The bodyguard was scowling even more fiercely, but Ernie gave the token a flip, and said, “Oh, all right. Just one spin. If I win anything, I’ll give you half.”
He dropped the token in a slot and pulled the lever. The symbols began to spin in front of him …
* * *
“All right,” said Phule, shading his eyes with his left hand. “Explain to me just what happened at dinner.”
Rembrandt stood at the foot of his desk, looking just as unhappy as her superior officer. “Well, Captain,” she began, “we warned all the nonhuman members of the company to avoid the dining hall until Barky and the AEIOU group were gone. It looks as if Barky has some particular grudge against nonhuman sophonts—you’d think they’d have trained that out of him, but there it is. What nobody had picked up on is that we’ve got a new member in the company, Thumper by name. He’s a Lepoid from Teloon …”
“And nobody remembered to warn him about Barky,” Phule finished the sentence for her. “Or me about him, either. I had such a perfect plan, too. We’d give the AEIOU inspectors a nice guided tour of the base, pointing out all the neat environmental things we’re doing. Then we’d feed them a better meal than they get in their own camp, let the troops make friends with Barky, and send the inspectors home with everybody feeling good about each other.”
“Yes, sir,” said Rembrandt, not lifting her gaze to meet his.
Phule shook his head, then continued in a quiet voice. “The worst thing is, it almost worked. Even after Barky had his run-in with Tusk-anini, I thought we’d managed to smooth it all over. Then this Thumper walks into the mess hall, and Barky takes off after him like … like a dog after a rabbit. And now we’ve got another incident on our hands, just as I thought we were about to make some real headway.”
“Escrima didn’t make it any better,” said Rembrandt, quietly.
“No, I guess not,” said Phule. He raised his hand to grip the bridge of his nose, as if his sinuses were paining him. After a bit he looked up, and asked, “The new recruit—Thumper—is he all right?”
“Yes,” said Rembrandt. “He’s pretty fast—maybe faster than Qual, from what I saw last night. Barky never had a chance to catch him.”
“The canine made an astounding effort, though,” Beeker observed quietly. “I’ve rarely seen such a … dogged pursuit.”
Rembrandt groaned. “Well, it was in character,” she conceded. Then her eyes opened wider, and she said, “But that reminds me, Captain—Legionnaire Thumper wants to speak to you personally.”
Phule nodded. “Oh, of course. Is he here? Bring him in, then.”
Rembrandt went to the door and beckoned to the waiting Legionnaire, and a moment later Thumper came into the room. Phule took a moment to size up the new member of his company, whom he’d seen before only in the chaotic action that had taken place in the mess hall earlier that evening.
Thumper stood just under 1.5 meters tall, if you counted his long ears—which in any case were hard to ignore. His eyes were the second most prominent feature of his face: big and brown, nervously checking out the room as he entered. His incisors were prominent, and below his twitchy pink nose were long, catlike whiskers. His feet were long, too—or perhaps it was the obvious adaptation of his entire lower legs for speed that made them appear so. The instant reaction any human child would have had upon seeing him—or any other of his Lepoid race—was “big bunny.” Phule had to consciously restrain himself from allowing a goofy grin to spread across his face. And he couldn’t help wondering whether there was a fluffy white tail under that black Legion jumpsuit.
Phule somehow managed to keep a straight face as the Lepoid came to attention at the foot of his desk and saluted—rather smartly, he thought. “At ease, Thumper,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
The Lepoid appeared to relax fractionally. “I’m not sure, sir,” Thumper said. “I’ve always wanted to be a legionnaire. But now that I’m in the Legion, I keep having problems with superior officers. I got sent here because General Blitzkrieg thought I’d ruined his uniform …”
“The general had you sent here?” Rembrandt asked. “That explains it, then. He’s been trying to make trouble for us ever since he sent the captain here …”
“I hope you don’t mean that the way it sounds, Lieutenant,” said Phule, with a grin. Before Rembrandt could protest her innocence, he turned to Thumper, and continued, “What just happened in the mess hall wasn’t your doing, Legionnaire. We thought we’d warned all our non-human legionnaires to take their meals after Barky had left, so as to avoid something like what happened. But you were new here, and nobody thought to include you in the warnings. I’m sorry about that, and it shouldn’t have happened. But it’s no more your fault than your being a member of a species that the dog wanted to chase. So relax—nobody here holds it against you.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Thumper. “But there’s another thing …” He paused.
