She departed, leaving Phule gaping after her.
"Have you got a minute, Captain?"
Surprised, Phule looked up to find Chocolate Harry framed in the doorway of the penthouse. Actually the pear-shaped black supply sergeant did more than fill the doorway. He dominated it and the room with his bulk.
"Sure. Come on in, C.H. What can I do for you?"
Though deliberately casual in tone and manner, the commander was curious as to what had dragged Harry away from his normal lair in the supply rooms. They had not spoken more than in passing since the new uniforms were issued, and while the supply sergeant had been more than efficient in handling his expanded duties, Phule was curious as to his true reactions to the revitalization of the company.
Harry eased into the room, peering around through the thick lenses of his glasses as if he expected to find an intruder-or a bargain-lurking in the corners. Finally he ran a hand over his close-cropped hair and began.
"Well, sir," he said, that surprisingly wheezy voice of his emerging mysteriously from his dense, bristly beard. "I've been doing some thinkin'. You know the problems we've been havin' comin' up with weapons for Spartacus and Louie?"
Phule nodded carefully. Along with the problems of locomotion, the Sinthians had other difficulties in interfacing with the troops, not the least of which were armaments. Their spindly arms had enough wiry strength to handle most of the firearms in the company's arsenal, but there was a problem with their eyestalks. It seemed that the sighting devices designed for eyes mounted side by side on a head, like on a human face, were somehow beyond the Sinthians' physiology. They were issued weapons along with the rest of the company when they went out on exercises, but were under strict orders not to fire a round until they had demonstrated an ability to place their shots at least in the vicinity of their intended target.
"Have you got an answer, C.H.?"
"Mebbe so." The sergeant fidgeted. "You see, before I signed up, I was a member of... a club. Pretty rough-and-tumble folks. Anyway, we had one guy, blind as a bat, who was one of the meanest dudes we had in a fight. What it was, was he got hold of a sawed-off shotgun and used that when things got rough. He didn't have to be real accurate, just so long as he got the general direction right. I was thinkin'... you know, with the Sinthians..."
Phule considered this. A sawed-off shotgun was a classic close-combat weapon, especially as an adaptation to some of the new belt-fed models. There was no denying its effectiveness, though it was not usually issued in the military. Of course, the police still used them for really nasty situations, so it wasn't entirely unprecedented. Then again, this was Harry's first independent effort to help the company, and the commander was loath to discourage him.
"That's an excellent idea, C.H.," he said, reaching his decision. "As a matter of fact, we're going to be getting a visit from a sales rep of old Phule-Proof Munitions in the next few days. We'll have to see what he has in stock that can be modified to our purposes."
"That's great, Cap'n. Wouldn't mind browsing through their selection myself. Ain't often I've had a chance to see the new stuff instead of hand-me-downs and black market rejects."
"Oh, you'll be involved in the selections, Sergeant." The commander smiled. "Never fear on that score. Getting back to the shotguns, though, I only see one possible problem with issuing them to the Sinthians. Specifically it will be of the utmost importance that they're pointed at least in the right general direction when they fire. That'll mean being sure they're teamed with someone reliable, and not that many of our more solid Legionnaires have expressed a willingness to accept them as partners. It seems that everyone's afraid that their slowness would be a liability on combat. That may change if the glide-board idea works out, but in the meantime...
"Shoot, that's no problem, Captain." The sergeant beamed, his teeth showing though his fierce beard. "I'd have room for one of 'em-mebbe both-in the sidecar of my hawg. I can keep an eye on 'em myself!"
"Your what?"
"Mah hawg... my hover cycle. I'll tell you, Captain, I never have been able to figure out why the military doesn't use 'em in combat. They worked fine for us in civilian life, and they can go anywhere one of those glide boards can."
Phule had a vague feeling that he had just been maneuvered into letting Chocolate Harry ride his hover cycle into combat. Still, if it was. efficient...
"Tell you what, C.H. Bring your... hawg... by after duty hours tomorrow. I want to take a look at it myself."
