Brandy nodded. "Now, some of you may have heard that Thumper set a record on the obstacle course in Legion basic. That's good-Omega Company wants the best legionnaires we can get."

"How'd Do-Wop get in?" yelled someone from in back of the group, but Brandy ignored the voice, and went on.

"But now we're out in the field, and what matters is getting the job done," she said. "Everybody has to get through the course, not just the two or three fastest guys."

"Right on, Sarge," said another voice from the back of the group-or maybe it was the same one. This time, others rumbled their agreement. Thumper began to wonder whether he'd been quite so wise to own up to his record setting performance in basic. Not that these legionnaires seemed to hold it against him. But there was obviously a different standard in effect with Omega Company. He began to wonder just what was going to be demanded of him here.

"OK, then, here's the drill," said Brandy. "Thumper, you and the three Gambolts are the fastest here. So your job is to get out ahead of the rest, identify all obstacles, and decide how to get them out of the way for the rest of the guys. If you can't do it by yourselves, come back to the group and get help."

"Yes, Sergeant," said one of the Gambolts-his Legion name was Rube, Thumper remembered. "How about the machine guns? You want us to take them out, or do you have another team for that?"

"Mahatma and Brick will do that," said Brandy. "All right, the course runs directly west two hundred meters, then takes a turn to the northwest for another two hundred. You'll start at my signal-ready: go!" The Gambolts looked at Thumper, then all four of them slapped paws together. "All right, let's rom" growled Dukes, and together they dashed off into the desert. Behind them there was a roar as the remainder of the squad-and, most of the spectators-fell in behind them.

At last Thumper began to understand-this was what Omega Company was about! He grinned and began moving forward, proud to be part of the team.

14

Journal #727

In a truly orderly universe, a once-in-a-trillion-chances event ought to have the common courtesy to wait for someone to make a few million attempts to bring it about before manifesting itself. It says something very unpleasant about the universe we live in that such an event can just as easily occur the very first time someone tries to bring it about.

Two men were waiting for Ernie and Lola in the Fat Chance Casino offices. One of them introduced himself to Lola as Tullie Bascomb, chief of gambling operations. The other she already knew: Victor Phule, who wore an uncharacteristically pained expression. He looked Lola in the eye, and said, "I remember you! What are you doing mixed up with this fellow-or have you been all along?"

"That's really not germane to our business today, Mr. Phule," said Lola. "In fact, I might ask you what you're doing here today-I didn't know you had a direct interest in your son's holdings here on Lorelei."

Bascomb answered before Victor Phule could speak.

"Mr. Phule is here as a witness to the events that were responsible for the situation we're in today. But you should know that I'm fully empowered to act for the Fat Chance Casino Corporation-in fact, this is pretty much a formality. I'm pleased to say that we're ready to give you two million dollars free and clear-cash, check, gold, or Fat Chance Casino chips. We'll hand it over just as soon as you sign a few papers." He gestured toward a sheaf of documents lying on his desk.

"Two million?" said Lola. raising an eyebrow, while frantically signaling to Ernie to keep his mouth shut. "That isn't quite what we came here expecting, Mr. Bascomb. The terms of your prize offer were very explicit. A partner's share..."

"Do you really think so?" said Bascomb, with a predatory grin. "As it happens, two million is a very generous payout. To tell you the truth, I'm not even quite sure what you think you've won. The terms of the jackpot on the thousand-dollar slots were never precisely spelled out..."

"That doesn't matter," said Lola, crisply. "I hate to correct you, Mr. Bascomb, but I have done some research into the Interplanetary Commercial Code as it applies to Lorelei Station. Your local government has managed to get in a number of provisions I'd have to describe as highly unfriendly to consumers, but I can assure you there are still some very explicit penalties for deceptive advertising, especially as applying to prizes offered in the casinos."

"That may well be, young lady," said Bascomb, shaking a finger. "I won't argue the ins and outs of the law with you here. The bottom line is, we've got some damn fine lawyers-damn expensive ones, too-to argue our position. How are you fixed in that department? We can afford to tie you up in court for an awful long time."

Lola stared him down. "And what do you want to bet the other casinos won't be licking their lips when they find out that Fat Chance is trying to renege on your super jackpot? Especially after you've been stealing half their business by offering the best payouts on the station. The publicity value ought to be worth jillions to them. Come to think of it, they might even be willing to contribute to our legal fees..."

Tullie Bascomb frowned. "Are you threatening us?"

Lola laughed, lightly. "Oh, no, Mr. Bascomb. Just reminding you that your casino isn't the only game in town. I think Captain Jester knows that, even if you don't. It's too bad he isn't here to talk to me. I bet he'd be a lot more reasonable..."

Victor Phule gritted his teeth. "If the boy were reasonable, we wouldn't be in this mess at all," he growled. "I swear, the brat hasn't done a sensible thing in years, starting with joining the Space Legion and abandoning the name his parents gave him. You'd think he'd have more respect for his own family..."

"Now, Mr. Phule," said Bascomb softly. "Let's try to keep our focus on the issue at hand..."

"Hey, I don't think he's that far out of line." said Ernie, speaking for the first time since the meeting had begun. "I know what it's like when you don't get any respect from people. Believe me, I know." Victor Phule looked at Ernie and nodded. "Yes, I expect you do," he said. "It's ironic-a fellow builds up something by his own efforts, and all of a sudden everybody around him thinks they know more about it than he does. I've seen it all too often..."

"Hell, that's what happens when you let somebody else try to run your life" said Ernie, sympathetically. "I bet if you and I just sat down together, without any middlemen, we could get this whole problem straightened out in jig time. Come to think of it, why don't we go have a drink and do just that? We'll probably be back with a done deal before these two are finished calling each other names."

Sushi was wearing a set of headphones and carefully adjusting dials on his device when Do-Wop walked in.

"Hey, man, what's up?" said Do-Wop. "We figured out what Qual and his homeboys are talking about yet?"

"Shh," said Sushi, pointing to the device. "I've finally got them pretty well tuned in. And I've learned one thing already. Qual was right-they all speak slightly different versions of their language."

"Huh. Who'd've thunk it?" said Do-Wop, pulling up a chair. "What are they jabberin' about?"

"Mostly technical stuff so far," said Sushi. "Adjusting that machine-the sklern, Qual called it. And in between, joking about something-here, you give a listen." He took off the headphones and reached up to turn on a speaker.

"Ve ought to rotate it two grimbugs upward," said. one Zenobian voice.

"Two and a fifth," came another-this one recognizably Flight Leftenant Qual. "That'll just clear the faffie weed duster."

"Vorking on two and a fifth," answered the first voice.