"Fine sentiments," said Blitzkrieg. "Or they would be, coming from any other officer. Coming from you, I suspect they're a ploy to look altruistic as you protect your own interests. Quite frankly, Captain, you aren't a team player."
"I take exception to that, sir," Phule said, rather hotly. "I treat my people not just as members of a team, but as a family. Believe me, these troops have very little tolerance for posturing. They'd find me out in a minute if I was merely paying lip service to that dogma."
"Perhaps," said General Blitzkrieg, momentarily taken aback by Phule's fervor. Then he recovered his aplomb; he leaned forward and pointed a finger at the transmitting camera, and at the man viewing his image. "But the Legion can't permit officers to set their own conditions for accepting an assignment. If you refuse the assignment, you'd better be ready to justify that decision to a court-martial. And I can tell you now, Captain, all your headlines won't do you a lick of good if it comes to an insubordination charge. And I'll make sure it does come to that. Now, are you going to accept the Landoor mission or not?"
Phule didn't hesitate. "Sir, my company will go where the Legion sends it."
"Good, that's settled, then," said Blitzkrieg, although without great enthusiasm. It was easy to guess that he'd wanted Phule to give him an excuse for an insubordination charge. He frowned at Phule and said, "You will ready your company for shipment to Landoor in-"he turned and looked at the readout again-"sixty standard days. That will be all, Captain!" Blitzkrieg broke the connection.
Phule sighed, and turned to Beeker. "Well, that's done," he said with a weary smile.
"Yes, sir," said the butler. "Now you can withdraw your company from Lorelei, and no one can question your motives or impugn your honor."
"True," said Phule. "But that's not the whole story, Beeker. If Blitzkrieg thought I really wanted this transfer, he'd break his back to prevent it. Now, he'll make sure we stay there long enough for me to get the unit back on track. This new assignment will give the company a worthy common goal-and that kind of motivation is exactly what's been missing here."
"I suppose so, sir," said Beeker, skeptically. "I'd think the opportunity to build the company's portfolio would have been enough to motivate them, but perhaps I fail to comprehend the military mentality."
Phule cracked a wry grin. "Military mentality? After watching my interview with the general, I'm surprised you even use those two words in the same sentence."
Beeker sniffed. "Sir, I suspect that the general's mental powers are beneath ordinary calculation. However, some of your troops show a modicum of intellect, albeit in my opinion largely misdirected. It was to them that I referred."
"Thank goodness," said Phule. "I was afraid it was some backhanded reference to me."
"Sir," said Beeker, pulling himself up even straighter than usual, "let me assure you that, had I wished to refer to you in a derogatory manner, I would have done so in such a way as to leave no doubt as to my intentions."
"Good. I was afraid you might not be feeling well," said Phule. "Well, that still leaves us one question to settle. Now that we've gotten something we want from the general, what are we going to do with it?"
"Well, sir, I think you had better begin by informing the company," said Beeker. "Some of them, I suspect, will be a good bit less sanguine than you are about departing this station."
"Man, I'm gonna miss this joint," said Do-Wop, setting his lunch plate down at a table with three fellow legionnaires. Word about the company's reassignment had gone out in midmorning. Within an hour it was the only topic of conversation among the Omega Mob.
"Are you really?" Super-Gnat raised her eyebrows. "I'll be glad to get back to a real planet, myself. Something about natural sunshine and fresh air..."
"I be happy if not too much sunshine," said Tusk-anini, who came from a nocturnal race. "But fresh air good to breathe. Soft ground feel good underfoot, too."
Do-Wop had already begun shovelling food into his mouth. But between two forkfuls he mumbled, "I'm a city kid, y'know. I hear the place we're headed for is the real boonies jungles and swamps. If they got any sidewalks at all, I bet they take 'em in after dark."
"That not true," said Tusk-anini. "Landoor City have more people than Lorelei, lots of buildings, too. I know-I study maps and books."
"Yeah, but what's there to do?" growled Do-Wop. "I mean, here we got all kinds of entertainment, lotsa places to grab some action, y'know? What's Landoor got?"
"Not as much as here," said Sushi, who had done his own research as soon as he'd learned of the new assignment. "It had some pretty lively resorts back when the mines were working, but that was in your grandpa's time. Now the main attraction is the scenery-some nice beaches and mountains, they say. And supposedly some pretty good amusement parks."
"Hey, that could be cool," said Do-Wop. "I ain't been on a good roller coaster since before I joined the Legion."
"That's not why we're going there," Super-Gnat pointed out. She took another of the warm butterhorn rolls Escrima had made for that night's meal, and said, "We've got a job to do, is all. I'm glad we're not being sent to some iceball asteroid to do it. In the Legion, you take what you can get. Could you pass the butter, Sushi?"
Sushi handed her the butter plate and said, "Gnat's right, you know. We've been pretty lucky, since the captain took over. You watch the news, you realize how many rotten places we could've been going."
"I don't pay no attention to the news," scoffed Do-Wop. "Waste of time, if you ask me."
"That why we no ask you," said Tusk-anini. "Sushi and Gnat telling truth-plenty bad places to go to."
