by RobertAsprin
“Good.” Daniels nodded approvingly. “Never did hold much with ostentatious displays of wealth. Either you got it or you don’t, I always say.”
Their visitor was clearly into practicing what he preached, as his dress for the meeting consisted of faded blue jeans, a plain gray sweatshirt, and a pair of cowboy boots. It was only when one studied his half-open eyes that danced alertly from the wrinkles of his sun-reddened face that one had a glimmer of the truth: that far from being a down-at-the-heels laze-about, Charles Hamilton Daniels III was easily one of the richest men on the planet.
“Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Daniels?” Beeker said, clearly reassured that he had, indeed, admitted the right man to his employer’s quarters.
“Well, if you got a couple fingers of brandy in that wet bar I see over there, I wouldn’t say no … And it’s ‘Charlie.’ I’m only ‘Mr. Daniels’ to my lawyers—mine and other people’s.”
“Very good, Mr. … Charlie.”
“I’ll take care of that, Beeker,” Phule said, tossing his towel back into the bedroom and closing the door. “I want you to run down to the main ballroom and keep an eye on things.”
“Yeah!” the Legionnaire on communications put in. “Tell ’em I’ll be down for my fitting as soon as someone gets up here to relieve me.”
The butler cocked a chilly eyebrow at him.
“… please,” the Legionnaire added hastily.
“Very good, sir.”
“Why don’t you just go along with him now … Do-Wop, isn’t it?” the commander suggested from the bar. “I can cover the console while I chat with Charlie, here.”
“Thanks, Captain,” the Legionnaire responded, uncoiling from his chair and slipping his knife into a pocket before following the butler out the door.
“That’s a relief,” Daniels commented, turning his head and craning his neck to see if Do-Wop was out of hearing. “For a while, I thought we were going to have our chat with one of your boys sharpening his knife at me. That would kinda give you an edge, if you’ll pardon the expression. Assuming you invited me up here to talk a little business, that is.”
“If that had occurred to me, I might have had him stay.” Phule smiled, passing his guest a snifter of warm brandy. “I do appreciate your stopping by, though, Charlie. Normally I would have come to you, but I pretty much have my hands full trying to reorganize the company, and I didn’t want to wait too long before talking with you.”
“No problem, son. What all’s going on down in the ballroom, anyway, that’s got everyone so het up?”
“The new uniforms for the company arrived today. They’re a good crew, but right now they’re acting like a bunch of kids squabbling over who gets to play with a new toy. Everyone wants to be the first to be fitted so they can show off their new outfits.”
Daniels nodded sagely.
“Is that it? There were a bunch of ’em running around the lobby when I came in. Gotta admit, though, the uniforms they were wearing sure didn’t look like any government issue I’ve ever seen.”
He shot a sly, sidelong glance at Phule as he took a sip of his drink.
“Well, they aren’t exactly standard uniforms,” the commander admitted uncomfortably. “I had them designed especially for us—a full wardrobe, actually: field uniforms, dress uniforms, the works. You might know the designer. He’s a local here … name of Olie VerDank.”
“Olie? You mean Helga’s boy?”
“I … I guess so,” Phule said. “He’s the only designer in the settlement I know of with that name.”
“Good.” Daniels nodded. “He’s a talented fellah and could use the work—and the exposure. I’ll tell you, I always thought men who designed clothes were a little … well, you know … until I met Olie. Shoulders like an ox, that one. Got a pretty little gal he married, too. He’s got a bit of a temper, though, and don’t much like to be told what to design. I’m a little surprised you got him to work for you.”
“I offered to match the profits of his fall line.” The commander shrugged, looking into his own drink as he stirred it with a finger. “After that he didn’t seem too inclined to argue.”
“I’d have to say that was a fair offer. More’n fair, actually,” Daniels said. “Course, I imagine with a couple hundred of your troops all wanted to be fitted at the same time, he’s busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest down there.”
