He had already secured the promises of Second Section of the 4/18 Mechanized as well as about a dozen others from here and there on post. Including himself and Margie, that would be enough to cover the one-third requirement set by the Blackamoor Centurion provided they didn't go over the hundred-man minimum. In a town of about 400, give or take a hundred depending on the season, recruiting 70 men would be challenge enough. No need to worry about going beyond the minimum.

Bernecita was the 'daughter' of Old Berenice. In 18 years of building, only the main road going in and out of town was consistently paved. Most of the buildings were ugly, stunted blocks of concrete that were hastily thrown up by Army engineers to provide shelter during the reconstruction of the airbase, but there were also some more recent constructions made of wood and brick that looked a little more like they belonged in an ordinary town.

There were five of them going into town. Root brought along Trish and Margie so they wouldn't have to deal with the Centurion. He also brought Sergeant Garrulus Hight from Second Section to offset the young goon sent to spy on them, Blackamoor First class Nido Limpe.

Sergeant Hight was a burly veteran of the last war with a big curly mustache. He had a good three-day growth of whiskers, something Blackamoor Limpe criticized him for. Hight simply roared in laughter at the young pup trying to tell him right from wrong.

Limpe was a young athletic blond who might actually be considered handsome if it weren't for his Blackamoor face paint. Though he was inflexible as a rock, he lacked the power of intimidation of the Centurion or his squad chief. Of course, all it would take was a word from Limpe and the Centurion would bring a world of pain to the doorstep of Root and his companions.

Speaking of Root's companions, they were standing outside the town hall waiting on Root to finish talking with the mayor. The town hall was one of those squat concrete blocks, originally the headquarters of the forward base that became Bernecita. Not being an official township, the mayor was elected by the townspeople rather than appointed by the provincial governor. He only had as much authority as the locals were willing to recognize, but people generally didn't give him too much trouble because no one else really wanted the job.

As Root was walking out of town, the chime of the town's PA system sounded.

A different chime sounded to indicate the end of the announcement.

Sergeant Hight playfully jabbed the young Blackamoor in the ribs.

Limpe could only stare slack-jawed at the Sergeant until he was able to overcome his astonishment at Hight's shamelessness.

Playing tattle-tale was precisely the reason Limpe was assigned to join them, but Root wasn't going to make it easy for him.

Root gave him a critical look and said, "Last time I checked, your little buddies didn't take the stripes off my shoulders. If you have a problem with it, you can take it up with the Commandant."

It didn't seem possible for Limpe to be any more aghast, but he had a surprising talent for it, Root had to admit.

Root could only laugh.

They continued to walk, leaving the fuming Limpe behind.

Root had finally had enough. Turning on the ball of his foot, he got right up in Limpe's face and showed him that the Blackamoors were not the only ones capable of turning up the intimidation factor.

Root had faced down people a hundred times tougher than Limpe during his time in the Legion and the petty little bully didn't stand a chance.

Root jabbed Limpe's chest again and repeated more pointedly, "Got it?"

Glowering, Limpe grumbled, "I won't forget this, Lieutenant."

Limpe continued to glare at Root, but he didn't say anything more. Root didn't need to hear a "Yes, sir" to know he had compliance.

Instantly brightening up, he smiled broadly, clapped his hands and asked the others, "Alright, who's ready to do some recruiting?"

Gracie's Tavern was the largest and most popular tavern in town, not far from town hall. It was one of the main storehouses of the old garrison which had been heavily renovated to make it more welcoming. As soon as Root walked in, the patrons all came together in a loud roar.

Root smiled and waved. He was well known and well liked at Gracie's as a frequent customer who was known to be generous when it came to free drinks. He didn't have much else to spend his pay on, and good will was a worthy investment, especially at a time like this.

The proprietor, Gracie Granat, looked like just about anyone's mother. A former cabaret dancer, she was quite a looker back in the day and still looked pretty good for her age.

Looking up from the tap, she waved and said, "Hello, Root dear, what can I get ya?"

Gracie's daughter Maribel was one of the waitresses. A pretty girl of 19 years, she didn't have quite the same elegance of her mother from the pictures on the wall, but she had a girl next door charm that made her a favorite of the tavern's patrons. She guided Root's party to a table that met his specifications. It was also right next to a support post for the roof, which would be convenient for posting the notice.

Playing the gentleman, Root, pulled out the chairs for Trish and Margie before taking his own seat. Maribel covered her mouth as she giggled at the display of old-fashioned gallantry.

Maribel nodded. "Yes'm."

Maribel leaned forward, like you would when addressing a child, and asked Margie, "What about you, honey?"

