Phules Paradise

by Robert Asprin

  "This is a replay of the call I just received," he said. "I want to know what you think of it."

  As he spoke, the image of General Blitzkrieg materialized in the room, seated at his desk, leaning forward on his elbows, his hands clasped in front of him.

  "Good morning, Captain Jester." The image smiled. "Sorry to wake you so early."

  "Actually," came Phule's phantom voice, "it's afternoon here, sir."

  While interstellar communications were now commonplace, the problem of coordinating days, much less hours, between widely separated settlements still remained.

  "Whatever." The general shrugged. "I have some good news for you, Captain. You and your company are being reassigned to a new duty. Orders are being cut, which will be sent to you along with the detailed briefing material, but I thought I should call you personally to let you know what's going on."

  "That's good of you, sir. What is the new assignment?"

  "It's a really sweet job." The general smiled. "Basic security guard work, actually. The nice part is that you'll be guarding the Fat Chance-the newest, biggest casino on Lorelei. Easy duty in paradise, if you ask me. What do you say to that?"

  "My first reaction would have to be `Why us?' ... sir."

  The general's smile tightened a little.

  "Mostly because the owner specifically requested you and your outfit, Captain. I guess all that showboating you've been doing for the media is finally paying dividends."

  "What I meant, sir, was why turn to the Space Legion at all? Our fees are significantly higher than any number of normal uniformed security services. Who is the owner, anyway?"

  "I have it right here," the general said, referring to a sheet of paper on the desk before him. "Yes. Here it is. The contracting party is Gunther Rafael."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  "What was that, Captain?"

  "There are two things wrong with that, General," Phule said hurriedly. "First of all, while I've never met Mr. Rafael, I'm familiar with his reputation, and he's always been dead set against gambling of any form. Consequently it's hard for me to believe that he owns a casino."

  "I see." The general frowned. "And the other?"

  "The other thing is that Gunther Rafael died nearly a year ago."

  "He did?" Blitzkrieg was scowling now, examining the paper again. "Ah! Here's the problem. My mistake, Captain. It's Gunther Rafael, Junior, that's hiring you. Apparently the son doesn't share his father's dislike of gambling. Does that answer your question?"

  "Not my first question: Why us?"

  "Maybe he thinks hiring you will generate some publicity. You'll have to ask Mr. Rafael that," the general said. "But let me warn you, Captain, it's not the Legion policy to try to discourage clients from hiring us. Get my drift?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Very well. As I said, your orders will be forthcoming. Another Legion company has been dispatched to take over your current assignment. You and your company are to leave for Lorelei as soon as they arrive. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "All right. Enjoy your new assignment, Captain Jester. Blitzkrieg out."

  Phule turned off the holo unit and sank into a chair.

  "All right, Beeker," he said. "What's wrong with this picture?"

  The butler pursed his lips thoughtfully.

  "Well," he said, "aside from the obvious questions raised by your getting your assignment directly from General Blitzkrieg as opposed to Colonel Battleax, who is your immediate superior in the so-called chain of command, I guess my feelings could be summed up in one question: Why is this man smiling?"

  The commander made little beckoning circles with his hand.

  "Elaborate."

  "It has been my distinct impression," the butler continued, "that the general holds you in something less than highest esteem. In fact, it would be safe to say that he would rather chew ground glass than give you the time of day, much less do you a favor. I therefore think it would be safe to assume that if he is taking the time to inform you personally of your new assignment, and is happy about doing it, the assignment is in all probability much less desirable than he is making it out to be."

  "Check." Phule nodded. "A bit long-winded, perhaps, but dead on the money with my own assessment."

  "You did ask me to elaborate, sir," Beeker said, a little stung by the "long-winded" accusation.

  "The problem is," the commander continued as if his butler hadn't spoken, "how to find out what the trap is before we step in it."

  "If I might say so, sir, I believe the general himself has given you the answer to that problem."

