by RobertAsprin
“I don’t actually have it.” Sushi grimaced. “It was eaten up by a series of … shall we say, bad investments.”
“Bad investments?”
“It’s another term for gambling debts,” Phule informed him.
“Excuse me. Captain?”
The company’s first sergeant had approached the table during their discussion.
“Uh … can it wait, Brandy?” Phule said, leaning back from the conversation. “We’re kind of in the middle of something here.”
“It’ll just take a second,” the sergeant assured him, plowing on. “Some of the troops were asking about that honor guard job, and I was wondering if there was any kind of an update.”
“I’ve got an appointment to see the governor next week,” the commander informed her. “In the meantime, I’ve got to try to come up with some kind of leverage to make him see things our way.”
“Got it. Thanks, Captain. Sorry to interrupt.”
The distraction dealt with, Phule turned back to the situation at hand. Sushi was looking into the distance with the studied inscrutable expression of the Orient, while Do-Wop was staring at him with something akin to awe.
“All right. Listen up, now. Both of you. I didn’t just pull names out of a hat when I made you two partners. The way I see it, you can both learn from each other.
“Sushi, you need to loosen up a little, and Do-Wop here is just the man to show you how to do things for the fun of it. And Do-Wop, maybe working with Sushi will help you to … raise your goals in life a little. Anyway, I’d appreciate it if you’d both give this partnership a try for a while before deciding it won’t work.”
“Hey! Are you saying you think I’m a thief, Captain?” Do-Wop bristled.
The commander fixed him with his coolest stare.
“I haven’t wanted to mention it, Do-Wop, but there have been a number of reports of missing personal items in the company.”
“You can’t blame that on me! The locks in this hotel are the pits! I could go through any of ’em without breaking a stride.”
“Really?” The commander seemed suddenly interested. “Do you think you could teach the other Legionnaires how to do that?”
“Piece of cake.” The Legionnaire beamed. “Like I said, anyone could do it.”
“Fine,” Phule said. “Then I’ll make an announcement and have any interested parties report to you for lessons tomorrow.”
“My pleasure, Captain.”
“Outside your room.”
Do-Wop blanched.
“My room?”
“That’s right. I want you to teach them how to handle a variety of locks—doors, suitcases, the works—and you can use the locks on your room and personal effects to do it.”
“But …”
“Of course, if there’s anything in your gear that might have ‘strayed’ in over the last few weeks, it might be advisable to have it ‘stray’ right back to its owners before you begin the lessons. Don’t you agree?”
Do-Wop opened and shut his mouth several times like a beached fish, but no words came out.
“Come on, partner.” Sushi laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think we’ve been outflanked on this round. Looks like we’d better do a little lost-and-found work this afternoon.”
* * *
Not all the pairings were turbulent, but some were notably unusual. Perhaps the strangest of all came about after one particular off-duty incident in the hotel cocktail lounge.
* * *
While the Legionnaires tended to dominate the watering hole, there was always a smattering of civilians in attendance. Some were drawn by the media coverage the company had been getting and came to covertly gawk at the troops, while others were surprised to find so many uniforms in what they thought was a civilized lounge and simply refused to yield ground. For the most part, however, the two groups tended to steadfastly ignore each other.
Not that the Legionnaires were unaware of the civilians, mind you. Much of the loud banter and all of the roughhousing that had been developing within the group lately was left upstairs when they came in to drink. They were all still harboring painful memories of not being allowed in the premises before Phule’s arrival and their subsequent relocation into the Plaza, and by unspoken agreement were on their best behavior when relaxing in the hotel lounge.
This particular evening, however, there was trouble in the air. A trio of civilian males were perched at the bar, and seemed to have their minds set on causing a disturbance. They were at that awkward age: too young to be responsible, but too big not to be taken seriously. The best guess was that they were students, possibly athletes, from the university on the other side of the settlement. Their clothes marked them as that, being too expensive for your average street tough. Then again, street toughs usually have a certain survival instinct, however loud they might appear at times. Long before reaching maturity they have lost any childhood belief in their own invulnerability and trust to their wits to avoid situations clearly hazardous to their health. Not so with the threesome in question.
They were into the forced hilarity so easily recognized in a group looking for attention, trouble, or both. They would put their heads together and whisper, all the while keeping their eyes on a specific table or person, then suddenly explode into gales of laughter, unnaturally loud so as to set them rocking dangerously back and forth on their stools. When no one came over to them to demand “What’s so funny?” they’d settle on another victim and repeat the process, a little louder this time.
The Legionnaires steadfastly ignored the theatrics, but without exchanging words all knew that something was going to have to be done about the interlopers. The problem was, no one seemed willing to make the first move. Not that they were afraid of the youths. While the noisemakers were healthy enough specimens that they might have given the Legionnaires a run for their money in a one-to-one tussle, the company had them outnumbered sufficiently that it would have been an easy matter to simply overwhelm them and toss them out onto the street … and serious consideration was being given to doing just that. Unfortunately none of the Legionnaires was eager to start the ball.
