On the other hand, the crowd was full of the spectator sports types, most of whom had come to be entertained--and to bet on whatever was about to transpire. Several bookies had set up impromptu stands, ready to set odds and cover wagers. (It didn't matter that the exact details hadn't been announced; there was bound to be something to bet on, and somebody willing to risk a few units on the outcome.) Phule smiled; once the crowd saw what he had in mind, the bookies would be swamped with business. He was almost tempted to send Beeker over to place some bets on his behalf, but there was little point to it. Any bet large enough to be interesting would skew the odds to the point that he'd get a minuscule return--assuming the bookies were willing to cover it in the first place.
And, reluctant as he was to admit it, it wouldn't be a sure return. He was gambling--even without placing bets, he was gambling--on a system that was about to be put to its most strenuous test. It had been risky enough to pit his whole company against the Red Eagles, the Regular Army's elite company. Now he was pitting raw rookies against Gambolts, the most respected fighters known. He'd find plenty of bettors willing to go against him--and it was not going to be a sure thing.
"Everything's set, Captain," said a voice at his elbow.
Phule awoke from his musing with a start; he hadn't even seen Brandy approaching. "Good work, Brandy. No point keeping all these people waiting, then. Let's get it started!"
"Right, Captain!" Brandy turned to the small group of uniformed figures waiting a short distance away, and barked out her orders. "Gambolts--front and center!"
The three Gambolts moved gracefully through the ranks of legionnaires and came to attention.
"The obstacle course is designed to build the confidence of the entire unit," said Brandy, speaking for the onlookers' ears as well as for her troops'. "This company has its own special way of running the course, and you'll learn that in due time. But today we have a special exercise for our new members. Flight Leftenant Qual, our Zenobian military attache, will be assisting us. Are you ready, Leftenant?"
"Ready, Sergeant Cognac," said the Zenobian's translator as the little lizardlike alien stepped forward, his teeth displayed in what Phule knew was intended as a smile, but which most of the spectators instinctively flinched away from. Those who paid attention to such details would have noticed that Qual was wearing not his regular dress uniform, but black fatigues and running shoes.
Brandy turned to the three Gambolts again. "The Leftenant will run the course, and we will give him a three-minute head start. Then you three will try to capture him and bring him to the finish line. He will attempt to reach the end under his own power. You will take every precaution not to injure one another, but short of that, all tactics are legal. Any questions?"
The Gambolts shook their heads--a gesture they'd picked up from their human counterparts since joining the Legion. "Good," said Brandy. "Leftenant, start when you're ready."
"Bonsai!" shouted the Zenobian, and he took off down the course.
Brandy watched him take off, then turned back to the troops. "Oh yeah, we forgot to tell you one other detail about this exercise. Three minutes after you Gambolts start, the rest of the recruits will follow you. It'll be their job to prevent you from capturing the leftenant. Again, anything they want to do is legit, as long as nobody's trying to hurt the others."
Surprise blossomed on the recruits' faces. "Sergeant, is this some sort of joke?" said Mahatma. "Of course, we're going to give this our best try. But we've seen what these Gambolts can do. They'll be at the finish, with Leftenant Qual in tow, before most of us have cleared the first barrier."
"Don't give up before you start," said Brandy, her eyes fixed on her chronometer. Qual was barrelling down the course, showing the same agility he'd demonstrated while leading Phule's legionnaires in a not-so-merry chase through the hotel. "Two minutes to go."
"Qual may have enough of a head start to get there before the Gambolts can catch him," muttered one of the other recruits. "That's our best chance of winning." Several heads in the ranks nodded in agreement.
Meanwhile, the crowd had grasped what was going on, and was rapidly trying to place bets before the issue was settled.
"That lizard's quicker than a flash," said one spectator. "I got fifty says he gets to the end before the cats catch him."
"I'm offering two-to-one on the lizard, even money on the cats," replied the bookie he'd approached.
