The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set

by Robert Asprin

  “Well, I’m just as glad it was my guy who hit the winner,” said Lola. “Remember, though—I’m here to make sure the casino honors its promise. You offered a share of the casino, and that’s what you’re going to deliver. Or I’m going to yell so loud they hear it on Altair IV.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” said Tullie. “We’ll play it as honest as we can afford to, don’t you worry. What worries me is whether those two gentlemen are going to cook up something neither one of us can live with.”

  “A gentlemen’s agreement between those two is the last thing we need,” agreed Lola. “But if Victor Phule doesn’t have the authority to cut a deal for the casino, why are you worried about him running off to talk with Ernie? If he can’t bind you to anything, you’ve got nothing to lose … Right?”

  Bascomb leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head. “One thing you learn in this business,” he said. “You’ve always got something to lose. And there’s always somebody standing there ready to pick it up and run away, the minute you drop it. So you cover all your exits, is the only way to play the game. Which is why I’m worried about the old man—and about your guy, too.”

  “They’re wild cards,” said Lola, nodding.

  “Worse than that,” said Bascomb. “I can figure the odds on a wild card, and make allowances for it. Your guy—I thought I had some idea what he was, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “I’ve known him longer than most people, and sometimes he scares even me,” said Lola. “What about Victor Phule?”

  “I don’t even want to think about Victor Phule,” said Tullie. He reached for the syntha-scotch. “Which is why I’m havin’ another drink. How about you, sister?”

  Lola nodded again. “First good idea I’ve heard today,” she said.

  * * *

  “Hey, Soosh, quittin’ time,” said Super-Gnat, sticking her head through the door. Behind her was Tusk-anini, with a baleful stare that might have worried Sushi if he hadn’t recognized it as the Volton’s habitual expression.

  “Sure,” said Sushi, stretching his arms above his head. “It doesn’t look as if anything’s going to happen here, anyhow. Give me a minute to put it on auto for the night, and I’ll be right with you.”

  “All right,” said Super-Gnat. “Just don’t make Tusk start counting, OK?”

  Tusk-anini’s scowl became even more menacing. “Why no counting? I count good as anybody,” he said.

  “Yeah,” said Super-Gnat, grinning. “Now all we have to do is teach you when not to do it.” She gave him a friendly elbow in the short ribs.

  While the two legionnaires bantered, Sushi quickly ran through his routine to set up the listening apparatus for automatic recording of the Zenobians’ conversation. He didn’t expect to find any great amount of material when he came back. The natives tended to end their workday around the same time as the legionnaires. In fact, Flight Leftenant Qual was often seen in the lounge, having a drink with the captain and the other Legion officers before dinner.

  Almost without thinking, he glanced at the translated text scrolling across his computer screen before turning off the display for the night. That was when the word “’L’Viz” jumped out at him. “Hold on a minute, guys,” he said. “Something weird’s happening here …”

  “Sure, like that’s anything new,” said Super-Gnat. “This whole outfit is about the weirdest experience I’ve ever had anything to do with.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Sushi, peering intently at the screen. He spoke a soft command, and the text scrolled backwards. He leaned closer, muttering softly.

  “Uh-oh,” said Super-Gnat. “This looks like one of those minutes that turns out to be all night long. Hey, Soosh, are you comin’, or not?”

  “He standing still, looks like to me,” said Tusk-anini.

  “Yeah,” said Sushi, turning around to meet their gazes. “Look, guys, something really interesting just came up. It’ll take me a little while to figure out. Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll catch up with you.”

  “Sure,” said Super-Gnat, shrugging. “We’ll save you a seat. Just don’t expect us to save you any beer.”

  “Yeah, OK,” said Sushi, obviously only half-listening. Then he said, more to himself than to any listener, “Why didn’t I think of this before?”

  But Super-Gnat and Tusk-anini were already gone.

