“No need, Bombest. Thanks, anyway,” the commander said as he began to retrace his steps toward the door.
“Okay! Listen up!”
The waiting Legionnaires lapsed into silence.
“I want the troops on point to take these papers and spread them out on the carpet between the door and the elevators. The rest of you move slow and stay on the path as much as possible. Any extra papers are to be left by the elevators, and I want you to grab a handful to spread ahead of you as you hit your floors. Let’s try to keep the mess to a minimum until we get cleaned up. Understand?”
“YES, SIR!”
“What’s wrong with room service?”
The catcall from the rear was greeted with laughter and a few scattered rude replies until Phule waved the company into silence once more.
“Let me answer that question once and for all,” he announced. “While we’re guests at this hotel, there is a housekeeping service as well as a laundry service at our disposal. I have also contracted similar services for us once we move into our new barracks.”
A wave of enthusiastic cheers was cut short with another gesture.
“However, I remind you that this is a privilege, and it is not to be abused. If it comes to my attention that the personnel of these services are being forced to deal with any unnecessary unpleasantness or are putting in extra hours due to any laziness or inconsideration of anyone under my command, several things will happen. First, they will be paid a bonus commensurate to the work required. Second, the bonus will be deducted from your paychecks rather than included in the normal expenses I am covering personally. Finally, those services will be canceled and their work distributed among the company as additional duty until such time as I am convinced that you appreciate their efforts sufficiently to conduct yourselves with the appropriate courtesy and consideration. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir!”
“All right! I want you all to get upstairs and clean up, then report to the main ballroom for—”
A new eruption of catcalls interrupted the commander, though it was apparent that he was not the focus. Breaking off his briefing, he turned to see what had captured the company’s attention.
“Hoooo-eeee!”
“Ain’t that purdy?”
“Look out, girls!”
“How ’bout a kiss, Slick?”
Chocolate Harry stood framed in the hotel door, though “stood” scarcely embraced the picture he presented. He was ramrod straight, despite his inflated-pear stature, and wore the smug smile of a rich baron surveying his peasants. The obvious reason for his self-pleasure, and the target of the catcalls, was his uniform.
In place of his normal faded and frayed uniform, Harry glowed in a velveteen jumpsuit of the purest midnight black. The change from his usual rough-and-tumble look was stunning, and the contrast between him and his mud-caked admirers made him look like he just stepped off a recruiting poster. Calf-high boots of what looked to be the supplest suede with low, broad heels added to his height as he drew himself up and fired a parade-ground salute at his company commander.
“Ready in the main ballroom, sir!”
Any annoyance Phule might have felt over his supply sergeant upstaging his announcement was quickly crowded aside by his amusement at Harry’s obvious pleasure with the uniform. It was clear that the sergeant had been unable to resist the temptation to show off his new outfit, and had seized on the excuse of reporting in to parade it in front of the rest of the company. Stifling his smile, Phule returned the salute.
“Thank you, C.H. We’ll be along momentarily. Tell everyone to stand by.”
“Yes, sir!”
Again the flashy salute, which the commander was obliged to return before turning back to the company.
“As I was saying, once you’re cleaned up, report to the main ballroom. As you may have noticed, your new uniforms have arrived today, and there are tailors waiting for your final fittings. Carry on.”
His final words were nearly drowned out by a loud whoop of enthusiasm as the Legionnaires surged forward into the hotel, barely remembering their commander’s order regarding the newspapers.
Following in their wake, Phule saw Chocolate Harry surrounded by a knot of Legionnaires admiring his uniform while waiting their turn at the elevators.
“Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir?”
The supply sergeant broke away from his admirers and hurried to Phule’s side.
“Relax, C.H. The uniform looks great on you.”
“Thank you, sir. I mean … it do, don’t it?”
Harry craned his neck around, trying to catch a reflection of himself in one of the lobby mirrors.
“I was under the impression that uniform was designed with sleeves, though.”
“That’s the way it come out of the box,” the sergeant acknowledged, “but I had a few words with the man in charge and convinced him they could come off. I like it better this way—easier to move in.”
He swung his arms back and forth, then flexed his substantial biceps as if to prove his point.
“I see what you mean, C.H. Maybe I’ll try that with a couple of my uniforms.”
Phule suppressed the visions flashing in his mind of the confrontation between Harry and the uniform’s designer.
“Do that, Cap’n. It works great. Whoop! Got to go now. It’s gonna be real busy in there for a while.”
“Good. Carry on, Sergeant.”
The commander watched him go, then tiptoed over to the front desk with the exaggerated care of a villain in melodrama.
“Excuse me, Bombest?”
“Yes, Mr. Phule?”
“There’ll be a Charlie Daniels coming by in a bit looking for me. If he stops by the desk, just have him come right up to my penthouse. I’d appreciate it.”
“Certainly, s—ah, would that by any chance be Charles Hamilton Daniels III?”
“That’s the one. Send him up when he shows.”
* * *
“Mr. Daniels?”
The wiry figure in the penthouse door nodded in response to Beeker’s inquiry.
“Yes, sir. Here to see Captain Jester.”
