Phules Paradise

CHAPTER FOUR

Journal # 197

I will not attempt to chronicle the endless details involved in packing up the company for relocation. For one thing, they are boring and tedious; for another, they contribute little to the account of this particular assignment. Perhaps most important, however, is the simple factor that I was not present for those proceedings. Let it suffice to say that knowing my employer's habit of wanting to put his personal stamp on everything, and Lieutenant Armstrong's tendency to be overly formal and by the book when carrying out orders, however minor, I'm rather glad I was elsewhere at the time, at least until I observed the condition of my employer's wardrobe after having left it to someone else's care.

I, of course, was occupied elsewhere, specifically on the planet Jewell, assisting Lieutenant Rembrandt in her efforts to find and recruit the actors necessary to replace those Legionnaires who would be working under cover for this assignment.

As I find is often the case with higher executives, my employer had grossly underestimated, or simply chosen to ignore, the difficulties involved with performing a specific task delegated to a subordinate, choosing instead to lump all his assistance and advice into the brief phrase "Just do it. Okay? Make it happen!" While this may be a successful method for said executive to shift the bulk of the responsibility for a task off his own shoulders, it effectively leaves the designated subordinate to, as they say, "twist in the wind," bearing the brunt of the blame for the methodology, as well as the results, of their efforts.

With my humble assistance, however, Lieutenant Rembrandt had completed her assignment prior to the company's arrival on Jewell, or, should I say, completed most of it.

Phule barely recognized his senior lieutenant as he disembarked from the shuttle at the Jewell spaceport. In fact, he might have missed her completely had she not been standing next to Beeker in the waiting area.

Rembrandt had forsaken her usual long-braided ponytail, and her dark brown hair now hung loosely almost halfway down her back. There was no sign of her customary black Legionnaires uniform, either, as she was dressed in a deceptively simple white blouse and dark skirt combination, topped off with a camel-colored sweater worn over her shoulders like a cape, with the arms tied loosely around her neck. Her wardrobe, combined with the stack of folders she was hugging with both arms and the pencil stuck behind her ear, gave her the appearance of the young assistant of someone in some branch of the entertainment field-which was, of course, what she was striving for.

"Lieutenant ... Beeker," Phule said, coming to a halt in front of them. "That's a new look for you, isn't it, Rembrandt?"

Rembrandt's normally pale complexion suddenly exploded with a bright pink blush.

"Sorry, sir. Becker said ... I mean, I felt ... Well, you said we shouldn't let anyone know I was with the Space Legion, so I thought ..."

"Whoa! Stop the music!" the commander said, holding up a restraining hand. "There's no need to apologize, Lieutenant. I was just teasing you a little. You look fine ... really. In fact, you look exceptionally good in that outfit. You should wear skirts more often."

Rather than looking relieved, Rembrandt's blush deepened to the approximate red of a tomato in a seed catalog.

"Thank you, sir," she mumbled, averting her eyes. "Beeker helped pick it out."

Painfully aware that his efforts to lighten the mood were only making matters worse, Phule cast around desperately for a change in subject.

"So ... what have you got for me there?" he said, looking pointedly at the folders Rembrandt was clutching.

"These are the resumes of the actors and my notes on them for your review, sir," the lieutenant said, gratefully slipping into the more familiar military mode as she thrust her load at her commander.

"Excellent," Phule said, accepting the stack and idly opening the top folder to glance at the contents. As he did, the three-dimensional holo-photo which was the inevitable inside cover of an actor's portfolio sprang to life, projecting a miniature person who seemed to be standing on the folder. He ignored it, scanning the printed pages instead. "I assume they'll be ready to load and board this evening?"

Rembrandt licked her lips nervously.

"I ... those are only my final recommendations, sir. I've been holding off finalizing them pending your approval."

The commander's head came up with a snap.

"You mean they haven't been notified to be ready for departure?"

