“I tried to get him up to fifty years, but he wouldn’t bite,” said Ernie, sheepishly.
Tullie Bascomb shook his head. “I’m going to have to run this past the captain, but I think he’ll okay it. I don’t see where he has a lot of choice. Is that everything? I can have the stenobot print it up and send it to the captain. Are you satisfied with the terms, Miss?”
Lola exchanged a quick glance with Bascomb. She was amazed. These two clowns had somehow managed to come up with a workable scheme—one she could actually live with. There was, of course, no point in Ernie’s having a serious interest in any kind of legitimate business, let alone a casino. He’d run it into the ground in record time if he ever tried to manage it. And he’d be robbed blind if he tried to hire somebody to run it for him. Lola knew that. And Tullie Bascomb, who was as shrewd an operator as she’d ever laid eyes on, probably knew it, too. So a flat buyout was the most sensible deal they could have asked for. The only question was whether they could realistically jack up the buyout price any higher.
After a moment’s reflection, Lola decided not to press her luck, and shrugged. “I think we can live with that,” she said. “Are there any other conditions you haven’t told us? Any reason we can’t pick up our money and go as soon as the captain’s OK comes through?”
“No, that’s the whole deal,” said Ernie, and Victor Phule nodded.
A high-pitched mechanical voice spoke—the stenobot. “The agreement is subject to two legal restrictions that have not been made explicit. Shall I include them in the memo to Captain Jester?”
“Uh—legal restrictions?” Lola was frowning, now. “Just what are those?”
“First is the security and exchange commission registration fee for transfer of stocks. Since the stocks are being transferred twice, the fee is doubled. It comes to twelve hundred dollars.”
“Twelve farkin’ hundred? No way!” said Ernie.
“You cannot own the stocks without registering them, and you cannot sell the stocks unless you own them,” said the stenobot, in an irritatingly pedantic tone.
“I don’t care,” said Ernie. “I’m not payin’ no fees.”
“We’ll pay the fees,” said Tullie Bascomb, raising a hand. “What else?”
“Lorelei casino regulation statutes require winners of all jackpots in excess of ten thousand dollars to have their holo image taken and put on file for use in casino publicity. A copy will also be kept on file in the station police headquarters.”
“That’s a completely unacceptable condition,” said Lola. “Mr. Erkeep will not allow his image to be used.”
“Aww, why not, Lola?” said Ernie. “I always wanted to see my picture on the cover of a mag—even if it’s the back cover, in an ad.”
Lola grabbed him and pulled his head down close to her mouth. “You want Mr. V to see that image?” she hissed in his ear. “Or have you forgotten just why we came back here?”
“Oops, that’s right, no pictures!” said Ernie. “Completely unacceptable condition!”
“Uh, I’m afraid we’re gonna have a problem with that,” said Bascomb. “The casino security system automatically takes a picture of all big winners. It’s been on file with the police ever since the jackpot bell went off. And unless our publicity department is asleep on the job, I’d bet they’ve been sending it to every media outlet in the galaxy, too.”
“Oh, shit,” said Lola, with utter sincerity. Abruptly she stood up. “Come on, Ernie, we’re out of here,” she said, and before anyone else could say a word, the two of them stalked out of the office, leaving Bascomb and Phule standing openmouthed.
* * *
“Captain, there’s something you need to know,” said Sushi.
Phule looked up from the screen of his Port-a-Brain. Sushi was leaning against the frame of his office door, looking dead tired. “Come on in and sit down, Sushi,” he said, deactivating the computer screen. When the legionnaire was seated opposite him, he said, “From the way you look, it’s fairly important. I hope it’s not bad news …”
“It is if we don’t do anything about it,” said Sushi. “But I think I know what we can do—if we’re quick enough, and if I’m right about what I think the Zenobians are doing.”
“This is getting complicated,” said Phule. “Why don’t you go back to the beginning and tell it straight through? Maybe that’ll make it easier to figure out.”
