Phules Paradise

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Journal #245

As near as I can determine, Maxine Pruet was either ignoring the presence of the Space Legion company under my employer's command or operating under the old assumption that if you cut off the head, the body dies.

To say the least, this was an error in judgment

The removal of my employer from his position of leadership did not cause the company to wither and die, but rather unified and intensified their already substantial energies. That is, it had the effect of removing the emergency brakes from a locomotive and putting it on a straight, downhill stretch of tracks.

One of the Fat Chance's conference rooms had been hastily commandeered for the company's emergency war council, but even that was growing crowded. In an effort to keep the meeting manageable, the room had been cleared of everyone except cadre and officers, which is to say those holding the rank of corporal or higher, and a few concerned individuals, like the Voltron, Tusk-anini, who refused to budge and whom no one had the energy or courage to chase out. A large crowd of Legionnaires loitered and hovered in the hall just outside, however, muttering darkly to each other as they waited for a course of action to be decided upon.

All the undercover Legionnaires had been recalled, though not all had taken time to change into their Legion uniforms, giving the assemblage the appearance of being a catered party rather than a planning session. This impression would be shattered, however, upon viewing the faces of the participants. The expressions ranged from worried to grim, without a single smile in evidence.

The focus of the group was on the company's two lieutenants, who stood on either side of the conference table reviewing a stack of floor plans, stoically ignoring the faces that peered anxiously over their shoulders from time to time.

"I still don't see what this is supposed to accomplish, Remmie," Armstrong grumbled, picking up another sheet from the stack. "We don't even know for sure that he's still in the complex."

Though he was from a military family and had consequently had more experience with planning, the same background had also made Armstrong a stickler for protocol and chain of command. Lieutenant Rembrandt's commission predated his, making her the senior officer and his superior, and he deferred to her as much from ingrained habit as from courtesy.

"It's a starting point, okay?" Rembrandt snapped back at him. "I just don't think we should start tearing the whole space station apart, dividing our forces in the process, until we're sure they aren't holding him right here. It's our best bet that he's being held here somewhere, since I don't see them running the risk of being spotted while trying to move him out of the complex. That means we've got to take the time to check out all the out-of-the-way nooks and crannies in this place before we go barging around outside-and there are a lot of them."

"You can say that again," Armstrong said, scowling at the sheet he was holding. "As long as we've been here, I never realized how many access corridors and service areas there were in this place."

"Hey! Look who's here!"

"C.H.! How's it goin', man?"

The officers looked up as the company's supply sergeant made his way into the room through the waiting crowd, smiling and waving his response to the greetings that marked his arrival.

"Come on in, Harry!" Rembrandt called. "Good to see you back in uniform."

Indeed, Chocolate Harry was decked out in his Legionnaire uniform, complete with-or incomplete, as the case may be-the torn-off sleeves that were his personal trademark.

"Good to be back, Lieutenant," the massive sergeant said. "Hey, Top! Lookin' good!"

He waved across the room at Brandy, still in her housekeeping uniform, who interrupted her conversation with Moustache long enough to give him a grin and a wink.

"Excuse me, Sergeant," Armstrong said, "but the last thing I heard you were on the inactive list. Aren't you supposed to be convalescing?"

"What? For this?" Harry gestured at the bandages around his torso that peeked through the armholes of his uniform. "Heck, I hardly remember that I got hit ... 'cept if someone should happen to want to give me a good old hug."

He dropped his voice but maintained his grin, though his eyes glittered darkly as he met Armstrong's gaze with a hard stare.

"Besides, there ain't no way I'm gonna sit this one out-not with the cap'n in trouble-and with all due respect, Lieutenant, I'd advise you not to try to change my mind. You ain't nearly big enough-or mean enough."

He waited until Armstrong gave a small, reluctant nod of agreement, then raised his voice again.

"'Sides, I brought along a few goodies just to be sure I'd be welcome. That is, they should be along any-there they are! Bring 'em on in, boys!"

Half a dozen of Harry's team of supply clerks, also known to be the biggest thieves, scroungers, and con artists in the company, were coming into the room, towing or pushing a small caravan of float crates. From their appearance, even while still sealed, it was apparent what they contained, and a small cheer went up from the crowd.

"Just line 'em up along this wall here!" the supply sergeant instructed, grabbing the first long crate himself and manipulating the float dial until it settled on the carpet. With a flourish, he punched a combination into the lock's keyboard, and the crate lid hissed open.

"Help yourself!" he declared, then thought better of it. "No ... cancel that. Form a line! Jason! I want 'em to sign for whatever they take! We gotta be sure we know who's got what so's we can go after 'em if it don't come back in good shape."

As expected, the long, flat cases held the rifles and other long arms that had been packed away when the company was pulled from their old duty as swamp guards. The square crates held ammunition.

"Well, I guess that solves our firepower question," Rembrandt said, frowning at weapons being passed out, but making no move to object or interfere as the Legionnaires seized the armaments and scattered through the room, each of them clearing, checking, and loading his or her weapon of choice.

"I just figured that whatever goes down, it don't hurt to have a few extra persuaders close to hand." Harry winked, then his face sobered. "All right, what have we got so far?"

"Not much," the senior lieutenant admitted. "Until we can figure out where they're holding him, there's not much we can do. The trouble is, everyone wants to be here. It's all we've been able to do to keep the duty crew at their posts while we're working this out ... Which reminds me ..."

