No Phule Like an Old Phule

by Robert Asprin

  The light came on, on Phule's desk, then the ambassador's voice came through. "Hello, Captain Jester-I hope all's well out your way," said the ambassador.

  "Coming along very smoothly, sir," said Phule. "The Zenobians have pretty much accepted us as the logical go betweens in their attempts to establish relations with the Nanoids. And our talks with the Nanoids have progressed to the point where we can begin to address substantive issues."

  "Good, good," said the ambassador. "State's hoping to get a xenological team there to handle these negotiations on a more professional basis, but until one of the two native parties makes a formal request we can't very well stick our nose in. Have you seen any sign that either side is likely to make such a request?"

  "Nothing so far, sir," said Phule. "But the Zenobians are still not convinced that the Nanoids aren't off-planet intruders, and to be honest with you we can't prove that, either. We're moving along as best we can, but 1 can't say there's any sign of a major breakthrough yet."

  "Well, if you're doing your best, that's likely to be as good a job as anyone can do," said Gottesman. "We'll just have to bide our time. Ghu knows, we're used to that in the diplomatic branch. But here's something you can do for us in the meantime, Captain. 1 understand Zenobia is pretty much an untamed world, out beyond the natives' urban centers."

  "I suppose so," said Phule. "Out where we are is certainly wild enough. What do you have in mind, sir?"

  The ambassador cleared his throat, and said, "Well, as it happens, we've got a number of civilians who've done the government a few favors over the years, if you know what 1 mean. And it so happens that some of them have gotten the idea that there might be some fairly large game running loose on Zenobia-something on the order of the larger dinosaurs. Am 1 right about that, Captain?"

  "Well, there are some fairly large specimens here, if what 1 saw in the zoo back in the capital city is any indication," said Phule. "I can't say I've seen any such in the wild, though-we're out here in the desert, you know, and most of the animals I've seen out here are fairly small although a few of them are pretty nasty. But most of the larger creatures on this world seem to be swamp-dwellers. Anyway, the natives don't really seem to want us trampling through their swamps-I get the idea those are prime recreation areas, from their point of view."

  "I see," said the ambassador. "Well, 1 may ask you to talk to some of their people to see if we can get some exceptions made. There are a couple of VIPs who've taken a fancy to do some serious big-game hunting, and they've gotten the notion that some of the beasties there on Zenobia are about as big as they come. Have you heard anything about an animal the natives call a gryff?"

  "Not much more than the name," admitted Phule.

  "From what the natives say, I'd guess it's a big, slow moving, and rather stupid herbivore. Not very exciting to hunt, I'd imagine."

  "Nothing's very exciting to hunt, as far as I'm concerned," said the ambassador. "Much more civilized to play TetraGo in a comfortable chair with a cold drink close to hand. But there's no accounting for tastes. 1 get the impression that if it's big enough, that's all the justification some of these fellows need. How much trouble do you think it'd be to get the Zenobians' permission for a party of off-worlders to come in and bag a few trophies?"

  "All can promise is to give it a try." said Phule, dubiously. "Give me a couple of days, and I'll get back to you if 1 can convince them..."

  "Great, 1 knew 1 could count on you," said Ambassador Gottesman. "And remember, you can always call on me if you need anything that State can help with. Gotta run..." And he closed the connection.

  "Well, the Zenobians aren't going to like this one bit," said Phule, looking across the Office-at Beeker, who'd sat there silently during the call. "I can imagine Chief Potentary Korg's face when 1 run this idea past him."

  "Something like this was inevitable, sir," said the butler. "The State Department didn't support you for this assignment out of altruism, you know. It was just a matter of time before the quid pro quo became obvious."

  "Well, Gottesman has taken our side against the general more than once;" said Phule. "I can't refuse him something in return. It's only fair."

  Beeker sniffed. "There's nothing fair about it," he said. "In fact, it has a distinct odor..."

  "So we'll hold our noses and do what we can," said Phule, with a resigned tone. "If the Zenobians say no, that'll be an end to it."

  "I doubt it, sir," said Beeker, but Phule wasn't listening.

  3

  Journal #653

  The job description of a junior Legion officer-and make no mistake about it, my employer was extremely junior does not in the normal course of affairs include diplomatic negotiations with the supreme rulers of alien planets. For the most part, a Legion captain is expected to avoid attracting the notice of 'anyone other than his immediate superiors. As far as any actual decision-making, that Is best left to those qualified, which in practice usually means the sergeants nominally under his command.

  In this matter as in many others, my employer had made himself the exception, as much by sheer luck as by any great personal initiative. Having been the first human- to make contact with the Zenobians, he found himself invited to lead the first military expedition to the home world of that unusual race. And, more or less by default, once on Zenobia, he became the senior representative of the Alliance government. As a result, he was responsible for the negotiation of all kinds of business between off worlders and the natives.

  As the astute reader will already have grasped, this had both its advantages-notably the possibility of putting himself in the position of prime beneficiary of any unusually lucrative business-and its disadvantages. After a number of months on the planet; my employer had just begun to realize just what some of the latter might be.

