"Here, Lieutenant," the top sergeant said, stepping forward.

"Do you think we could-"

"Pardon me!"

The commander's butler was standing in the doorway.

"What is it, Beeker?"

"I ... I don't mean to intrude," Beeker said, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable, "and, as you know, I have no official standing in your organization, but in this instance we share a common interest-namely, the well-being of my employer-and I believe I have some information you might need in your planning."

"Don't worry about your standing with us, Beek," Rembrandt said. Like everyone in the company, she had a great deal of respect for the butler-more than most, since he had a.s.sisted her when she was recruiting the actors for stand-ins. "What have you got?"

"I ... I can tell you where Mr. Phule is being held."

"You can?"

"Yes. I can say definitely that he's currently in Maxine Pruet's suite-room 4200. At least, he was fifteen minutes ago."

Rembrandt frowned. "Hey, Sushi! I thought you said the suite was empty!"

"No one answered the phone when I called," the Oriental said. "I didn't actually check it out, though."

"I see ... Okay. Brandy? I want you to use your pa.s.skey and see if-"

"Excuse me ... Perhaps I didn't make myself clear," Beeker interrupted, his voice taking a slight edge. "I said that my employer is definitely being held in that suite. There should be no need for confirmation. In fact, any effort to intrude might endanger the lives of both Mr. Phule and whoever was sent to check."

The lieutenant pursed her lips, then shot a glance at Armstrong, who gave a small shrug.

"All right, Beeker," she said at last. "Not to say I don't believe you, but would you mind telling me just how it is you're so certain that's where he is?"

The butler's haughtiness slipped away, and he glanced around at the gathered Legionnaires uneasily.

"It's ... well, it's a secret technique I've developed to ease my duties in keeping track of my employer's comings and goings. I'd ask that you all keep this in strictest confidence, just as I have respected the secretive nature of the things some of you have shared with me."

He looked around the room again and was answered by an a.s.sortment of nods. "Very well. I've taken the liberty of sewing small homing devices into each item in my employer's wardrobe, both civilian and military. This gives me forewarning of his approach so that I might be prepared to welcome him, and allows me to pinpoint his location at any given moment."

Armstrong gasped. "You've bugged the captain's clothes?" Struggling between laughter and incredulity, he spoke for the whole room.

Beeker winced. "You might say that, sir. I, myself, prefer to think of it as a necessary technique for providing the exceptional service which justifies my salary, which, as you might a.s.sume, is well above the scale normal for one in my profession."

"Whatever!" Rembrandt said, pawing through the scattered floor plans. "The bottom line is that you're sure he's being held in the old dragon's suite."

"Yes, ma'am," the butler said. "If I might add, there seems to be a rather muscular gentleman standing guard outside her door as well. That, at least, is easily confirmed by anyone who bothers to take the time."

He sent a withering glance toward Sushi, who shrugged apologetically.

"One guard? That one's mine!" Brandy declared. "Might as well get some use out of this Fifi the Maid outfit before I turn it in for good."

"You want any help, Top?" Super Gnat offered.

"For one guard? From up close when he's not expecting it?" The Amazonian top sergeant flexed her sizable right hand, then clenched it into a fist and smiled broadly. "I don't think so."

"All right, then, we have a target area!" Rembrandt declared, studying the sheet of paper which had finally come to hand. "Let's see ... we've got a large living room flanked by two bedrooms ... one door that ... Heck with this!"

She strode over to the nearest wall and paused for a moment, rummaging through her belt pouch. Producing a tube of lipstick, she began sketching a larger version of the floor plan directly on the wall in long, broad strokes.

"Okay, gather 'round!" she called back over her shoulder. "Now, the corridor runs here, parallel to the three rooms. Sushi, do you know if they've moved the furniture at all, or is it like it is here in the plans?"

"Let me see," the Oriental said, moving to her side for a better view of the floor plans. "I only saw the living room area, but-"

"What's going on here?"

