"You assume that the aliens' apparent invisibility is the result of some kind of trickery," said the butler. "What if it is inherent in their very nature?"
"Natural camouflage of some sort?" Phule rubbed his chin. "I suppose it's possible. There are plenty of species that can blend into the landscape almost undetectably. Although here, we're talking about electronic surveillance, which is a lot harder to fool than the bare eyeball. Besides, you'd think that a species from another planet would be evolved to match the landscape of its own home world, not one they've invaded."
Beeker steepled his fingertips. "That argument overlooks how similar the environments of life-bearing planets are, sir. The minerals that make up the soil are very much the same here as on the other worlds we've been on, although they differ in their proportions. A desert creature from Earth-or from a dozen other worlds-would blend in very well with the dry country we flew over on the way here, I think. I suspect that their swamp creatures will turn out to mimic the color of the local mud."
"Parallel evolution," Said Phule, nodding. "Sure, the scientists have found plenty of examples of that. But at the same time, there are always unique qualities to a planet's style of life. Tusk-anini's face may look like a warthog, but he's got opposable thumbs and upright posture-"
"Which I must point out, sir, are parallel to features found in other Earth creatures," said Beeker, unperturbed.
Phule raised his hand, forefinger in the air. "The Synthians-"
"Yes, sir," said Beeker, cutting him off. "I am certain we could trade examples and counterexamples all day. That would not prove or disprove my point, which is simply that life adapted to one planet is not automatically out of place on another. Look how many worlds we humans have successfully colonized. My original point, sir, is that Sushi and Do-Wop ought to be reminded to look for solutions that do not depend on advanced stealth technology.
"I'll trust Do-Wop to check out the low-tech end," said Phule. "The lower it is, the more likely he is to think of it-"
"Undeniably," said Beeker. His face remained placid.
After a moment, Phule frowned. "All right, Beek, I know that act," he said, pointing a finger at his butler. "You think I'm doing something stupid, but you don't think it's your place to call me out on it. So you'll let me fall all over myself doing it, and then pick me up with a smug I-told-you-so expression. Or you'll pull strings behind my back to make me do what you think I ought to be doing, without knowing it was your idea. Am I right or wrong?"
"I would not put it in quite those terms, sir."
"I don't care what terms you want to put it in," said Phule. "We're in a different situation; this is a military operation, and more than just saving face could be at issue. If it's something I need to know, I need to know it before we get into real trouble. So cough it up, Beek."
Beeker drew himself up straight. "Sir, as I have told you more than once, I have no special expertise-nor special interest, either-in military affairs."
"I don't think that's relevant," said Phule sharply. "Come on, now. There's something you're holding back, and I want to know it."
Beeker put his hands behind his back and said, "Very well, sir. Is there someplace we can speak in complete privacy?"
"What's wrong with here?" said Phule, looking around at the apartment the Zenobians had given him for his use during his stay in their capital. Then a light came into his face, and he said, "Aha, I see what you're getting at. Sure, I think we can find someplace. Let's take a walk."
Phule and Beeker walked out the door-ducking their heads, since it had been built for a race just over half normal human height-and headed down the hallway toward the street exit. A Zenobian in uniform-a Mudrover, to judge by its color-was on guard in the hallway. The alien rose to its feet and made a hissing sound; Phule had donned a translator for the purpose, and almost as the Zenobian spoke, he heard a mechanical voice in his ear: "Greetings, Captain! May I be of service?"
"Thank you, no," said Phule. "My butler and I have decided to get some exercise before our meal. We will walk around on your streets for a while and return here shortly."
"It may not be safe," protested the Zenobian. "I must accompany you, to see that you encounter nothing perilous."
"You are welcome to join us," said Phule solemnly. He looked at Beeker, raising an eyebrow.
Beeker shrugged. "I suppose this simply confirms what I had suspected. However, there may be a way around the problem."
"To begin with, I'll turn off my translator," said Phule, reaching down to his belt and touching the switch. "Then they'll have to record and replay our conversation through a translator to get any idea of what we're talking about."
"I believe we can expect them to do exactly that," said Beeker. "However, I think there may be a way to complicate their task." A little smile came to the corners of his mouth, and he said, "Ow-hay ell-way o-day anslatorstray andle-hay ig-pay atin-lay?"
Journal #542
Conveying my concerns to my employer was a simple matter once we hit upon a proper method for clandestine communication, which, if I properly read the expression on the face of our Zenobian chaperon, the mechanical translator rendered as pure gibberish. The Zenobians would undoubtedly find ways to penetrate the subterfuge, but it would probably take them long enough that my employer and I had a short period, at least, during which we could communicate privately.
And, while my employer did not entirely agree with my assessment of the situation, he did agree that Sushi and Do-Wop needed to take my questions into consideration. For, the moment, unless we got strong evidence that something more than we had so far seen was taking place on Zenobia, that would have to suffice.
However, I had the strong premonition that only with our return to Omega Company would we begin to see the full scope of the problem facing Zenobia and of our role in solving it.
As it happened, I was almost right.
Mahatma had just finished tightening down a few final bolts in the MBC's windscreen. Stopping to take a breather and glance at the surrounding territory, he noticed a bright object in the sky. From its motion, there was only one thing it could be. He set the wrench he'd been using carefully into its proper niche in the toolbox-Mahatma was very solicitous to treat his tools with proper respect, an attitude he only rarely extended to his military superiors-and hurried off to find someone to tell.
He found Chocolate Harry by the off-ramp of the landing shuttle, taking inventory of supplies. "Sergeant," said Mahatma, "There is a ship about to land nearby."
"A ship, huh?" Chocolate Harry looked at Mahatma, then followed the pointing finger to the bright object in the sky, now obviously lower and moving in a way that left its artificial nature unmistakable. "Yeah," he agreed. "That's a ship, or I'm full of it." He pointed to the communicator on Mahatma's wrist. "How come you didn't just use that thing, tell Mother to pass the word along?"
"It seemed important to get a corroborative witness," said Mahatma. "When I approach Sergeant Brandy, she takes on a skeptical expression. While it is good that she is learning to question appearances, it is perhaps better in this case for the company to act in response to the appearance and question its meaning later."