"Hey, Cap'n," came the weak response. "How's it goin'?"
The sergeant shifted his huge form, and Phule realized with a start that he was trying to rise.
"Just stay where you are," he said, moving quickly to Harry's side. "Well, I hear you've been busy tonight."
"You heard that, huh?" C.H. grinned, sinking back into his pillows. "Busier'n I expected, that's for sure. Man, that dude was fast! If I hadn't gotten his kneecap with my first shot, he would have cleaned my clock. Even as it was, he got me a good lick before I put him to sleep."
He gestured vaguely at his bruise with the opposite hand.
"So I see," Phule said sternly. "I want a doctor to look at that, Harry. No arguments."
"Don't do it, Cap'n," Harry wheezed, shaking his head. "I've been knocked around before, and this's nothin' more'n a few cracked ribs. I'm pretty sure the Max has the local medics in her pocket, and you bring one of 'em up here, she's gonna know I'm with you, and maybe start lookin' around to see who else might be Legionnaires in civilian clothes."
The commander hesitated.
"Please, Cap'n," the sergeant pressed. "I'll be all right ... really. Just let me get some sleep, and I'll be good as new."
Phule pursed his lips, then nodded.
"Beeker," he said, "I want you to stay close to Harry tonight. Watch him close. If there's any indication he's hurt worse than he's telling us, I want you to call me ... cancel that. Call a doctor, then call me."
"Certainly, sir."
"The rest of you, clear out of here and let the man get some rest. We'll keep you posted as to his condition."
"One more thing, Cap'n," the prone sergeant said, raising his head painfully.
"What is it, Harry?"
"The bulletproof material our uniforms are made of? Well, Stilman's outfit was made of the same stuff, probably standard issue for their troops as well. I don't think our tranquilizer guns will work against it."
"Don't worry, C.H.," Phule said grimly. "I already planned to have heavier armaments issued to everyone and to put an around-the-clock guard on Gunther. It looks like things are starting to get rough."
"Yeah, well, you might want to find that salesman and see about gettin' some of your money back." Harry grinned humorlessly as he let his head ease back down. "That stuff may stop penetration, but it ain't much good against impact. If he wants to argue, I bet there are four people who will be glad to give him a demonstration that he's wrong!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Journal #244
Despite the ominous turn events had taken, the next several days passed without incident. Although this proved to be merely the quiet before the storm, it nonetheless gave my employer the opportunity to indulge in a few of the more civilized elements of life.
I refer here to eating, which to me requires specifically sitting down to eat rather than simply wolfing down a sandwich, a hamburger, or some other form of "energy pellet" fast food while continuing with one's duties. This was a luxury I noticed my employer allowed himself less and less of late.
I had long since abandoned any effort to convince him that it might be desirable for him to sleep more than one or two hours at a time.
"I've really got to get going soon," Phule declared, glancing at his watch again. "I'm overdue to check on the troops."
"Relax, Captain," Sydney said, reaching for the wine bottle once more. "Those roughnecks of yours are more than capable of taking care of themselves without you hovering over them ... or they should be. Besides, I thought the whole point of those snazzy communicators you wear was so they could get in touch with you if anything important happened."
"I suppose you're right," the commander said, though he glanced involuntarily at the restaurant door even as he spoke. "I guess I've been edgy ever since Tiffany and Doc got jumped, and I'm not particularly confident that the troops will always check with me before they swing into action, as you well know."
"Don't remind us, Willard," Jennie Higgens said, wrinkling her nose slightly as she held her own glass out to her cameraman for a refill. "I mean, we've accepted your apology and all, but don't push your luck. You know, I can't help but feel we'd still be cooling our heels under guard if you hadn't remembered I had been to nursing school before signing onto the glamorous world of broadcast news. How is Harry, by the way?"
"He seems to be coming along fine," Phule said. "At least, it's getting more and more difficult to keep him horizontal while he's mending. Fortunately I think he's met his match in Beeker. Incidentally I want to thank you again for taping him up."
"I've had a lot of practice with that, though I'm better on bone bruises," the reporter said. "In case the subject ever comes up, don't ever let anyone con you into thinking that field hockey is a ladylike game. It can be as rough or rougher than lacrosse-at least the way we used to play it." She paused and cocked an eyebrow at the Legionnaire commander. "Maybe I shouldn't mention it, but you are aware, aren't you, that that's the fifth or sixth time you've thanked me for patching up the sergeant?"
"Is it?" Phule frowned, rubbing his forehead with one finger. "Sorry. I don't mean to be redundant. I seem to be a bit forgetful lately. I guess I'm a little tired."
The reporter and the cameraman exchanged glances. It had been impossible not to notice the lines of fatigue etched into Phule's face, though they had both been careful not to comment on it.
"Oh well." The Legionnaire commander shrugged and forced a smile. "The one thing I can't thank you enough for is your willingness to sit on this story-for a while, anyway. I know how much it must mean to you."
"No, you don't," Sydney muttered, glancing away as he took another sip of his wine.
Jennie shot him a dark glare, then turned back to the conversation.
"It's nice of you to thank us," she said easily, "but really, Willard, reporters aren't totally insensitive, no matter what you've heard-the good ones, anyway. It's easy to see that publicizing what you're doing would endanger your undercover operatives, so it's no big thing for us to hold off for a while."
"Well, Jennie," Phule said carefully, "contrary to popular belief, I'm not totally insensitive, either. What was that you were saying about my not really knowing how much this story means to you, Sydney?"
"What?" The cameraman blinked in surprise at suddenly being the focus of the conversation. "Oh ... nothing."
The Legionnaire commander leaned back in his seat, his arms folded across his chest, as he looked back and forth between his two dinner companions.
"Now, look," he said. "I've been up-front and candid with you two in this whole deal-probably more than I should have been. I don't think it's asking too much for you to return the favor. Now, what is it that I don't know about your involvement with this story?"
Uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a moment. Then the reporter shrugged her shoulders.
"Tell him, Sydney," she said.
The cameraman grimaced before he spoke.
"I guess loose lips really do sink ships," he said. "All right, Captain. What I was so carelessly referring to is that both our jobs are on the line for this assignment. The news director wasn't particularly convinced that there was a story here, but Jennie kept leaning on him until he agreed to send us, but on the proviso that if we don't come up with something to justify the cost of the trip, we needn't bother coming back, and whatever benefits or severance pay we had coming would be applied against the cost of the wild-goose chase."
"Why, Jennie?" Phule said.
"Oh, he just made me mad," the reporter admitted. "He acted like I was making the whole thing up to get the news service to pay for a passion-filled vacation on Lorelei for Sydney and me. I kept trying to convince him it was a legitimate story and ... well, when he got around to making his `take it or leave it' offer, I couldn't refuse or it would look like he was right all along."