“Go ahead, Thumper,” said Phule. He’d already noticed that the Lepoid spoke excellent Standard, without using a translator.
Thumper took a deep breath. “As I said, sir, I’ve wanted to be a legionnaire ever since I was growing up. But what I’ve seen so far in the Legion hasn’t been at all like what I expected.”
“I know what you mean,” said Phule, with a quiet smile. “Day-to-day life in the military actually tends to be pretty boring …” He looked at the expression on Rembrandt’s face, and added, “Well, maybe this company is an exception.”
“I consider that rather an understatement, sir,” said Beeker, his eyebrows raised.
Rembrandt cleared her throat. “Perhaps we ought to let Thumper finish what he’s saying, sir,” she said.
“Ahh, of course you’re right, Lieutenant,” said Phule. “Please, Thumper, tell us what you were about to say. Sorry for the interruption.”
Thumper’s ears twitched, and he looked open-eyed first at Rembrandt, then at Phule. “I was going to ask how I could get out of the Legion and go back home,” he said. “Everything that’s happened to me since basic training had convinced me I’d made a really bad mistake. But I think I just changed my mind. I mean, I never heard an officer admit he was wrong about something, or apologize to an enlisted legionnaire. I’ve gotta think about this. So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll withdraw my request to speak to you, sir.”
“All right, Legionnaire Thumper,” said Phule, carefully. He hadn’t seen much of the little Lepoid in action—just that one incredible burst of speed in the dining hall—but he’d read the report from Sergeant Pitbull, who’d been Thumper’s drill instructor in basic. Pitbull’s report was obviously phrased so as not to set off too many alarms if a certain Someone in Legion Headquarters happened to see it, but reading between the lines, it was full of praise for the diminutive recruit. Maybe Headquarters had done Omega Company a favor without intending to do so. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.
He chuckled, then added, “Go look around the company and see if you like what you see. If you still want to get out of here after you’ve had a good look at us, I’ll make sure nobody stops you. But give us a chance. I have the idea you might fit into this company better than you think.”
“I’ll give you a fair chance if you’ll give me the same, sir,” said Thumper, coming to attention and saluting with a crispness that reminded Phule that the recruit was fresh out of basic.
Phule returned the salute, and added a smile. “You’ve got a deal, Thumper.”
* * *
“Somebody remind me where we were before the roof fell in,” said Sushi. It was early in the evening after the food fight in the mess hall, and there was a prominent shiner under Sushi’s right eye, where a too-enthusiastically thrown apple had nailed him. He’d gone to the autodoc, which had dispensed a couple of pain pills and a tube of cream that would take down the swelling, but the discoloration would still last a couple of days.
“Tryin’ to learn how these here Zenobians can write before
they can talk,” said Rev, who’d fallen to the floor early and managed to avoid being hit by anything solid during the food fight. “And, to get right back to square number one, tryin to find out somethin’ about this here character name of ’L’Viz in their mythology, which is what got me started on this whole fuss and botheration.”
“Yo, Rev, you really think there’s some kinda connection?” asked Do-Wop. He’d somehow managed to avoid any damage other than a thoroughly besmirched uniform, despite being one of the prime instigators and most active participants in the mess hall fracas. “I mean, the dinos and humans never even met until just a couple-three years ago. Don’t make sense that they’d know squat about your guy, the King. What d’you think, Soosh?”
“It seems farfetched to me, too,” Sushi admitted. “But tell me, Rev—why haven’t you just asked Flight Leftenant Qual what it’s about? He’s got to know.”
“Sure he does,” said Rev. “In fact, I tried ’xactly that, and the little leftenant clammed up quicker than a politician on the witness stand. The long and short of it is, I gotta find out on my own.”
