The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set

by Robert Asprin

  “I’m askin’ the questions, sister,” said the man, gesturing with the weapon. “You get in there with yer buddy and don’t try nothin’ fancy.”

  The way he handled the beamer was all the proof she needed that he knew what to do with it in the event something fancy did occur. She went into the living room. There sat Ernie, in a straight-backed chair facing the tri-vee set. His arms were bound to his sides, and a wide band of elasteel around his torso bound him to the chair. On the couch next to him sat a small man in an expensive suit.

  “Good, everybody’s here,” said the small man. “Why don’t you have a seat, Lola? We have business to discuss.”

  “Who are you?” said Lola. “We haven’t done anything.”

  “That’s exactly the problem,” said the little man. “Sit down, please—it makes me uncomfortable to see you standing up.” He gestured toward the other chair in the room.

  Lola was not by nature docile. But something in the man’s manner told her this would be a very bad time to make herself disagreeable. She sat.

  “Good, that’s very good,” said the small man. “It makes things so unpleasant when people aren’t in a cooperative mood. I really hate it when we have to persuade people to go along with us.”

  “What do you want?” said Lola. “Who are you, anyway?”

  The little man inspected his fingernails, then said, “My name doesn’t matter, but if you wish, you can call me Mr. V. My partner and I represent certain parties from whom you accepted an employment contract some time back. Perhaps you’re familiar with the agreement I’m referring to?”

  Lola did her best to appear calm. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Lorelei Station, would it?” she asked.

  “Very good,” said Mr. V, nodding enthusiastically. “It’s always good to start from a position of mutual understanding. I was afraid that little matter might have slipped your mind. May I inquire when we can expect you to fulfill your contractual obligations?”

  “In fact, we made every effort to do exactly that,” said Lola, twisting her neck to peer up at him. “There was an unexpected development …”

  “An unexpected development,” the little man repeated her words, sympathetically. “That’s the way things sometimes go in our business, isn’t it? They never quite go the way you plan.” Lola nodded, smiling.

  Then Mr. V clapped his hands together loudly. “But a professional doesn’t let those little setbacks get in the way of completing the job. A professional knows how to overcome obstacles. You and your colleague are professionals, aren’t you?”

  “Of course we are,” said Lola. “But …”

  “But me no buts, young lady,” said the little man, leaning forward to look her in the eyes. “You were engaged to deliver a certain package to a certain location. Now, it’s been quite a long time, and the delivery has not taken place.”

  “I can explain that,” said Lola. Her mouth was suddenly dry.

  “I’m sure you can,” said Mr. V. “But I’m going to save you the trouble, young lady. My principals aren’t really interested in explanations, and neither am I. If we want explanations, there are any number of professional explainers whose services we can engage. At the moment, we would much rather see results. Do you grasp my meaning, young lady?”

  “I think so,” said Lola, in a very quiet voice.

  “Very good again,” said the little man, turning away from her and pacing. He stopped and turned, and said, “Now, to the point. Your contract calls for the delivery of certain goods. We are going to insist that you fulfill that contract. And we are furthermore going to insist that it be done without any further unnecessary delay. Do you understand me?”

  Lola nodded. “There may be additional expenses involved in retrieving the goods …” she began.

  Mr. V held up a finger, like a scolding schoolteacher. “Young lady, I wouldn’t be eager to ask for more money when I hadn’t finished the job I’d contracted to do,” he said. “Not if I were in your shoes. Certain people might get very impatient with you.”

  “I was merely pointing out the possibility,” said Lola, with a gulp. “It might not be a problem, in any case. We can discuss that when everything’s wrapped up.”

  “Good,” said Mr. V, smiling again. “And I notice that you say when everything’s wrapped up—can I take that as meaning you intend to go ahead with your operation?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Lola. She smiled. “We never intended anything else.”

  “Good, it’s a pleasure doing business,” said Mr. V, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll tell my principals that everything is in order, then. And when can they expect delivery?”