She raised her wrist communicator to her lips and pressed the Call button.

"You got Mother!" came the quick response.

"Rembrandt here, Mother," the lieutenant said. "How are you holding up?"

"I'll tell you, if it wasn't for every mother's son and daughter in this outfit wanting personal updates every fifteen minutes, it'd be a real breeze."

The lieutenant smiled despite the pressure she was feeling. "You want some help?"

"Oh, don't you mind my carping. I got it covered-for the time being, anyway. You just keep working on figuring out where the captain is and let me worry about keeping the wolves at bay."

"All right, Mother. But holler if it gets too much for you. Rembrandt out."

She turned her attention to the floor plans once more.

"Now, the way I see it, the most likely places are here and here." She indicated two points with her finger. "We need to have someone run a quick check ... Brandy?"

"Here, Lieutenant," the top sergeant said, stepping forward.

"Do you think we could-"

"Pardon me!"

The commander's butler was standing in the doorway.

"What is it, Beeker?"

"I ... I don't mean to intrude," Beeker said, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable, "and, as you know, I have no official standing in your organization, but in this instance we share a common interest-namely, the well-being of my employer-and I believe I have some information you might need in your planning."

"Don't worry about your standing with us, Beek," Rembrandt said. Like everyone in the company, she had a great deal of respect for the butler-more than most, since he had assisted her when she was recruiting the actors for stand-ins. "What have you got?"

"I ... I can tell you where Mr. Phule is being held."

"You can?"

"Yes. I can say definitely that he's currently in Maxine Pruet's suite-room 4200. At least, he was fifteen minutes ago."

Rembrandt frowned. "Hey, Sushi! I thought you said the suite was empty!"

"No one answered the phone when I called," the Oriental said. "I didn't actually check it out, though."

"I see ... Okay. Brandy? I want you to use your passkey and see if-"

"Excuse me ... Perhaps I didn't make myself clear," Beeker interrupted, his voice taking a slight edge. "I said that my employer is definitely being held in that suite. There should be no need for confirmation. In fact, any effort to intrude might endanger the lives of both Mr. Phule and whoever was sent to check."

The lieutenant pursed her lips, then shot a glance at Armstrong, who gave a small shrug.

"All right, Beeker," she said at last. "Not to say I don't believe you, but would you mind telling me just how it is you're so certain that's where he is?"

The butler's haughtiness slipped away, and he glanced around at the gathered Legionnaires uneasily.

"It's ... well, it's a secret technique I've developed to ease my duties in keeping track of my employer's comings and goings. I'd ask that you all keep this in strictest confidence, just as I have respected the secretive nature of the things some of you have shared with me."

He looked around the room again and was answered by an assortment of nods. "Very well. I've taken the liberty of sewing small homing devices into each item in my employer's wardrobe, both civilian and military. This gives me forewarning of his approach so that I might be prepared to welcome him, and allows me to pinpoint his location at any given moment."

Armstrong gasped. "You've bugged the captain's clothes?" Struggling between laughter and incredulity, he spoke for the whole room.

Beeker winced. "You might say that, sir. I, myself, prefer to think of it as a necessary technique for providing the exceptional service which justifies my salary, which, as you might assume, is well above the scale normal for one in my profession."

"Whatever!" Rembrandt said, pawing through the scattered floor plans. "The bottom line is that you're sure he's being held in the old dragon's suite."

"Yes, ma'am," the butler said. "If I might add, there seems to be a rather muscular gentleman standing guard outside her door as well. That, at least, is easily confirmed by anyone who bothers to take the time."

He sent a withering glance toward Sushi, who shrugged apologetically.

"One guard? That one's mine!" Brandy declared. "Might as well get some use out of this Fifi the Maid outfit before I turn it in for good."

"You want any help, Top?" Super Gnat offered.

"For one guard? From up close when he's not expecting it?" The Amazonian top sergeant flexed her sizable right hand, then clenched it into a fist and smiled broadly. "I don't think so."

"All right, then, we have a target area!" Rembrandt declared, studying the sheet of paper which had finally come to hand. "Let's see ... we've got a large living room flanked by two bedrooms ... one door that ... Heck with this!"

She strode over to the nearest wall and paused for a moment, rummaging through her belt pouch. Producing a tube of lipstick, she began sketching a larger version of the floor plan directly on the wall in long, broad strokes.

"Okay, gather 'round!" she called back over her shoulder. "Now, the corridor runs here, parallel to the three rooms. Sushi, do you know if they've moved the furniture at all, or is it like it is here in the plans?"

"Let me see," the Oriental said, moving to her side for a better view of the floor plans. "I only saw the living room area, but-"

"What's going on here?"

Colonel Battleax was standing in the doorway. Still dressed in her bat-wing black dress and towering in her anger despite her diminutive size, she might have been a demon from an opera production as she dominated the room with her voice and presence.

The Legionnaires froze in their places. While they had all heard that the colonel was in the complex, no one had expected her to appear at their meeting.

"My God! This looks like an armament trade show! I don't even recognize half these weapons!"

While it was well known that Willard Phule was supplementing the company's equipment from his personal fortune, what was not as widely known was that he was also using his connection with his munitions-baron father to obtain new weaponry which was still in the testing stages and not yet known, much less available, to the general market.