  * * *

  “Where in Ghu’s name are they?” Tullie Bascomb stared through bloodshot eyes out the window of his office at the neon-lit landscape of Lorelei. He and Lola had been waiting for Victor Phule and Ernie to come back for over six hours. Several discreet (but increasingly urgent) searches of the hotel and surrounding area had produced no sign of the two delinquents.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” said Lola. “I’d have bet on the nearest bar, but we’ve tried that—the nearest dozen bars, I think. And you say they’re not in Mr. Phule’s room.”

  “Security says so, and I trust my security people,” said Bascomb. “More than I trust Victor Phule—let alone your guy.”

  Lola set down her drink—she really didn’t need any more, not if she wanted to have some semblance of her wits about her when Ernie and Phule Sr. returned with whatever crazy deal they’d agreed on—assuming they did agree on something. She looked Bascomb directly in the eyes, and said, “Look, my guy just wants you to deliver what you said you were gonna pay to the jackpot winner—a partner’s share of the casino stock.” She paused. “I don’t see how it’s our problem if you didn’t intend for him to win. Not if you’re running an honest business, the way you claim you are.”

  Bascomb drew himself up straight, and said, with as much dignity as he could muster after four stiff drinks, “I wish I had any reason to believe you two are as honest as the Fat Chance Casino. We’re as honest as anybody in this business—a lot more honest than most—and if you’ve done your homework, you ought to know that.”

  “All right, I’ll give you that much,” said Lola. “The point is, my client Mr. Erkeep is entitled to the jackpot for the machine he played. The casino has no rules posted concerning any eligibility for prizes or jackpots other than having to be of legal gambling age—which on Lorelei means tall enough to reach the handles of the slots. My client qualifies.”

  “What if he obtained the winning chip fraudulently?” said Bascomb. “We’ve got precedents covering that …”

  Lola shook her head emphatically. “Fraudulent? How do you get fraudulent? Vic Phule gave Mr. Erkeep a chip to gamble with, he played and won, and gave Mr. Phule back half his winnings—as agreed up front. The remaining chips were his to do with as he wanted. He could’ve thrown them into a trash disintegrator if he’d wanted—in fact I bet you’d like that.”

  “Nah, not really,” said Bascomb. “There’s always a small percentage of chips that never get cashed in. The customers take ’em home for souvenirs, or lose ’em down a drain or someplace else where they never get found. Sure, it’s money we don’t have to pay out, but the legal beagles and the bean counters get headaches about it. They always worry that somebody’s gonna show up one day with a huge spacechest full of chips and clean out the bank. Outstanding liabilities, they call it. And when they worry, that gives me headaches.”

  Lola stared hard at him for a long moment, then nodded. “OK, I guess I do believe you,” she said. “But if you’re so worried about what the bean counters and the shysters think, why’d you even offer a deal like the one Ernie won? Didn’t they scream bloody murder?”

  “We never asked ’em,” said Bascomb. “I thought it up, and Captain Jester approved it himself, and that was good enough. We didn’t expect anybody but the captain’s father to play at such lousy odds. And if by some quirk of the odds, the damn machines did pay off, the captain didn’t see anything wrong with passing a share of the casino to his old man. As long as it stayed in the family, he figured he wouldn’t have to worry about how it was being run.”

  “What, he thinks his whole family has the golde
n touch?”

  “No, he just thinks they’re smart enough to leave something to the professionals when they can’t do it themselves,” said Bascomb. He shook his head, and continued, “Now that I’ve put him in the hole this way, I wouldn’t blame him if he decided to get in some new professionals to run the joint.” He sighed and took another sip of his drink.

  “Well, you’re not fired yet,” said Lola. “Look, as long as my guy gets a fair shake out of this, he’s not going to let them cut you loose.”

  “Easy for you to say,” said Bascomb. “You think you’re going to have any influence on what Captain Jester decides to do? Your guy may think he’s won a partner’s share, but control of the casino still rests with the majority of the stockholders. And I wouldn’t bet on them listening to anybody but the captain.”

  “Hey, I don’t want to see you in the ejection pod,” said Lola, reaching over and putting her hand on his forearm. “We just have to find something the two of us can agree on, and when Phule and Ernie come back, we convince them it’s what they really wanted all along. If you can get Mr. Phule on board, I’m sure his son will listen to what he says.”

