"All right, all right," said Double-X trying to smooth things over. He probably outweighed Super-Gnat by fifty kilos, but everybody in the company knew that what the little legionnaire started, she finished---with Tusk-anini ready to step in if he thought she wasn't getting a fair shake.
He rubbed his chin, and mused, "I guess all those big media stars got bios; so why not Bark?"
"Barky's bio says he's the most intelligent dog ever, too," said Super-Gnat, somewhat 'placated. "I read the whole thing when 1 was a kid. And watched his show every week. It was really triff, watching him chase the polluters."
"Yeah, except now he seems to think that we're polluters," said Sushi. "I don't know how he got that idea-the camp's about as green as you can get-I think we recycle everything we can, certainly anything likely to be useful if we ever had to fight somebody. Of course, the AEIOU probably doesn't take that point into consideration."
"War not healthy for ecologies," said Tusk-anini. "Best reason to prevent war, I thinking."
"Maybe that dog do be smarter than he looks." said Street, nodding. "Course, I knowed he was right smart all along when he went bitin' on Double-X." That set off another round of good-natured insults and arguments that went on until closing time. The legionnaires went to bed without figuring out what to do about Barky, or how to deal with the AEIOU mission to Zenobia, although they talked enough about those problems to solve them half a dozen times.
It probably would not have made them any happier to know that their superior officers were having no better luck.
Victor Phule popped a token into the slot of the machine facing him and pulled the lever. There was something gratifying about the activity; just enough mechanical resistance, a sound of gears engaging and wheels spinning-even though he'd been told that the sounds were actually synthesized effects, and the gears and wheels were simulations that had nothing to do with the choice of which symbols the machine would display. Instead, an elaborately sealed Heisenberg circuit determined the winning (or more often, losing) combination. Whoever had designed the machines had done her job well, Phule grudgingly admitted. It felt as if you could actually use the handle to control which symbols appeared, even when your brain knew the facts to 'be otherwise.
The "wheels" spun to a halt, and Victor Phule inspected the three symbols in front of him: a bell, a cherry, and a lemon. No payout; this time. Phule picked up his Slate-omat and entered the result. On the whole, he was fortyseven thousand dollars in the red at this point. Considering that the bank of machines he was playing took nothing less than five-thousand-dollar tokens, that was a pittance. One decent payout, and he'd be ahead of the game. One significant jackpot, and he'd rake in more for one play than any but the top casino executives made in a year. And if he hit the big one... He chuckled. It was only a matter of time.
He was mildly surprised that nobody else seemed interested in these particular machines. Yes, the price of a play was high, but the payouts were proportionate1y richer than anything else in the Fat Chance Casino. Even thirty-five to one, the odds for playing a single number at the roulette table, was a paltry reward compared to the million-to-one superjackpot the casino had posted for these machines.
Well, if no one else played, no one else had a chance to win, did they? Determinedly, Victor Phule fished in his pocket and took out another token.
He was about to feed it into the machine when someone close behind him said, "Having any luck today?"
He turned to see a woman's face-youngish, darkhaired, and rather pretty, though not on the vidstar level. Almost inevitably, she knew who he was and how much money he had; Victor Phule was not without ego, but he had no reason to believe he was the type of man who would appeal to many women if his wealth were suddenly to disappear. On the other hand, he had an excellent notion of just how attractive that-wealth was to almost everyone else he met. After all, the galaxy has room for only a limited number of multibillionaires--which meant that the vast majority of those around him at any given time had far less money than he, and had at least some interest in altering what they perceived as. an unnatural imbalance. From Victor Phule's point of view, of course, that imbalance was very much the natural state of affairs, and he saw no reason to give anyone a chance to change it to his disadvantage.
So his first response to the question was to verify, out of the comer of his eye, that his bodyguard was nearby, paying due attention to the situation. Sure enough, Eddie Grossman was only a step or two away, pretending to play the slots while looking in his direction. The guard lifted a forefinger to his left ear, signaling that he had already scanned the woman for weapons and found nothing to set off his alarms. Good-that eliminated one source of worry, although there were of course plenty of ways to damage or kill someone without carrying a detectable weapon.