“All right, I guess that makes sense,” said Sushi. “It just doesn’t sound like Qual to me. But what if it does turn out that the Zenobians had their own analog of the King? It’d be the most sensational discovery since it turned out the Synthians have a game exactly like human chess, only with a nine-by-nine board and an extra piece on each side, and the pawns reverse direction when they reach the back row, instead of promoting. Who could resist the chance to be in on a discovery like that?”
“Me for one, if they were givin’ away free beer across the street,” said Do-Wop. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Rev—doin’ this job is way better than KP, or nighttime guard duty. But I don’t think it makes a whole bunch of difference how it turns out, y’know?”
Rev looked at Do-Wop with one eyebrow arched. “Well, Do-Wop, if this here project don’t move you, I could always cut you loose. ’Course, if you were hangin’ out in the parade ground doin’ nothin’ in particular, ol’ Beeker might remember just who it was who was flingin’ the cheese sauce that got all over the captain’s uniform. I won’t claim I’ve had to pull any strings to keep you off’n some kind of punishment duty, but it could happen, y’know. It could happen.”
“Aw, c’mon, Rev,” whined Do-Wop. “You know the captain wouldn’t do that to me. He’s a laid-back dude …”
“Sure,” said Rev, shrugging. Then he added, with a hint of significance, “But Beeker jes’ might be the kind to hold a grudge.”
“You think so?” asked Do-Wop, now visibly worried. “Jeez—I wonder if there’s any way I could make him forget about what was goin’ on there …”
“Why don’t you jes’ let me take care of it, son?” Rev put his hand on Do-Wop’s shoulder and spoke in his most sympathetic voice. “The captain knows I don’t have no kind of ax to grind, except maybe to see that the King’s good people get treated fair and square. You do a good job for me, and I’ll make sure nobody ever says boo to you.”
Sushi chuckled. “And if my buddy joins the Church of the King, you’ll make double sure nobody bothers him, right?” he said, with a knowing grin.
“Why, Sushi! I’m surprised you would suggest such a thing,” said Rev. “Everybody in Omega Company is my concern, you know that.”
“Right, but the ones with pompadours, sideburns, and pouty mouths are a little bit more your concern,” said Sushi. “Don’t worry about Do-Wop, Rev. I think I’ve known him long enough to have a pretty good idea what he does best.”
Do-Wop looked up with a surprised expression. “Hey, thanks, Soosh. I didn’t know you thought that much of me.”
“…which is goofing off,” Sushi finished.
“Yo! That ain’t fair!” said Do-Wop, punching his buddy on the shoulder. “I thought you was gonna defend me!”
“You’ve known me long enough that you should’ve known better,” said Sushi. “But seriously, Rev, you don’t have to worry about Do-Wop. He knows a good deal when he sees one, and this is about as good as he’s going to get in the Legion. Trust us—we’ll get you results, if anybody can. Now, here’s an idea I just came up with …”
Rev and Do-Wop bent close to listen, and soon their heads were nodding.
* * *
“Pssst—Harry sent me,” said a shadowy figure just beyond the perimeter of Zenobia Base.
“Yeah? What’s the word?” said Double-X, who’d volunteered for sentry duty on this part of the perimeter. Rembrandt had been mildly surprised that the Supply sergeant’s assistant was volunteering for anything at all, but she’d shrugged and put Double-X on the duty roster. Anytime somebody actually wanted to take on nighttime guard duty, it was one fewer warm body she’d have to cajole into doing it. And while she’d probably wonder about the reason for the unusual request, the captain’s policy was to give the troops a good deal of slack, and she wasn’t about to overrule him.
“Bird is the word,” said the voice from beyond the perimeter.
“What’s the bird?” said Double-X.
“Thunderbird,” said the voice, somewhat exasperated. “Hey, can we come in now? This password stuff is silly.”
“Aww, you know we gotta do all this stuff in the Legion, man,” said Double-X. “You got it right, anyhow. Come on in—but hurry, we don’t want the wrong folks to see you.”