  Lola began calculating in her head. The big variable would be travel time; hyperspace had unpredictable twists and wrinkles, and a ship might well arrive some time before it had set out—or months later. Still, the expected travel time back to Lorelei ought to be something like three weeks. “You want the package delivered to the same place as before?” she asked.

  “Precisely,” said the little man, with a nod.

  “Sixty days from now,” said Lola. “That’s cutting it close, but I think we can do that.”

  “We’ll hold you to it,” said Mr. V. “And just in case you’re tempted to think about slipping out of your obligations again, I think we’ll give you something else to think about.” He snapped his fingers, and the man with the beamer stepped into the room. Ernie’s eyes grew wide …

  Chapter Two

  Journal #649

  The excesses of youth, as amusing as they may seem to those of riper experience, are nonetheless productive of worthwhile results. Youthful exuberance, wedded to the seemingly inexhaustible energies of the young, can achieve things that sober maturity would never attempt. It is undoubtedly for this reason that armies are made up of the young.

  The negative corollary of this verity is that, despite almost comically elaborate efforts to arrive at correct intelligence, armies are more easily duped than almost any other institution of similar size and complexity. And the same can be said of their individual members—only more so …

  * * *

  “Here’s a package for you from Legion Headquarters, Captain,” said Lieutenant Rembrandt, bustling into her commander’s office.

  “Oh, good—maybe it’s the promotion Ambassador Gottesman said I’m supposed to be getting,” said Phule. He took the package from her hands and eagerly began to tear it open. “I never thought I’d make it to major,” he said. “I mean, I suppose I always hoped I’d do well in the Legion—maybe even make it to general. It’s every officer’s dream, I guess. But realistically, if you keep butting heads with the top brass—and I’ve pretty much made a full-time career of that …” He stopped suddenly, his face a snapshot of disappointment.

  “What is it, sir?” said Rembrandt.

  “This isn’t my promotion,” said Phule. “It’s a set of environmental impact forms from the Alliance Ecological Interplanetary Observation Union. The AEIOU.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Rembrandt. “Have we had any previous dealings with the AEIOU?”

  “Sometimes. Why?” Phule asked his lieutenant.

  “I just wondered what they wanted,” said Rembrandt.

  Phule looked at the cover letter. “They want us to document our compliance with ecological preservation directives for undeveloped planets, and to submit our updated environmental preservation plan. There’s a list of regulations…

  “Undeveloped?” Rembrandt frowned. “Where do they get that? This is an inhabited world, last I looked. The desert out here may be fairly empty, but that Zenobian capital city you were in is about as developed as it gets.”

  “That was pretty much my impression,” said Phule, scratching his head. “Somebody’s gotten the wrong information.”

  “That could be a first-class pain,” said Rembrandt. “You know these bureaucrats. Once they get the wrong idea, it’s as good as gospel. I remember when the newstapers mixed up my uncle D
aryll with another guy who was killed in a skimmer accident. It took him nearly sixteen years to convince the Planetary Employment Bureau he was still alive—and poor Uncle Daryll worked for them …”

  “Well, this is obviously irrelevant to a Legion mission,” said Phule. “We’ve never had to file environmental impact forms before…”

  “Don’t bet anything on it,” said Tusk-anini, who’d been sitting in one corner of the office, reading. “Environment all around us, so we having impact every day. Bureaucats right to worry. I think is smart to fill out forms.”

  “How about you do it, then,” said Phule, handing the pile of papers to the huge Volton legionnaire. “You fill out the paperwork, I’ll sign it, and we’ll send it back to the AEIOU. That’ll get ’em off our back.”

  “I do it,” said Tusk-anini. “When you want back?”

  “I don’t know—a week or so ought to be enough time,” said Phule. “It’s your baby, now—you can use the spare desk in the comm center to work on it. Let me know if you run into any problems.”