  "How's that?"

  "You could check the recording again, but as I recall, he specifically instructed you to obtain additional information on the assignment directly from the casino owner."

  "He did, didn't he?" Phule smiled, then raised his wrist communicator once more.

  "Mother?"

  "Yes, O Exalted One?"

  "Put a call through for me. I want to speak with Gunther Rafael, Junior ... at the Fat Chance Casino on Lorelei."

  The call took nearly an hour to put through, though most of that time seemed to be spent trying to locate the person who was to receive it. When Gunther Rafael finally did take the call, the image which formed before Phule was less than encouraging.

  What the holo-projection showed was an acned youth who didn't look old enough to be admitted to a casino, much less own one.

  "Mr. Phule?" the image said, peering at a point slightly to the left of where Phule was standing. "Hi. Gunther Rafael here. Gee, I'm really glad you called ... I've been waiting to hear from you for a long time now."

  "You have?" Phule was a little taken aback at this.

  "Well, yeah. I sent in my request for your services nearly a month ago, and the Space Legion accepted it almost immediately."

  From the corner of his eye, Phule saw Beeker lean back in his chair and stare at the ceiling, and knew the time lapse between the acceptance of the contract and their notification of its existence wasn't lost on the butler.

  "I see," the Legionnaire said. "Well, I only received the assignment recently, and was hoping you could provide me with a few more details so I could brief my troops before we arrive."

  The youth frowned. "It's not that hard to understand. I thought I made it clear in my request. I want you to keep those scumbags from taking over my casino, and I don't care if you have to gun every one of them down to do it!"

  Beeker was suddenly sitting upright in his chair, staring at the image in disbelief. Of course, the way the cameras were situated, the only image being sent was that of Phule, who held up his hand in a gesture of restraint.

  "Mr. Rafael ..." he began.

  "Please, make it 'Gunther,'" the youth interrupted with a quick smile.

  "Very well"-Phule nodded-"and in return, please call me 'Jester.'"

  "Jester? But aren't you-"

  "It's my name within the Legion," Phule explained with a shrug. "Anyway ... Gunther ... the information channels within the Legion can be slow and often distort the details of the original request, which is why I'm calling you directly. To be sure we're both on the same wavelength, could you briefly explain the assignment to me ... as if I were hearing it for the first time?"

  "Well, since Dad died, I've been liquidating his holdings so I could finally try to make my dream come true: to own and run the biggest and best hotel and casino on Lorelei-"

  "Have you ever owned or worked in a casino before?" Phule interrupted.

  "No ... but I know it can be done! I can offer better odds than any other casino on Lorelei and still turn a profit. I worked it all out on paper in college. What's more, I can attract the bulk of the tourists if they know they're getting the best odds and that the games are straight." Gunther's eyes were alight with enthusiasm.

  Phule, on the other hand, was unmoved.

  "But you've never actually worked in a casino before."

  "No, I haven't," the youth admit
ted with a grimace. "That's why I've hired an experienced casino manager, Huey Martin, to run things for me while I learn."

  "I see," the Legionnaire said, making a mental note of the name. "Go on."

  "Well, a while back I learned that there was a chance that criminals were going to try to take over my place once it was open, and I didn't know what to do. The police here on Lorelei may be great for keeping the muggers away from the tourists, but they aren't up to handling anything like this! Then I saw the reports on how you managed to stop an alien invasion with just a handful of troops, and figured if you could do that, you should be able to stop common crooks from taking over my casino."

  "So that's the assignment," Phule said slowly, steadfastly ignoring Beeker, who was now slumped in his chair, his arms folded, one hand over his eyes. "To guard your casino against a hostile takeover by a gang of criminals."

  "Sure." Gunther beamed. "I figure with your uniformed troops standing in full view, the customers will feel safer, and those scumbags will think twice before they try any rough stuff."

