A lone figure appeared ahead, blocking their path ... a figure that was noticeably larger than any of the three following them. It was as if the man had materialized out of the shadows, though he stood so motionlessly that he might have been there all along and simply escaped their attention.
"Okay, listen close, Tiff. We don't have time to argue," Doc murmured. "The odds ahead of us are still better than what's behind us. I'm going to brace this character, and you're going to keep going. Got that? Don't stop, don't look back until you get to the loading dock. Once you're inside, get on the radio and tell them where I am and what's going on-but only after you're inside."
"But ..."
"Just do it!" the stuntman hissed, then started angling away from her.
"Hold it right there, fellah!" he called to the figure ahead, who was now moving toward them in a curious, floating stride. "I said hold it!"
The figure kept coming, and Doc reached for his tranquilizer pistol ... far, far too late.
The stuntman's work had given him experience in fight scenes and falls that looked quite impressive in the holos, but in actuality were planned and choreographed to minimize the risk of serious injury. The few real fights he had been in were of the barroom variety, and even those were far behind him, since he had become much more of a homebody after his marriage. Nothing in his past, however, had prepared him to deal with, or even recognize the speed and agility of a professional athlete ... even a retired one.
His hand barely touched the grip of his tranquilizer pistol when the oncoming figure accelerated with bewildering speed. Unable to even sidestep, Doc felt the air rush out of his lungs as the man slammed a massive shoulder into his midsection, then he was lifted and carried backward as the monster continued to drive forward, paying no more attention to the stuntman's weight than a bull would give notice to a towel dropped across its horns. Something smashed into Doc's back, and he thankfully lost consciousness.
Tiffany watched in horror, her orders to run forgotten, as the attacker stepped back from the wall, still carrying Doc's now-limp body then flung it to the ground. Breathing heavily in what could only be described as animal growls, the man stared at her fallen companion for a moment, then kicked the still form savagely in the side.
That broke her trance.
Snatching her own tranquilizer pistol from its holster, the actress fired at the hulking menace.
There was a soft pfutt of compressed air when she pulled the trigger, but aside from that there was no indication that she had done anything at all.
She fired again ... and again ...
No effect.
In frustration, she hurled the weapon away and launched herself at the man's back.
He turned at the sound of her approach, then backhanded her lazily out of the air like a troublesome insect.
Tiffany hit the ground in a boneless heap and lay still.
"Big bad soldier boys, huh?" one of the men who had been trailing the twosome said, stepping out of the shadows where he had been waiting. "They aren't so tough."
Still coming down from the adrenaline high of battle, Stilman only grunted in response.
"Hey! This babe's a real looker," one of the other men called, turning Tiffany over with his foot. "Guess we're going to get a little pleasure with our business."
Stilman's head came up with a snap.
"None of that," he said sharply. "We mess 'em up a bit to remind them they're playing out of their league, but that's all."
"I thought Max said we could take the gloves off," the man said sullenly.
In reality, Stilman wasn't even sure that Max would approve of what they were doing. He had put this ambush together on the strength of her not giving him his usual order to "lay off the rough stuff." Taking a couple of the security guards out of action should be okay, but it was certainly a welcome change for the boys not to have to keep their hands in their pockets during a brawl. Still, Max was a woman, and Stilman was almost certain that she'd get upset if the crew got too frisky with the female Legionnaire.
"Never mind what Max says," he snapped. "I'm telling you to keep it impersonal. We're sending these guys a message to back off, and I don't want to confuse the issue with anything else. We're going to mess them up period! Got that?"
"Yeah. Sure."
Turning back to his original victim, Stilman raised his foot and brought his heel down sharply on the fallen man's leg.
The sound of the bone breaking echoed briefly off the alley walls.
"Do something to her face," he called back over his shoulder. "Women are sensitive about stuff like that."
"Beeker here."
"Yo, Beeker! It's me ... Chocolate Harry."
Leaning against the bar's back wall next to the public pay phone, Harry grinned as if the butler were standing in front of him instead of on the other end of the line.
"Hello, C.H. Sorry, but Captain Jester isn't in at the moment. If you'll just hold on, I'll have Mother patch you through to him."
"Whoa! Hold on there, hoss! I was callin' for you, not the cap'n."
The big man shot a glance around the bar to be sure no one was in hearing range, but the place was empty except for one couple sharing a late sandwich and beers.
"I see. Well then, what can I do for you, Harry?"
"I hear tell how you've been makin' a play for the Ice Bitch and thought I'd give you a call with a friendly warning. That's a real Stone Fox you're messin' with, bwana. Now, don't get me wrong ... you're one hell of a man, but that gal will eat you alive, manners and all."
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line.
"Are you, by any chance, referring to Ms. Laverna?"
"That's the one."
"Well then, I appreciate your concern and advice, Harry, but the truth of the matter is that Laverna and I are getting along rather well. In fact, I find her one of the warmest, kindest people I've met for some time."
"No foolin'?" The ex-biker was genuinely impressed. "Beeker, either we're talkin' about different women, or I'd be greatly obliged if you'd give me a few pointers on technique sometime over a few brews."
