"Are you kidding?" the commander snarled. "She stepped in on a fight and jeopardized her whole cover as a cocktail waitress."

"I don't think so, Captain," Brandy countered. "The way I heard it, she just bopped him with a tray-didn't use any of the nasty stuff she's been trained in."

"The man's in the clinic with a concussion," Phule said pointedly.

"So? He got drunk and tried to pick a fight in a bar-and a casino bar at that. I don't think it's out of line that he got roughed up a little. You think that real waitresses can't get mean if you start acting up?"

"Usually they call for security," the commander argued. "They don't wade into it themselves when there are two security guards sitting right there."

"-who couldn't do anything without it looking like they were overreacting to a minor incident," Brandy added. "Seriously, Captain, would you really expect the Gnat to stand there looking helpless while someone slapped Tusk-anini around? You know how close they are ... and about the Gnat's temper."

"I guess it would be too much to hope for." Phule sighed, deflating slightly. "It just caught me by surprise is all. I hadn't stopped to think that anything like this might happen."

"Planned or not, I think it all turned out for the best," the sergeant said with a smile. "The incident got handled without our uniformed troops raising a hand. Instead of a possible lawsuit, the guy's going to want to forget about it as soon as possible. There's no glory in getting taken out by a female half your size, and he's sure not going to want to publicize it."

"You're probably right, Brandy," the commander said, "but it still worries me. When I sent part of the team under cover, I figured they would be acting as eyes and ears for the company, not as fists. Gathering information is one thing, but if anything goes wrong, if anyone catches on to who they really are, they're going to be out there alone, without support."

"Speaking as one of them, Captain," Brandy drawled, "we figured that danger was a part of the assignment. That's why you called for volunteers. Besides, nobody joins the Space Legion to be safe."

"Okay, okay! You've made your point," Phule said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Just"-he glanced away as he searched for the right words-"keep an ear open, will you, Brandy?" The words were so soft they were barely audible. "If you hear of anyone targeting her, don't wait to check with me or anyone else. Pull her out-quick!"

"Will do, Captain," the sergeant said, uncoiling from the dresser. "Well, I've got to get back to work now."

She started for the door, then turned back with one hand on the knob.

"And Captain? You might want to try to get a bit more sleep. You look terrible."

As if in response to her words, Phule's wrist communicator chimed to life.

"Yes, Mother?" he said, triggering the two-way system.

"Hate to bother you, Fearless Leader," came Mother's familiar, jaunty voice, "but we've got a situation developing downstairs that I think requires your personal attention."

"Just a second."

The commander put his hand over the speaker and shrugged helplessly at Brandy.

"So much for getting some sleep," he said with a grimace. "Like you said, I've got to get back to work. Thanks for the concern, anyway."

Brandy had concerns of her own as she left Phule's room. Though the troops were doing their best to screen their commander from minor problems, going to the junior officers or simply dealing with the hassles themselves, the captain was still driving himself far too hard on this assignment. She was just going to have to pass the word for everyone to tighten up a little more-to try to operate as independently as possible without playing "Mother May I?" with their commander.

A small smile crept onto her face.

She wondered what the captain would say if he knew that she and the others on housekeeping were using their passkeys and their training with lockpicks to search the guests' luggage for any clues of larcenous intent. He said he wanted information, and their standing orders had always been to use whatever was necessary to get the job done!

In the same lounge where the "incident" had taken place, another meeting was going on, though to the casual observer it would appear to be nothing more than a few friends relaxing over drinks. The mood of the gathering, however, was anything but relaxed.

"He's still a bit groggy," Stilman was saying, "but he swears he never even saw the guy start to swing. Now, Lobo may not be too quick upstairs, but he's been in enough fights to know what he's talking about, and he says this big guard is the fastest guy he's ever tangled with!"

He glanced fearfully out the open side of the lounge into the casino as if expecting to see the Legionnaire under discussion appear at any moment.

"I don't know," he concluded. "Maybe Lobo just picked the wrong guy to lean on. Maybe this alien type has faster reflexes than normal. Maybe ... I don't know."

"Maybe you just sent the wrong guy on the assignment," Laverna said. "Maybe you should have used somebody who could think as well as fight."

"Hey, stay out of this, Ice," Stilman snapped, turning his head slightly to glare at her. "You may know numbers, but I'm the expert when it comes to rough stuff. Remember?"

"Are you aware, Mr. Stilman, that though they are very intelligent, Voltrons have slower reflexes than humans?" Maxine said carefully, ignoring the byplay.

"Really?" The big man scowled. "Well, maybe Lobo tied onto one of their athletes or something."

Maxine sighed heavily. "Tell him, Laverna," she said.

"Listen up, Stilman," her companion said with a smirk. "The word we've got is that your man didn't get taken out by the guard. Word is, he got hit from behind by one of the cocktail waitresses."

"What?" Stilman didn't even try to hide his astonishment.

Maxine nodded. "That's right, Mr. Stilman. The account was quite detailed. Apparently she hit him with her tray." Her eyes took on a hard glitter, as did her voice. "The account also states that Lobo was engaged in hitting the guard at the time. Slapping him, actually."

Stilman shifted in his seat-a rare movement which betrayed the degree of his discomfort.

"Lobo didn't say anything about that when I talked to him," he declared. "I specifically told him not to throw the first punch."

"Well, I'll leave that to you," Maxine said, "though I rather think he's already paid a high enough price for the fiasco. Speaking of that, did you take care of his bill at the clinic?"

"Yes, I did," Stilman said hastily, glad to have something positive to report. "I told them to put it on your account."

"Good." Maxine nodded. "Incompetent or not, we have to take care of our own. In the meantime ..." She let her gaze wander out into the casino. "Let's move on to the other reason we're here ... why I chose this place for our meeting. I want to get a look at the cocktail waitress who was so effective at dealing with your man."

"With your handpicked man," Laverna added pointedly.

Stilman ignored her.

"What does she look like?" he said, sweeping the casino with his own eyes. "Do we have a description?"

"She shouldn't be too hard to spot," Laverna said. "She's supposed to be the smallest person on the staff. Guess she makes up for it by having such fast reflexes."

"Look, Ice," Stilman began, but Maxine cut him short with a gesture.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to postpone our search," she said, staring at something out in the casino. "I'm afraid we have a bigger problem to deal with."

"What is it, Maxie?" Laverna said, craning her neck to see.

"The oriental gentleman at the pai-gow table," Maxine clarified, not shifting her gaze.

Stilman frowned. "Which one?"