  “Will take good care of baby,” said Tusk-anini. He tucked the papers under his arm and headed for the comm center.

  Rembrandt watched him go, a trace of worry on her face. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to give that job to him, Captain?” she said. “He’s likely to come up with very strange answers to some of those questions—you know how his mind works. Sometimes I think he’s too smart for his own good.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried about the AEIOU,” said Phule. “You know what happens to paperwork—it just sits on some secretary’s desk until they file it and forget it. Odds are nobody will even glance at those forms, except to make sure we’ve filled them out and that I’ve signed them.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Rembrandt. “There are enough people looking for ways to make trouble for you—and for this company—that I’d hate to see somebody else have an excuse to get on your case. It worries me that this came from Legion Headquarters instead of directly from the AEIOU.”

  “You don’t need to worry,” said Phule, waving his hand. “Remember, I’m the guy who handles problems from upstairs. And as long as Colonel Battleax and Ambassador Gottesman are on our side, we’ve got two people who can keep the trouble from ever getting as far as me. And I’ve got a pretty good idea how to keep them happy.”

  “I sure hope so, Captain,” said Rembrandt. She let her frown relax. Phule was probably right. Ever since he’d been on board, life with Omega Company had been steadily improving. Who was to say it wouldn’t keep getting better and better?

  * * *

  Three men met Victor Phule as he entered the casino offices. Two were dressed in well-tailored civilian garb, the third in a black Space Legion officer’s uniform. Only someone familiar with the minutiae of Legion uniforms would have noticed that the various patches and insignia he wore were completely bogus.

  “All right, where’s my son?” barked Victor Phule, ignoring the proffered handshake. “I’ve been trying to catch up with him for weeks, and every time I call I either get some actor or a bunch of excuses. I want to see Willard—or talk directly to him, if he’s not on the station.”

  The elder of the two men in business suits answered him, in a quiet but urgent voice. “Mr. Phule, I’m Tullie Bascomb, head of gambling operations at the Fat Chance. I understand your concern. But I think this is a discussion that ought to take place in private,” he said.

  Phule glared at him, but after seeing the man’s expression, he nodded. “All right, then,” he said. “This had better be good.” The man who’d spoken to him indicated a doorway to one side, through which a comfortably appointed small conference room was visible.

  At a nod from his boss, Phule’s bodyguard stepped inside, quickly scanned the room, then nodded. “Nothing obvious,” he said.

  “It’s clean,” said one of the men who’d greeted Phule. “Your son made sure of that. Come on in, Mr. Phule. Would you like coffee, tea, something else?”

  “I’d like to talk to Willard,” said Victor Phule. “And I’ve had about enough of your stalling. Where is he?”

  “Off-station,” said Bascomb. “And at last word, he was doing just fine. Come sit down, Mr. Phule. I’ll give you the full story. And, if you insist, we can connect you to him—he’s close enough so we can use regular intrasystem comm.”

  Phule grumbled, but took a seat. Bascomb introduced the others in the room: Gunther Rafael Jr., former owner of the casino, and Doc—a veteran character actor Phule had hired to impersonate a legionnaire in order to keep the crooked operators who ran Lorelei Station from learning that Omega Company had been transferred to another post, leaving the casino unguarded.

  “This isn’t for general publication, you understand,” said Bascomb. “The captain is off-station because he’s decided that his military command takes priority over his other businesses. For the interim, he’s left the place in our hands. And I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Phule, if the captain walked in here unannounced five minutes from now, I don’t think he’d find one thing that isn’t being done exactly the way he’d do it himself.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you,” said Victor Phule, displaying no emotion. “From what I’ve seen so far, the boy hasn’t entirely lost his head for business. But the devil is in the details, as you gentlemen know. And I’m going to withhold judgment until I’ve had a look at your books and your operations.”

  “Can he do that?” asked Gunther Rafael, turning to Bascomb. He had a perpetually nervous look, as if he expected to be called on the carpet.