  “If he does, it’ll be the first time in years,” said Bascomb. “But I agree, we’ve got to be ready with something sensible before our principals come back with their proposition. What do you think of this idea …”

  The discussion went on into late hours.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Journal #732

  The rationalist is convinced that every sophont is at bottom predictable, acting according to consistent (if not necessarily already well-known) rules. The mystic, for his part, believes that every creature conceals within its breast some element of the wild and unpredictable. Of the legionnaires who play parts in this ongoing chronicle, perhaps young Sushi best characterizes the former point of view, with Rev perhaps the most obvious advocate of the latter.

  The realist (a label I believe I may fairly apply to myself) is aware that both of these philosophies have merit. Most of us are predominantly creatures of habit and pattern; but even the quietest of us has depths, from which the most unexpected actions can sometimes emerge …

  * * *

  Tonight, Thumper was standing perimeter guard duty for the first time. Brandy led him out to the position he’d be occupying, to show him the ropes and give a word or two of advice.

  “The biggest thing to remember is that you’ve got instant comm contact with Mother, if anything weird happens,” said Omega Company’s Top Sergeant. “Don’t worry about bothering her—first of all, she loves to talk, and second, whatever’s going on, she’s probably talked to a lot of legionnaires in exactly the same spot you’re in—so she may have a pretty good idea what’s happening. And third, if you really do need help, she can get it to you faster than anybody else. Got the picture?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” said Thumper, peering out into the darkness surrounding the base. He felt small and alone, even with the Zenobian stun ray he cradled in his arms.

  Brandy nodded. “And the second thing to remember is, even though we’re on a strange planet light-years away from your home or mine, there’s not really much that can go wrong. The only other humans on the planet are the AEIOU team, over there, and the hunters who brought you here. And none of them are going to invade the camp—though if those hunters get boozed up, they might do something stupid. The Zenobians are our allies—in fact, they’re the ones who invited us here. And the Nanoids—the microscopic colony intelligence that the captain and Beeker found out in the desert—nobody’s seen them since the captain sent his robot double to deal with them. Not much chance they’ll decide to come back on your watch. As for the local animals, they pretty much keep their distance. If in doubt, buzz Mother, then shoot to stun if you think you’re being threatened.”

  “Right, Sergeant,” said Thumper. He was doing his best to sound confident and competent.

  “OK, then, you’re on your own,” said Brandy. She gave the new legionnaire a friendly soft punch in the shoulder. “Garbo will be here to relieve you in four hours. Do your best to stay awake until then.”

  “Yes, Sergeant!” said Thumper, grinning a little bit now as Brandy headed back in toward the modular base building. His Lepoid eyes were already adapting well to the darkness, and he could see the vague outlines of some of the larger specimens of the local vegetation out against the starry horizon. After a couple of minutes, he heard the faint sound of the door to the base building opening and closing. Now he really was alone.

  Thumper looked around in all directions, taking his time to make sure he didn’t overlook anything. Finally, satisfied that he wasn’t under observation, he took a deep breath, and, as quietly as possible, slipped out across the perimeter of Omega Base into the cool desert night.

  * * *

  “Hey, kid, wake up,” said a loud voice in Lola’s ear. “We’re back!”

  “Ernie!” Lola sat bolt upright, her eyes suddenly focused. “You idiot! Where’ve you been all this time?”

  “Hey, take it easy,” said Ernie, backing away a pace. “Mr. Phule and I just went someplace quiet to talk things over without any audience or interference, OK?”

  “No, it’s not OK!” said Lola. She suddenly became aware of Victor Phule standing slightly behind Ernie, and Tullie Bascomb in his chair behind his big desk. Bascomb was rubbing his eyes; so at least she hadn’t been the only one to fall asleep. “What time is it?” she asked, lamely trying for a graceful change of subject.

  “Three in the morning,” said Victor Phule. “Reminds me of old times, staying up to the wee hours to hammer out details of a deal. Exhausting, but there’s nothing more rewarding. Why, I remember the foundry strikes of ‘58—we negotiated around the clock and finally convinced the union scum they’d lose thirty-five hundred jobs if they didn’t settle! The rascals tried to put the best face on it for their followers, but it was all on our terms in the end, of course.”

