"All this is most edifying," said Qual. "The ones in authority among my people will be very inquisitive to know how you do such things. But I am depressed that I cannot tell you about the finances of Captain Clown. This is beyond my ken."

Peele looked at Hull, who said, "I think he's telling the truth-he really doesn't know anything that concerns us. We're wasting our time here." She deactivated her recording device.

"I think you're right," said Peele, grudgingly. "Well, we'll let you go about your business, then, good sophont. But we may have further questions at another time."

"It has been most instructive to meet you," said Qual, with a stiff little bow and another toothy grin. He stood and watched as the two IRS agents walked away.

Back in the casino doorway, some distance away, Tusk-anini watched with narrowed eyes. He wasn't sure what to make of the little Zenobian, but he knew he didn't like the IRS agents. As far as he was concerned, that was more than enough reason to be suspicious of Qual.

Except for mealtimes, it was unusual for many of the Omega Mob to be together at once. Different assignments and different shifts (especially in the round-the-clock operation of the casino) meant that days or even weeks might go by without any occasion for the entire complement to be in the same place at once. So it was a novelty for Phule to find himself addressing a large room full of legionnaires.

Phule looked around the room, waiting for the hum of voices to die down. Catching the serious mood, the men and women of Phule's Company spoke in quiet whispers, with none of the high-spirited byplay they would have shown before an address by their captain. As the last arrivals found their way into the few empty seats in the large room, Phule stepped to the podium and cleared his throat. The audience fell silent.

"It's good to see so many of you here," he said, looking around at the assembly. "As you know, this is a voluntary meeting-there'll be another later today, for those who're on duty now and can't get away, so if you have friends who'd like to come, please let them know."

Phule looked over at Rev, then turned back to his troops. "We've had a number of new members join our company recently," he said. "Some of you have had a chance to meet them, and I hope you're making them feel at home with us. We're building a reputation as the best company in the Legion, and we want the new people to know that they're part of something special when they come here." There was a murmur of assent to this, and Phule waited for it to die down before continuing.

"I'm going to introduce a man that some of you have already met." He gestured toward the chaplain standing next to him. "Some time back, during our journey here, I realized that it would be valuable for many of you to have the benefit of wise council in times of trouble, a shoulder to lean on and a friend in time of need. And while your officers and sergeants understand your particular situation better than anyone outside our company, they can't always fill those roles. So I asked Legion Headquarters to send us a chaplain. He's been here several days, meeting people and getting a feel for the situation. Now he's asked for a chance to introduce himself to the entire company, and that's why I've called this meeting. Will you please give a warm welcome to our new chaplain-Rev."

While Phule was speaking, Rev had stood quietly to one side of the podium; his head was bowed, and his hands were clasped over his breastbone. He might have been a lawyer preparing to deliver a jury summation. Now he stepped to the podium, waited for the patter of polite applause to die, and began. "Thank you, friends. You know, from time to time in our busy lives, a voice speaks to us-a voice we can't ignore. It may be the voice of a loved one, a mother, or a wife. It may be the voice of someone in authority, like your captain. Or it may be a quieter voice that comes from way down deep inside, remindin' each and every one of us about a duty left undone. A call, we term it in my line of work. I have had a call to this company, and here I stand before you in response to it."

Rev paused a moment, lowered his head and took a deep breath, then looked up at his audience and continued. "I have been called here to tell you about the King," he said in a voice that resonated with significance.

"The King? What king?" It was Gabriel who spoke, but the same question was in the minds of every man, woman, and alien in the chaplain's audience.

"That's a fair question, son," said Rev, stepping in front of the podium and rubbing his hands together. "A fair question-and the answer is a story that's oft been told, so many times that I know it by heart-but since y'all may not have heard it, I guess it won't hurt none to tell again. A long time ago, on old Earth, there was a poor boy. A mighty poor boy-but one with a gift, and a spirit to make the most of himself. And make the most of himself he did. Why, in a few short months, he became the most imitated man on old Earth. He was on every screen, in every printout, on every frequency-and he was takin' in money faster than this here casino. He could have had anything he wanted. And do you know what he did? He went out and became a soldier. Not an officer, now. Not even a sergeant-a regular soldier, carryin' a gun and marchin' and takin' orders."

"What for he do that, if he the king?" said another legionnaire-his name was Street, Rev remembered. "How come he don't buy hisself a 'mission, be an officer?"

"Because he never forgot what it was like to be a poor boy, Street," said Rev, strutting back and forth in front of the assembly. "Not even after he finished with the army, and went back to givin' folks what they wanted. He didn't want to forget what it was like to be just a regular fellow, and he made sure he had somethin' to remember it by. So he never lost his touch with the real people. The little people like he'd been when he was still a poor boy. And they never forgot him. But he never put his nose up in the air. He could have gone anywhere in the world, talked to anybody he wanted to-presidents and governors and ladies so pretty they could make you forget your name. But he wanted to stay close to the people. And so he went to Vegas-which was the Lorelei of old Earth-and brought his gift to folks who gambled their money there, 'cause it was the only way for them to rise above their unhappy state. That's when he really became the King-when he brought himself to where the people who really needed him could see him. You see what I mean, Street?" He pointed at the legionnaire, his head lowered and his gaze intense.

"Maybe I do," said Street, noncommittally. He folded his arms across his chest and sat there, looking at Rev without quite meeting the chaplain's eye.

"Sure you do," said Rev. He clapped his hands. "And because the King went out to the casinos, givin' the people an example of how a poor boy could rise to the top, showin' 'em they just needed to find their gift and follow where it led, I feel very 'specially at home here with y'all on Lorelei. It's the kind of place the King would have gone to do his work, before he Left the Buildin'."

The faces in the audience usually told Rev how well his word was being received. Now, looking at the Omega Mob, he saw rapt stares on more than one face-the look that told him his words were striking home. Some of them nodded tacit agreement; others held their chins higher than usual, inspired by his story. It was time to pick up the tempo, to swing the entire crowd along with him.

"The King knows how you feel," Rev said, rising up on the balls of his feet. There was a rhythm to his speech now. "He's been down low, and rose up high again. He took a walk down Lonely Street, and came back to Graceland. He went into the Army and did his duty like a man. When he had hard times, he knew how to make a comeback-and he came back in style. He went to Hollywood, he went to Vegas, and he stayed the same as when he was a poor boy. And he can help you make your comeback, yes he can!"