Colonel Battleax was standing in the doorway. Still dressed in her bat-wing black dress and towering in her anger despite her diminutive size, she might have been a demon from an opera production as she dominated the room with her voice and presence.

The Legionnaires froze in their places. While they had all heard that the colonel was in the complex, no one had expected her to appear at their meeting.

"My G.o.d! This looks like an armament trade show! I don't even recognize half these weapons!"

While it was well known that Willard Phule was supplementing the company's equipment from his personal fortune, what was not as widely known was that he was also using his connection with his munitions-baron father to obtain new weaponry which was still in the testing stages and not yet known, much less available, to the general market.

"Do I need to remind you all that you're s.p.a.ce Legionnaires and have only limited authority for using reasonable force on civilians?"

The company exchanged nervous glances, but still no one moved.

"Well, this Wild West show is going to stop RIGHT NOW! I'm ordering you to turn in all arms other than sidearms, and-"

"Just a minute, Colonel!"

Lieutenant Rembrandt, her face flushed and her limbs rigid, broke the tableau. Like the Red Sea, the crowd parted to open a corridor with the two women at either end.

Standing against the back wall with Trooper, Lex watched the confrontation with professional curiosity and interest. Though neither Battleax nor Rembrandt was shouting, both were using what could only be called a "command voice," which involved a controlled projection from the diaphragm that any stage actor would envy.

"In Captain Jester's absence," Rembrandt declaimed, "I'm the acting company commander of this outfit. What gives you the right to try to give orders to my troops?"

"Are you mad?" Battleax sputtered. "I'm a colonel and the ranking officer present-"

"-who is on vacation and not in the current chain of command!" Rembrandt snarled. "Our original orders came directly from General Blitzkrieg. You have no authority over us on this a.s.signment! In fact, as far as I'm concerned, you're just another civilian."

"WHAT?".

"My general orders state that I am to hold my command until properly relieved, and I do not accept you as proper relief."

The colonel gaped at her for a moment, then shut her mouth with a snap.

"Interpreting the Legion's general orders is not within your authority, Lieutenant!"

"So court-martial me!" Rembrandt shot back. "But until I'm found guilty and formally removed, these troops are under my command, not yours!"

Battleax recoiled, then glanced around the room. The Legionnaires displayed a variety of expressions ranging from sullen to bemused. It was clear, however, that they stood with Rembrandt, and there was no visible support for her own position.

"I see," she said through gritted teeth. "Very well, if you want proper authority, I'll get it! A call to General Blitzkrieg should settle this. I'd advise you all not to do anything rash until I get back."

She started for the door, but was stopped short as Lieutenant Rembrandt's voice shattered the sudden silence.

"All right! I want you all to bear witness to this! As of now, I'm using my authority to declare martial law!"

"What?" Battleax shrieked, any trace of poise or dignity slipping away at the outrage. "You can't do that! No one in the s.p.a.ce Legion has ever-"

"I've done it," Rembrandt returned grimly, "and it stands until someone overrules it. Someone with more available firepower than I have!"

"But ..."

"Lieutenant Armstrong!" Rembrandt barked suddenly, turning her back on the colonel.

"Sir!"

"There is an unauthorized civilian interfering with our operation. Have her removed and held under guard until further notice."

"Yes, sir!"

"Have you all gone-"

"Sergeant Brandy!"

"Got it, sir. Harry?"

"I'm on it, Top."

The supply sergeant clicked his fingers and pointed. In response, one of the supply clerks tossed him a pump shotgun, which Harry plucked from the air. Against his bulk, the weapon looked almost like a toy.

Battleax, stood stunned, sweeping the entire room again with her eyes. This time, no one was smiling.

"You're all really quite serious about this, aren't you?" she said.

In answer, Chocolate Harry worked the slide of the shotgun he was holding, racking a live sh.e.l.l into the weapon's chamber with a harsh sound that echoed in the room, and the weapon no longer looked like a toy.