  “Wonderful,” said Lola, with a frozen smile. “And did you two uh, hammer out a deal this time?”

  “Sure did,” said Ernie. “Here’s what’s going down …”

  “Wait a moment,” said Tullie Bascomb, sitting up straighten “We can’t just wing it on something this important. Have you got anything written down, or shall I call in a stenobot?”

  “Ahh, we don’t need no stenobot,” said Ernie. “Mr. Phule and me have got a gen’lman’s agreement …”

  “Send for the stenobot,” said Lola, cutting him off. “I don’t want anything these two gentlemen have agreed on slipping between the cracks while everybody’s getting a good night’s sleep and sobering up.”

  “And just maybe we will have a few little suggestions on how to make the language more precise,” said Tullie Bascomb, with a smile that would do a piranha proud. He pushed a button on the desk and winked at Lola, who gave him a slight nod in return. She wasn’t anywhere near as confident as Bascomb seemed to be. They’d come up with a more or less workable understanding, but there was still the chance that Victor Phule and Ernie would dig in their heels, either together or separately. Especially after Phule’s bragging about the good old days of union-busting …

  A side door slid open and a small officebot glided through, with an almost inaudible whirring sound. It rolled over and stopped next to the desk, waiting. Bascomb said, “Record,” and a light began winking off and on. “All right, Mr. Phule, Mr. Erkeep, tell us what you’ve arrived at. Once it’s in memory, we can look at it and see what needs to be twiddled.”

  “Very well,” said Victor Phule, sitting up and clearing his throat. He looked at Ernie. “I’ll explain this, and Mr. Erkeep can confirm it.” He waited for Ernie to nod, then continued. “What we’ve agreed on, in principle, is a buyout. Mr. Erkeep agrees to assign his share of the casino stock to me, and renounces the right to any input into the day-to-day operation of the business.”

  “I don’t wanna go to an office every day and sit through all those business meetings,” sai
d Ernie, spreading his hands apart. “Suits make me look fat, anyway.”

  “Your lip’s going to look fat if you didn’t get something worthwhile in return,” said Lola, staring hard. She turned to Victor Phule. “Just how large is the share of stock you want him to assign you?”

  “I was getting to that,” said Victor Phule, smoothly. “The jackpot my friend here won was sixteen thousand shares of stock, from the portion that was held by my son, Willard—as Mr. Bascomb told us earlier today.”

  “And what’s the current market value?” asked Lola, a suspicious expression on her face.

  Phule tucked his thumbs into the lapels of his jacket. “Well, since this is a closely held stock that isn’t normally traded on the open market, that’s a bit of a tricky question,” he began.

  “Oh, su-ure,” said Lola. “I think I’m going to insist on an independent confirmation of whatever value you claim.”

  “Hey, hey,” said Ernie, making shushing motions. “Don’t queer the deal, Lola. You haven’t even heard what we’re getting …”

  “All right, I’ll listen,” she said. “But it better be mighty good.”

  Victor Phule raised his brows and said, “Our best estimate of current market value is 250 dollars a share. That would yield a gross value of four million dollars for the shares in question.”

  “Yess!” said Ernie, pumping a fist into the air.

  Lola thought for a moment, then said, “Your previous valuation was a lot higher.” She stared pointedly at Phule. “Something like fifty million dollars, if my client quoted you correctly.”

  “Well, you can’t really hold me to that,” said Victor Phule. “That was an off-the-cuff estimate. These figures are much more scientific …”

  Lola cut him off. “For a thousand-dollar bet, that makes that only a four-thousand-to-one jackpot. Not very impressive odds, if you ask me.”

  Victor Phule held up a hand. “You haven’t heard the whole agreement,” he said. “We are also prepared to pay an annual royalty of one percent of par value per share for twenty-five years, for a total of another one million dollars in deferred payments if the stock remains at its current value. Naturally, the payment could fluctuate, but under good management, I’d expect the value to go steadily up.”