Phule's Company

by Robert Asprin

  As one, the trio swallowed hard and looked at the Super Gnat again.

  "Want advice?" Tusk-anini pressed eagerly. "Leave now. If no, then somebody get hurt... maybe bad."

  There was no mistaking the open sincerity and concern in the Voltron's voice, though his normal peaceful nature was harder to detect. Suddenly aware of their own mortality, the cowed youths threw some money on the bar and beat a hasty retreat, evacuating the premises before the Gnat managed to catch Phule's eye, the latter notable being engrossed in conversation again.

  After the "Super Gnat in the Lounge" episode, it was only natural that she and Tusk-anini be teamed as partners. The full effect that the fiery little Gnat and the gentle giant would have on each other was not even suspected until several days later. Unlike the lounge incident, there was no foreshadowing or warning of the explosion before it happened.

  The Legionnaires had taken to using the Plaza restaurant as an after-hours gathering place for reading, quiet conversation, and any other activity requiring more space than a hotel room, and more light than was provided in the lounge. There were usually a couple dozen people there, and that was what Brandy was looking for when she stopped in for a late night cup of coffee and a little relaxing conversation before turning in.

  Scanning the room with her mug in hand, her eye fell on Tusk-anini poring over a stack of papers.

  "Hey, Tusk!" she said, plopping down at his table. "How're things shaping up between you and the runt? Won't she let you work in the room?"

  The Voltron raised his head and regarded her with his black marble eyes.

  "Brandy. No call partner runt. She no like."

  Taken aback, the first sergeant tried to laugh off the rebuff.

  "Hell... no offense meant. I know the runt's sensitive about her height, but-"

  "NO CALL PARTNER RUNT!"

  The Voltron rose angrily to his feet, and Brandy was aware of heads turning in their direction.

  "Cool down, Tusk," she cautioned. "What's bothering you, anyway?"

  "SHE HEAR YOU, SHE GET MAD. YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HER. MAYBE HURT. YOU NO CALL HER RUNT!"

  The whole room was watching the confrontation of the company's Gargantuans now, and the top sergeant was suddenly aware of her status and authority being challenged.

  "Look, Tusk-anini!" she snarled. "Nobody tells me how to talk-not even the captain! If I want to call the Gnat a runt, I will... and nothing you can do or say-"

  The Voltron's bunched-up fist thudded down on top of her head, surprising her and knocking her sprawling backward off her chair.

  The others in the room watched in stunned silence as their most pacifistic teammate loomed over the fallen sergeant, trembling with rage.

  "I WARN YOU, BRANDY. NO CALL PARTNER RUNT!"

  It had been a long time since anyone had challenged Brandy physically, but some things you never forget. Shaking her head to clear it, she groped about and found a chair leg.

  "I believe this is my dance!" she hissed, and came off the floor at the Voltron.

  Phule sighed and checked his uniform when the flurry of pounding erupted on the door of his suite.

  "Come in, Super Gnat," he called as the assault began anew.

  The smallest company member exploded into the room, red-faced and oblivious to the verbal clue that she was expected.

  "Captain! Did you know that my partner's down in our room with a bandage on his head? That the doc says he might even have a minor concussion?"

  "I'm aware of that."

  "And did you know that bitch Brandy did it to him?"

  "I'd heard that, too."

  "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

  Phule regarded her levelly.

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing? But she-"

  "Since I figure doing nothing is better than seeing your partner brought up on charges."

  Super Gnat blinked, hesitating in her tirade.

  "Charges? I don't understand, Captain."

  "Sit down, Gnat," Phule instructed calmly. "If I take official notice of what happened, then I'll have to acknowledge all the eyewitness accounts of Tusk-anini launching an attack on Sergeant Brandy... an attack that ended when she knocked him cold defending herself. I don't want to have to do that, so unless that bitch, as you called her, decides to press charges, I'm willing to pretend the whole thing never happened."

  The Gnat frowned fiercely for a moment, then shook her head.

