Journal #104

The a.s.signing of partners within the company was a milestone event. Though it actually occurred over the s.p.a.ce of several weeks, the effects were apparent almost immediately.

While great care had been taken in deciding who would be paired with whom, and for the most part the choices accepted by the Legionnaires, it was expected that there would be some complaints and protests. Needless to say, in this, at least, my employer was not to be disappointed.

"Excuse me, Captain. Have you got a minute?"

Phule glanced up from his coffee to find two of his Legionnaires, Do-Wop and Sushi, fidgeting at his table. It seemed that his relaxing morning cup of coffee was not going to be so peaceful.

"Certainly. Would you like to have a seat?"

"This shouldn't take long," Do-Wop said, shaking his head. He was of medium height and weight, with a coa.r.s.e complexion and black curly hair that always looked like it needed washing. "We were wondering if it was possible to be a.s.signed different partners. I mean, there are still some of the crew who haven't been a.s.signed . . ."

"Both of you feel this way?" the commander interrupted.

"That is correct, Captain," Sushi confirmed crisply. A full head shorter than Do-Wop, he was a slightly built Oriental who dressed and held himself with meticulous precision. "Our personalities and values are incompatible. I'm afraid that any permanent a.s.sociation between the two of us would prove to be detrimental to the smooth operation of the company."

"I see." Phule nodded grimly. "Sit down, both of you."

This time, it was a command, not an invitation, that was voiced, and the Legionnaires grudgingly selected chairs.

"Now then, tell me more about these incompatible values you're experiencing."

The two men glanced at each other, each apparently reluctant to be the first to voice his complaints. It was Do-Wop who finally took the plunge.

"He's always talkin' down to me," came the complaint. "Just because he knows a lot of big words . . ."

The commander held up a restraining hand.

"I really don't think that the size of your partner's vocabulary should be a factor here."

"It's not just that," Do-Wop said, flushing slightly. "He called me a crook-to my face!"

"I said you were a petty thief-and you are!" Sushi corrected sharply. "Anyone who would jeopardize the unity of the company for nickel-and-dime-"

"There! You see?" the other appealed to his commander. "How am I supposed to team up with someone who-"

"Just a moment!"

Phule's voice cracked like a whip, cutting through the argument and cowing both men into silence. He waited for a moment until they had leaned back in their chairs, then turned to Sushi.

"I'd like a little clarification here," he said. "How exactly would you define a petty thief?"

The Oriental glanced at the captain, then turned his gaze toward the ceiling.

"A petty thief is one who, in his criminal activities, takes risks disproportionate to the potential rewards."

"Criminal activities!"

"Sit down, Do-Wop," Phule ordered, keeping his eyes on Sushi. "If you can keep your mouth shut and listen, you just might learn something."

The curly-haired Legionnaire sank slowly back into his chair, and the commander continued his line of questioning.

"If I understand you correctly, Sushi, your objection to Do-Wop is not the fact that he steals, but rather the scale he operates on."

A faint smile played across Sushi's lips.

"That's right, Captain."

"So tell us, what kind of reward do you figure would justify . . . what was that phrase? Oh yes . . . criminal activity?"

"Not less than a quarter of a million," the Oriental said firmly and without hesitation.

Do-Wop's head came up like a shot.

"A quarter of a . . . Oh bulls.h.i.t!"

The other two men ignored him.

"Of course," Phule said levelly, "eight or nine million would be even better."

"Of course." Sushi nodded, locking gazes with his commander.

Do-Wop's head swiveled back and forth as he frowned at each of them in turn.

"What the h.e.l.l are you guys talking about?" he demanded at last.

The Oriental broke off the staring match, shaking his head with a sigh.

"What Captain Jester is speaking of with polite circuitousness is something he has been careful not to acknowledge since he took command of our unit. Specifically that he and I have met prior to our enlistment . . . under social business situations. "

"You two know each other?"

"What is more," Sushi continued, "he is leaving it up to me whether or not to mention that I left the business community under a cloud of suspicion-a matter of embezzlement involving several million dollars. "

"It was never proven," Phule said.

The Oriental smiled. "Computers are marvelous devices, aren't they?"