"Well, I have them on standby, but I explained that you had to approve the final selection, so they're-"

Phule slapped the cover shut on the top folder, squashing the actor's image in the process, and handed the entire stack back, interrupting her in midsentence.

"Get them on the horn and tell them they're hired," he said firmly.

"Lieutenant," the commander cut her short, "I gave you this assignment because I trust your judgment. If you say these are the best candidates, then that's what we'll go with."

"But I'm not sure of a couple of these, sir. I was hoping you could-"

"Being sure is a luxury you rarely get as an officer, Lieutenant. You make the best guess you can in the time allowed, then make it the right choice."

"But ..."

"Our main criterion is that they fit into uniform sizes that we have in stock. Outside of that, they're mostly window dressing. As to personalities ... well ... if you'll recall, we took potluck with this company to start with. I doubt there is anyone in there that will be more of a problem case than the Legionnaires we're already dealing with. Agreed?"

"I ... I guess so sir."

"Fine. Like I've said before, Rembrandt, you need to be more decisive. I don't have time to duplicate your work-and neither do you if we're going to give the new bodies time to pack and get on board before lift-off. I suggest you start moving."

"Yes, sir!"

Momentarily forgetting her civilian garb, Rembrandt drew herself to attention and fired off a salute before fleeing her commander's presence.

"Well, Beek," Phule said, turning to his butler at last, "except for that, how are things going?"

"Rather better than they are for you, it would seem ... sir." Beeker's voice was utterly devoid of warmth.

"How's that again?" Phule frowned. "Is something wrong, Beek?"

"Not at all, sir. It's always a treat to watch the finesse and compassion with which you handle your subordinates. Of course, I have noticed that your skill level seems to drop in direct proportion to the amount of sleep you've been getting ... sir."

The commander shot a glance in the direction in which Rembrandt had disappeared.

"What you're trying to say, in your traditionally subtle way, of course, is that you think I was a little hard on Rembrandt just now. Right?"

"I suppose from your point of view, sir, you were being quite tolerant," the butler observed blandly. "I mean, you could have had her stood up against a wall and shot."

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" Phule sighed heavily. "I guess ..."

"Or then again, flogging is always effective, if a bit outdated," Beeker continued as if his employer hadn't spoken.

"All right, all right! I get the point! I guess I've been a bit tense lately. Relocating the company has been more of a hassle than I anticipated."

"I wouldn't know, sir," Beeker said, shrugging slightly. "What I do know, however, is how hard Lieutenant Rembrandt has been working on the assignment you so casually dumped on her, and how concerned she's been about whether or not you'd approve of her efforts, much less her results."

"Which is why she wanted me to review her choices before finalizing them," Phule said, finishing the thought. "Of course, my barking at her is only going to hurt, not help, her confidence, which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to have happen."

"It's hard to see where anything positive will come from your current stance ... in my own, humble opinion, sir," the butler confirmed mercilessly.

Phule gave another sigh, running a hand over his face like he was trying to wipe water from it, and seemed to deflate back into himself.

"Sorry, Beek," he said. "I seem to be running tired these days. You know, when I was giving the crew going under cover their final briefing, Armstrong had to point out to me that I was getting redundant-that I had reviewed the procedures on their new communicators three times even though there hadn't been any questions. Can you believe that? Armstrong? Keeping me from making an idiot of myself in front of the troops?"

"Lieutenant Armstrong has come a long way," Beeker observed, "but I see your point. I think, however, that your troops, like myself, will be inclined to worry rather than be critical over minor flaws in your performance."

"Yeah. Well, that still doesn't change the fact that I'm not functioning at peak efficiency, especially in the manners department. What can I say other than I'm sorry?"

"You could try saying the exact same thing-only to Lieutenant Rembrandt," the butler said. "After all, it is she and not I who is the offended party in this situation."

