“Just a second …”
There was another pause, this one broken by muffled comments through the speaker.
“Okay,” came the elder Phule’s voice again. “The wheels are in motion. I suppose there’s a reason I’m doing this?”
“You bet there is. I’ve got a deal on the line: a whole new alien race looking for swampland. No development necessary. Just let them know where it is.”
“New aliens? What have they got to offer in exchange?”
“I figure there’s a wealth of new technology to be bartered for, but for this particular deal how does exclusive production and distribution rights on a new weapon sound to you?”
“How new?”
“We’re talking a stun gun … easily portable power pack … effective range approximately three hundred meters. Law enforcement is the most obvious market, but I’m sure you can think of others.”
“Sounds good so far. Who’s their agent?”
The Legionnaires smiled along with their commander.
“That’s the bad news, Dad. I am. Don’t worry, though … I’m sure we can work something out.”
“Yeah … sure. Just like last time. Well, give me a call when you’re ready to squat down on the horse blankets and hammer out the details. Just do me a favor and don’t ever tell me what your commission is. Okay?”
“It’s a deal. Over and out.”
Phule shut down his communicator, drawing his first deep breath since the initial call on the aliens had come in.
His commission. He hadn’t even thought about that. Wonder if the Zenobians had any need for the mineral rights to their swamps … here or within the territory they already controlled?