Phule's Paradise (31 page)

     
"I see." Phule frowned. "I was hoping I could speak with him directly about who it was who attacked him."

     
"His injuries make it impossible for him to talk, Mr. Phule." Maxine's voice was momentarily cold. "But he can write. I suggest that you confine your investigation to your own people to determine who ordered the attack. We already know who executed it."

     
"Who was it?"

     
"I already said that it was not one of your Legionnaires, Captain, and as the attack did not take place on the premises of the Fat Chance, I don't believe it's any of your concern. Now, if you'll forgive me, there are things which require my immediate attention."

     
With that, she broke the connection.

     
Phule frowned at the receiver for several moments before gently placing it back on its cradle.

     
"What is it, Captain?" Tiffany said, noting the expression on his face.

     
"I'm not sure," the commander admitted. "It seems that the person who attacked you and Doc has been ..."

     
A shrill beep from his wrist communicator interrupted him. Despite the urgency of the sound, Phule stared at it for a few moments before answering the signal. There were only a few of the command communicators such as he was wearing, so the radio silence order did not preclude the use of the exclusive channels. Still, he had left orders with Mother that he was to be disturbed only for an emergency while he was visiting the clinic.

     
"Phule here," he said, finally opening the line.

     
"Sorry to bother you, Captain," came Mother's voice without any of her usual banter, "but things are popping back here at the casino and I thought you should know about it. First of all, we've got the two missing communicators back, and-"

     
"Wait a minute. Who got them back?"

     
"It was sergeant ... Chocolate Harry, I mean."

     
"Harry! I should have known." Phule grimaced. "Listen, Mother. Pass the word: I want Harry pulled in fast! The opposition's looking for him. I don't care if it means sending out a team to escort him in, we've got to-"

     
"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Captain," Mother broke in. "He's already in. We've got him up in your suite. He's hurt, but he won't let us call a doctor. You'd better get back here pronto."

The supply sergeant was stretched out on the suite's sofa attended by Beeker and a small group of hovering Legionnaires when Phule arrived back at his room. He was stripped to the waist, and even from the doorway the commander could see the massive purple bruise that showed even against his dark skin, stretching from armpit to hip and across a large part of his rib cage.

     
"Hello, C.H.," he said. "It's good to see you again."

     
"Hey, Cap'n," came the weak response. "How's it goin'?"

     
The sergeant shifted his huge form, and Phule realized with a start that he was trying to rise.

     
"Just stay where you are," he said, moving quickly to Harry's side. "Well, I hear you've been busy tonight."

     
"You heard that, huh?" C.H. grinned, sinking back into his pillows. "Busier'n I expected, that's for sure. Man, that dude was fast! If I hadn't gotten his kneecap with my first shot, he would have cleaned my clock. Even as it was, he got me a good lick before I put him to sleep."

     
He gestured vaguely at his bruise with the opposite hand.

     
"So I see," Phule said sternly. "I want a doctor to look at that, Harry. No arguments."

     
"Don't do it, Cap'n," Harry wheezed, shaking his head. "I've been knocked around before, and this's nothin' more'n a few cracked ribs. I'm pretty sure the Max has the local medics in her pocket, and you bring one of 'em up here, she's gonna know I'm with you, and maybe start lookin' around to see who else might be Legionnaires in civilian clothes."

     
The commander hesitated.

     
"Please, Cap'n," the sergeant pressed. "I'll be all right ... really. Just let me get some sleep, and I'll be good as new."

     
Phule pursed his lips, then nodded.

     
"Beeker," he said, "I want you to stay close to Harry tonight. Watch him close. If there's any indication he's hurt worse than he's telling us, I want you to call me ... cancel that. Call a doctor, then call me."

     
"Certainly, sir."

     
"The rest of you, clear out of here and let the man get some rest. We'll keep you posted as to his condition."

     
"One more thing, Cap'n," the prone sergeant said, raising his head painfully.

     
"What is it, Harry?"

     
"The bulletproof material our uniforms are made of? Well, Stilman's outfit was made of the same stuff, probably standard issue for their troops as well. I don't think our tranquilizer guns will work against it."

     
"Don't worry, C.H.," Phule said grimly. "I already planned to have heavier armaments issued to everyone and to put an around-the-clock guard on Gunther. It looks like things are starting to get rough."

     
"Yeah, well, you might want to find that salesman and see about gettin' some of your money back." Harry grinned humorlessly as he let his head ease back down. "That stuff may stop penetration, but it ain't much good against impact. If he wants to argue, I bet there are four people who will be glad to give him a demonstration that he's wrong!"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Journal #244

Despite the ominous turn events had taken, the next several days passed without incident. Although this proved to be merely the quiet before the storm, it nonetheless gave my employer the opportunity to indulge in a few of the more civilized elements of life.

     
I refer here to eating, which to me requires specifically sitting down to eat rather than simply wolfing down a sandwich, a hamburger, or some other form of "energy pellet" fast food while continuing with one's duties. This was a luxury I noticed my employer allowed himself less and less of late.

     
I had long since abandoned any effort to convince him that it might be desirable for him to sleep more than one or two hours at a time.

"I've really got to get going soon," Phule declared, glancing at his watch again. "I'm overdue to check on the troops."