  "I can't believe it, Captain. They've got to be lying. Tusk-anini is the gentlest soul in this whole company. What'd he want to take off after Brandy for?"

  "Let me ask you a question," the commander said slowly. "Would you want to tangle with Brandy?"

  The little Legionnaire twisted her mouth into a grimace.

  "That's one I'd walk around if there was any way," she admitted. "Even if I kept my head and remembered what I learned in those classes I was tellin' you about, she'd probably peel me like a grape. That's one mean lady."

  Phule nodded sagely.

  "That's what the fight was about."

  "Sir?"

  "It seems that Brandy, was referring to you in less than complimentary terms, and your partner was afraid that if she talked like that in front of you, you'd take her on and probably get hurt."

  "Shoot. You can say that again. Why, she could...

  The Gnat broke off in midsentence as the implications sank in.

  "Wait a minute. Are you sayin' old Tusk took her on because of me?"

  "That's what the witnesses say. It seems he figured he had a better chance against Brandy than you would. Of course, he doesn't have your training. He tried to do it on guts and enthusiasm. "

  Super Gnat shook her head ruefully.

  "That don't cut it in heavy traffic," she said. "Believe me, I know!"

  "He was doing what he thought he had to, to protect his partner," Phule said. "I might suggest that you consider doing the same."

  "Sir?"

  "Think about it, Gnat. Your partner, who never raised a hand in anger before, is getting into fights to protect you from your temper. If you can't control yourself for your own sake, you might think about him before you fly off the handle next time. "

  A quiet knock at the door interrupted them. At Phule's summons, the company's first sergeant eased into the room.

  "Evening, Captain. Hi, Gnat."

  Super Gnat assumed the relaxed warmth of an icicle, but Phule was unruffled.

  "Good evening, Top," he said. "I assume you're here about Tusk-anini?"

  "Oh no... well, in a way, I guess. Actually I was looking for Super Gnat. The troops said she was headed this way. "

  "You found me."

  "Well, the way it is, Gnat, I think I owe you an apology."

  "An apology?"

  "Yeah. I've been thinking about what happened, and the truth of the matter is, I was out of line. Not that I meant any harm, mind you, but I guess I never stopped to consider how much the teasing really bothers you. Heck, if anyone should know what it's like to be needled about size, it's me. Anyway, I should know better, so I want to apologize. I'll try to watch it in the future."

  "I appreciate that, Brandy. I really do. I think Tusk is the one you should be apologizing to, though."

  Brandy flashed a quick grin.

  "I was down there first. He kept insisting I owed you the apology, not him."

  "Oh. "

  "Anyway, I'm apologizing to you both. No hard feelings?"

  Super Gnat accepted the extended hand and they both shook solemnly.

  "Well, that's all I wanted. Maybe when you get done here you can come on down to my room, Gnat. I have a few tips on handling size jokes I'd like to share with you over a brew."

  "I'm pretty much done here," the little Legionnaire said, raising her eyebrows in question at the commander.

  "Just one more thing while you're here, Gnat. Sorry to jump subjects on you, but what's your opinion of Sergeant Escrima's classes on stick fighting?"

  Super Gna
t chewed her lip slightly before answering.

  "Truth to tell, Captain, I don't think they're doin' much good at all. The sergeant knows his stuff, but he's not that good an instructor. He just plain goes too darn fast for most of the folks to figure out what he's doin'... 'cept the ones like me who have had some martial arts training before and are just watching for the variations."

  "That's the way I see it, too," Phule said. "If you're agreeable, I'd like you to take over the classes."

  "Me? Shoot, I don't know that much about stick forms."

  "What I want you to do is to take private lessons from Escrima, then teach what you learn to the rest of the company. If nothing else, it might keep them from teasing you quite so much if they see what you can do in a formal class situation."

  "I'll give it a try, Captain," the Gnat said doubtfully, then her face split in a quick grin. "Tell you what. I'll do it if you give me some private lessons in fencing. Deal?"