"I'd be glad to," the butler's voice came back. "But I'm not sure how much help I can be. I've never really considered my conduct with women as being `technique.' In fact, I make a point of being myself rather than trying to impress them, and the response has been favorable, for the most part."
"Hmmm. I dunno. There's got to be more to it than that," Harry said. "Every time I've tried bein' myself with the ladies, they tend to look around for a cop."
That got a laugh from Beeker.
"Of course, Harry, you should remember that when it comes to being oneself, you and I are notably different people. Still, I'll be willing to chat with you on the subject sometime, if you'd like."
"All right, my man, it's a date. Just say when and where, and I'll be there with a notepad."
"It will probably have to wait until this assignment is over," Beeker said. "I'm of the impression that while it's on, we're to avoid each other's company publicly, for the sake of secrecy."
"Yeah, I know." Harry sighed heavily. "Well, let me know when you think it'll be all right."
There was another moment's pause.
"Are you all right, Harry?" the butler said at last, a note of concern creeping into his voice. "Forgive me if I'm prying, but you sound a little down."
"I guess I am ... a bit," the ex-biker admitted.
"What's wrong? Is it anything you'd like to talk about?"
"I dunno ... It's just that ..." Harry struggled for a second, then the floodgates went down and the words came in a rush. "I just feel kinda cut off out here ... out of the information loop, you know? One of the things I've always liked about the cap'n is that he always made sure I knew what was goin' on, even when it didn't involve me direct. Now I only hear about some of the things that are happenin', and even then it's after the action is over. For the most part, I just stand around here and polish glasses and wonder what
's goin' on with the crew. I'll tell you, Beeker, it's gettin' to me. You know, it seems like more and more often I see somethin' or think of somethin' and turn to point it out to the guy next to me, only there's no one there. I mean, there're folks here and all, but no one I can talk to. Know what I mean?"
"If it's not pointing out the obvious, Harry," the butler observed once the ex-biker had run out of words, "it sounds to me like you're lonely."
Harry thought for a few beats, then his face split in a wide smile.
"Damn! You know, I think you're right, Beeker! Son of a gun! That never occurred to me ... I guess 'cause I've never been lonely before."
"Excuse me, Harry"-Beeker's voice was gentle-"but don't you mean that until recently, you've always been lonely?"
If it was from anyone else, Harry would have simply laughed at the suggestion, but he had a great deal of respect for Beeker, so he gave the idea serious thought.
"I never thought of it that way," he said slowly, "but ... you know, it's funny. When I first heard about this assignment, I was really lookin' forward to bein' out on my own again ... gettin' away from uniforms, and maybe mixin' with a few of the folks like I used to hang around with. The way it is, though, I just can't get into it. There's even another biker here who keeps wantin' to talk about old times, but I have trouble gettin' fired up to brag about how bad the old club used to be. In fact, the more I think about it, the more it seems we ran on bullshit-all the time tryin' to impress each other with how tough we was so's nobody would think we was afraid. The fact is, the only place I've felt comfortable just bein' me is with the cap'n and the troops."
"I can't say I'm surprised, Harry," the butler said. "Of course, I've been with Mr. Phule for a long time now and watched the effect he has on those around him. Let me assure you that you're not alone in your reactions. After a lifetime of feeling one has to pretend to be something he's not, finally meeting someone who can not only accept but appreciate people as they are tends to generate-"
"Excuse me, Beeker," Harry interrupted. "Hang on just a sec."
A flurry of activity at the door had caught the ex-biker's attention. Four men had just trooped in, Stilman the obvious leader. Paying no attention to Harry, they took seats at a table and noisily called for a round of drinks.
"It's okay, Beeker," Harry said. "Just a little movement in the enemy troops. What was that you were sayin'?"
"Just that many people who had long since resigned themselves to being alone or the oddball in any group, find that ..."
Harry was only listening with half an ear, the rest of his attention focused idly on the table of heavies.
They seemed to be in a good mood, shaking hands and patting each other on the back, and he caught the flash of Stilman passing out thick envelopes, presumably full of money, to the other three men.
"Hold on, Beeker," Harry said, still eyeing the table of men. "There may be something goin' on here. You might want to pass the word that ..."
He broke off in midsentence, his blood suddenly turning ice cold.
Stilman had produced two objects from his pocket and was holding them up for inspection. From the back of the room, the ex-biker couldn't see too clearly, but he didn't have to. He'd know those things from a mile away. He should ... he'd issued enough of them.
Stilman was holding two of the company's wrist radios.
"Harry?" came Beeker's voice in his ear. "Are you there? What is it?"
"Listen close, Beeker," Hang growled into the phone, barely recognizing his own voice. "I may not have time to say this twice ... got me? Tell the cap'n to run a body count on the company. Fast. I think someone's in trouble. Only ... listen up, Beek ... be sure to tell him not to use the wrist radios for the check. In fact, tell him to pass the word to be careful what gets said over the radios period! It looks like the opposition has gotten hold of a couple of 'em, so there's a good chance they'll be listenin' in ... for a while, anyway. You got that?"
"Got it, Harry," the butler shot back. "Do you want him to get back to you when he's done?"
"Tell him not to bother. I'll get back to him later if I can."