     
"Relax, Captain," Sydney said, reaching for the wine bottle once more. "Those roughnecks of yours are more than capable of taking care of themselves without you hovering over them ... or they should be. Besides, I thought the whole point of those snazzy communicators you wear was so they could get in touch with you if anything important happened."

     
"I suppose you're right," the commander said, though he glanced involuntarily at the restaurant door even as he spoke. "I guess I've been edgy ever since Tiffany and Doc got jumped, and I'm not particularly confident that the troops will always check with me before they swing into action, as you well know."

     
"Don't remind us, Willard," Jennie Higgens said, wrinkling her nose slightly as she held her own glass out to her cameraman for a refill. "I mean, we've accepted your apology and all, but don't push your luck. You know, I can't help but feel we'd still be cooling our heels under guard if you hadn't remembered I had been to nursing school before signing onto the glamorous world of broadcast news. How is Harry, by the way?"

     
"He seems to be coming along fine," Phule said. "At least, it's getting more and more difficult to keep him horizontal while he's mending. Fortunately I think he's met his match in Beeker. Incidentally I want to thank you again for taping him up."

     
"I've had a lot of practice with that, though I'm better on bone bruises," the reporter said. "In case the subject ever comes up, don't ever let anyone con you into thinking that field hockey is a ladylike game. It can be as rough or rougher than lacrosse-at least the way we used to play it." She paused and cocked an eyebrow at the Legionnaire commander. "Maybe I shouldn't mention it, but you are aware, aren't you, that that's the fifth or sixth time you've thanked me for patching up the sergeant?"

     
"Is it?" Phule frowned, rubbing his forehead with one finger. "Sorry. I don't mean to be redundant. I seem to be a bit forgetful lately. I guess I'm a little tired."

     
The reporter and the cameraman exchanged glances. It had been impossible not to notice the lines of fatigue etched into Phule's face, though they had both been careful not to comment on it.

     
"Oh well." The Legionnaire commander shrugged and forced a smile. "The one thing I can't thank you enough for is your willingness to sit on this story-for a while, anyway. I know how much it must mean to you."

     
"No, you don't," Sydney muttered, glancing away as he took another sip of his wine.

     
Jennie shot him a dark glare, then turned back to the conversation.

     
"It's nice of you to thank us," she said easily, "but really, Willard, reporters aren't totally insensitive, no matter what you've heard-the good ones, anyway. It's easy to see that publicizing what you're doing would endanger your undercover operatives, so it's no big thing for us to hold off for a while."

     
"Well, Jennie," Phule said carefully, "contrary to popular belief, I'm not totally insensitive, either. What was that you were saying about my not really knowing how much this story means to you, Sydney?"

     
"What?" The cameraman blinked in surprise at suddenly being the focus of the conversation. "Oh ... nothing."

     
The Legionnaire commander leaned back in his seat, his arms folded across his chest, as he looked back and forth between his two dinner companions.

     
"Now, look," he said. "I've been up-front and candid with you two in this whole deal-probably more than I should have been. I don't think it's asking too much for you to return the favor. Now, what is it that I don't know about your involvement with this story?"

     
Uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a moment. Then the reporter shrugged her shoulders.

     
"Tell him, Sydney," she said.

     
The cameraman grimaced before he spoke.

     
"I guess loose lips really do sink ships," he said. "All right, Captain. What I was so carelessly referring to is that both our jobs are on the line for this assignment. The news director wasn't particularly convinced that there was a story here, but Jennie kept leaning on him until he agreed to send us, but on the proviso that if we don't come up with something to justify the cost of the trip, we needn't bother coming back, and whatever benefits or severance pay we had coming would be applied against the cost of the wild-goose chase."

     
"Why, Jennie?" Phule said.

     
"Oh, he just made me mad," the reporter admitted. "He acted like I was making the whole thing up to get the news service to pay for a passion-filled vacation on Lorelei for Sydney and me. I kept trying to convince him it was a legitimate story and ... well, when he got around to making his `take it or leave it' offer, I couldn't refuse or it would look like he was right all along."

     
"Interesting," the commander said. "But what I meant was, why didn't you want to tell me about this?"

     
Jennie shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I didn't want it to seem like you were under any obligation to us. You have a habit of taking responsibility for everything and everybody around you, Willard, and I was afraid it would come across like we were trying to play on your generosity ... or your guilt."

     
"Well, this assignment has aged me a bit," Phule said, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face. "As somebody told me not too long ago, I figure you're both adults and capable of making your own decisions and living with the consequences. You two made the deal, and I assume you did it taking into account how much you were willing to risk against what potential losses. That makes it your business, not mine."

     
The reporter smiled. "Thank you, Willard. I appreciate that."

     
"Of course," the commander added carefully, "if it turns out that you do end up in the ranks of the unemployed, I hope you won't hesitate to let me help you find a new position. That much I'd be willing to do whether or not the story in question involved me and mine."

     
"We'll see." Jennie grinned impishly. "We're not dead yet."

     
"Just one thing, Sydney," Phule said, "if you don't mind my asking. I notice you had your holo-camera gear along, and that's fairly expensive equipment. Is it your own, or does it belong to the news service? Would you have to send it back if things went bad?"