"Do I need to remind you all that you're Space Legionnaires and have only limited authority for using reasonable force on civilians?"

The company exchanged nervous glances, but still no one moved.

"Well, this Wild West show is going to stop RIGHT NOW! I'm ordering you to turn in all arms other than sidearms, and-"

"Just a minute, Colonel!"

Lieutenant Rembrandt, her face flushed and her limbs rigid, broke the tableau. Like the Red Sea, the crowd parted to open a corridor with the two women at either end.

Standing against the back wall with Trooper, Lex watched the confrontation with professional curiosity and interest. Though neither Battleax nor Rembrandt was shouting, both were using what could only be called a "command voice," which involved a controlled projection from the diaphragm that any stage actor would envy.

"In Captain Jester's absence," Rembrandt declaimed, "I'm the acting company commander of this outfit. What gives you the right to try to give orders to my troops?"

"Are you mad?" Battleax sputtered. "I'm a colonel and the ranking officer present-"

"-who is on vacation and not in the current chain of command!" Rembrandt snarled. "Our original orders came directly from General Blitzkrieg. You have no authority over us on this assignment! In fact, as far as I'm concerned, you're just another civilian."

"WHAT?"

"My general orders state that I am to hold my command until properly relieved, and I do not accept you as proper relief."

The colonel gaped at her for a moment, then shut her mouth with a snap.

"Interpreting the Legion's general orders is not within your authority, Lieutenant!"

"So court-martial me!" Rembrandt shot back. "But until I'm found guilty and formally removed, these troops are under my command, not yours!"

Battleax recoiled, then glanced around the room. The Legionnaires displayed a variety of expressions ranging from sullen to bemused. It was clear, however, that they stood with Rembrandt, and there was no visible support for her own position.

"I see," she said through gritted teeth. "Very well, if you want proper authority, I'll get it! A call to General Blitzkrieg should settle this. I'd advise you all not to do anything rash until I get back."

She started for the door, but was stopped short as Lieutenant Rembrandt's voice shattered the sudden silence.

"All right! I want you all to bear witness to this! As of now, I'm using my authority to declare martial law!"

"What?" Battleax shrieked, any trace of poise or dignity slipping away at the outrage. "You can't do that! No one in the Space Legion has ever-"

"I've done it," Rembrandt returned grimly, "and it stands until someone overrules it. Someone with more available firepower than I have!"

"But ..."

"Lieutenant Armstrong!" Rembrandt barked suddenly, turning her back on the colonel.

"Sir!"

"There is an unauthorized civilian interfering with our operation. Have her removed and held under guard until further notice."

"Yes, sir!"

"Have you all gone-"

"Sergeant Brandy!"

"Got it, sir. Harry?"

"I'm on it, Top."

The supply sergeant clicked his fingers and pointed. In response, one of the supply clerks tossed him a pump shotgun, which Harry plucked from the air. Against his bulk, the weapon looked almost like a toy.

Battleax, stood stunned, sweeping the entire room again with her eyes. This time, no one was smiling.

"You're all really quite serious about this, aren't you?" she said.

In answer, Chocolate Harry worked the slide of the shotgun he was holding, racking a live shell into the weapon's chamber with a harsh sound that echoed in the room, and the weapon no longer looked like a toy.

"Easy, Harry," Rembrandt ordered, her voice still tight with tension. "Look, Colonel. We're going after the captain, no matter who gets in our way. Now stand back or fall back. It's your choice."

"You know, don't you, that they're likely to kill him if you try to take him by force?" Battleax's voice was suddenly soft.

"There's that possibility," the lieutenant acknowledged. '"But there's as much a chance that they'll kill him if we don't. You see, his father won't pay the ransom."

"It don't make no difference," Chocolate Harry put in.

"What was that, Sergeant?"

"You folks may know more about the military than me," C.H. said, "but let me tell you somethin' about criminals. They're lookin' at some serious charges now that they've moved up to kidnappin'. They're not gonna want to leave any witnesses around, and the biggest witness against them is the cap'n. They gotta kill him whether the money gets paid or not."

"We're the only chance Captain Jester has of coming out of this alive," Rembrandt continued quietly. "We've got to at least try. If we just sit around ..." She shook her head, letting her voice trail off.

"I see," Battleax said thoughtfully. "Tell me, Lieutenant, since you won't let me relieve you of command, would you be willing to accept me as a civilian advisor?"

Lieutenant Rembrandt's face split in a sudden smile.

"I'm always ready to listen to advice, Colonel," she said. "I'm still fairly new at this."

"You'll do," Battleax said. "However, there's one thing I think you should consider in your plans-something I get the feeling you've overlooked in your enthusiasm. There are large numbers of civilians in the complex who are legitimate innocent bystanders. I think it would be wisest in the long run if an effort was made to ensure they didn't get caught in your cross fire."

The two lieutenants exchanged glances.

"She's got a point there, Remmie," Armstrong acknowledged reluctantly.

"What I would suggest is some sort of diversion," the colonel continued. "Something to give you am excuse to evacuate people from the complex, or at least from the vicinity of your action."

"I suppose," Rembrandt said, chewing her lower lip subconsciously. "Maybe we could arrange a bomb threat or a fire alarm ..."

"Why not a movie?"

The officers looked in the direction of this new voice.

"What was that, Lex?"

