"Why, I reckon I have noticed, Brandy," said the chaplain. "He's been mighty distracted ever since he came back from the desert. Word has it the heat must have touched his mind. Have y' all found his butler yet?"

"No, Beeker's still missing," said Armstrong grimly. "We're working on something that might tell us what's happened to him, but I can't give you details. I'm afraid it's a long shot, though."

"A shame. He was a good feller, mighty good feller," said Rev, shaking his head. Then he sat down and looked at the four legionnaires. "But what do y'all want me to do, then?"

"We need you to go talk to the captain," said Rembrandt. "He's the one who asked for you to be sent to the company. We think maybe you have a chance to get through to him, even though he seems to have shut out the rest of us."

"Do you really think so?" the chaplain's expression took on a hint of soulful intensity.

"We do, Rev," said Rembrandt. "This is one area where you're the expert. We need you to help the captain. Once he's back in command of himself, then he can decide whether to try to recover command of his company. Until that happens, our hands are really tied. But we don't think that can happen without you."

"Without me?" Rev sat up straight, and his chest expanded. "Well, if it's a question of helpin' the man get back to his right sense of himself, you can count on me. I'll get right to it."

"Good, Rev, we appreciate it," said Rembrandt. "We knew you'd step up for us." She shook the chaplain's hand, and all the others shook his hand in turn. Then Rev turned and left the room, a man with a mission.

When he had left, Rembrandt turned to the other three and said, "All right, we've got Rev working on getting the captain back in shape. Now, what do we want him to do when we've got him back?"

There was a silence as they stared at one another, uncomfortable with the question Rembrandt had put on the table. Then, as if someone had thrown a switch, they all began talking at once.

It took them several sentences before they figured out they all wanted exactly the same thing.

The Reverend Jordan Ayres was not, on the whole, a man who placed great value on subtlety. He had found his answers to the problems of life, and they were big answers, flamboyant, in-your-face answers. And, in the manner of all true believers, he tried to make those answers work for everyone around him. For the most part, they did work, if only because the way people usually solved their problems was to do something, almost anything, besides sitting and brooding on them.

However, it seemed to the chaplain that whatever was ailing Captain Jester was going to require a more subtle approach than usual with the legionnaires who had come to him for counseling. Here was a man who was used to being in control, a man rich in power and possessions. A man whose clothes always fit perfectly, whose expression rarely showed doubt or frustration. A man, it occurred to him, much like the King. What worked to console a homesick Legion recruit might not be appropriate for the captain. An amazing percentage of life's little problems will shrivel up and blow away when one can wave a Dilithium Express card at them.

"Good mornin', Captain," said Rev, walking up to the bench where Phule sat riffling through a stack of Legion personnel forms.

"Why, good morning to you," said the captain, looking up with a bright smile. "It's great to see you again. Why don't you sit down for a minute and talk?"

"Don't mind if I do," said Rev, sliding onto the bench next to him. "Been a while since we had a good jaw session. Course, you've been away for a while, too. Must have been a mighty...uh...interesting journey you had there." Perhaps, thought Rev, talking about the journey would open the way for the captain to speak of his troubles.

"I suppose you could say so," said Phule with a shrug. "There's not much of a story to tell, though. I'm just as glad to be here at the end of it, if you want to know the truth."

"Yes, I suspect you are," said Rev. This wasn't going quite the way he'd planned; he shifted his tack, hoping to bring the captain out. "The terrible depredations you went through out in the desert might have took more out of you than you realized at first-"

"Oh, I wouldn't make a big thing of it," said Phule. "Now, I bet you've got some interesting stories of your own." He gestured toward Rev, as if inviting him to tell some of those stories.

Rev sighed. Maybe he was better falling back on his tried-and-true approach, despite the captain's difference from his usual converts. "The best story I know ain't about me, it's about a poor boy on old Earth," he began. "Didn't nobody pay him much mind when he was a little lad, 'cause his folks weren't rich or important. They was jes' plain folks, down on their luck-"

Phule held up a hand to break in. "Everybody has a streak of bad luck now and then. Best thing to do, if you ask me, is just keep plugging away and wait for it to change. Of course, you have to know the odds, and you can't take foolish risks. We want you to play with your head, not over it." He grinned as if he'd said something profound.

Rev frowned. "Why sure, Captain, jes' like you say," he said. He tried to steer the subject back to the point he was trying to make. "But this here boy I'm talkin' about, he had a fire burnin' inside him, sure 'nuff."

"That's good, really good," said Phule, nodding. "If you think he'd fit in with our operation here, that's the kind of person we're looking for. He could get in touch with personnel. Tell him to mention your name, and of course I'll make sure his application gets taken seriously-"

"Well, that's not really what I'm gettin' after, Captain," said Rev, scratching his head. Captain Jester didn't seem to really be listening to him, and that was unusual, in his experience. Every boss he'd ever worked for claimed that listening to his people was a main priority, and almost none of them really did it. The captain had always been one of those who listened, and better yet remembered what he'd heard, and-best of all-followed up. But now...

"I'm glad you were able to stop by for a while," the captain was saying. "I've gotten so busy I don't have much time to talk to my old friends these days. But of course, for you, the door is always open."

"Sure, Captain, but like I was saying-" Rev tried to get one last word in.

The captain cut him off. "I'm afraid I've neglected this pile of work as long as I can justify. So, as much as I've enjoyed it, I guess I'll have to drag myself away for now." He stood and extended a hand. "Be sure to drop in again, next time you're in the station."

"Uh, yes sir," said Rev, taking the hand and pumping it almost by reflex. "Uh, one more thing-"

The captain wasn't going to be swayed. "Why don't you just head on out and enjoy yourself while you're here? A chance to let your hair down and just be yourself is good for anybody. And one tip: Our dollar slots give the best odds on the station." He winked and then sat down to his papers with an air that made it clear the interview was over.

Rev walked away in a daze. Things were even worse than he'd feared. He made his way to Rembrandt, saying not a word. The lieutenant looked up from her desktop, an anxious expression on her face. "Well, Rev, how'd it go?"

Rev shook his head. "I hate to say it, ma'am, but it ain't good at all. Not one bit." He paused and turned his eyes to the ground, then looked back at her. "If you're expectin' help from the captain, I'm afraid you got a long wait 'fore it gets here."

Rev's report convinced Rembrandt that it was imperative to follow up on Sushi's plan to find out what had happened to Phule's hoverjeep-and to Beeker. With the plan jumped up to top priority, she began recruiting a search party.