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  The commander’s smile broadened slightly.

  “… I can buy this hotel and have you replaced with someone who exercises better judgment when it comes to protecting the owner’s interests.”

  The casual reference to his legal vulnerabilities unnerved Bombest slightly, but he was also aware of the obvious lack of knowledge behind the third solution Phule had voiced, and rallied gamely behind that.

  “What I meant, sir, was that, due to the low occupancy you referenced, we are currently understaffed to accommodate a party of your size in the manner the Plaza is famous for, and, rather than tarnish that reputation, I would suggest you would be happier at another hotel. As to the possibility of your actually purchasing the Plaza”—the manager allowed himself a slight smile—“I’m afraid that’s a rather hollow threat. You don’t seem to be aware that we are not singly owned, but a part of a chain of hotels, which is, in turn, owned by a rather large conglomerate. I doubt you could interest them in entering into negotiations over a single unit.”

  Phule shook his head in slow dismay.

  “Actually Bombast …”

  “Bombest.”

  “… I’m afraid it’s you that’s not fully aware of the situation. Your chain is owned by the Webber Combine, and Reggie Page is the CEO—that’s chief executive officer—at least until the next meeting of the board of directors, which happens to be in three weeks. Now, he’s in a spot because he’s already stretched the combine’s credit to the limit for their new resort complex on Parna II, and the contractors have just gone on strike. That’s the third disaster they’ve had in the last quarter, and if he doesn’t come up with some ready cash to buy them off fast, the whole project, not to mention his own job, will go down the toilet. That’s why I think he’d be interested if I offered to take this place off his hands.”

  Bombest could feel his forehead growing damp, but Phule wasn’t finished.

  “I want to point out, though, that my mentioning this option wasn’t a threat. Now, I could buy this place, but the paperwork involved would take at least twenty-four hours, which would mean that I’d have to move my people into another hotel until the deal was finalized. The problem there is that I’ve already told them that they’ll be staying here, and if I have to go back on that, if I get embarrassed in front of my new command because of your silly-ass games, then, after you’re fired, I’ll not only see to it that you never work on this planet again by purchasing any company you apply at, I’ll block your leaving even if it means buying up every seat on every outbound ship for the next year. That’s a threat. See the difference?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  Phule’s smile returned to its original, relaxed dimensions.

  “So, now that we’ve had our little chat, I’m sure you’ll agree that the wisest course for everyone is for you to release those rooms to us, then see what you can do about bringing the staff up to the proper levels.”

  Pompous and stubborn though he might be, Bombest was not stupid. Even a rock had to survive, and it was clear that it would not be in his—that is, the hotel’s—best interest to enter into a personal feud with a megamillionaire. Making a quick management decision, he turned to the hovering desk clerk.

  “We’re going to need a hundred registration cards here, and two keys for each room … filling from the top floor down and bypassing the poolside units. Only issue the room keys after each card is filled out so that we have documentation on file as to who is occupying each room.”

  He turned back to Phule.

  “Will there be anything else, sir!”

  “As a matter of fact, there is … if you’ll just wait a moment. Armstrong! Rembrandt!”

  The lieutenants elbowed their way through the crowd of Legionnaires to his side.

  “Pair them off and oversee the room assignments. I want you and the cadre in the rooms nearest the penthouse … I’ll be using that as a headquarters and operations while we’re here. Make a list for our use as to who’s where, but tell everyone not to unpack completely. We’ll be changing the room assignments as partners are assigned.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Beeker!”

  “Sir?”

  The butler had already been standing by, being more familiar with Phule’s operational habits.

  “Deal with the valet before he faints. He is to show our people to their rooms, but he is not—I repeat, not—to help them with their gear other than to make any baggage carts available for their use. And Beek … be sure he’s tipped adequately. Got it?”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Now then, Bombest, we’re going to need another hundred registration cards to fill out once our room assignments are finalized.”

  “Ah … perhaps it would be easiest if we simply held off filling the original cards until you’ve had a chance to sort things out, Mr. Phule.”

  “I appreciate the thought, Bombest, but that might take a week. No sense botching up your system just because we’re still getting organized, is there?”

  “No … I mean, yes … I mean, thank you, sir.”

  “While I’ve got you here, though, there is one more thing. The park across the street … that belongs to the hotel, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, yes … but it’s open to the public.”

  “Good. I’m figuring we’ll be using it from time to time for exercises and lessons. Could you hire someone to clean up the fountain … and charge it to my bill?”

  “Certainly, sir … and, if I might add, that’s very generous of you.”

  Bombest was recovering his equilibrium now. Though still a bit shaken by their earlier confrontation, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the Legion commander was quite graceful, not to mention generous, in his triumph. Perhaps the occupation by this dangerous-looking group wouldn’t be so bad after …

  “Mister Bombest!”

  The manager looked up to find Vincent, the restaurant’s chef, striding across the lobby toward the desk, his face stormy.

