Phules Paradise

by Robert Asprin

  The Legionnaire who had started the conversation licked his lips and swallowed hard. The truth was he had never been shot at before, and, now that he found himself seriously considering the possibility, his earlier enthusiasm for real combat was fading fast.

  "Well, I've been shot at before," Brandy said, stepping into the conversation, "both as a civilian and in the Legion, and as far as I'm concerned it's a lot better when you can shoot back ... especially if you've got superior firepower and teammates you trust guarding your back."

  The supply sergeant gave a quick bark of laughter in spite of his earlier gloominess.

  "You got that right, Top. You sure do."

  He clapped the now-relieved Legionnaire on the shoulder with a friendly hand.

  "Don't you worry none, little buddy. Odds are, they'll ignore you completely, what with two big easy targets like the Top and me around. Just stick close to one of us, and they'll never even see you."

  The Legionnaire gave him a nod and a weak smile before wandering off to find another, less nerve-wracking conversation.

  "Quit scaring the troops, C.H.," the top sergeant said softly. "At least ease up a bit until we find out for sure what we're getting dropped into. Our captain's done a pretty good job of looking out for us so far. Let's give him the benefit of the doubt for a while-at least until we hear something for sure."

  It was a tribute to Phule's personnel management techniques that Brandy, who was once the biggest cynic in the company if not the entire Space Legion, was now a major advocate of optimism, however cautious.

  "Oh, you don't have to worry about me backin' him up, Top," Harry assured her. "The cap'n's done all right by me so far, and I ain't one to forget someone who's given me a hand up any more'n I'm likely to forget someone who kicked me when I was down. I just get a little intolerant when kids with no scars start tellin' me how great flghtin' is."

  Brandy shrugged. "They'll learn soon enough. Besides, if too many of 'em wise up too quick, then we end up out front when the shooting starts."

  "Lord have mercy!" C.H. exclaimed, rolling his eyes in exaggerated horror, then laughed again. "I never thought of it that way. All right, Brandy, you win. I'll keep my mouth off the troops until they've seen the light all by themselves."

  "Good." The top sergeant nodded. "You see, the way I figure it, if the noncoms don't-"

  "Atten-hut!"

  The company commander had just entered the room flanked by his two junior officers, and while military courtesy was an option in the Space Legion, the company held him in enough respect and esteem that they rose to their feet as a unit and saluted, holding the pose until he returned the gesture.

  "As you were ... and make yourselves comfortable," he said, waving them to their seats. "We've got a lot of stuff to cover tonight."

  The Legionnaires settled back into their original places with a minimum of shuffling and murmured cross talk, though more than a few curious glances were cast at the company's junior officers. Like kids asking what a holo-movie was about even as the opening credits were rolling, they looked for some advance clue as to the nature of their new assignment in their leaders' expressions, but those notables kept their faces locked in rigid neutrality.

  The more veteran Legionnaires frowned thoughtfully at this. Experience had taught them that noncommittal expressions on officers usually meant bad news. If the news were good, there would be smiles and maybe even a few smug winks being exchanged. As it was ...

  "You all already know that we're being reassigned," their commander began without preamble. "While there are still countless details to be worked out, I thought it would be best to at least give you a preliminary briefing in an effort to keep speculation to a minimum."

  "Before I get into the assignment, however, I'd like to address the question of what happens to this facility when we relocate. As you all know, The Club is my personal property. I bought the property and building when I arrived and had it remodeled and am currently renting it to the Legion. Originally I intended to sell the holding when we moved on, and, in fact, have several standing offers from interests who would like to convert it to a country club. I have, however, reconsidered. As I am not in immediate need of additional capital, I have decided to retain ownership of this facility even after our departure. It is my thought that it can serve as a home base for the company and, perhaps, a retreat for those members on leave. If we find that this is a desirable arrangement, then we can discuss the possibility of using the company fund to buy it from me outright ... transferring ownership formally and permanently to the company itself. Should that occur, I think you'll find my asking price more than reasonable."

  The commander allowed a small ghost of a smile to flit across his face as the Legionnaires grinned and nudged each other gleefully at the announcement.

  "Now then, as to the assignment itself," he continued, raising his voice slightly, to which the company responded by falling silent, "I guess it can best be described as good news/bad news. The bad news is that we've drawn guard duty again, which I know will be a disappointment to those of you who were hoping for some kind of combat assignment."

  Phule paused for a moment, and, as he had expected, the now-traditional voice from the back of the room piped in.

  "What's the good news?"

  "The good news," he responded, working to keep his voice and face deadpan, "is that what we are being assigned to guard is the Fat Chance Casino on Lorelei, which I think you'll agree is a step up from standing duty in a swamp. To quote Headquarters directly, it's `easy duty in paradise.'"

  There were a few heartbeats of silence, then the room exploded. The Legionnaires crowed and cheered, thumping each other enthusiastically on the back.

  Phule noticed, however, that not everyone was joining in on the festivities. Several of the company's members, specifically the older, more experienced Legionnaires, seemed unmoved or, in some cases, even wary and thoughtful at the news.