The butler hesitated only a fraction of a moment before stepping aside to admit the caller.
“Nice layout you got here,” the caller said, peering about as he ambled into the salon portion of the penthouse. “Roomy, too.”
“Actually it’s more room than I need … or am really comfortable with,” Phule responded as he emerged from the bedroom, still toweling his hair from the shower. “I only rented it because we needed the space for our temporary headquarters.”
He gestured toward the tangle of communications gear at the far end of the suite where a Legionnaire sat idly sharpening a spring stiletto while minding the apparatus.
“Good.” Daniels nodded approvingly. “Never did hold much with ostentatious displays of wealth. Either you got it or you don’t, I always say.”
Their visitor was clearly into practicing what he preached, as his dress for the meeting consisted of faded blue jeans, a plain gray sweatshirt, and a pair of cowboy boots. It was only when one studied his half-open eyes that danced alertly from the wrinkles of his sun-reddened face that one had a glimmer of the truth: that far from being a down-at-the-heels laze-about, Charles Hamilton Daniels III was easily one of the richest men on the planet.
“Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Daniels?” Beeker said, clearly reassured that he had, indeed, admitted the right man to his employer’s quarters.
“Well, if you got a couple fingers of brandy in that wet bar I see over there, I wouldn’t say no … And it’s ‘Charlie.’ I’m only ‘Mr. Daniels’ to my lawyers—mine and other people’s.”
“Very good, Mr. … Charlie.”
“I’ll take care of that, Beeker,” Phule said, tossing his towel back into the bedroom and closing the door. “I want you to run down to the main ballroom and keep an eye on things.”
“Yeah!” the Legionn
aire on communications put in. “Tell ’em I’ll be down for my fitting as soon as someone gets up here to relieve me.”
The butler cocked a chilly eyebrow at him.
“… please,” the Legionnaire added hastily.
“Very good, sir.”
“Why don’t you just go along with him now … Do-Wop, isn’t it?” the commander suggested from the bar. “I can cover the console while I chat with Charlie, here.”
“Thanks, Captain,” the Legionnaire responded, uncoiling from his chair and slipping his knife into a pocket before following the butler out the door.
“That’s a relief,” Daniels commented, turning his head and craning his neck to see if Do-Wop was out of hearing. “For a while, I thought we were going to have our chat with one of your boys sharpening his knife at me. That would kinda give you an edge, if you’ll pardon the expression. Assuming you invited me up here to talk a little business, that is.”
“If that had occurred to me, I might have had him stay.” Phule smiled, passing his guest a snifter of warm brandy. “I do appreciate your stopping by, though, Charlie. Normally I would have come to you, but I pretty much have my hands full trying to reorganize the company, and I didn’t want to wait too long before talking with you.”
“No problem, son. What all’s going on down in the ballroom, anyway, that’s got everyone so het up?”
“The new uniforms for the company arrived today. They’re a good crew, but right now they’re acting like a bunch of kids squabbling over who gets to play with a new toy. Everyone wants to be the first to be fitted so they can show off their new outfits.”
Daniels nodded sagely.
“Is that it? There were a bunch of ’em running around the lobby when I came in. Gotta admit, though, the uniforms they were wearing sure didn’t look like any government issue I’ve ever seen.”
He shot a sly, sidelong glance at Phule as he took a sip of his drink.
“Well, they aren’t exactly standard uniforms,” the commander admitted uncomfortably. “I had them designed especially for us—a full wardrobe, actually: field uniforms, dress uniforms, the works. You might know the designer. He’s a local here … name of Olie VerDank.”
“Olie? You mean Helga’s boy?”
“I … I guess so,” Phule said. “He’s the only designer in the settlement I know of with that name.”
“Good.” Daniels nodded. “He’s a talented fellah and could use the work—and the exposure. I’ll tell you, I always thought men who designed clothes were a little … well, you know … until I met Olie. Shoulders like an ox, that one. Got a pretty little gal he married, too. He’s got a bit of a temper, though, and don’t much like to be told what to design. I’m a little surprised you got him to work for you.”
“I offered to match the profits of his fall line.” The commander shrugged, looking into his own drink as he stirred it with a finger. “After that he didn’t seem too inclined to argue.”
“I’d have to say that was a fair offer. More’n fair, actually,” Daniels said. “Course, I imagine with a couple hundred of your troops all wanted to be fitted at the same time, he’s busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest down there.”
Phule grinned openly at the colorful analogy before replying.
“It shouldn’t be too bad. I’ve got a couple dozen tailors helping him—everyone in the settlement, or, at least, everyone I could find.”
Daniels snorted loudly. “And I’m sure they all just love working together. You got style, son. I’ll give you that. I believe there was some business you wanted to discuss with me, though?”
“That’s right,” the commander said, leaning forward in his chair. “I wanted to talk with you about today’s performance in the swamp.”
“Don’t know about your crew,” Charlie said, “but we had us a pretty good day. Got three nice stones. In fact, I’ve got ’em with me if you’d like to see.”
He pulled a small cloth drawstring bag from his pocket and tossed it to Phule. The commander opened the bag and upended it, spilling three small pebbles into his hand.