That verified, Victor Phule decided to indulge himself with a few moments' conversation. "Luck doesn't enter into it," he said. "Beating these machines is easy, if you have a good system and stick to it"
"You must have a lot of faith in your system," said the woman, eyeing the machine that Phule had just been playing. "Could you teach me how you play?" Victor Phule looked at her again, sizing her up.. "You don't look as if you have enough money to play on these machines," he said. "They're five thousand dollars minimum..."
"Yes, that's what convinced me you must have a good system," said the woman. She paused, then said, "My name's Lola, by the way."
Phule ignored her attempt to get his name. "You need to get a set of five machines and protect them from anyone else playing them until you've won your quota. So if you were thinking about putting a token in one of these, forget about it" Lola smiled.
"I'm afraid that even if I had your confidence, I don't have your bankroll. If I like your system enough to try it, it'll be on the five-dollar machines. But go ahead, Mr... . ?
"Next thing is, you have to set yourself an amount you're going to win, and once you win it, you stop for the day. Slot machines are calibrated to take a certain percentage of the bets made on them, so you have to resist the belief that you can hit the jackpot twice in a row."
"I see," said Lola. "So you're feeding your own bank of machines until they payoff, then quitting while you're ahead."
"Yes, essentially that's it," said Victor Phule. "I'm betting that most of the players are too undisciplined to follow a system like mine. So their losses build the jackpot even bigger for me, you see."
"I guess so," said Lola, nodding dubiously. "But what happens if..." But by then Victor Phule had decided that the young woman was interesting, but not enough so to distract him from his mission of breaking the bank at the Fat Chance Casino. He rubbed his palms together, a signal to the bodyguard, and said, "Well, Miss, it's been a pleasure talking to you. But I really have to get back to work here." And no sooner were the words out of his mouth than Eddie Grossman was there, gently taking the woman by the elbow and steering her toward the exit, talking quietly to her. Eddie was good at what he did-most likely, the young woman would never be aware that she'd been given the brush-off. If he wanted to renew The conversation, it would be as if nothing had ever broken it off.
He put a token in the slot and pulled the lever... .
Lola walked out of the High Rollers' Lounge in the Fat Chance Casino burning with curiosity. Her first encounter with Victor Phule had been, much stranger than shed had expected. About the only thing that fit any predictable pattern was the bodyguard's moving in gently to encourage her to end the conversation with his client Phule must have flashed him some signal she'd missed. But that was all right-she'd actually gotten to talk to him much longer than she'd hoped to. Unfortunately, she hadn't learned very much of use. Victor Phule's explanations of why he was playing the casino's quantum slots didn't make any sense-and that set off all her alarms. She didn't see any reason to point out.
that nobody else but the armaments tycoon was playing the five-thou sand-dollar machines. Without the undisciplined players he depended on to build up the l
osses, his supposed "system" was nonsense. Besides, everybody but the most unthinking fish knew that the slots gave the worst odds in the whole casino. Obviously, nobody who could build a financial empire like Phule-Proof Industries could be so cavalier about throwing away his money. So there must be something else going on here. What was Victor Phule's real game? Was his conspicuous high rolling nothing more than shilling, meant to encourage others to play recklessly? Was his so-called system just a way to convince players that the slots might not be the bad investment that every sensible gambler claimed they were? Or was something even deeper going on here? Lola did her best to keep her face cheerful, to keep Victor Phule talking. Whatever his game was, she intended to find out-and to be there to scam him out of a share of the proceeds, whenever it did payoff. It wasn't going to be an easy job, Lola told herself. But it had a lot better chance of paying off than Victor Phule's system for playing the slots. And whether or not he realized it, she had a lot more at stake than he did. She smiled again. Always bet on the hungry fighter, said the old gambler's cliche. One thing for sure: she was a lot hungrier than Victor Phule. And she was going to get her bite out of him, one way or another.
