"Let's just say I find the timing of both to be... questionable, considering the fact that you were being court-martialed at the time. If nothing else, their insistence that you change your Legion name would seem to indicate there's more to the matter than meets the eye."

"I'm afraid I'll have to disagree," Phule said coldly, then flashed one of his sudden grins. "I don't think there's any question at all. The whole thing stinks on ice. Whatever I'm headed into, it's a cinch I'm not supposed to enjoy it."

Beeker experienced a quick wave of relief.

"Forgive me, sir. I should have realized you couldn't be totally unaware of the situation. It's just that you seem abnormally cheerful for someone who knows he's being, as they say, set up."

"Why shouldn't I be?" Phule shrugged. "Think about it, Beek. Whatever's waiting for us on Haskin's has got to be better than rotting in a stockade for a couple years. Besides, I've always wanted to command a company. That's why I went for officer status in the first place."

"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."