"Right, Cap'n!"
"Oh, and C.H., while we're on the subject of the nonhumans in the company, what weapon do you think would be best for Tusk-anini?"
"Tusk?" The sergeant blinked. "Heck, Cap'n. It don't matter none what you have him carry. He ain't gonna shoot it, anyway. "
"I beg your pardon?"
"I thought you knew, Cap'n. The Voltron may look like some kinda big stomper, but he's a strict pacifist. Won't even raise his voice to anyone, much less a weapon."
It was late when the commander leaned back, stretching from the litter of notes on the table in his bedroom, and decided to call it a day. No sooner had he reached his decision, however, than he realized he was hungry. He had worked through the dinner hour (again) and knew that the hotel restaurant was long closed, as was the bar. Still, now that his concentration was broken, an emptiness in the vicinity of his stomach reminded him than he should feed it something or he'd have trouble getting to sleep.
There was a vending machine which dispensed snacks, but that was two floors down (apparently people living in penthouse suites weren't supposed to patronize vending machines), but he had dismissed Beeker several hours ago, and was loath to call on the services of the Legionnaire who would be on communications duty in the main room with no justification other than his own laziness. It seemed he had no choice but to stir his stumps and run the errand himself.
Having reached that decision, Phule felt the momentary tug of politeness and chose to exit his lair through the duty area.
"I'm going down for some noshies," he announced, opening the connecting door while feeling in his pocket for some change. "Can I get you anything while I'm at it?"
The Legionnaire on duty started and looked up from her magazine as if he had shot at her, then ducked her head, shaking it in a quick negative, but not quite fast enough to hide the fact that her face had colored with a blush like a tomato on a seed catalog before she did.
The commander paused, studying the woman as his memory flashed data from files and conversations across his mind.
That's right. This was the Legionnaire named Rose the lieutenants had been talking about. As they had noted, she was attractive enough, with ash-blond hair and the kind of figure usually described as willowy. Of course, her tendency to try to crawl back inside her uniform like a turtle when spoken to did nothing to enhance her appearance.
Brandy had suggested skipping over her when her name came up on the duty roster, but Phule insisted on letting her take her turn at communications like everyone else. Now, looking at her bowed head and averted eyes, he wondered if he shouldn't have been more flexible. From the way she was acting, if a call came in she'd probably faint rather than answer it.
"Say, have you got change for a dollar?" he said, trying once more even if it meant ignoring the coins in his pocket.
The total reaction to his question consisted of a deepening of Rose's blush and another quick shake of her head.
Tenaciously the commander wandered closer, trying to edge into her line of vision.
"While we're talking, I'm curious about your reactions to my reorganization of the company. Do you see it as an improvement or just a waste of everyone's time?"
Rose turned her head away from him, but finally spoke.
"Mmphl gump hmm ol."
Phule blinked a couple times, then leaned closer.
"Excuse me... what was that again? I couldn't quite hear you."
The Legionnaire seemed to collapse in on herself, answering only with a feebl
e shake of her head and a shrug.
The captain abandoned his efforts, realizing that to push further would be, at best, a cruelty.
"Well, I'll be off now," he said, heading for the door. "I'll only be a few minutes if anyone calls in."
Rose relaxed a bit as he retreated, acknowledging his departure with nothing more than a vigorous nod.
As soon as he closed the door behind him, Phule puffed out his cheeks in a long exhale as if he had been holding his breath. He realized, with no small surprise, that dealing with someone as shy as Rose had the effect of making him nervous. The bashful Legionnaire's painful bashfulness made him immensely self-conscious, and throughout the "conversation" he had found himself trying to figure out what he was saying or doing to make her so uncomfortable. All in all, he came out of it feeling like he was the one who shot Bambi's mother.
Lost in thought, Phule decided to take the stairs down to the vending-machine floor instead of waiting for an elevator.