"Yeah, and I'm afraid we're about to go to one of 'em," said Do-Wop, helping himself to a roll. "Those people just had a war, right? So some of 'em must still be shooting each other, if they need peacekeepers. Maybe they start shooting at us. Don't tell me that's better than what we got here."
"You don't want to hear, so why you want us tell you?" said Tusk-anini. "Me, I wait and see new place. We going there whether like it or not. Tusk-anini will try and like it."
"That's the attitude I like," said Brandy, stopping to eavesdrop on the conversation. "It figures Do-Wop starts griping about a place before he even gets there."
"Ah, give us a break, Top," said Do-Wop, looking up with a hurt expression. "A guy's got a right to gripe a little bit, ain't he?"
"Sure, gripe all you want," said Brandy. "But don't expect anybody to give you any sympathy if it turns out you actually like the place." She grinned and went on her way to the dessert counter.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" said Do-Wop, as the others at the table laughed.
"I don't know for sure," said Super-Gnat, "but I think it means she expects you to piss and moan no matter what's going on."
"Well, sure," said Do-Wop, puzzled. "What else is a guy supposed to do to pass away the time?"
The others at the table laughed again.
"So you're going away," said Laverna. She and Beeker sat in a softly lit back booth in the Tumbling Dice Casino's Domino Bar. The other tables near them were empty; this time of afternoon, most of the casino's customers were at the gambling tables. Anybody who wanted a drink could have it delivered to the floor. That made this a perfect spot for a quiet talk.
"My job is moving to another planet," said Beeker, shrugging. "I can't very well do anything but go with it."
Laverna toyed with her glass. "I don't believe that for one minute," she said, staring at the butler. "You could retire right now and be comfortable for life. Don't bother to deny it-I looked it up after a few things you said, and I know just how much you have. You're not going to be buying a private asteroid as your retirement home, but you're not going to miss that regular paycheck, either. So you damn well could stay here, if you felt like it."
"I suppose so-although this place is hardly my ideal retirement home." A few bars of brassy music came over the sound system as Beeker paused, weighing his words carefully. He continued, "Since you make no secre
t of having looked into my financial state, I will admit having researched yours. It appears to me that there is no financial reason for you to remain with your employer, either."
"No financial reason," said Laverna. She lowered her head, then looked up at Beeker. "Still, I won't be buying that ticket any time soon. I think you know what I mean, Beeker."
"Yes, I understand what you are saying," said Beeker. "Let me point out that, if you really wish to leave, there are ways it can be done. Once you are off-station, it becomes that much easier for you to disappear."
"Yes, if I don't mind spending the rest of my life hiding," said Laverna. She shook her head. "I'd mind that less than most, I suppose-time to read all the books I've never had time for, time to try writing something of my own. I've never lived the kind of life that attracts attention. But that's not the problem. I know too much, and Maxine can't afford to let me out of her control. Even if she were gone..."
"Her successors would worry about what you might reveal-or might be made to reveal, if you turned against them. And the successors would have no personal ties to you to make them hesitate." Beeker leaned forward and lowered his voice so the music prevented his words from being heard beyond their table. "Still, if you wanted to try, my employer and the Space Legion have resources beyond those of any private person."
Laverna was quiet for a long moment before saying, "And why should Phule use those resources for my benefit? You don't expect me to believe he'll do it out of benevolence-or because you have asked him to help me. As for the Legion-I don't really think I'm the sort to join-not at my age, anyhow."
"Actually, there's rather a tradition of people joining the Legion because they want to escape the past," said Beeker with a thin smile. He sat back up and looked around at the garishly decorated room, before leaning forward and continuing. "In my employer's unit, at least, the food and accommodations are as good as in any luxury hotel-and the retirement plan is actually rather good. Granted, the work is sometimes dangerous...but you're used to that, of course."
"Stop it," whispered Laverna. "You're starting to sound like a recruiting sergeant." She peered at him intently. "You don't really mean it, do you?"
Beeker steepled his fingers. "I merely offer it as an alternative to staying here, recognizing as you do that eventually someone will decide that you know more than is good for them. As an intelligent and perceptive woman, you must have given some thought to making your escape before that moment comes. It seems to me that now, with your employer's influence waning and competitors beginning to circle, is as logical a time as any. But of course you have to judge the moment for yourself."
Laverna's eyes looked from one side to the other, making certain nobody was within hearing distance. "You know, Beeker, you might be right about that," she said. "I'm not going to make any decisions on the spur of the moment, you understand. But you have given me something to think about."
"Don't think too long about it," said Beeker. "The opportunity won't be here much longer, you know."
"I know," said Laverna, and she fell silent. The music system was playing a sinuous minor-key dance tune from two decades ago, music from when they'd both been young. An innocent time, before either had known much responsibility.
The conversation, when it resumed, moved on to other things.
8
Journal #329
The average visitor to Lorelei never even learned the location of Gladstone Park, let alone set foot in it. It was not one of the space station's leading tourist attractions-in fact, it was not designed for tourists at all. Its official function was to supplement the station's air-recycling system, cleaning the excess CO, from the atmosphere and replacing it with fresh, organically generated oxygen. The chemical processors were as close to perfect as to make no difference, but many customers persisted in believing that air "naturally" cleaned by twenty square kilometers of trees and grass was somehow better than the "artificial" stuff the recyclers produced.