"I said, `Why not a movie?'" Lex grinned, moving to join their discussion. "Just tell everyone you need to clear the complex for an hour or so because you're shooting some footage for a new holo. Believe me, they'll cooperate. You'll be amazed at how people bend over backward to be helpful if they think it gets them a closer look at the magical mystical world of moviemaking."

"That has possibilities," Rembrandt said, looking at Armstrong.

"I know I'd go along with a holo crew if they asked me to get out of their way," her partner admitted.

"It's better than a bomb scare or a fire alarm," the actor urged. "No panic, no bad publicity for the complex. What's more, we have everything we need to pull it off."

"How so?"

"That cameraman you were holding has a holo-camera rig in his room. It's not the same as they use for the big productions, but we can say it's a low-budget operation or that we're just shooting test footage. We've even got a recognizable holo star we can parade in front of everyone to be sure it all looks legit."

"You mean Dee Dee Watkins?" Armstrong frowned. "Do you think she'd go along with it?"

"Leave her to me." Lex winked. "Remember, I speak the language. It might cost a little, though."

"Set it up, Lex," Rembrandt said, reaching her decision. "In fact, I'll put the whole diversion in your hands, since you know more about this sort of thing than any of us. If anyone gives you any flak, tell them I've given you a battlefield promotion to the rank of acting sergeant for the duration of this operation."

She glanced at Battleax, who nodded her approval.

"Yes, sir," Lex said, snapped off a salute, and started to turn away, then hesitated. "What about the owner ... whazizname ... Gunther? Should I clear this with him as well?"

"If you want, Remmie, I'll handle that," Armstrong offered. "I've gotten the impression that Mr. Rafael is afraid of me, for some reason."

"Do that, Lieutenant," Rembrandt said. "But remember to ask nice."

Armstrong frowned. "I hadn't planned to ask ... just inform him of what we were going to do."

"That's what I meant." Rembrandt smiled sweetly. "Carry on, Lieutenant. You, too, Sergeant."

The actor moved a few steps away and triggered his wrist communicator.

"Lex, you rascal," came Mother's voice. "How many times have I got to tell you no before you stop tying up the airwaves? You're a gorgeous hunk of man, but I just ain't interested. Okay?"

The actor flushed slightly at the snickers that erupted from the Legionnaires standing close enough to hear, but pressed on with his new duty.

"This is Sergeant Lex, Mother, and this is an official call."

"Come again?"

"I said this is Sergeant-all right, Acting Sergeant Lex. I'm down here at the war council, and Lieutenant Rembrandt has just put me on a special assignment. I need your help."

"Who doesn't?" came the jaunty response. "Okay, Acting Sergeant Lex, what can I do for you?"

"Dee Dee Watkins should be finishing her show in the next few minutes," the actor said. "Have someone meet her when she comes offstage and bring her over to the war council. Then see if you can find that cameraman and send him along as well. In fact, get the reporter, too, if you can find her. No harm in a little publicity while we're doing this. Also, pass the word to the duty crew that there'll be new orders coming shortly. We're going to be evacuating the complex for a while. Got that?"

"Got it," Mother echoed. "Sounds like we're finally on the move."

"I'll leave that explanation to Lieutenant Rembrandt," Lex countered. "Just put those calls through, and give me a confirmation when you're done. Okay?"

"I'm on it. Mother out."

Glancing around, Lex caught Trooper's eye and beckoned him over.

"I've got to duck out of here for a few minutes," he. said. "If Dee Dee or the others show up, hang on to them until I get back."

"Where are you going, Lex?" the youth inquired.

"I don't know about the cameraman," the actor explained, "but I do know Dee Dee won't powder her nose without a contract. Fortunately I happen to have a couple blanks upstairs in my room."

"You do?"

"I never leave home without one, kid, even if I only end up using it for a reference." Lex winked. "As you can see, there's no telling when your next job might pop up."

In short order, the meeting had broken down into a number of small groups, each working out the details of their own portion of the operation. Conversation ebbed and swirled as small arguments broke out over one specific or other, but these were quickly smoothed over. Despite their occasional differences, everyone was united behind one objective-to free their captain before any harm came to him-and there was simply no time to indulge in petty bickering.

"I know there are holes in it," Lex was saying to Dee Dee. "I just thought you'd rather have some kind of contract. If you want, we can do this on scout's honor."

"Not a chance," the starlet said. "But really, Lex, this contract is for a series, not a movie."

"It's a fast copy of my last contract," the actor explained, "which happened to be for a series. We don't have time to put together a new agreement from scratch. Think of it as being for a series of movies."

"At these prices? Not bloody likely," Dee Dee said with a snort.

"I keep telling you, love, there's no actual movie involved. We just want to make a bit of noise and clutter so that the tourists will think we're making a movie."

"Even so, I'm worth ten times what's being offered here."

Lex flashed a wide smile at her.

"Oh, come on, ducks. Maybe the rabble will believe that, if you plant it in enough columns, but you and I both know that if you could command those kinds of prices, you wouldn't be doing a lounge act right now."

"You're such a bastard, Lex," the starlet said, baring her teeth.

"Look, don't think of it as being underpaid for a movie, think of it as being vastly overpaid for maybe an hour's posturing. Now, do you want in on this or not? We can shove someone else out in front of the camera, you know, but I'd rather it was someone the common folk will recognize."

