No Phule Like An Old Phule (28 page)

“Oh ho, welcome, Rawfish!” said Qual. “All goes rippingly with us today, our alignments are exemplary!”

“Uh… triff,” said Sushi. Then, recognizing an apparent opening, he went on, “Really interesting machine you guys have here. What does it do?”

Qual’s face assumed what Sushi took to be a serious expression. “Much of what it does is organized,” the Zenobian officer said.

It took Sushi a moment to make the mental connection between the translator’s wording and Qual’s probable meaning. “Oh, I didn’t mean to pry into military secrets,” he said. “Just curious about the apparatus, y’know.”

“Oh, no offense received,” said Qual, calmly. “In fact, I will tell you as much as I am permitted. The sklem-the meaning of the name is of course obvious-is in essence merely a triaxial projector of nonrandomized heebijeebis. As you can undoubtedly see, it is of considerably higher power than such units produced for the consumer market.”

“Right,” said Sushi, little wiser than before. He thought he grasped at least one point, though. “So this is basically the latest milspec version of one of your standard bits of hardware.”

“Outstanding, Rawfish!” said Qual, slapping Sushi on the lower back. “Your intellectual capacity is, as usual, of the highest grade.”

“Er,.thanks, Qual,” said Sushi. He didn’t think he knew much more than before he’d asked, but maybe if he mulled over Qual’s answer he’d come up with something. Meanwhile… “I’ve got a favor to ask you guys,” he said.

“We’re still trying to figure out how to adjust these translators to give the best results so you guys can understand us and vice versa.”

“That is hardly mandatory,” said Qual. “Misunderstanding is a fact of life. If you were a Zenobian, you would accept it as it is.”

“Maybe,” said Sushi. “But as it happens, I’m a human, and an inquisitive one at that. So I can’t help tinkering with stuff that doesn’t work quite the way it ought to. Here’s what I’d like to do.” He pulled a small rectangular black object out of his pocket. “This is a minirecorder I’d like you guys to turn on while you’re talking about things. It’ll give us a good sample of your normal conversation, with three or four of you talking at once, and then we can analyze it for common patterns. Is that OK?” Qual looked at the minirecorder with lidded eyes, then turned to his crew and spoke a few sentences. They replied, and a brief conversation ensued.

“We will do it,” said Qual. “But only if you show me how to turn it off. I hope you understand me, Rawfish, my friend-sometimes we need to talk about things we do not want others to hear.” Sushi nodded. “Sure, I know what you mean. Even friends need privacy once in a while. See this red switch? Slide it to the left-toward this red LED-and it’s off, back to the right, and it’s on.” Qual took the device and slid the switch back and forth, then asked, “There should alsobe some way we can resolve what it has recorded, and remove it if by mischance we have forgotten it was working while we talked.”

“Yeah,” said Sushi. “This is the playback switch, and this is the erase button. Let me show you…” A few minutes later, with Qual and his crew satisfied they knew the workings of the recorder, Sushi said his good-byes to the Zenobians and walked back to report to Rev. Rev and Do-Wop looked up at him as he entered the room. “They took it,” he said.

“Good,” said Rev. “Were them boys suspicious?”

“Maybe a little, but I showed them how it worked,” said Sushi. “That seemed to satisfy them.”

“Good,” said Rev again. “I hope you didn’t show them how everything worked.”

“No way,” said Sushi. “Unless they’re experts in Terran milspec hardware, they’ll never figure out that it’s a transmitter as well as a recorder-and that you can’t turn the transmitter off. You should be getting their signals now.” Sushi and Rev smiled at each other. They turned to the receiver Sushi had rigged up on a bench in Rev’s office.

Sure enough, a little light was blinking, showing that the unit was receiving. Attached to it was another small box, automatically recording every word the Zenobians said within range of the recorder Sushi had given to Qual. Now all they had to do was wait…

“You won what?” For once, Lola’s openmouthed surprise at Ernie was not for his having done something stupid. Just the fact that he hadn’t done anything stupid-at least, not anything she knew about yet-was sufficient cause for surprise, as far as she was concerned.

“I won the casino,” Ernie repeated, smirking. “Er-at least, a big share of the stock. The old man told me my share is worth maybe fifty million smeltonians.”

“I still don’t believe it,” said Lola. “They wouldn’t offer that big a prize. Even if the odds are close to impossible, the risk of losing is too big…”

“Hey, you come down to the office with me and talk to the casino guys,” said Ernie. “That’s what I came to get you for, anyway. They‘ want me to sign papers, do all sorts of other stuff. I may be dumb, but I ain’t dumb enough to sign somethin’ I don’t understand. That’s what you’re for.”

