“Beeker?” he said as softly as he could.
If the butler was really asleep, the words would go unnoticed. To Phule’s relief, however, Beeker’s eyes flew open in immediate response.
“Yes, sir?”
“Did I wake you?”
“No, sir. Just resting my eyes for a moment. May I be of assistance?”
That reminded Phule of how tired his own eyes were. Leaning back, he massaged his temples gently with his fingertips.
“Talk to me, Beek. I’ve been staring at these files so long they’re starting to run together in my head. Take it from the top and give me your thoughts.”
The butler frowned as he mentally organized his own reactions to the assignment. It was far from the first time that his employer had asked for his opinion on key matters, though there was never any doubt as to who had the final responsibility for any action or decisions. Still, Beeker was gratified to know that Phule respected his counsel enough to ask for it from time to time.
“The settlement on Haskin’s Planet is self-sufficient and numbers about one hundred thousand,” he began slowly. “That in itself has little to do with our assignment, other than the potential of providing us with a bit of culture on our off-duty hours.
“On the surface, the assignment seems simple enough,” he continued. “Though the mineral content of the swamps on Haskin’s Planet is too low to warrant full commercial exploitation, there is a handful of individuals who eke out a living by mining those swamps. There are no major dangers in the native flora and fauna, mind you, but a swamp is a swamp and hazardous enough that it’s impossible to keep watch and concentrate on mining at the same time, so the miners banded together and hired a company of Legionnaires to give them protection while they work.”