Phule`s Company

CHAPTER EIGHT

Journal #091

Their success on the confidence course, not to mention their pride in their new "uniforms," seemed to mark a turning point in the attitudes of the Legionnaires. As a whole and as individuals, the company began to embrace their new commander's belief that "we can do anything if we work together and are not too picky about how we do it!"

Like children looking for excuses to show off a new toy, the Legionnaires abandoned their previous habit of clinging to their home base during their off-duty hours, and instead were soon seen throughout the settlement looking for new challenges to apply their "togetherness" techniques to, whether it was called for or not! Many of the local citizens grew to believe that this extroverted crew was an entirely new force which had been imported, as most of their "projects" could be viewed as "good deeds" or "civic improvements." Unfortunately, however, not all of their pastimes fell on the proper side of legality, a fact which kept my employer quite busy intervening between them and the local authorities.

Aside from this, the bulk of his time was occupied in a sincere effort to get better acquainted with the individuals under his command in preparation for the assigning of the company into two-man teams. Of course, his efforts only revealed what I had suspected since he first received this assignment: that Legionnaires relegated to an Omega Company are not the easiest individuals in the universe to deal with.

"Mind if I join you?"

Super Gnat looked up from her breakfast to find the company commander standing over her table. With a shrug, she waved him into the facing chair.

The smallest member of the company was not unattractive, though no one would call her beautiful. An obvious band of freckles across her cheekbones and nose combined with her heart-shaped face and short brown hair to give an impression of a pixie-a robust young farm pixie, not the cuter, more sophisticated Tinker Bell variety.

Phule stirred his coffee slowly as he tried to organize his thoughts into words.

"I've been meaning to talk to you for some time," he began, but the Gnat stopped him, holding up a restraining hand while she finished chewing and swallowing her current mouthful.

"Let me save you a little time here, Captain. It's about my fightin'. Right?"

"Well... yes. You do seem to be involved in more than your share of... scuffles."

"Scuffles." The little Legionnaire sighed. "If I was bigger, they'd be called brawls. Oh well. Let me explain something to you, sir. "

She readdressed her food as she spoke.

"I was the littlest of nine kids in our family-not the youngest, the littlest. Our folks both worked and weren't around much, so us kids were left pretty much to sort things out for ourselves, and like most kids, we weren't big on democracy or diplomacy. If you didn't stand up for yourself, nobody else would and you ended up at the bottom of the heap. Of course, me bein' the smallest, I had to fight more than most just to keep my share of the grief and housework from getting too big. You know what it's like to have a sister five years younger than you try to push you around?"

Phule was caught flat-footed by the question and groped for an answer. Fortunately none seemed to be required; as Super Gnat continued.

"Anyway, I sort of got in the habit of going for anyone who tried to hassle me. You see, when you're my size, you can't wait for the other person to swing first, or it's all over before it starts. You gotta go for them first if you want to get your licks in. Even then it doesn't always work, but at least that way you've got a chance."

She paused to sip her coffee, then wiped her mouth decisively with the napkin.

"I guess what I'm saying, sir, is that what you sees is what you gets. I can appreciate that my fighting all the time is disruptive, but it's an old habit and I personally wouldn't make book on its changing. If it really bothers you, I could transfer out. Lord knows it won't be the first time."

Despite his poise, Phule was a bit taken aback by the frankness of this little Legionnaire. While he was concerned about the conduct of the company, he found himself warming to the Gnat.

"I... really don't think that will be necessary," he said, dismissing the possibility offhand. "Tell me, doesn't it bother you that you always get beaten? Why do you keep picking fights you can't win?"

For the first time since the start of their conversation, Super Gnat looked uncomfortable.

"Well, you see, sir, the way I was raised, I've always figured the important thing is to stand up for yourself and what you believe in whatever the odds. If you only fight when you can win... well, then you're just a bully takin' advantage of weaker folks. I guess growin' up the way I did, I never had much use for bullies, so I'm kinda sensitive about bein' one myself. "

The commander was impressed. Enough so that the idea of the Gnat as a bully wasn't even outlandish.