"No way, you gotta give me three-to-one!" Because of the Gambolts' formidable reputation--and reports of Garbo's quick capture of Qual in the Fat Chance lobby--the heaviest betting was on the Gambolts. Soon, Qual's supporters were getting odds of five- or six-to-one. Nobody seemed to consider the human recruits a serious factor.
"One minute," said Brandy. The Gambolts were stretching their muscles, limbering up for the run. Like the rest of the recruits, they would be carrying full packs for the run--a tradition Phule had insisted on, even though it apparently gave the Gambolts an even greater advantage over the human rookies. Pound for pound, their catlike bodies possessed more raw strength than even the best-trained human athlete could match.
Suddenly one of the onlookers let out a gasp. "Look! The lizard's stopped!" he shouted, pointing down the course. Sure enough, after covering approximately a quarter of the distance, Qual had come to an open area, stopped, and was now sitting down on the ground in the middle of it.
"What the devil is he doing?" said one spectator, who'd been betting heavily on the Zenobian. "Is he worn out, or has he gone plumb crazy?"
"It's a fix!" yelled another bettor. "I want my money back!"
"No way, buddy," said the bookie who'd taken his wager. "You can't afford to lose, don't bet your money. Anybody wants to hedge their bets, I'm givin' two-to-five on the cats."
"Gambolts go!" barked Brandy, and almost as if flung from a catapult, the three Gambolts were streaking down the course, making an incredible pace without showing any strain at all. All three had their eyes on Qual, who lounged almost insolently in plain sight a short distance down the course. Some bettors turned to admire the Gambolts' speed and grace, but others were waving wads of money at the bookies. Within less than a minute, the odds had dropped to one-to-ten. The bookies did their best to stall these bettors, trying to accommodate the few suckers still willing to bet on the underdog Qual.
"OK," said Brandy, seeing the Gambolts well down the course. She turned to face the recruits and put her fists on her hips. "Listen up, people," she barked. "You're Legion, now, and what's more, you're Omega Mob, and that means family. We run the obstacle course our own way, and you're gonna see that right now." She reached to her chest and grasped a whistle hanging from a lanyard, put it to her mouth, and blew a shrill blast.
Out of the crowd, where they'd mingled unnoticed in mufti, came the Omega Mob. Not all of them--the guard detail at the Fat Chance had to be kept up to strength--but enough to multiply the strength of the recruit's squad tenfold. "This is your family," said Brandy. "We all run together--officers, NCOs, recruits, humans, Synthians, Gambolts--everybody! Let's show 'em how we do it."
Nobody bothered to ask whether the Gambolts' three-minute head start had expired. The spectators watched, open-mouthed, as the Omega Mob, with Phule and Brandy in the lead, surged forward, and the new recruits were swept up with them.
Up ahead, the Gambolts had closed to within a few dozen yards of Flight Leftenant Qual, who had risen to his feet again. Now the Zenobian began to display the same kind of speed and elusiveness he'd given the legionnaires during the chase through the casino, with half the Omega Mob in pursuit.
Dukes had decided to try a full-speed-ahead charge at his quarry, and so he was nearly within arms' reach of Qual when the lizardlike alien feinted to the left, took a sliding step to the right, and then suddenly dived under the Gambolt's grasp. The maneuver put Qual in the clear for a moment, as Dukes somersaulted, recovering quickly from his headlong dive.
Qual did not have long to think about his next move, as R
ube was on him almost instantly. This time, Qual put on a burst of speed directly away from Rube--and toward the recovering Dukes, who eagerly spread his arms to contain the fleeing Zenobian.
Just as it looked as if the two Gambolts had succeeded in cornering him, Qual made another sudden change of direction, and Rube, unable to slow down quickly enough, plowed into Dukes. The two went down in a heap, and lay there stunned as Qual sprinted away. That left Garbo, who had held back a few paces from the other two pursuers, the only Gambolt still on her feet. She changed direction, following Qual as if she were attached to his tail with a six-foot wire.
