“Yes, I hear that the Yakuza team is already on-station,” said Laverna. “There was a dustup at the blackjack tables in the Fat Chance this afternoon-I think that may have been their work.”
“Yes, I heard about that little ruckus,” said Maxie. “I am taking your advice, by the way. None of my little plans can be traced to me-it’s all going to look like somebody else’s doing. I can just sit back and collect my regular percentage, and watch the sharks begin to circle around Jester’s little empire. I think I’m going to enjoy this, Laverna.”
“I hope you do, boss,” said Laverna, but her expression suggested that she still saw trouble ahead. Of course, that was part of her job-anticipating trouble and finding ways to head it off. She wished that Maxie would stop finding ways to borrow trouble…but if Maxie had been like that, she wouldn’t have needed someone like Laverna. They give you lemons, you make lemonade, thought Laverna, and went back to her book.
Phule stepped out of the hoverbus and into the front entrance of the Fat Chance Casino, leaving Sergeant Brandy to show the recruits to their quarters. He was followed by the chaplain, who ignored Brandy’s icy stare and fell in behind the captain as if it were his place. Nothing had yet been said about Rev’s nominal rank, so Brandy resisted the impulse to order him into line with the other new arrivals. There’d be time to talk to the captain when she’d finished her current job. After all, in the Omega Mob, a lot of the usual patterns of military life and protocol were-well, the only way to put it was different. Brandy liked it that way.
As he entered the casino, Rev cast a solemn eye upon the busy gambling tables, the scantily clad waitresses, the bustling bartenders, and the fevered patrons. Sprinkled throughout the crowd, conspicuous in their black Legion uniforms, were the guards-the ones he had been called to minister to. “This is my portion, then,” he murmured to himself. “A chance to follow in the King’s footsteps. Let me make the most of it.” Then he said aloud to Phule, “Captain, I’ll ask your permission to stop here for a while and meet the people I’ll be serving. Plenty of time to find my quarters later.”
Phule nodded, saying, “Sure, why not?” and Rev made a gesture that might have been mistaken for a salute before heading off into the crowd. Phule barely noticed the chaplain’s departure; he had spotted Moustache striding purposefully toward him. “Yes, Sergeant, what’s the situation?” he asked, as the older man fell in step beside him.
“Sushi’s disappeared, sir,” said Moustache, in his clipped, British accent. “The eyes spotted a pair of card cheats at one of the blackjack tables. Sushi and Do-Wop moved in to handle it; the man turned out to be a martial arts specialist, and they put up a bit of a fight.”
“That’s unusual,” said Phule, his eyebrows rising. “Any injuries?”
“None reported, sir,” Moustache said. “A bit of broken furniture, but that was replaced in no time at all.”
“Well, that’s good,” said Phule. He stopped, and turned to face the older man. “How long ago was this?”
“Right after you left, sir,” said the sergeant. “Coming up on forty minutes ago. After the first flurry, Sushi and the man left together. Sushi told Do-Wop he had things under control, but didn’t give details. And he turned off his communicator as they left. We have the woman in custody-she turned tame as a puppy after the man stopped fighting-but she’s not talking. I doubt she knows where they are, anyway. We certainly don’t.”
“Sushi turned off his communicator, you say?” A look of concern came over Phule’s face. “That’s not a smart move. I have faith in his judgment, but this…”
“I know what you mean, sir,” said Moustache, grimly. “We can’t always stick to procedures, but he should have given Mother a probable destination before dropping out of touch. I didn’t see anything that justified that.”
“What steps are we taking to locate him?”
“Very low-profile at present, sir,” said Moustache. “Lieutenant Rembrandt was informed as soon as we learned of the incident. She ordered all personnel to report any sighting of either Sushi or the other man-so far no word. We’re assuming that the other man could have taken control of Sushi’s communicator, so we don’t want to make a general broadcast that he might intercept.”
“Is there any reason to believe that’s the case?” asked Phule.
“None so far,” said Moustache. “But you’d best talk to Rembrandt and Mother-they’ve been watching the situation develop ever since Sushi left the casino floor, and may know a fair amount they haven’t passed on-the enemy may have ears.”
“Yes, of course,” said Phule. “Carry on, then, Sergeant-it looks as if you’ve done everything you could.” He turned and headed for the comm center. If anyone knew anything more than Moustache, it would be Mother.
Neither he nor Moustache noticed the small figure in black that watched them from behind a large, potted Durdanian fern, then swiftly moved to follow Phule toward the elevator bank.
“These will be your quarters, for the time being,” said Brandy, opening the door to a suite on the third floor of the hotel. One of Phule’s innovations had been abandonment of the normal Legion barracks system. Almost immediately upon taking over the Omega Mob, he had moved the troops out of their quarters, lock, stock, and barrel, and checked them into the best hotel in town while the quarters were rebuilt to his specifications-which were, if anything, even more comfortable than the hotel. He hadn’t seen any reason to change that policy here on Lorelei. Except for a few individuals engaged in undercover work outside the hotel, everyone in the company was in the best quarters the Fat Chance had to offer.
“This is good,” said Rube, unshouldering his heavy pack and putting it on the floor. Dukes made a sound that the translator turned into a murmur of agreement. Brandy wasn’t surprised. In his usual thorough research, Phule had satisfied himself that human-style beds would be suitable for Gambolt use. Otherwise, he would have spent whatever was necessary for sleeping arrangements as comfortable to the Gambolts as the best hotel beds were for the human troops in his command. It was Legion policy to give equal accommodations to troops of all races, but in most units that meant equal discomfort. In Phule’s Company, it meant equal luxury, from top to bottom.
The smallest Gambolt, Garbo, stood looking around the room without speaking. Finally Garbo said, “Do all three of us have to share this room?”
“Why, is there a problem?” Brandy was taken aback. To the best of her knowledge, the Gambolts did not segregate troops by sex in their own units-Phule had been careful to determine that was the case-and in any case, they attached no social significance to males and females sharing quarters. So there had appeared to be no reason to set aside two suites for the new troops, when one large one was available. Besides, in a twenty-four-hour mission like casino security, it was common for roommates to end up on different schedules, with one needing to sleep while the others were up and active. The layout of the suite, with several separate rooms that could be closed off, took that possibility into account.
“Yes, there is a problem,” said Garbo, turning to face her sergeant. “I joined this unit because I wanted to serve with humans, not to be set apart with others of my own kind. And here, at the very start, you are about to put me into quarters with the only others of my kind in your company. Isn’t there anyplace else I can be housed?”
Brandy was surprised, but the request was reasonable. It was unusual for Gambolts to serve with anyone not of their own race. So it wasn’t really surprising that a Gambolt who’d volunteered for a human outfit didn’t want to be housed with her own kind. It was a far cry from being the strangest thing she’d run across in the Legion. In fact, to most Space Legion veterans, it would have been suspicious if there hadn’t been something strange about a new batch of recruits…
“All right, I can fix that,” Brandy said to the Gambolt. “But first, while we’re here-Dukes and Rube, you two have an hour to unpack your things. At 1500 hours you’ll report to Sergeant Chocolate Harry at the supply depot to be outfitted. At 1600 hours, you and the other recruits will report to the Grand Ballroom for orientation and duty assignments. Understood?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” the Gambolts said again.
“OK. Garbo, let’s see if we can find you a room before 1500-I want everybody set up with rooms and duty assignments by then. It may mean you don’t have time to get completely settled in until later. Understood?”