"Umm . . . are you with her?" one of them managed at last.

"What he's trying to ask," inserted another, "is whether we have to fight you if we take her on?"

The Voltron reacted to this by retreating a step in shocked surprise.

"Her? No . . . she no need my help. She meaner than me . . . lot meaner!"

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 s.p.a.ce 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.

"h.e.l.l . . . 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. "n.o.body 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 a.s.sault 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 b.i.t.c.h 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 b.i.t.c.h, 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 cla.s.ses 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 a.s.sumed the relaxed warmth of an icicle, but Phule was unruffled.

"Good evening, Top," he said. "I a.s.sume 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 cla.s.ses on stick fighting?"

Super Gnat 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 cla.s.ses."

"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 cla.s.s 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 att.i.tudes 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 pa.s.sed 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 h.e.l.l is that?"

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