever I’m headed into, it’s a cinch I’m not supposed to enjoy it.”
Beeker experienced a quick wave of relief.
“Forgive me, sir. I should have realized you couldn’t be totally unaware of the situation. It’s just that you seem abnormally cheerful for someone who knows he’s being, as they say, set up.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” Phule shrugged. “Think about it, Beek. Whatever’s waiting for us on Haskin’s has got to be better than rotting in a stockade for a couple years. Besides, I’ve always wanted to command a company. That’s why I went for officer status in the first place.”