  “Technically, probably not,” said Bascomb. He held up a hand to forestall Phule’s protest. “But I’d be a damned fool if I didn’t let him satisfy himself that the place is on a sound footing. Unless the captain explicitly forbids it, that is. Mr. Phule carries a lot of weight around here, but as far as I’m concerned, the captain carries more. No offense, Mr. Phule—but he’s the man who put me in this job.”

  “I appreciate your loyalty to my son,” said Victor Phule. “But loyalty only goes so far, Bascomb. I’ve done business with the military long enough to know how much it values loyalty. That’s all well and good—but where I disagree with it is when it elevates loyalty over competence. If a man can’t do the job, I want another man in that job—before the first one costs me more money than his loyalty is worth. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand you, Mr. Phule,” said Bascomb, with a shrug. “Maybe I wouldn’t be so quick to put a price on loyalty, but I agree with you on competence—I don’t think I’m flattering myself to say that your son hired me because I’ve shown a fair bit of competence in the casino business. Now, would it be convenient for you to look over those books after lunch? While you’re eating—on the house, of course—we can set up one of the executive offices for you to use.”

  “Bring me the books now,” said Phule, brusquely. “I want to see both sets—the real ones, and the phony ones you use for the tax auditors. And I’ll work at the desk my son uses when he’s here. I don’t expect there’s anybody else who needs that particular space.”

  “I’ll need you to excuse me a minute for that,” said Bascomb, standing up. “I’ll send in a waiter to take your drink order.”

  “Forget the waiter,” snapped Phule. “Just bring me the books. And it better not be too long.”

  “It’ll take as long as it takes,” growled Bascomb. He turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

  Twenty minutes later Bascomb returned, with a determined expression on his face. Without saying a word, he unlocked a file drawer, removed a pair of memory modules, and handed them to Victor Phule. “These have both sets of books on them,” he said. “I guess you’ll want to use your own computer, but we can give you one to use if you’d like.”

  “I’ll let you know,” said the elder Phule, brusquely. “Now, have that impostor clear off the desk and get out of my way. I want to get to work.”

  * * *

  “Aw right, sm
arty, so what’s the plan now?” Ernie grumbled. Their unwanted visitors had left, but he’d had to wait until Lola managed to find a tool strong enough to cut the plasteel tape Mr. V’s muscle man had used to confine him before he could get out of the chair they’d put him in. He still had sticky patches on his arms from where the tape had held them. Touching them made him shudder. He didn’t even want to think about what might have happened …

  She shrugged. “We go back to Lorelei, of course,” she said. “That’s our only choice.”

  “And when we get there?”

  She shrugged again. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “You’ll figure something out?” Ernie’s voice rose an octave. “You bet you will! You’re the one who got us in this whole farkin’ mess to begin with!”

  “I seem to remember you agreeing to taking the job way back when it was first offered,” said Lola. “In fact, you were pretty gung ho about it.”

  Ernie scoffed. “Yeah, that’s before we tried snatching that damn robot, which had us both fooled into thinking it was Phule. Then, when we try to smuggle it off-planet, it manages to steal a lifeboat off a space liner and bail out right in the middle of hyperspace. I don’t think I’ll ever figure that one out. We might as well forget about snatching that punk.”

  “Great idea,” said Lola. “Except that Mr. V and his clients aren’t going to let us forget it. At least, not until we show them enough of an effort to convince them we’re playing the game their way. If there’s some way for us to bail out when things get sticky, I’ll find it. Don’t you worry.”

  Ernie’s eyes bulged out. “Don’t me worry?” he growled. “Next time, see how you like sitting there with ten yards of plasteel tape holding you to the chair, and an ugly guy with a beamer aimed up your nostrils. I’ve been there, and I don’t like it worth an unplugged virt.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Lola, grinning mischievously. “You look really cute when you’re helpless, you know?”