"But ..."

"Just do it!" the stuntman hissed, then started angling away from her.

"Hold it right there, fellah!" he called to the figure ahead, who was now moving toward them in a curious, floating stride. "I said hold it!"

The figure kept coming, and Doc reached for his tranquilizer pistol ... far, far too late.

The stuntman's work had given him experience in fight scenes and falls that looked quite impressive in the holos, but in actuality were planned and choreographed to minimize the risk of serious injury. The few real fights he had been in were of the barroom variety, and even those were far behind him, since he had become much more of a homebody after his marriage. Nothing in his past, however, had prepared him to deal with, or even recognize the speed and agility of a professional athlete ... even a retired one.

His hand barely touched the grip of his tranquilizer pistol when the oncoming figure accelerated with bewildering speed. Unable to even sidestep, Doc felt the air rush out of his lungs as the man slammed a massive shoulder into his midsection, then he was lifted and carried backward as the monster continued to drive forward, paying no more attention to the stuntman's weight than a bull would give notice to a towel dropped across its horns. Something smashed into Doc's back, and he thankfully lost consciousness.

Tiffany watched in horror, her orders to run forgotten, as the attacker stepped back from the wall, still carrying Doc's now-limp body then flung it to the ground. Breathing heavily in what could only be described as animal growls, the man stared at her fallen companion for a moment, then kicked the still form savagely in the side.

That broke her trance.

Snatching her own tranquilizer pistol from its holster, the actress fired at the hulking menace.

There was a soft pfutt of compressed air when she pulled the trigger, but aside from that there was no indication that she had done anything at all.

She fired again ... and again ...

No effect.

In frustration, she hurled the weapon away and launched herself at the man's back.

He turned at the sound of her approach, then backhanded her lazily out of the air like a troublesome insect.

Tiffany hit the ground in a boneless heap and lay still.

"Big bad soldier boys, huh?" one of the men who had been trailing the twosome said, stepping out of the shadows where he had been waiting. "They aren't so tough."

Still coming down from the adrenaline high of battle, Stilman only grunted in response.

"Hey! This babe's a real looker," one of the other men called, turning Tiffany over with his foot. "Guess we're going to get a little pleasure with our business."

Stilman's head came up with a snap.

"None of that," he said sharply. "We mess 'em up a bit to remind them they're playing out of their league, but that's all."

"I thought Max said we could take the gloves off," the man said sullenly.

In reality, Stilman wasn't even sure that Max would approve of what they were doing. He had put this ambush together on the strength of her not giving him his usual order to "lay off the rough stuff." Taking a couple of the security guards out of action should be okay, but it was certainly a welcome change for the boys not to have to keep their hands in their pockets during a brawl. Still, Max was a woman, and Stilman was almost certain that she'd get upset if the crew got too frisky with the female Legionnaire.

"Never mind what Max says," he snapped. "I'm telling you to keep it impersonal. We're sending these guys a message to back off, and I don't want to confuse the issue with anything else. We're going to mess them up period! Got that?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Turning back to his original victim, Stilman raised his foot and brought his heel down sharply on the fallen man's leg.

The sound of the bone breaking echoed briefly off the alley walls.

"Do something to her face," he called back over his shoulder. "Women are sensitive about stuff like that."

"Beeker here."

"Yo, Beeker! It's me ... Chocolate Harry."

Leaning against the bar's back wall next to the public pay phone, Harry grinned as if the butler were standing in front of him instead of on the other end of the line.

"Hello, C.H. Sorry, but Captain Jester isn't in at the moment. If you'll just hold on, I'll have Mother patch you through to him."

"Whoa! Hold on there, hoss! I was callin' for you, not the cap'n."

The big man shot a glance around the bar to be sure no one was in hearing range, but the place was empty except for one couple sharing a late sandwich and beers.

"I see. Well then, what can I do for you, Harry?"

"I hear tell how you've been makin' a play for the Ice Bitch and thought I'd give you a call with a friendly warning. That's a real Stone Fox you're messin' with, bwana. Now, don't get me wrong ... you're one hell of a man, but that gal will eat you alive, manners and all."

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line.

"Are you, by any chance, referring to Ms. Laverna?"

"That's the one."

"Well then, I appreciate your concern and advice, Harry, but the truth of the matter is that Laverna and I are getting along rather well. In fact, I find her one of the warmest, kindest people I've met for some time."

"No foolin'?" The ex-biker was genuinely impressed. "Beeker, either we're talkin' about different women, or I'd be greatly obliged if you'd give me a few pointers on technique sometime over a few brews."

"I'd be glad to," the butler's voice came back. "But I'm not sure how much help I can be. I've never really considered my conduct with women as being `technique.' In fact, I make a point of being myself rather than trying to impress them, and the response has been favorable, for the most part."

"Hmmm. I dunno. There's got to be more to it than that," Harry said. "Every time I've tried bein' myself with the ladies, they tend to look around for a cop."

That got a laugh from Beeker.

"Of course, Harry, you should remember that when it comes to being oneself, you and I are notably different people. Still, I'll be willing to chat with you on the subject sometime, if you'd like."

"All right, my man, it's a date. Just say when and where, and I'll be there with a notepad."

"It will probably have to wait until this assignment is over," Beeker said. "I'm of the impression that while it's on, we're to avoid each other's company publicly, for the sake of secrecy."

"Yeah, I know." Harry sighed heavily. "Well, let me know when you think it'll be all right."

There was another moment's pause.

"Are you all right, Harry?" the butler said at last, a note of concern creeping into his voice. "Forgive me if I'm prying, but you sound a little down."

"I guess I am ... a bit," the ex-biker admitted.

"What's wrong? Is it anything you'd like to talk about?"

"I dunno ... It's just that ..." Harry struggled for a second, then the floodgates went down and the words came in a rush. "I just feel kinda cut off out here ... out of the information loop, you know? One of the things I've always liked about the cap'n is that he always made sure I knew what was goin' on, even when it didn't involve me direct. Now I only hear about some of the things that are happenin', and even then it's after the action is over. For the most part, I just stand around here and polish glasses and wonder what's goin' on with the crew. I'll tell you, Beeker, it's gettin' to me. You know, it seems like more and more often I see somethin' or think of somethin' and turn to point it out to the guy next to me, only there's no one there. I mean, there're folks here and all, but no one I can talk to. Know what I mean?"

"If it's not pointing out the obvious, Harry," the butler observed once the ex-biker had run out of words, "it sounds to me like you're lonely."