  “Please, Vincent! Keep your voice down. Now, what seems to be the—”

  “There is a … man poking about in my kitchen! Dressed like one of these!” The chef shook an accusing finger at the uniformed Legionnaires who were clustered about in curiosity. “I demand he be removed at once! I cannot work with strangers getting underfoot!”

  Bombest felt suddenly trapped. He didn’t want another fight with Phule so soon after their last clash, but he couldn’t afford to offend the chef, either.

  “Ah … Mr. Phule. Perhaps you could …”

  “Please. I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” the commander said, holding up a quieting hand. “I told our mess sergeant that I wanted him to improve our food … but I meant once we had returned to our own base. Let me speak with him and explain …”

  “Excuse me … please?”

  The small group turned to discover that Sergeant Escrima had materialized in their midst.

  “I wish to … how you say … apologize. I wanted only to see how kitchen was laid out here. Would have asked, but cook was not in the room. Please. Is my fault. Should not go into kitchen without asking cook first. Must apologize.”

  “There. You see?” Bombest beamed, clapping his chef on the shoulder. “No harm done. The sergeant apologizes.”

  “I should think so,” Vincent sniffed haughtily. “Imagine … a no-talent Army Mixmaster … in my kitchen.”

  Escrima’s eyes glittered momentarily, but he held his smile. “Please. Accept my …”

  “Just a moment.” Phule was suddenly between the two men, his face hard. “Sergeant Escrima was out of line, and he apologized. I don’t think, however, that gives you any call or right to insult his ability as a cook. He may not be as skilled as you are, sir, but he certainly is not a no-talent bottle washer … nor is he in the Army. He’s a Legionnaire. Might I suggest, sir, that you owe him an apology in return for your remarks?”

  Bombest tried to catch the chef’s eye, but Vincent still had his sails
set.

  “Hah! Before I would give such an apology, he would have to show me that I am wrong … that he can tell a mixing bowl from a toilet bowl.”

  Remembering Phule’s earlier response to such insolence, the hotel manager found himself wondering where he could find another chef on such short notice. This time, however, the commander had a different tactic in mind.

  “Very well, then,” he said. “Bombest, I’d like to rent your restaurant and kitchen for a full day … shall we say, day after tomorrow? Sergeant Escrima will require it to prepare the food for our company.”

  “My kitchen?” the hotel chef shrieked. “You cannot—”

  Sensing disaster, the hotel manager broke in. “I’m afraid, sir, the cost would be—”

  “Five thousand dollars should cover it,” the commander finished. “Of course, we’ll provide our own supplies. The current kitchen help can have the day off, with pay, except …”

  He turned to address the chef directly.

  “You, sir. I shall personally pay you double for your normal day’s wage, if and only if you are present in the kitchen for the entire day to sit and quietly observe how our mess sergeant conducts himself with food. You are also invited to join us for dinner, at which time you will be given an opportunity to tender your apology to Sergeant Escrima … if you feel he deserves it. Agreed?”

  The chef opened and shut his mouth several times before nodding his silent consent.

  “All right, then, Sergeant Escrima, make a list of the Legionnaires you want to assist you in the kitchen and give it to Brandy. C.H.!”

  He didn’t even have to raise his voice this time, as the supply sergeant had been loitering nearby throughout the entire exchange.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “You’re excused from normal duty tomorrow. Get a list from Sergeant Escrima as to what he needs in the way of supplies and get him whatever he asks for … top of the line. Got it?”

  “Got it. Umm … Captain?” Harry dropped his voice and leaned close to the commander. “Are you sure you want to do this? Truth to tell, our chow ain’t been all that good.”

  “I appreciate your concern, C.H.,” Phule murmured back, “but I suspect Escrima’s a better cook than you’ve seen so far. Even if he isn’t, though, I’m not going to stand by and let an outsider mouth off at one of ours without doing my best to see he gets a chance to his licks in return.”

  “Us against them, eh, Cap’n? Okay. I kin relate to that. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, C.H. I’m counting on that.” Phule flashed the sergeant a quick grin. “As to the ‘them against us,’ though … it may be true, but I wish I could offer you better odds.”

  “Been up against worse all my life, Cap’n.” Harry winked. “No sense to start holdin’ out for a better hand now.”

  The commander waved a farewell as the supply sergeant headed off, then turned back to the front desk.

  “Sorry to jump in like that, Bombest, but it seemed the best solution to an awkward situation.”

  “No need to apologize, Mr. Phule. Your offer … and solution … were more than generous under the circumstances. Would you like the keys to the penthouse now? You could probably use a little quiet after all this.”

  “You’re right … but it’s a luxury I can’t afford. My butler, Beeker, will pick up the keys and see to getting my gear settled. Right now I have to pay a personal call on some key people here in the settlement.”

  “The governor?”

  Phule managed a weak smile.

  “Actually I was thinking more of the chief of police.”

  Chapter Five

  Journal File #021

  Though it is seldom noted in action/adventure novels dealing with the military, one of the main tasks of a commander is serving as liaison between his or her force and the civilians they come in contact with. Similarly, such contacts in real life are rarely brought to the public’s attention (normal military duty being, almost without exception, exceedingly dull) unless he or she has made a real hash out of dealing with the media, in which case the commander or force in question is inevitably portrayed as being bloodthirsty, stupid, or both.

