A Phule and His Money

by Robert Asprin

  "Well, let's crank her up, then," said Do-Wop. "Are you sure you know how the controls work on this thingie?"

  "I've been running rides since I was a snot-nosed kid," said Okidata, who was possibly twenty standard years old. "They all work the same way. Don't worry-not even the government could build something I can't run."

  "Think you could run the welfare department?" said Do-Wop, but Okidata had turned away and gone into the nearby cabin housing the controls. Do-Wop shrugged and followed his fellow ride-testers into the lead car.

  After a minute or so, Okidata's voice came over the speaker mounted near the load-on area, "Everybody in position?"

  Do-Wop looked back at the other testers: Tusk-anini, Mahatma, the Gambolts Duke and Garbo, and half a dozen others standing there. "All on board," he said, with a thumbs-up gesture.

  There was a soft mechanical noise, and the shoulder harnesses descended to secure the passengers. "Everybody comfortable?" asked Do-Wop. It wasn't just a courtesy; if the harnesses didn't fit right, a rider could be thrown loose on a curve or inversion. Everyone answered affirmatively. This was expected; even on a mostly human world, the rides had to be able to accommodate a wide range of sizes and shapes. If a Volton and two Gambolts didn't fit properly, there would be other customers who wouldn't be able to ride, as well. That would mean lost fares, something that horrified park operators even more than accidents. They made sure the restraints fit.

  "OK, here we go," said Okidata. He threw the start switch. The cars began their long climb up the first steep slope. When they rose above the security screens the riders got a glimpse of the still-unfinished park below them. Off to one side were two other roller coasters, one of which the legionnaires planned to test tonight. The other was still under construction, but if all went smoothly, they'd ride that one, too, before the park opened. In the distance were the buildings that would house restaurants, shops, and other attractions, built to resemble a mining camp from Landoor's early days.

  The cars reached the top of the climb, and paused a moment to heighten the tension. Then they dropped into a nearly vertical dive, and the ride was on. With the part of his consciousness that wasn't wrapped up in a sheer adrenaline rush, Do-Wop heard Mahatma inhale sharply. One of the Gambolts let out a shriek. Yeah, this ride was gonna be a good one...

  The drop seemed to last far longer than the laws of physics allowed. Abruptly the car leveled off, and the change of vector hit the passengers with crushing g-force. A series of quick S-turns rattled them, and the next thing they knew they were into the first loop. Standing upright while travelling upside down was strangely exhilarating. As they came out of the loop, Do-Wop could see a second loop straight ahead.

  He also saw, out of the corner of his eye, that two security guards were standing by the let-off area. They had pulled Okidata out of the cabin and were holding him by the arms. Suddenly the end of the ride looked a lot different than it had when they'd gotten on. Were we double-crossed, or just unlucky? he wondered.

  Then the car swept into the second loop, and Do-Wop forgot all about the guards for another couple of minutes.

  The guards were standing by the track as the car slowly came to a smooth stop, and the padded restraints automatically lifted off the passengers' shoulders. One of the guards, a big man with biceps the size of Do-Wop's waist, strode forward and said, "All right, you guys have had your fun. Now you're gonna come with us, and this part ain't gonna be fun at all." His frown made his brow look even lower than it was.

  "But this is not the plan," said Mahatma, brightly. "We still need to go on the other rides."

  "I'll give you a ride," snarled the big guard, stepping forward.

  Tusk-anini put out a hand. "You talk nice to Mahatma," he said, glowering down at the guard. The two Gambolts sidled up to flank him. The sight of an angry-looking seven-foot warthog and two six-foot felines was sufficient to stop the guard in his tracks. That gave Do-Wop time to maneuver around to the front of the group.

  "Yo, man, let's not jump to conclusions," he said, trying his best not to look as if he'd been doing anything the guards might object to. "We can explain everything, OK?"

  "You're trespassin' on gov'ment property, which you better start explainin'," said the guard. His swagger had returned, now that he was confronting somebody he thought he could intimidate by sheer size.

