Phule's Company Part 7

"Fine. Goodbye now."

Shaking his head, the commander returned the chief's phone to its cradle.

"Sony about that, Chief Goetz. I think it's taken care of now. "

"Nice of you to try so hard to keep our work load down."

"Wasn't I supposed to handle that?" the Legionnaire said, raising his eyebrows. "I thought you asked-"

"Now, what's all this 'fool' stuff?" the chief broke in. "I thought you said your name was Jester . . . excuse me, Captain Jester."

"Captain Jester is my official name within the s.p.a.ce Legion," Phule clarified. "Unfortunately my credit cards are still in my civilian name, and I had to use that when I signed my company into the hotel."

It was Chief Goetz's turn to raise his eyebrows.

"Your credit cards? Then you weren't kidding about taking personal responsibility for any damage done to the hotel? I was wondering how a down-at-the-heels outfit like the s.p.a.ce Legion could afford to use the Plaza for temporary housing, but I'm starting to see the light. Just what is your background, Captain?"

"In the Legion, it's generally considered poor manners to ask- that, Chief."

Goetz bared his teeth in a wolfish grin.

"Well, I don't happen to be in your Legion, Captain. I'm in charge of keeping order in this settlement, and that includes checking out suspicious characters who wander in . . . like people who start throwing around large hunks of credit with no visible income to explain it. That gives me the right to ask just about anything I d.a.m.n well please, so I'm asking you again: What were you before the Legion dipped you in tar?"

Phule shrugged. "The same as I am now. Wealthy. If you want to run a check, I'm sure you'll have no trouble confirming that my a.s.sets are legitimate. Incidentally that's spelled with a 'p-h' . . . P-h-u-l-e, as in Phule-Proof Munitions."

"Oh now, that's just swell!" Goetz spat. "You know, Captain, if there's anything I hate more than soldiers who think they can bust up things without answering to civil law, it's rich boys who think they can buy their way out of anything. Well, let me tell you, mister, the law in this settlement isn't for sale. If your soldier boys keep their noses clean, they'll get no ha.s.sles from me or mine, but if they get out of line . . ."

"You'll turn them over to me without a mark on them, as we discussed earlier," the Legionnaire finished. "That is what we were saying when the phone rang, isn't it, Chief?"

"Oh, there won't be a scratch on them . . . unless, of course, they resist arrest."

"If any of my troops get hurt resisting arrest," Phule said coldly, "I'll want to see the injuries done to the arresting officer . . . just to be sure they 'resisted' before they were cuffed. "

Goetz's face purpled again.

"My men don't rough up suspects after they've been handcuffed, if that's what you're trying to say."

"Then there shouldn't be any problems between us." Phule smiled. "Really, Chief. I didn't come in here to pick a fight with you or to try to bribe you or anyone on your force for special considerations. If you'll recall, the subject of money didn't come up at all until that call came in from the Plaza, and even then only when you questioned me about it directly. I just wanted to let you know we had moved into town, and that my company will be willing to help the police on an auxiliary basis if any trouble should arise."

The police chief c.o.c.ked his head to one side.

"If I understand you correctly, Captain, even though you're new, the troops under your command are the same ones who have been stationed here for the last year?"

"That's right."

"Then frankly I can't think of a situation desperate enough that I'd want to work with them"-he flashed his wolf's smile again-"but I do appreciate your offering to help us poor flatfeet out. Now, get out of my office and let me get some work done."

Phule was irritated with himself as he retraced his path to the Plaza. That the interview with the police chief had not gone as he hoped was an understatement. It would seem that rather than reaching an understanding with that notable, Phule had succeeded only in pouring oil on the troubled waters and setting them ablaze.

Reviewing the conversation, the commander tried to weigh which had contributed the most to his momentary loss of control: the chief's lack of regard for the Legionnaires, or the cheap shots that had been taken at his own "rich boy" status. While he liked to think the former had been the major cause of his irritation, Phule had to concede that the latter had also been a factor in his inability to deal effectively with Goetz. The accusation that he tended to solve his problems by buying his way out of them had hit a little too close to home for comfort.