Not meeting Maribel's eyes, Margie mumbled, "Some frizzy, I guess."

Showing a surprising lack of fear or surprise at the sight of Limpe, Maribel treated him like any other customer and asked, "And you, sir?"

Somewhat warily, Limpe said, "Very well then. The Teetotaler's Special."

Once Maribel came back with their drinks, Root took his mug and stood up, addressing the patrons of the tavern in a loud voice.

He then pointed to the support beam and said, "I'll be posting a list of what we're looking for right here." He looked to Gracie and asked, "Is that okay, Gracie?"

Sergeant Hight finished his draught of bitter and put down his mug, saying, "Ah'm on it, sah."

While Hight was busy nailing a copy of the list the Blackamoor Centurion gave them, Root delivered the clincher for the deal.

Hight's remark prompted everyone to point and give a mock-chiding "Awww." Here in Bernecita, the only one who really cared about lèse majesté was the lone out-of-his-depth Blackamoor. Said Blackamoor was wisely keeping his mouth shut, for the time being, at least.

Root downed a long draught from his mug and sat down.

It didn't take long for people to start filtering over to Root's table. The first ones to stand in front of them were quite the odd couple. One was this big dark-skinned hulk of a man, the kind you would expect to see in the construction yard bending steel girders with his bare hands. His partner was a young woman a few shades lighter than him with a fairly athletic build, definitely more muscley than the average woman but not obscenely so. Her wiry hair was dyed a not quite naturalistic orange and left to puff out over a twisted bandanna tied around her head. Judging from their grease-stained blue coveralls and tank tops that had to have once been white, these two weren't afraid of dirty jobs, which bode well for their candidacy.

Mechanics were certainly high priority. It was quite the stroke of luck. The only question was what kind of mechanic they were.

Rockhart shook his head.

Root shrugged.

Limpe looked over to the bar and then back to Root.

Taking a different tack, Root leaned in and said, "Think about it. You get the best view from over there. Nothin'll get past you from there."

Limpe looked back to the bar and back to Root and asked with unexpected sincerity, "Really?"

Limpe actually got up and took a seat over in the corner. Everyone else at the table looked surprised, but Root allowed himself a private grin. All according to plan.

Dakota shrugged.

Trish took care of Rockhart and Dakota's contracts and Root interviewed several other potential recruits when the proverbial woman in red showed up. Scarlet Fiebre and her 'sister' Ella were two of the premiere working girls in town. They weren't blood relatives, but they played the part and for a nominal fee, you could get a package deal, the fabled Double Fiebre Special.

Scarlet and Ella's dresses were of the same design, satin with black lacy trim, in their signature colors of red and yellow respectively. Gracie kept her whores color coded for convenience and had the whole rainbow, minus indigo because Gracie didn't consider it to be a real color. Also, she only had six whores in her employ.

He took away the ten-croner bill and handed Scarlet the five. She frowned and muttered, "Wilde's not the only bastid in me life, Rootie."

She took the five anyway. A whore can't afford to have too much pride, after all.

The momentary lull in their banter left Root exceedingly conscious of Trish's presence right next to him.

Scarlet puffed out her fairly generous chest and replied, "Ain't no shame in ah bidness, dollface."

From his place in the corner, Limpe could be heard saying, "Men have needs. Women have function."

His insertion into the conversation was hardly welcome, but Scarlet called out to him and asked, "How 'bout it, Blackie? Care ta have me function meet yer needs?"

Scarlet shrugged off his rejection and said, "I wouldn't want that black paint rubbin' off in me privy parts anyway."

Annoyed, Limpe slammed his hand on the bar and rose up with a start. As soon as he did, he started to go wobbly, but he didn't seem to realized it right away.

Limpe had to steady himself by gripping the bar with both hands.

Limpe looked at his now empty glass and then to Root.

With a wave and a grin, Root replied, "Nighty-night."

As if on cue, Limpe's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped face-first into the bar with a dull wooden thud.

Satisfied that Limpe would no longer be a thorn in his side, Root stood up and addressed all the patrons again.

Not everyone there knew who the Blackamoors were and why you needed to be afraid of them, but with Limpe out of commission, people approached Root's table much more readily and a line of potential recruits began to form. They had already added over twenty new contracts to the pile when a petite, exotic-looking woman's turn came up.

Root asked the woman, "And what can I do for you, Miss...?"

Though she was a grown woman, Azuki was smaller than even Margie. She was pale with her jet-black hair meticulously styled. She wore a short robe with delicate embroidery over sheer leggings. Even in the warmth of the tavern, she kept a scarf wrapped around her. Root didn't know what to make of her.

