To support this assertion, I will acknowledge that I was not present when the call came in from Space Legion Headquarters signaling the start of a new chapter in my employer’s career with that organization. In fact, I was not even at “The Club,” which is how his current charges refer to the remodeled compound. Rather, it being my day off, I was in the settlement, or, as the Legionnaires call it, “townside.” Even in my wildest flights of ego, however, I cannot claim that my absence had any bearing on the timing of the call, Headquarters being unaware of my exact role in relation to my employer, and totally ignorant of my work schedule. It was, at best, an unfortunate happenstance.
Of course, merely being absent is no excuse for someone of my position to lose track of his gentleman. I am the only civilian privileged to wear one of the wrist communicators which have become the trademark of the company under my employer’s command, and have gone to great lengths to establish a close rapport with the terminally shy Legionnaire (known affectionately to one and all as “Mother”) who oversees all communications. Consequently I was alerted to the call’s existence as soon as it was patched through.
Needless to say, I brought my off-duty pastimes to an immediate halt and returned to the club with all haste, only to find the company in total turmoil.
The Legionnaires under the command of Captain Jester, known more widely courtesy of his media exposure as Willard Phule, had become passable, and in some cases excellent, marksmen. This was in no small way due to the fact that the design of the country-club-like barracks centered around a wet bar/swimming pool/firing range, which was the troop’s favorite hangout during off-duty hours. As they rarely stood duty more than once a week, this meant considerable time was spent lounging about alternately sipping drinks, dipping in the pool, and pumping rounds downrange for practice, fun, or friendly wagers.