Pursing his lips, he set about once more shoring up his defenses to that particular line of attack. The speech he had made to the troops about being effective was a sincere attempt to pa.s.s along one of the few lessons he had embraced from his father's efforts to set him on "the right path." Results were what mattered, and it was only right that the individual use every tool and weapon at his or her disposal to obtain whatever results were deemed desirable or necessary in his or her life. Of course he used his money when it was effective to do so. That was no more unfair or unjust than athletes using their strength and coordination or attractive women using their beauty to their own advantage. The game of life was rough enough without forcing an extra handicap by deliberately turning one's back on the advantages one had been dealt by fate.

"Psst! Captain! Over here!"

Phule jerked his head up to find the company's supply sergeant beckoning to him urgently from the alley beside the hotel. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed Chocolate Harry's unmistakable bulk until specifically hailed. Now, however, he saw that there was a small gathering of Legionnaires nervously peering around the corner at the hotel entrance.

They looked so much like a bunch of school kids hiding after a prank gone bad that Phule had to hide his smile as he veered his steps to join them. Then he remembered his recent head-b.u.t.ting with Goetz, and it was much easier to look concerned.

"What's the trouble here, Harry? Is it the cops?"

"Worse than that, Captain," the sergeant declared with a shake of his head, still craning his neck for a better view of the hotel door. "There's a reporter in the lobby lookin' to talk to anybody from the Legion. "

The wave of relief that washed over Phule almost made him want to laugh. Immediately on its heels, however, came a feeling of genuine puzzlement. The presence of a reporter didn't seem to be much of a threat or a danger in itself, yet the Legionnaires around him displayed a concern that was too real for the commander to take lightly.

"We shouldn't be bunched up like this," the commander said, taking command without having made a conscious decision. "We're more likely to draw the eye than to avoid notice the way we are."

"The captain's right," Harry snarled loudly. "We don't all gotta see what's goin' on . . . especially when there's nothin' happenin'. You . . . and you! Stay here and keep an eye peeled. The rest of you get back down the alley before half the world starts wonderin' what we're up to."

The sergeant paused for a moment to be sure the others were following his instructions before turning to Phule with a shake of his head.

"Sorry 'bout that, Captain. Guess we're a little rattled, is all.

Good thing we got at least one level head around to remind us how to lay low."

"Don't mention it, C.H.," Phule said. "I'm missing something here, though. What's the big sweat about having a reporter nosing around?"

Harry stiffened, his eyes narrowing for a moment. Then he shook his head and gave a humorless laugh.

"d.a.m.n!" he exclaimed in a wondering tone. "It's real easy to forget that you're an officer, Captain. Let's just say that us enlisted types got some problems you bra.s.s hats don't and let it go at that."

"Let's not," the commander countered grimly. "I told you before, C.H. we're all one crew, and what's a problem for some is a problem for all. Now, I may not be able to solve all the problems we're going to be up against, but I can't solve any unless I know what they are. So if you don't mind being tolerant for just a few minutes, I'd appreciate it if you'd take the time to explain to this dense officer exactly what the problem is here."

The supply sergeant blinked in surprise, then shot one more nervous glance toward the hotel entrance before answering.

"Well, you see, Captain, you officers may come from pretty clean backgrounds, but for a lot of us, we joined the Legion to get away from some pretty rough situations. Some of us still have folks lookin' for us-folks who want real bad to get a piece of our hides. The last thing we want is-to have some reporter puttin' out write-ups or pictures as to where we are now and what we're doing. You follow me? It's like hangin' a bull's-eye on our backs and hollerin', 'Come and get 'em."'

"I see," Phule said thoughtfully.

"That's the way it is, Cap'n," Harry finished with an expansive shrug. "Sometimes we just gotta back off . . ."

The commander's head came up with a snap.

"Don't say that, Sergeant," he intoned coldly. "The one thing you don't ever gotta do while you're under my command is back off."

He turned away from the sergeant, raising his voice to address the group huddled at the far end of the alley.

"Legionnaires! a.s.semble on me . . . Now! Lookouts too! All of you . . . Right now!"

