A Phule and His Money Read Online Free PDF Page B

your ass," said a gruff voice from a medium distance. Three large humans came down the corridor, practically filling it. Two of them were males, to judge from the long, unruly beards. All three were wearing denim and leather covered with metal studs, chains, and patches. Their bare arms showed a variety of tattoos, but they had in common a large red "R" with blazing jets on either side. The man in the middle was almost as large as Tusk-anini. He wore a German-style helmet on his head, a brass ring in his nose, and several more in each ear-one in the shape of a human skull. They swaggered up and stopped in front of Phule, the leader (or so he appeared to be) less than an arm's length away from the captain.
    Phule pulled himself up straight and said, "As you can see, I'm speaking to this young lady. I'll be glad to listen to you people as soon as I'm done with her." He turned back to Dee Dee, who had fallen silent upon seeing the three newcomers.
    "Tryin' to get it on with the fox, huh?" The big man sneered. "That jive can wait-we got serious business. You know a cheap punk name of Chocolate Harry?"
    "Chocolate Harry no cheap punk," growled Tusk-anini, moving in to stand at Phule's side. "And you talk polite to captain, or you not like what happens next."
    The three newcomers laughed. "Listen to the warthog," said the woman-her voice was deep and rough, but unquestionably female. "He thinks he can tell the Renegades how to talk, he got another think comin'."
    "So-you're the Renegades," Phule said. He'd heard C.H.'s tale of how a rival biker gang had vowed vengeance for some long-ago injury, but had never taken seriously the likelihood that they would actually track down his supply sergeant. Apparently he'd miscalculated.
    "Damn straight, soldier boy," said the big man. "Us and a few hundred others is the Renegades, and we're looking for Chocolate Harry. Sounds to me like you and the warthog just might know where he is."
    "If we do, it's none of your business," said Phule. "He's a legionnaire, and you'd be better advised to forget whatever disagreement you have with him. We protect our own."
    "Your own?" The woman spat on the floor, then grinned crookedly; Phule could see that she was missing several teeth. "You can call him your own, but his fat ass is ours, soldier boy. And you know what we gonna do when we get it?"
    "We gonna slice it three ways," said the big man, leering evilly.
    The third man spoke for the first time, in a rasping low voice made even more sinister by his absolute deadpan delivery. "We gonna cut it deep, wide, and often." He patted a sheath on the belt of his jeans, where the handle of a vibroblade could be seen.
    "You not getting close enough to do that," said Tuskanini, and as he spoke, a loud whistle came from behind the three Renegades. They whirled to see Moustache standing there, backed by half a dozen legionnaires brandishing Rolling Thunder belt-fed shotguns. "You go now before we getting mad," said the Volton.
    "Shit," said the big man, half under his breath. Then he turned to Phule and said, "We got no fight with you, soldier boy. Tell your kids to put away the toys-we're not gonna start nothin' now. But make sure Chocolate Harry knows we've got him spotted, and he can't hide no more."
    The three Renegades turned as one, and strode out past the assembled troops, managing to keep up an impressive front in the face of so much firepower. When they had gone, Phule let out the deep breath he'd been holding. If the bikers had decided to grab him and Dee Dee as hostages, the shotguns would have been of little use. But for now, the threat was defused.
    "Captain! Now, about this costume!" Dee Dee's voice snapped him back to reality. It was beginning to look like a very long afternoon.

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    Journal #285
    Command of a military unit is no sinecure, even in the notoriously lax Space Legion. Put in command of a unit that had become a dumping ground for malcontents and incompetents, my employer knew he faced a