“I’m not sure it’s safe to assume this assignment is preferable to a stockade,” the butler cautioned carefully.
“Oh?” The reply was accompanied by a raised eyebrow. “Is there something in the company’s personnel records I won’t like?”
“I am virtually certain of it, sir.” Beeker smiled tightly. “I’ve taken the liberty of loading them into your personal computer files so you can review them without having to deal with hard copy. I know you’ve never mastered traveling light.”
He gave a slight jerk of his head toward the porters standing by their luggage.
“Whoops! That’s right. We’ve got a flight to catch.”
Phule surged to his feet and gestured to the waiting baggage handlers.
“Follow me, men. Time and spaceflights wait for no one. C’mon, Beeker. Let’s roll.”
“Captain Jester?”
It took Phule a moment to recognize his new name and rank.
“That’s right,” he acknowledged hastily. “Are we about ready to depart?”
“Yes, sir. As soon as you … What’s that!?”
The pilot had spotted the caravan of porters wheeling three cart-loads of baggage with them.
“Hmm? Oh, that’s just my personal luggage. If you’ll show them where to stow it, they’ll take care of the loading.”
“Hey, wait a second! All weight for a flight has to be cleared in advance. You can’t just waltz up here at the last minute with a load like that and expect me to let you on board with it!”
Inwardly Phule sighed. He had been afraid something like this would happen. Though under contract to the Legion, on board ship the pilot had ultimate authority. Like mangy minor bureaucrats, this gave him an exaggerated opinion of his power. Fortunately Phule had been raised on bureaucratic infighting.