  "Well, we weren't exactly trespassing..." Do-Wop began.

  "Don't give me no mouth," said the guard. He raised a ham-like hand and stepped forward to slap Do-Wop.

  The slap never landed. There was a brief electronic sound, and the huge man slumped to the ground. Anyone paying attention might have noticed Mahatma pointing a small device toward the guard, but nobody except the legionnaires would have recognized the device as a model SR-1 Zenobian stun ray.

  Do-Wop looked down at the guard and shrugged. "I was gonna tell him, but he didn't wait," he said. He turned to the other guard, who stood staring at his fallen comrade. "He'll be OK in a little while, but we gotta talk fast. You guys can still get in on the deal. Here it is..."

  A short while later, the legionnaires were stepping onto the Monster, ready for another roller-coaster ride. This time nobody interrupted them.

  Journal #435

  As my employer discovered, the construction of thrill rides was only one aspect of helping the rebels build their park. A variety of other amusements needed to be provided: strolling musicians, pageants, parades, concerts, various credit-operated games-all at least nominally related to the park's broader theme, a fantastic re-creation of the rebels' jungle encampment. Computer simulations of native wildlife had to be created, artificial bayous dug and flooded for boat trips to "trading posts" offering a variety of merchandise, from camouflage garments to red bandannas to toy guns.

  Food service and sanitary facilities were also necessary, as was quick transportation from one part of the park to another for those customers disinclined to walk. And of course personnel to sell and take tickets, oversee the shops and restaurants, operate and maintain all these various facilities, and clean up after the park had closed. In the end, the park's payroll numbered into the thousands. And while by now there were several affluent local backers providing capital, the bulk of it came out of my employer's pockets.

  "I think it would have been easier to invade the planet and overthrow the government," said Phule, looking up from his computer screen, currently displaying a spreadsheet detailing his Dilithium Express card balance. "It certainly would have been cheaper."

  "No doubt you should have considered that some time ago, sir," said Beeker, who was standing looking over Phule's shoulder. "Besides, you already had a hand in bringing down one government on this planet. Or have you forgotten the strafing incident again?"

  "How could I?" said Phule. "Le Duc Taep drops it into his conversation every now and then, just to remind me that I owe him, I think. I'm hocked up to my eyeballs, Beeker. If this amusement park doesn't make money, I'm going to spend the rest of my life paying it off."

  "Well, sir, there are a few positive signs," said Beeker. "The local hotels are booked solid for the opening dates, mostly by off-planet visitors. Your reporter friend, Miss Jennie's publicity stories seem to have been effective."

  "Don't ever tell Jennie she's been giving us publicity," said Phule. "Those are hard news stories, as far as she's concerned. But you're right-they've been invaluable. Let's hope it translates into customers."

  "Any influx of money would be a very good thing, sir," said Beeker. "If the rebels had the wherewithal to repay your loans themselves, they wouldn't have needed the loans to begin with."

  "I'm all too aware of that," said Phule, staring at the numbers on the screen. He punched a series of commands into the computer, then said, "At a rough calculation, the park needs to average four thousand visitors a day-roughly one and a half million visitors annually just to pay the basic running expenses."

  "The entire population would have to visit the park at least once a yea
r," said Beeker, nodding. "Actually, sir, given the local popularity of such attractions, that would seem to be within reach."

  "I suppose so," said Phule. "But I'm not going to see any money unless they do better than that-at least double it, I'd think. Otherwise, my cash flow is going to do a fair imitation of a waterfall."

  "I'd expect Dilithium Express will stand by you, sir," said Beeker. "After all, you have an excellent record..."

  Phule's communicator buzzed. "Yes, Mother, what is it now?"

  "It's Le Duc Taep now, sweetie," said Mother. "He's got a sheaf of blueprints and that gleam in his eye that says you'd better get ready to spend some more money. Makes me think I should've started building my own park instead of joining the Legion. Or maybe you'd like to give me the money directly?"

  Phule groaned. "I guess you'd better send him in," he said. The totals on the spreadsheet were about to change again. He wondered if they'd ever get back in the black.