"Right." Phule nodded, glancing down the corridor again, as if expecting to see his senior lieutenant appear at the mention of her name. "Maybe I can catch her before-"

"As for myself," Beeker continued, "what I would probably most like to hear is that you plan to take some time to catch up on your sleep ... sir."

"Excuse me, what was that, Beek?" the commander said, pulling his attention back to the conversation.

"You asked a rhetorical question, sir," the butler explained. "I was merely taking advantage of it to state my own opinions."

"Oh."

"And in my opinion, sir, what is most important at the moment is not that you apologize for past errors in judgment, but rather that you get some sleep to lessen the probability of compounding the situation with future errors."

Phule frowned.

"You think I should get some sleep?" he said finally, reducing things to their simplest form.

"It would seem in order, sir. By your own admission, you're `running tired.'"

"Can't do it-not now, anyway," Phule insisted, shaking his head. "I have too much to do before the actors' briefing tonight. I can't afford the time."

"If I might suggest, sir, I don't believe you can afford not to get some sleep, particularly if you're getting ready for an important presentation. Perhaps you could delegate some of your planned preparations?"

Phule thought for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"I guess you're right, Beek. It's bad enough if I'm snapping at the troops that already know me, but if I start leaning on the newcomers ..." He shook his head again, more emphatically this time. "Okay, I'll try to get some sleep. But only if you promise to wake me up a couple hours before the briefing."

"Consider it promised, sir."

"And Beeker? It's good to have you back. Sarcasm and all."

"It's good to be back, sir."

The actors' briefing went smoothly ... much more so than I had ever hoped, considering the circumstances.

Because of the secretive nature of their work, Lieutenant Rembrandt had specifically not informed them of any details regarding the "parts" they were auditioning for, other than the necessary warnings that there might be some danger involved, and (apparently more important to the actors) there would be no "billing" or other credits for their individual performances. In short, the only reward the actors could expect from their roles would be financial. As might be expected, having come to know my employer's style of problem solving, as mysterious and sketchy as the information was, the offered pay scale was generous enough that there was no shortage of applicants to choose from.

Still, it must have come as no small shock to at least some of them to learn that the "troupe" they had been auditioning for was none other than the Space Legion, or that in accepting, they had effectively "enlisted." The ease with which they absorbed and adapted to this news is a tribute to their professionalism ... or their greed.

"That pretty much concludes the basic information I wanted to cover at this first meeting," Phule said, giving his notes one final scan. "Now, I'm sure that you all have questions. Let me remind you, however, that we have a lot of time before we reach Lorelei, and that specific information on standing duty will be covered in later briefings which will include the entire company. Also, some of your questions might be better asked, and answered, in private. Lieutenants Rembrandt, who you've already met, and Armstrong will be available throughout the trip to discuss individual problems, or, if it will make you more comfortable, you can speak with either Sergeant Moustache or myself."

He paused to gesture toward the individuals mentioned, who were currently standing at parade rest on either side of him, reinforcing the introductions which had been made at the beginning of the meeting.

"Now then," he continued, "are there any questions you would like to raise in front of the group at large? Things that would affect all of the temporary Legionnaires?"

The actors, seated in auditorium formation at one end of the transport's ballroom, exchanged looks for a few moments. Since the company leaders appeared before them in the unexpected black uniforms to start the briefing, silence had reigned, and even now everyone seemed reluctant to speak.

"Mr. Phule?"

"That's `Captain Jester' or just `Captain' for the duration." The commander smiled gently. "Yes? You have a question?"

"You said that we were free to withdraw if we wanted to, now that we've heard the whole story. How would that work, exactly? I mean, now that we've lifted off and are en route, wouldn't it be kind of hard for us to get back to Jewell?"

"You would be provided with a return ticket to Jewell-at our expense, of course-after we had completed our assignment," Phule explained. "In the meantime, you would be held incommunicado on Lorelei. While you were our guests, all expenses would be paid as well as a small stipend, but it should be noted that your earnings would be substantially less than what will be paid if you honor your contracts and stand duty with us."