“All right, there are a couple of parts to it,” said Sushi. “First of all, I’ve figured out what those so-called hunters are really here for.”
Phule sat up and pushed his Port-a-Brain aside. “Now that’s something we’ve been wondering about ever since they showed up. I didn’t think they acted all that interested in getting out into the wilds and finding game. What are they up to?”
“Yes, I’ve been wondering that myself,” said Beeker. “They certainly aren’t here for the cultural experience.”
“Nor for the waters,” said Sushi. “In fact, as best I can tell, they’re here to spy on us.”
“Spy?” said Beeker. “To steal military secrets? If young Mr. Phule will pardon my saying so, I find it difficult to believe that the commanders of the Legion would entrust this company with any highly sensitive information. For that matter, even if there were such secrets to be found, to whom would they be sold? The Alliance has no enemies that I know of.”
“Well, Beeks, that may be,” said Phule. “On the other hand, I’m inclined to give a certain amount of weight to Sushi’s suspicions—at least until I find some reason to doubt them. What makes you think they’re spying, Sushi?”
Sushi cleared his throat. “Captain, I happened to be present at a highly unofficial gathering where the hunters and some of our personnel were present …”
“Chocolate Harry’s poker game?” said Phule, raising an eyebrow. “I knew they showed up there, and I heard that Harry took a good bit of their money, which is fine with me. If they don’t know any better than to gamble with a veteran Legion sergeant, that’s their bad judgment. But what secrets could they be looking for there?”
“Weapons, Captain,” said Sushi. “You may forget—Omega Company has become the de facto testing unit for your father’s munitions line. Every experimental weapon in the Legion comes to us first, and Harry’s got samples of everything sitting right there in his Supply depot. It seems to me that every time one of the hunters dropped out of a hand, he’d go over and ogle the hardware. My best guess is that these guys are from a rival weapons manufacturer, trying to grab samples of Phule-Proof’s latest products to knock off. Or maybe they’re trying to supply a revolution somewhere, maybe on their home world.”
Phule leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, that’s certainly possible. I’ve pretty much given Harry blanket permission to turn a buck any way he sees fit, as long as the company doesn’t run out of anything it needs. So if he’s sold them a few spare weapons, I don’t see how it hurts us. He’s probably hit them with an outrageous markup—I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they paid more than if they’d gone directly to the factory. At Harry’s prices, it’s going to be one very expensive revolution, if that’s what they have in mind.”
Sushi considered a moment before responding. “I didn’t hear them trying to talk Harry into selling them anything, although it could have happened after I left. I think maybe they just plan to come back and help themselves some time when nobody’s looking. It’s not as if Harry guards the place all that carefully.”
“Hmm … that’s a different story, Sushi,” said Phule. “I’ll certainly have to look into it. Stealing from the depot? I don’t see how they expect to get away with something that blatant. If there’s enough reason to think they’re going to try that, I’ll just order them off the planet.”
“I would advise caution, sir,” said Beeker. “Remember who sent them here: your friend in high places, Ambassador Gottesman. I don’t know whether the ambassador is their accomplice or their dupe, but I do recall that
he appeared quite anxious to ensure that you would extend the company’s hospitality to them. One ought to be very certain of their criminal intentions before expelling them summarily. You do not have so many influential friends that you can afford to alienate one of them without excellent reasons.”
“I see,” said Phule. He mused for a while, then asked, “What if I get the Zenobians to demand that we kick them out? Chief Potentary Korg didn’t particularly want them here to begin with. I suspect he’d welcome a good pretext to send them packing. If Sushi’s right, I wouldn’t mind it myself.”
“That is quite understandable, sir,” said Beeker. “However, you are in a somewhat difficult position. Ambassador Gottesman may take it amiss if you appear to take the natives’ side against your own species. Even if we can find solid evidence of intended malfeasance, these rascals may be sufficiently well connected to defy us. Better if we could resolve the matter without their becoming aware of our part in foiling their intentions.”