Back at Zenobia Base, Willard Phule's wrist intercom buzzed, then Mother's voice came through the speaker.
"Hate to wake you up, cutie pie, but we've detected an incoming ship. You might want to tidy up before they get here."
Phule, who had been wide-awake {it was midaftenoon, after all) and working at his desk, grinned "Thanks, Mother," he said.
"That must be the party of bigwigs we've got to entertain for Ambassador Gottesman. Try to hail them, and patch me in when they answer."
"Will do, sweetums," puited Mother, and she broke the connection.
"Do you plan to meet these, uh, bigwigs in person?" asked Beeker, looking up from the financial program he'd been running.
"Sure, if it really is them," said Phule. "I'm not going to go charging out to meet just anybody again. I learned my lesson with those AEIOU inspectors. I all but rolled out the red carpet for them, and they've been nothing but trouble ever since."
"That's an understatement, sir," said Beeker, sniffing faintly. "I found them an unpleasant company from the beginning. I am more and more convinced that they were dispatched here by one of your enemies and now need to find sufficient violations to justify the expense of shipping them to this planet."
"It does seem like the kind of thing General Blitzkrieg would try," Phule said, musing. "Although it might even be a bit too subtle for him. He's more the kind to try something direct, like sending Major Botchup to replace me in command. That's the old Legion way, which is all Blitzkrieg seems to understand."
"I don't think I'd use the term understand to describe the general's mental processes," said Beeker. "Still, I wouldn't be so quick to overlook the possibility that he might from time to time come into the possession of competent advice and actually follow it. Even as you do on occasion, sir."
Phule stared at Beeker, trying to figure out whether or not the butler expected him to take offense at the comment.
After a long moment, he shrugged, and said, "Well, I can't deny the possibility. But now that they're here, figuring out who sicced them on us is secondary to figuring out how to get them off the company's back. 1 think we're about as environment-friendly..."
"A barbarous locution," muttered Beeker.
Phule hesitated one beat, then continued, "About as environmental-friendly as we can be and still carry out our mission," he said. He was used by now to the butler's correcting his grammar and diction on the fly, although he couldn't always figure out exactly what Beeker was objecting to. Judging from Beeker's sour expression, his attempt to correct himself hadn't made things any better. "Besides, this is the Zenobians' home world," he added. "I'd think as long as they're happy with the company's performance, a bunch of Alliance bureaucrats don't have much to say about it."
"Don't be so sure of that, sir," said Beeker. "Have you looked into the precise terms on which Zenobia joined the Alliance? 1 would be very surprised if the natives of a new world were allowed to come in without major concessions to the powers that be-of which the regulatory bureaucracy is a not insignificant constituent. Having gotten a toehold on this world, the AEIOU is bound to do all it can to increase its power and influence here. No sensible person could expect otherwise."
"Hmmm . .." Phule frowned. "I think I'm going to send Chief Potentary Korg a note about these people, emphasizing that they came without our being informed.
From the way he acted when 1 told him about the hunting party, he's pretty touchy about what off-worlders try to do on Zenobia..." Phule was interrupted by the buzz of his communicator.
"Captain, we've made contact with the incoming ship," said- Mother. "Just as you thought-it's those' fat cats Ambassador Gottesman sent here. You want talk to them, or shall I send them away?"
"Oh, thanks, Mother," said Phule. "Of course I'll talk to them-put them through." Then a new thought crossed his mind. "Umm... actually, give me a moment to think about where to have them land. I'd rather not have the AEIOU people notice them."
"It'll be rather a challenge to keep someone from noticing a nearby shuttle landing, sir," said Beeker. "At least, I can think of nothing short of having them alight on the opposite side of the planet, which hardly seems compatible with the ambassador's orders to treat them as honored guests."