"Oh, all right!" Dee Dee grumbled, scribbling her name next to Lex's on the document. "Now, how about wardrobe? What's this thing supposed to be about, anyway?"

"We figured the rough scenario would be the wronged woman-only you're an ex-army type so you're getting even with a machine gun or something. That will explain all the uniforms and lethal hardware we'll have hanging around."

"Not bad," the actress said judiciously. "With the Lorelei backdrop, we could call it The Long Shot. Say, does that mean I get one of those uniforms like everyone else is wearing?"

That much of the conversation, at least, caught the attention of several of the Legionnaires in the room. Glancing over to check Lex's reaction, they noted that, to his credit, a quick expression of distaste swept across his features before he caught himself and regained his confident smile.

"And hide those luscious curves of yours in baggy fatigues?" he said smoothly. "Not a chance, love. We want something that will show off everything the public is paying to see. How about that sexy tight outfit you were wearing at rehearsals?"

"You mean my old leotard?" The starlet frowned. "It's got a couple tears in it and is worn almost through in spots ... some rather revealing spots."

"Precisely." Lex beamed. "Of course, we'll give you some nasty-looking weaponry and maybe an ammo belt ... Sergeant Harry?"

"Yo, Lex."

"Can you fix Dee Dee up with some big, ugly armaments? Something that looks scary, but is light enough for her to handle?"

"Can do," the supply sergeant said, his eyes darting over the starlet's form. "I'll have one of the boys pull the firing pin just to be sure it don't go off accidental."

"There. You see?"

"But ..."

"Just scamper along, love, and fetch back that outfit. I think we're going to be moving soon."

Chocolate Harry, in the meantime, was having problems of his own. A small tug-of-war was escalating between one of his supply clerks and the big Voltron, Tusk-anini.

"Come on, Tusk," Super Gnat was saying, trying to dissuade her partner. "We can go with something else."

"Give me weapon now!" the Voltron insisted, ignoring the little Legionnaire as he tugged once more at the armament the supply clerk was clinging to, all but lifting the man's feet from the ground in the process.

"Hold it, Tusk-anini!" C. H. said, stepping in. "What seems to be the problem here, Jason?"

"He wants to use one of the Rolling Thunder belt-fed shotguns," the clerk complained, still red-faced from the argument and the exertion, "but he hasn't ever qualified with it!"

"You really want to use this, Tusk?" the sergeant said, making no effort to hide his surprise. "It don't really seem to be your style."

The belt-fed shotguns were some of the deadliest, most vicious weapons in the company's arsenal. To say the least, it was an unlikely choice for the Voltron, whose pacifistic nature was well known.

"Captain need help. This will help!" Tusk-anini growled, not releasing his grip on the weapon.

"Give it to him," C.H. said, turning back to the supply clerk.

"But Sarge ..."

"Give it to him. I'll check him out on it myself."

With a shrug, the clerk released the weapon and watched as Tusk-anini walked away, cradling the bit of nastiness protectively in his arms.

"You tell me, hoss," the sergeant said softly. "Can you think of anyone in this outfit who could hold down that weapon better'n Tusk? It's got a kick like a sonofabitch."

"Well, no. But ..."

"'Sides, didn't your mama ever tell you it ain't healthy to argue with somethin' that outweighs you by maybe a ton?" Harry finished. "I'll tell you, Jase, you still got a lot to learn about survivin'."

With that he turned to go, only to find his path blocked by Colonel Battleax.

"Tell me, Sergeant," she said, "now that we have a moment relatively alone. That little episode we had earlier ... would you have really shot me?"

Harry had the grace to look a bit abashed.

"I'd of had to, Colonel," he admitted. "Truth is, I'd rather of just tried to knock you out, but the cap'n says there's a rule against noncoms hitting officers."

"Excuse me ... Lieutenant Rembrandt?"

"Yes, Beeker?"

"If I might have a moment of your time?"

The lieutenant glanced around the room to be sure everything was going smoothly-or as smoothly as could be expected-then nodded.

"Sure, Beek. What's up?"

"Am I understanding correctly that you're nearly ready to commence your rescue attempt?"

"Well, I think we're about ready as we'll ever be," Rembrandt confirmed.

"I notice that I have not been included in any of your planning," the butler said, "and I do appreciate that. I believe my employer would be most distressed if he thought I was attempting to assume a place in the company chain of command."

The Lieutenant smiled. "Don't worry. You're considered a civilian for this one-strictly noncombatant."

"Quite ... well, not quite." Beeker frowned. "That's what I wished to speak to you about. You see, I feel my own course of action in this situation is quite clear, nor is it likely that anyone could dissuade me from it. I thought, however, that you should be made aware of exactly what it is I intend to do, so that you could take it into account in your planning or, perhaps, even interphase with it."

Leaning close, the butler launched into an explanation of his thoughts. At first, Rembrandt frowned, shaking her head slightly, but as Beeker continued speaking, a slow, broad smile crept across her face.

As I have mentioned throughout this account, my role in this campaign was larger than normal, and never so noticeable as it was for the rescue attempt. I would hasten to clarify, however, that this did not mean I joined the Space Legion, even on a temporary basis, and was therefore never under their command or control. I am a butler, and owe my loyalties to a single, chosen individual, and the idea of accepting assigned authority has always been abhorrent to me. If anything. I prefer to think that the Space Legion temporarily joined me.