  "Deal," the commander said. "Now, both of you get out of here and let me get some work done."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Journal #111

  While the changes in the Legionnaires' views of themselves and each other were remarkable, the reversal of the attitudes toward the company on the part of the local citizens was as, or more, noteworthy. Perhaps the most radical change was on the part of the head of tire police, Chief Goetz.

  "Really appreciate your stopping by, Chief," the company commander said, shaking that notable's hand crisply as they met in the Plaza lobby.

  "Well, I figured if you were nice enough to invite me along for this special weapons demo you were getting, the least I could do was offer you a ride," Goetz said. "Oh, by the way, I never got around to thanking you for including me in that spread your chef cooked up. It was delicious... even if I'm not sure what I was eating half the time."

  "To tell you the truth," Phule said, grinning, "neither did I. I figured it would be rude to ask, if not flat-out dangerous to your health. Escrima has a record of being more than a little touchy about his cooking. It did taste great, though, didn't it?"

  "It certainly did," the chief agreed. "I was particularly fond of the roast pig. Of course, I was struck by the coincidence of the report that hit my desk of three pigs that turned up missing from the university's animal husbandry department the day before."

  Phule cursed mentally. He hadn't found out until the day after the feast that Chocolate Harry had been more than a little loose in his acquisition of supplies for Escrima's efforts. If he had known, he would have refrained from inviting the chief of police, or at least insisted that the pigs be carved into less recognizable bits before serving. Until now, however, he had thought the dish had passed unnoticed.

  "If you'll just give us a few days," he said stiffly, "I'm sure we can produce the receipts for those particular items."

  "A few days?" Goetz's eyebrows shot up. "That supply sergeant of yours must be slipping if it'd take him more than a couple hours to crank out some forged sales slips."

  "Now, look, Chief...

  "Relax, Captain," the policeman said with a sudden, impish grin. "I'm just pulling your chain a little. Those university students liberate enough stuff from the settlement for their fraternity initiations and scavenger hunts and what all, I'm sure it would take more than a couple of pigs to even up the score. I just wanted you to know we weren't totally... What in the hell is that?"

  Phule looked where the chief was pointing and flashed a sudden smile.

  "That? Oh, that's just one of our mobilization experiments. It's working out surprisingly well."

  The object of their attention was Spartacus. The blue-collared Sinthian was poised on his glide board at the top of the long, curved flight of stairs that led from the Plaza's mezzanine to the main lobby. As they watched, he shifted his weight forward, plunging the board down the stairs. Neither the curve of his course nor the frightening acceleration seemed to bother the Sinthian as he rode the glide board down a level and across the lobby, skillfully weaving it around a group of Legionnaires who were standing there in conversation. The Legionnaires didn't bother to look around as he swept past, ignoring him, as did the hotel staff at the main desk.

  "Seems like folks are pretty used to these goings-on," Goetz said dryly, noting the lack of reaction in the lobby.

  "If we encourage him, he just starts showing off," Phule said. "When that happens, things usually get broken. He's really very good on that thing, though... practically lives on it. I'm surprised you haven't seen him before. He's usually in the park across the street every evening matching stunts with the kids that hang out there.

  "Excuse me, Captain?"

  Phule glanced around, then drew himself up and returned the smart salute being given him by the company's supply sergeant, who had managed to approach unnoticed.

  "Good morning, C.H. We were just talking about you a second ago. What's the problem?"

  "No problem, Captain. It's getting on toward time for the weapons demo, and I thought I'd offer you a lift on my hawg. "

  "Not this time, Sergeant. Chief Goetz here is already giving me a ride... Oh, excuse me. You two have met, haven't you?"

  Harry's eyes slid sideways to meet the policeman's stare.

  "I... I've sure heard about Chief Goetz."

  "And I've heard about you, Sergeant," Goetz returned with a tight-lipped smile. "Don't let us keep you. I'm sure you and I will be... talking someday."