The fugitives eased forward, exchanging confused glances as they tried to puzzle out their commander's apparent bad mood.

"It's been brought to my attention that reporters make you nervous . . . that you're afraid your various pasts might catch up with you if word gets out as to your whereabouts. First of all, I'm telling you here and now, Get used to reporters. They're going to be around because a lot of what we're going to do will be news. Don't hide from them, learn how to talk with them so they report what you want them to report. Now that I'm aware of the problem, I'll be sure that there's opportunity for you to learn how to give and control interviews. In the meantime, just say 'No comment' and refer them to one of the officers. What you don't do is let them or anyone else drive you away from your own area, whether it's a barracks or a hotel."

He paused to sweep the a.s.semblage with his eyes before continuing.

"That brings us to the second point. It seems that the group here thought I was talking to someone else when I gave my speech last night. Well, I wasn't. Some of you were running from people or a situation when you joined the Legion. I know that. Everyone in the company knows that. My reaction is as follows: So what? If a reporter pinpoints your new ident.i.ty and location, or if any other slipup happens and your past comes looking for you, so what? You're part of the company now, and anyone who wants to get at you is going to have to come through all of us. That's what being in this company is all about. We're all family now, and that means that none of you ever have to face your problems alone again. Got that?"

There was a ripple of nods and mumbled "Yes, sirs."

"I can't hear you!"

"YES, SIR!".

Phule grinned at the shouted response.

"That's better. Now, let's go back to our hotel. I'll be talking to this reporter in the c.o.c.ktail lounge, if any of you want to listen in. Haven't met a reporter or a Legionnaire yet who'd pa.s.s up a free drink."

Scattered shouts of approval and mutual encouragement met this, as the Legionnaires abandoned their hiding post in the alley and headed for the hotel. Much of the banter had the overloud, overexuberant flair of individuals who weren't really sure of themselves and were drawing on each other for courage, but they were moving, and moving as a unit.

Phule waited until most of them had filed out of the alley before following, falling in step beside the supply sergeant.

"Well, C.H. What do you think now?"

"I dunno, Cap'n," Harry answered with a slow shake of his head. "What you say sounds well and good on paper, but I don't think you know what kinda hard cases some of us have nosin' around our trails. Truth to tell, I wouldn't bet much on our crew's chances if we really have to tangle with 'em someday. I mean, I'm probably one of the best in the company when it comes to mixin' it up, and I was the weak sister of my old ga-my old club."

The commander politely ignored the inadvertent reference to the supply sergeant's past. He had suspected since meeting him that Harry had never been a lone wolf.

"Then I guess it's up to us to work the company until they're ready to take on all comers. If nothing else, we can field more firepower than most. Now all we have to do is coach the troops to keep it pointed downrange."

Phule meant his comment as a joke, but instead of laughing, Harry nodded slowly.

"That'd be good for a start," he said slowly. "Won't be easy, though. Tell you what, Cap'n. If that offer is still open, I think I'll join you and that reporter for a drink. Maybe we can talk for a bit afterward."

"Fine by me, C.H., but I thought you were nervous about being around a reporter."

The sergeant nodded. "I am, but what you said back in the alley made sense. Eventually the crew that's lookin' for me is gonna find me, and thinkin' about that makes me thirsty enough to ignore any reporter. 'Sides, how much can go wrong in one interview? Huh?"

"Sir? . . . Wake up, sir!"

Phule struggled up from the depths of slumber at the insistent sound of his butler's voice.

"I'm . . . awake," he managed with some difficulty. "G.o.d! What time is it, Beek? I feel like I just closed my eyes."

"Actually, sir, it's been a little over two hours since you retired. "

"Really? Two whole hours." Phule grimaced, forcing himself upright in bed. "Can't imagine why I still feel sluggish."

"It might have something to do with the quant.i.ty of alcohol you consumed before retiring, sir," the butler supplied helpfully. "You were more cheerful than usual when you came in."

Like most guardians of dignity, Beeker did not approve of his charge drinking at all, and he made no effort to keep the edge of reprimand out of his voice.

