“You’re right,” said Phule. He closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I suspect she is behind most of our recent troubles, though I can’t prove it. If she can keep us responding to a hundred minor nuisances, she’ll weaken us for responding to a really serious threat from some other quarter. It’s classic guerilla tactics.”
“Is there any way to go after Pruett directly?” asked Armstrong.
“Not without exceeding our authority,” said Phule. “And not without risking civilian casualties. For that kind of direct action against her, we’d need a really blatant provocation-and Maxie’s not foolish enough to provide one. Even if she did, General Blitzkrieg would find a way to turn it to our discredit.”
“You know, I wonder if this company hasn’t outgrown its mission here,” said Rembrandt. “Lorelei looked like a plum assignment when we got it, and-all difficulties aside-our stint here has been very rewarding. But casino guard duty isn’t exactly what I joined up for, and I’m afraid it’s having a negative effect on the company’s readiness for its larger mission.”
“Hmmm-I’d begun to think something like that myself,” said Phule. “The casino doesn’t need an elite Legion company to break up bar fights and discourage cheaters. I’m afraid a lot of our people are in danger of losing their edge because nothing they do requires it of them.”
“That’s how I feel,” said Armstrong. “A bunch of civilians could do most of this job as well as we can. If it weren’t for Pruett trying to horn in, we could leave our actors-in-uniform behind to stand guard. With a cadre of trained security guards to take care of more serious trouble, the place would be as safe as it is now.”
“You’re probably right,” said Phule, nodding. “The only flaw in that picture is that Maxine Pruett won’t go away. Even if she did, some other mobster would step into her shoes.”
“Back to square one,” said Armstrong. “If the place weren’t so profitable, I’d advise you to wash your hands of it.”
“Oh, I’d sell in a nanosecond, for the right price,” said Phule. “The worst mistake an investor can make is holding on to something past time to sell it.”
Beeker nodded approvingly. “Remember, though-it’s just as bad to sell something too early, out of panic. Maxie Pruett would love to see you sell the casino too cheaply. She’d have control of it within six months-if not immediately.”
“Yeah, I bet she’d be moving in the back door as you went out the front,” said Rembrandt.
“Well, for now, I’m standing pat,” said Phule. “The right time to move on will come-and when it does, we’ll be ready. Until then, we’ll make the best of what we have.”
“Yes, sir,” said Rembrandt and Armstrong. Neither one looked especially happy.
“Too much happening,” said Tusk-anini wearily. “Not good-can make one little mistake into very big one.”
“I know what you mean,” said Super-Gnat. The diminutive legionnaire was freshly off duty, and was still wearing the cocktail waitress costume that allowed her to move among the casino crowds without attracting undue attention-except from those gamblers whose glass was empty. “This company can handle any kind of trouble, as long as we attack it as a team. But now we’ve got Chocolate Harry holed up because of those outlaw bikers, and it’s a major expedition to get into supply depot. And you saw those IRS agents sneaking around for info about the captain. What’s worse, it looks like we’ve got a spy in the company.”
“Is method for this in military textbooks,” said Tusk-anini. The giant Volton legionnaire had been spending late nights poring through books on every conceivable human subject, especially Lieutenant Armstrong’s library of military history texts. “Hold position against one enemy while concentrate strength against another. Defeat in detail, is called. Work good in theory, maybe not so easy in practice.”
“Not so easy in practice,” repeated Super-Gnat. “That ought to be the Legion motto-at least, the way most of the Legion runs. We’re lucky to have a commander who doesn’t do things the regular way, you know, Tusk?”
Tusk-anini snorted-it was a very piglike snort, which somebody not used to Voltons might have taken wrong. Super-Gnat knew it was the equivalent of a low chuckle in humans. “Is more than luck,” he said. “Captain had to make some bad mistake to get sent to our company. But he no fool-and that no joke, either. He show us we can be best company in Legion, and make us work hard to do it. He got to be best commander in the Legion.”
