"Thank you, sir. I mean... it do, don't it?"

Harry craned his neck around, trying to catch a reflection of himself in one of the lobby minors.

"I was under the impression that uniform was designed with sleeves, though."

"That's the way it come out of the box," the sergeant acknowledged, "but I had a few words with the man in charge and convinced him they could come off. I like it better this way-easier to move in."

He swung his arms back and forth, then flexed his substantial biceps as if to prove his point.

"I see what you mean, C.H. Maybe I'll try that with a couple of my uniforms."

Phule suppressed the visions flashing in his mind of the confrontation between Harry and the uniform's designer.

"Do that, Cap'n. It works great. Whoop! Got to go now. It's gonna be real busy in there for a while."

"Good. Carry on, Sergeant."

The commander watched him go, then tiptoed over to the front desk with the exaggerated care of a villain in melodrama.

"Excuse me, Bombest?"

"Yes, Mr. Phule?"

"There'll be a Charlie Daniels coming by in a bit looking for me. If he stops by the desk, just have him come right up to my penthouse. I'd appreciate it."

"Certainly, s-ah, would that by any chance be Charles Hamilton Daniels III?"

"That's the one. Send him up when he shows."

"Mr. Daniels?"

The wiry figure in the penthouse door nodded in response to Beeker's inquiry.

"Yes, sir. Here to see Captain Jester."

The butler hesitated only a fraction of a moment before stepping aside to admit the caller.

"Nice layout you got here," the caller said, peering about as he ambled into the salon portion of the penthouse. "Roomy, too. "

"Actually it's more room than I need... or am really comfortable with," Phule responded as he emerged from the bedroom, still toweling his hair from the shower. "I only rented it because we needed the space for our temporary headquarters. "

He gestured toward the tangle of communications gear at the far end of the suite where a Legionnaire sat idly sharpening a spring stiletto while minding the apparatus.

"Good." Daniels nodded approvingly. "Never did hold much with ostentatious displays of wealth. Either you got it or you don't, I always say."

Their visitor was clearly into practicing what he preached, as his dress for the meeting consisted of faded blue jeans, a plain gray sweatshirt, and a pair of cowboy boots. It was only when one studied his half-open eyes that danced alertly from the wrinkles of his sun-reddened face that one had a glimmer of the truth: that far from being a down-at-the-heels laze-about, Charles Hamilton Daniels III was easily one of the richest men on the planet.

"Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Daniels?" Beeker said, clearly reassured that he had, indeed, admitted the right man to his employer's quarters.

"Well, if you got a couple fingers of brandy in that wet bar I see over there, I wouldn't say no... And it's 'Charlie.' I'm only 'Mr. Daniels' to my lawyers-mine and other people's. "

"Very good, Mr... . Charlie.

"I'll take care of that, Beeker," Phule said, tossing his towel back into the bedroom and closing the door. "I want you to run down to the main ballroom and keep an eye on things."

"Yeah!" the Legionnaire on communications put in. "Tell 'em I'll be down for my fitting as soon as someone gets up here to relieve me."

The butler cocked a chilly eyebrow at him.

"...please," the Legionnaire added hastily.

"Very good, sir."

"Why don't you just go along with him now... Do-Wop, isn't it?" the commander suggested from the bar. "I can cover the console while I chat with Charlie, here."

"Thanks, Captain," the Legionnaire responded, uncoiling from his chair and slipping his knife into a pocket before following the butler out the door.

"That's a relief," Daniels commented, turning his head and craning his neck to see if Do-Wop was out of hearing. "For a while, I thought we were going to have our chat with one of your boys sharpening his knife at me. That would kinds give you an edge, if you'll pardon the expression. Assuming you invited me up here to talk a little business, that is."

"If that had occurred to me, I might have had him stay." Phule smiled, passing his guest a snifter of warm brandy. "I do appreciate your stopping by, though; Charlie. Normally I would have come to you, but I pretty much have my hands full trying to reorganize the company, and I didn't want to wait too long before talking with you."

"No problem, son. What all's going on down in the ballroom, anyway, that's got everyone so het up?"

"The new uniforms for the company arrived today. They're a good crew, but right now they're acting like a bunch of kids squabbling over who gets to play with a new toy. Everyone wants to be the first to be fitted so they can show off their new outfits. "

Daniels nodded sagely.

"Is that it? There were a bunch of 'em running around the lobby when I came in. Gotta admit, though, the uniforms they were wearing sure didn't look like any government issue I've ever seen."

He shot a sly, sidelong glance at Phule as he took a sip of his drink.

"Well, they aren't exactly standard uniforms," the commander admitted uncomfortably. "I had them designed especially for us-a full wardrobe, actually: field uniforms, dress uniforms, the works. You might know the designer. He's a local here... name of Olie VerDank. "

"Olie? You mean Helga's boy?"

"I... I guess so," Phule said. "He's the only designer in the settlement I know of with that name."

"Good." Daniels nodded. "He's a talented fellah and could use the work-and the exposure. I'll tell you, I always thought men who designed clothes were a little... well, you know... until I met Olie. Shoulders like an ox, that one. Got a pretty little gal he married, too. He's got a bit of a temper, though, and don't much like to be told what to design. I'm a little surprised you got him to work for you."

"I offered to match the profits of his fall line." The commander shrugged, looking into his own drink as he stirred it with a finger. "After that he didn't seem too inclined to argue."

"I'd have to say that was a fair offer. More'n fair, actually," Daniels said. "Course, I imagine with a couple hundred of your troops all wanted to be fitted at the same time, he's busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest down there."

Phule grinned openly at the colorful analogy before replying.

"It shouldn't be too bad. I've got a couple dozen tailors helping him-every one in the settlement, or, at least, every one I could find."

Daniels snorted loudly. "And I'm sure they all just love working together. You got style, son. I'll give you that. I believe there was some business you wanted to discuss with me, though?"

"That's right," the commander said, leaning forward in his chair. "I wanted to talk with you about today's performance in the swamp."

"Don't know about your crew," Charlie said, "but we had us a pretty good day. Got three nice stones. In fact, I've got 'em with me if you'd like to see."

He pulled a small cloth drawstring bag from his pocket and tossed it to Phule. The commander opened the bag and upended it, spilling three small pebbles into his hand.

"Very nice," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

In reality, he found the stones to be immensely unimpressive. They were small, the largest being roughly the size of a marble, while the smallest was barely the size of a pea. A dull, mottled brown, they seemed no different from any pebbles one might find in a garden.

"Oh, they might not look like much now," Daniels commented, seeming to read Phule's thoughts, "but they polish up real nice with a little work. This is what they end up lookin' like. "