"You're right," muttered Phule. "Wait a moment! Why don't we invite the AEIOU people to tour our base, show them all the latest environment-friendly features built into it..."
"It's still a barbarous locution," said Beeker.
"And while they're indoors, the bigwigs' shuttle can land without the AEIOU team noticing it," Phule continued. He was grinning, now. "We just have to keep the two groups from noticing one another! Mother, you call the AEIOU team and extend the invitation-nicely, mind you! I'll talk to the hunters and stall them while we get the environmentalists out of the way. If we play our cards right, we can keep them from ever knowing of each other's presence. And maybe we can even persuade the AEIOU that we're really nice guys, after all."
"It's a really stupid idea, but it just might work," said Mother. "I'll do my best, sweetie. But if they bring Barky, all bets are off."
"I doubt we can get them to leave Barky behind," said Phule. "Well, just warn everybody-particularly the nonhumans in the company-that he's coming, and that they might want to watch their step."
"In case Barky decides to drop a little pollution on his own?" asked Mother. Before Phule could answer, she said, "I'll pass the word, sweetie-poo. Hold on, now-I'm patching the hunters through." There was a light crackling sound from Phule's wrist communicator, and a red LED glowed.
"Hello!" said Phule. "This is Captain Jester of Omega Company. Welcome to Zenobia! I've got my people preparing a landing area for you, so I'm going to ask you to take one more orbit of the planet." Beeker rolled his eyes. He knew, as surely as he knew Zenobia's sun would rise the next morning, that there was going to be more trouble. And he knew perfectly well whose job it was going to be to get Phule out of it. He sighed. He'd taken the job with open eyes, and there was no point getting annoyed about it now. Still, the boy ought to have learned something by now...
8
Journal #688
My employer, for all his dedication to the military life, was at bottom a businessman. In that, he resembled his father. He also resembled that gentleman in a firm conviction that his own view of the world was fundamentally accurate, and that others who did not share it were in need of correction. Unlike his father, he was at least willing to give those others sufficient data to arrive at such a correction. It did not occur to him that others might interpret the same data differently...
It must have been some such motivation that induced him to invite the AEIOU inspection team to tour the Legion base camp. The fact that, to all appearances, they had come to the planet with. the express purpose of shutting down that very camp seemed t
o carry no weight with him.
Surely he can't have been so foolish as to believe that an afternoon's VIP tour would be enough to overcome the chief inspector's evident belief that a military unit was by its very definition incapable of adhering to environmentally correct policies.
"Welcome to Zenobia Base," said Lieutenant Rembrandt, smiling as she met Chief Inspector Snieff and her AEIOU team in the courtyard. Phule had chosen her and Sushi, who had the closest approximation of all his legionnaires to something resembling diplomatic temperament, to make up the greeting party.
The three AEIOU inspectors, accompanied by Barky, the Environmental Dog, had walked from their camp to the Legion base. Phule had, of course, offered to send a hoverjeep for them, but Snieff had turned him down peremptorily. "Nonessential energy use is a crime against posterity," she snarled. "The Legion should have a greater sense of its role in preserving precious resources." Now Chief Inspector Snieff looked suspiciously at Omega Company's modular base camp unit. "I see a great many artificial materials being used here," she said. "That must have had a high energy cost." She and her two assistants were wearing uniforms of some coarsely woven natural fiber.
"We don't have very much choice in a semiarid setting," said Rembrandt. "The Zenobians insisted that we site our base camp here, so as not to use up territory they considered more valuable. As you may know..."
"The Zenobians should consider all their territory untouchable," said Inspector Slurry. "If the locals can't recognize its value, it's our mission to show them. We have already had ample occasion to marvel at the wildlife in this area..."
"That's funny," said Sushi, with a broad smile. "I've had quite a few encounters with the wildlife out there. As best as I can recall, I was usually too busy trying to keep the little beasties from biting or stinging me to have much time left to marvel at them. Do you have some kind of secret vermin repellent, or do the local critters just respect your proper green attitude?"
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