What Tullie was referring to was the special training Phule had arranged for the company's communications specialist, Mother. Knowing that her shyness would negate her effectiveness on public duty, he had suggested to her, and she agreed, that she stand duty in the casino's eye-in-the-sky center. This was the room in any casino which monitored the closed-circuit cameras hidden in the ceilings over the various gaming tables.
These cameras were equipped with zoom lenses to allow close scrutiny of any dealer, player, or card, and were one of the casino's main defenses against cheats on either side of the table.
In an effort to train her for this duty, Phule had rented a half-dozen closed-circuit cameras and microphones and set them up over the tables where the Legionnaires were receiving their instruction so Mother could hear and see what was going on in her accustomed anonymity. Tullie had been skeptical about the arrangement at first, until Phule gave him a headset so that he could carry on a two-way conversation with Mother as the lessons were in progress. Even the cynical instructor was impressed with the speed with which Mother picked up the table routines, and her ability to spot any deviation from them, though it wasn't clear if he was more taken with the innovative training system or with Mother herself.
"Is that to say I can expect a discounted rate for your services?" Phule asked innocently.
Tullie favored him with a smile.
"I can see why your troops like you, Mr. Phule," he said. "A sense of humor like yours doesn't come along just every day."
"That's what people tell me," the commander said, smiling back to show he hadn't really expected the instructor to cut his profits. "Well, unless there are any further questions, I think we've pretty much covered everything."
He glanced at his lieutenants for confirmation, but it was Tullie who spoke.
"If you don't mind, Mr. Phule, I've got a question myself."
"What's that, Tullie?"
"Well, like I said, your boys have picked up a lot of information about gambling scams during this flight, and part of our deal was that none of my school's records would show them as students, right?"
"That's right." Phule nodded. "What's the point?"
"So how can you be sure you haven't just footed the bill for my training up a new pack of grifters? What's to keep them from taking what they've learned and going into business for themselves once they get out of the Legion? And I don't mean by opening a training school, either."
"Mr. Bascom," Phule said carefully, "we also train our troops to use firearms despite the fact they could use that same training to be maniacal killers in civilian life. We give them the training in the skills they need to stand duty in the Space Legion, and beyond that we have to trust them not to misuse that training once their enlistment's over."
"Trust them? That bunch of crooks?"
Armstrong dropped his notepad and glanced fearfully at his commander, who was staring fixedly at the gambling instructor.
"Excuse me," Phule said in a dangerously soft voice."I didn't quite hear that."
Tullie shrugged. "I just meant that I've never seen so many blatant or potential criminals assembled in one-"
"I think what the captain means, Mr. Bascom," Rembrandt interrupted hastily, "is ... if you could, perhaps, rephrase your statement?"
The instructor finally caught the warning in her voice. The Space Legion commander doubtlessly already knew the caliber of the troops under his command, but they were still his troops, and derogatory comments about them, however true, were ill advised.
"I ... umm ... just meant that your boys seem to show a real ... flair for larceny," Bascom said, backpedaling hastily. "I was just a little worried ... Well, there's always a chance that they might be tempted to misuse what I've been teaching them. That's all."
"I trust them," Phule intoned in a voice that would have sounded more in place coming from a burning bush. "End of subject. Do you have any other questions?"
"No. I ... no," Tullie said. "That covers everything."
"Very well," the commander said. "Then, if you'll excuse us, there are a few things I have to go over with the lieutenants. Again, thank you for your work with the company. Be sure to relay my thanks and appreciation to your instructors."
"I'll do that," Bascom said, and fled gratefully from the meeting.
"Do you believe that?" Phule huffed after Tullie's departure. "The man suspects our troops may be less than upstanding citizens!"
The three officers looked at each other for a moment, then exploded into laughter.
There was an edge of hysteria to their gaiety, not surprisingly like people who had been too long without sleep and under pressure who finally found an outlet for their tension.
"Guess he's never worked with the Space Legion before," Armstrong gasped, trying to catch his breath.
"Well, certainly not with our crew, that's for sure," Rembrandt agreed, wiping a laugh tear from one eye.
"Seriously, though," the commander said, bringing himself under control at last, "Tullie does have a point. Be sure to brace the company about keeping their hands in their pockets, at least until this assignment's over. No showing off, and no grifting for pocket-change pots. We're supposed to be the guards on this caper, and it wouldn't do to have anyone get busted for the exact same thing we're policing the casino for. That kind of media coverage we don't need. Besides, I think it would be tactically sound not to let on how much we do or don't know just yet."
"Gotcha, boss," Rembrandt said, flipping an index-finger salute at him. "You want us to tell them as a group or as individuals?"
"Both," Phule said firmly. "A general announcement should do for most of them, but I think some of them would benefit from a personal reminder that we're watching them and won't tolerate any nonsense this time around."
"So what else have you got for us, Captain?" Armstrong said, picking up his notepad.
"Nothing, really," Phule said, stretching his arms. "I just thought I'd give you two a chance to ask any questions that Tullie shouldn't be hearing. I figure I'll give you some time to review your notes before we get down to the final shift assignments-that and get some sleep. You two have been pushing yourselves awfully hard on this trip so far."
Rembrandt gave out a snort.
"Look at who's talking," she said. "You'd better get some sleep yourself, Captain, or Beeker's going to sneak something into your food."
"Beeker never thinks I get enough sleep." Phule shrugged, dismissing the subject. "You get used to his grumbling after a while. So, anything either of you want to go over just now? Anything at all, not just Tullie's report."
"Not that I can think of, sir," Armstrong said, giving his notes one last glance. "As near as I can tell, we've got everything covered."
The commander nodded. "I know. And to be honest with you, that worries me a little."
"How so?"
"Well, there's an old saying in business," Phule said with a rueful smile. "If you think you've got everything covered, it means there's something you're overlooking."
"Cheerful thought," Rembrandt observed wryly, then glanced at the commander with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "As a matter of fact, I have one question for you, sir-if you're really throwing the floor open."
"Shoot."
Rembrandt sneaked a wink at her partner. "I was just wondering, how are you doing at staving off the Red Menace?"
The Red Menace was the nickname the Legionnaires had assigned to Tiffany, mostly due to her blatant and obvious efforts to herd Phule into her bed. Of course, to her face, the moniker was shortened to just "Red."