"But you would like to win more often? Or at least some of the time?"

"Of course I would," she said. "Don't get me wrong, Captain. Just 'cause I'm not choosy about my fights doesn't mean I've got a thing for losin'. You got any suggestions on that score, I'd appreciate 'em."

"Well, I was thinking you might look into the martial arts... you know, like karate. A lot of them are designed by and for small people, and..."

He broke off when he realized Super Gnat was beaming at him with an impish grin.

"You don't have to tell me about the martial arts, sir. You see, I've got belt ratin's in three schools a karate-Korean, Japanese, and Okinawan-plus judo and some a the Chinese forms. The trouble there is that you've got to keep a level head for the forms to work, and when I get mad-and I gotta be mad to fight-it all just kinda slips away and I'm back to bein' a scrapper. "

"Three schools," Phule echoed weakly.

"That's right. My first husband, he owned a string a dojos, so it was real easy for me to get lessons. Now, if you'll excuse me, sir, I'm supposed to be helpin' in the kitchen just now."

She departed, leaving Phule gaping after her.

"Have you got a minute, Captain?"

Surprised, Phule looked up to find Chocolate Harry framed in the doorway of the penthouse. Actually the pear-shaped black supply sergeant did more than fill the doorway. He dominated it and the room with his bulk.

"Sure. Come on in, C.H. What can I do for you?"

Though deliberately casual in tone and manner, the commander was curious as to what had dragged Harry away from his normal lair in the supply rooms. They had not spoken more than in passing since the new uniforms were issued, and while the supply sergeant had been more than efficient in handling his expanded duties, Phule was curious as to his true reactions to the revitalization of the company.

Harry eased into the room, peering around through the thick lenses of his glasses as if he expected to find an intruder-or a bargain-lurking in the corners. Finally he ran a hand over his close-cropped hair and began.

"Well, sir," he said, that surprisingly wheezy voice of his emerging mysteriously from his dense, bristly beard. "I've been doing some thinkin'. You know the problems we've been havin' comin' up with weapons for Spartacus and Louie?"

Phule nodded carefully. Along with the problems of locomotion, the Sinthians had other difficulties in interfacing with the troops, not the least of which were armaments. Their spindly arms had enough wiry strength to handle most of the firearms in the company's arsenal, but there was a problem with their eyestalks. It seemed that the sighting devices designed for eyes mounted side by side on a head, like on a human face, were somehow beyond the Sinthians' physiology. They were issued weapons along with the rest of the company when they went out on exercises, but were under strict orders not to fire a round until they had demonstrated an ability to place their shots at least in the vicinity of their intended target.

"Have you got an answer, C.H.?"

"Mebbe so." The sergeant fidgeted. "You see, before I signed up, I was a member of... a club. Pretty rough-and-tumble folks. Anyway, we had one guy, blind as a bat, who was one of the meanest dudes we had in a fight. What it was, was he got hold of a sawed-off shotgun and used that when things got rough. He didn't have to be real accurate, just so long as he got the general direction right. I was thinkin'... you know, with the Sinthians..."

Phule considered this. A sawed-off shotgun was a classic close-combat weapon, especially as an adaptation to some of the new belt-fed models. There was no denying its effectiveness, though it was not usually issued in the military. Of course, the police still used them for really nasty situations, so it wasn't entirely unprecedented. Then again, this was Harry's first independent effort to help the company, and the commander was loath to discourage him.

"That's an excellent idea, C.H.," he said, reaching his decision. "As a matter of fact, we're going to be getting a visit from a sales rep of old Phule-Proof Munitions in the next few days. We'll have to see what he has in stock that can be modified to our purposes."

"That's great, Cap'n. Wouldn't mind browsing through their selection myself. Ain't often I've had a chance to see the new stuff instead of hand-me-downs and black market rejects."

