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! Assemble 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 assemblage 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 identity 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 cocktail lounge, if any of you want to listen in. Haven't met a reporter or a Legionnaire yet who'd pass 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. "God! 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 quantity 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 asserted 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 doorknob 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 communica
tions, 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 assure 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 assume 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."
"The rest of what, ma'am?" Phule said, studying the screen of the hand com unit Beeker had passed him. "I have the article in front of me now, and I'm not sure what else the colonel requires comment on."
"Are you serious? For openers, why did you issue a press release at all?"
"That's easy." The commander smiled. "I didn't. It seems someone on the hotel staff leaked the word to the media when we checked in, and a reporter showed up looking for an interview. I don't know how much experience the colonel has had with the media, but I've always found that once the media is looking for a story, it's best to give them one. Otherwise, they're inclined to invent one of their own. If one volunteers a story, they'll only get some of the facts wrong-like my rank-rather than publishing a yarn that's all wrong. Realizing the rather spotty background of the Legionnaires I've been assigned to, I thought it would be wisest if the interview centered on myself rather than allow it to wander into areas we'd just as soon not have publicized."
"Wait a minute. Let's get back to something you said a second ago, about the hotel staff alerting the media that you had arrived. Why did you give the reporter your real name instead of your Legion name?"
"She already had it..."
"She?"
"That's right. The reporter was a woman... a rather attractive one at that. Of course, I didn't make any attempt to point that out or take advantage of it during the interview."
"Hmmm... That may have been the problem."
"Ma'am"
"Nothing. Go on with your story, Captain. I'm starting to see what happened, though. About your name?"
"Well, she was looking for me by name. This is actually a fairly common occurrence for me, Colonel. The media often has spotters in hotels to be on the lookout for celebrities, and like it or not, my family name is one which tends to draw media attention, even if it's just the gossip columns."
"And why did you give your name to the hotel?"
"It was on my credit card, ma'am. The banking community is very conservative and will not issue credit cards for nicknames or aliases, and while the colonel knows I am financially well off, I rarely carry sufficient cash to register an entire company of Legionnaires at a good hotel. If I might point out, ma'am, while the Legion encourages and utilizes aliases, I'm not aware of any regulation which requires their use or forbids Legionnaires from using their given names."
"Hmmm... An interesting point, Captain. Let's take a step back for a moment from your failure to use your Legion name and focus instead on this hotel thing. Why have you moved your company into a luxury hotel?"
"Again, Colonel, I'm not aware of any regulation forbidding a company commander to house his Legionnaires wherever he wishes, especially if he absorbs the expense personally."
"I'm not questioning whether or not you had the right to do it," Battleax put in. "I'm asking why you did it."
Phule glanced at the hand com unit again.
"I believe it's covered here in the article, ma'am. Our barracks are being remodeled, giving rise to the need for temporary housing for the company. "
"So that part of the article is correct?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Are you aware, Captain, that we lease those barracks and the land they're on from a local developer? If so, are you aware that we need the permission of the leaseholder before instituting any renovation or improvements to his property?"
"I am, ma'am. The fact is, Colonel, I purchased the buildings and land currently leased to the Legion from the local owner. As such, permissions to remodel are not a problem. For the record, however, I hasten to assure the colonel that I have no intention of raising the price should the Legion's contract here last long enough to require renewing that lease."
"That's decent of you," the colonel said wryly. "This is all very interesting, Captain. Just between you and me, though, what do you plan to do with your new holding when and if we pull out of there?"
"Normally I'd hire someone locally to manage the property for me," Phule explained. "In this particular instance, however, there is already interest-in fact, a firm offer-to purchase the remodeled facility from me whenever I wish to dispose of it. It seems someone saw the architect's sketches and feels it would make an excellent country club."
"This purchase would, of course, result in a profit for you."
"Of course."
"Why am I not surprised? Getting back to the article, Captain, perhaps you'd care to explain why it was necessary to move the company into the best hotel on the planet for their temporary housing? And while you're at it, how do you justify calling that outfit of yours an elite force?"
"That was another assumption on the reporter's part. I simply said I was here on 'a special assignment,' and she jumped to her own conclusions. As to the quality of our temporary housing... may I speak candidly, Colonel?"
"Please do. If you can clarify the situation without prolonging this rather expensive conversation, it would be appreciated... though from the sound of things, I should have called collect."
"The remodeling of our quarters, the luxury hotel for temporary housing, and some of the other things you will doubtless be hearing about in the future are all a part of my plan to turn this company around. You see, these people have been treated like losers and been told they're losers for so long they have little choice but to believe that they're losers, and they a
ct accordingly. What I'm doing is treating them like they're the best, like top athletes being groomed for a competition. I'm betting that they'll respond by acting like winners because they'll see themselves as winners."
"The theory being that if they don't look like soldiers and act like soldiers, how can we expect them to fight like soldiers? You're betting quite a bit on a theory, Captain."
"I think it's a good risk," Phule said firmly. "And if it isn't... well, it's my money to risk, isn't it?"
"True enough." Colonel Battleax pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Very well, Captain. I'll give you your head on this one for a while. If your idea works, the Legion will benefit. If not, we're no worse off than when we started. Of course, now that your real name is known, if you foul up like you did on your last assignment, it'll be hard for you to disappear from sight."
"Of course."
"What I'm trying to say, Captain Jester, is I'm hoping you're aware that you're more vulnerable on this than the Legion is."
There was genuine concern in the colonel's voice, which warmed Phule despite his early morning haziness.
"Of course," he repeated. "Thank you, Colonel."
"Very well. I'll try to cover the ruckus at this end. You focus on shaping up those troops of yours. I have a hunch it's going to take all the time and concentration you can give it and then some. In the future, however, try to give me advance warning if the media is going to pounce on something you or your crew is doing. You're not the only one who doesn't like early morning surprises."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll try to remember that."
"Oh, and Captain..."
"Yes, ma'am?"
"The remodeling of your barracks. How long do you chink that will take?"
"The estimate is two weeks, ma'am."
A triumphant smile flashed across the colonel's face.
"I thought so. It might interest you to know, Captain, that that's the estimate my sister was given when she wanted a new porch put on her house. Battleax out!"
Phule waited until the projected image faded completely before heaving a big sigh of relief.
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