"Wait a minute!" Do-Wop exploded. "Are you trying to tell me you got nine million dollars?"

"I don't actually have it." Sushi grimaced. "It was eaten up by a series of . . . shall we say, bad investments."

"Bad investments?"

"It's another term for gambling debts," Phule informed him.

"Excuse me. Captain?"

The company's first sergeant had approached the table during their discussion.

"Uh . . . can it wait, Brandy?" Phule said, leaning back from the conversation. "We're kind of in the middle of something here."

"It'll just take a second," the sergeant a.s.sured him, plowing on. "Some of the troops were asking about that honor guard job, and I was wondering if there was any kind of an update."

"I've got an appointment to see the governor next week," the commander informed her. "In the meantime, I've got to try to come up with some kind of leverage to make him see things our way. "

"Got it. Thanks, Captain. Sorry to interrupt."

The distraction dealt with, Phule turned back to the situation at hand. Sushi was looking into the distance with the studied inscrutable expression of the Orient, while Do-Wop was staring at him with something akin to awe.

"All right. Listen up, now. Both of you. I didn't just pull names out of a hat when I made you two partners. The way I see it, you can both learn from each other.

"Sushi, you need to loosen up a little, and Do-Wop here is just the man to show you how to do things for the fun of it. And Do-Wop, maybe working with Sushi will help you to . . . raise your goals in life a little. Anyway, I'd appreciate it if you'd both give this partnership a try for a while before deciding it won't work."

"Hey! Are you saying you think I'm a thief, Captain?" Do-Wop bristled.

The commander fixed him with his coolest stare.

"I haven't wanted to mention it, Do-Wop, but there have been a number of reports of missing personal items in the company. "

"You can't blame that on me! The locks in this hotel are the pits! I could go through any of 'em without breaking a stride."

"Really?" The commander seemed suddenly interested. "Do you think you could teach the other Legionnaires how to do that?"

"Piece of cake." The Legionnaire beamed. "Like I said, anyone could do it."

"Fine," Phule said. "Then I'll make an announcement and have any interested parties report to you for lessons tomorrow. "

"My pleasure, Captain."

"Outside your room. "

Do-Wop blanched.

"My room?"

"That's right. I want you to teach them how to handle a variety of locks-doors, suitcases, the works-and you can use the locks on your room and personal effects to do it."

"But . . ."

"Of course, if there's anything in your gear that might have 'strayed' in over the last few weeks, it might be advisable to have it 'stray' right back to its owners before you begin the lessons. Don't you agree?"

Do-Wop opened and shut his mouth several times like a beached fish, but no words came out.

"Come on, partner." Sushi laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "I think we've been outflanked on this round. Looks like we'd better do a little lost-and-found work this afternoon."

Not all the pairings were turbulent, but some were notably unusual. Perhaps the strangest of all came about after one particular off-duty incident in the hotel c.o.c.ktail lounge.

While the Legionnaires tended to dominate the watering hole, there was always a smattering of civilians in attendance. Some were drawn by the media coverage the company had been getting and came to covertly gawk at the troops, while others were surprised to find so many uniforms in what they thought was a civilized lounge and simply refused to yield ground. For the most part, however, the two groups tended to steadfastly ignore each other.

Not that the Legionnaires were unaware of the civilians, mind you. Much of the loud banter and all of the roughhousing that had been developing within the group lately was left upstairs when they came in to drink. They were all still harboring painful memories of not being allowed in the premises before Phule's arrival and their subsequent relocation into the Plaza, and by unspoken agreement were on their best behavior when relaxing in the hotel lounge.

This particular evening, however, there was trouble in the air. A trio of civilian males were perched at the bar, and seemed to have their minds set on causing a disturbance. They were at that awkward age: too young to be responsible, but too big not to be taken seriously. The best guess was that they were students, possibly athletes, from the university on the other side of the settlement. Their clothes marked them as that, being too expensive for your average street tough. Then again, street toughs usually have a certain survival instinct, however loud they might appear at times. Long before reaching maturity they have lost any childhood belief in their own invulnerability and trust to their wits to avoid situations clearly hazardous to their health. Not so with the threesome in question.