  "Excuse me, Cap'n," Chocolate Harry called, heaving himself to his feet, "but exactly what is it we're supposed to be guardin' his casino against? I mean, it occurs to me that we're a bit overgunned to be doormen."

  "I wondered about the same thing, C.H.," the commander said with a smile, though inwardly he was cursing the shrewdness of a question that prevented him from presenting the situation at his own pace. "So I gave the owner a call. It seems that his main concern, and the reason for specifically requesting our services, is that he's afraid that a certain criminal element might be trying to take over his casino. It's our job to stop them."

  The celebratory smiles disappeared abruptly at this news, and the Legionnaires began to murmur back and forth.

  "A certain criminal element," Harry repeated dramatically. "Tell me, Cap'n, is that rich folks' talk for `organized crime'?"

  "That's organized crime no matter who's doing the talking, C.H.," Phule confirmed grimly.

  The mutters and conversation in the ranks accelerated noticeably. For some, organized crime was a legendary force they only knew about from carefully phrased media coverage, while others in the company had more firsthand dealings with that subterranean branch of society. Whether their knowledge was from rumor or personal experience, however, it was clear to all that their new "cushy assignment" had just grown some dangerous thorns.

  "Now, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that uniformed security guards won't be much of a deterrent against this kind of opposition," Phule said, pressing on before the meeting got totally out of hand. "Any more than uniformed beat cops can keep organized crime out of a city."

  He paused involuntarily to take a deep breath before plunging into the next part.

  "That's why I've decided that, for this assignment, some of you will be working under cover, independently and out of uniform, infiltrating the normal hotel and casino staff to gather intelligence for the rest, of us. In fact, I'll be calling for volunteers for this duty as soon as the meeting breaks up."

  His eyes sought out the tall Voltron,
easily spotted in the assemblage.

  "Tusk-anini, you're exempt from this duty ... as are the Sinthians, Louie and Spartacus. It's my understanding that nonhumans are still a rarity on Lorelei, so you'd be too obvious in any capacity other than as a part of our open presence. Any of the rest of you who are willing to apply for this special assignment, report to me in my office when we're done here."

  "How many are you looking for, Captain?"

  Phule didn't even bother to look for the originator of the question.

  "I figure that for an effective intelligence network, we'll need about forty or fifty spread through the various hotel areas and shifts."

  The Legionnaires began to glance back and forth among themselves. Forty or fifty Legionnaires meant about one in four of them would not be serving with the rest of the team this assignment.

  "That's a fair-sized hunk of our force, sir," Brandy observed loudly from her front-row seat. "Aren't you afraid someone will notice if we show up that much understaffed?"

  "They would ... if we showed up in partial strength," the commander confirmed. "That's why we're going to have to hire some `ringers' to substitute for the Legionnaires working under cover. I've given Lieutenant Rembrandt the assignment of recruiting-or should I say, auditioning-the necessary number of actors and actresses to bring our uniformed body count up to the required level."

  To Phule, this was a logical choice. Rembrandt, with her artist's eye, would be best at selecting stand-ins, while Armstrong, with his stern Regular Army upbringing, was a natural to help organize and oversee the company's physical relocation to their new assignment.

  The Legionnaires, however, heard this news in stricken silence. While they had shown concern over being pitted against the unknown menace of organized crime, the concept of dividing their force seemed to stun them beyond words.

  "You will give ... our uniforms to people ... not in company? Not in Legion?"

  It was Tusk-anini who broke the silence ... and Phule knew he was in trouble. The big Voltron was one of his most loyal supporters who rarely, if ever, questioned orders. If Tusk was going to get upset over the idea of outsiders standing duty as Legionnaires, then Phule was going to have to talk fast before the rest of the company rose up in open mutiny.

  "That's right, Tusk-anini," he said. "I'm not wild about it, either, but that's the way it's got to be."

  He quickly turned his attention to the group at large before any more questions could be raised.

  "Now, before you all jump all over me about the downsides of this operation, let me cut right to the bottom line of the situation. We've got a hairy assignment that's been dumped in our laps. I didn't ask for it. We didn't ask for it, but we've got it. Actually, realizing the dubious opinion Headquarters has of us, we shouldn't be surprised at all."

  That got a few smiles and nudges out of the company. Once considered the losers and rejects of the Legion, the troops under Phule's command now took a perverse pride in their renegade status.

  "Basically I'm sure that General Blitzkreig figures this is an impossible assignment, and that he gave it to us fully expecting us to fall flat on our faces."

  A few growls answered this statement, but Phule pressed on quickly.

  "Hey, he may be right. We may not be able to stop an organized-crime takeover, but we're going to give it our best shot. Remember what I told you when I first assumed command? About doing the best you can with what you have in any given situation? Well, in this situation, to do our best-to have any chance at all of success-we're going to have to send part of our team under cover. They're going to have to give up their pretty uniforms and the support they get from them and stand duty all alone. To cover for them, to give them a chance, we're going to have to accept the presence of stand-ins in our ranks. What's more, we're going to have to treat the substitutes as equals ... really let them blend in. Because, if we don't ..."

