"Excellent," Phule said, accepting the stack and idly opening the top folder to glance at the contents. As he did, the three-dimensional holo-photo which was the inevitable inside cover of an actor's portfolio sprang to life, projecting a miniature person who seemed to be standing on the folder. He ignored it, scanning the printed pages instead. "I a.s.sume they'll be ready to load and board this evening?"

Rembrandt licked her lips nervously.

"I ... those are only my final recommendations, sir. I've been holding off finalizing them pending your approval."

The commander's head came up with a snap.

"You mean they haven't been notified to be ready for departure?"

"Well, I have them on standby, but I explained that you had to approve the final selection, so they're-"

Phule slapped the cover shut on the top folder, squashing the actor's image in the process, and handed the entire stack back, interrupting her in midsentence.

"Get them on the horn and tell them they're hired," he said firmly.

"Lieutenant," the commander cut her short, "I gave you this a.s.signment because I trust your judgment. If you say these are the best candidates, then that's what we'll go with."

"But I'm not sure of a couple of these, sir. I was hoping you could-"

"Being sure is a luxury you rarely get as an officer, Lieutenant. You make the best guess you can in the time allowed, then make it the right choice."

"But ..."

"Our main criterion is that they fit into uniform sizes that we have in stock. Outside of that, they're mostly window dressing. As to personalities ... well ... if you'll recall, we took potluck with this company to start with. I doubt there is anyone in there that will be more of a problem case than the Legionnaires we're already dealing with. Agreed?"

"I ... I guess so sir."

"Fine. Like I've said before, Rembrandt, you need to be more decisive. I don't have time to duplicate your work-and neither do you if we're going to give the new bodies time to pack and get on board before lift-off. I suggest you start moving."

"Yes, sir!"

Momentarily forgetting her civilian garb, Rembrandt drew herself to attention and fired off a salute before fleeing her commander's presence.

"Well, Beek," Phule said, turning to his butler at last, "except for that, how are things going?"

"Rather better than they are for you, it would seem ... sir." Beeker's voice was utterly devoid of warmth.

"How's that again?" Phule frowned. "Is something wrong, Beek?"

"Not at all, sir. It's always a treat to watch the finesse and compa.s.sion with which you handle your subordinates. Of course, I have noticed that your skill level seems to drop in direct proportion to the amount of sleep you've been getting ... sir."

The commander shot a glance in the direction in which Rembrandt had disappeared.

"What you're trying to say, in your traditionally subtle way, of course, is that you think I was a little hard on Rembrandt just now. Right?"

"I suppose from your point of view, sir, you were being quite tolerant," the butler observed blandly. "I mean, you could have had her stood up against a wall and shot."

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" Phule sighed heavily. "I guess ..."

"Or then again, flogging is always effective, if a bit outdated," Beeker continued as if his employer hadn't spoken.

"All right, all right! I get the point! I guess I've been a bit tense lately. Relocating the company has been more of a ha.s.sle than I antic.i.p.ated."

"I wouldn't know, sir," Beeker said, shrugging slightly. "What I do know, however, is how hard Lieutenant Rembrandt has been working on the a.s.signment you so casually dumped on her, and how concerned she's been about whether or not you'd approve of her efforts, much less her results."

"Which is why she wanted me to review her choices before finalizing them," Phule said, finishing the thought. "Of course, my barking at her is only going to hurt, not help, her confidence, which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to have happen."

"It's hard to see where anything positive will come from your current stance ... in my own, humble opinion, sir," the butler confirmed mercilessly.

Phule gave another sigh, running a hand over his face like he was trying to wipe water from it, and seemed to deflate back into himself.

"Sorry, Beek," he said. "I seem to be running tired these days. You know, when I was giving the crew going under cover their final briefing, Armstrong had to point out to me that I was getting redundant-that I had reviewed the procedures on their new communicators three times even though there hadn't been any questions. Can you believe that? Armstrong? Keeping me from making an idiot of myself in front of the troops?"

"Lieutenant Armstrong has come a long way," Beeker observed, "but I see your point. I think, however, that your troops, like myself, will be inclined to worry rather than be critical over minor flaws in your performance."

"Yeah. Well, that still doesn't change the fact that I'm not functioning at peak efficiency, especially in the manners department. What can I say other than I'm sorry?"

"You could try saying the exact same thing-only to Lieutenant Rembrandt," the butler said. "After all, it is she and not I who is the offended party in this situation."

"Right." Phule nodded, glancing down the corridor again, as if expecting to see his senior lieutenant appear at the mention of her name. "Maybe I can catch her before-"

"As for myself," Beeker continued, "what I would probably most like to hear is that you plan to take some time to catch up on your sleep ... sir."