  Realizing the nature of the individuals we had just relocated into the settlement, a visit by my employer to the local constabulary was a wise, if not necessary, move … one which I would normally applaud. In this specific instance, however, there was an easily anticipated problem with such a tactic: the current chief of police.

  The world of law enforcement is quite complex, but the individuals within it can usually be divided into two categories: administrators and policemen. The administrator of the local constabulary held the title of police commissioner as well as a seat on the Settlement Council. The chief of police, whom my employer chose to deal with, was responsible for coordinating and managing the day-to-day law enforcement on a “street” level, and was, by anyone’s definition, “a cop.”

  Much is made in literature of the instant camaraderie between two strong-willed men. In actuality, such a meeting is apt to produce the same results as attempting to add a second tiger to a hill: hatred on sight.

  * * *

  Chief Goetz was a bull of a man who would look more at home pacing the sidelines of a football game than sprawled behind a desk. His hair was close-shaved, some said in an unsuccessful effort to hide his receding hairline, and only accented the squashed pumpkin shape of a head that seemed to grow directly out of his shoulders. The rolled-up sleeves of his wilted white shirt were tight around biceps that showed no trace of fat, and, as a lingering tribute to his time on the beat, he had “Miranda” tattooed across the knuckles of his beefy right hand. Even when he smiled, which was seldom, his scowl and clenched jaw failed to completely disappear … and he wasn’t smiling now.

  If anything, his expression held all the warmth and affection one normally reserves for the deposit left on one’s new carpet by a wormy dog, which would be a generous interpretation of his feelings for the slim figure in black who had come to roost in his office.

  “Let me see if I’ve got this straight, General …”

  “Captain,” Phule corrected gently, but Goetz continued without acknowledging the interruption.

  “You’ve moved some two hundred of your soldier boys into the settlement while the barracks and grounds the Legion rented are being remodeled …”

  “That’s right.”

  “And in the meantime, they’re going to be strutting and swaggering around my streets, in uniform, like trouble looking for a place to happen.”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way …”

  “Well, I goddamn well would!” Goetz snarled, surging forward in his seat. “Those tin soldiers of yours are going to be like red flags in the face of every street-tough bull who wants to see how he stacks up against a genuine army type.”

  Phule let the army label slide for the moment.

  “Really, Chief Goetz. My Legionnaires have been in town before. I don’t see why there should be any difference now …”

  “The difference is that there weren’t two goddamn hundred of them before!” the chief roared. “Before, they were outnumbered and stayed the hell away from rough-and-tumble with the locals! Now you’ve evened up the odds, so they’re going to want to go anywhere and do anything they want, and you can bet your ass there’s going to be trouble when they try.”

  “I see.” Phule smiled thinly. “I guess I overestimated the control the police have of the streets. The information I had gave no indication that the settlement was a hotbed of crime ready to explode.”

  The police chief’s face puffed out with red-purple storm clouds, the sight of which in the past had sent many of the men under his command to the locker rooms for a change of trousers.

  “Now, just a goddamned minute!” he exploded. “We’ve got the lowest crime rate of any …”

  The storm blew over as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only a ruddy hue in its wake, and even that slowly faded as the police chief
hung his head and stared at the files on his desk.

  Phule waited patiently.

  When Goetz raised his head again, his eyes shone darkly under heavy, suspicion-creased brows.

  “You nearly had me going there, General,” he said through clenched teeth. “Any particular reason you want to pull my chain so hard?”

  “I just thought you should hear yourself, Chief.” The Legionnaire shrugged. “By your own words, my troops haven’t been able to go where they want or do what they want in the past. Since they have the same rights as any citizen to enjoy what the settlement has to offer, and their money is certainly welcome anywhere I know of in the settlement, I fail to see where my ‘evening the odds’ is anything I should apologize for or correct … And it’s ‘Captain,’ not ‘General.’”

  The police chief’s lips pressed together in a tight grin.

  “Sorry,” he said, without a hint of remorse in his voice. “I never did pay much mind to rank among you soldier boys. Fact is, I pretty much ignore ’em altogether … unless they step out of line. If they do … well, then I treat ’em like I would anyone else disturbing the peace or otherwise breaking the law. Is that fair enough for you?”

  “Well, Sergeant …”

  “That’s Chief!”

  “Sorry.” Phule showed his teeth. “I guess I assumed that since you didn’t think rank was important …”

  He let the sentence hang in midair.

  Goetz glared at him for a moment.

  “All right, Captain,” he growled finally, “you’ve made your point.”

  “Good. Now then, Chief, as I was saying, I’m afraid that my troops aren’t to be treated exactly like any other lawbreaker. I believe there’s a specific law regarding that, that they are to be turned over to the local commander—in this case, me—for whatever discipline is necessary rather than being bound over for civil trial.”