"I'm not sure it's safe to assume this assignment is preferable to a stockade," the butler cautioned carefully.

"Oh?" The reply was accompanied by a raised eyebrow. "Is there something in the company's personnel records I won't like?"

"I am virtually certain of it, sir." Beeker smiled tightly. "I've taken the liberty of loading them into your personal computer files so you can review them without having to deal with hard copy. I know you've never mastered traveling light."

He gave a slight jerk of his head toward the porters standing by their luggage.

"Whoops! That's right. We've got a flight to catch."

Phule surged to his feet and gestured to the waiting baggage handlers.

"Follow me, men. Time and spaceflights wait for no one. C'mon, Beeker. Let's roll."

"Captain Jester?"

It took Phule a moment to recognize his new name and rank.

"That's right," he acknowledged hastily. "Are we about ready to depart?"

"Yes, sir. As soon as you... What's that!?"

The pilot had spotted the caravan of porters wheeling three cart-loads of baggage with them.

"Hmm? Oh, that's just my personal luggage. If you'll show them where to stow it, they'll take care of the loading."

"Hey, wait a second! All weight for a flight has to be cleared in advance. You can't just waltz up here at the last minute with a load like that and expect me to let you on board with it!"

Inwardly Phule sighed. He had been afraid something like this would happen. Though under contract to the Legion, on board ship the pilot had ultimate authority. Like mangy minor bureaucrats, this gave him an exaggerated opinion of his power. Fortunately Phule had been raised on bureaucratic infighting.

"Look... Captain, is it? Yes. If you'll check your manifest, you'll notice that the cargo that's been loaded so far is lighter than the weight you were contracted to transport-substantially lighter. My baggage is the balance of that weight. While it's more than is normally allotted to military personnel, I've paid for the extra poundage out of my own pocket, and am therefore understandably reluctant to leave it behind."

The pilot had indeed noticed that the loaded cargo was light, but had figured it for an oversight, mentally licking his lips over the extra profit from saved fuel. Now he saw that extra profit slipping away.

"Wellll... if you're sure all that stuff is still within the paid-for poundage. Just don't expect me to load it for you."

"Certainly not," Phule soothed. "Now if you'll direct the porters, they'll take care of everything."

Beeker hefted the two suitcases that contained their necessities for the trip and started up the gangplank.

"I'll go ahead and start unpacking, sir," he called back over his shoulder.

"Now, who's that!?" the pilot snarled.

"That's Beeker. He's my butler and traveling companion."

"You mean he's coming with us? No way! The Legion hired me to transport one-count it, one-person and you're it!"

"Not surprising, as Mr. Beeker is not enlisted in the Legion. He's attached to me personally. "

"Fine. That means he's not going."

Phule studied his fingernails.

"Actually, if you care to check the weights, you'll find that the extra poundage I purchased includes allowance for Beeker. "

"Oh yeah? Well, there's a big difference between baggage and transporting a person."

The Legionnaire was studying the ship.

"That's a Cosmos 1427, isn't it, Captain? I believe it sleeps six comfortably. Realizing this is a charter flight and there are no other passengers, I'm sure we can find room for Beeker somewhere. "

"That's not the point," the pilot insisted. "It takes paperwork and clearances to transport a person to another planet. I got no orders for this Beeker guy."

"As a matter of fact," Phule said, reaching into his jacket pocket, "I have the necessary paper right here."

"You do?"

"Certainly. I couldn't expect you to break regulations on my say-so, could I?"

He dropped something onto the pilot's clipboard. "Hey! This isn't...

"Study it carefully, Captain. I'm sure you'll see that everything's in order."

The pilot stared in silence, which wasn't surprising. In fact, Phule found it was the usual reaction of laymen when suddenly confronted with a thousand-credit note.

"I... guess this will cover the necessary clearances," the pilot said slowly, unable to take his eyes from the money.

"Good." Phule nodded. "Now, if you'll just show the porters where to stow my luggage, we can be under way."

Journal File #007

In reviewing my entries so far, I notice that the comments regarding my employer's preparations for his new assignment seem less than complimentary. Please realize that we are two separate people with different modes of setting priorities. While we more than occasionally disagree, my noting of those differences is not intended as criticism, but rather an effort for completeness. The fact that I am the one keeping this record gives me a certain advantage in stating my opinions and preferences, and while I shall endeavor to keep my observations as impartial as possible, there is an understandable slanting where my own role in the proceedings is concerned. I trust you will take that into account in your readings.

In actuality, my employer is far more extensive in his research than I-once he gets around to it. My earlier concern was whether he would get around to it in time for it to be useful upon assuming command, and acting on that concern had prepared myself to be able to give him at least a basic briefing should time run out. As it turned out, the flight allowed more than ample time for him to complete his preparations.

Speaking of time, you may have noticed that I am merely keeping this journal in sequential sequence, occasionally noting the lapse of time between entries. Dates and times tend to become meaningless to travelers... particularly when one travels between planets or solar systems. For specific reference points to your local timeline, simply check in your local library for media coverage of the various events I record.

Glancing up from his lap computer, Phule noticed that Beeker had apparently fallen asleep in the cabin chair. In many ways, this wasn't surprising. There was a sense of timelessness to space travel... days and nights being defined by when you turned the lights on or off. For Phule, this was ideal, as it allowed him to set his own work schedule, pausing only occasionally for a meal or a nap. Beeker, however, was less flexible in his need for regular sleep patterns, so it was not unusual that the two men often found themselves on different cycles. Normally this was no problem. At the moment, however, Phule found that he wanted to talk.

After struggling with his conscience for several moments, he decided on a compromise.

"Beeker?" he said as softly as he could.

If the butler was really asleep, the words would go unnoticed. To Phule's relief, however, Beeker's eyes flew open in immediate response.

"Yes, sir?"

"Did I wake you?"

"No, sir. Just resting my eyes for a moment. May I be of assistance?"

That reminded Phule of how tired his own eyes were. Leaning back, he massaged his temples gently with his fingertips.

"Talk to me, Beek. I've been staring at these files so long they're starting to run together in my head. Take it from the top and give me your thoughts."

The butler frowned as he mentally organized his own reactions to the assignment. It was far from the first time that his employer had asked for his opinion on key matters, though there was never any doubt as to who had the final responsibility for any action or decisions. Still, Beeker was gratified to know that Phule respected his counsel enough to ask for it from time to time.