"Excuse me, what was that, Beek?" the commander said, pulling his attention back to the conversation.

"You asked a rhetorical question, sir," the butler explained. "I was merely taking advantage of it to state my own opinions."

"Oh."

"And in my opinion, sir, what is most important at the moment is not that you apologize for past errors in judgment, but rather that you get some sleep to lessen the probability of compounding the situation with future errors."

Phule frowned.

"You think I should get some sleep?" he said finally, reducing things to their simplest form.

"It would seem in order, sir. By your own admission, you're 'running tired.'"

"Can't do it-not now, anyway," Phule insisted, shaking his head. "I have too much to do before the actors' briefing tonight. I can't afford the time."

"If I might suggest, sir, I don't believe you can afford not to get some sleep, particularly if you're getting ready for an important presentation. Perhaps you could delegate some of your planned preparations?"

Phule thought for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"I guess you're right, Beek. It's bad enough if I'm snapping at the troops that already know me, but if I start leaning on the newcomers ..." He shook his head again, more emphatically this time. "Okay, I'll try to get some sleep. But only if you promise to wake me up a couple hours before the briefing."

"Consider it promised, sir."

"And Beeker? It's good to have you back. Sarcasm and all."

"It's good to be back, sir."

The actors' briefing went smoothly ... much more so than I had ever hoped, considering the circ.u.mstances.

Because of the secretive nature of their work, Lieutenant Rembrandt had specifically not informed them of any details regarding the "parts" they were auditioning for, other than the necessary warnings that there might be some danger involved, and (apparently more important to the actors) there would be no "billing" or other credits for their individual performances. In short, the only reward the actors could expect from their roles would be financial. As might be expected, having come to know my employer's style of problem solving, as mysterious and sketchy as the information was, the offered pay scale was generous enough that there was no shortage of applicants to choose from.

Still, it must have come as no small shock to at least some of them to learn that the "troupe" they had been auditioning for was none other than the s.p.a.ce Legion, or that in accepting, they had effectively "enlisted." The ease with which they absorbed and adapted to this news is a tribute to their professionalism ... or their greed.

"That pretty much concludes the basic information I wanted to cover at this first meeting," Phule said, giving his notes one final scan. "Now, I'm sure that you all have questions. Let me remind you, however, that we have a lot of time before we reach Lorelei, and that specific information on standing duty will be covered in later briefings which will include the entire company. Also, some of your questions might be better asked, and answered, in private. Lieutenants Rembrandt, who you've already met, and Armstrong will be available throughout the trip to discuss individual problems, or, if it will make you more comfortable, you can speak with either Sergeant Moustache or myself."

He paused to gesture toward the individuals mentioned, who were currently standing at parade rest on either side of him, reinforcing the introductions which had been made at the beginning of the meeting.

"Now then," he continued, "are there any questions you would like to raise in front of the group at large? Things that would affect all of the temporary Legionnaires?"

The actors, seated in auditorium formation at one end of the transport's ballroom, exchanged looks for a few moments. Since the company leaders appeared before them in the unexpected black uniforms to start the briefing, silence had reigned, and even now everyone seemed reluctant to speak.

"Mr. Phule?"

"That's 'Captain Jester' or just 'Captain' for the duration." The commander smiled gently. "Yes? You have a question?"

"You said that we were free to withdraw if we wanted to, now that we've heard the whole story. How would that work, exactly? I mean, now that we've lifted off and are en route, wouldn't it be kind of hard for us to get back to Jewell?"

"You would be provided with a return ticket to Jewell-at our expense, of course-after we had completed our a.s.signment," Phule explained. "In the meantime, you would be held incommunicado on Lorelei. While you were our guests, all expenses would be paid as well as a small stipend, but it should be noted that your earnings would be substantially less than what will be paid if you honor your contracts and stand duty with us."

There was some mumbling in the a.s.semblage at this announcement, but Phule held up his hand for silence.

"Believe me, I regret having to take this position, but we can't run the risk of having too many people wandering around who know about the subst.i.tution we're attempting. It would be dangerous to our undercover members, as well as to those of you who do stand duty, if information is leaked that not all the Legionnaires guarding the casino are combat-trained. I cannot stress enough the need for secrecy on this a.s.signment. Now, obviously, we'd rather you all agreed to stick around, but it will be understood if you choose to withdraw at this time. I can only apologize that the situation required that we kept you in the dark as long as we have. Take your time and think it over, but I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know as soon as you've made up your minds so we can try to arrange for replacements if necessary."

"Just how dangerous will standing duty be, Captain?"

