“This is a replay of the call I just received,” he said. “I want to know what you think of it.”
As he spoke, the image of General Blitzkrieg materialized in the room, seated at his desk, leaning forward on his elbows, his hands clasped in front of him.
“Good morning, Captain Jester.” The image smiled. “Sorry to wake you so early.”
“Actually,” came Phule’s phantom voice, “it’s afternoon here, sir.”
While interstellar communications were now commonplace, the problem of coordinating days, much less hours, between widely separated settlements still remained.
“Whatever.” The general shrugged. “I have some good news for you, Captain. You and your company are being reassigned to a new duty. Orders are being cut, which will be sent to you along with the detailed briefing material, but I thought I should call you personally to let you know what’s going on.”
“That’s good of you, sir. What is the new assignment?”
“It’s a really sweet job.” The general smiled. “Basic security guard work, actually. The nice part is that you’ll be guarding the Fat Chance-the newest, biggest casino on Lorelei. Easy duty in paradise, if you ask me. What do you say to that?”
“My first reaction would have to be `Why us?’ … sir.”
The general’s smile tightened a little.
“Mostly because the owner specifically requested you and your outfit, Captain. I guess all that showboating you’ve been doing for the media is finally paying dividends.”
“What I meant, sir, was why turn to the Space Legion at all? Our fees are significantly higher than any number of normal uniformed security services. Who is the owner, anyway?”