Though it had been proposed that Armstrong supervise the holding action while Rembrandt commanded the miners’ escort, Phule had decided to reverse those assignments. Armstrong was clearly the better combat commander of the two, which to Phule’s thinking made him the logical choice for escort duty in the event that another group of aliens was encountered during the miners’ withdrawal. Rembrandt, on the other hand, had a better feel for the normal swamp terrain thanks to her earlier sketching expeditions, which made her a valuable asset to the scouting and information-gathering efforts.
“Has the settlement been alerted yet?” Brandy said, sneaking another look at the dormant craft.
“Goetz was with me when the call came in,” the commander supplied. “He’s standing by for further information from us as to what we’re up against. In the meantime, he’s pulling in all off-duty officers so that they’ll have manpower ready to mobilize if things get rough.”
“How rough is rough, sir?” Rembrandt pressed. “We’ve already had one person shot. “
“After he opened fire first,” Phule pointed out. “What’s more, from what you tell me, he’s unharmed. There hasn’t been any more shooting, has there?”
“No, sir … as per your orders,” the first sergeant said hastily. “There was a bit of activity around the ship a while back, but no firing from either side. I think they saw us, but I can’t be sure.”
“What kind of activity?”
“Spartacus reported it. Hang on, you can ask him direct.”
Before Phule could comment, Brandy gave a low, attention-getting whistle, then beckoned to the Sinthian to join their huddle. The Legionnaire came skimming across the open ground, his body compressed low so he looked a bit like a bean bag draped over the glide board.