The commander rose, yawning and stretching his cramped limbs.
"Right, as always, Beeker. What would I do without you?"
"I'm sure I don't know, sir. Did the meetings go well?"
Phule shrugged. "Not as well as I hoped... better than I feared. There were a few moments, though. Brandy-that's the top sergeant-actually saluted me before she left."
"Quite an achievement in itself, sir," Beeker said, gently steering his charge through the door.
"And Rembrandt-that's the lieutenant who wants to be an artist after my interview with her and Armstrong, she hung back for a moment and asked if I'd be willing to pose for her. I thought she meant for a portrait... took me a bit aback when I realized she wanted to do a nude study."
"I see. Did you accept?"
"I told her I'd think about it. It's rather flattering, in a way, considering the number of subjects she has to choose from. Besides, it might be a nice gesture to help her with her art career...
I really didn't think it was my place to inform my employer... Actually I didn't have the heart or the courage to tell him, and so left it for him to discover on his own. I had already had the opportunity to study Lieutenant Rembrandt's work, both finished paintings and works in progress. Without exception, she had devoted herself to landscapes... until now, that is.
CHAPTER FOUR
Journal File #019
Moving the company into the settlement so our normal quarters could be remodeled was an enormous undertaking. The Legionnaires themselves traveled light, as they had little personal gear to deal with. Packing and storing the company's gear, however, especially the kitchen, proved to be a time-consuming task, even with everyone pitching in. Thus it was that we did not begin our actual trek into the settlement until nearly noon.
Wishing to impress both the company and the settlement, my employer had shunned the practice of transporting troops in trucks like cattle (though, after having observed them dine, I had a new appreciation of the appropriateness of this practice), choosing instead to hire a small fleet of hover limos to move his new charges. While this might be seen as an extravagant gesture, I have noted before that he is not of a particularly tight-fisted nature, especially when it comes to making an impression.
During the trip, the Legionnaires seemed to be in uncommonly high spirits, skylarking like schoolchildren on afield trip and playing with their newly issued wrist communicators. The ones I shared a ride with, however, took the opportunity to test the claim my employer had made the night before: that I could be spoken with on a confidential basis.
"'Scuse me, Mr. Beeker."
The butler looked up from the screen of his portable computer to regard the Legionnaire who had addressed him with a look that was neither hostile nor warm.
"Just 'Beeker' will suffice, sir. No other title is warranted or necessary. "
"Yeah. Whatever. I was just wondering... could you fill us in a little on the new commander? It sounds like you two have been together for a while."
"Certainly, sir," Beeker said, folding the screen and slipping the computer into his pocket. "Of course, you realize that my relationship with my employer is of a confidential manner, and that as such I feel at liberty to voice my personal opinions only. "
"Say what?"
"What the man's saying," Brandy put in from the other side of the limo, turning her attention from staring out the window to the conversation the other occupants were already listening to with rapt interest, "is that he's not going to blab any secrets or details... just what he thinks himself."
"Oh. Okay."
"Please be assured, however, that I will treat whatever discussions we might have now or in the future with equal confidentiality. "
The Legionnaire turned helplessly to Brandy.
"He means he won't blab what you say, either."
"Right. Well, Mr... . All I want to know, Beeker, is if that guy's for real. I mean, he talks a good line and all, but how much of it's hot air? That's it, plain and simple... and I'd want you to try 'n' lay off the big words while you answer so's I can understand without havin' it translated."
"I see," Beeker said, tapping his finger against his leg thoughtfully. "If I understand correctly, you're asking if my employer... your commander... can be trusted. To the best of my knowledge, he's always been scrupulously-excuse me, painfully-fair in all his dealings, both business and personal. As to his reliability... well, I don't think it's breaking any confidence to point out what the most casual observer would note in short order: that he's seriously unbalanced."
For a moment, the Legionnaires in the limo were shocked into silence by the butler's statement. It was the top sergeant who found her voice first.
"What do you mean 'unbalanced,' Beeker? Are you saying the captain's loony?"
"Oh, I don't mean to say that he's dangerously insane or anything," the butler corrected hastily. "Perhaps I chose the wrong word in my efforts to keep my vocabulary simple. My employer is unbalanced only in the way that many successful businessmen and women are, in that he has a tendency toward the obsessive. It's not a matter of judging how his work fits into his life. His work is his life, and he views everything else in the universe in relation to that. This company of the Legion is his current pet project, and all his energies and resources are focused on advancing and defending it. Frankly it's my belief that you're all quite fortunate to be at the right place at the right time to be a part of his efforts. My experience has been that he rarely, if ever, fails once he sets his mind on something."
"Excuse me, Beeker," Brandy drawled, "but I can't help but notice you specifically said his current pet project. What happens to us if he gets distracted by some other shiny toy?"
"Oh, I doubt very much that would happen. He's remarkably tenacious once he undertakes an endeavor. Unless, of course..."
Beeker let the sentence hang in the air.
"Unless what?"
"Well... your commander has near limitless energy and a drive that will sweep you along in its wake, even if you only choose to be passive to his plans and exercises. To discourage him-the only thing I can think of that might make him give up-would be active opposition from within the company on a massive scale. You Legionnaires would have to be adamant in your efforts to maintain your current images, individually and collectively."
"I don't get it."
"He means we'd have to work at being foul-ups before the commander would give up on us. Isn't that right, Brandy?"
"Hmmm? Oh. Right. No sweat there, Beeker. We may be a bit discouraged now, but we're at least going to try to keep up with your boy wonder... and anyone who doesn't is going to have to answer to me personally."
In the spirited discussion that followed, no one noticed that the butler, though silent, was smiling.
The Plaza Hotel, though it had seen better days and tended to be upstaged by its newer, more modern brethren, still maintained an air of aloof dignity and elegance. The fountain in the park across the street was adorned with the graffiti of countless passing junior terrorists, and the park itself had long since been abandoned except for the street urchins who used its walks and benches for their daredevil glide-board antics by day and for their territorial disputes by night, but the hotel itself seemed to stoically ignore what was going on around it, like a harried mother of seven during summer vacation.
This beleaguered calm was shattered, however, as the first of the hover limos eased into the loading zone in front of the Plaza and disgorged its cargo of Legionnaires and luggage. Phule was in the lead vehicle, and left his charges to struggle with their personal gear as he descended on the front desk.