  "All right ... there are several things I'm going to need, Gunther, and I'd appreciate it if you could transmit them to me here on Haskin's Planet as soon as possible. I'm going to want copies of the floor plans and blueprints for the hotel-particularly the casino area-showing electrical and security systems. I also want to see copies of all your personnel files on all employees, starting with Huey Martin's, and ... did you say you weren't open yet?"

  "Well, parts of the casino are open, but I'm doing a lot of remodeling. There's going to be a big grand opening to launch the new operation."

  "We can't leave our current assignment until our replacements arrive," Phule said, almost to himself, "then there's time in transit, and ... Gunther, can you hold your grand opening until at least a week after we arrive?"

  "I ... guess so. Why do you want my personnel records?"

  "Let's just say I like to have some idea of who's at our backs while we're standing guard ... Oh, and speaking of personnel, have you made arrangements for housing my troops?"

  "Sure. I was going to have them stay at one of the small hotels down the Strip."

  "Cancel that. I want them to have rooms at the Fat Chance. A hundred rooms and a penthouse."

  "But rooms at the Fat Chance go for-"

  "They're supposed to be guarding your hotel and casino," Phule said pointedly. "They can't do that if they're at another location when trouble hits, can they?"

  "I ... guess not. All right. I suppose with over a thousand rooms I can spare a hundred. Is that all?"

  Phule nodded. "For the moment. I'll probably be getting back to you soon with some additional requests, but that'll give me a starting point."

  "Okay. I'll tell you, Mr. Jester, I'll sleep a lot easier now knowing you're on the job."

  The youth's image faded as the connection was broken.

  For several moments, Phule and Beeker stared silently at the place in the room it had occupied. Finally the commander cleared his throat.

  "How in the world did someone that ignorant and naive get to be a multimillionaire?"

  "Not to belabor the obvious, sir," Becker said softly, "I believe he inherited it."

  Phule wrinkled his nose in disgust. While he had borrowed seed money from his munitions-baron father, he had long since paid it all back, with interest, and considered his wealth to be self-made. As such, he had little tolerance for those who inherited their wealth, and none at all for those who were foolish with what money they had.

  "Oh well," he said, "it takes all kinds ... I guess. At least now we know what we're up against with this assignment."

  "A know-nothing kid trying to run a casino on book theories and hired expertise," Beeker recited grimly. "Not exactly the cushy guard duty in paradise that General Blitzkrieg was trying to paint it as, is it, sir? Oh yes ... and let us not forget the possibility of an attempted criminal takeover."

  "You know, that's the part that bothers me the most." The commander scowled. "Check me on this, Beek ... you stay more abreast of current events than I do. These days, when crime, organized or otherwise, wants to take over a business, do they do it with guns blazing?"

  The butler made a soft but rude noise before answering.

  "Not to my knowledge, sir. It's my understanding that the usual tactic is to force them into financial difficulty, then buy them out cheap-or, at least, a controlling interest."

  Phule nodded. "That's what I thought. More like a hostile stock takeover. Well, I've handled those before."

  The butler looked at him sharply.

  "If I might point out, sir, the methods the criminal element utilizes to put financial pressure on a business are well outside civilized law. I would suggest it would be prudent not to underestimate your opponents."

  "I appreciate the advice, Beeker," Phule said, "but for your information the crowd I'm accustomed to playing with has little regard for civilized law. I have not succeeded in the past by underestimating an opponent ... nor by underestimating myself."

  "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

  "Enough of that," the commander said. "It's time we got to work. I hope your fingers are rested, Beek, 'cause there's a bit of non-Legion business I want you to take care of for me. We're going to be doing some hiring, and I'd like you to do the initial screening and have your recommendations on my desk by noon tomorrow."

  "Very well, sir." The butler was not fazed by the sudden change in mood and topic, nor by the request. The two men had worked together for a long time. "And our requirements are ... ?"

