The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set

by Robert Asprin

  “Within your orders? Hah! We’ll see about that,” said Blitzkrieg. He walked around the large marble-topped desk and wagged a finger under his subordinate’s nose. “But I’m not going to waste time arguing with you. I’m relieving you of your command, effective instantly. You will go directly to your quarters and consider yourself under house arrest. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Phule, standing his ground. “Do I have the general’s permission to have visitors? I will need to see my butler. I also request permission to speak to my officers, with a view to preparing a defense.”

  Blitzkrieg waved a hand, knocking an empty plastic coffee cup off the desk. He didn’t seem to notice. “Permission granted,” he said. “It’ll do you no good, but never let it be said that I denied you the right to counsel. I warn you, though—don’t try to enlist your officers in any conspiracy against me, or you’ll all be charged with mutiny. Dismissed!”

  “Sir!” Phule saluted and turned to make his way to his quarters. He’d get out of this, he knew. He’d been in plenty of trouble with the brass before, and he’d always gotten out of it. It might be a little tougher this time, with both his commanding general and the government of the planet he was supposed to be protecting lined up against him. But he’d figure it out. At least, he hoped he would.

  Journal #445

  Those who, like my employer, are accustomed to taking matters in their own hands are prone to forget that some matters don’t want to be taken in hand. Alternately, these active souls prefer to put recalcitrant matters out of mind and concentrate on problems they can deal with directly. As a result, they are often surprised when something they have deliberately neglected jumps up and bites them.

  Phule was about to turn down the corridor to his hotel room when he was stopped by two people in civilian outfits so identical that they might as well have been uniforms. “Mister Phule?” said the taller of the two.

  “Yes,” he said. “I am Phule. I’m afraid I can’t really stop to talk, though.”

  “Captain, it is your decision whether or not to talk to us,” said the man who’d spoken. Phule could now see that the other was a woman. “However, we are here on important government business, and it would be very wise of you to make the time.” He opened a wallet and displayed an ID card: Special Agent Roger Peele of the Interstellar Revenue System.

  Phule struck himself on the forehead and said, “I knew there was something I’d been forgetting! You were looking for me back on Lorelei, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Peele. “And after what we’ve found there, we’re even more anxious to talk to you.”

  “I guess we might as well do it now as later,” said Phule with a sigh. “At this point, there’s nothing you can do to make my day any worse.”

  “Perhaps not, Mr. Phule,” said the other, female, IRS agent. “However, I must warn you—it’s our job to try.” Her thin smile made it clear that she was not joking at all.

  “Well, come with me, then,” said Phule, and they followed him to his quarters.

  * * *

  “Well, sir, which shall we tackle first—saving you from the stockade, or from bankruptcy?” Beeker sat calmly at the keyboard of his Port-a-Brain computer, watching Phule pace nervously across the room and back again.

  “Getting this house arrest lifted would be a good start,” said Phule. “The park opens tomorrow morning, and I want to be there. I can work on the rest of my problems from a jail cell, if need be, but I think I’ve earned the right to be at the opening.”

  “Your priorities astonish me, sir,” said Beeker. “However, I am certain we can find a way to persuade the general to give you your freedom for the day—possibly you’ll have to put up with a guard, but that should be a minor inconvenience.”

  “Good, I trust you to explore all avenues on that one,” said Phule. “As far as the rest—well, I told the IRS you had the figures to prove I’m in compliance with the tax laws, but they didn’t want to hear it. I think they’re so used to dealing with criminals that they can’t imagine anyone actually obeying the law.”

  “More likely, the laws make it impossible to file a tax return without some sort of violation,” said Beeker, dryly. “How much do they claim you owe?”

  “Including penalties and interest, it’s something like twenty million,” said Phule. “That’s absurd, of course—I can’t possibly owe them penalties or interest if I’m not guilty of any violations to begin with.”

  “Your faith in common sense is quite inspiring, sir. I regret to inform you that the IRS operates on some entirely different system, as appalling in its way as anything the military can conjure up.”