Max did not share Laverna's taste for holos, preferring instead to read during her occasional leisure time. She was indulging in this pastime now, having a substantial hunk of time to fill, and curled up on the sofa with a lamp shining over her shoulder and onto the book she was reading, Maxine almost gave the suite an air of domestic tranquillity. The effect was ruined, however, by the presence of the two gunmen in the room with her. Wearing their weapons openly in shoulder holsters, they alternately wandered around the room, peered out the window through the crack in the drawn curtains, fidgeted, and idly leafed through the room's small stack of magazines, looking at the pictures rather than actually reading.

Max found the extra movement in the room to be an irritating distraction, but refrained from saying anything. It wouldn't do to have her guards sullen or resentful at this stage of the game.

The truth was that they were all a trifle on edge. The nature of their operation normally allowed Maxine and those under her command free rein to prowl the casinos and walkways of Lorelei at will. Close confinement like this was unusual, and even though she had deliberately kept the contingent of guards down to four, Max found having extra people in her living quarters to be an unexpected trial. In idle moments, she mused over the irony that, as much as their unwilling guest, she and her people were being held prisoner by the current situation.

Max glanced up as Laverna eased into the room through the bedroom door, gently closing it behind her.

"Is he still asleep?" she said, glad for the interruption.

"He sure is," her aide responded, shaking her head. "I swear sometimes I think we're doing that child a favor. He hasn't budged since he stretched out."

Upon arriving, under guard, at Maxine's suite, Phule's first request had been to ask if he could "lie down for a few minutes," and he had been sleeping ever since. Seemingly unruffled by his capture, he appeared to be taking advantage of the situation to get some long-overdue rest.

Laverna caught the eye of one of the guards.

"Your buddy in there wants someone to spell him for a while," she said. "Says he's going a little buggy sitting in the dark with nothing to do but watch our friend sleep."

One of the guards shrugged and started for the bedroom door, but Max waved him off.

"That won't be necessary," she countered. "I think our guest has slept long enough. Besides, it's about time we had a little chat. Laverna, would you wake Mr. Phule up and ask him to join us?"

"No, ma'am."

The sudden fierceness in her aide's tone startled Max almost as much as the rare refusal.

"What was that, Laverna?" She blinked, more stalling for time to collect her own thoughts than actually requiring a repetition.

"I said, `No, ma'am,'" Laverna repeated, shaking her head. "I usually stay out of this side of the business and just handle the books, and I know you might have to kill him sooner or later"-she fixed Maxine with a hard gaze-"but I don't ever want to have to tell Beeker that I had any part in mistreating his gentleman while he was in our care. I say if the man wants to sleep, let him sleep! Otherwise, get someone else to wake him up. I'm not going to do it."

Before Maxine had to reach a decision over what to do about this open rebellion, the matter was settled for her. The bedroom door opened and Phule emerged, his uniform slightly disheveled, but aside from that looking relaxed and refreshed.

"No need to fight, ladies." He smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I'm already awake. Thanks, anyway, Laverna. I'll be sure to mention your consideration to Beeker when-or should I say if-I see him again."

He ignored the guard who ghosted through the door behind him to rejoin the others, just as the guards tended to ignore the main conversation in the room.

"Sit down, Mr. Phule," Maxine said, setting her book aside and gesturing toward a chair. "I take it you overheard Laverna's unfortunate comment about the possibility of having to eliminate you?"

"I did," Phule admitted, sinking into the indicated seat, "but to be honest with you, it was no surprise. I assumed from the beginning I was only being kept alive so that, if necessary, I could speak to my father for you to confirm that I was in good health. Once the ransom is paid ..."

He shrugged and left the end of the sentence unsaid.

"Then you think he'll pay?" Max pressed. "Forgive my curiosity, but this is the first time I've dealt with someone of your father's standing."

"I really don't know," the Legionnaire said easily. "Frankly I doubt it, but he's surprised me before."

"If you don't mind my saying so, Mr. Phule," Maxine said, "you seem to be taking this very calmly."

"I see it as the price of stupidity," Phule replied, grimacing slightly. "I got so wrapped up trying to protect the complex, and Gunther Rafael, and my troops, that I completely overlooked the possibility of my own danger until I opened my door and saw your assistants standing there with their weapons trained on me. They're very good, by the way."

He paused to nod his compliments to the guards, but they ignored him.

"Anyway," he continued, "as I was saying, it was a stupid oversight, and stupidity at my level is unforgivable. It's also usually fatal, either physically or financially. By rights, I should have been dead as soon as I opened the door without checking first, and I tend to view any time I have after that as a bonus rather than brooding, getting bitter, or attempting any hopeless heroics when faced with the possibility of my eventual demise. I mean, everybody dies sometime."

"True," Maxine acknowledged thoughtfully, "though somehow I've never been able to accept it as philosophically as you seem to. However, getting back to your father for a moment ..."

"Please," the commander said, holding up a restraining hand, "if this is going to be a long discussion, I'd like something to drink first. I seem to be a bit dehydrated after my nap. Is there any chance you have any coffee or juice about?"

"I'll get it," Laverna said, heading for the suite's kitchenette.

"Excuse me," one of the guards said suddenly. He was standing at the windows and had just parted the curtain slightly with one finger to peek out. "Did anyone hear a fire alarm?"

