"I know there are holes in it," Lex was saying to Dee Dee. "I just thought you'd rather have some kind of contract. If you want, we can do this on scout's honor."
"Not a chance," the starlet said. "But really, Lex, this contract is for a series, not a movie."
"It's a fast copy of my last contract," the actor explained, "which happened to be for a series. We don't have time to put together a new agreement from scratch. Think of it as being for a series of movies."
"At these prices? Not bloody likely," Dee Dee said with a snort.
"I keep telling you, love, there's no actual movie involved. We just want to make a bit of noise and clutter so that the tourists will think we're making a movie."
"Even so, I'm worth ten times what's being offered here."
Lex flashed a wide smile at her.
"Oh, come on, ducks. Maybe the rabble will believe that, if you plant it in enough columns, but you and I both know that if you could command those kinds of prices, you wouldn't be doing a lounge act right now."
"You're such a bastard, Lex," the starlet said, baring her teeth.
"Look, don't think of it as being underpaid for a movie, think of it as being vastly overpaid for maybe an hour's posturing. Now, do you want in on this or not? We can shove someone else out in front of the camera, you know, but I'd rather it was someone the common folk will recognize."
"Oh, all right!" Dee Dee grumbled, scribbling her name next to Lex's on the document. "Now, how about wardrobe? What's this thing supposed to be about, anyway?"
"We figured the rough scenario would be the wronged woman-only you're an ex-army type so you're getting even with a machine gun or something. That will explain all the uniforms and lethal hardware we'll have hanging around."
"Not bad," the actress said judiciously. "With the Lorelei backdrop, we could call it The Long Shot. Say, does that mean I get one of those uniforms like everyone else is wearing?"
That much of the conversation, at least, caught the attention of several of the Legionnaires in the room. Glancing over to check Lex's reaction, they noted that, to his credit, a quick expression of distaste swept across his features before he caught himself and regained his confident smile.
"And hide those luscious curves of yours in baggy fatigues?" he said smoothly. "Not a chance, love. We want something that will show off everything the public is paying to see. How about that sexy tight outfit you were wearing at rehearsals?"
"You mean my old leotard?" The starlet frowned. "It's got a couple tears in it and is worn almost through in spots ... some rather revealing spots."
"Precisely." Lex beamed. "Of course, we'll give you some nasty-looking weaponry and maybe an ammo belt ... Sergeant Harry?"
"Yo, Lex."
"Can you fix Dee Dee up with some big, ugly armaments? Something that looks scary, but is light enough for her to handle?"
"Can do," the supply sergeant said, his eyes darting over the starlet's form. "I'll have one of the boys pull the firing pin just to be sure it don't go off accidental."
"There. You see?"
"But ..."
"Just scamper along, love, and fetch back that outfit. I think we're going to be moving soon."
Chocolate Harry, in the meantime, was having problems of his own. A small tug-of-war was escalating between one of his supply clerks and the big Voltron, Tusk-anini.
"Come on, Tusk," Super Gnat was saying, trying to dissuade her partner. "We can go with something else."
"Give me weapon now!" the Voltron insisted, ignoring the little Legionnaire as he tugged once more at the armament the supply clerk was clinging to, all but lifting the man's feet from the ground in the process.
"Hold it, Tusk-anini!" C. H. said, stepping in. "What seems to be the problem here, Jason?"
"He wants to use one of the Rolling Thunder belt-fed shotguns," the clerk complained, still red-faced from the argument and the exertion, "but he hasn't ever qualified with it!"
"You really want to use this, Tusk?" the sergeant said, making no effort to hide his surprise. "It don't really seem to be your style."
The belt-fed shotguns were some of the deadliest, most vicious weapons in the company's arsenal. To say the least, it was an unlikely choice for the Voltron, whose pacifistic nature was well known.
"Captain need help. This will help!" Tusk-anini growled, not releasing his grip on the weapon.
"Give it to him," C.H. said, turning back to the supply clerk.
"But Sarge ..."
"Give it to him. I'll check him out on it myself."
With a shrug, the clerk released the weapon and watched as Tusk-anini walked away, cradling the bit of nastiness protectively in his arms.
"You tell me, hoss," the sergeant said softly. "Can you think of anyone in this outfit who could hold down that weapon better'n Tusk? It's got a kick like a sonofabitch."
"Well, no. But ..."
"'Sides, didn't your mama ever tell you it ain't healthy to argue with somethin' that outweighs you by maybe a ton?" Harry finished. "I'll tell you, Jase, you still got a lot to learn about survivin'."
With that he turned to go, only to find his path blocked by Colonel Battleax.
"Tell me, Sergeant," she said, "now that we have a moment relatively alone. That little episode we had earlier ... would you have really shot me?"
Harry had the grace to look a bit abashed.
"I'd of had to, Colonel," he admitted. "Truth is, I'd rather of just tried to knock you out, but the cap'n says there's a rule against noncoms hitting officers."
"Excuse me ... Lieutenant Rembrandt?"
"Yes, Beeker?"
"If I might have a moment of your time?"
The lieutenant glanced around the room to be sure everything was going smoothly-or as smoothly as could be expected-then nodded.
"Sure, Beek. What's up?"
"Am I understanding correctly that you're nearly ready to commence your rescue attempt?"
"Well, I think we're about ready as we'll ever be," Rembrandt confirmed.
"I notice that I have not been included in any of your planning," the butler said, "and I do appreciate that. I believe my employer would be most distressed if he thought I was attempting to assume a place in the company chain of command."
The Lieutenant smiled. "Don't worry. You're considered a civilian for this one-strictly noncombatant."
"Quite ... well, not quite." Beeker frowned. "That's what I wished to speak to you about. You see, I feel my own course of action in this situation is quite clear, nor is it likely that anyone could dissuade me from it. I thought, however, that you should be made aware of exactly what it is I intend to do, so that you could take it into account in your planning or, perhaps, even interphase with it."
Leaning close, the butler launched into an explanation of his thoughts. At first, Rembrandt frowned, shaking her head slightly, but as Beeker continued speaking, a slow, broad smile crept across her face.
As I have mentioned throughout this account, my role in this campaign was larger than normal, and never so noticeable as it was for the rescue attempt. I would hasten to clarify, however, that this did not mean I joined the Space Legion, even on a temporary basis, and was therefore never under their command or control. I am a butler, and owe my loyalties to a single, chosen individual, and the idea of accepting assigned authority has always been abhorrent to me. If anything. I prefer to think that the Space Legion temporarily joined me.