Luthguster knew Hester’s coffee from hearsay. “No, thank you!”
“Don’t worry, you won’t leak. I plugged all the holes.”
Luthguster closed his eyes. A moan leaked out.
Lieutenant Billy Shelby, handsome, romantic, idealistic, bright as a bowling ball, clutched the microphone in his left hand, white flag in his right, and said, “Ready, sir.”
The captain hesitated. “Are you sure, Billy?”
“He already volunteered, Captain,” Ensign Benson pointed out. “Obviously we have to make contact with the Geminoids somehow.”
“I’m sure, Captain,” Billy said.
So the captain pushed the button, the door opened and Billy marched out onto the platform with the white flag high and the loud-speaker microphone to his mouth: “People of—” his voice boomed out over the valley, and a cannon ball ripped through the white flag to carom off the silver hull.
Billy gaped at the hole in the flag. “Gee whizz,” his amplified voice told the sunny day. “Don’t you guys believe in a flag of truce?”
“That ain’t no flag of truce!” a voice yelled from upslope. “It’s white!”
“Well, what color do you want?”
“Yellow! The color of cowards!”
“Wait right there,” Billy told the two encircling armies and went back into the ship. Carom! went a cannon ball in farewell.
“After dark,” Supreme Commander Krraich said, “we’ll deploy a patrol to sneak up on the thing and set fire to it.”
“I suspect, sir,” said an aide carefully (Krraich was known to dislike correction), “the thing is made of metal.”
Krraich glowered. Sneaking up on things and setting fire to them was one of his favorite sports. “It’s a fort, isn’t it?” he demanded. “Could be just shiny paint.”
“Sir, uh, cannon balls bounce off.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s metal. Could be rubber.”
“Rubber won’t burn, sir.”
Krraich turned his gaze full upon this pestiferous aide, whose name was Major Invercairnochinchlie. In the bloodshot eye of his mind, Krraich watched Major Invercairnochinchlie burn to the ground — kilt, sporran, gnarled pipe, tam and all. “What do you suggest, Major?”
Invercairnochinchlie swallowed. “Acid, sir?”
The other aides, also in formal officers’ kilts, all snickered and shifted their feet, like a corralful of miniskirted horses; aides liked to see other aides in trouble. But then, Krraich’s least favorite and most intelligent aide (the two facts were not unconnected), a colonel named Alderpee, said, “Sir, if I may make a suggestion?”
“You always do,” Krraich said, irritated because the suggestions were usually good.
“That thing out there is a fort,” Alderpee said. “A traveling fort. Think how we could use such a thing.”
Krraich had no imagination. “Your suggestion?”
“They’re about to send out a party under a flag of truce. We kidnap that party, apply torture and learn how to invade the fort. Then we take it over.”
Krraich was appalled and showed it. “Violate a yellow flag of truce?”
“Those people aren’t a part of our war,” Alderpee pointed out. “They’re innocent bystanders. The rules of battle don’t apply.”
“Ah.”
“And if we don’t do it,” Alderpee added, “the Antibens will.”
“How do you do? I’m Lieutenant Billy Shelby of the Interstel— Mmf!”
“There!” Colonel Alderpee cried. “I told you the Antibens would do it”
The chaplain, in his black dress uniform, sprinkled holy water over Billy, who sneezed. “Gesundheit,” said the chaplain.
“Thank you.”
“I am the Right Reverend Beowulf’ Hengethorg,” the chaplain explained. “I am here to ready you for torture.”
“Torture?” Billy gaped around at all the big, mean-looking, bulgy-armed men lining the periphery of the large, torchlit tent. “Gee whizz,” he said, “we’re here to be friendly. We came all the way from Earth just to—”
“Earth?” Wide-eyed, Reverend Hengethorg leaned close. “You wouldn’t lie to a reverend, would you?”
“Oh, no, sir You see, you were lost, and—”
“And on Earth,” the chaplain said, voice tensely trembling, “do they believe in Robert Benchley?”
“I’m the only possible volunteer. The councilman is wounded, Hester keeps the engines going, Pam Stokes astrogates and you understand the mission. I’m not necessary at all.”
“Well, Captain,” Ensign Benson said as they strode doorward together, “I have to admit you’re right. All captains are unnecessary; you’re one of the rare ones who know it.”
“So I’ll try to make peace with the other army,” the captain went on, “and ask them to help us rescue Billy.”
“And find out what’s going on here.”
“Well, I’ll certainly ask,” the captain said.
They had reached the door, where firmly the captain pushed the button. “There’s no point in carrying any flags,” he said. “These people don’t seem to respect any color.” He stepped outside.
“Good luck, Captain.”
The captain looked back over his shoulder. “Did you say some—” He dropped from sight. Thump crumple bunkle bong kabingbing thud.
Ensign Benson leaned out. to gaze down at the captain, all in a heap at the foot of the stairs. “I said, good luck.”
“Another one!” cried Colonel Alderpee. “Men, get that one or we’ll be using your heads for cannon balls!”
“The ultimate proof!” the Right Reverend Hengethorg was saying. “This fine young chap here has never even heard of Robert Benchley, much less read his work.”
Proud of his ignorance, Billy smiled in modest self-satisfaction at Supreme Commander Mangle. “That’s right, sir. What I mostly read is The Adventures of Space Cadet Hooper and His Pals Fatso and Chang. They just have the most—”
Supreme Commander Mangle, a knife of a man — a tall, glinty-eyed, bony, angry knife of a man — growled deep in his throat; a distant early warning. Billy blinked and decided after all not to give the supreme commander a plot summary of Cadet Hooper and His Pals Go to Betelgeuse.
Mangle turned his laser eyes on Hengethorg. “Reverend,” he said. His voice needed oiling. “Explain.”
“The people of Earth are Antibens like us,” the chaplain explained. “Must be! Not only does that prove the truth of our philosophy but we can ally ourselves with Earth and destroy the Bens, forever!”
Mangle brooded. Apparently, he was considering the advantages and disadvantages of allying himself with people like Billy Shelby, because when next he asked, “Are there any more at home like you?”