"Oh, you'll be involved in the selections, Sergeant." The commander smiled. "Never fear on that score. Getting back to the shotguns, though, I only see one possible problem with issuing them to the Sinthians. Specifically it will be of the utmost importance that they're pointed at least in the right general direction when they fire. That'll mean being sure they're teamed with someone reliable, and not that many of our more solid Legionnaires have expressed a willingness to accept them as partners. It seems that everyone's afraid that their slowness would be a liability on combat. That may change if the glide-board idea works out, but in the meantime...

"Shoot, that's no problem, Captain." The sergeant beamed, his teeth showing though his fierce beard. "I'd have room for one of 'em-mebbe both-in the sidecar of my hawg. I can keep an eye on 'em myself!"

"Your what?"

"Mah hawg... my hover cycle. I'll tell you, Captain, I never have been able to figure out why the military doesn't use 'em in combat. They worked fine for us in civilian life, and they can go anywhere one of those glide boards can."

Phule had a vague feeling that he had just been maneuvered into letting Chocolate Harry ride his hover cycle into combat. Still, if it was. efficient...

"Tell you what, C.H. Bring your... hawg... by after duty hours tomorrow. I want to take a look at it myself."

"Right, Cap'n!"

"Oh, and C.H., while we're on the subject of the nonhumans in the company, what weapon do you think would be best for Tusk-anini?"

"Tusk?" The sergeant blinked. "Heck, Cap'n. It don't matter none what you have him carry. He ain't gonna shoot it, anyway. "

"I beg your pardon?"

"I thought you knew, Cap'n. The Voltron may look like some kinda big stomper, but he's a strict pacifist. Won't even raise his voice to anyone, much less a weapon."

It was late when the commander leaned back, stretching from the litter of notes on the table in his bedroom, and decided to call it a day. No sooner had he reached his decision, however, than he realized he was hungry. He had worked through the dinner hour (again) and knew that the hotel restaurant was long closed, as was the bar. Still, now that his concentration was broken, an emptiness in the vicinity of his stomach reminded him than he should feed it something or he'd have trouble getting to sleep.

There was a vending machine which dispensed snacks, but that was two floors down (apparently people living in penthouse suites weren't supposed to patronize vending machines), but he had dismissed Beeker several hours ago, and was loath to call on the services of the Legionnaire who would be on communications duty in the main room with no justification other than his own laziness. It seemed he had no choice but to stir his stumps and run the errand himself.

Having reached that decision, Phule felt the momentary tug of politeness and chose to exit his lair through the duty area.

"I'm going down for some noshies," he announced, opening the connecting door while feeling in his pocket for some change. "Can I get you anything while I'm at it?"

The Legionnaire on duty started and looked up from her magazine as if he had shot at her, then ducked her head, shaking it in a quick negative, but not quite fast enough to hide the fact that her face had colored with a blush like a tomato on a seed catalog before she did.

The commander paused, studying the woman as his memory flashed data from files and conversations across his mind.

That's right. This was the Legionnaire named Rose the lieutenants had been talking about. As they had noted, she was attractive enough, with ash-blond hair and the kind of figure usually described as willowy. Of course, her tendency to try to crawl back inside her uniform like a turtle when spoken to did nothing to enhance her appearance.

Brandy had suggested skipping over her when her name came up on the duty roster, but Phule insisted on letting her take her turn at communications like everyone else. Now, looking at her bowed head and averted eyes, he wondered if he shouldn't have been more flexible. From the way she was acting, if a call came in she'd probably faint rather than answer it.

"Say, have you got change for a dollar?" he said, trying once more even if it meant ignoring the coins in his pocket.

The total reaction to his question consisted of a deepening of Rose's blush and another quick shake of her head.

Tenaciously the commander wandered closer, trying to edge into her line of vision.