"No," Maxine said, speaking for the whole room. "Why do you ask?"

"There's a big crowd of people down there, just standing and staring up at the casino. Looks like a fire drill. They've got some of those black uniforms keeping the space in front of the entrance clear."

"Let me see," one of the other gunman said, moving to join him. "No, it must be a newscast or somethin'. See, those lights ... and there's a camera!"

Max felt a vague twinge of alarm. She really didn't believe in coincidences, and a news team appearing while they were holding a megamillionaire hostage ...

"Hey! Look at the babe! They must be shooting a commercial."

"Yeah?" the third gunman said, suddenly attentive. So far, he had resisted joining his colleagues, staying at his post on the far side of the room. "What's she look like?"

"Can't see her too well," came the response. "I think she's only wearing body paint, though. C'm'ere and look."

A sharp rapping at the room door froze everyone into a startled tableau. The guards at the window let the curtain drop back into place and stood, hands on their weapons, waiting for orders.

The knock came again, and the guard closest to the door shot an inquiring glance at Maxine, who answered with a silent nod.

Flattening against the wall beside the door, the guard drew his weapon, then reached out and put his hand over the peephole used to check visitors. It was an old trick, and a normal precaution against someone shooting through the door when they saw the dot of light visible from the other side change as someone looked through.

Nothing happened.

Moving carefully, the guard slowly turned the doorknob, then threw the door open with a jerk.

"Good evening. My name is Beeker. Forgive the intrusion, but I'm with-oh! There you are, sir."

The guard gaped helplessly as the butler strode past him and into the suite.

"Hey, Beek!" Phule called in greeting. "I was wondering how long it would take you to show up."

"It's good to see you, sir," Beeker said unemotionally. "If I might say so, you're looking well."

"Beeker, what are you doing here?" Laverna demanded, emerging from the kitchenette.

"Oh, hello, Laverna." The butler flashed a quick smile. "I was simply-"

"If I might interrupt," Maxine broke in, her voice dripping with cold sarcasm, "could somebody search this man for weapons, if it's not too much trouble, and shut that door!"

Her words broke the spell, and the guards galvanized into action. The door to the corridor was quickly closed, and one guard patted the butler down in a careful search while another stood by, weapon at the ready.

"He's clean," the searcher said,, but missed the withering glare his victim gave in answer to this report.

"Now then, Mr. Beeker," Maxine purred, "I believe you were about to explain what you're doing here."

"Ah, you must be Mrs. Pruet." Beeker smiled. "I've heard so much about you, it's a real pleasure to meet you at last. And it's just 'Beeker,' if you please."

He gave a small half-bow in Max's direction.

"As to my presence," he continued, "I should think that would be obvious-to Ms. Laverna, at least. I am Mr. Phule's butler, ma'am, and my place is with him, regardless of circumstances. Simply put, when you acquired the company of my employer, you acquired us both. While I apologize if this presents an unexpected inconvenience for you, I'm afraid I must insist. It's a package deal."

"I ... umm ... think you've gone a little overboard with your conscientiousness, Beek," Phule said, smiling in spite of his concern. "Your presence really isn't required-or appropriate. I suggest you leave."

"Nonsense, sir," the butler chided. "As you are aware, under the terms of our contract you may define my duties for me, but the method by which I execute them is left to my discretion."

"I could fire you," the commander suggested, but again the butler shook his head.

"Quite impossible, I'm afraid. That would require giving written notice, not to mention-"

"It's too late, anyway," Maxine said, cutting the exchange short. "You see, Mr. Phule, now that ... Beeker ... has seen fit to join us, I'm afraid that ..."

Another knock at the door interrupted them.

It was an indication of how rattled the guard was that he simply opened the door without taking any of his earlier precautions.

"Room service!"

"I'm afraid you're mistaken," the guard said. "We haven't ordered anything."

He glanced back over his shoulder for confirmation.

"I'm afraid I did," Beeker declared. "Forgive me, but I took the liberty of ordering a meal for Mr. Phule. Over here, please!"

The short, dark, white-coated waiter wheeled the tablecloth-covered service cart into the room past the hapless guard.

Laverna frowned. "What's the matter, Beeker? Didn't you think we'd feed him?"

"Did you?" the butler asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, as a matter of fact ... I mean, he's been sleeping ..." she stammered, but the butler came to her rescue.

"No need to apologize," he said. "I'm aware of Mr. Phule's eating habits, such as they are. That is, in fact, what prompted me to order a meal without bothering to check first. Certain things can almost be taken as assumed."

"Well, can I assume that someone is going to search the waiter?" Maxine prompted, making no effort to hide her annoyance. "And will you please shut that door!"

The guards hastened to carry out her bidding.

"And while you're at it, check to see if there's anything besides food on those covered plates."

The guard who had just finished searching the waiter started to reach for one of the metal covers on the cart, but the waiter knocked his hand away in a sudden show of anger.

"Do not touch the food," he snarled. "I fix myself for the captain. Here ... I show you plates."

Startled by this abrupt display, the guard stepped back.

"Just a moment!" Maxine said, rising to her feet. "Did you say that you prepared the food? And how did you know ..."

Her eyes darted to the door to the corridor.

"For that matter," she said, "isn't there supposed to be a guard outside that door? Would somebody please check to see ..."

A shrill noise interrupted her.