There was some mumbling in the assemblage at this announcement, but Phule held up his hand for silence.

"Believe me, I regret having to take this position, but we can't run the risk of having too many people wandering around who know about the substitution we're attempting. It would be dangerous to our undercover members, as well as to those of you who do stand duty, if information is leaked that not all the Legionnaires guarding the casino are combat-trained. I cannot stress enough the need for secrecy on this assignment. Now, obviously, we'd rather you all agreed to stick around, but it will be understood if you choose to withdraw at this time. I can only apologize that the situation required that we kept you in the dark as long as we have. Take your time and think it over, but I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know as soon as you've made up your minds so we can try to arrange for replacements if necessary."

"Just how dangerous will standing duty be, Captain?"

"Minimal," the commander said firmly. "We haven't worked together before, so you have no way of knowing my personal style. Let me assure you, however, that if I thought there was even an average chance of physical danger, I wouldn't be putting you in this spot. All we have so far is a rumor, unconfirmed, that there may be an attempt to take over the casino by organized crime. Even if it's true, I'm expecting more of a financial attack than any kind of physical harassment. That chance does exist, however, so it would be less than honest of me to withhold the information while you were making up your minds, though I'll admit the pay scale you were offered to lure you into this position was inflated, in part, to compensate for the potential hazard. Also, rest assured that we are not entirely without plans if things do get a little rough. I say specifically a little rough since it is my understanding that organized crime has long since abandoned armed confrontation due to the legalities and publicity involved. Each of you is being teamed with an experienced Legionnaire, and I suggest that in event of trouble, you step back and let them handle it as they have been trained to do. Also, if any of you are still nervous, hand-to-hand combat training will be available during the trip, and while it might not make you experts, it should provide you with the basic skills necessary to get you out of any awkward situation which may arise. Frankly we're hiring you as decoys, not as combat troops. If things do take a turn for the worse, you have my personal guarantee that your contracts will be `terminated with cause' from our end, and you will be free to leave."

He swept the assemblage with his eyes. "Any other questions?"

The actors looked around as well, but there were no takers. "Very well." Phule nodded. "I'll be trying to spend some time with each of you, individually and informally, during the trip in an effort to get to know you better. In the meantime, if you'll follow Sergeant Moustache now, you'll be issued uniforms and given your teammate assignments. If you would, please change into your new uniforms and report back here in an hour."

He allowed a faint smile to flit across his face.

"I'm giving a cocktail party to introduce you to the rest of the company and welcome you to our ranks. It will be a good time for you all to start getting to know each other."

Despite my employer's good intentions, his cocktail party was something less than a roaring success.

While the regular Legionnaires had long since resigned themselves to the inevitability of their new assignment, and had even accepted the necessity of breaking up their established two person teams, the idea of "outsiders" standing duty with them as equals was still unpopular. Though they were careful to keep their feelings hidden from their commander, it was readily apparent to a careful observer that little warmth was spared on their new "colleagues."

This was particularly noticeable at the cocktail party ... though almost as interesting, if you are a confirmed people watcher like myself, were the opening gambits as the actors themselves began to jostle to establish a pecking order within their own numbers. Without blatant eavesdropping, the exact details of the various conversations remained a mystery, but the general content could often be distinguished simply by observing the body language of the individuals involved ...

Tiffany was not used to being ignored. Not that she was beautiful in the classic sense-surviving as an actress required a brutal honesty which forbade her that particular delusion-but her mane of auburn hair, slightly slanted cat eyes, and ample curves exuded an earthy sensuality that usually guaranteed that men would make room for her in any conversation. As such, she found herself growing increasingly vexed at feeling all but invisible in a room filled by a crowd which was predominantly male.

Fighting a frown (frowns cause wrinkles, darling), she surveyed the gathering again. The chairs from the earlier briefing had been pushed back against the walls, creating an open area in which the Legionnaires stood clustered about in small groups-small closed groups which seemed oblivious to all else in the room except those people they were talking to immediately.

