"I ... I can tell you where Mr. Phule is being held."
"You can?"
"Yes. I can say definitely that he's currently in Maxine Pruet's suite-room 4200. At least, he was fifteen minutes ago."
Rembrandt frowned. "Hey, Sushi! I thought you said the suite was empty!"
"No one answered the phone when I called," the Oriental said. "I didn't actually check it out, though."
"I see ... Okay. Brandy? I want you to use your passkey and see if-"
"Excuse me ... Perhaps I didn't make myself clear," Beeker interrupted, his voice taking a slight edge. "I said that my employer is definitely being held in that suite. There should be no need for confirmation. In fact, any effort to intrude might endanger the lives of both Mr. Phule and whoever was sent to check."
The lieutenant pursed her lips, then shot a glance at Armstrong, who gave a small shrug.
"All right, Beeker," she said at last. "Not to say I don't believe you, but would you mind telling me just how it is you're so certain that's where he is?"
The butler's haughtiness slipped away, and he glanced around at the gathered Legionnaires uneasily.
"It's ... well, it's a secret technique I've developed to ease my duties in keeping track of my employer's comings and goings. I'd ask that you all keep this in strictest confidence, just as I have respected the secretive nature of the things some of you have shared with me."
He looked around the room again and was answered by an assortment of nods. "Very well. I've taken the liberty of sewing small homing devices into each item in my employer's wardrobe, both civilian and military. This gives me forewarning of his approach so that I might be prepared to welcome him, and allows me to pinpoint his location at any given moment."
Armstrong gasped. "You've bugged the captain's clothes?" Struggling between laughter and incredulity, he spoke for the whole room.
Beeker winced. "You might say that, sir. I, myself, prefer to think of it as a necessary technique for providing the exceptional service which justifies my salary, which, as you might assume, is well above the scale normal for one in my profession."
"Whatever!" Rembrandt said, pawing through the scattered floor plans. "The bottom line is that you're sure he's being held in the old dragon's suite."
"Yes, ma'am," the butler said. "If I might add, there seems to be a rather muscular gentleman standing guard outside her door as well. That, at least, is easily confirmed by anyone who bothers to take the time."
He sent a withering glance toward Sushi, who shrugged apologetically.
"One guard? That one's mine!" Brandy declared. "Might as well get some use out of this Fifi the Maid outfit before I turn it in for good."
"You want any help, Top?" Super Gnat offered.
"For one guard? From up close when he's not expecting it?" The Amazonian top sergeant flexed her sizable right hand, then clenched it into a fist and smiled broadly. "I don't think so."
"All right, then, we have a target area!" Rembrandt declared, studying the sheet of paper which had finally come to hand. "Let's see ... we've got a large living room flanked by two bedrooms ... one door that ... Heck with this!"
She strode over to the nearest wall and paused for a moment, rummaging through her belt pouch. Producing a tube of lipstick, she began sketching a larger version of the floor plan directly on the wall in long, broad strokes.
"Okay, gather 'round!" she called back over her shoulder. "Now, the corridor runs here, parallel to the three rooms. Sushi, do you know if they've moved the furniture at all, or is it like it is here in the plans?"
"Let me see," the Oriental said, moving to her side for a better view of the floor plans. "I only saw the living room area, but-"
"What's going on here?"
Colonel Battleax was standing in the doorway. Still dressed in her bat-wing black dress and towering in her anger despite her diminutive size, she might have been a demon from an opera production as she dominated the room with her voice and presence.
The Legionnaires froze in their places. While they had all heard that the colonel was in the complex, no one had expected her to appear at their meeting.
"My God! This looks like an armament trade show! I don't even recognize half these weapons!"
While it was well known that Willard Phule was supplementing the company's equipment from his personal fortune, what was not as widely known was that he was also using his connection with his munitions-baron father to obtain new weaponry which was still in the testing stages and not yet known, much less available, to the general market.
"Do I need to remind you all that you're Space Legionnaires and have only limited authority for using reasonable force on civilians?"
The company exchanged nervous glances, but still no one moved.
"Well, this Wild West show is going to stop RIGHT NOW! I'm ordering you to turn in all arms other than sidearms, and-"
"Just a minute, Colonel!"
Lieutenant Rembrandt, her face flushed and her limbs rigid, broke the tableau. Like the Red Sea, the crowd parted to open a corridor with the two women at either end.
Standing against the back wall with Trooper, Lex watched the confrontation with professional curiosity and interest. Though neither Battleax nor Rembrandt was shouting, both were using what could only be called a "command voice," which involved a controlled projection from the diaphragm that any stage actor would envy.
"In Captain Jester's absence," Rembrandt declaimed, "I'm the acting company commander of this outfit. What gives you the right to try to give orders to my troops?"
"Are you mad?" Battleax sputtered. "I'm a colonel and the ranking officer present-"
"-who is on vacation and not in the current chain of command!" Rembrandt snarled. "Our original orders came directly from General Blitzkrieg. You have no authority over us on this assignment! In fact, as far as I'm concerned, you're just another civilian."
"WHAT?"
"My general orders state that I am to hold my command until properly relieved, and I do not accept you as proper relief."
The colonel gaped at her for a moment, then shut her mouth with a snap.
"Interpreting the Legion's general orders is not within your authority, Lieutenant!"
"So court-martial me!" Rembrandt shot back. "But until I'm found guilty and formally removed, these troops are under my command, not yours!"
Battleax recoiled, then glanced around the room. The Legionnaires displayed a variety of expressions ranging from sullen to bemused. It was clear, however, that they stood with Rembrandt, and there was no visible support for her own position.
"I see," she said through gritted teeth. "Very well, if you want proper authority, I'll get it! A call to General Blitzkrieg should settle this. I'd advise you all not to do anything rash until I get back."
She started for the door, but was stopped short as Lieutenant Rembrandt's voice shattered the sudden silence.
"All right! I want you all to bear witness to this! As of now, I'm using my authority to declare martial law!"
"What?" Battleax shrieked, any trace of poise or dignity slipping away at the outrage. "You can't do that! No one in the Space Legion has ever-"
"I've done it," Rembrandt returned grimly, "and it stands until someone overrules it. Someone with more available firepower than I have!"
"But ..."
"Lieutenant Armstrong!" Rembrandt barked suddenly, turning her back on the colonel.
"Sir!"
"There is an unauthorized civilian interfering with our operation. Have her removed and held under guard until further notice."