  "Harry does have a point, though," Phule interceded quickly. "We should get going ourselves."

  The new facilities for the Legionnaires were nearing completion, and everyone was looking forward to moving back in with eager anticipation. One of the first things to be completed, after the confidence course, that is, was the firing range, and that was where the company assembled for the demonstration.

  The sales rep from Phule-Proof Munitions had an impressive array of weaponry, and a snappy line of patter to go with it, as he worked his way down the display. Aside from his tendency to refer to the company commander as "Willie," a practice which invariably caused Phule to wince and everyone else, particularly the chief of police, to smile, the salesman's knowledge and skills of his little bundles of death quickly earned the attention and respect of the entire assemblage.

  The high point of the demonstration came when the Legionnaires were invited to come down from their bleachers and try some of the weapons themselves. For a while, the sergeants had their hands full keeping the troops' enthusiasm from turning them into a mob, but eventually things got sorted out and soon the air was filled with the crack and boom of firing as the Legionnaires gleefully shredded and blew apart assorted targets.

  "Quite an assortment," Chief Goetz said, plopping down on a bleacher seat next to the commander.

  "Yes. I thought you'd find it interesting. Especially some of the plastic and rubber 'Mercy Loads' they've been developing. "

  The policeman grimaced. "Of course, it's nice if the suspect is wearing some kind of eye protection when you open up on him. If I had my way, we'd stick with either holding our fire or shooting for keeps rather than trying to kid ourselves that we can hit someone without hurting them. I've noticed my troops shoot a lot better on the range than they do on the street. Truth is, under pressure they're almost as bad shots as your crew seem to be normally."

  It was apparent that the Legionnaires were far from crack shots. Whatever damage was being done to the targets was more the result of the massive amount of firepower being launched downrange than from any degree of precision in its placement.

  Now it was Phule's turn to grimace.

  "I've seen worse, though it's hard to recall offhand anytime I've seen more lousy shots gathered in one place. More important, I've taught worse marksmen how to shoot. I almost canceled this demonstration until I had more time to work with the troops, but this is one of Phule-Proof's touring demos, and it was either nail it when it was available or wait a couple months until another one was in the area. Now it's going to be a pa
in to keep the troops away from the full automatics and laser sights long enough to drum the basics into their heads."

  Goetz nodded, not taking his eyes off the firing line.

  "Sounds like we're in agreement there, Captain. If you don't teach 'em right to start with, they'll always rely on firepower and gimmicks instead of learning how to shoot."

  The commander cranked his head around and stared at the police chief for several moments.

  "Maybe I shouldn't ask this, Chief," he said at last, "but I can't help but notice that your attitude toward me and my Legionnaires has mellowed considerably since our first meeting."

  "Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Phule. I may be hardheaded from time to time, but mostly I try to keep an open mind. Most of my beat patrolmen have been pretty open with their praise for your troops. It seems that somebody in your outfit has taken to monitoring the police band, and a few of your boys have shown up at some of the stickier calls we've had over the last few weeks. The way I hear it, they don't interfere or get in the way, but we both know there are times when having a couple extra uniforms around, no matter what color they are, goes a long way toward keeping a crowd from getting too rambunctious."

  "That fits," the commander said. "I've always felt that most people have a basically good self-image. Once my troops are convinced that they can make a difference, it's not surprising that they try to make a difference for the better."

  The chief held up a restraining hand.

  "Now, don't get me wrong. Nobody's kidding anybody that your crew was in the choir over the stable at the first Christmas, but they've earned enough goodwill in the department to have me cut them-and you-a little bit of slack."

  "Not enough slack, I notice, to keep you from filing reports with Legion Headquarters every time one of my crew puts on a command performance at the station," Phule observed wryly.

  Goetz sighed and shrugged.

  "That's the result of a direct request from your Headquarters, son. Came in about the same time you arrived. I don't mean to butt into your business, but it would appear that somebody in the Legion's upper echelons doesn't like you much. Leastwise, they're watching real close for you to make a mistake."