Phule grinned openly at the colorful analogy before replying.
“It shouldn’t be too bad. I’ve got a couple dozen tailors helping him—everyone in the settlement, or, at least, everyone I could find.”
Daniels snorted loudly. “And I’m sure they all just love working together. You got style, son. I’ll give you that. I believe there was some business you wanted to discuss with me, though?”
“That’s right,” the commander said, leaning forward in his chair. “I wanted to talk with you about today’s performance in the swamp.”
“Don’t know about your crew,” Charlie said, “but we had us a pretty good day. Got three nice stones. In fact, I’ve got ’em with me if you’d like to see.”
He pulled a small cloth drawstring bag from his pocket and tossed it to Phule. The commander opened the bag and upended it, spilling three small pebbles into his hand.
“Very nice,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
In reality, he found the stones to be immensely unimpressive. They were small, the largest being roughly the size of a marble, while the smallest was barely the size of a pea. A dull, mottled brown, they seemed no different from any pebbles one might find in a garden.
“Oh, they might not look like much now,” Daniels commented, seeming to read Phule’s thoughts, “but they polish up real nice with a little work. This is what they end up lookin’ like.”
He held out his hand to display the ring he was wearing. The stone in the ring was larger than those Phule was holding, measuring nearly a full inch long. It was the same brown as the raw stones, but shone with a rich luster, and streaks of dazzling blue and red danced in its depths as Daniels moved his hand, making it look like the product of a successful breeding between tigereye and fire opal.
“Very nice,” Phule murmured, and meant it this time. He had never seen anything quite like it before, and for a moment was unable to take his eyes from the play of colors in the ring.
“Thought you might like to see what we’ve been panning for while your crew stood guard. Course, what keeps the price up is their scarcity. That little stone you’re holding will probably sell for enough to pay the bill for your Legionnaires for three months.”
“Really?” The commander was genuinely impressed. He carefully eased the stones back into their bag and returned it to Daniels. “I’ll admit I had no idea they were so valuable. Umm … it might be wise not to mention their worth in front of my troops. I mean, I trust them, but …”
“No sense in puttin’ needless temptation in their way. Right?” Charlie grinned. “Son, I appreciate the advice, but we already figured that out for ourselves. ’Sides, even if someone was to make off with a few of these beauties, it wouldn’t do ’em much good. Everyone around here knows who we are, and any stranger who tried to sell one of these stones would stand out like a gorilla in a beauty contest. They couldn’t sell ’em local, and we wouldn’t let a ship or a shuttle get cleared for lift-off while there was one missing.”
“Good.” Phule nodded. “Then there’s no problem. Actually, though, what I wanted to talk to you about was the way my crew stood duty today.”
Daniels squinted his eyes in thought for a moment, then shook his head and took another sip of his drink.
“Okay. I can’t recall ’em being any different today than usual, but then again, I’ll admit I wasn’t payin’ much attention.”
“Neither were they,” Phule said flatly. “At least, not to anything except their scanners.”
“Their scanners?”
“That’s right. You know, the ones programmed to alert them if anything
dangerous entered the area?”
“I know what you’re talkin’ about. Fact is, we provided ’em. It’s another one of those conditions the insurance folks dreamed up especially for our operation. I’m just not sure why you have a problem with ’em.”
Phule surged to his feet and started pacing the room.
“The problem is that they’re relying too much on them, from what I can see. If they malfunctioned—or, more important, if anything wandered up that wasn’t covered by the programmed data—we’d never notice until someone got bitten, or whatever.”
Daniels’s face wrinkled in a scowl.
“Never thought of it, but you’ve got a point there, son.”
“Even more important,” the commander continued, “I don’t like the idea of my troops being so dependent on machines to do their thinking for them. Now, I use computers all the time myself, but I’ll still match the human mind against one every time when it comes to judgment calls.”
“So what exactly is it that you propose instead?”
