Free Robot Blues by Margaret Weis, Don Perrin Page B

no
complaint, could only nurse their bruised tailbones and suffer in silence.
    As a matter of
fact, Jamil’s own tailbone hurt like hell, but he knew how a colonel was
expected to act. He’d seen more than his share during his years in the Army.
    When the shuttle
landed, the door opened to blinding, glaring sunshine. The flight attendant—an
especially attractive woman who’d been solicitous to Jamil’s wants and needs
all during the flight (to the glum envy of the two lieutenants and the sardonic
amusement of the two privates)—turned to announce that passengers could now
disembark.
    The privates and
the lieutenants all looked at Jamil. It would be the colonel’s privilege to
leave first, keep them waiting—if he chose. He smiled, waved magnanimously.
    “You gentlemen go
ahead,” he said. “The captain and I will wait.”
    Standing, he
straightened his uniform, adjusted his cuffs, smiled and glanced at the flight
attendant. She smiled back. He’d forgotten the effect of a uniform on some
women.
    The others left
hurriedly, the two privates endeavoring to avoid catching the eyes of the two
lieutenants. All four grabbed their onboard luggage, which had been stowed in
the back, sidled past the colonel and his aide, and hastened toward the door.
Jamil could almost see them exhale with relief when they made it out safely. He
felt a twinge of regret for the old days.
    Xris, in his guise
as captain and aide-de-camp, left his seat, next to Jamil and stood aside to
allow the “colonel” to pass.
    Jamil strode out
into the aisle.
    “Check to see if
the staff car is waiting, Captain.”
    “Yes, sir,” Xris
replied, and started off.
    “Captain!” Jamil
barked.
    Xris turned.
    Jamil held out his
carry-on bag. “And see to the rest of the luggage, will you, Captain?”
    Xris blinked,
recovered. Returning, he took the bag. “Yes, sir, Colonel, you bastard,” he
added under his breath. “Don’t get used to this.”
    Jamil grinned,
tugged on his cuffs, and walked forward to pass a few pleasant moments flirting
with the flight attendant.
    Through the plane’s
window, he watched Xris retrieve the luggage, carry it down the stairs to the
tarmac, broiling in the Pandoran sun. Jamil chatted as Xris supervised the
unloading of the large crate which contained the visual aid materials the
colonel would be using in his lecture, saw it deposited safely on the tarmac.
    It must be hot out
there, Jamil thought, observing Xris sweating in his heavy uniform as he stood
at the bottom of the ramp, waiting to make his report.
    Jamil relaxed a
moment more in the cool comfort of the cabin, joking with the shuttle pilots
and enjoying a chilled glass of orange juice. The flight attendant was writing
down her phone number.
    She handed it to
him. He thanked her, thanked the pilots, and proceeded down the stairs. He
couldn’t recall enjoying anything in his life half so much as watching Xris
salute him.
    Jamil returned the
salute, glanced around in feigned astonishment.
    “The staff car is
not here, sir,” Xris reported.
    Jamil wasn’t
surprised. The big surprise would have been if the staff car had been
there to meet them.
    “Find out what the
devil’s happened to it, Captain!” Jamil ordered, but Xris was already crossing
over to the small terminal building, his eye on some poor unfortunate corporal.
    Jamil strode over
to the terminal building, taking his time. He could hear Xris’s furious bellow.
    “Why the hell isn’t
Colonel Jatanski’s staff car on the tarmac, ready to pick us up?”
    The corporal
stammered his reply. “I’m s-sorry, sir, but we have no record of any senior
officers arriving on base today.”
    “We’ll see about
that, Corporal!” Xris stated grimly.
    Jamil took a
moment to enjoy the view.
    Pandor was a
desert planet—at least the part on which they had landed was desert. A
white-hot sun blazed in a cobalt-blue sky. No need for paved landing strips.
The tarmac was red dirt, baked hard by the relentless