  17

  Journal #442

  Despite all setbacks, the day finally came when there was nothing more to do but open New Atlantis Park and see how many people came inside. As Le Duc Taep had planned, both the rebel park and the government park were to open their gates on the same day. It became increasingly evident that the dual opening day would be a landmark event in the recent history of Landoor. Schools and government offices were given a holiday to help swell the attendance at Landoor Park, and many businesses followed suit. Naturally, this was expected to give New Atlantis Park a significant boost in attendance, as well.

  Off-planet tourists began arriving in a steady stream during the week before opening day. These tourists gave an immediate boost to local business, filling the hotels, restaurants, and shops as well as the beaches and existing parks. It began to appear as if my employer's heavy publicity campaign had paid off handsomely, at least as far as initial interest in the two amusement parks.

  What he hadn't expected was the arrival of an entirely different kind of visitor...

  "Uh-oh," said Rembrandt.

  "Now, that's an encouraging statement," said Armstrong, looking up from a printout of political commentary culled from the net. The two officers were catching up on their news reading over breakfast, and neither had said a word until now.

  Rembrandt threw her printout on top of his pages. "Take a look at the story on the lower left, and see whether it encourages you," she said.

  "Diplomats arrive for park openings," read Armstrong. "Hey, that can't be all bad. Bigwigs coming means more publicity for the park."

  "Keep reading."

  "Ambassador Gottesman and the peacekeeping verification team made Landoor Orbit on the Pride of Durdane...A spokesperson said their visit had been planned several months ago, but they were pleased to learn that their arrival coincided with a planetwide celebration..." Armstrong looked up. "So?"

  "Keep reading."

  "Also on board was a military delegation headed up by..." Armstrong blanched. "Holy mackerel!"

  "You see what I mean," said Rembrandt. "The captain needs to see this right away." She stood up from the table and grabbed the printout from Armstrong's hands.

  "Hang on, I've got one piece of bacon left," said Armstrong, reaching for his plate.

  "Eat it on the run, this is a red alert," said Rembrandt. She turned and headed for the captain's office without looking back.

  Several legionnaires turned to look as the lieutenants-Rembrandt in the lead, with Armstrong gaining rapidly-hurried through the dining room out toward the company offices. Just as the rear door closed behind them, Moustache, who was sitting near the front door, leapt up and shouted, "Ten-hut! General Blitzkrieg, sir!"

  The assembled legionnaires straggled to their feet, their mouths gaping open. The sight of any high-ranking officer was a rarity at Omega Company, and the troops' demeanor showed it. Moustache and Mahatma managed to snap off salutes that might have satisfied a moderately lenient drill sergeant. If any of the others had ever known how, they had long since forgotten it.

  It hardly mattered. Looking neither to the left nor to the right, General Blitzkrieg stormed through the dining room toward the company offices. Even those who didn't know of Phule's previous run-ins with Legion brass had no difficulty figuring out that their CO was about to get his head chewed off.

  "Jester, you've overstepped every trace of your authority," roared General Blitzkrieg. "You've allied yourself with the damned rebels, and put your troops to work to overthrow the very government you were sent to protect. Hmpfff! This won't just get you drummed out of the Legion-you'll be in the stockade, if I have my way."

  "Sir, I can explain everything," said Phule, standing at rigid attention behind his desk. He was maintaining his aplomb remarkably well, considering that he'd had perhaps two minutes' notice of the general's arrival.

  "I'm sure you can," snarled the general. "You're good at making your schemes look harmless, but I can see through them. This time, you're going to pay the price. And it will give me great pleasure to watch it!"

  Seizing the pause in the general's rant, Phule broke in, "Sir, I have done nothing that isn't within my orders."

  "Within your orders? Hah! We'll see about that," said Blitzkrieg. He walked around the large marble-topped desk and wagged a finger under his subordinate's nose. "But I'm not going to waste time arguing with you. I'm relieving you of your command, effective instantly. You will go directly to your quarters and consider yourself under house arrest. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes, sir," said Phule, standing his ground. "Do I have the general's permission to have visitors? I will need to see my butler. I also request permission to speak to my officers, with a view to preparing a defense."