"Minimal," the commander said firmly. "We haven't worked together before, so you have no way of knowing my personal style. Let me a.s.sure you, however, that if I thought there was even an average chance of physical danger, I wouldn't be putting you in this spot. All we have so far is a rumor, unconfirmed, that there may be an attempt to take over the casino by organized crime. Even if it's true, I'm expecting more of a financial attack than any kind of physical hara.s.sment. That chance does exist, however, so it would be less than honest of me to withhold the information while you were making up your minds, though I'll admit the pay scale you were offered to lure you into this position was inflated, in part, to compensate for the potential hazard. Also, rest a.s.sured that we are not entirely without plans if things do get a little rough. I say specifically a little rough since it is my understanding that organized crime has long since abandoned armed confrontation due to the legalities and publicity involved. Each of you is being teamed with an experienced Legionnaire, and I suggest that in event of trouble, you step back and let them handle it as they have been trained to do. Also, if any of you are still nervous, hand-to-hand combat training will be available during the trip, and while it might not make you experts, it should provide you with the basic skills necessary to get you out of any awkward situation which may arise. Frankly we're hiring you as decoys, not as combat troops. If things do take a turn for the worse, you have my personal guarantee that your contracts will be 'terminated with cause' from our end, and you will be free to leave."

He swept the a.s.semblage with his eyes. "Any other questions?"

The actors looked around as well, but there were no takers. "Very well." Phule nodded. "I'll be trying to spend some time with each of you, individually and informally, during the trip in an effort to get to know you better. In the meantime, if you'll follow Sergeant Moustache now, you'll be issued uniforms and given your teammate a.s.signments. If you would, please change into your new uniforms and report back here in an hour."

He allowed a faint smile to flit across his face.

"I'm giving a c.o.c.ktail party to introduce you to the rest of the company and welcome you to our ranks. It will be a good time for you all to start getting to know each other."

Despite my employer's good intentions, his c.o.c.ktail party was something less than a roaring success.

While the regular Legionnaires had long since resigned themselves to the inevitability of their new a.s.signment, and had even accepted the necessity of breaking up their established two person teams, the idea of "outsiders" standing duty with them as equals was still unpopular. Though they were careful to keep their feelings hidden from their commander, it was readily apparent to a careful observer that little warmth was spared on their new "colleagues."

This was particularly noticeable at the c.o.c.ktail party ... though almost as interesting, if you are a confirmed people watcher like myself, were the opening gambits as the actors themselves began to jostle to establish a pecking order within their own numbers. Without blatant eavesdropping, the exact details of the various conversations remained a mystery, but the general content could often be distinguished simply by observing the body language of the individuals involved ...

Tiffany was not used to being ignored. Not that she was beautiful in the cla.s.sic sense-surviving as an actress required a brutal honesty which forbade her that particular delusion-but her mane of auburn hair, slightly slanted cat eyes, and ample curves exuded an earthy sensuality that usually guaranteed that men would make room for her in any conversation. As such, she found herself growing increasingly vexed at feeling all but invisible in a room filled by a crowd which was predominantly male.

Fighting a frown (frowns cause wrinkles, darling), she surveyed the gathering again. The chairs from the earlier briefing had been pushed back against the walls, creating an open area in which the Legionnaires stood cl.u.s.tered about in small groups-small closed groups which seemed oblivious to all else in the room except those people they were talking to immediately.

After having eased up to a few of these groups, only to finally wander away again when no one acknowledged her presence, Tiffany was ready to try a new tactic. Moving in a controlled drift, she took up a station near the mini-bar which had been set up at one end of the room ... like any good predator, waiting for her prey near the water hole.

True to her observations, she didn't have long to wait. If nothing else, the actors had that in common with the Legionnaires. Neither group was likely to squander the opportunity of free drinks at an open bar.

One Legionnaire detached himself from his group and strode over to the bar.

"Scotch, double, rocks," he told the bartender in the universal shorthand of a confirmed lounge lizard.

Tiffany gulped the remainder of her existing drink in one swallow and stepped into line behind him.

"Hi there," she said brightly, flashing her best smile. "I'm Tiffany."

The Legionnaire glanced at her. "h.e.l.lo."

Realizing the man was not about to supply his name, she switched quickly to another conversational ploy.

"So ... have you been in the s.p.a.ce Legion long?"

"Yes."

Again the abruptness of the response left her without anything to say.

"Well-"

"Your drink, sir," the bartender interrupted, pushing his offering across the bar.

To Tiffany's surprise, the Legionnaire reached into his pocket.

"You're paying?" she blurted. "I thought this was a free bar."

The man fixed her with a brief, level stare.

"It is," he said. "We still tip the bartender, though. Just because the captain's paying for the drinks is no reason to short the help for their work. Like the captain says: 'You don't break someone else's rice bowl.'"