His attitude didn’t improve when Do-Wop tossed him a small coin and said, “Yo, bud, make sure nobody messes wit‘ da ride.”

“I am certain it will be perfectly safe while you are gone,” said the doorman, with just the faintest emphasis. His left eyebrow lifted a fraction of an inch.

“Great, I knew I could trust ya,” said Do-Wop, as he followed Sushi through the door. The doorman gave the door a baleful look, then turned to the coin he’d caught in midair. After a moment, he shrugged and pocketed it. After all, it’d buy him a coffee or a nut bar, no matter where it came from.

Inside the lobby, Sushi and Do-Wop stopped and looked around for a moment. For all its pretense at rustic simplicity, La Retraite fairly reeked of money. The hardwood floorboards were nearly a foot wide, with tight, clearly delineated grain that indicated old-growth timber to a practiced eye. The art on the walls was all original, and while the artists’ names weren’t familiar to the two legionnaires, Sushi suspected (rightly) that they would be to any visiting connoisseur. Even the lighting was of a discreet tone that gave a suggestion of candlelight without the trouble of wax drips or smoke.

Their admiration was broken by a deep voice. “May I be of help, gentlemen?” The tone somehow made it clear that the final word was included as a matter of courtesy, with the speaker carefully reserving his personal opinion as to its relevance.

“Sure,” said Do-Wop-coming here was his idea, so he felt entitled to take the lead. “We’re lookin‘ for Captain Jester, Space Legion. This is where he’s stayin’, right?”

“Offhand, I couldn’t say,” said Robert, the concierge- for that was who had greeted them. “Perhaps you could tell why you want to know.”

“Just so happens, we got a ‘nonymous message for him,” Do-Wop said out of the side of his mouth.

“Really,” said the concierge, with a hint of a smirk. “And what makes you think we would convey anonymous messages to our guests-assuming this captain is in fact one of our guests?”

“What, are you playin‘ the dumbs with me?” said Do-Wop, putting his hands on his hips. “Yo, I can play the dumbs, too.”

“Relax, buddy,” said Sushi, putting a hand on Do-Wop’s shoulder. He turned to the concierge. “My friend here didn’t quite make himself clear. We need to get a note to the captain, and there’s a little something to make sure it gets to him.” He offered the message, along with a folded bill. “If he asks, you didn’t see who brought it, OK?”

“I’m afraid it’s not OK,” said Robert, looking down his nose at the note and the bill. “I don’t see what legitimate business one of our guests could have with the likes of you two.”

“Whaddaya mean?” growled Do-Wop, making a fist. “Y’know, this honker’s startin‘ to rack me off…”

Sushi grabbed his partner’s arm. “Easy, buddy. The guy thinks we’re not fancy enough for his place. We’ll get our message to the captain some other way. Come on.“

“OK,” said Do-Wop, glaring. “I guess we better get outta here before I stink up the rich people’s air.” He turned on his heel and walked away so rapidly that Sushi had to hurry to keep up.

According to the literature in Phule’s hotel, travelers came from light-years away to enjoy the annual Flori-bunda Fete on Hix’s World. And, to judge from the variety of costumes and accents Phule saw and heard around him in the hotel dining room and in the nearby town, that was no exaggeration.

Unfortunately, what he’d seen of the festival didn’t impress him. Maybe it just wasn’t a guy thing-most of the male tourists he saw seemed as little interested in the abundant flowers as he was. Just as likely, he was too focused on trying to find Beeker and the Port-a-Brain to have much attention left over for the colorful blossoms that decorated every home and business he passed. Some of the ones he noticed were sort of pretty, but he wouldn’t have come halfway across the galaxy to enjoy them. Probably he wouldn’t even have crossed the street.

On the other hand, it did seem that Beeker must have come here for the festival-as he’d discovered, the planet was booked solid for weeks in advance. As far as Phule could tell, his butler had never shown any particular interest in flowers. Of course, as he’d already discovered, he knew far less of Beeker’s tastes than he’d realized. Maybe it was Nightingale who’d convinced him to come, though that seemed out of character, too-or maybe he just didn’t know her all that well. Obviously, somebody had made advance reservations for the couple, well before Nightingale had joined Omega Company. He stared out the window at the gardens where he’d seen Nightingale two days earlier, trying to figure it out. How could he know so little about people he’d lived with for months-in Beeker’s case, for years?

He realized that beating his head against these puzzles was beginning to give him a headache. What he needed was a walk in the fresh air. He slipped on a light jacket- the evening air could be brisk, even in Floribunda season-and headed downstairs to the gardens. But no sooner had he entered the lobby than he was waylaid by Carlotta, the receptionist at Retraite Rustique.

“Captain Jester,” she said, wide-eyed. “I must warn you-you are being followed by two very suspicious men!”

“Really?” he said. “What do they look like?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I have not seen them myself, but they approached Robert, the concierge-he was immediately put on his guard, and sent them away without telling them anything. But you must be aware at all times-you may be in danger!”

“A Legion officer is used to danger, ma’am,” Phule assured her. “But I think I’ll have a word with your concierge in any case. No point walking into something blindfolded, if you can get advance knowledge. And thank you for the warning.”

Robert looked so competent, distinguished, and professionally discreet that Phule easily could have believed he’d been selected for his role by Galactic Central Casting. The concierge nodded politely as Phule approached him. “Yes, sir?” he said, with an inflection suggesting that he was awaiting orders.

“Your receptionist tells me a couple of fellows were asking about me,” said Phule. “She says they were suspicious characters, so I thought I should follow it up, just so I don’t get caught off guard. What can you tell me about them?”

“Not a great deal, I’m afraid, sir,” said Robert. “They were rather young, I’d guess in their early twenties. They were dressed all in black-that seems to be much the fashion at that age-and they asked if you were staying here. I sent them right away, of course.“

“Asked for me by name, I assume,” said Phule.

“Exactly, sir,” said Robert. “Name, rank, and branch of service-Captain Jester of the Space Legion, they said. Well, I didn’t like the look of them at all. Not that I’d have given them information even if I thought they were princes. That’s not what Madame employs me for, if you know what I mean.”

“And I’m glad to hear it,” said Phule. “Can you tell me any more what they looked like?” Phule had no idea who might have some reason to be looking for him. He’d settled accounts with the Intergalactic Revenue Service sufficiently to get them off his back for several years to come. He didn’t think the Lorelei Mob wanted anything more to do with him, after he’d shown them what kind of muscle the Legion could bring to bear on its targets. And while he’d probably left some ruffled feathers behind, he hadn’t made any real enemies on his visits to Cut ‘N’ Shoot or Rot’n‘art.

“Well, as I said, they were young and dressed in black,” said Robert. “Both males-I don’t think I said that. One of them was probably of Earth Asian ancestry; the other was big-city trash of some sort, to judge from his accent.”

“Hmmm…” Phule pondered. “Thank you; I’ll have to keep an eye out for them.”