To gang up on the troublemakers, particularly with other civilians looking on, could only draw criticism on the company. If they challenged the intruders with even numbers, the age and “military experience” of the Legionnaires would still cast them as the bullies of the situation, and if, in that situation, they lost the brawl, the loss of face would be untenable. What was worse, the company commander and his butler were in the lounge, holed up at a back table as they pored over their pocket computers. While the Legionnaires were reluctant to start a fight in front of civilians, they definitely didn’t want to be the perpetrators of a military-civilian brawl under the appraising eyes of their own superior officer.
Consequently the company tightened their grips on their drinks and refused to acknowledge the taunting from the bar, all the while hoping that the management or the captain himself would intercede before things got too bad. Unfortunately the latter was in huddled conversation with Beeker, and both seemed oblivious to what was going on at the other end of the room.
Then Super Gnat walked in.
For a moment, the Legionnaires were frozen in silent terror. If it had been a western, someone would have shouted, “Somebody fetch the marshal! There’s gonna be trouble!” Since it was real life, however, they did the next best thing. “Hey, Super Gnat!” “Over here, Gnat!” “Got an open chair here!”
The little Legionnaire stopped in her tracks, startled by the sudden eruption of invitations as her teammates tried desperately to head off the inevitable. Of course, it was all in vain.
“HELL, I’D BUY HER A DRINK, BUT SHE’S NOT TALL ENOUGH TO REACH THE TOP OF THE BAR!”
“HAW! HAW! HAW!”
Silence hung heavy in the room as the Gnat slowly turned her head to look in the direction of the noise.
“OH, LOOK! NOW SHE’S MAD! WHATCHA GONNA DO ABOUT IT, RUNT?”
The company was torn as the little Legionnaire’s head sank into her shoulders and she began to stalk grimly across the room toward her tormentors. There was a tradition of not interfering in someone else’s fight, but, for all her comic fierceness, Super Gnat was family, and no one wanted to stand by and watch her get hurt. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind what the outcome of the brawl would be, since it was doubtful that the Gnat could take any one of the loudmouths, much less all three, as was clearly her intent.
There was a quiet scrape of chairs as the individual Legionnaires struggled with their decision. The only thing that was clear was that if the interlopers did serious damage to the Gnat, they were going to have trouble getting out of the lounge in one piece—public relations be hanged!
Suddenly a huge figure loomed out of the candlelit darkness and interposed its bulk between the civilians and the approaching Super Gnat.
“Ummm … Gnat?” Tusk-anini rumbled in his voice that was at once rasping and melodic. “Captain says tell you … if you bust up place, you pay … all damages.”
The little Legionnaire pivoted around, her eyes seeking the company commander to protest such a charge. While she looked for Phule, her opponents looked at the figure between them and their intended prey.
As has been noted before, Voltrons are impressive if encountered by the light of day and one is expecting it. In a dimly lit cocktail lounge with a low ceiling, it can give the impression that part of the wall decided to walk up to your stool … if a wall had a large, misshapen head complete with tusks, and matted dark hair that ran down the back of its neck.
The three troublemakers tried to stand up, only to discover they already had performed that act without thinking when the apparition appeared. Which is to say, they became aware that they weren’t sitting down … Tusk-anini was really that big!
“Umm … are you with her?” one of them managed at last.
“What he’s trying to ask,” inserted another, “is whether we have to fight you if we take her on?”
The Voltron reacted to this by retreating a step in shocked surprise.
“Her? No … she no need my help. She meaner than me … lot meaner!”
As one, the trio swallowed hard and looked at the Super Gnat again.
“Want advice?” Tusk-anini pressed eagerly. “Leave now. If no, then somebody get hurt … maybe bad.”
There was no mistaking the open sincerity and concern in the Voltron’s voice, though his normal peaceful nature was harder to detect. Suddenly aware of their own mortality, the cowed youths threw some money on the bar and beat a hasty retreat, evacuating the premises before the Gnat managed to catch Phule’s eye, the latter notable being engrossed in conversation again.
* * *
After the “Super Gnat in the Lounge” episode, it was only natural that she and Tusk-anini be teamed as partners. The full effect that the fiery little Gnat and the gentle giant would have on each other was not even suspected until several days later. Unlike the lounge incident, there was no foreshadowing or warning of the explosion before it happened.
The Legionnaires had taken to using the Plaza restaurant as an after-hours gathering place for reading, quiet conversation, and any other activity requiring more space than a hotel room, and more light than was provided in the lounge. There were usually a couple dozen people there, and that was what Brandy was looking for when she stopped in for a late night cup of coffee and a little relaxing conversation before turning in.
Scanning the room with her mug in hand, her eye fell on Tusk-anini poring over a stack of papers.
“Hey, Tusk!” she said, plopping down at his table. “How’re things shaping up between you and the runt? Won’t she let you work in the room?”
The Voltron raised his head and regarded her with his black marble eyes.
“Brandy. No call partner runt. She no like.”
Taken aback, the first sergeant tried to laugh off the rebuff.
“Hell … no offense meant. I know the runt’s sensitive about her height, but—”
“NO CALL PARTNER RUNT!”