After having eased up to a few of these groups, only to finally wander away again when no one acknowledged her presence, Tiffany was ready to try a new tactic. Moving in a controlled drift, she took up a station near the mini-bar which had been set up at one end of the room ... like any good predator, waiting for her prey near the water hole.

True to her observations, she didn't have long to wait. If nothing else, the actors had that in common with the Legionnaires. Neither group was likely to squander the opportunity of free drinks at an open bar.

One Legionnaire detached himself from his group and strode over to the bar.

"Scotch, double, rocks," he told the bartender in the universal shorthand of a confirmed lounge lizard.

Tiffany gulped the remainder of her existing drink in one swallow and stepped into line behind him.

"Hi there," she said brightly, flashing her best smile. "I'm Tiffany."

The Legionnaire glanced at her. "Hello."

Realizing the man was not about to supply his name, she switched quickly to another conversational ploy.

"So ... have you been in the Space Legion long?"

"Yes."

Again the abruptness of the response left her without anything to say.

"Well-"

"Your drink, sir," the bartender interrupted, pushing his offering across the bar.

To Tiffany's surprise, the Legionnaire reached into his pocket.

"You're paying?" she blurted. "I thought this was a free bar."

The man fixed her with a brief, level stare.

"It is," he said. "We still tip the bartender, though. Just because the captain's paying for the drinks is no reason to short the help for their work. Like the captain says: `You don't break someone else's rice bowl.'"

With that, he tossed a bill on the bar, gathered up his drink, and left to rejoin his group.

"Something for you, miss?" the bartender said pointedly.

"Hemlock, neat," she muttered, staring after her departed victim.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Give me a rum and Coke. Heavy on the rum, no lime."

It was clear that "bright and friendly" wasn't working. Maybe she should change gears and see if the crowd was up for "sultry and a little horny."

"Chilly out tonight, isn't it?"

Tiffany glanced around.

"Lex! I thought that was you at the briefing. Let me tell you, darling, it's good to see a friendly face. I was starting to think I had grown another head-and an ugly one at that."

"It isn't just you," her savior assured her. "They seem to be unreceptive to any of us-even me!"

The "even me" tag line was, of course, typical of Lex. A male model turned actor, his success had heightened his already substantial opinion of himself. It had been noted more than once that the only thing bigger than his ego was, unfortunately, his talent. When he was "on," he had the gift of appearing to totally focus his attention, making whoever he was dealing with at the time feel that they were the most important, interesting person in the universe. This impression was conveyed even when the other "person" was a camera lens or the "third wall" of a stage, giving him the ability to affect an audience as few actors can. It was only when he was relaxed that his true disdain for others showed, encouraging most to maintain him as an acquaintance rather than as a friend.

Tiffany knew him only in passing from one production they had worked together, and normally would avoid his company. Even now, as desperate as she was for someone to talk to, she couldn't resist "zinging" him a little.

"Well, some of us seem to be doing okay," she said, pointing with her chin to a far corner where a petite young girl was engrossed in a conversation with a towering Legionnaire with a huge, warthog head.

Lex followed her gaze.

"Who? Her?" He managed to convey both disgust and dismissal by intonation alone. "She isn't really one of us. She's only done a few things, all amateur. In fact, this was her big try at breaking into professional acting."

Tiffany cocked an eyebrow at him.

"How do you know all that?"

"I talked to her earlier, after the briefing."

"And she wouldn't give you a tumble, eh?" she finished for him with a grin.

"Don't be a bitch, Tiffany," Lex said, unruffled. "Just because I didn't come after you first is no reason to be catty."

"Say ... what are you doing here, anyway?" she said, indulging in a small frown. "I thought they were looking for relative unknowns. Didn't I hear you landed a part in a holo-soap?"

