"Been up against worse all my life, Cap'n." Harry winked. "No sense to start holdin' out for a better hand now."

The commander waved a farewell as the supply sergeant headed off, then turned back to the front desk.

"Sorry to jump in like that, Bombest, but it seemed the best solution to an awkward situation."

"No need to apologize, Mr. Phule. Your offer... and solution... were more than generous under the circumstances. Would you like the keys to the penthouse now? You could probably use a little quiet after all this."

"You're right... but it's a luxury I can't afford. My butler, Beeker, will pick up the keys and see to getting my gear settled. Right now I have to pay a personal call on some key people here in the settlement."

"The governor?"

Phule managed a weak smile.

"Actually I was thinking more of the chief of police."

CHAPTER FIVE

Journal File #021

Though it is seldom noted in action/adventure novels dealing with the military, one of the main tasks of a commander is serving as liaison between his or her force and the civilians they come in contact with. Similarly, such contacts in real life are rarely brought to the public's attention (normal military duty being, almost without exception, exceedingly dull) unless he or she has made a real hash out of dealing with the media, in which case the commander or force in question is inevitably portrayed as being bloodthirsty, stupid, or both.

Realizing the nature of the individuals we had just relocated into the settlement, a visit by my employer to the local constabulary was a wise, if not necessary, move... one which I would normally applaud. In this specific instance, however, there was an easily anticipated problem with such a tactic: the current chief of police.

The world of law enforcement is quite complex, but the individuals within it can usually be divided into two categories: administrators and policemen. The administrator of the local constabulary held the title of police commissioner as well as a seat on the Settlement Council. The chief of police, whom my employer chose to deal with, was responsible for coordinating and managing the day-to-day law enforcement on a "street" level, and was, by anyone's definition, "a cop."

Much is made in literature of the instant camaraderie between two strong-willed men. In actuality, such a meeting is apt to produce the same results as attempting to add a second tiger to a hill: hatred on sight.

Chief Goetz was a bull of a man who would look more at home pacing the sidelines of a football game than sprawled behind a desk. His hair was close-shaved, some said in an unsuccessful effort to hide his receding hairline, and only accented the squashed pumpkin shape of a head that seemed to grow directly out of his shoulders. The rolled-up sleeves of his wilted white shirt were tight around biceps that showed no trace of fat, and, as a lingering tribute to his time on the beat, he had "Miranda" tattooed across the knuckles of his beefy right hand. Even when he smiled, which was seldom, his scowl and clenched jaw failed to completely disappear... and he wasn't smiling now.

If anything, his expression held all the warmth and affection one normally reserves for the deposit left on one's new carpet by a wormy dog, which would be a generous interpretation of his feelings for the slim figure in black who had come to roost in his office.

"Let me see if I've got this straight, General..."

"Captain," Phule corrected gently, but Goetz continued without acknowledging the interruption.

"You've moved some two hundred of your soldier boys into the settlement while the barracks and grounds the Legion rented are being remodeled..."

"That's right."

"And in the meantime, they're going to be strutting and swaggering around my streets, in uniform, like trouble looking for a place to happen."

"I wouldn't put it that way...

"Well, I goddamn well would!" Goetz snarled, surging forward in his seat. "Those tin soldiers of yours are going to be like red flags in the face of every street-tough bull who wants to see how he stacks up against a genuine army type."

Phule let the army label slide for the moment.

"Really, Chief Goetz. My Legionnaires have been in town before. I don't see why there should be any difference now..."

"The difference is that there weren't two goddamn hundred of them before!" the chief roared. "Before, they were outnumbered and stayed the hell away from rough-and-tumble with the locals! Now you've evened up the odds, so they're going to want to go anywhere and do anything they want, and you can bet your ass there's going to be trouble when they try."

"I see." Phule- smiled thinly. "I guess I overestimated the control the police have of the streets. The information I had gave no indication that the settlement was a hotbed of crime ready to explode."

The police chief's face puffed out with red-purple storm clouds, the sight of which in the past had sent many of the men under his command to the locker rooms for a change of trousers.

"Now, just a goddamned minute!" he exploded. "We've got the lowest crime rate of any..."

The storm blew over as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only a ruddy hue in its wake, and even that slowly faded as the police chief hung his head and stared at the files on his desk.

Phule waited patiently.

When Goetz raised his head again, his eyes shone darkly under heavy, suspicion-creased brows.

"You nearly had me going there, General," he said through clenched teeth. "Any particular reason you want to pull my chain so hard?"

"I just thought you should hear yourself, Chief." The Legionnaire shrugged. "By your own words, my troops haven't been able to go where they want or do what they want in the past. Since they have the same rights as any citizen to enjoy what the settlement has to offer, and their money is certainly welcome anywhere I know of in the settlement, I fail to see where my 'evening the odds' is anything I should apologize for or correct... And it's 'Captain,' not 'General.' "

The police chief's lips pressed together in a tight grin.

"Sorry," he said, without a hint of remorse in his voice. "I never did pay much mind to rank among you soldier boys. Fact is, I pretty much ignore 'em altogether... unless they step out of line. If they do... well, then I treat 'em like I would anyone else disturbing the peace or otherwise breaking the law. Is that fair enough for you?"

"Well, Sergeant..."

"That's Chief!"

"Sorry." Phule showed his teeth. "I guess I assumed that since you didn't think rank was important..."

He let the sentence hang in midair.

Goetz glared at him for a moment.

"All right, Captain, " he growled finally, "you've made your point. "

"Good. Now then, Chief, as I was saying, I'm afraid that my troops aren't to be treated exactly like any other lawbreaker. I believe there's a specific law regarding that, that they are to be turned over to the local commander-in this case, me-for whatever discipline is necessary rather than being bound over for civil trial."

"There is?"

"Yes," the commander said firmly. "If you're not familiar with it, I could provide you with a copy of-"

"Oh, I'm familiar with it," the chief said with a curt wave. "It's just that usually, when we've taken one of your wayward lambs into custody and called out to your base to ask someone to come pick him up, he's ended up sleeping it off in one of our cells. I'm just surprised at the sudden concern for proper procedure, is all."

"Different commanders have different priorities," Phule said. "I'm sure the same thing is true in police work. All I can say is that while I'm in command of the Legionnaires stationed here, none of them are going to be left to rot in one of your cells... provided we're duly informed that they've been restrained, that is. I trust you'll see to it that word is passed to us on a timely basis?"