Had it been their choice, the casino owners would have had no compunction about digging up the grass and trees and replacing it with a few more casinos. After all, it contributed nothing to the station's economy, which was almost entirely gambling-based. The tourists who'd come to Lorelei wanted artificial light and late hours and the frantic hustle-bustle of money changing hands. Just knowing that the park existed was a sort of security blanket for them. Very few tourists wanted to actually go there.
But the full-time residents-the workers in the hotels, casinos, bars, and restaurants-needed someplace to unwind, someplace they could look at a green surface other than the top of a craps table. A croupier might find it rejuvenating to ride a bicycle on his day off, and a cocktail waitress might enjoy sitting on a bench and resting her eyes by looking at flower beds. Even the bosses found the park a great place to take the workers for a corporate outing, to display their benevolence by setting out an opulent spread, and to prove that they still had the common touch by getting out on the field for a pickup gravball game with the employees...
Shortly after its arrival on the space station, Phule's Company had begun making regular use of Gladstone Park for training exercises. Its variety of "natural" terrain, from dense woods to open meadows to rocky hillsides made it a useful simulation of conditions likely to be encountered planetside on many worlds. After all, Phule had no illusion that the company's assignment to Lorelei was a permanent one. He knew that sooner or later, the Legion's top brass would give Omega Company an assignment that put it to the utmost test. When the call came, Phule wanted his legionnaires to be ready for it.
But today was a special exercise-not least because so many spectators had come. It was not unusual for a small group of Lorelei's inhabitants to observe the legionnaires' maneuvers. Some of these, Phule knew, were spies for rival casinos trying to spot some weakness in the troops guarding the Fat Chance Casino. He accepted the challenge and made sure the show was always sufficiently daunting to discourage anyone foolish enough to think about taking over the casino by force-not that any had been willing to make the attempt, after the convincing defeat of Maxie's bid.
Today, though, the exercise had been publicized, and had drawn a good crowd of curiosity seekers anxious to get a glimpse of the legendary Gambolts. The publicity had stressed the cat-like aliens' reputation as the finest troops in the galaxy, as well as their being the first Gambolts to volunteer to serve in a unit with other species. The publicity had not mentioned Phule's plans for the exercise. Since such plans were not usually announced in advance, nobody thought to comment on it.
Phule looked down at the gathering crowd from atop a portable observation tower the legionnaires had constructed to one side of the exercise field. There among the spectators were the three Renegades, peering intently at the Space Legion troops assembling below his position. Looking to see if Chocolate Harry has come along, he thought. Of course, the supply sergeant had been excused from today's activities. C.H. would have to deal with the Renegades eventually-that was a given-but Phule was not going to force him to abandon his defenses. The confrontation, when it occurred, would take place on ground of Harry's choosing. Phule thought he knew how to manipulate the outlaw bikers onto that territory. That was, in fact, one purpose of today's exercise.
He scanned the crowd with his stereoculars (not the milspec Legion-issue model, but a custom set from Optronix Ltd., with extra memory for stored images and enhancements for infrared, glare reduction, and infinite focus). Right away, he spotted two more familiar faces: reporter Jennie Higgins and holophotographer Sidney, covering the show for Interstellar News Services. Phule's Company had been hot media fare ever since the commanding officer's flamboyant style had come to Jennie's attention. The resulting attention had been a mixed blessing, but on the whole Phule was glad to have had it. Better a reputation you had to strive to live up to than one you wished you could live down.
There were other familiar faces among the spectators, too. There were half a dozen he recognized as security chiefs
for rival casinos, undoubtedly here to pick up hints on his troops' capabilities. And despite her official abandonment of the attempt to run Phule out of business, Maxie had sent her assistant Laverna to view the happenings-or perhaps she had come on her own, although she didn't give the impression of being the outdoor, spectator sports type.
On the other hand, the crowd was full of the spectator sports types, most of whom had come to be entertained-and to bet on whatever was about to transpire. Several bookies had set up impromptu stands, ready to set odds and cover wagers. (It didn't matter that the exact details hadn't been announced; there was bound to be something to bet on, and somebody willing to risk a few units on the outcome.) Phule smiled; once the crowd saw what he had in mind, the bookies would be swamped with business. He was almost tempted to send Beeker over to place some bets on his behalf, but there was little point to it. Any bet large enough to be interesting would skew the odds to the point that he'd get a minuscule return-assuming the bookies were willing to cover it in the first place.
And, reluctant as he was to admit it, it wouldn't be a sure return. He was gambling-even without placing bets, he was gambling-on a system that was about to be put to its most strenuous test. It had been risky enough to pit his whole company against the Red Eagles, the Regular Army's elite company. Now he was pitting raw rookies against Gambolts, the most respected fighters known. He'd find plenty of bettors willing to go against him-and it was not going to be a sure thing.
A Phule and His Money Page 11