  “Well, if you can’t find me a way out, I doubt anybody can. You’ve got all the records here, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Beeker, nodding in the direction of his Port-a-Brain. “I’ll set up a meeting to show them the relevant figures—that will take a good while, though. And we may still have to drag it through a couple of levels of appeal before we satisfy them. It might be easier to agree to some token payment, say a couple of million, to get rid of them.”

  “Blackmail!” said Phule. “I won’t do it!”

  “As you wish, sir. Unfortunately, they can tie up your assets rather thoroughly pending appeal. Not even Dilithium Express can entirely shield your money from the IRS, although I suspect you’ll be able to pay your personal bills.”

  “I’ll need more than that, if I’m going to keep running the company,” said Phule.

  “General Blitzkrieg seems bent on preventing that, sir,” Beeker pointed out. “It might be prudent for you to give some thought to counteracting the general’s plans, while I’m saving you from the IRS.”

  “Believe me, Beeker, I’m trying.” Phule paused, then said, “Well, to be honest, keeping me from going bankrupt is of some urgency, as well. But I’m going to leave that in your hands, Beeker.”

  “I appreciate your confidence, sir,” said Beeker.

  Phule smiled. “It’s been well-earned, Beeker. This won’t be the first time you’ve saved my assets.”

  Journal #448

  Obtaining my employer’s release from house arrest turned out to be easier than anticipated. All that was really necessary was Le Duc Taep petitioning Ambassador Gottesman to allow Phule to attend the opening of the park he had done so much to bring to fruition. The ambassador, recognizing the former rebel leader as a significant player in the Landooran political arena, conveyed to General Blitzkrieg that keeping my employer confined would have undesirable political consequences. Surprisingly, even the Landooran government agreed that preventing him from attending the opening would be excessively cruel punishment for someone not yet proven guilty of anything. That was enough to get my employer his freedom—at least, for the day.

  Le Duc Taep stood looking out a tower window at the customers standing in line outside the park. It was quarter to eight in the morning, and some people had been standing in line since before sunup. A few had even camped out overnight so as to be among the first to enter. They would have camped out longer, except the Legion security guards had made it clear they wouldn’t allow them to.

  He looked back at Phule and said, “My compliments, Captain. There have been times I despaired of this park ever opening. Now, we have come to the crowning moment—and look: The people have turned out for us in overwhelming numbers. The triumph of our cause is imminent.”

  “Don’t get too enthusiastic,” said Phule. “We’d have gotten a big crowd for opening day no matter what, with the half-price tickets. Our publicity campaign can’t have hurt the crowds—we’ve beaten the government’s pants off in that department. The real test will be how many people we have in line after the novelty wears off.” Despite his cautious words, Phule smiled. It was hard not to smile, looking at the lines snaking through the turnstiles, and stretching as far back as the eye could see.

  “I wonder how the lines are for Landoor Park,” said Rembrandt.

  �
��They’ve got huge lines, too,” said Phule. “We think we’ve done a little better, but it’s anybody’s guess until we have real numbers. And the day’s barely begun.”

  “We’re still working to build attendance,” said Rembrandt. “Our people will be handing out flyers at their exits, offering anyone with a ticket stub from their opening day a half-price ticket for our park, valid for one full year.”

  “That’s a brilliant idea,” said Taep. “Once the park has shown them the superiority of our principles, not many will endorse the government’s sleazy operation.”

  “I’d hope they keep coming to both parks,” said Phule. He put his hand on Taep’s shoulder. “It’s important for your park to succeed, but it’s even more important for all your world’s people to do well. And that’s going to depend on drawing off-planet visitors. Your people will support the parks, but they can’t revive the economy all by themselves. It would be like two men passing a dollar back and forth every few seconds and claiming they were each taking in ten dollars a minute.”

  “We’re not reduced to that,” said Okidata, chuckling at the image. “We’ll see how well the off-planet attendance holds up in the long run, but we’ve got a great start.”