"Chocolate Harry and I had a couple more rounds after the reporter left," the commander said defensively, rubbing his forehead with the fingertips of both hands. "I would have called it quits earlier, but Brandy rolled in and-"

"Excuse me for interrupting, sir," the butler interrupted, "but there's a call waiting for you in the other room."

"A call?"

"Yes. On the holophone. It's from Legion Headquarters, which is why I deemed it necessary to wake you rather than simply taking a message."

"Oh, swell. Just what I need first thing in the morning. Just a second while I get dressed."

"If I might point out, sir, you're still dressed from last night. I commented on it when you retired, but you seemed rather eager to get to sleep."

Sure enough, Phule found that he was still fully clothed. What's more, his uniform seemed to give less indication of the abuse it had suffered than did his mind and digestive tract. Running his hand quickly over his chin and upper lip, he decided that he would go without a shave rather than keep Headquarters waiting any more than they had, though he longed for the extra wake-up time that ritual would have given him.

"Well, I guess there's no point stalling," he said, starting for the next room. "Any clue as to what's up, Beek?"

"None . . . aside from the obvious indications that they seem to be a bit distraught." The butler shrugged. Then his natural concern a.s.serted itself, and he added, "You should be aware, sir, that it was necessary for me to leave the line open when I came to rouse you, so you will be 'on camera' as soon as you enter the room."

Phule paused with his hand on the doork.n.o.b and grimaced.

"Terrific," he said. "Thanks for the warning, Beek."

"I thought you'd like to know, sir. You're inclined toward rude gestures when surprised, especially early in the morning."

The holophone was a device which projected a three-dimensional image of the caller into the room with the recipient, and sent one in return. While it was a disturbingly effective way to communicate, it was also expensive to operate, which was why the Legion usually relied on the more conventional com-type system for the routine sending of messages and reports. Com-type allowed data to be stored and sent in quick bursts during slack periods of interstellar communications, incoming messages being stored electronically by computer for review or printout at the recipient's discretion. The holophone was reserved for emergency use, when the sender wanted to be sure the recipient got the message, or wanted to interface directly with the person on the other end, like, say, for a reprimand or dressing-down. Consequently holophone calls were generally received with the same enthusiasm normally reserved for plagues or tax audits.

"Yes, Colonel Battleax," Phule said, recognizing the projected figure in the room. "What can I do for you this morning?"

The Legion's holophone equipment was a discontinued line purchased as surplus. With no service support for what was originally a dubious design, its performance was usually less than stellar, and today's transmission was no exception. The image had a tendency to double and/or fuzz, an effect which did nothing to improve Phule's disposition as he tried to maintain a pleasant air while focusing bleary eyes on the elusive phantom. If he had hoped his demeanor would be reciprocated, however, he could have spared himself the effort.

"Well, Captain Jester," the colonel began without greeting or preamble, "you could start by explaining the article in today's news."

"Article?" The commander frowned. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, ma'am. It's still very early here and I haven't had a chance to see today's news."

He shot a glance at his butler, who had slipped into the room behind him. Beeker nodded in understanding and reached for his pocket com unit to call up the article in question.

"No? Well, let me read you some of the highlights . . . specifically the same highlights my commanding officer read me when bringing it to my attention."

Battleax brought a notepad into view, bending her head to refer to it.

"Let's see . . . We'll start with the headline, which reads: 'Playboy General?' And under that, the byline elaborates: 'Munitions Heir Willard Phule to Lead Elite Force on Haskin's Planet.' The article itself goes downhill from there."

Off camera, Beeker paused in his efforts to roll his eyes in exaggerated exasperation. Phule ignored him with some effort, focusing instead on the thought of holding the reporter's throat in his hands.

"Yes. I can see where you'd be upset, ma'am. Let me a.s.sure the colonel, however, that at no time during the interview did I state or imply that I held the rank of general. I can only a.s.sume the reporter either misunderstood or was exaggerating for effect. I'll take it on myself to see that a correction is issued noting my correct rank as well as an apology to all generals, past, present, and future, for the error."

"Oh, don't stop there, Captain. I'm dying to hear your explanation of the rest of the article."