Qual had taken a twisting course, changing direction every few steps, but now he straightened out and sprinted directly back toward the starting line of the obstacle course. In pursuit was Garbo, sticking close but gaining no ground. A few yards behind her, Dukes and Rube were back on their feet, in the chase again. And ahead of Qual was the Omega Mob, picking up speed as it ran the course.
By now, the spectators were in a frenzy. Perched on a hill overlooking the course, they could see all the action. The bookies were now accepting side bets on which Gambolt would catch the Zenobian, with Garbo a clear favorite, although both Dukes and Rube were drawing some support. Despite Qual's impressive show of speed, only the die-hard longshot players were still betting that he would elude all three pursuers.
And, in fact, Qual seemed to be running into a trap of his own making. Directly ahead of him was a high wall, a much more formidable barrier for the little lizard than for his pursuers. Qual had managed to scale the wall on his way out onto the course, but nowhere near as easily as the Gambolts, who had sailed over it almost without slowing down. Sensing their quarry's predicament, Dukes and Rube spread out to either side, effectively closing off the Zenobian's escape in those directions. As if conceding defeat, Qual stopped perhaps ten feet short of the wall, turning to face his pursuers with a smile.
Then, behind him, the wall fell down.
On the other side awaited the Omega Mob--over a hundred strong.
Phule stood at the head of the company. He pointed forward and shouted, "To the finish line! All together!"
The Omega Mob moved forward like a tidal wave. As they passed Qual and the Gambolts, they picked them up and carried them along with them, chairing them on the shoulders of their comrades, cheering as if they'd won a gravball championship. There were obstacles in their way, but it didn't matter. The Mob didn't slow until they'd reached the finish line, and behind them the course was flat as a pancake.
"I'm still not sure I understand what happened out there," said Jennie Higgins, leaning back in her chair and clasping her hands behind her head. "The Gambolts chased the Zenobian around, and then the rest of the company came and swept them all along to the finish line, without settling anything--the bookies tried to argue that the Gambolts had lost, but eventually the bettors made them call off all the bets. What were you trying to accomplish?"
Phule smiled. It was easy to smile, sitting with someone as pretty as Jennie across the table from him. "There were two things we needed to do for the company, and I think we did them," he said. "And there were a couple of longer-range things I hoped we'd accomplish, although the jury's still out on those."
"And are you going to tell me what those things were, or do I have to sit here and guess?" asked Jennie, teasingly.
Phule shrugged. "Oh, most of it's no secret. The first thing we needed to do was show the new recruits they're part of the company--family, is more like it. That's the basic purpose of our obstacle course exercise, really. We run the course as a company, rather than individually, to show everyone that together they can overcome things very few of them could singly."
"Yes, that was clear," said Jennie. "That strong esprit de corps has marked your company as long as I've known it. But that doesn't explain why you let the Zenobian run out first, or sent the Gambolts after him."
"Leftenant Qual got off on a bad foot when he came to join us," said Phule. "Some of the company had the impression he was spying on us. Well, a couple of nights back he rescued one of our people who got in a tough spot, which did a lot to change that false impression. But I wanted to solidify the company's sense that he was working with us, and luckily the Leftenant was willing to play the role I offered him, as a rabbit for the Gambolts to chase."
"Willing?" Jennie laughed. "It looked to me as if he was really enjoying himself out there. At least, as far as I can judge a Zenobian's expression."
"Yes, I think he was," said Phule. "He has kind of an odd sense of humor, but I think he gets a kick out of being pursued. Possibly because, on their own world, his people are the hunters, and so it amuses him to play the quarry instead."
"OK, that makes sense, but why have only the Gambolts chase him, instead of the whole company?"
"Two reasons," said Phule. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Now we're getting to the part I don't want spread too widely--though I suppose some people will guess it by themselves."
"I won't write anything that could damage the company," said Jennie. "You should know that, by now."
"You've been very supportive," said Phule. "Anyhow, you know the Gambolts' reputation as the finest fighting troops in the Galaxy. They've always served in their own elite units, so it was quite an honor when they asked to join my company."
