"I dunno, Major," said the first legionnaire-Street, according to his name tag: "They don't usually bother us long as we doin' the job-"
"They'll answer to me, then!" the major fumed. "What makes you think you can dress this way?"
The legionnaires all began talking at once. "Well, Major, Sarge said we was likely to see action against robots..."
"It was the captain told us to wear the uniforms he got us, so we figured we shouldn't keep wearin' 'em, 'cause he's not the CO anymore..."
"The captain said not to worry about the robots, but we aren't supposed to obey him..."
"I didn't have any of my old uniforms..."
"I didn't have anything but civvies, 'cause of when I joined up..."
"Quiet!" Major Botchup shouted. The entire group-indeed, the entire camp-fell into complete silence, broken only by the faint hum of machinery and the steady gurgling of the company water pump, not far from where they stood. The major put his hands on his hips and said in a voice that could have air-cooled the entire camp, "I don't know what Lieutenant Snipe told you, but I'm not going to let that get in the way of proper Legion discipline. Every man jack of you is going to report yourselves to Lieutenant Snipe for conduct unbecoming a legionnaire, and then you are going to your quarters and get into proper uniform. And you are every one of you going to do extra punishment duty, and it will be damned hard duty, I promise you!"
"But Major-" came a voice from the back of the group.
"Oh, shut up!" said Major Botchup. He looked around the camp, ready to flay another victim. Much to his annoyance, the Volton he'd observed before had gone away. But he'd find somebody else. He was sure of that.
The search party had settled down after its first full night of desert travel. Soon the Zenobian sun would be rising, and when it did, they needed to be under shade. They'd set up in a pair of insulated tents on the north side of a small hill, where they'd get a bit more shade. They'd try to sleep through the daylight hours and get a fresh start when the sun had dipped low in the sky again.
Just before they'd halted, Garbo had surprised a small creature near the edge of a water hole, and she and Qual had run it down. Now she and Brick were stewing it, stretched out with Legion-ration dried vegetables, in a pot over a portable heating unit between the tents; it smelled delicious. Meanwhile, Flight Leftenant Qual, whose race preferred its food uncooked, had gone out into the desert to find a breakfast more to his liking.
In his tent, Sushi had set up his portable detector unit and strung out a few meters of antenna between the tent and a spiky plant a little distance away, trying to get a more precise fix on the signal they were homing in on.
"How much farther do we have to go, Soosh?" asked Mahatma, who was sharing the tent with Sushi and Double-X. "This desert travel is nowhere near as oppressive as Major Botchup, but it'll never be my idea of relaxation."
"Hard to get a precise reading," said Sushi, fiddling with the fine tuning. "If I knew how strong the signal is at its source, I'd have a better idea. At a guess, it's a couple more days of travel; but if the signal's an order of magnitude stronger than I think, it could be a lot farther."
"What do we do if it's halfway around the planet?" said Double-X, who lay on top of his sleeping bag, propped up on one elbow to play a handheld computer game. "I ain't walkin' all that far, even if it does get me out from under the major's nose for a while."
"That's for Qual to decide," said Sushi. "It's his people that are being invaded, and it's a fairly big priority for them, so I suspect he's not going to give up unless it's obviously hopeless."
"What if it ain't obvious to him?" said Double-X. "He can live off the land, but we're gonna run out of food sooner or later, even if we do catch one of these desert rats every now and then."
"After seeing Garbo hunt, I would think we'd catch one more often than that," said Mahatma. "She is very efficient once she spots a prey creature. And unless my nose is playing tricks on me, this one will make very good eating."
"Yeah, it does smell good," admitted Double-X. "That don't mean I wanna eat it every night for the rest of my life-"
Sushi raised a hand to cut him off. "Hold it a moment, I'm getting something," he said. The receiver had begun emitting a series of high-pitched squeals and beeps.
"Aww, give a guy a break, Soosh. That's just noise," said Double-X. "You been out in the sun too long if you 'xpect that to make any sense."
"Soosh can't find out if it makes sense if you don't let him hear it," said Mahatma, with an expansive gesture. "Why not give him the break?"
Double-X had already opened his mouth to reply when he grasped Mahatma's point and closed it again, nodding silently. The beeps from the receiver continued, getting louder and softer as Sushi continued to play with the fine tuning. "I'd swear there's a repeating pattern, but I can't quite put my finger on it," he said. "I wish I had the captain's Port-a-Brain."
"I wish I had the money to buy one of those mothers and then go spend it on other stuff," said Double-X, but he kept his voice low.
"It's fading out," said Sushi, leaning closer to the receiver. "I'm losing the signal, damn it! No-quiet, it's getting stronger..." The others held their breath, but a moment later, the signal faded out entirely and was replaced by obviously random noise. Sushi pounded a fist into his thigh and. said, "Well, it's gone again. We might as well eat."
"If these creatures are affected by the heat, they're probably getting ready to go to sleep, just as we are," Mahatma pointed out. "That could explain the signal fading in daytime."
"It doesn't fade every day," grumbled Sushi. "There must be some other explanation."
"And perhaps we will learn it," said Mahatma, getting to his feet. "But for now, I am interested mostly in learning how this stew will taste. Gambolt cookery will be a new experience."
"Hey, I helped cook it, too," said Brick with mock indignation.
"Then we will blame you equally with Garbo if it is inedible," said Mahatma, deadpan. Before Brick could react, he added, "It does not smell inedible, though. I don't think there will be any blame to apportion."
"Continue in that vein, and we will forget to include you when we apportion the stew," said Garbo. While translators were not at all reliable on the subtler nuances of alien speech, the statement was accompanied by a very good simulation of laughter. Grinning, the legionnaires filled their mess kits with the stew and were soon enjoying a meal that even Escrima might have taken some pride in serving them.
Mess Sergeant Escrima lifted the lid of the soup pot and took a deep sniff. He wrinkled his nose, trying to decide how it was coming along. Captain Jester had found him a source for several herbs and spices he'd been running short of. The shipment had come in just before they'd departed Landoor, and he'd left them unopened until their arrival at the new base. Now he was beginning to work them into his recipes. So far, everything had been good quality, but Escrima wasn't a man to jump to conclusions-at least, not when it came to cookery.
This was the first time he'd used the bay leaves, touted as being from the same grower who supplied the Alliance Senate dining hall. Escrima had heard that kind of puffery before and knew better than to put much weight on it. The aroma coming from the pot wasn't bad, he had to admit...but how was it going to taste? There was only one way to find out.
He'd been scowling at the slowly simmering liquid, trying to decide whether it was time yet to dip in a spoon and taste it, when he became aware of someone entering his kitchen. He turned and glared. Whoever it was might have legitimate business here, but he didn't want them to start thinking it was a place just anyone could walk into whenever they felt like it. He had a reputation to maintain.