It was easy to see why the lieutenants-and probably anyone else she had been assigned to-thought of her as a problem case. He would try to talk to Rose again, sometime when he wasn't so tired. Maybe if he was more alert he would be able to find a way to put her at her ease. As it was, it was hard to relax around someone who constantly reacted to you as if you were some kind of a monster.
As if on cue, a nightmare rose off the steps at his feet, stopping his descent-and his heart-in midstride.
"Wha... Oh! Jeez, Tusk-anini. You scared the... I didn't see you there."
"Not apologize, Captain. Many scared by me when expected. You not expect see me so scared."
The big Voltron shook his head, though Phule noted he rotated it around his nose like a dog instead of pivoting his chin back and forth on his neck as a human would. There was no denying this nonhuman Legionnaire cut a formidable, if not terrifying, figure under the best of circumstances, much less when encountered unexpectedly in a stairwell late at night.
Nearly seven feet tall with a massive, barrel chest, Tusk-anini towered over all but the tallest of humans, and even those had to look up to meet his black, marblelike eyes. His brown-olive skin more closely resembled an animal hide than human flesh in color and texture, particularly when complemented by substantial amounts of dull-black hair. Crowning the entire effect was a misshapen face only a mother-or, one assumes, another Voltron-could love. It was elongated and protruded into an unmistakable snout, and his two tusklike canines jutted from his lower jaw on either side of his nose, presumably the feature the Legionnaire took his name from.
"Incidentally I'm sorry we haven't spoken before," the commander said, still struggling to regain his composure.
"Again, no apologize, Captain. Know you busy. Do good job, too. Will help any way you want."
Phule only listened to the Voltron's response with half an ear, the rest of his attention being claimed by the stack of books in the stairwell.
"What were you doing here, anyway, Tusk-anini? Reading?"
The Legionnaire nodded, his head moving in exaggerated up-and-down motions like a horse fighting a bit.
"I no need much sleep, so read lots. Came here so roommate not have to sleep with light on in room."
Phule had squatted down to examine the books and looked up with new speculation in his eyes.
"These are pretty heavy reading. How come you brought so many?"
"Will read whole stack tonight."
"The whole stack?"
Again the Voltron tossed his head in agreement.
"Read fast. Humans have much knowledge. Joined Legion learn human knowledge. Want be teacher after duty tour over."
The commander hastily revised his estimation of the Voltron. It was so easy to assume that because he was big and spoke broken English, his intelligence was somewhat lower than that of the average Legionnaire. Once one was thinking about it, though, the fact that the Voltron had mastered an alien tongue well enough to speak it, however clumsily, rather than resort to the translators used by the Sinthians, said something about his mental ability... and his pride! It was obviously a matter of some pride to Tusk-anini that he could speak a human tongue at all, even if he did it so crudely he gave the impression of being stupid.
"Why don't you use the duty room of my penthouse?" Phule said, his mind racing over this new discovery. "You'd be more comfortable, and I think the light's a lot better for reading."
"Thank you, Captain. Most gen... erous."
The Voltron stumbled a bit over the word, but began to gather up his books.
"Let me give you a hand there. You know, Tusk-anini, if you were serious about helping-above and beyond the call of duty, that is-there is something you might be able to give me a hand on."
"What that?"
"I get lots of communications from Headquarters: copies of reports and modifications to the rules and regulations. Most of it is pointless paper shuffling, but I end up having to read it all to find the few items that do affect us, especially the changes in regulations. Now, if you could read through those for me, and pull the really important items for me to look at...
The beep of Phule's wrist communicator interrupted his explanation. For a long moment he debated ignoring it to continue his conversation with Tusk-anini. Then he remembered that Rose would have to deal with it if he didn't, and reached for the activator button.
"You got Com Central here," came a voice from the unit's speaker. "What desperate situation can we alleviate for you this evening?"
The commander froze with his sign-on unuttered on his lips. Apparently whoever was calling in was also thrown by the response, as there was a pregnant pause before a reply came on the air.
