Phule's Paradise (36 page)

     
That much of the conversation, at least, caught the attention of several of the Legionnaires in the room. Glancing over to check Lex's reaction, they noted that, to his credit, a quick expression of distaste swept across his features before he caught himself and regained his confident smile.

     
"And hide those luscious curves of yours in baggy fatigues?" he said smoothly. "Not a chance, love. We want something that will show off everything the public is paying to see. How about that sexy tight outfit you were wearing at rehearsals?"

     
"You mean my old leotard?" The starlet frowned. "It's got a couple tears in it and is worn almost through in spots ... some rather revealing spots."

     
"Precisely." Lex beamed. "Of course, we'll give you some nasty-looking weaponry and maybe an ammo belt ... Sergeant Harry?"

     
"Yo, Lex."

     
"Can you fix Dee Dee up with some big, ugly armaments? Something that looks scary, but is light enough for her to handle?"

     
"Can do," the supply sergeant said, his eyes darting over the starlet's form. "I'll have one of the boys pull the firing pin just to be sure it don't go off accidental."

     
"There. You see?"

     
"But ..."

     
"Just scamper along, love, and fetch back that outfit. I think we're going to be moving soon."

Chocolate Harry, in the meantime, was having problems of his own. A small tug-of-war was escalating between one of his supply clerks and the big Voltron, Tusk-anini.

     
"Come on, Tusk," Super Gnat was saying, trying to dissuade her partner. "We can go with something else."

     
"Give me weapon now!" the Voltron insisted, ignoring the little Legionnaire as he tugged once more at the armament the supply clerk was clinging to, all but lifting the man's feet from the ground in the process.

     
"Hold it, Tusk-anini!" C. H. said, stepping in. "What seems to be the problem here, Jason?"

     
"He wants to use one of the Rolling Thunder belt-fed shotguns," the clerk complained, still red-faced from the argument and the exertion, "but he hasn't ever qualified with it!"

     
"You really want to use this, Tusk?" the sergeant said, making no effort to hide his surprise. "It don't really seem to be your style."

     
The belt-fed shotguns were some of the deadliest, most vicious weapons in the company's arsenal. To say the least, it was an unlikely choice for the Voltron, whose pacifistic nature was well known.

     
"Captain need help. This will help!" Tusk-anini growled, not releasing his grip on the weapon.

     
"Give it to him," C.H. said, turning back to the supply clerk.

     
"But Sarge ..."

     
"Give it to him. I'll check him out on it myself."

     
With a shrug, the clerk released the weapon and watched as Tusk-anini walked away, cradling the bit of nastiness protectively in his arms.

     
"You tell me, hoss," the sergeant said softly. "Can you think of anyone in this outfit who could hold down that weapon better'n Tusk? It's got a kick like a sonofabitch."

     
"Well, no. But ..."

     
"'Sides, didn't your mama ever tell you it ain't healthy to argue with somethin' that outweighs you by maybe a ton?" Harry finished. "I'll tell you, Jase, you still got a lot to learn about survivin'."

     
With that he turned to go, only to find his path blocked by Colonel Battleax.

     
"Tell me, Sergeant," she said, "now that we have a moment relatively alone. That little episode we had earlier ... would you have really shot me?"

     
Harry had the grace to look a bit abashed.

     
"I'd of had to, Colonel," he admitted. "Truth is, I'd rather of just tried to knock you out, but the cap'n says there's a rule against noncoms hitting officers."

"Excuse me ... Lieutenant Rembrandt?"

     
"Yes, Beeker?"

     
"If I might have a moment of your time?"

     
The lieutenant glanced around the room to be sure everything was going smoothly-or as smoothly as could be expected-then nodded.

     
"Sure, Beek. What's up?"

     
"Am I understanding correctly that you're nearly ready to commence your rescue attempt?"

     
"Well, I think we're about ready as we'll ever be," Rembrandt confirmed.

     
"I notice that I have not been included in any of your planning," the butler said, "and I do appreciate that. I believe my employer would be most distressed if he thought I was attempting to assume a place in the company chain of command."

     
The Lieutenant smiled. "Don't worry. You're considered a civilian for this one-strictly noncombatant."

     
"Quite ... well, not quite." Beeker frowned. "That's what I wished to speak to you about. You see, I feel my own course of action in this situation is quite clear, nor is it likely that anyone could dissuade me from it. I thought, however, that you should be made aware of exactly what it is I intend to do, so that you could take it into account in your planning or, perhaps, even interphase with it."

     
Leaning close, the butler launched into an explanation of his thoughts. At first, Rembrandt frowned, shaking her head slightly, but as Beeker continued speaking, a slow, broad smile crept across her face.

As I have mentioned throughout this account, my role in this campaign was larger than normal, and never so noticeable as it was for the rescue attempt. I would hasten to clarify, however, that this did not mean I joined the Space Legion, even on a temporary basis, and was therefore never under their command or control. I am a butler, and owe my loyalties to a single, chosen individual, and the idea of accepting assigned authority has always been abhorrent to me. If anything. I prefer to think that the Space Legion temporarily joined me.