"I didn't list that on my audition sheet," Lex said, glancing around nervously. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd keep it quiet. My part was canceled after a half dozen episodes, and it was only in planetary syndication, anyway. I guess our recruiter-in-disguise there doesn't watch the soaps ... which is just as well for me. Frankly, Tiff, I need the money. I went a little wild with my spending when I landed the part. Got so excited I didn't read the contract close enough. Missed the `character cancellation' clause completely."

"Gee, that's tough," Tiffany said sympathetically, and meant it. Though she might not like Lex as a person, he was still a fellow professional, arid she could understand how crushing it would be to think one had finally gotten their big break, only to have it jerked away from them. "Don't worry, I won't say anything."

Lex gave a quick smile of thanks, then turned his attention to the party again.

"So ... what do you think so far?" he said, scanning the crowd. "Are you going to stick around or sit this one out?"

"Oh, I'm definitely going to work this one," Tiffany said. "As to the job itself ... unless these clowns loosen up a little, it could be a long tour, if you know what I mean."

"Hey. They're no different from us," chimed in a lanky individual who had just stepped up to the bar and overheard Tiffany's comment. "Think of them as a road troupe that have been working together for a long time. We're the new replacements, and they aren't going to cut us any slack until we've shown them what we can do."

"Hey, Doc!" Lex said, waving for him to join their conversation. "Didn't get a chance to say hi earlier. Was that your son with you?"

"Sure was." He raised his voice to call across the room. "Yo! Junior! Come over here a minute."

The gangly teenager Tiffany had noted before rose from the chair he had been holding down and began ambling toward them.

"He sure has grown," Lex said, making the obligatory observation.

"Sure has," the newcomer confirmed. "I'm thinking of maybe using him for a stand-in for me in some of the rougher gags."

Even though she didn't find the man particularly attractive, Tiffany found her curiosity piqued. Lex usually held himself aloof from his colleagues, and generally had no use for men at all, unless they were producers, directors, or someone else important enough to further his career. The latter possibility was enough to capture her undivided attention.

"I don't think we've met," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Tiffany."

"I'm sorry," Lex said, slapping his forehead melodramatically with his palm. "I thought everybody knew Doc ... well, everybody who counts. Tiffany, this is Doc. Short for `Scene Doctor.' He's made me look real good the times we've worked together."

"How so?" Tiffany asked, then realized she was talking to the back of Doc's head.

That individual was craning his neck, trying to get a better look at the scene that was unfolding a few steps away where his son had been stopped by one of the Legionnaires waiting in line for a drink.

"You look pretty young to be a Legionnaire, sonny."

Unruffled, the youth shrugged.

"The casting director-I mean, the lieutenant-didn't seem to think so," he said easily.

"Oh yeah?" the Legionnaire sneered. "Tell me ... have you ever killed a man?"

"No," the youth admitted. "But I almost did once."

"Really?" his challenger said, clearly taken aback by the unexpected answer. "What happened?"

"I almost ran over him with a forklift."

There was a few seconds' pause, then the Legionnaire flushed a bright red.

"Are you trying to get cute with me, kid?"

"Take it easy there, hoss," Doc said, stepping forward to drape an arm around his son's shoulders. "He was just trying to answer your question truthfully. You don't have to worry about him pulling his own weight, either. He does his job as well as the next man, and better than most. Here, I'll show you."

With that, he made a fist with his free hand and suddenly launched an overhand punch into his son's face. There was a painful smack of flesh hitting flesh, and the youth went sprawling.

All conversation in the room ceased as abruptly as if it had been recorded background noise and someone pulled the plug.

"Jeez!" the wide-eyed Legionnaire gasped, staring at the figure on the floor. "What'd ya go and do that for? I was just-"

"Stand easy!"

At the barked command, the others in the room relaxed slightly and returned to their conversations, though many a curious and suspicious glance was directed at their group.

"Oh no," the Legionnaire said softly, almost in a groan.

