“He will, he will,” said Escrima, with the confidence of a true artist. “And the first taste is free!”
“Excuse me, do you belong to the Legion company?”
Flight Leftenant Qual looked up at the two humans. “Most assuredly,” he said. “It gives me great satisfaction to affiliate myself with the notorious band of Captain Clown.”
The taller human-Qual had trouble telling them apart, they were so similar-said, “It is the captain we need to ask you about. I am Special Agent Peele, and this is my partner, Special Agent Hull.” He showed an identification card that meant nothing to Qual, although the Zenobian could see that the holo on the card matched the face in front of him.
“You may ask as you wish,” said Qual, displaying his teeth in the friendly gesture humans called a smile. “Ignorance can be remedied. Such is my reason for being here.”
“Very well,” said Peele, gesturing to Hull, who opened her briefcase and took out a compact multicorder. “We have reliable reports that your captain has been concealing large amounts of income. Our preliminary investigation suggests that the casino operation here generates substantially more revenue than its competitors. Is that true?”
“I certainly hope so,” said Qual, looking back at the casino, which towered over the three of them out on the public street. “It is a distinct pleasure to see one’s benefactors prosper. Is that a recording device?”
“Yes, regulations require us to make accurate records of all our interviews,” said Peele. “Do you have any information that would indicate that the captain has skimmed off a portion of the profits for his personal use?”
“I really have not been here long enough to know that,” said Qual. “Does your recorder register images as well as sounds? My people would be interested in such a device.”
“It’s a standard, government-issue multicorder,” said Hull, somewhat defensively. “We are not authorized to discuss our equipment with civilians.”
“I see,” said Qual, smiling again. “But you recognize, I am not a civilian, but a soldier, hence the uniform. Is it not so?”
“The distinction is complex, and your conclusion is in this case inaccurate,” said Special Agent Peele. “Besides, we are here to discuss your captain’s finances, not our equipment. Now, if you don’t mind…”
“I could utilize such a recorder in my work,” said Qual, reaching for the unit in question. “Will you sell it to me? I have many of your dollars.”
“It is against regulations to sell government equipment,” said Hull, pulling the recorder away from the Zenobian’s eagerly extended claws. A frown came over her face-the first semblance of an expression she had shown.
“Ah, regulations, of course,” said Qual. “Do you always obey these regulations?”
“Be careful what you say,” said Peele, holding up a hand. “It is a serious offense to solicit government agents to violate regulations. Do not pursue this line of inquiry, or we shall be obliged to report you to our superiors.”
“I should enjoy very much to meet your superiors,” said Qual, his teeth still on display. “Are they here on Lorelei?”
“Unfortunately not,” said Hull. “This entire station is a notorious haven for tax-dodgers, and the local authorities have managed to minimize the influence of the IRS here. The casino owners are required to distribute a declarations form to bettors winning large amounts, but very few of those forms are ever filed. And we seriously doubt the accuracy of those we do receive.”
“Proof that Captain Jester-or Mr. Phule, to use his other alias-is evading taxes could give the IRS the leverage to establish a permanent presence here. Then we could begin to build cases against the other casino owners,” said Peele. “Our mission is the thin end of the wedge, so it is very important that we play strictly by the regulations. There’s a great deal at stake here.”
“All this is most edifying,” said Qual. “The ones in authority among my people will be very inquisitive to know how you do such things. But I am depressed that I cannot tell you about the finances of Captain Clown. This is beyond my ken.”
Peele looked at Hull, who said, “I think he’s telling the truth-he really doesn’t know anything that concerns us. We’re wasting our time here.” She deactivated her recording device.
“I think you’re right,” said Peele, grudgingly. “Well, we’ll let you go about your business, then, good sophont. But we may have further questions at another time.”
“It has been most instructive to meet you,” said Qual, with a stiff little bow and another toothy grin. He stood and watched as the two IRS agents walked away.
Back in the casino doorway, some distance away, Tusk-anini watched with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t sure what to make of the little Zenobian, but he knew he didn’t like the IRS agents. As far as he was concerned, that was more than enough reason to be suspicious of Qual.
Except for mealtimes, it was unusual for many of the Omega Mob to be together at once. Different assignments and different shifts (especially in the round-the-clock operation of the casino) meant that days or even weeks might go by without any occasion for the entire complement to be in the same place at once. So it was a novelty for Phule to find himself addressing a large room full of legionnaires.
Phule looked around the room, waiting for the hum of voices to die down. Catching the serious mood, the men and women of Phule’s Company spoke in quiet whispers, with none of the high-spirited byplay they would have shown before an address by their captain. As the last arrivals found their way into the few empty seats in the large room, Phule stepped to the podium and cleared his throat. The audience fell silent.
“It’s good to see so many of you here,” he said, looking around at the assembly. “As you know, this is a voluntary meeting-there’ll be another later today, for those who’re on duty now and can’t get away, so if you have friends who’d like to come, please let them know.”
Phule looked over at Rev, then turned back to his troops. “We’ve had a number of new members join our company recently,” he said. “Some of you have had a chance to meet them, and I hope you’re making them feel at home with us. We’re building a reputation as the best company in the Legion, and we want the new people to know that they’re part of something special when they come here.” There was a murmur of assent to this, and Phule waited for it to die down before continuing.
“I’m going to introduce a man that some of you have already met.” He gestured toward the chaplain standing next to him. “Some time back, during our journey here, I realized that it would be valuable for many of you to have the benefit of wise council in times of trouble, a shoulder to lean on and a friend in time of need. And while your officers and sergeants understand your particular situation better than anyone outside our company, they can’t always fill those roles. So I asked Legion Headquarters to send us a chaplain. He’s been here several days, meeting people and getting a feel for the situation. Now he’s asked for a chance to introduce himself to the entire company, and that’s why I’ve called this meeting. Will you please give a warm welcome to our new chaplain-Rev.”
While Phule was speaking, Rev had stood quietly to one side of the podium; his head was bowed, and his hands were clasped over his breastbone. He might have been a lawyer preparing to deliver a jury summation. Now he stepped to the podium, waited for the patter of polite applause to die, and began. “Thank you, friends. You know, from time to time in our busy lives, a voice speaks to us-a voice we can’t ignore. It may be the voice of a loved one, a mother, or a wife. It may be the voice of someone in authority, like your captain. Or it may be a quieter voice that comes from way down deep inside, remindin’ each and every one of us about a duty left undone. A call, we term it in my line of work. I have had a call to this company, and here I stand before you in response to it.”
Rev paused a moment, lowered his head and took a deep breath, then looked up at his audience and continued. “I have been called here to tell you about the King,” he said in a voice that resonated with significance.
“The King? What king?” It was Gabriel who spoke, but the same question was in the minds of every man, woman, and alien in the chaplain’s audience.
“That’s a fair question, son,” said Rev, stepping in front of the podium and rubbing his hands together. “A fair question-and the answer is a story that’s oft been told, so many times that I know it by heart-but since y’all may not have heard it, I guess it won’t hurt none to tell again. A long time ago, on old Earth, there was a poor boy. A mighty poor boy-but one with a gift, and a spirit to make the most of himself. And make the most of himself he did. Why, in a few short months, he became the most imitated man on old Earth. He was on every screen, in every printout, on every frequency-and he was takin’ in money faster than this here casino. He could have had anything he wanted. And do you know what he did? He went out and became a soldier. Not an officer, now. Not even a sergeant-a regular soldier, carryin’ a gun and marchin’ and takin’ orders.”