Much like the mayor, the town marshal was elected by the people because no gendarmes were assigned to Bernecita. He generally did a good job of keeping the peace and coordinating the town's defense with the troops on post. He too had a job nobody else wanted, so no one but the occasional drunken transient was likely to give him any trouble. Perhaps not as sober as one might hope a lawman to be, but Root trusted his word.

Azuki looked back and forth before untying the knot of the cord around her waist and loosening the sash wound about underneath. As she started to pull open her robe, Root wondered exactly what manner of special talent she intended to show him. In an instant, too quickly to truly see and comprehend the transformation, Azuki disappeared and a large eagle with mottled feathers flapped its heavy wings before alighting on a nearby table. Root noted that the eagle shared Azuki's distinctive golden eyes.

Naturally, many of the people in the tavern were stunned, gasping and murmuring, but Root had seen a number of the wonders of the world in his day, so he didn't share their astonishment.

The eagle then looked to Trish and called to her, something between a squawk and a chirp, looking back and forth between her and the pile of empty clothes on the ground.

Any other day she might have protested the peculiarity of the situation, but Trish simply rose from her seat, gathered up the clothes on the floor and carried them to the ladies' room with the eagle flying unsteadily behind her, clearly not built for maneuvering indoors.

Sergeant Hight leaned in to Root and asked, "'Ow's that lil' trick gonna work in th' field, sah?"

In a few minutes, Trish and a fully dressed Azuki emerged from the ladies' room. Azuki went back to Root's table and began to fill out her application paperwork. As she was signing off, there was a loud crash of glass on the floor.

No less wroth, Gracie screeched back, "You'll be payin' for that glass, I hope ya know!"

With some 337 states and statelets, current and former, in the world, it wasn't too surprising to find two that didn't get along. It was times like these that the government's policy of favoring native Byrandians for contracts made some sense. Nevertheless, Root made a stab at defusing tensions.

That was certainly reason enough. Kwailung was one of the main ports in Soochian carved up by several of the major powers, but before the other nations moved in, Gandoh was there first. Many people called their occupation 'the Rape of Kwailung' and though it had been some forty years ago, the people never forgot and never forgave. It certainly didn't help that the Gandohese did nothing but deny the whole thing.

Root's reply, however, was decidedly less than thoughtful.

Root cocked his head curiously.

Rockhart stepped in, taking hold of Dakota by the shoulders, telling her, "Ease up there, Kota. We could use the work."

Still looking to lower the heat on the situation, Root said calmly, "Ms. Oster, if it's any comfort, you'll be working on the repair deck pretty much your every waking hour. You'll almost never cross paths with her. I'll even see that you're bunked as far apart as I can manage. How does that sound?"

Encouraged by the offer, Rockhart urged more strongly, "C'mon, Kota. It ain't ever' day these soldier-types're willin' ta be so accommodatin'."

Looking around Rockhart to Root, Dakota asked suspiciously, "I ain't gotta do nuttin' wit' her, right?"

Dakota snorted a half-suppressed laugh, eyeing Azuki—specifically Azuki's chest—disdainfully.

That took care of that. Trish actually looked a little annoyed that Root was able to sort it out so adroitly.

Scarlet and Ella were next to approach the table.

Root laughed.

While morale, welfare and recreation was a legitimate staff assignment, it had been abused in the past as a way to lend cover for prostitution, especially back during the war when it was important to give the troops an outlet besides the local daughters. Regardless, there were no MWR openings and they should have known it.

Ella grinned slyly.

Once the Fiebres had signed off, a few more went through and then there was a bit of a lull. During this time, Maribel stepped forward. Holding her tray almost like a shield, she looked at Root and his companions uncertainly and said in a low voice, "Um, Mr. Root, I want to go too."

Gracie frowned and was quiet for a bit. Finally, she broke her silence.

Holding up her fingers to tally her skills, Maribel said, "I can cook, I can clean, I can mend clothes."

Root looked over the checklist and said, "Well, we still have a couple slots open in the mess. Wouldn't be that much different than workin' here, 'cept the tips might not be as good."

Maribel rolled her eyes and sighed. Perhaps she could use a little time out of the tavern. Root just had to convince Gracie it was a good idea. That could well prove easier said than done.

Gracie had her arms folded and appeared to be deep in thought. Not being a parent himself, Root knew that he couldn't truly understand what she was going through. Still, he considered her a friend and had to do what he could to show his good faith.

Deferring to Gracie proved to be the right move.

Rather than answer the question, Gracie put the back of her hand to her forehead and feigned a swoon.

Not swayed by Gracie's display of melodrama, Root asked the other waitress, "You're stayin' here, ain't you, Hilda?"

