"We're used to butting heads with the locals," Doc's son supplied calmly. "It's almost like we're gypsies, and being hassled or exploited-or blamed for whatever goes wrong in the near vicinity-gets to be expected after a while. Usually we have to knuckle under and go along with things or risk being run out of town. This time, though, we've got the forces of authority on our side for a change. Heck, we are the forces of authority."
"What the kid's trying to say, Captain," the actress added, "is that we may be temperamental and sometimes quit a job in a huff, but nobody runs us off a stage ... except maybe the director or stage manager. In this case, that's you. Now, if you tell us that we're not performing up to snuff or that you have to make some budget cuts, that's one thing. But don't tell us we're being pulled from the cast for our own good. You hired us because we're all pros ... `real troopers' as the phrase goes. These yokels can't even imagine a situation bad enough to close us down if you say it's all right to keep working."
"The show must go on, eh?" Phule smiled wryly.
"That's about it," the youth said.
"All right." The commander sighed, reaching a decision. "Pass the word that any of the actors who want to stay on, can. Oh, and son ... ?"
"Yes, sir?"
"There's a tradition in the Space Legion that lets a recruit choose his own name when he signs on, and suddenly I don't feel comfortable thinking of you as `Junior.' Is there anything else you'd like to be called?"
The youth's face split in a sudden smile.
"Well, sir," he said, "I think I'll take my cue from the lovely lady here. Why don't you just call me `Trooper'?"
"Consider it done," Phule said. "Pass the word on that as well, and be sure to give everyone my personal thanks."
"Thank you, sir!"
The youth drew himself up and gave a snappy salute.
"Thank you, Trooper," the commander corrected with a smile, returning the salute.
"That was nice, Captain," the actress said after the youth had departed. "Would it be a horrible imposition to ask if I could give you a kiss before you left?"
"Tiffany," Phule said with mock solemnity, "it would be a pleasure."
The phone rang on the bedside table.
"Damn!" the actress snarled, then caught herself and smiled again. "Don't go away, Captain. I'm going to hold you to that kiss."
"I'll be right here," the commander promised.
The phone rang again, and the actress reached for it.
"Hello? ... Who? ... Oh ... No, I'm fine, thank you. It's nice of you to ask."
Catching Phule's eye, she covered the phone's mouthpiece with one hand while silently mouthing a name.
Maxine Pruet.
The commander's face hardened, and he held out his hand for the phone.
"Mrs. Pruet?" he said. "Captain Jester here."
"Good evening, Captain." Max's voice came after only the slightest pause. "I was going to call you next, but I should have known you would be there."
"Yes ... Well, I just wanted to tell you that while we appreciate the gesture of your offering to cover the medical costs, they're being paid by the Space Legion. We take care of our own."
"I'm aware of that, Captain ... now more than before, I'm afraid."
"Excuse me?"
"I was going to extend my personal apologies for what happened tonight, as well as my assurances that it was not done at my orders. It seems, however, my apologies would have been a bit premature ... all things considered."
"Forgive me, Mrs. Pruet, but I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, come now, Captain. I'm sure neither of us believes in coincidence. Do you really expect me to accept that it was sheer chance that Mr. Stilman was brutally beaten so soon after his attack on your members?"
"You can believe what you like," Phule said tersely, "but whatever happened, I'm unaware of it."
"I see." Max's voice was thoughtful. "Very well, Captain, I'll believe you ... if for no other reason than I can't think of why you would claim ignorance if you were responsible, since there has clearly been provocation. I'll admit that it struck me as strange that you'd use outside help rather than your own troops. For your information, however, the person responsible for the attack on your people tonight, Mr. Stilman-I believe you're familiar with the name, if not the person-is currently receiving medical attention for a shattered kneecap as well as multiple breakage to his jawbone. As I said, the coincidence is a bit too much for credibility, so I suggest you make inquiries within your own forces as to who ordered the attack."
"Excuse me, did you say that he's here? At this clinic?"
"No, Captain. He's at another facility. We have several clinics here on Lorelei, though it's not highly publicized. I felt it would create an unnecessarily messy situation if he were treated at the same location as your people. In fact, I'll be having him shipped off-station for intensive care on the next available ship. While I am far from pleased with his independent action, we take care of our own, too."
"I see." Phule frowned. "I was hoping I could speak with him directly about who it was who attacked him."
"His injuries make it impossible for him to talk, Mr. Phule." Maxine's voice was momentarily cold. "But he can write. I suggest that you confine your investigation to your own people to determine who ordered the attack. We already know who executed it."
"Who was it?"
"I already said that it was not one of your Legionnaires, Captain, and as the attack did not take place on the premises of the Fat Chance, I don't believe it's any of your concern. Now, if you'll forgive me, there are things which require my immediate attention."
With that, she broke the connection.
Phule frowned at the receiver for several moments before gently placing it back on its cradle.
"What is it, Captain?" Tiffany said, noting the expression on his face.
"I'm not sure," the commander admitted. "It seems that the person who attacked you and Doc has been ..."
A shrill beep from his wrist communicator interrupted him. Despite the urgency of the sound, Phule stared at it for a few moments before answering the signal. There were only a few of the command communicators such as he was wearing, so the radio silence order did not preclude the use of the exclusive channels. Still, he had left orders with Mother that he was to be disturbed only for an emergency while he was visiting the clinic.
"Phule here," he said, finally opening the line.
"Sorry to bother you, Captain," came Mother's voice without any of her usual banter, "but things are popping back here at the casino and I thought you should know about it. First of all, we've got the two missing communicators back, and-"
"Wait a minute. Who got them back?"
"It was sergeant ... Chocolate Harry, I mean."
"Harry! I should have known." Phule grimaced. "Listen, Mother. Pass the word: I want Harry pulled in fast! The opposition's looking for him. I don't care if it means sending out a team to escort him in, we've got to-"
"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Captain," Mother broke in. "He's already in. We've got him up in your suite. He's hurt, but he won't let us call a doctor. You'd better get back here pronto."
The supply sergeant was stretched out on the suite's sofa attended by Beeker and a small group of hovering Legionnaires when Phule arrived back at his room. He was stripped to the waist, and even from the doorway the commander could see the massive purple bruise that showed even against his dark skin, stretching from armpit to hip and across a large part of his rib cage.
"Hello, C.H.," he said. "It's good to see you again."