  “Well, if Jenny’s opening day report gets broadcast widely enough, that’ll be a big plus,” said Phule, pointing to the reporter and her cameraman, working the crowds. There were other reporters there, too—the press had sensed a good human-interest story. “The only thing better than publicity is free publicity,” he said. “I think I’ll go down and mingle with the crowd some—I haven’t even tried any rides yet.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Le Duc Taep. “We’ll make a proper New Atlantean of you yet!”

  “I’ll come with you,” said Rembrandt. “I’ve got to check on our attendance monitors.”

  The stairs led down to the park’s main street, where groups of tourists were surging forward toward the newly opened rides. Others were more leisurely looking into the souvenir shops along the way.

  Rembrandt stopped outside the door and said, “All right, Captain, I can tell something’s eating you. What is it?”

  Phule turned to her and said, “The IRS has decided I owe them some enormous amount in back taxes. I mean to fight it, of course, but that’ll take time away from running the company. You may be in charge a lot more—assuming I’m not replaced entirely.”

  “Replaced?” Rembrandt stopped in her tracks. “That’s going to happen over our dead bodies, Captain!”

  Phule responded with a thin smile. “I appreciate the support, Remmie, but General Blitzkrieg is trying to get rid of me. Knowing him, he’d probably enjoy wiping out the entire company in the process—he considers its very existence a blot on his record.”

  “And making it a success is probably a deadly insult,” said Rembrandt. The two of them began walking, sharing the street with the ebullient crowds. “The brass hats couldn’t make this company effective, but you came in and did it in a couple of years—mainly by scrapping their system. And in the process, showing them up as incompetents who couldn’t recognize good legionnaires if they fell over them.”

  “Don’t say that where the general can hear you,” said Phule, smiling. “Actually, as much as I appreciate the compliment, you know as well as I do that everybody in the company deserves the credit. It’s a shame it’s all going down the drain, now that we’ve finally accomplished something worthwhile.”

  “Sir, I’m going to do my best to make sure it doesn’t go down the drain,” said Rembrandt. She stopped at the corner of a little cross-street leading off to more shops and attractions. “Why don’t you enjoy the fruit of your labors? If this park doesn’t cheer you up, we’ve done something very wrong. I’d stay with you, but I’ve got work to do.”

  “Thanks, Lieutenant,” said Phule. “I suggest you take your own advice and enjoy the park, too.”

  But Rembrandt was already striding purposefully away.

  * * *

  Phule strolled around the park soaking up energy from the crowds for most of the morning. He returned to the central offices to have a working lunch with Taep, who had attendance figures for the morning. Both parks had been thronged with patrons, but the best estimates indicated that New Atlantis Park had drawn a larger crowd—so far. The difference seemed to be in the off-planet visitors, a testimony to the effectiveness of Phule’s publicity campaign. And the lines outside to buy tickets were still impressive. Phule and Taep drank a champagne toast to the clear-cut success. Phule privately hoped that it could continue on the same scale. It had to.

  He strolled around the park some more after lunch, watching hordes of local children patiently waiting to board rides (“Stop shoving, Abdul! We’ll all get on when it’s our turn.”), and happy riders emerging from the exits of one ride to go immediately to join a line for the next. He ate an ice-cream cone and took his own turn on the Skipper—a ride that gave the illusion of piloting a small boat through rapids, out in the jungle by the rebel camp. It was thoroughly unauthentic, but great fun.

  Finally, despite his worries, he realized he was actually enjoying himself. With a smile, Phule headed back to get the latest attendance figures from Le Duc Taep. But as he entered the little cul-de-sac leading to the park offices a familiar voice addressed him, “About time you got back, Jester.”

  It was General Blitzkrieg, rising from a bench outside the park offices, where he’d evidently been waiting for some time. He shook his finger under Phule’s nose and bellowed, “You’ve outdone yourself, Jester. If this is your notion of following orders, I don’t want to see your idea of mutiny.”

