"That went better than I would have hoped," he declared.
"Yes, sir," Beeker responded. "I notice you neglected to tell the colonel that you not only purchased the barracks and land but also the construction company that's doing the remodeling."
"It didn't seem the right time, somehow." The commander winked. "Incidentally, remind me to get a clerk or something assigned to monitor the communications gear in here. You shouldn't have to do that on top of the rest of your duties."
"Very good, sir... and thank you."
"No thanks necessary, Beek. I just don't want to give you any more ammo than is necessary when it comes time to negotiate your next raise."
Phule stretched and looked out the window.
"So... what's on the docket for today?"
"Quite a bit, sir... but as you pointed out when I wakened you, it's still early."
"Well, I'm up now. Let's get to work. And give the officers and cadre a call-especially Chocolate Harry. No sense in letting them lounge abed when I'm working."
CHAPTER SIX
Journal File #024
I will not attempt to capture the true feeling of what it was like for the company to stand guard duty in a swamp, though my employer's impressions of the duty the first day he joined them in that task would doubtless be of interest to some. This is not so much a lack of willingness or ability on my part to impart such details, but rather a simple lack of data, as I never actually accompanied the company into the swamp--a fact I became particularly appreciative of when I observed the condition of their uniforms at the end of the day.
Bombest had nearly resigned himself to the Legionnaires' presence in his hotel. There was no denying the welcome influx of rental monies during a normally slack period, and the troops themselves had proved to be far less raucous and destructive than he originally feared. He even made an honest effort to muster a certain amount of enthusiasm in his mind for their residence. What progress he had made along those lines, however, faded rapidly as he observed the Legionnaires' transports pull up to the front door late in the afternoon, disgorging what could only be described as "mudmen" onto the sidewalk.
From the waist-or, in some cases, the armpits-up, they were recognizable as the hotel's latest guests. From the "disaster line" down, however, any familiar detail of individual or uniform was lost in a coating of gray-green muck. As sticky as it looked, Bombest noted that the coating seemed to lack sufficient adhesion to fully remain on its hosts, disturbing quantities of it falling in flakes and globs onto the sidewalk and, with apparent inevitability, the lobby carpet.
"Hold it right there!"
The voice of the Legionnaires' commander, or, as Bombest tended to think of him, the Leader of the Pack, cracked like-a whip, bringing the mud-encrusted figures to a complete, if puzzled, halt on the lobby's threshold.
The hotel manager watched with some astonishment as Phule, his uniform displaying the same dubious collection of swamp mire as his followers, squeezed through the front ranks and advanced on the registration desk with the cautious tread of one trying to ease over a mine field.
"Good afternoon, Bombest," the commander said pleasantly upon reaching his destination. "Could you call housekeeping for me and see if they have... Never mind. These will do nicely."
So saying, he scooped up two of the stacks of the day's newspapers from the desk, the hard copies still preferred by many, piling them on top of each other, then slipping an arm under them as he fished some bills from the relatively clean shirt pocket of his uniform.
"Here... this should cover it. Oh, and Bombest?"
"Yes, Mr. Phule?" the manager responded absently as he tried to figure out how to count the money without soiling his hands. Delegation seemed the only answer.
"Do you know if everything's set up in the main ballroom?"
"In a way, sir. Yes. One of your sergeants thought it best if we erected the divider to allow some privacy between the men and women, and it was necessary to open one of the adjoining meeting rooms for additional space-"
"Yes, yes," Phule interrupted. "But they're set to go?"
"Yes, sir. If you wish, I'll inform them you've arrived."
"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 a
re 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 minors.
"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 Legionnaire 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 kinds 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-every one in the settlement, or, at least, every one 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.
Phule's Company Page 9