All eyes turned toward Beeker, as the butler glanced at his wrist communicator, from which the sound was emanating.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that," he said calmly, carefully hitching up his trouser legs before sitting abruptly on the floor. "In fact, I would strongly suggest that no one in the room have any portion of their persons above the height of waist level when the sound stops. If you'd, care to join me, sir?"

Without hesitation, Phule slid off his chair to lie beside the waiter, who was already squatting next to the service cart.

"What in the world ...?"

"The man's saying get down, Max!" Laverna cried, throwing herself to the floor.

"Oh, very well," Maxine grumbled, lowering herself gingerly.

The guards lost no time diving to the carpet as the room seemed to explode.

BA-AM-BAM-BAM AM-BAM-BAM-AM-AM

Salesmen for Phule-Proof Munitions claimed, with some justification, that merely the sound of one of their Rolling Thunder belt-fed shotguns was sufficient to intimidate most opponents. However, few, if any, attempted to convey, or even consider, the effect of four of these same weapons being fired simultaneously in a close space.

AM-BAM-AM-AM-BAM-AM-BAM

Large chunks were being blasted from the wall separating the living room from the corridor outside. Through the holes, if anyone dared to raise their head to look, could be seen Tusk-anini, Moustache, Brandy, and Chocolate Harry standing abreast as they swept their murderous weapons across the wall.

BAM-BAM-AM-BAM-AM-AM

Not content with the holes, the quartet continued to fire, opening a long, ragged slot in the wall. Within the room, pictures fell and lamps exploded as more and more of the blast-driven shot poured in unhindered by the rapidly disintegrating wall. In the teeth of the carnage, Super Gnat and the Sinthian, Louie, the two smallest Legionnaires in the company, emerged from where they had been hiding on the lower shelf of the covered room-service cart, rolling sideways into a firing position with their weapons covering the prone criminals.

AM-BAM-BAM-AM-AM-BAM!!

The firing ceased abruptly, but before the echoes had fully died, a row of Legionnaires who had been lying against the wall outside while the shotguns did their work over their heads rose into view, thrusting their weapons through the ruined wall to menace the entire room.

"Nobody move!"

Rembrandt's voice cracked slightly, and seemed pitifully weak in the wake of the senses-shattering din, but no one chose to challenge her.

Ironically, considering the gaping hole in the wall, someone had to open the door from the inside to let the troops in.

As some disarmed the shaken criminals, including relieving Maxine of her sleeve pistol, others opened the drapes and waved at the crowd below.

"We got him! He's okay!" they called, and a faint cheer answered them from below.

Maxine tipped some debris off one of the chairs, then sat down on it, resting her arms on the table as a host of Legionnaires watched her carefully.

"Well, Captain," she said, "it looks like I underestimated you again."

"Actually I believe you underestimated my troops," Phule corrected, winking at the Legionnaires, who grinned back at him. "Them ... and Beeker, of course."

"Of course," Max said, sending a dark look toward the butler. "I certainly shan't forget his role in this. Well, I'll know better next time."

"Next time?" The Legionnaire commander frowned. "I really don't think there'll be a next time, Mrs. Pruet. I believe the charges against you will keep you out of circulation for quite a while."

"Nonsense, Captain," Maxine said, favoring him with a superior smirk. "Do you think it's accidental that I've never been arrested? Laverna! Please fetch me some paper and a pen."

"Do you really think you can just walk away from this?" Phule said, shaking his head in disbelief. "There's no one you can write to with enough authority to keep you from going to jail."

"And just what would that accomplish, Mr. Phule?" Max said, accepting the pen and paper from Laverna and beginning to write as she spoke. "The potential for crime on Lorelei is far too great to go unexploited. If I'm removed from my position of control, all that will happen is that another person or group will take my place-someone, perhaps, like that organization your man posed as a member of. Believe me, Captain, there are those who would be far less genteel than I in running things. As to there not being anyone who can prevent me from going to jail, you're wrong. There is one person, Mr. Phule. You!"

"Me?"

"Certainly. If you should choose not to press charges or bring my activities to the attention of the authorities or the media, I shall be free to continue my operation as normal."

"You expect me to turn a blind eye to what you've tried to do? Just because you're more civilized than most about running your syndicate?"

"No, Captain. I expect you to seriously consider a proposition of mutual advantage to both of us-a bribe, if you will. First, however, let me remind you that your stated objective was not to put me out of business, but rather to stop me from attempting to gain control of the Fat Chance. I'm prepared to offer that in exchange for my freedom."

"That's a surprisingly weak offer, coming from you, Mrs. Pruet," Phule said stiffly. "In exchange for my letting you go, you're proposing to give me a promise in writing that you won't try to gain control of the Fat Chance-something you haven't been able to do so far and would find doubly difficult to attempt from jail?"

"Don't be crass, Mr. Phule," Maxine said, signing the paper in front of her with a flourish and setting the pen aside. "What I have here is a document assigning Mr. Rafael's loan agreement with me over to you, or more specifically, your Space Legion company. That will negate my interest, not to mention my primary weapon, in taking over this facility. Allow me to walk away from this, and you can renegotiate more favorable payment terms for Mr. Rafael, accept the scheduled payment, or eliminate the debt completely."

She picked up the paper and extended it toward the commander.

"Well, Captain?" She smiled. "What do you say? Do we have a deal?"