  "That is impossible, Captain," said Chief Potentary Korg. Phule couldn't read the Zenobian leader's face, but there wasn't much doubt about what his words meant. The translator's confidence-level readout was sitting on 93% +/-5%.

  Between the languages of two races of sophonts that had evolved on separate planets with no interspecies contact until the last couple of years, electronic translation didn't get any more confident than that. At least, the machine seemed to think so...

  "The Legion doesn't like to use that word," said Phule, with a smile he hoped the Zenobian would read the same way a human would. A display of teeth wasn't necessarily a friendly gesture, especially when dealing with a race of carnivorous dinosaur-like aliens, but so far he hadn't had any adverse reactions to the expression.

  "The Legion's lexical preferences are not my affair," said Korg. He showed his own teeth-which Phule knew was probably equivalent to a human smile. At least, when Flight Leftenant Qual showed his teeth, it was a smile. So at least the Zenobian didn't seem to be personally offended by the request. It looked more as if his refusal was a policy matter that Phule could turn around by offering a few incentives.

  Phule had dealt with that kind of problem before. "Of course, we - wouldn't expect to bring a party of off-world hunters onto your planet without some compensation..." he began.

  "Compensation?" Korg blinked. "It is not a matter that can be orthagonalized by compensation, Captain. This is the sacred ancestral swampland of the Zenobian race that you propose I allow your off-world hunters to invade."

  Phule held up his hands. "Chief Korg, I hope you don't think I'd come to you with such an unseemly proposal. In fact, we offworlders are only here at your invitation. It would be very bad form for us to try to tell you to open up any particular areas of your beautiful planet for off-world visitors. But you were willing to open an area that your people weren't using for our Legion camp: Why not another area for off-world people to hunt in-for appropriate compensation, of course?"

  Korg stood up and went to the window, staring out at the huge asparagus-like trees that lined the street outside. After a moment he turned to face the video pickup, and said, "I will take this under consideration. There may be a
reas we can allow your hunters to visit-as long as they remain within the-bounds specified, and destroy only those species we permit And at the same time I shall determine what compensation ought to be appropriate-if your hunters are prosperous enough to come visit Zenobia simply to hunt, I would expect that they can sustain a significant disbursement for the privilege."

  "That sounds like something we can agree on," said Phule. "Could you have some of your people give me a list of areas that might become available for hunting? And, if possible, some indication of what kind of game would be available in those areas? Once I have that in hand, we can begin to find out how much our bigwigs might-be willing to pay for the privilege of coming here to hunt."

  "So let it be encoded," said Chief Potentary Korg. "So let it be done." He closed the videophone connection.

  Phule turned to Beeker, who had sat just out of the video pickup's field of view, monitoring the exchange.

  "Well, Beeks, I think we've got what we're after-assuming the old lizard doesn't set too high a price for shooting his dinos."

  "Since State will be footing the bill, I suspect the price will be no object, sir," said Beeker.

  "They can simply have the IRS pass the cost along to the taxpayers-business as usual, in other words."

  "IRS?" said Phule. "Ugh-don't remind me. If you hadn't found me a galaxy-sized loophole, those bloodsuckers would have drained me dry. I'm amazed they gave up so easily."

  "Don't be so sure that they have, sir," said Beeker. "Or alternatively, that they haven't persuaded their friends in other government agencies to single you out for their attentions. It may be no coincidence that the Alliance Ecological Interplanetary Observation Union has chosen to request an environmental impact statement from you, not exactly the thing one would expect them to require of a military unit, if you follow me."

  "Oh, I doubt that's anything to worry about," said Phule. He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. "Odds are, it's just some bureaucrat looking for a way to pressure us into tossing him a bribe. I don't mind that-as long as the rascal stays properly bribed, once I've paid him."

  "There's never any real guarantee of that, sir," said Beeker. "The best one can hope for is that not too many other bureaucrats learn where the pot of gold is located. But sooner or later, they're certain to sniff it out."

  "We'll worry about that if it happens," said Phule. "And unless I get old and fat before my time, I'll have moved on to something else by the time they realize they might be able to get a few credits out of me. It's hard to pick a man's pockets when he won't stand still and wait for you."

  "I hope you're right, sir," said Beeker. "One never ought to underestimate one's enemies-especially when they wield the power to tax and to imprison."

  "Oh, I won't underestimate them, old bean," said Phule.

  "But I'm not about to let them scare me, either."

  "Very well, sir," said Beeker, but his expression made it clear that he had ample reservations.

  "Well, if you're trying to hide anything from me, you're doing a damned good job of it," said Victor Phule, grudgingly.

  "The captain brought in some pretty slick accountants," said Tullie Bascomb, with a shrug. "In this business, your bookkeeper can make you almost as much money as your bookmaker."

  "Understood," said Victor Phule. "That's precisely why I asked to examine both sets of books-more to the point, it's why I'm still not entirely convinced they're accurate. Are you certain you don't have a third set you're hiding from me?"