“We’re comin’,” said L.P. Asho, stepping out of the shadows. He was followed by Euston O’Better and Austen Tay-Shun. All three were wearing dark coveralls—not quite Legion black, but good enough to reduce visibility on a dark night. The three men stopped just inside the perimeter, then Asho asked, “Which way’s Harry’s place?”
“Straight ahead,” said Double-X. “The Supply shed’s right behind that big Zenobian machine—watch out you don’t trip over it. I don’t know whether you can break anything ‘sides your toe, but you wouldn’t want to find out the hard way.”
“Weird-lookin’ thing,” said O’Better. “What’s it do?”
“Damfino,” said Double-X. “They call it a sklern, and if you know what that means you’re one up on me. Hurry up, now, ‘fore somebody spots you.”
“We’re going, don’t worry.” The three hunters moved off toward the supply shed, leaving Double-X alone on the perimeter. He watched them go, then settled back down to wait. He’d be off duty in another three hours. With any luck, the off-planet suckers would still have some money left by then. If what Harry said was right, they had plenty to lose. If they’d already been cleaned out, well, those were the breaks. He’d have to take his chances with the usual crew.
* * *
“Four thousand dollars?” Lola’s jaw dropped. “Victor Phule gave you four thousand dollars?”
Ernie grinned, and he tossed the four Fat Chance Casino chips lightly from hand to hand. “To tell the truth, it was only a thousand.” He stopped and laughed. “Only!—and that was really just a loan to play the slots. For a goof, I guess. I won nine thou, and gave him back his one plus half the winnings. So he came out ahead of the game, too.”
“All right, but he had no way of knowing you were going to win,” said Lola. “Why’d he give you money to throw away in one of those stupid slots?”
“He was gonna play it if I didn’t,” said Ernie. “I think he was just using me to change his luck or something. Or maybe he did know it was going to come up a winner—if he’s shilling for the casino, maybe he’d have some way to rig that, figuring that if I do hit a winner, I’ll put the money, plus some of my own, back in the machine trying to win again.”
“And just as likely, you’ll walk away and cash it in,” said Lola, frowning. “Which is exactly what you did—except you didn’t cash in. Why not?”
“I wanted him to think I don’t need the dough that bad,” said Ernie. “I’m pretending to be a guy with a few bucks of my own. If I cash the chips in right away, it looks like I’m hungry for the money. If I just throw a few thou in my pocket like small change, and
walk out like it’s too much of a pain in the ass to wait in line to change ’em, it makes the scam look better. Next time I walk in there, Phule will think I’m one of the big boys, just like him. And the chips are good anytime—you could go cash ’em in, one chip at a time, and nobody’d know any better.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” said Lola. “They may have them marked some way. In fact, they may even have them sending out a signal so they can tell where you’ve gone with them.”
“Ahh, you’re being paranoid,” said Ernie. “They wouldn’t go to the trouble to rig something that fancy for somebody like me.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Lola. “Remember, we’re dealing with two guys who can very easily get their hands on all the latest military and spy hardware. Or are you forgetting just what it is that the Phules do for a living, besides running a casino?”
“Shit, that’s right,” said Ernie. He stared at the chips for a second, then suddenly stepped over to the bed and stuck them under a pillow. “You think they’re bugged?” he whispered.
“If they really are, we’re dead ducks already,” said Lola quietly.
“Shit!” said Ernie, more vehemently. He stared at the pillow, then turned back to Lola. “I should’ve known better than to let that old skinflint slip me those phony chips. What the hell are we gonna do now, Lola?”
Lola sat on the windowsill, back to the window. She stretched her arms up and folded her hands behind her head, then said, “We don’t have a lot of choices. Either they’ve got us pinned or they don’t. If they’re bugging us, they already know enough to kill any chance we have of our plans working. If that’s true, we might as well cut and run—and take our chances about Mr. V catching up with us again. I don’t like that idea, although four thousand dollars would give us a fair head start.”
“Assuming the Phules don’t have their security boys waiting to bust whoever tries to cash in the chips,” said Ernie, his voice still low. He shot a glance at the pillow covering the chips, as if he expected it to do something unusual. It didn’t cooperate.
The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set Page 129