"Is... is Captain Jester there?"
That voice was clearly recognizable to the commander as Brandy's, which meant the other voice had to be...
"The Great White Father, or Big Daddy, as he's sometimes known, is not available at the moment, Top. He's done tippee-toed off to feed his face, thereby giving lie to the belief that the man never eats or goes to the bathroom."
"Who... who is this?" the voice of the company's first sergeant demanded.
"You got Rose at this end, Super Sarge... that's Rose as in Rose-alie? I am faithfully and alertly monitoring our dazzling communications network this evening, as is my sworn duty according to the duty roster you signed and posted this very morning."
"That Rose?" Tusk-anini rumbled, but Phule waved him into silence as he listened for the next exchange.
"Rose?" Brandy's surprise was clear in her voice. "I don't... Well, tell the captain when he gets back that I want to talk to him."
"Hold on a second there, Brandy-Dandy. Before I tell him any such thing, perhaps you might want to reconsider your request? The Main Man is tryin' to keep going on potato chips and two hours sleep, and I was kinda hoping he'd have a chance to fall on his face and die for a couple hours when he got back-that is, if there isn't an emergency hangnail or something to keep him up all night. You don't suppose that just maybe this busy old universe of ours could stagger along without him until morning, do you?"
"Rose, have you been drinking?"
Phule fought back a snicker and kept listening.
"Not a drop that wasn't as pure as a maiden's virtue, O' Ramrod of the Masses... and don't you go trying to change the subject. Is it absolutely, positively cross-your-heart-and-kiss-your-elbow necessary that you talk to the Cheez Whiz tonight, or can I maybe leave him a love note for when he wakes up?"
"Well, Rose-alie. Since you put it that way, I suppose it can wait until the dawn's early light. I can work around it for now."
"Whoa back there, Brandy-wine. You know, you've been keeping the pedal to the metal yourself there lately. Now, realizing that you have to be in top sergeant shape to kick some sense into our merry band when the officers aren't looking, don't you think it might be a good idea to catch a few winks yourself while the tide's out?"
"What are you? My mother?"
"Just your average loyal Leg
ionnaire trying to do her best to help the wheels of our mighty war machine turning smoothly instead of goin' flat. While there may not be much that I can do personally to assist our fearless leader, I feel it behooves me to try to see to it that those who can make a difference stay on their feet and function at something approximating maximum efficiency. Get my drift, or am I goin' too fast for you?"
Brandy's laugh was clear over the communicator.
"All right. You win. I'll get some sleep and pick it up from here tomorrow. Good night now... Mother. Brandy out."
"That Rose?" Tusk-anini said, repeating his earlier question as the communicator went dead.
"It sure as hell was." Phule grinned. "Come on up when you're ready, Tusk-anini. I've got to go talk to that woman!"
The commander flew back up the stairs, nearly breaking down the door of the penthouse in his enthusiasm and eagerness.
"I overheard that last exchange, Rose," he exclaimed, bursting into the room. "You were fantastic!"
"Uggle mpt."
Stunned, the captain stopped in his tracks and stared at the Legionnaire who a moment before had been verbally the height of confidence and wit. Head bowed and blushing, she was the same as she had been when he left the room.
"I... I'm sorry. Didn't mean to shout," he said carefully. "I just wanted to compliment you on your handling of Brandy's call. "
Rose blushed and shrugged, but kept her eyes averted.
"Well, I guess I'll follow your advice and get some sleep now. Oh. I told Tusk-anini he could do his reading up here. He'll be up in a few minutes."
That got him a nod, but no more. After a moment's hesitation, he retreated through the connecting door into his bedroom.
Once within his sanctum, Phule leaned back against the now closed door and thought hard for several long minutes. Finally, with careful deliberation, he raised his hand and punched the proper key on his wrist communicator.
"This is the all-night voice of Com Central," came the now familiar voice. "How may we help you decide what to do with the rest of your life?"
Phule's Company Page 13