The Voltron rose angrily to his feet, and Brandy was aware of heads turning in their direction.
“Cool down, Tusk,” she cautioned. “What’s bothering you, anyway?”
“SHE HEAR YOU, SHE GET MAD. YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HER. MAYBE HURT. YOU NO CALL HER RUNT!”
The whole room was watching the confrontation of the company’s Gargantuans now, and the top sergeant was suddenly aware of her status and authority being challenged.
“Look, Tusk-anini!” she snarled. “Nobody tells me how to talk—not even the captain! If I want to call the Gnat a runt, I will … and nothing you can do or say—”
The Voltron’s bunched-up fist thudded down on top of her head, surprising her and knocking her sprawling backward off her chair.
The others in the room watched in stunned silence as their most pacifistic teammate loomed over the fallen sergeant, trembling with rage.
“I WARN YOU, BRANDY. NO CALL PARTNER RUNT!”
It had been a long time since anyone had challenged Brandy physically, but some things you never forget. Shaking her head to clear it, she groped about and found a chair leg.
“I believe this is my dance!” she hissed, and came off the floor at the Voltron.
* * *
Phule sighed and checked his uniform when the flurry of pounding erupted on the door of his suite.
“Come in, Super Gnat,” he called as the assault began anew.
The smallest company member exploded into the room, red-faced and oblivious to the verbal clue that she was expected.
“Captain! Did you know that my partner’s down in our room with a bandage on his head? That the doc says he might even have a minor concussion?”
“I’m aware of that.”
“And did you know that bitch Brandy did it to him?”
“I’d heard that, too.”
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
Phule regarded her levelly.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? But she—”
“Since I figure doing nothing is better than seeing your partner brought up on charges.”
Super Gnat blinked, hesitating in her tirade.
“Charges? I don’t understand, Captain.”
“Sit down, Gnat,” Phule instructed calmly. “If I take official notice of what happened, then I’ll have to acknowledge all the eyewitness accounts of Tusk-anini launching an attack on Sergeant Brandy … an attack that ended when she knocked him cold defending herself. I don’t want to have to do that, so unless that bitch, as you called her, decides to press charges, I’m willing to pretend the whole thing never happened.”
The Gnat frowned fiercely for a moment, then shook her head.
“I can’t believe it, Captain. They’ve got to be lying. Tusk-anini is the gentlest soul in this whole company. What’d he want to take off after Brandy for?”
“Let me ask you a question,” the commander said slowly. “Would you want to tangle with Brandy?”
The little Legionnaire twisted her mouth into a grimace.
“That’s one I’d walk around if there was any way,” she admitted. “Even if I kept my head and remembered what I learned in those classes I was tellin’ you about, she’d probably peel me like a grape. That’s one mean lady.”
Phule nodded sagely.
“That’s what the fight was about.”
“Sir?”
“It seems that Brandy was referring to you in less than complimentary terms, and your partner was afraid that if she talked like that in front of you, you’d take her on and probably get hurt.”
“Shoot. You can say that again. Why, she could …”
The Gnat broke off in midsentence as the implications sank in.
“Wait a minute. Are you sayin’ old Tusk took her on because of me?”
“That’s what the witnesses say. It seems he figured he had a better chance against Bra
ndy than you would. Of course, he doesn’t have your training. He tried to do it on guts and enthusiasm.”
Super Gnat shook her head ruefully.
“That don’t cut it in heavy traffic,” she said. “Believe me, I know!”
“He was doing what he thought he had to, to protect his partner,” Phule said. “I might suggest that you consider doing the same.”
“Sir?”
“Think about it, Gnat. Your partner, who never raised a hand in anger before, is getting into fights to protect you from your temper. If you can’t control yourself for your own sake, you might think about him before you fly off the handle next time.”
A quiet knock at the door interrupted them. At Phule’s summons, the company’s first sergeant eased into the room.
“Evening, Captain. Hi, Gnat.”
Super Gnat assumed the relaxed warmth of an icicle, but Phule was unruffled.
“Good evening, Top,” he said. “I assume you’re here about Tusk-anini?”
“Oh no … well, in a way, I guess. Actually I was looking for Super Gnat. The troops said she was headed this way.”
“You found me.”
“Well, the way it is, Gnat, I think I owe you an apology.”
“An apology?”
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about what happened, and the truth of the matter is, I was out of line. Not that I meant any harm, mind you, but I guess I never stopped to consider how much the teasing really bothers you. Heck, if anyone should know what it’s like to be needled about size, it’s me. Anyway, I should know better, so I want to apologize. I’ll try to watch it in the future.”
“I appreciate that, Brandy. I really do. I think Tusk is the one you should be apologizing to, though.”
Brandy flashed a quick grin.
“I was down there first. He kept insisting I owed you the apology, not him.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, I’m apologizing to you both. No hard feelings?”
Super Gnat accepted the extended hand and they both shook solemnly.
“Well, that’s all I wanted. Maybe when you get done here you can come on down to my room, Gnat. I have a few tips on handling size jokes I’d like to share with you over a brew.”