“Which brings me to the second half of my plan,” said Sushi. “Have you noticed the machine that Flight Leftenant Qual and his team are working on—the Sklern?”
“One could hardly help noticing it,” said Beeker. “It seems quite an eccentric device, although I’ve yet to fathom its purpose. Ah … but perhaps you were going to inform us on that point, young man?”
Sushi smiled. “Why, yes, Beeker. Not only that, but unless I’ve completely misunderstood everything so far, I think it’s the whole answer to your problem.”
“Now you’ve got me really interested,” said Phule. “I tried to get Qual to explain it, but I couldn’t understand the first thing he was saying. Either he was giving me double-talk, or that stupid translator was acting up again.”
“Funny you should mention that,” said Sushi. “As it happens, that’s exactly the problem that led to my finding out what the Sklern really does. It started when Rev got an idea about trying to get the Zenobians to listen to his spiel about the King …”
* * *
“What we really need is to find out what those people want,” said Tullie Bascomb. “They were all ready to accept a buyout at something like eight cents on the dollar, and they walked on it when we told them their pictures had gone out as part of the casino’s standard publicity package. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, it looks very much as if they don’t want publicity,” said Rex, who was in charge of the Fat Chance Casino’s lavish entertainment program. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense to me; but then again, I’ve never been one to pass up a chance to get my face in front of a holo camera. You never know when somebody’ll come along with a job offer you can’t refuse.”
“Funny you should use that phrase,” said Bascomb, drumming his fingers on the desk. “I wonder …”
“Wonder what?” barked Victor Phule, who’d been sitting with growing discontent during the casino managers’ meeting. “I negotiated the deal, good old Ernie accepted, and it was your harebrained publicity department that queered it by forwarding his picture to the media without asking anybody whether it had been cleared. Send me to talk to him and that woman, and I can have them both eating out of our hand in no time flat.”
Bascomb grunted. “Hell, if you hadn’t stuck your nose in, and left deal-making to somebody who knew the rules everybody else was playing by, we’d have had the whole thing settled two days ago,” he said. “Now, if you’d let me finish what I was about to say …”
“Gentlemen, this is getting no place,” said Doc, the former character actor now playing the role of commanding officer of the Fat Chance Casino’s security force—a picked squad of actors in black uniforms, backed up by a few Legion veterans to supply real muscle on the off chance they had to deal with anything worse than an unruly drunk. “Why don’t you both back off instead of butting heads every thirty seconds? We might even figure out something to do, if the rest of us could get a word out of our mouths.”
Victor Phule and Tullie Bascomb glared at one another for a moment, but by their silence they appeared to accept Doc’s reprimand. Doc nodded. “Now, Tullie, what was the point you were about to make?”
Bascomb laid his hands on the table, palms up. “I’ve got an idea why Erkeep doesn’t want his name in the media, and maybe an idea what we can do about it,” he said. “I think he’s on a hit list somewhere, and he’s afraid the publicity’s going to give away his location.”
“There ought to be ways to deal with that,” said Rex. “Our makeup people can fix the winner so his own mother wouldn’t recognize him. And I suspect, with Mr. Phule’s help, we can find ways to get him and the young lady to almost any destination in the Alliance without attracting undue attention.’
“That’s fine, if the people looking for them aren’t too mad at them,” said Tullie. “But from the way they reacted, I suspect it won’t be enough.”
“I don’t get it,” said Victor Phule. “I mean, Ernie is a fine fellow—salt of the earth, if you know what I mean—but I don’t see us as having an infinite obligation to him. Pay the fellow off, whatever it costs, and give him and his lady first-class tickets to wherever they want to go, and that’s all. Story over.”
“It’d be nice if that was the whole story,” said Doc. “But I’m afraid the ending wouldn’t be anything we’d want to take credit for. Maybe I’m getting softheaded in my old age, but I’d like to think we’d take better care of somebody we promised we’d make a part owner of the casino. And I think Captain Jester would agree with me.”