“I want to implement a training course to familiarize every Legionnaire under my command with the dangerous life-forms in the area. Once that’s done”—Phule hesitated, then took a deep breath and continued with a rush—“I want to turn the machines off so that the crew are relying on their own observation and judgment to do their job. Realizing that if anything goes wrong the miners will be the ones to suffer, I wanted your approval as the head of the combine that hired us before putting my plan into motion.”
“Heck,” Daniels said, “I’ve got no problem with that, though I might have if you hadn’t bothered to check with us first. There’s not that much dangerous out there, anyway. Like I said, it was more to keep the insurance folks happy than anything else. Fact is, we used to get by without scanners or guards before folks zeroed in on us and started insisting we get civilized. You just go on ahead with your training. I’ll take care of lettin’ the other miners know what’s goin’ on.”
“Thank you, Charlie.” The commander smiled, relieved that his proposal had been accepted so easily. “Now then, as to the potential impact on your insurance rates …”
“Don’t worry about that, either,” the miner insisted. “Just tell your crew to keep those scanners handy even when they’re turned off. Then, if we ever have problems or have to file a claim, we’ll see about arranging a ‘temporary equipment malfunction’ or something. Much as those insurance types like to think up regulations for us, ain’t seen one yet actually come out into the swamp to see if we’re following instructions.”
“I’d rather not start dabbling in insurance fraud,” Phule said carefully, “but if instead we—”
The insistent beep of his wrist communicator interrupted him, and he broke off speaking to answer the call.
“Captain Jester speaking.”
“Beeker here, sir. Sorry to intrude, but you might want to come down here when you have a moment.”
“What’s the problem, Beek?”
“Well, there seems to be some difficulty fitting the Sinthians with their new uniforms. Specifically the tailors are arguing with the designer that it can’t be done.”
Phule grimaced. “All right. I’ll be down as soon as I finish here … figure about fifteen minutes. Jester out.”
“Which ones are the Sinthians?” Daniels said curiously.
“Hmm? Oh. Sorry, Charlie, a little distracted there. The Sinthians are … well, you must have seen them on duty. They’re the nonhumans with the eyestalks and the spindly arms.”
“The little fellahs? Sure, I know ’em. Nice little guys once you get the hang of listenin’ to ’em. Tell you what, Captain. Can I talk to that Beeker fellah on your communicator for a second?”
The commander only hesitated a second before agreeing.
“Certainly, Charlie. Just a second here.”
He quickly punched Beeker’s com number into his wrist communicator.
“Beeker here.”
“Beeker, this is Jester again. Charlie has something he’d like to say to you.”
He extended his arm to Daniels, pointing at the microphone with his other hand.
“You there, Beeker?” the miner called, unconsciously raising his voice as if trying to cover the distance with volume.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you happen to know if one of the tailors you’ve got down there is named Giuseppe?”
“I’m not sure, sir. If you’ll hold for a moment, I’ll—”
“Short little guy. His face looks like a raisin with a moustache.”
“Yes, sir. He’s here.”
“Well, you go over there and tell him that Charlie Daniels says that if he can’t manage to fit uniforms on those little aliens—or a bowling ball, or a pile of gelatin, for that matter—well, then, I guess I’ve been braggin’ about the wrong tailor to the commander up here. You tell him that for me.”
“Very good, sir.”
Daniels leaned back and winked at Phule.
“There. I guess that ought to do it.”
“Jester out,” the commander said into the communicator, signing off before shutting the unit down. “Thanks, Charlie.”
“Glad I could help,” the miner said, setting his glass down and rising to his feet. “Don’t you go worrying about our insurance, either. I figure we’ll be able to work something out if it ever comes to that. Seems to me like you’re going to have all you can handle just worryin’ about that crew of yours. On that little chore, I wish you luck!”