  Blitzkrieg was literally trembling with anger. Phule had never seen his superior so disturbed. It almost made him hold his tongue. But he knew he had to make one more attempt to make the general see reason.

  “General, I don’t think you understand my position,” said Phule. He looked around nervously, but this area had nothing to attract the fun-seekers. At least there were no witnesses to the chewing-out he was undoubtedly about to receive.

  “There’s not much to understand,” said Blitzkrieg, backing him toward a corner. Somewhere in the distance, incongruously, Phule heard a brass band playing. “What’s your excuse for aiding and abetting the enemies of the government you were sent to protect?”

  Phule did his best to keep his voice calm. “Sir, I have done no such thing. In fact, I’ve insured a lasting peace by persuading the rebel forces to adopt a peaceful program instead of trying to overthrow the government. Stamping out the rebels would have pleased the current government—someone tried to push me in that direction by shooting at me when I arrived on-planet. They probably figured I’d blame it on the rebels and send out a punitive expedition. But that would have started a new war—and my orders were to protect the peace.”

  The general loomed over him. “You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, Jester. Not recognizing that is your single greatest failing as an officer.”

  “I disagree, sir,” said Phule. “I can’t see how the Legion is hurt by a solution that minimizes the expense of life and property.”

  “Minimizes expenses? You gave the rebels millions of credits!” shouted Blitzkrieg. “Now every bandit in the galaxy will be trying to hold us up for business loans!” The general strode forward, backing Phule up against the wall.

  “Sir, I gave them nothing until they had declared an end to the rebellion. Once they agreed to work within the system, it was consistent with my orders for me to offer them a private business loan. After all, a successful businessman is the last person who wants to overthrow the government.”

  “That’s an excellent point, Captain,” said an unfamiliar voice. Phule and General Blitzkrieg turned to face the person who had come out of the park offices; he was an impeccably dressed man with a cleft chin and an ample mane of gray hair, parted in the middle.

  “Ambassador Gottesman!” said the general. He stepped back a pace, so that Phule was no longer corn
ered. “I didn’t know …”

  “That I was listening? Please pardon the eavesdropping,” said the ambassador, bowing his head. Then he turned to Phule and smiled. “I came to speak to Le Duc Taep, but I was hoping to find Captain Ph … er, Jester, too. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain. We at State have followed your progress on this assignment with great interest.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Ambassador,” said Phule, shaking the diplomat’s hand. “I hope our progress has been satisfactory as well as, uh, interesting.”

  “Amply satisfactory,” said Ambassador Gottesman. “No offense to you gentlemen, but we diplomats tend to feel that when we have to send a peacekeeping team in someplace, we’re as good as admitting that we’ve already made a botch of things. The military is rarely our implement of choice. So, we’re always pleased when the military can find a way to pull the situation back over the event horizon without shooting.”

  “Well, sometimes you do have to shoot a few people,” the general growled, with a significant glance toward Phule.

  “Oh, no argument with that,” said the ambassador, affably. “But it’s a lot harder to restore the status quo ante, once you start doing that. We like to exhaust the other options first. Which is why we’re impressed with the captain’s performance here. Even the government is now admitting that the competition has made their park better. But that’s all by the bye—there’s other business afoot. If you two gentlemen will join me in a drink, I’ve got a proposition I think will be of benefit to you both.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Phule, puzzled. He would have agreed to almost anything that offered a momentary truce with the general. He would have to continue his argument eventually, but now was clearly not the time. He certainly had nothing to lose by listening to the ambassador’s proposition.

  The general grumbled his assent as well, although he was obviously skeptical that anything that benefited Phule could be of interest to him. They followed the ambassador down the theme park’s main street to a little bar. The sign over the door read Joes Jungle Juice, and the building was decorated to look like a grass hut from a jungle-movie set. Children ran by squealing with excitement, heading for the next attraction on their list.