Gracie rolled her eyes and went back to work, as did Maribel and Root. There was still a lot of recruiting left to do.

The hours passed until the town clock rang twelve. The flow of prospective recruits had started to taper off over an hour ago and now it was finally time to wrap things up. Trish had already checked and double-checked the contracts and Root was triple-checking them for good measure.

Once he was done counting them, he handed them back to Trish, saying, "Well, that makes 62. I guess that'll have to do."

Gracie's math was a bit off, but it made for a convenient segue.

Trish let Root drink his Victory Gin in silence. People would say that methyl alcohol made for the smoother drink and that the risk of blindness was worth sparing your tongue the flavor that made wormwood and gall seem like peaches and cream. That being said, out in the Legion, even something as terrible as Victory Gin seemed like a treat. You would drink it to grasp at the mirage of happiness, however bittersweet.

Once he was finished drinking the fifth, Root rose from his seat and said, "Well, I guess we should get going."

Trish lightly shook Margie's shoulder to wake her up. She had fallen asleep back around ten. Root might have had someone take her up to one of the rooms upstairs to sleep in peace, but Root knew what those rooms were used for and Margie was better off sleeping at the table.

The rooms upstairs came back into play as Root remembered his plan for the Blackamoor.

Scarlet and Ella were still sitting at the bar, which was convenient. Everyone was so preoccupied with the recruiting that the two whores had barely any customers all evening.

Scarlet went to her room and came back with the bottle of baby oil. Root dabbed some on his fingertips to test it out.

With a little rubbing, the paint came off just like Root was expecting.

Trish narrowed her eyes at him, unamused.

Root had already exposed a decent-sized patch of Limpe's forehead, which was more than enough to let him know his plan was going to work. He wiped his hand on the Blackamoor's tunic and reached under his arms to get ahold of him.

Root and Sergeant Hight carried the unconscious Limpe upstairs into the first open room they could get. Scarlet and Ella followed behind and Trish as well. It was probably just as well that Margie remained downstairs.

The rooms at Gracie's Tavern were small and simple with few furnishings. They could be rented for the night, but most people only needed to rent them for about an hour or so.

Limpe was dumped unceremoniously on the bed. It did not disturb him in the slightest. He wasn't going to come to anytime soon. That made their work all the easier.

Unbuckling Limpe's belt, Root said, "Alright, let's open him up."

With the aid of Sergeant Hight and the Fiebre Sisters, it took no time at all to strip Limpe naked as a jaybird.

Root poured out some of the baby oil on Limpe's chest.

He started to rub away the black paint when he managed to catch himself.

The two of them went to work. Scarlet looked over her shoulder at Trish and asked, "Ye want in on this, dollface?"

Frankly, Root was surprised Trish stuck around as long as she did. He didn't expect her to follow them upstairs and half-expected her to run away screaming the moment they opened up Limpe's tunic. Perhaps she wasn't quite as innocent as he thought. He wasn't entirely sure if that made her more or less attractive. If he was being honest with himself, he did prefer a woman who knew what she was doing.

The only plumbing in the upstairs rooms were drain pipes for the tubs. If you wanted water, you had to carry it from the well. Fortunately, the pump was in the back room past the bar, so it wasn't too much of a task to fill a bucket and lug it back upstairs.

Back in the room, Root poured some of the water into the wash basin so the Fiebre Sisters could wash their hands. It was important not to wet some washcloths to speed things up lest the cold water wake up Limpe.

It took nearly half an hour and the entire bottle of baby oil, but Limpe was finally free of his head-to-toe black paint. The fact that they covered every inch of their bodies in that ridiculous paint was one of the many pieces of evidence indicating that the Blackamoors were all completely insane and that Her Majesty the Queen was little better because she allowed these loonies to become such major players in the kingdom.

It was a good thing the sheets were often stained, or Gracie probably would have killed Root for making such a mess. Anyway, the job was done and it was time to move on to the next phase of the plan.

Scarlet looked around the room to Ella, Trish, Sergeant Hight, and back to Root.

Trish shot Root a mean glare, so he quickly had to explain himself.

With the speed and efficiency that comes from plenty of practice, the Fiebre Sisters shed their clothes in no time flat. Trish promptly excused herself from the room, but Sergeant Hight didn't seem to have any such reservations.

Even though Limpe was mostly harmless as Blackamoors went, Root took cruel pleasure in his little game. It was almost as if he was doing this to every Blackamoor from the Grand Dux down. He picked up Limpe's cap from the pile of clothes on the floor and placed it on the Blackamoor's head for effect. He took out Gracie's Instacam and lined up the perfect shot.