"Easy, Harry," Rembrandt ordered, her voice still tight with tension. "Look, Colonel. We're going after the captain, no matter who gets in our way. Now stand back or fall back. It's your choice."

"You know, don't you, that they're likely to kill him if you try to take him by force?" Battleax's voice was suddenly soft.

"There's that possibility," the lieutenant acknowledged. '"But there's as much a chance that they'll kill him if we don't. You see, his father won't pay the ransom."

"It don't make no difference," Chocolate Harry put in.

"What was that, Sergeant?"

"You folks may know more about the military than me," C.H. said, "but let me tell you somethin' about criminals. They're lookin' at some serious charges now that they've moved up to kidnappin'. They're not gonna want to leave any witnesses around, and the biggest witness against them is the cap'n. They gotta kill him whether the money gets paid or not."

"We're the only chance Captain Jester has of coming out of this alive," Rembrandt continued quietly. "We've got to at least try. If we just sit around ..." She shook her head, letting her voice trail off.

"I see," Battleax said thoughtfully. "Tell me, Lieutenant, since you won't let me relieve you of command, would you be willing to accept me as a civilian advisor?"

Lieutenant Rembrandt's face split in a sudden smile.

"I'm always ready to listen to advice, Colonel," she said. "I'm still fairly new at this."

"You'll do," Battleax said. "However, there's one thing I think you should consider in your plans-something I get the feeling you've overlooked in your enthusiasm. There are large numbers of civilians in the complex who are legitimate innocent bystanders. I think it would be wisest in the long run if an effort was made to ensure they didn't get caught in your cross fire."

The two lieutenants exchanged glances.

"She's got a point there, Remmie," Armstrong acknowledged reluctantly.

"What I would suggest is some sort of diversion," the colonel continued. "Something to give you am excuse to evacuate people from the complex, or at least from the vicinity of your action."

"I suppose," Rembrandt said, chewing her lower lip subconsciously. "Maybe we could arrange a bomb threat or a fire alarm ..."

"Why not a movie?"

The officers looked in the direction of this new voice.

"What was that, Lex?"

"I said, 'Why not a movie?'" Lex grinned, moving to join their discussion. "Just tell everyone you need to clear the complex for an hour or so because you're shooting some footage for a new holo. Believe me, they'll cooperate. You'll be amazed at how people bend over backward to be helpful if they think it gets them a closer look at the magical mystical world of moviemaking."

"That has possibilities," Rembrandt said, looking at Armstrong.

"I know I'd go along with a holo crew if they asked me to get out of their way," her partner admitted.

"It's better than a bomb scare or a fire alarm," the actor urged. "No panic, no bad publicity for the complex. What's more, we have everything we need to pull it off."

"How so?"

"That cameraman you were holding has a holo-camera rig in his room. It's not the same as they use for the big productions, but we can say it's a low-budget operation or that we're just shooting test footage. We've even got a recognizable holo star we can parade in front of everyone to be sure it all looks legit."

"You mean Dee Dee Watkins?" Armstrong frowned. "Do you think she'd go along with it?"

"Leave her to me." Lex winked. "Remember, I speak the language. It might cost a little, though."

"Set it up, Lex," Rembrandt said, reaching her decision. "In fact, I'll put the whole diversion in your hands, since you know more about this sort of thing than any of us. If anyone gives you any flak, tell them I've given you a battlefield promotion to the rank of acting sergeant for the duration of this operation."

She glanced at Battleax, who nodded her approval.

"Yes, sir," Lex said, snapped off a salute, and started to turn away, then hesitated. "What about the owner ... whazizname ... Gunther? Should I clear this with him as well?"

"If you want, Remmie, I'll handle that," Armstrong offered. "I've gotten the impression that Mr. Rafael is afraid of me, for some reason."

"Do that, Lieutenant," Rembrandt said. "But remember to ask nice."