  "First, I need a solid casino security man-someone with experience and unquestionable references. Top dollar for the right man. Also, I want at least half a dozen instructors who can teach the table games. Check with the dealer's schools-buy one if you have to-but I need them all here. Charter a ship, too, before our replacements arrive. Offer them all a half year's wages, but we'll only need them from the hiring date until our transport hits the last big port before Lorelei ...What would that be?"

  "Port Lowe, sir."

  "Right. Next ..." Phule allowed himself a small smile. "This may be a little out of the ordinary for you, Beek, but I need to set up a cattle call."

  "Sir?"

  "An audition. Find out what our first stop is after we leave here, then use the computer to pull up data on available actors and actresses at that location-bit players only. We don't need any recognizable faces."

  "Very well, sir. May I ask what you'll be doing in the meantime ... in case I need to confer with you on any of this?"

  "Me?" The commander smiled. "I'll be doing my homework ... seeing what I can learn about organized crime. I think I'll drop into the settlement and pay a visit to our old friend Chief Goetz."

  "That won't be necessary, sir."

  "Excuse me, Beek?"

  "I believe you'll find Chief Goetz at poolside here at The Club. He gave me a lift back from the settlement, and he rarely passes on the opportunity to mix with your troops."

  "You got the chief of police to play taxi driver for you?" Phule seemed genuinely impressed.

  "Actually, sir, he offered. I was at his home at the time."

  "His home?"

  "Yes, sir. I've been tutoring his son in algebra on my days off."

  The commander laughed and shook his head.

  "Beeker," he said, "what would I do without you?"

  The butler smiled. "I'm sure I don't know, sir."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Journal #173

  As I have both noted and chronicled before, though he is more than effective on an overall basis, my employer is far from infallible. Not only do circumstances occasionally catch him off guard, there are times when his judgment turns out to be shortsighted or simply incorrect.

  Such was the case in his estimation of how the Legionnaires under his command would respond to their new assignment.

  As was our normal procedure, I was excluded from the actual briefing session, not being a member of the Legio
n. Of course, as was my normal procedure, I elected to keep informed of my employer's activities by listening in on the meeting through The Club's two-way paging/intercom system ...

  There was an air of excitement and anticipation as the company gathered in The Club's combination dining hall and lounge for their briefing. Speculation as to the exact nature of their new assignment was, of course, the subject of much of the scattered discussion, but it was secondary to the main thrust of their emotions. Almost without exception, the Legionnaires were eager for the chance to put their new skills, honed by hundreds of hours of practice, to use. While no real protest had been made, they had been feeling for some time that they were ready for something more challenging than guarding the planet's swamp miners once a week, and it looked as if the Legion was finally in agreement with them.

  Of course, not everyone was enthusiastic.

  "It'll be great to get off this rock and see some real fighting, won't it, C.H.?"

  Chocolate Harry, the company's massive, pear-shaped supply sergeant, turned his head with regal slowness to survey the Legionnaire who had addressed him through his pop-bottle-thick glasses. One of the few blacks in the company, Harry would be an imposing figure even if he didn't favor a fierce bristly beard to offset his close-cropped hair, or wear his uniform tunic with the sleeves ripped off to display his thick arms, but as it was, the cold stare he leveled was enough to dampen the enthusiasm of his questioner even before he spoke.

  "I suppose," he said slowly at last. "Personally, though, I'm not lookin' forward to having to move my whole inventory to another location ... especially since I seriously doubt our new facilities will be as lavish as where we are right now."

  The Legionnaire being addressed suddenly glanced around the room fearfully as if it were about to vanish as they spoke. Until now, he hadn't stopped to think that a new assignment would mean leaving the company's beloved Club behind.

  "Then again," Harry continued, "there's one big problem with `real fighting,' as you call it. Unlike the targets you all have been shootin' to shreds, in real fightin', the targets shoot back. How many of these folks do you think have ever been shot at before? Let me tell you, troop, it's no fun."