Max did not share Laverna's taste for holos, preferring instead to read during her occasional leisure time. She was indulging in this pastime now, having a substantial hunk of time to fill, and curled up on the sofa with a lamp shining over her shoulder and onto the book she was reading, Maxine almost gave the suite an air of domestic tranquillity. The effect was ruined, however, by the presence of the two gunmen in the room with her. Wearing their weapons openly in shoulder holsters, they alternately wandered around the room, peered out the window through the crack in the drawn curtains, fidgeted, and idly leafed through the room's small stack of magazines, looking at the pictures rather than actually reading.

     
Max found the extra movement in the room to be an irritating distraction, but refrained from saying anything. It wouldn't do to have her guards sullen or resentful at this stage of the game.

     
The truth was that they were all a trifle on edge. The nature of their operation normally allowed Maxine and those under her command free rein to prowl the casinos and walkways of Lorelei at will. Close confinement like this was unusual, and even though she had deliberately kept the contingent of guards down to four, Max found having extra people in her living quarters to be an unexpected trial. In idle moments, she mused over the irony that, as much as their unwilling guest, she and her people were being held prisoner by the current situation.

     
Max glanced up as Laverna eased into the room through the bedroom door, gently closing it behind her.

     
"Is he still asleep?" she said, glad for the interruption.

     
"He sure is," her aide responded, shaking her head. "I swear sometimes I think we're doing that child a favor. He hasn't budged since he stretched out."

     
Upon arriving, under guard, at Maxine's suite, Phule's first request had been to ask if he could "lie down for a few minutes," and he had been sleeping ever since. Seemingly unruffled by his capture, he appeared to be taking advantage of the situation to get some long-overdue rest.

     
Laverna caught the eye of one of the guards.

     
"Your buddy in there wants someone to spell him for a while," she said. "Says he's going a little buggy sitting in the dark with nothing to do but watch our friend sleep."

     
One of the guards shrugged and started for the bedroom door, but Max waved him off.

     
"That won't be necessary," she countered. "I think our guest has slept long enough. Besides, it's about time we had a little chat. Laverna, would you wake Mr. Phule up and ask him to join us?"

     
"No, ma'am."

     
The sudden fierceness in her aide's tone startled Max almost as much as the rare refusal.

     
"What was that, Laverna?" She blinked, more stalling for time to collect her own thoughts than actually requiring a repetition.

     
"I said, `No, ma'am,'" Laverna repeated, shaking her head. "I usually stay out of this side of the business and just handle the books, and I know you might have to kill him sooner or later"-she fixed Maxine with a hard gaze-"but I don't ever want to have to tell Beeker that I had any part in mistreating his gentleman while he was in our care. I say if the man wants to sleep, let him sleep! Otherwise, get someone else to wake him up. I'm not going to do it."

     
Before Maxine had to reach a decision over what to do about this open rebellion, the matter was settled for her. The bedroom door opened and Phule emerged, his uniform slightly disheveled, but aside from that looking relaxed and refreshed.

     
"No need to fight, ladies." He smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I'm already awake. Thanks, anyway, Laverna. I'll be sure to mention your consideration to Beeker when-or should I say if-I
see him again."

     
He ignored the guard who ghosted through the door behind him to rejoin the others, just as the guards tended to ignore the main conversation in the room.

     
"Sit down, Mr. Phule," Maxine said, setting her book aside and gesturing toward a chair. "I take it you overheard Laverna's unfortunate comment about the possibility of having to eliminate you?"

     
"I did," Phule admitted, sinking into the indicated seat, "but to be honest with you, it was no surprise. I assumed from the beginning I was only being kept alive so that, if necessary, I could speak to my father for you to confirm that I was in good health. Once the ransom is paid ..."

     
He shrugged and left the end of the sentence unsaid.

     
"Then you think he'll pay?" Max pressed. "Forgive my curiosity, but this is the first time I've dealt with someone of your father's standing."

     
"I really don't know," the Legionnaire said easily. "Frankly I doubt it, but he's surprised me before."

     
"If you don't mind my saying so, Mr. Phule," Maxine said, "you seem to be taking this very calmly."

     
"I see it as the price of stupidity," Phule replied, grimacing slightly. "I got so wrapped up trying to protect the complex, and Gunther Rafael, and my troops, that I completely overlooked the possibility of my own danger until I opened my door and saw your assistants standing there with their weapons trained on me. They're very good, by the way."

     
He paused to nod his compliments to the guards, but they ignored him.

     
"Anyway," he continued, "as I was saying, it was a stupid oversight, and stupidity at my level is unforgivable. It's also usually fatal, either physically or financially. By rights, I should have been dead as soon as I opened the door without checking first, and I tend to view any time I have after that as a bonus rather than brooding, getting bitter, or attempting any hopeless heroics when faced with the possibility of my eventual demise. I mean, everybody dies sometime."

     
"True," Maxine acknowledged thoughtfully, "though somehow I've never been able to accept it as philosophically as you seem to. However, getting back to your father for a moment ..."

     
"Please," the commander said, holding up a restraining hand, "if this is going to be a long discussion, I'd like something to drink first. I seem to be a bit dehydrated after my nap. Is there any chance you have any coffee or juice about?"

     
"I'll get it," Laverna said, heading for the suite's kitchenette.

     
"Excuse me," one of the guards said suddenly. He was standing at the windows and had just parted the curtain slightly with one finger to peek out. "Did anyone hear a fire alarm?"