“Very nice,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
In reality, he found the stones to be immensely unimpressive. They were small, the largest being roughly the size of a marble, while the smallest was barely the size of a pea. A dull, mottled brown, they seemed no different from any pebbles one might find in a garden.
“Oh, they might not look like much now,” Daniels commented, seeming to read Phule’s thoughts, “but they polish up real nice with a little work. This is what they end up lookin’ like.”
He held out his hand to display the ring he was wearing. The stone in the ring was larger than those Phule was holding, measuring nearly a full inch long. It was the same brown as the raw stones, but shone with a rich luster, and streaks of dazzling blue and red danced in its depths as Daniels moved his hand, making it look like the product of a successful breeding between tigereye and fire opal.
“Very nice,” Phule murmured, and meant it this time. He had never seen anything quite like it before, and for a moment was unable to take his eyes from the play of colors in the ring.
“Thought you might like to see what we’ve been panning for while your crew stood guard. Course, what keeps the price up is their scarcity. That little stone you’re holding will probably sell for enough to pay the bill for your Legionnaires for three months.”
“Really?” The commander was genuinely impressed. He carefully eased the stones back into their bag and returned it to Daniels. “I’ll admit I had no idea they were so valuable. Umm … it might be wise not to mention their worth in front of my troops. I mean, I trust them, but …”
“No sense in puttin’ needless temptation in their way. Right?” Charlie grinned. “Son, I appreciate the advice, but we already figured that out for ourselves. ’Sides, even if someone was to make off with a few of these beauties, it wouldn’t do ’em much good. Everyone around here knows who we are, and any stranger who tried to sell one of these stones would stand out like a gorilla in a beauty contest. They couldn’t sell ’em local, and we wouldn’t let a ship or a shuttle get cleared for lift-off while there was one missing.”
“Good.” Phule nodded. “Then there’s no problem. Actually, though, what I wanted to talk to you about was the way my crew stood duty today.”
Daniels squinted his eyes in thought for a moment, then shook his head and took another sip of his drink.
“Okay. I can’t recall ’em being any different today than usual, but then again, I’ll admit I wasn’t payin’ much attention.”
“Neither were they,” Phule said flatly. “At least, not to anything except their scanners.”
“Their scanners?”
“That’s right. You know, the ones programmed to alert them if anything dangerous entered the area?”
“I know what you’re talkin’ about. Fact is, we provided ’em. It’s another one of those conditions the insurance folks dreamed up especially for our operation. I’m just not sure why you have a problem with ’em.”
Phule surged to his feet and started pacing the room.
“The problem is that they’re relying too much on them, from what I can see. If they malfunctioned—or, more important, if anything wandered up that wasn’t covered by the programmed data—we’d never notice until someone got bitten, or whatever.”
Daniels’s face wrinkled in a scowl.
“Never thought of it, but you’ve got a point there, son.”
“Even more important,” the commander continued, “I don’t like the idea of my troops being so dependent on machines to do their thinking for them. Now, I use computers all the time myself, but I’ll still match the human mind against one every time when it comes to judgment calls.”
“So what exactly is it that you propose instead?”
“I want to implement a training course to familiarize every Legionnaire under my command with the dangerous life-forms in the area. Once that’s d
one”—Phule hesitated, then took a deep breath and continued with a rush—“I want to turn the machines off so that the crew are relying on their own observation and judgment to do their job. Realizing that if anything goes wrong the miners will be the ones to suffer, I wanted your approval as the head of the combine that hired us before putting my plan into motion.”
“Heck,” Daniels said, “I’ve got no problem with that, though I might have if you hadn’t bothered to check with us first. There’s not that much dangerous out there, anyway. Like I said, it was more to keep the insurance folks happy than anything else. Fact is, we used to get by without scanners or guards before folks zeroed in on us and started insisting we get civilized. You just go on ahead with your training. I’ll take care of lettin’ the other miners know what’s goin’ on.”
“Thank you, Charlie.” The commander smiled, relieved that his proposal had been accepted so easily. “Now then, as to the potential impact on your insurance rates …”
“Don’t worry about that, either,” the miner insisted. “Just tell your crew to keep those scanners handy even when they’re turned off. Then, if we ever have problems or have to file a claim, we’ll see about arranging a ‘temporary equipment malfunction’ or something. Much as those insurance types like to think up regulations for us, ain’t seen one yet actually come out into the swamp to see if we’re following instructions.”
“I’d rather not start dabbling in insurance fraud,” Phule said carefully, “but if instead we—”
The insistent beep of his wrist communicator interrupted him, and he broke off speaking to answer the call.
“Captain Jester speaking.”
“Beeker here, sir. Sorry to intrude, but you might want to come down here when you have a moment.”
“What’s the problem, Beek?”
“Well, there seems to be some difficulty fitting the Sinthians with their new uniforms. Specifically the tailors are arguing with the designer that it can’t be done.”
Phule grimaced. “All right. I’ll be down as soon as I finish here … figure about fifteen minutes. Jester out.”
“Which ones are the Sinthians?” Daniels said curiously.
The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set Page 10