"While we're talking, I'm curious about your reactions to my reorganization of the company. Do you see it as an improvement or just a waste of everyone's time?"

Rose turned her head away from him, but finally spoke.

"Mmphl gump hmm ol."

Phule blinked a couple times, then leaned closer.

"Excuse me... what was that again? I couldn't quite hear you."

The Legionnaire seemed to collapse in on herself, answering only with a feeble shake of her head and a shrug.

The captain abandoned his efforts, realizing that to push further would be, at best, a cruelty.

"Well, I'll be off now," he said, heading for the door. "I'll only be a few minutes if anyone calls in."

Rose relaxed a bit as he retreated, acknowledging his departure with nothing more than a vigorous nod.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, Phule puffed out his cheeks in a long exhale as if he had been holding his breath. He realized, with no small surprise, that dealing with someone as shy as Rose had the effect of making him nervous. The bashful Legionnaire's painful bashfulness made him immensely self-conscious, and throughout the "conversation" he had found himself trying to figure out what he was saying or doing to make her so uncomfortable. All in all, he came out of it feeling like he was the one who shot Bambi's mother.

Lost in thought, Phule decided to take the stairs down to the vending-machine floor instead of waiting for an elevator.

It was easy to see why the lieutenants-and probably anyone else she had been assigned to-thought of her as a problem case. He would try to talk to Rose again, sometime when he wasn't so tired. Maybe if he was more alert he would be able to find a way to put her at her ease. As it was, it was hard to relax around someone who constantly reacted to you as if you were some kind of a monster.

As if on cue, a nightmare rose off the steps at his feet, stopping his descent-and his heart-in midstride.

"Wha... Oh! Jeez, Tusk-anini. You scared the... I didn't see you there."

"Not apologize, Captain. Many scared by me when expected. You not expect see me so scared."

The big Voltron shook his head, though Phule noted he rotated it around his nose like a dog instead of pivoting his chin back and forth on his neck as a human would. There was no denying this nonhuman Legionnaire cut a formidable, if not terrifying, figure under the best of circumstances, much less when encountered unexpectedly in a stairwell late at night.

Nearly seven feet tall with a massive, barrel chest, Tusk-anini towered over all but the tallest of humans, and even those had to look up to meet his black, marblelike eyes. His brown-olive skin more closely resembled an animal hide than human flesh in color and texture, particularly when complemented by substantial amounts of dull-black hair. Crowning the entire effect was a misshapen face only a mother-or, one assumes, another Voltron-could love. It was elongated and protruded into an unmistakable snout, and his two tusklike canines jutted from his lower jaw on either side of his nose, presumably the feature the Legionnaire took his name from.

"Incidentally I'm sorry we haven't spoken before," the commander said, still struggling to regain his composure.

"Again, no apologize, Captain. Know you busy. Do good job, too. Will help any way you want."

Phule only listened to the Voltron's response with half an ear, the rest of his attention being claimed by the stack of books in the stairwell.

"What were you doing here, anyway, Tusk-anini? Reading?"

The Legionnaire nodded, his head moving in exaggerated up-and-down motions like a horse fighting a bit.

"I no need much sleep, so read lots. Came here so roommate not have to sleep with light on in room."

Phule had squatted down to examine the books and looked up with new speculation in his eyes.

"These are pretty heavy reading. How come you brought so many?"

"Will read whole stack tonight."

"The whole stack?"

Again the Voltron tossed his head in agreement.

"Read fast. Humans have much knowledge. Joined Legion learn human knowledge. Want be teacher after duty tour over."

The commander hastily revised his estimation of the Voltron. It was so easy to assume that because he was big and spoke broken English, his intelligence was somewhat lower than that of the average Legionnaire. Once one was thinking about it, though, the fact that the Voltron had mastered an alien tongue well enough to speak it, however clumsily, rather than resort to the translators used by the Sinthians, said something about his mental ability... and his pride! It was obviously a matter of some pride to Tusk-anini that he could speak a human tongue at all, even if he did it so crudely he gave the impression of being stupid.