"Harry, are you in trouble? You sound-"
"Just tell the cap'n," the ex-biker said hurriedly, and broke the connection.
Stilman had just gotten to his feet and, after one last round of handshakes, was heading out the door.
Forcing himself to move casually, Harry strolled behind the bar.
"Can you cover for me for a few, Willie my man?" he said. "I gots to slip out for a minute."
"I suppose so," the other bartender said. "It's not like it's real busy, or-hey! What's up?"
Harry had been fishing around under the bar, but now he straightened up holding a sawed-off pool cue loosely in one hand. Effectively a lead-weighted club, it was kept to break up fights and happened to be one of Harry's favorite weapons.
"You really don't want to know," he said with a wink. "In fact, you haven't seen a thing, sight?"
"If you say so." Willie shrugged, and pointedly turned his back.
Holding the weapon close to his side so it would not be noticed easily, Harry headed out of the bar, hurrying slightly to make up for the lead Stilman had on him.
Tiffany looked smaller stretched out in the clinic bed, the sight tugging at Phule's heart and conscience as he had known it would. He had been stalling making this visit since he heard the doctor's appraisal of the extent of the actress's injuries, even to the point of prolonging his conversation with Doc. The stuntman had been in surprisingly good spirits, remarkably good considering his two broken legs, and had even succeeded in putting the Legionnaire commander relatively at ease over the incident. That feeling had fled, though, upon first viewing Tiffany's bandaged face, draining away as if someone had pulled a plug in his mind and let his hastily constructed defenses run out like so much water.
She seemed to be asleep, and after a few silent moments Phule started to leave.
"Hi, Captain."
"Hello, Tiffany," he said, forcing a smile as he turned back.
"I don't suppose you know anyone who's casting for The Mummy's Bride, do you?"
The actress's hand came up to touch her bandages.
"I ... I don't know what to say, Tiffany," Phule stammered." `I'm sorry' doesn't start to express what I'm feeling."
"Sorry about what?" Tiffany said, raising herself slightly on her pillow. "You warned us it might be dangerous when you gave us that first briefing, and you gave us a chance to back out then. If anything, it's our fault, because we went against your set procedures. We were the ones who decided to play soldier on our own, going outside the hotel and not bringing one of your regular troops along."
The commander shook his head.
"I never imagined it would come to this," he said. "If I had, I never would have-"
"Listen to me, Captain," the actress interrupted. "It's our fault, not yours. Okay? If I don't blame you, don't go blaming yourself. I never should have let Doc talk me into tagging along."
"I'm sure Doc didn't think that-"
"Hey! I'm not trying to hang this on Doc, either," Tiffany said hurriedly. "I've been making my own decisions for a long time and living with the consequences, good or bad. I'm a big girl now, in case you haven't noticed."
"Oh, I've noticed, all right," Phule said, smiling in spite of himself. "Don't think that I'm totally insensitive or blind. It's just that running this outfit is taking a lot more of my time and attention than I had expected, and I really can't afford any distractions right now."
"A distraction, eh? Well, that's something," the actress murmured.
"Excuse me?"
"What? Oh, nothing." She managed to let him see her close one eyelid in a broad wink. "At least now I know what it takes for a girl to get you into her bedroom."
The smile disappeared from Phule's face as if someone had turned out the light.
"Since you're awake, Tiffany, I wanted to tell you not to worry about ... about the damage to your face
. I've already put in a call for a plastic surgeon, and we'll be covering all the expenses and continuing your salary for however long it takes to erase any trace of what's happened."
"I know. The doctor told me, except ..." The actress turned her face toward the commander. "You know, it's funny. I was still groggy from the painkillers he gave me, but I think he said something about Maxine Pruet covering all the expenses."
Phule's expression tightened slightly.
"I know," he said. "I was told the same thing. We'll see about that. You just get some rest and concentrate on getting better and don't worry about where the money is coming from. I'll take care of dealing with Mrs. Pruet."
He started to ease toward the door.
"In the meantime," he continued, forcing a lighter tone into his voice, "be sure to let me know if there's anything I can do."
"Well ... there is one thing, Captain."
"What's that?"
"When you talk to the surgeon ... Is there any chance he could do a little work on my nose at the same time? I've always thought it was too big, and since he'll be operating, anyway ..." She let her voice trail off.
"Consider it done." Phule smiled, more confident now that Tiffany hadn't been merely putting on an act for his benefit. "I'll be sure he confers with you on what the final result should be, and you can make any adjustments you want."
"Thanks, Captain," she said. "I suppose it sounds silly, but-"
"Excuse me, Captain?"
They looked around to find Doc's son standing in the doorway to the room.
Tiffany waved. "Hiya, kid! Welcome to the horror show."
"Hello, Tiffany."
"Hi, Junior," Phule said. "Your father's right down the hall. He was awake a little while ago when I talked to him."
"I know, Captain," the youth said. "I've already been to see him, thanks: You're the one I was looking for."
"Oh?" The commander glanced quickly at Tiffany. "I was just finishing here, if you'd like to step into the hall."
"No, here is fine. In fact, I want Tiffany to hear this, too."
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