* * *
Of course, my employer did considerably more than simply worry about the Legionnaires under him. Particularly in those early days of his command, he pushed himself mercilessly in his efforts to learn about the individuals that made up the company. As an example, the same day that started early with the call from Headquarters and that he first stood duty with the company and issued their new uniforms and met with Charlie Daniels about the use of the scanners, rather than call it a day, and a busy one at that, my employer summoned his junior officers for a late night meeting.
* * *
“To get started,” the commander said, leaning forward in his chair, “let me reiterate that the reason for this meeting is to gain further insight and understanding into the individual Legionnaires we command by pooling our thoughts and observations. While the Legionnaires themselves can pick and choose whom to avoid and whom to be friends with during off-duty hours, as officers we are not allowed that privilege. We have to work with and utilize every individual in the company, whether we like him or her personally or not, and to do that we have to know whom and what it is we’re dealing with. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
Phule hid his wince at the stiff response by rubbing his eyes as if tired—a gesture he did not have to fake. While he had tried to make his lieutenants comfortable on the penthouse sofa, and it was obvious they were more at ease with each other than when he had first spoken with them, it was equally obvious that they were still tense and nervous in the presence of their commanding officer.
“Also, let me apologize for the hour. I know it’s late, but I wanted to do the first pass on the list while our memories were still fresh from today’s duty, particularly mine.”
He flashed a quick grin at the lieutenants, which was not returned. The commander sighed inwardly and abandoned his efforts to lighten the mood of the meeting. He’d just have to rely on time and familiarity to loosen the lieutenants up.
“All right. I notice you have quite a few notes, Lieutenant Rembrandt. Let’s start with your observations.”
Rembrandt stiffened slightly and shot a quick glance around the room as if either hoping he was addressing someone else or looking for an escape route.
“Me, sir? I … Where would you like me to begin?”
Phule shrugged. “Your choice. We’re going to discuss everyone sooner or later, so it really doesn’t matter whom we start with … And Lieutenant?”
“Sir?”
&nbs
p; “Try to relax a little. This is just an informal chat to kick around our thoughts. Okay?”
Rembrandt drew a slow, deep breath, then nodded.
“Well, I should probably admit that a lot of information I have, I got from talking to Brandy, the first sergeant. I … I’m still trying to get a handle on a lot of the troops myself, and I thought it would be a good starting point.”
The commander nodded. “Sound thinking. The noncoms work the closest with the Legionnaires, so we should listen to what they have to say whenever they’re willing to share their thoughts. Go ahead.”
“Probably the best approach would be to start with some of our more unusual Legionnaires,” Rembrandt began, starting to relax a bit. “It’s my guess that we’ll be spending a lot of time trying to figure out what to do with or about them, so we might as well start early.”
She paused to flip through her notes, then settled on a page.
“Proceeding on that basis, the one I personally have the biggest problem getting a fix on is one of the wimps. She has—”
“One of the what?”
The words burst from Phule’s lips before he actually had time to think. Both the lieutenants started visibly, and the commander mentally cursed himself. So much for a relaxed meeting.
“The … the wimps, sir. That’s how Brandy refers to them, anyway. When we were talking, she separated the problem Legionnaires into two groups: the wimps and the hard cases.”
“I see.”
The commander seesawed mentally for a few moments as the lieutenants watched him in silence. Finally he shook his head and sighed.
“It’s tempting to let it go to keep the meeting relaxed,” he said, “and I do want you both to feel comfortable speaking freely. You touched a nerve, though, Rembrandt, and I can’t just ignore it. I don’t want any of the company’s leadership, officer or noncom, to fall into the habit of referring to the company or any subgroup in it by derogatory terms. It tends to influence our own views and attitudes, and even if we manage to resist that trap ourselves, anyone overhearing us will think, with some justification, that we hold the Legionnaires in contempt. I want you—both of you—to actively resist the temptation of forming that habit and to work at breaking whatever habits along those lines you’ve gotten into. Everyone in the company deserves our respect, and if we have trouble giving it, it’s because we haven’t studied them long enough, not because there’s something wrong with them. Agreed?”