"Why don't you use the duty room of my penthouse?" Phule said, his mind racing over this new discovery. "You'd be more comfortable, and I think the light's a lot better for reading."

"Thank you, Captain. Most gen... erous."

The Voltron stumbled a bit over the word, but began to gather up his books.

"Let me give you a hand there. You know, Tusk-anini, if you were serious about helping-above and beyond the call of duty, that is-there is something you might be able to give me a hand on."

"What that?"

"I get lots of communications from Headquarters: copies of reports and modifications to the rules and regulations. Most of it is pointless paper shuffling, but I end up having to read it all to find the few items that do affect us, especially the changes in regulations. Now, if you could read through those for me, and pull the really important items for me to look at...

The beep of Phule's wrist communicator interrupted his explanation. For a long moment he debated ignoring it to continue his conversation with Tusk-anini. Then he remembered that Rose would have to deal with it if he didn't, and reached for the activator button.

"You got Com Central here," came a voice from the unit's speaker. "What desperate situation can we alleviate for you this evening?"

The commander froze with his sign-on unuttered on his lips. Apparently whoever was calling in was also thrown by the response, as there was a pregnant pause before a reply came on the air.

"Is... is Captain Jester there?"

That voice was clearly recognizable to the commander as Brandy's, which meant the other voice had to be...

"The Great White Father, or Big Daddy, as he's sometimes known, is not available at the moment, Top. He's done tippee-toed off to feed his face, thereby giving lie to the belief that the man never eats or goes to the bathroom."

"Who... who is this?" the voice of the company's first sergeant demanded.

"You got Rose at this end, Super Sarge... that's Rose as in Rose-alie? I am faithfully and alertly monitoring our dazzling communications network this evening, as is my sworn duty according to the duty roster you signed and posted this very morning."

"That Rose?" Tusk-anini rumbled, but Phule waved him into silence as he listened for the next exchange.

"Rose?" Brandy's surprise was clear in her voice. "I don't... Well, tell the captain when he gets back that I want to talk to him."

"Hold on a second there, Brandy-Dandy. Before I tell him any such thing, perhaps you might want to reconsider your request? The Main Man is tryin' to keep going on potato chips and two hours sleep, and I was kinda hoping he'd have a chance to fall on his face and die for a couple hours when he got back-that is, if there isn't an emergency hangnail or something to keep him up all night. You don't suppose that just maybe this busy old universe of ours could stagger along without him until morning, do you?"

"Rose, have you been drinking?"

Phule fought back a snicker and kept listening.

"Not a drop that wasn't as pure as a maiden's virtue, O' Ramrod of the Masses... and don't you go trying to change the subject. Is it absolutely, positively cross-your-heart-and-kiss-your-elbow necessary that you talk to the Cheez Whiz tonight, or can I maybe leave him a love note for when he wakes up?"

"Well, Rose-alie. Since you put it that way, I suppose it can wait until the dawn's early light. I can work around it for now."

"Whoa back there, Brandy-wine. You know, you've been keeping the pedal to the metal yourself there lately. Now, realizing that you have to be in top sergeant shape to kick some sense into our merry band when the officers aren't looking, don't you think it might be a good idea to catch a few winks yourself while the tide's out?"

"What are you? My mother?"

"Just your average loyal Legionnaire trying to do her best to help the wheels of our mighty war machine turning smoothly instead of goin' flat. While there may not be much that I can do personally to assist our fearless leader, I feel it behooves me to try to see to it that those who can make a difference stay on their feet and function at something approximating maximum efficiency. Get my drift, or am I goin' too fast for you?"

Brandy's laugh was clear over the communicator.

"All right. You win. I'll get some sleep and pick it up from here tomorrow. Good night now... Mother. Brandy out."

"That Rose?" Tusk-anini said, repeating his earlier question as the communicator went dead.