  "If there's a third set, the captain hasn't told me anything about it," said Bascomb. The casino manager stood comfortably at the foot of the desk where Phule was working, showing no signs of anxiety. "Not that it's any of my business, you understand," he continued. "I make sure the floor's running smoothly, and leave the rest up to the people the captain's put in charge. He wants my opinion, all he has to do is ask. But I'm not going to stick my nose into their business."

  Victor Phule shuffled the hard copy pages, thinking. He knew better than to comment on Bascomb's unstated corollary: that a certain nose that was being stuck into the captain's business and that it didn't belong there. Still, he made a mental note of the crack. Bascomb was far as he could tell, a thoroughly competent manager, but it was worth remembering that his loyalty lay with the younger Phule.

  That was all right with Victor Phule, as long Bascomb was willing to do as good a job for the father he'd done for the son-assuming, of course, that Bascomb had been doing a good job for the son. As long as he was sticking his nose into his son's business, Victor Phule intended to find that out as well. If he was going to stir up resentment, he might as well do a thorough job of it.

  He stood up from the desk and said to Bascomb, "I can see already that the gambling operations are driving the entire business-it looks as if everything else you're doing is designed to attract customers to the casino floor to bet. So I want you to show me through the casino, give me a satellite view of all that's involved in that end of the business."

  "OK," said Bascomb, without any great show of enthusiasm. "You want the tour right now?"

  "Right now," said Victor Phule, his voice absolutely level. It was time to show Bascomb who was boss. Phule hadn't built a galaxywide munitions business by being soft on his people. That appeared to be a lesson his son had failed to learn. Well, if the boy couldn't do a man's job, there was a man here ready to do it. He smiled coldly.

  "Lead the way," he said, and fell in behind Bascomb as the casino boss led him out of the office. Behind Phule came his bodyguard, quiet and unobtrusive.

  Their first stop was a large room filled with video screens showing the casino from the viewpoint of the myriad cameras mounted above the floors. For every two or three screens, there was a casino employee intently peering at the scenes on display. "This is the nerve center of the whole operation," said Bascomb. "Everything that goes on is recorded, so any funny business that goes on can be nipped in the bud. There's always somebody who thinks he can beat us at our own game. We don't mind the system players-in the long run no system can change the fact that the odds are rigged in the house's favor. If a few people win in the short run, that just encourages more people to try to beat us. And the bigger the handle, the bigger our profit."

  "So what are you looking for?" asked Victor Phule.

  "You've got a lot of expensive equipment here, and a lot of people sitting here watching it. What are they doing to earn their pay?"

  "We're looking for two things," said Bascomb. "Professional cheaters can cost us, at least if they can get in and out before we catch them. We've got a database of known cheaters that we share with the other major betting houses, and we can spot most of the grifters before they even get to the betting tables-sometimes even before they set foot in the casinos. Watch this." He touched a remote control and a nearby monitor changed its display. Now it showed an elderly Asian woman pumping chips into a bank of quantum slots, with the zombielike affect of so many bored retired people. "Can you see what made us pick her out?" asked Bascomb.

  Victor Phule squinted at the display. "No," he said, then, "Wait a minute. She's not using the same tokens as everybody else, is she? They're counterfeits!"

  "Pretty good," said Bascomb, grudgingly. "Maybe we could get you a job as a spotter. But here's the real catch she's not just putting in counterfeit tokens, they're specially improved. Every one of them has a chip designed to increase her odds of winning one of the big jackpots. We might not have spotted it except she got caught five years ago doing the same thing at the Horny'toad Casino. She changed her disguise, but we still got her once the computer matched up her appearance with her MO. And a good thing-if we'd let her play a couple of hours, she was likely to walk out with ten or twenty thousand. Now look at this one." The grandmotherly type disappeared and was replaced by a middle-aged businessman in ostentiously casual garb at the craps table. At the end of a play, the man scooped a pile of chips off the table and walked casually toward the cashi
er's booth. "Do you see the hustle?" asked Bascomb.

  Victor Phule scratched his head. "Run it again:" he said, annoyed that he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.

  "OK, keep your eyes open," said Bascomb, with a smirk.

  Again the scene played out-perhaps ten seconds long.

  "I've got it!" said Phule. "Right where he turns, and his hand goes in his pocket----I don't know what he's doing, but that's got to be when he does it." Bascomb laughed. "Nab, he's just putting his hand in his pocket, maybe to check his hotel key. As far as we can tell, he wasn't doing anything this time." Victor Phule glowered. "So what's the point, then?" Bascomb toggled the remote, and the display changed to show the businessman and the Asian woman side by side. "The point is, this is the same hustler you saw before.

  Different day, different disguise."

  "That's hard to believe," said Phule, peering intently at the two faces. "They're so different..."

  "Right, and so are these," said Bascomb, toggling the remote to show a series of other faces: a flashily dressed young male, a weary-looking little fellow who might have been a file clerk, a statuesque black woman... "And the damnedest part is, the hustler isn't even human," he added.

  "You see what we have to deal with?"

  "I guess I do," said Victor Phule, shaking his head.