“I’m with you on that one,” agreed Super-Gnat. “But remember, he didn’t get here without making enemies-and not all of them are outside the Legion. Mother told me that the top brass think the captain’s showing them up, and they want to put him in his place. That’s bound to mean trouble for the rest of us, too. We’ve come through everything OK so far, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“I no hear shoe drop,” said Tusk-anini, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “When this happen?”
“Uh, that’s not meant literally, Tusk,” said Super-Gnat. “What I mean is, I keep expecting them to send the company someplace really rotten, like the middle of a war zone or something, to get the captain in trouble.”
“That not going to happen, because there no wars going on right now,” said Tusk-anini, patiently. “You worry too much, Gnat.”
“Maybe I do,” said Super-Gnat. “But remember, it hasn’t been so long since there was a war-in fact, I hear tell that’s where the captain pulled the SNAFU that got him sent here. I don’t know whether you were paying attention to the scuttlebutt, but word was that he talked a couple of pilots into strafing an enemy position-except he didn’t know that’s where the peace talks were going on. And it’s a big galaxy-there could be another war breaking out almost anywhere, and we could find ourselves being sent to fight.”
“Who we fight?” Tusk-anini looked skeptical-not easy behind his specially fitted dark glasses, worn to protect his sensitive eyes from normal light. “No enemies around to fight-plenty of room for all species, not like old Earth before space flight. No reason for wars.”
“So why’s there a Space Legion, then?” Super-Gnat put her hands on her hips and stared up belligerently at her big partner. “For that matter, why’s there Regular Army or Starfleet? Seems to me the government’s paying a lot to keep fighting forces around if there aren’t going to be any more wars. But that’s not what I’m getting at. Even if’ there’s not a war, there are ways the brass could try to shaft the captain-and believe you me, Tusk, they’ll be trying to find them.”
Tusk-anini snorted again. “Captain not alone. Maybe generals find some way to get captain in trouble, but we no let it happen because trouble for captain mean trouble for us.”
“You’ve got the right idea there, Tusk,” said Super-Gnat. “But there’s one thing you should never forget: Generals usually don’t care about whether they get regular troops in trouble. We’re warm bodies to throw at a problem until it goes away. That’s what makes our captain different-he cares about us because somehow, deep inside, he knows he’s like us. So we have to take care of him, too.”
“We take care of him,” agreed Tusk-anini. “So let other shoe drop-we catch it before it hit the floor.”
“That’s the right idea,” said Super-Gnat. “Now that we’ve got that much figured out, why don’t we go down to the pub and see if we can figure out which foot the other shoe is on?”
The Omega Mob had never formally adopted the Olde English Pub, in the basement of the Fat Chance Casino, as the company watering hole. Nonetheless, at any given hour you could find legionnaires hanging out there-sipping a drink, playing games, or tossing darts, and talking about the things that off-duty military personnel have talked about from time immemorial. The legionnaires didn’t keep the civilian casino customers from using the Pub-the captain would have frowned on any attempt at that-but they clearly set its tone.
The Pub was especially noisy tonight, with several groups of legionnaires, in and out of uniform, gathered in different sections. There was a serious game of Tonk going on at one table; Street was the big winner so far, but Double-X had been on a hot steak for several hands, and the banter between the two was getting louder as the stakes got bigger. At the corner table farthest from the blaring trivid set, Doc and Moustache were playing a quieter, if not necessarily calmer, game: blitz chess. Two or three other legionnaires looked on, waiting to play the winner.
In still another corner, Do-Wop was holding forth with a string of stories, most of which were of highly dubious veracity, although he swore up and down that he had been a witness, if not a personal participant, in all of them. The circle of listeners included Dee Dee, between sets on her evening show, Junior, Super-Gnat, and Tusk-anini. The latter, perhaps because of his limited experience of human ways, was the only one who didn’t appear downright skeptical of Do-Wop’s yarns.