  Blitzkrieg waved a hand, knocking an empty plastic coffee cup off the desk. He didn't seem to notice. "Permission granted," he said. "It'll do you no good, but never let it be said that I denied you the right to counsel. I warn you, though-don't try to enlist your officers in any conspiracy against me, or you'll all be charged with mutiny. Dismissed!"

  "Sir!" Phule saluted and turned to make his way to his quarters. He'd get out of this, he knew. He'd been in plenty of trouble with the brass before, and he'd always gotten out of it. It might be a little tougher this time, with both his commanding general and the government of the planet he was supposed to be protecting lined up against him. But he'd figure it out. At least, he hoped he would.

  Journal #445

  Those who, like my employer, are accustomed to taking matters in their own hands are prone to forget that some matters don't want to be taken in hand. Alternately, these active souls prefer to put recalcitrant matters out of mind and concentrate on problems they can deal with directly. As a result, they are often surprised when something they have deliberately neglected jumps up and bites them.

  Phule was about to turn down the corridor to his hotel room when he was stopped by two people in civilian outfits so identical that they might as well have been uniforms. "Mister Phule?" said the taller of the two.

  "Yes," he said. "I am Phule. I'm afraid I can't really stop to talk, though."

  "Captain, it is your decision whether or not to talk to us," said the man who'd spoken. Phule could now see that the other was a woman. "However, we are here on important government business, and it would be very wise of you to make the time." He opened a wallet and displayed an ID card: Special Agent Roger Peele of the Interstellar Revenue System.

  Phule struck himself on the forehead and said, "I knew there was something I'd been forgetting! You were looking for me back on Lorelei, weren't you?"

  "Yes," said Peele. "And after what we've found there, we're even more anxious to talk to you."

  "I guess we might as well do it now as later," said Phule with a sigh. "At this point, there's nothing you can do to make my day any worse."

  "Perhaps not, Mr. Phule," said the other, female, IRS agent. "However, I must warn you-it's our job to try." Her thin smile made it clear that she was not joking at all.

&
nbsp; "Well, come with me, then," said Phule, and they followed him to his quarters.

  "Well, sir, which shall we tackle first-saving you from the stockade, or from bankruptcy?" Beeker sat calmly at the keyboard of his Port-a-Brain computer, watching Phule pace nervously across the room and back again.

  "Getting this house arrest lifted would be a good start," said Phule. "The park opens tomorrow morning, and I want to be there. I can work on the rest of my problems from a jail cell, if need be, but I think I've earned the right to be at the opening."

  "Your priorities astonish me, sir," said Beeker. "However, I am certain we can find a way to persuade the general to give you your freedom for the day-possibly you'll have to put up with a guard, but that should be a minor inconvenience."

  "Good, I trust you to explore all avenues on that one," said Phule. "As far as the rest-well, I told the IRS you had the figures to prove I'm in compliance with the tax laws, but they didn't want to hear it. I think they're so used to dealing with criminals that they can't imagine anyone actually obeying the law."

  "More likely, the laws make it impossible to file a tax return without some sort of violation," said Beeker, dryly. "How much do they claim you owe?"

  "Including penalties and interest, it's something like twenty million," said Phule. "That's absurd, of course-I can't possibly owe them penalties or interest if I'm not guilty of any violations to begin with."

  "Your faith in common sense is quite inspiring, sir. I regret to inform you that the IRS operates on some entirely different system, as appalling in its way as anything the military can conjure up."

  "Well, if you can't find me a way out, I doubt anybody can. You've got all the records here, don't you?"

  "Yes, sir," said Beeker, nodding in the direction of his Port-a-Brain. "I'll set up a meeting to show them the relevant figures-that will take a good while, though. And we may still have to drag it through a couple of levels of appeal before we satisfy them. It might be easier to agree to some token payment, say a couple of million, to get rid of them."