"Y-yes, sir. "

Phule's smile returned to its original, relaxed dimensions.

"So, now that we've had our little chat, I'm sure you'll agree that the wisest course for everyone is for you to release those rooms to us, then see what you can do about bringing the staff up to the proper levels."

Pompous and stubborn though he might be, Bombest was not stupid. Even a rock had to survive, and it was clear that it would not be in his-that is, the hotel's-best interest to enter into a personal feud with a megamillionaire. Making a quick management decision, he turned to the hovering desk clerk.

"We're going to need a hundred registration cards here, and two keys for each room... filling from the top floor down and bypassing the poolside units. Only issue the room keys after each card is filled out so that we have documentation on file as to who is occupying each room."

He turned back to Phule.

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"As a matter of fact, there is... if you'll just wait a moment. Armstrong! Rembrandt!"

The lieutenants elbowed their way through the crowd of Legionnaires to his side.

"Pair them off and oversee the room assignments. I want you and the cadre in the rooms nearest the penthouse... I'll be using that as a headquarters and operations while we're here. Make a list for our use as to who's where, but tell everyone not to unpack completely. We'll be changing the room assignments as partners are assigned."

"Yes, sir."

"Beeker!"

"Sir?"

The butler had already been standing by, being more familiar with Phule's operational habits.

"Deal with the valet before he faints. He is to show our people to their rooms, but he is not-I repeat, not-to help them with their gear other than to make any baggage carts available for their use. And Beek... be sure he's tipped adequately. Got it?"

"Very good, sir."

"Now then, Bombest, we're going to need another hundred registration cards to fill out once our room assignments are finalized. "

"Ah... perhaps it would be easiest if we simply held off filling the original cards until you've had a chance to sort things out, Mr. Phule. "

"I appreciate the thought, Bombest, but that might take a week. No sense botching up your system just because we're still getting organized, is there?"

"No... I mean, yes... I mean, thank you, sir."

"While I've got you here, though, there is one more thing. The park across the street... that belongs to the hotel, doesn't it?"

"Well, yes... but it's open to the public."

"Good. I'm figuring we'll be using it from time to time for exercises and lessons. Could you hire someone to clean up the fountain... and charge it to my bill?"

"Certainly, sir... and, if I might add, that's very generous of you."

Bombest was recovering his equilibrium now. Though still a bit shaken by their earlier confrontation, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the Legion commander was quite graceful, not to mention generous, in his triumph. Perhaps the occupation by this dangerous-looking group wouldn't be so bad after...

"Mister Bombest!"

The manager looked up to find Vincent, the restaurant's chef, striding across the lobby toward the desk, his face stormy.

"Please, Vincent! Keep your voice down. Now, what seems to be the-"

"There is a... man poking about in my kitchen! Dressed like one of these!" The chef shook an accusing finger at the uniformed Legionnaires who were clustered about in curiosity. "I demand he be removed at once! I cannot work with strangers getting underfoot!"

Bombest felt suddenly trapped. He didn't want another fight with Phule so soon after their last clash, but he couldn't afford to offend the chef, either.

"Ah... Mr. Phule. Perhaps you could..."

"Please. I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding," the commander said, holding up a quieting hand. "I told our mess sergeant that I wanted him to improve our food... but I meant once we had returned to our own base. Let me speak with him and explain..."

"Excuse me... please?"

The small group turned to discover that Sergeant Escrima had materialized in their midst.

"I wish to... how you say... apologize. I wanted only to see how kitchen was laid out here. Would have asked, but cook was not in the room. Please. Is my fault. Should not go into kitchen without asking cook first. Must apologize."

"There. You see?" Bombest beamed, clapping his chef on the shoulder. "No harm done. The sergeant apologizes."

"I should think so," Vincent sniffed haughtily. "Imagine... a no-talent Army Mixmaster... in my kitchen. "

Escrima's eyes glittered momentarily, but he held his smile. "Please. Accept my...

"Just a moment. " Phule was suddenly between the two men, his face hard. "Sergeant Escrima was out of line, and he apologized. I don't think, however, that gives you any call or right to insult his ability as a cook. He may not be as skilled as you are, sir, but he certainly is not a no-talent bottle washer... nor is he in the Army. He's a Legionnaire. Might I suggest, sir, that you owe him an apology in return for your remarks?"

Bombest tried to catch the chef's eye, but Vincent still had his sails set.

"Hah! Before I would give such an apology, he would have to show me that I am wrong... that he can tell a mixing bowl from a toilet bowl."

Remembering Phule's earlier response to such insolence, the hotel manager found himself wondering where he could find another chef on such short notice. This time, however, the commander had a different tactic in mind.

"Very well, then," he said. "Bombest, I'd like to rent your restaurant and kitchen for a full day... shall we say, day after tomorrow? Sergeant Escrima will require it to prepare the food for our company. "

"My kitchen?" the hotel chef shrieked. "You cannot-"

Sensing disaster, the hotel manager broke in. "I'm afraid, sir, the cost would be-"

"Five thousand dollars should cover it," the commander finished. "Of course, we'll provide our own supplies. The current kitchen help can have the day off, with pay, except..."

He turned to address the chef directly.

"You, sir. I shall personally pay you double for your normal day's wage, if and only if you are present in the kitchen for the entire day to sit and quietly observe how our mess sergeant conducts himself with food. You are also invited to join us for dinner, at which time you will be given an opportunity to tender your apology to Sergeant Escrima... if you feel he deserves it. Agreed?"

The chef opened and shut his mouth several times before nodding his silent consent.

"All right, then, Sergeant Escrima, make a list of the Legionnaires you want to assist you in the kitchen and give it to Brandy. C.H.!"

He didn't even have to raise his voice this time, as the supply sergeant had been loitering nearby throughout the entire exchange.

"Yes, Captain?"

"You're excused from normal duty tomorrow. Get a list from Sergeant Escrima as to what he needs in the way of supplies and get him whatever he asks for... top of the line. Got it?"

"Got it. Umm... Captain?" Harry dropped his voice and leaned close to the commander. "Are you sure you want to do this? Truth to tell, our chow ain't been all that good."

"I appreciate your concern, C.H.," Phule murmured back, "but I suspect Escrima's a better cook than you've seen so far. Even if he isn't, though, I'm not going to stand by and let an outsider mouth off at one of ours without doing my best to see he gets a chance to his licks in return."

"Us against them, eh, Cap'n? Okay. I kin relate to that. I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, C.H. I'm counting on that." Phule flashed the sergeant a quick grin. "As to the 'them against us,' though... it may be true, but I wish I could offer you better odds. "