"It sure as hell was." Phule grinned. "Come on up when you're ready, Tusk-anini. I've got to go talk to that woman!"

The commander flew back up the stairs, nearly breaking down the door of the penthouse in his enthusiasm and eagerness.

"I overheard that last exchange, Rose," he exclaimed, bursting into the room. "You were fantastic!"

"Uggle mpt."

Stunned, the captain stopped in his tracks and stared at the Legionnaire who a moment before had been verbally the height of confidence and wit. Head bowed and blushing, she was the same as she had been when he left the room.

"I... I'm sorry. Didn't mean to shout," he said carefully. "I just wanted to compliment you on your handling of Brandy's call. "

Rose blushed and shrugged, but kept her eyes averted.

"Well, I guess I'll follow your advice and get some sleep now. Oh. I told Tusk-anini he could do his reading up here. He'll be up in a few minutes."

That got him a nod, but no more. After a moment's hesitation, he retreated through the connecting door into his bedroom.

Once within his sanctum, Phule leaned back against the now closed door and thought hard for several long minutes. Finally, with careful deliberation, he raised his hand and punched the proper key on his wrist communicator.

"This is the all-night voice of Com Central," came the now familiar voice. "How may we help you decide what to do with the rest of your life?"

"Rose? Captain Jester here," Phule said, sinking into a chair with a smile.

"Why you High-ranking Rascal. Didn't you promise me you were going to go beddie-bye?"

"Truth to tell, Rosie, I just couldn't doze off until I told you one more time how much I appreciate your golden tones brightening the airwaves."

"Well, thank you, Captain. My lonely night here at Com Central is brightened considerably by your tribute."

"And also," Phule continued quickly, "I've just got to know why you're so much different than when we meet face-to-face."

"Hmmm... I suppose I can light that one little match of enlightenment for you, since things are so slow tonight-but only if you promise to go right to bed when I'm done."

"You've got a deal. So, what's the story?"

"Not much to tell, really. I had a terrible stutter when I was a kid. I mean, it could take me fifteen minutes just to say 'Hello' to someone. The kids at school used to tease me something awful about it, so I got so's I wouldn't say anything just to keep them from laughing at me."

The commander nodded his understanding, so wrapped up in Rose's tale he didn't pause to think that she couldn't see his reaction.

"Anyway, finally somebody got around to running some tests on me. They slapped some earphones on my head and turned up the tone until I couldn't hear myself talk, and you know what? Like that, I could talk as normal as anybody! It seemed the problem was that I was scared of the sound of my own voice! Once I found that out, things got a bit better, but I still had trouble talking in front of other people. So what I did was I got me a job in a little-bitty radio station, and let me tell you, I did everything. I was the DJ, the news and weather person, the ad person. Mostly, though, I did phone-in conversations with the listeners. Everything was fine, just as long as I didn't have to talk to folks face-to-face. I practically lived at that station for five years... until it got bought out and the new owner automated the whole shebang and fired me."

"And so you joined the Legion," Phule finished for her thoughtfully.

"Well, there were a few things I did first, but that's about the size of it. Now, don't you go feeling sorry for me, Big Daddy. I'm a grown girl now and I made up my own mind to join."

"Actually," the commander said, "I was thinking seriously of offering you permanent duty at Com Central-that is, if you can forgo the pleasure of standing duty in the swamp."

"Now, that's a thought. Let me mull it over and get back to you on that one. Meantime, I believe you were going to get some sleep? Seems to me I recall someone making me a promise to that effect a little while back."

"Okay. I'll do it." Phule grinned. "Nice chatting with you... Mother. Jester out."

Clicking off his communicator, the commander rose, stretched, and headed for the bed. All in all, it had been a pretty good day. It looked like he had found himself a new clerk and a communications specialist. If things worked out, he'd have to see about getting them each an extra stripe.

It wasn't until he had disrobed down to his shorts that he remembered that he never had gotten anything to eat.