"I can imagine," said Jennie. Then, seeing Phule's expression, she guessed, "But it has its downside, too."
"You've got it," said Phule. "They're so obviously superior to our other new recruits that it was affecting morale. I had to counteract that. Chasing Qual let them show how good they are, which is important--they need to feel success, too."
"But not catching Qual right away took them down a notch, as well, I assume."
Phule nodded. "They didn't manage to get Qual cornered until they worked as a team, which was what I hoped for. They tend to be loners, and it was important to get them thinking as members of a team. That was a bit of a gamble on my part--it depended on Qual staying free until then."
Jennie put a forefinger on her chin. "And right when they got him cornered, the company swept them all up."
"Yes, that's exactly it," said Phule, smacking his fist into his palm. "I wanted the company to catch up to the Gambolts just at the moment they'd succeeded in running Qual down--to make them associate that feeling of success with being part of the whole company. The timing was tricky, but Qual carried it off--and I don't mind telling you, it was a relief that he managed to. It all fell together when the rest of the company gathered them up and treated them as comrades. I wanted to inspire them to stop thinking of themselves as competing individuals, and become members of the family--to take pride in each other's abilities. Now we can build on that."
"Well, I hope you're right," said Jennie. "After what I saw today, I'm glad they're on our side. I'd hate to have somebody that good as my enemy."
"Jennie, we count you among our very best friends," said Phule, smiling even more broadly than before. If her response was typical, the exercise had a chance to achieve his final, unspoken goal. Now, he had to hope the right people had been watching...
Chapter 9
The shortest route from the officer's mess to the Comm center went through the hotel's ballroom wing. Phule and Lieutenant Armstrong, on their way to their offices after a working breakfast, happened to pass the Grand Ballroom as Flight Leftenant Qual, grinning from ear to ear, led the recruits in warm-up exercises before unarmed combat training. He was leading them through a set of jumping jacks to an improvised cadence that, after the translating circuits had mangled it, had even Brandy falling out with laughter. The recruits looked as enthusiastic as they'd been since joining the Legion.
Phule smiled at the sight. "Well, I think we've finally scotched the rumor that Qual's a spy," he said.
"Yes, sir," said Armstrong, striding alongside. "It was a stroke of genius to have him play bait for the Gambolts in that exercise. That made him the underdog, and the recruits w
ere all rooting for him. That broke down a lot of barriers."
"Yes, that went a long way toward solving the problem," said Phule. "But we got a piece of sheer luck, when Qual rescued Gears--you know him, from the motor pool-- from robbers out in town. That stun ray of his probably saved our man's life."
"Yes, that was very lucky," said Armstrong. "He couldn't have sat down and planned things any better to rehabilitate his reputation."
Phule came to a sudden stop and looked at his lieutenant. "Hmm--tell me the truth, Armstrong. You don't think that could be exactly what happened, do you?"
Armstrong's jaw fell. "Why, that's imposs... No, I guess it's not impossible. It is far-fetched, but I suppose Qual could have arranged it. But if the robbers were hired to take the fall, or tricked into it, Qual couldn't be sure they wouldn't talk."
"I think you should call to Station Security and make sure those fellows are thoroughly questioned before they're sent off to prison," said Phule. "Odds are they're smalltime robbers who picked the wrong victim. But if there's anything fishy about Qual's being there to make the rescue, we need to know about it as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir," said Armstrong, although he didn't look happy. "That's the way things have been lately, isn't it? Just as we think a problem's solved, it turns out there's a new twist we haven't thought of."
"I'm afraid that's the way of it, Lieutenant," said Phule, nodding sympathetically. Armstrong always wanted problems to be simple, with simple solutions. It had taken Phule a good while to learn that real life didn't always work that way. With luck, his lieutenant would make the necessary adjustment before he had a command of his own. It was one thing to go through life thinking you could ignore all the shades of gray in the world; it was another thing to stake the lives and safety of people under your command on that assumption. Well, Armstrong was learning, a bit slower than he might have, but there was hope for him.
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