"The settlement on Haskin's Planet is self-sufficient and numbers about one hundred thousand," he began slowly. "That in itself has little to do with our assignment, other than the potential of providing us with a bit of culture on our off-duty hours.

"On the surface, the assignment seems simple enough," he continued. "Though the mineral content of the swamps on Haskin's Planet is too low to warrant full commercial exploitation, there is a handful of individuals who eke out a living by mining those swamps. There are no major dangers in the native flora and fauna, mind you, but a swamp is a swamp and hazardous enough that it's impossible to keep watch and concentrate on mining at the same time, so the miners banded together and hired a company of Legionnaires to give them protection while they work."

Beeker pursed his lips and paused before launching into the next portion of his summary.

"To make the job even easier, pressure from various environmental groups requires that the miners only work the swamp one day a week... and that within strict limitations. As an aside, though it's never stated in so many words, I suspect the assignment is actually of a duo nature: guarding the miners and policing them to be sure they remain within the environmental guidelines. Whatever the case may be, the Legionnaires are actually only required to stand duty once a week... which I consider to be the first sign of serious trouble. While it may sound like easy duty, I suspect that having that much free time on their hands is not a good thing for the Legionnaires posted there."

"Which brings us to the subject of the Legionnaires," Phule said grimly.

The butler nodded. "Quite so. It has never been a secret that with its open-door policy, the Legion is made up, to a large extent, of criminals who choose the service as a preferable alternative to incarceration. After examining the personnel files of your new command, however, one is forced to assume that this outpost has more than the expected percentage of... um..."

"Hard cases?"

"No. It goes beyond that," Beeker corrected. "Even without reading between the lines, it becomes obvious that the company can be divided into two major groups. One, as you note, is comprised of those rougher elements who do not take easily to military life, regardless of what they signed on enlistment. The second group is at the other extreme. If anything, they are pacifistic by nature or choice-a trait which also makes them difficult or impossible to absorb into a normal military structure. I think, however, it is necessary to note that apparently all of your new command falls into one or the other of those groups. In short, it's my considered opinion that you've been assigned to a force comprised entirely of... well, losers and misfits, for lack of better titles."

"Myself included. Eh, Beeker?" Phule smiled wryly.

"It would appear that you are viewed as such in certain quarters," the butler said with studied indifference.

Phule stretched his limbs.

"I agree with your analysis, Beek, except for one thing."

"Sir?"

"When you refer to them as falling into one of two groups... I'm not seeing any of the cohesion necessary for a group, either in the categories you mentioned or in the company itself. It's a cluster of individuals with no real sense of 'group' or of 'belonging."'

"I stand corrected. 'Group' was simply a convenient label."

Phule was leaning forward now, his eyes bright despite his obvious fatigue.

"Convenient labels are a trap, Beek. One I can't afford to fall into. As near as I can tell, convenient labels are what got the bulk of the personnel transferred into this company as... what did you call them?"

"Losers and misfits, sir."

"That's right, losers and misfits. I've got to mold them into a group, a cohesive unit, and to do that I've got to see them as individuals first. People, Beeker! It always comes down to people. Whether we're talking business or the military, people are the key!"

"Of course, you realize, sir, that not everyone in your command falls under the category of 'people,"' the butler commented pointedly.

"You mean the nonhumans? That's right, I've got three of them. What are they? Let's see...

"Two Sinthians and a Volton. That is, two Slugs and a Warthog. "

"I'll have none of that, Beeker." Phule's voice was sharp. "Species slurs are the worst kind of convenient label, and I won't tolerate it... not even from you, not even in jest. Whoever they are, whatever they are, they're Legionnaires under my command and will be treated and referred to with proper courtesy, if not respect. Is that clear?"

The butler had long since learned to distinguish between his employer's occasional irritated temper flares, which were quickly forgotten, and genuine anger. While he had been previously unaware of this particular area of sensitivity, he made a mental note of it.

"Understood, sir. It won't happen again."

Phule relaxed, confident that the matter was settled.

"I'll admit," he mused, "that of the three nonhuman species that we've made alliances with, I'm surprised to find individuals from those two species in my command. I suppose it would have been too much to hope for to get a Gambolt or two."

Beeker almost said "The Cats?" but caught himself in time.

"I believe that members of that species inclined to enlist usually sign onto the Regular Army," he commented instead. "In fact, I've heard there's an entire company of them."

"It figures." Phule grimaced. "With their combat reflexes and abilities, they can pretty much pick their assignments."

"Certainly a different breed of... a different caliber material than you've been given to work with," the butler agreed readily. "Tell me, sir, do you really think you can mold such a... diverse collection of individuals into an effective unit?"

"It's been done before. Specifically the Devil's Brigade... the first Special Service force, which eventually became..."

"The Special Forces," Beeker finished. "Yes, I'm familiar with the unit. If I might point out, however, that was a joint U.S.-Canadian force. At the beginning, the Americans provided a motley assortment of rejects and criminals, as opposed to the Canadians, who donated a crack fighting unit. While you definitely have your allotment of criminals, I fear you're lacking the offsetting crack fighting unit to serve as an example. "

"Touche." Phule laughed easily. "I should know better than to try to reference military history in front of you, Beeker. Okay. To answer your question, I don't know if it can be done, or more to the point, if it can be done by me. I do know I'm going to give it my best shot."

"Which is all anyone can ask and definitely more than they deserve." The butler stretched and yawned. "For now, however, unless there is something else... ?"

He let the question hang in the air.

"Go ahead and turn in, Beek," Phule said, reaching for his lap computer. "Sorry to keep you up, but I appreciate the talk."

Beeker paused, eyeing the terminal.

"And yourself, sir? You'll want to be well rested when we arrive at Haskin's Planet."

"Hmmm? Oh. Sure... in a bit. I just want to do a little checking on who's who in that settlement. I'd like to know what I'm up against."

The butler shook his head as he watched Phule hunch over the computer again. He knew all too well the kind of detail his employer required when researching business rivals-credit checks, educational background, family, police records-and assumed he'd settle for nothing less in this new campaign he was undertaking. There would be hours, if not tens of hours, of painstaking work involved, work begun long after most men would have collapsed from fatigue. Still, he knew it was pointless to try to cajole or jolly Phule from his chosen path once he was on a roll. All Beeker could do was to be there to support this extraordinary person when and if he did wobble.