They were into the forced hilarity so easily recognized in a group looking for attention trouble, or both. They would put their heads together and whisper, all the while keeping their eyes on a specific table or person, then suddenly explode into gales of laughter, unnaturally loud so as to set them rocking dangerously back and forth on their stools. When no one came over to them to demand "What's so funny?" they'd settle on another victim and repeat the process, a little louder this time.

The Legionnaires steadfastly ignored the theatrics, but without exchanging words all knew that something was going to have to be done about the interlopers. The problem was, no one seemed willing to make the first move. Not that they were afraid of the youths. While the noisemakers were healthy enough specimens that they might have given the Legionnaires a run for their money in a one-to-one tussle, the company had them outnumbered sufficiently that it would have been an easy matter to simply overwhelm them and toss them out onto the street . . . and serious consideration was being given to doing just that. Unfortunately none of the Legionnaires was eager to start the ball.

To gang up on the troublemakers, particularly with other civilians looking on, could only draw criticism on the company. If they challenged the intruders with even numbers, the age and "military experience" of the Legionnaires would still cast them as the bullies of the situation, and if, in that situation, they lost the brawl, the loss of face would be untenable. What was worse, the company commander and his butler were in the lounge, holed up at a back table as they pored over their pocket computers. While the Legionnaires were reluctant to start a fight in front of civilians, they definitely didn't want to be the perpetrators of a military-civilian brawl under the appraising eyes of their own superior officer.

Consequently the company tightened their grips on their drinks and refused to acknowledge the taunting from the bar, all the while hoping that the management or the captain himself would intercede before things got too bad. Unfortunately the latter was in huddled conversation with Beeker, and both seemed oblivious to what was going on at the other end of the room.

Then Super Gnat walked in.

For a moment, the Legionnaires were frozen in silent terror. If it had been a western, someone would have shouted, "Somebody fetch the marshal! There's gonna be trouble!" Since it was real life, however, they did the next best thing.

"Hey, Super Gnat!"

"Over here, Gnat!"

"Got an open chair here!"

The little Legionnaire stopped in her tracks, startled by the sudden eruption of invitations as her teammates tried desperately to head off the inevitable. Of course, it was all in vain.

"h.e.l.l, I'D BUY HER A DRINK, BUT SHE'S NOT TALL ENOUGH TO REACH THE TOP OF THE BAR!".

"HAW! HAW! HAW!".

Silence hung heavy in the room as the Gnat slowly turned her head to look in the direction of the noise.

"OH, LOOK! NOW SHE'S MAD! WHATCHA GONNA DO ABOUT IT, RUNT?".

The company was torn as the little Legionnaire's head sank into her shoulders and she began to stalk grimly across the room toward her tormentors. There was a tradition of not interfering in someone else's fight, but, for all her comic fierceness, Super Gnat was family, and no one wanted to stand by and watch her get hurt. There was no doubt in anyone's mind what the outcome of the brawl would be, since it was doubtful that the Gnat could take any one of the loudmouths, much less all three, as was clearly her intent.

There was a quiet sc.r.a.pe of chairs as the individual Legionnaires struggled with their decision. The only thing that was clear was that if the interlopers did serious damage to the Gnat, they were going to have trouble getting out of the lounge in one piece-public relations be hanged!

Suddenly a huge figure loomed out of the candlelit darkness and interposed its bulk between the civilians and the approaching Super Gnat.

"Ummm . . . Gnat?" Tusk-anini rumbled in his voice that was at once rasping and melodic. "Captain says tell you . . . if you bust up place, you pay . . . all damages."

The little Legionnaire pivoted around, her eyes seeking the company commander to protest such a charge. While she looked for Phule, her opponents looked at the figure between them and their intended prey.

As has been noted before, Voltrons are impressive if encountered by the light of day and one is expecting it. In a dimly lit c.o.c.ktail lounge with a low ceiling, it can give the impression that part of the wall decided to walk up to your stool . . . if a wall had a large, misshapen head complete with tusks, and matted dark hair that ran down the back of its neck.

The three troublemakers tried to stand up, only to discover they already had performed that act without thinking when the apparition appeared. Which is to say, they became aware that they weren't sitting down . . . Tusk-anini was really that big!