"This one isn't too difficult," he called from the other side, "if you're reasonably agile. Of course, some of us aren't reasonably agile, and even for those that are, keeping your balance takes time. So again, we simply modify the world to fit our needs... Tusk-anini! Could you get the other end of this?"
At nearly seven feet, the big Volton was easily the strongest, most imposing figure among the Legionnaires, even if his stringy dark hair, protruding tusks, and misshapen head didn't give him the appearance of a cross between a warthog and Frankenstein's monster. Stepping forward, he grasped one end of the log as Phule and Armstrong got the other, and together they rolled it sideways until it rested against the center span. A few more moments, and the third log was shoved into place next to the others.
"This is easier to cross," Phule declared, walking out to the center of the makeshift bridge and jiggling it with his feet to check its steadiness, "but it's still a little wobbly if we're all going to cross it in a hurry. Anyone have any rope in your packs?"
Nobody did.
"Well, I know you all have knives. They were issued to you, and while they aren't the best-quality cutlery, they'll do for the moment. Do-Wop?"
Here, Captain!"
"Grab a partner and go get us some rope to tie these logs together with."
"Sir?"
"Think, soldier! I believe you'll find some back at the last station. That is, of course, if you don't feel it will compromise your well-known principles to stoop to liberating something for the company's benefit."
Whoops and cheers went up from the Legionnaires at this, as Do-Wop could normally be relied on to requisition anything that wasn't nailed down solidly-and chained, to boot.
"While we're waiting," Phule called, waving them into grinning silence, "let's kick around some ideas of how to beat the next obstacle. Anyone have any ideas?"
As fate would have it, Bombest was not only on duty but in the lobby when the company blew into the hotel after their bout with the confidence course.
Do-Wop was the first in, though it was difficult to recognize him through the slime and drying mud that were caked on his uniform. He was in undeniably high spirits, though, as he tossed a wad of wet currency on-the front desk and scooped up an entire stack of newspapers from the counter.
"Hey, Super Gnat!" he called at the next figure through the door, recognizable only by her height, or lack thereof. "Give me a hand with this! You know what the captain said. If those baboons track up the lobby, we'll all have to pay for the cleanup out of our wages."
The manager watched with interest as the two of them laid a path with newspapers between the front door and the elevators, barely in time as the first wave of Legionnaires burst into view.
"Did you see Brandy's face when the captain said..."
"I'll tell you, I never thought I'd live to see..."
"Hey, Bombast! Better call the laundry service and have 'em send someone over for a pickup. We've got a little overtime for them!"
The hotel manager did his best to smile along with the general laughter that followed this comment despite the use of the hated nickname, but it came out looking like a thin-upped grimace.
"Me, I'm ready for a drink or five."
"Get cleaned up first. Can't have the civvies see us looking like this!"
One figure detached itself from the jubilant mass and approached the front desk.
"Say, Bombest! Could you send someone to open up the pool area? I think the crew is going to want to play a bit, and it's probably better for all of us if they do it in the pool instead of the bar and the restaurant."
The manager did not even try to keep the look of horror off his face this time. If it hadn't spoken, Bombest would never have recognized the mud-encrusted figure before him as Phule. His mind flatly refused to accept that anyone of Phule's social standing and training would stoop to wallowing in the muck with the common troops.
"The pool?" he echoed weakly, unable to tear his eyes away from the commander's soiled condition.
Phule caught his look, but misinterpreted it.
"Don't worry, Bombest." He grinned. "I'm sure everyone will shower before hitting the pool." He gestured at the newspaper-littered lobby. "If they're too cheap to pay to have the carpet vacuumed, they sure aren't about to spring to have a ring around the pool scrubbed off."
"I suppose not."
"Oh, and could you have room service send about three trolleys of beer to each of our floors? On my bill, of course."
"It's all on your bill, Mr. Phule," Bombest commented, beginning to recover his composure.
The commander had been starting to turn away, but instead he leaned on the desk, chatty in his enthusiasm.
"I know, Bombest, but this is special. Be sure they're told that it's with the commander's compliments. I'll tell you, I wish you could have seen them today. I'll have to check on it, but I don't think any outfit has run the confidence course in less time than they did."
"They do seem to be in high spirits," the manager agreed, wishing to maintain the friendly tone of the conversation.
"They should be. Do you know we ran that course over a dozen times today? They'd still be going at it if I hadn't called it a day."
"Why did you do that? I mean... it is still fairly early."
"The course has to be rebuilt first," Phule said proudly, his grin flashing through the dirt on his face. "That reminds me. I've got to call the construction crew and see if they can get someone out there today to get started on it."
"It... sounds like they're doing well."
"That they are. I am worried about the Sinthians, though. They're just not able to keep up without help. I've got to come up with some way to help them move faster before they get completely dispirited."
Bombest was groping for an appropriate answer when he noticed two figures approaching their conversation.
"Willard? Is that you?"
Phule turned, smiling as he recognized the reporter whose interview had resulted in the call from Headquarters. She was barely into her twenties with soft, curly brown hair and a curvaceous body that even the conservative lines of her office suit couldn't hide.
"Hi, Jennie. Surprised you recognized me like this."
"I almost didn't, but Sidney here said he thought it was you. It's not that easy to fool a holophotographer. " The reporter grinned, gesturing at her partner. "He specializes in spotting celebrities that are trying to travel in disguise."
"Yes. I can see where that would be a handy skill," the commander said, forcing a smile. He had never been that fond of the sharp-eyed holophotographers that flocked around public figures like vultures around a staggering animal. In particular, he found he disliked the easy, broad-shouldered, wavy-haired good looks of the photographer who stood so close to Jennie. He exuded a relaxed air that intense people such as Phule always envied but could never hope to master. "Pleased to meet you, Sidney."
He bared his teeth as they shook hands.
"So. What can I do for you today, Jennie? I don't think we can top that last article you wrote until we learn to walk on water."
Any sarcasm hidden in his question was lost in the reporter's enthusiasm.
"Well, our editor has assigned us to do a series of weekly articles on you, complete with pictures... if you're willing, that is. I was hoping we could talk with you and get a few shots, or set a time at your convenience."
"I see. Unfortunately I'm not really presentable at the moment." Phule gestured pointedly at his soiled condition. "We've been running the confidence course today..."