“Perhaps he would,” said Victor Phule. “That doesn’t mean it’s a sound business decision.”
“Well, when you get right down to it, the captain put his own shares up for grabs at our urging, and lost them despite some pretty long odds,” said Rex. “And good business decision or not, maybe just out of basic consideration, he ought to get some say in how we treat the fellow that won them. Even if it wasn’t the fellow we originally meant to win.” He glanced significantly in Victor Phule’s direction. Phule snorted, but said nothing.
“That makes sense to me,” said Tullie. “Why don’t we give the captain a call and see what he suggests? It’s midevening, his time—so unless that planet’s got a lot more nightlife than it looks like on tri-vee, he ought to be within hailing range of his desk.”
“You’re bound and determined to involve him, so I see no point in wasting my breath,” said Victor Phule. “Go ahead—but don’t expect the boy to have anything sensible to say. I’d lay odds we’ll be no better off when you’ve talked to him than we are now.”
“I’d take that bet,” said Tullie Bascomb, reaching for the phone.
* * *
“That’s the sticking point,” said Tullie Bascomb to Phule. “I thought your father had talked them into accepting a buyout for a fraction of actual value—I have to give the old rascal credit, for once. I figured they’d hold out for at least ten million, more likely twenty, but he had them ready to bite on five! I was having a hard time keeping a straight face. But once they learned the casino had taken Erkeep’s picture, they hollered bloody murder and walked out.”
Phule sighed. The problem with the casino shares was not solving itself as smoothly as he’d expected. He didn’t particularly mind having lost them; he’d never have put them up as a prize if he’d cared that much. Besides, it was probably a good idea to hand his father some of the responsibility for keeping the business profitable for the members of Omega Company, who were the real majority stockholders. The old fellow’s business experience was nothing to sneeze at, even if it was in a different industry. Meanwhile, Phule could keep his attention focused on managing Omega Company—and his own portfolio.
But who’d have thought the jackpot winner would turn down a quick and easy payment of several million dollars just because the casino had taken his photo?
“There has to be an explanation,” said Phule. “Have they made any kind of counteroffer?”
“No, that’s what has me puzzled,” said Bas
comb. “They just walked out and left us trying to figure out where we’d gone wrong. At first we thought they’d figured out how low our offer really was. It was only when the stenobot played back their conversation that we even got a clue what the problem was.”
“Have they stayed in touch?” asked Phule. “I can’t imagine they’d give up that easily, when everything else seemed to be in place.”
“My guess is they’ll be back within a couple of days at the outside,” said Bascomb. “I called to run a few scenarios past you, to see how you want to handle them.”
“Tullie, you don’t need to ask me about every detail of the business,” said Phule. “You’re where you are because I trust your experience and your common sense. Use them, and don’t worry about me second-guessing you.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about, Captain,” said Bascomb.
There was a long pause.
Phule finally said, “Is it Dad you’re worried about? I don’t think you need to. He’s run a business for most of his life, and made it one of the most profitable in the galaxy …”
Bascomb cut him off. “And because of that, he thinks he knows everything there is to know about the business I’ve been running most of my life, and making a damned good profit at. It’s because of him that we’re in this mess, Captain. That’s why I want you signing off on our plans to handle the most likely reactions from Mr. Erkeep.”
Phule sighed. “All right, I understand,” he said. “If I know Dad, it’s not going to make much difference. I’m the one he thinks is incompetent, Tullie, not you. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gained a degree of respect for you by now. But I’ll give you what you need to cover yourself, if you think it’ll help. Tell me what you’re looking at.”
They spent the next half hour going over different scenarios Bascomb had sketched out, with Phule making occasional comments, but for the most part simply approving Bascomb’s plans without modification. On one occasion, Beeker broke in with a suggestion that both Phule and Bascomb immediately recognized as better than anything they’d thought of. Finally, Bascomb said, “All right, I think that covers everything I can foresee. Any other suggestions, Captain?”
The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set Page 136
