The more veteran Legionnaires frowned thoughtfully at this. Experience had taught them that noncommittal expressions on officers usually meant bad news. If the news were good, there would be smiles and maybe even a few smug winks being exchanged. As it was ...
"You all already know that we're being reassigned," their commander began without preamble. "While there are still countless details to be worked out, I thought it would be best to at least give you a preliminary briefing in an effort to keep speculation to a minimum."
"Before I get into the assignment, however, I'd like to address the question of what happens to this facility when we relocate. As you all know, The Club is my personal property. I bought the property and building when I arrived and had it remodeled and am currently renting it to the Legion. Originally I intended to sell the holding when we moved on, and, in fact, have several standing offers from interests who would like to convert it to a country club. I have, however, reconsidered. As I am not in immediate need of additional capital, I have decided to retain ownership of this facility even after our departure. It is my thought that it can serve as a home base for the company and, perhaps, a retreat for those members on leave. If we find that this is a desirable arrangement, then we can discuss the possibility of using the company fund to buy it from me outright ... transferring ownership formally and permanently to the company itself. Should that occur, I think you'll find my asking price more than reasonable."
The commander allowed a small ghost of a smile to flit across his face as the Legionnaires grinned and nudged each other gleefully at the announcement.
"Now then, as to the assignment itself," he continued, raising his voice slightly, to which the company responded by falling silent, "I guess it can best be described as good news/bad news. The bad news is that we've drawn guard duty again, which I know will be a disappointment to those of you who were hoping for some kind of combat assignment."
Phule paused for a moment, and, as he had expected, the now-traditional voice from the back of the room piped in.
"What's the good news?"
"The good news," he responded, working to keep his voice and face deadpan, "is that what we are being assigned to guard is the Fat Chance Casino on Lorelei, which I think you'll agree is a step up from standing duty in a swamp. To quote Headquarters directly, it's `easy duty in paradise.'"
There were a few heartbeats of silence, then the room exploded. The Legionnaires crowed and cheered, thumping each other enthusiastically on the back.
Phule noticed, however, that not everyone was joining in on the festivities. Several of the company's members, specifically the older, more experienced Legionnaires, seemed unmoved or, in some cases, even wary and thoughtful at the news.
"Excuse me, Cap'n," Chocolate Harry called, heaving himself to his feet, "but exactly what is it we're supposed to be guardin' his casino against? I mean, it occurs to me that we're a bit overgunned to be doormen."
"I wondered about the same thing, C.H.," the commander said with a smile, though inwardly he was cursing the shrewdness of a question that prevented him from presenting the situation at his own pace. "So I gave the owner a call. It seems that his main concern, and the reason for specifically requesting our services, is that he's afraid that a certain criminal element might be trying to take over his casino. It's our job to stop them."
The celebratory smiles disappeared abruptly at this news, and the Legionnaires began to murmur back and forth.
"A certain criminal element," Harry repeated dramatically. "Tell me, Cap'n, is that rich folks' talk for `organized crime'?"
"That's organized crime no matter who's doing the talking, C.H.," Phule confirmed grimly.
The mutters and conversation in the ranks accelerated noticeably. For some, organized crime was a legendary force they only knew about from carefully phrased media coverage, while others in the company had more firsthand dealings with that subterranean branch of society. Whether their knowledge was from rumor or personal experience, however, it was clear to all that their new "cushy assignment" had just grown some dangerous thorns.
"Now, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that uniformed security guards won't be much of a deterrent against this kind of opposition," Phule said, pressing on before the meeting got totally out of hand. "Any more than uniformed beat cops can keep organized crime out of a city."
He paused involuntarily to take a deep breath before plunging into the next part.
"That's why I've decided that, for this assignment, some of you will be working under cover, independently and out of uniform, infiltrating the normal hotel and casino staff to gather intelligence for the rest, of us. In fact, I'll be calling for volunteers for this duty as soon as the meeting breaks up."
His eyes sought out the tall Voltron, easily spotted in the assemblage.
"Tusk-anini, you're exempt from this duty ... as are the Sinthians, Louie and Spartacus. It's my understanding that nonhumans are still a rarity on Lorelei, so you'd be too obvious in any capacity other than as a part of our open presence. Any of the rest of you who are willing to apply for this special assignment, report to me in my office when we're done here."
"How many are you looking for, Captain?"
Phule didn't even bother to look for the originator of the question.
"I figure that for an effective intelligence network, we'll need about forty or fifty spread through the various hotel areas and shifts."
The Legionnaires began to glance back and forth among themselves. Forty or fifty Legionnaires meant about one in four of them would not be serving with the rest of the team this assignment.
"That's a fair-sized hunk of our force, sir," Brandy observed loudly from her front-row seat. "Aren't you afraid someone will notice if we show up that much understaffed?"
"They would ... if we showed up in partial strength," the commander confirmed. "That's why we're going to have to hire some `ringers' to substitute for the Legionnaires working under cover. I've given Lieutenant Rembrandt the assignment of recruiting-or should I say, auditioning-the necessary number of actors and actresses to bring our uniformed body count up to the required level."
To Phule, this was a logical choice. Rembrandt, with her artist's eye, would be best at selecting stand-ins, while Armstrong, with his stern Regular Army upbringing, was a natural to help organize and oversee the company's physical relocation to their new assignment.
The Legionnaires, however, heard this news in stricken silence. While they had shown concern over being pitted against the unknown menace of organized crime, the concept of dividing their force seemed to stun them beyond words.
"You will give ... our uniforms to people ... not in company? Not in Legion?"
It was Tusk-anini who broke the silence ... and Phule knew he was in trouble. The big Voltron was one of his most loyal supporters who rarely, if ever, questioned orders. If Tusk was going to get upset over the idea of outsiders standing duty as Legionnaires, then Phule was going to have to talk fast before the rest of the company rose up in open mutiny.
"That's right, Tusk-anini," he said. "I'm not wild about it, either, but that's the way it's got to be."
He quickly turned his attention to the group at large before any more questions could be raised.
"Now, before you all jump all over me about the downsides of this operation, let me cut right to the bottom line of the situation. We've got a hairy assignment that's been dumped in our laps. I didn't ask for it. We didn't ask for it, but we've got it. Actually, realizing the dubious opinion Headquarters has of us, we shouldn't be surprised at all."