  He swept the room with his sternest stare.

  "If anyone gets the idea that not everyone in our uniformed show is genuine, they're going to start looking around for where the real Legionnaires are. If they do that, if they catch on to the scam we're running on them, then your teammates, and in some cases your partners, are going to be sitting ducks in a very rough shooting gallery."

  "Our partners?" Even his broken accent couldn't hide the horror in Tusk-anini's voice.

  Phule cursed his verbal slip. Realizing how upset the company was over the idea of stand-ins, he had decided to hold back this particular piece of bad news until later, but now the cat was out of the bag.

  "Affirmative," he said flatly. "Between the volunteers for undercover work, and trying to pair the stand-ins with legitimate Legionnaires, I figure a lot of the normal partners in the company will have to be split up."

  Utter silence reigned in the room.

  Of all the information he had passed on this evening, Phule knew that this was probably the most unsettling of all. One of the first things he had done upon assuming command of the company was to pair the Legionnaires off with partners or "wingmen." While there had been some resistance at first, the company was now used to the system, and the partner teams had grown into more than friendships. Telling the Legionnaires that the partners would be split, particularly on top of the other bad news, was roughly like telling them he wanted to cut off their arms.

  "Look," he said, making no effort to keep the regret out of his voice. "I know it's asking a lot ... and I can't expect you to like it. To tell you the truth, I don't like it much myself. Still, it's the only way ... if we're even going to have a chance of success on this assignment. I, for one, want to at least give it a shot before we run up the white flag."

  He ran his eyes slowly over the assembled company, then sighed and pulled himself back up into a position of attention.

  "Well, that's the bare bones of it ... the bitter and the sweet. As I said, there are still a lot of details to be worked out.

  Think it over ... talk it over. I'll be in my office if any of you want to be considered for the volunteer mission. That's all for now."

  With that, he beat a hasty but dignified retreat from the meeting.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Journal # 174

  It seemed that while my employer might have sorely underestimated the reaction of his Legionnaires to his plan, he also underestimated the fierce loyalty they felt toward him ... a loyalty, I might add, which appeared to be growing steadily.

  If, by the way, it seems to you that these accounts always start with an apparently endless parade of meetings, both group and individual, I can only say that this happens to be my employer's particular style of management. Whenever possible, he likes to talk with those in his employment or under his command, both to keep them informed and to learn their reactions to his plans. If anything, I have tried to spare you the tedium of the meetings and discussions he had with the Legionnaires on a weekly and sometimes on a daily basis by omitting them from these journals. Those affecting major events, however, such as the ones in this section, must be included for completeness of my account.

  I should also note, as it will become apparent in this section, that while my position still is an individual contractual arrangement with my employer rather than with the Space Legion, I did take a larger role in this assignment than normal.

  Beeker raised a speculative eyebrow as Phule stormed into the office.

  "Difficult meeting, sir?"

  "Difficult?" Phule snarled. "How does `open revolt' sound?"

  "Frankly, sir, it sounds unbelievable," the butler said, choosing to ignore the redundant nature of his employer's question. "While your troops may be occasionally unhappy with your orders, I seriously doubt they would ever challenge your position as their leader. Their respect for you borders on reverence."

  Phule took a deep breath, then blew it all out, puffing his cheeks in a near-silent whistle.

  "That's true," he said. "But they were unhappy."

  "Forgive my asking, sir," Beeker continued me
rcilessly, "but wasn't that what you expected? Considering the effort you've put into building camaraderie and a sense of family within the company, it seems to me only natural that they would react with shock and panic when confronted with an assignment which requires their splitting up."

  Despite himself, Phule's face twisted into a wry smile as he cocked his head at his butler.

  "Are you trying to tell me I did too good a job, Beek?"

  "Not exactly, sir," the butler returned blandly. "I am suggesting that you should keep doing your job. At the moment your company needs a leader to make firm decisions, however unpleasant ... not an overly sensitive debutante who worries about popularity polls ... sir."

  "Ouch." Phule grimaced. "Ouch and touché. All right, Beek. I'll shut up and soldier. You don't mind if I whine once in a while, though? When the schedule permits?"

  "That is your prerogative, sir. I shall let you know when and if I find it excessive."

  "I'm sure you will." The commander laughed. "And Beeker? Thanks."

  "Just doing my job, sir," the butler said. "If you have recovered from your ordeal, however, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you ... if you have a moment."

  Reflexively Phule glanced at his watch. "Well, the volunteers don't seem to be beating down my door ... not yet, anyway. What do you have, Beek?"

  "I believe I have a small amount of vacation time accrued, do I not, sir?"

  "As a matter of fact, you have a lot of vacation time coming. Why do you ask?"

  "I was thinking I might take some of it prior to our arrival on Lorelei ... if it's convenient, that is."

  Phule frowned.

  "I can't say it's really convenient," he said, "what with us getting ready for a major relocation. Still ... what's up, Beek? If you don't mind my asking."

  "I believe your plans call for Lieutenant Rembrandt to depart early? To audition and select a group of actors and actresses to replace those Legionnaires who will be working under cover?"