The company commander was bearing down on them, his face set in a grim mask, while his junior officers and a few of his sergeants materialized out of the crowd to trail along casually in his wake.

The entourage halted before the offending group, and the commander swept them all, standing and prone, with a steely gaze before fixing his eyes on the distraught Legionnaire.

"Well? Should I ask?" he said in a tone as icy as the void outside the ship's hull.

"I didn't do anything! Really, Captain!" the Legionnaire protested desperately. "We were just standing here talking and-"

"It's no big deal, sir," Doc said, stepping forward. "My son and I were just giving the others here a little demonstration. Didn't think it would get everyone riled up."

"Demonstration?"

"That's right."

Doc extended a hand down to his son, who seized his wrist and bounced lightly to his feet, apparently unharmed.

"Guess you haven't had a chance to go over our files, Captain," Doc continued easily. "Junior and me are stuntmen."

"I see," the commander said, thawing slightly. "Well, I'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from any further `demonstrations.' Or at least give us a bit of warning. We try to discourage fighting, or even the appearance of fighting, at social gatherings."

"No problem ... sir." Doc shrugged. "Sorry, but we're still learning the ins and outs of this crew."

"You'll catch on," the commander said, relaxing into a smile. "In fact, if you're willing, I'd appreciate it if you'd give a demonstration for the whole company sometime, and maybe even a few lessons if you're ..." He broke off suddenly, his eyes narrowing with a passing thought. "By the way," he said with forced casualness, "before we get too far off the subject, may I ask what prompted this little demonstration just now?"

"I-I was saying that the k-the gentleman here seemed a bit young to be a Legionnaire, sir."

The commander ran a quick, appraising eye over the youth.

"Nonsense," he said firmly. "He may look young, soldier, but he's the same age you are. Isn't that right?"

"He is?"

"Isn't that right?"

"Oh ... yes, sir!"

"Because if he wasn't, he wouldn't be able to stand duty with us in a casino. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

"Very good." The commander nodded. "Be sure to spread the word to the others."

"Right away, sir." The Legionnaire saluted and fled to the cover of his original group.

"Sorry if that's a problem," Doc said, "but Junior here's been traveling with me ever since his mom died. We hire out as a team, sort of a package deal. The lieutenant there said she wasn't sure she could take us, but I thought she had cleared it with you before she gave us the final call."

Something flitted across the commander's face, but was gone before it really registered.

"Nothing we can't work out." He smiled. "Besides, he seems as solid as any of our regular troops, though that may not seem like a compliment to some. Anyway, glad to have him aboard ... and the same goes for all of you, for that matter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to circulate a bit."

"Good luck, Captain," Tiffany chirped as he turned to leave.

"Thank you ... umm ..."

"Tiffany," she supplied with a smile, arching her back slightly.

The commander's eyes flickered over her, a bit more slowly than when he had been assessing Doc's son.

"Right," he said. "Well ... later."

"Wipe your chin, Tiffany," Lex said softly, nudging her as she watched the commander walk away. "Really. I thought you liked them a bit broader in the shoulder than that."

"He has other attractions," the actress purred, following the Captain with predator's eyes.

"Oh? Like what?"

She glanced at him in genuine surprise.

"You mean you really don't know?" she said. "My God, I spotted him as soon as he came in for the briefing. He even told us who he was."

Lex shrugged. "So he's rich. So what?"

"Rich doesn't start to cover it," Tiffany insisted. "That, gentlemen, is Willard Phule, the fourth richest man in the universe under forty-five who isn't gay or married and monogamous."

Doc frowned. "How do you know that?"

"How does a bug know when it's going to rain?" Lex said dryly. "Yes, I start to see the attraction he has for you, Tiff."

"Hey, a girl's got to look out for her future," the actress said. "Our business trades on looks, and makeup can only cover so much so long. Catch you later, guys. I have more questions to ask our captain just to make sure he doesn't forget who I am."