"C.H., you and I both know there are things you can't buy in a store. What I mean is, my money and methods may be fine for normal equipment and supplies, but I'm expecting that, from time to time, we may need a few items that can only be found on the black market. So I'm expecting you to get us a pipeline into the underground supply network by using the sale of our old equipment as a passport. Get my drift?"
"Read you loud and clear, Cap'n," Harry said, his face splitting in a wide grin. "You know, I ain't never called a white man 'brother' before, but you just might qualify."
"I'm afraid I'll have to settle for just 'good buddies' for the time being," Phule corrected hastily. "You see, C.H., there are a few rules attached to this game-my rules, not the Legion's. "
"Uh-oh. Thought this was sounding a little too good to be true. "
"First of all," the commander continued, ignoring the sergeant's theatric aside, "I don't want you to sell anything that will come back to haunt us. If you make a deal for our automatic weapons, make sure it's after you've removed the selector switch that converts them to fully automatic-and that doesn't mean you have a sale on selector switches the next week. Our gear may be antique, but there's a lot of it I'd just as soon not have used against us... or the local police, for that matter. It'll be a bit difficult to play innocent if we're the only source on the planet for fully automatic hardware. That goes double for the new gear we're getting, including our wrist communicators. I suppose you can let a few of the regular units stray if it means opening the right doors, but the extra command units stay put. I don't want anyone but us to have the capacity to monitor the private lines. For that matter, if you think a bit, I'm sure you'll agree that it would be in your own best interest if no one could listen in to some of the private talks you and I will be having."
The supply sergeant made a face. "I suppose you're right, but it's gonna cramp my maneuvering a mite."
"Rule number two: The monies from these sales get channeled into the company fund. Now, I don't mind if you do a little skimming for your trouble... in fact, I expect it and consider it only fair reward for devoting a portion of your personal time to helping further the company. Just do a reasonable job of doctoring the receipts for the files, and you'll hear no complaints from me. Remember, though, that I have a fair idea of what the going prices of things are, even on the black market. If I get wind of your taking more than a fair commission, I'll cut you off cold."
"Cut me off from what, Captain?" Harry challenged. "It wouldn't break my heart to get transferred out, you know."
"I'm not talking about a transfer." Phule smiled. "I'd cut you off from your lessons. You see, C.H., right now you're a small-time chiseler and hustler. Stick with me, play the game my way, and I'll teach you to play in the big leagues, as well as show you how to build the kind of bankroll you'll need for seed money once your enlistment's up. Deal?"
"Have a seat, Brandy," the commander said, waving his top sergeant into one of the visitor chairs. "Sorry to keep you waiting, but for various reasons I wanted to save your interview for last."
"No problem, sir." The ranking noncom shrugged, sinking into the indicated seat. "If there's one thing I've learned in the military, it's how to wait for officers."
Phule ignored the blatant dig.
"Seeing as how it's late, and we're both tired, I'll try to keep this short and to the point." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as if hugging himself. "Tell me, Brandy, in your opinion, what's the biggest problem facing me in this company?"
The top sergeant widened her eyes and raised her eyebrows as she pursed her lips in a silent whistle.
"That's a rough one," she said, shifting her sprawl to a different position. "I really don't know where to start. If you've got any smarts at all, you don't need me to tell you this company's the pits, from top to bottom, inside and out. As far as any one problem being bigger than the others..."
Her voice trailed off as she shook her head.
"To me, there's one problem that stands out like a beacon," Phule said firmly. "In fact, it's the only one I'm not sure I'll be able to handle."
"What's that, sir?"
"You."
Brandy pulled her head back, frowning.
"Me, sir?"
"That's right. Now, don't get me wrong. You're good, Brandy... head, shoulders, and waist above any of the other personnel I've inherited. From your record, and from my personal observations this last week, you're an excellent leader, easily as good or better than me."
The commander shook his head slightly.
"The problem is that you're a cynic. If you had been around when the Wright brothers were designing their first plane, you would have been the one saying, 'It'll never fly.' Then, as it passed overhead on its maiden flight, your only comment would've been, 'They'll never get it down!"'
A ghost of a smile flitted across the top sergeant's face.
"You got me there, Captain," she admitted.
Her smile wasn't returned.
"That's the one thing I can't have in this company... not in the top sergeant slot, anyway. I'm going to try to turn this company around, starting with getting every Legionnaire under my command to develop a better opinion of his or her self. I can't do that if the main leader for the enlisted personnel keeps telling them that they're dirt and there's no point in even trying. I'm already figuring on a two-front war: with Headquarters and with the Legionnaires themselves. I can't afford to open a third front by fighting with you as well."
The top sergeant gazed at him levelly. "Are we talking about a transfer, sir?"
Phule grimaced. "I'll admit the possibility has crossed my mind... and you're the only one I've seriously considered it for. I don't like it, though. It's too easy, too much like quitting without even trying. I admire your abilities, Brandy, as well as your leadership capacity. I'm hoping we can work together, work with each other, not in opposition. The only way I can see that, though, is if there are some major changes on your part."
Brandy bit her lip thoughtfully before answering.
"To be honest with you, sir, I'm not sure I could change even if I wanted to. Old habits are hard to break, and I've been the way I am for a long time."
"I'm not asking for any guarantees," the commander urged earnestly. "For the time being, I'd be content if you were willing to give it a try. You see, Brandy... geez! I hate playing amateur psychologist, but... well, most of the cynics I've dealt with in the past, the hard-core 'Who cares?' types, actually care a lot. It's just that at some point they've been hurt, and hurt bad. So bad, they won't let themselves even hope anymore for fear of being disappointed and hurt again. I don't know if that applies in your case, and don't really care. All that I'm asking is that you give things a chance before you shoot them down. Give the Legionnaires a chance... and give me a chance."
Silence hung in the air for a moment as they both felt the awkwardness of two people sharing a sudden and unexpected closeness. It was Phule who finally pulled back, breaking the tension.
"Well, think it over, Sergeant. If, in the end, you figure it's not even worth a try, let me know and I'll arrange for your transfer. "
"Thank you, sir," Brandy said, rising to her feet and saluting. "I'll think about it."
"And Brandy...
"Yes, sir?"
"Think about giving yourself a chance, too."
"Sir?"
Phule opened his eyes to find his butler standing in the doorway of his office.
"Yes, Beeker?"
"Excuse me for intruding, sir, but... what with the relocation scheduled for tomorrow... Well, sir, I thought you should try to get at least a few hours sleep."