“To sign something you don’t understand?” Lola raised an eyebrow. “That applies to just about anything more complicated than a bar chit, and I’m sure not signing any of those for you. Well, if Phule’s lawyers are as good as the rest of his staff, I doubt anybody could understand the papers they’re going to want us to sign. We’ll probably have to find a lawyer of our own to tell us what we’re getting into—and I don’t know who the legal heavies are on Lorelei. But give me a couple of minutes to fix my face, and we’ll go see what they’re trying to put over on us.” It took Lola more like half an hour. She changed into a dark designer suit that stamped her as a no-nonsense professional who insisted on getting the absolutely best quality without worrying about her purchases going out of fashion within three weeks. Lola had picked it up last year from an acquaintance who fenced for a haute couture shoplifting ring, and considered it worth every penny it had cost-a serious outlay of money even after the five-finger discount. Her makeup took longer-she wiped it off and started over twice before she nodded and turned away from the mirror.

In the end, she looked about five years older than her usual style-and ten times more formidable.

Nobody was likely to underestimate her, not now.

It took her another fifteen minutes of browbeating to get Ernie to change into something that might induce the Fat Chance Casino’s legal staff to take him seriously. Then they boarded the local hoverbus and headed back to the casino. The Lorelei buses catered mainly to casino workers, and the vehicle was nearly empty, this being the middle of a shift.

“What’s our plan?” asked Ernie, keeping his voice low just in case the driver was spying for the Fat Chance.

“I don’t really have one yet,” said Lola, shrugging.

“Find out what they’re offering, and figure out how much more we can get by being a pain in their butts. That’s what negotiating’s all about.”

“Well, they gotta make good on their promise, right?” said Ernie. “They say I own a hunk of the casino…”

“And if you believe that, I’ve got a couple of nice planets for sale, cheap,” said Lola. “The best thing we can do is go in there expecting the worst, and let them surprise us by doing better. And if we can keep them from figuring out where we’re coming from, maybe we can even fool them into offering us something they didn’t plan on.”

Ernie nodded. “I got it,” he said. “We play the dumbs, and wait for them to screw up.”

“Uh… not quite,” said Lola. “Your job is to sit there looking as if you’re in charge, but let me do all the real talking. Just pretend I’m your lawyer, and you don’t make my move involving money or your rights without my sayso. And I don’t commit you to anything until I think we’ve got the best deal they’re going to give us. Got it?”

“Sure,” said Ernie. “Just what I said before: we play the dumbs and wait for them to screw up.”

Lola sighed. “OK, have it your way,” she said. “Just let me do all the talking.” The hoverbus changed lanes and came to a stop. Across the street was the Fat Chance. Smiling bravely, Lola took Ernie’s arm and steered him out to the sidewalk. This isn’t going to be easy, she thought to herself. Then again, the alternatives all looked a lot worse…

“if you don’t mind my saying so, sir, I find it difficult to understand your father’s involvement in this scheme,” said Beeker, over a hot cuppa tea. “It is hardly in character.”

“Oh, I’d have to disagree, Beeks,” said Phule, looking up from his Port-a-Brain computer. “Dad’s always had a inborn streak-when he’s got a point to make, he insists on ramming it down the throat of anyone who doesn’t instantly agree. I didn’t even mind giving him a chance to win my share of the casino, even though it was a long shot. He could run the place as well as I ever did, and the troops will still get the dividends from their shares.“

“And now you’ve delivered a controlling share to some unknown gambler, like a handout to some beggar on the street,” sniffed Beeker. “What if he tries to run the casino himself? He’s likely to run it into bankruptcy in no time at all.” Phule scoffed. “Oh, he can’t do anything significant without winning a stockholder’s vote. The fellows in Omega Company would never back him—they know Tullie and Lex and the others too well to, turn them loose just because the new fellow wants to make a change.”

“Do they?” asked Beeker, sharply. “What if this new fellow claims a new management team could increase profits? Or what if he offers a price for their shares that’s too good to resist? It wouldn’t be the first time stockholders have gotten greedy when somebody dangled cash in front of their noses.”

“Oh, it’s not impossible,” said Phule, leaning back in his chair and looking at his butler. “We still don’t know very much about this fellow-but I doubt he’s got the capital to pull off that kind of trick. If he did, I think we’d have heard about him before he showed up at the Fat Chance.”

“A very dubious assumption, sir,” said Beeker. “The fellow could come from almost anywhere. If I were in charge of the casino, I’d be checking the databases to see if he has a criminal record anywhere in the Alliance .”

“I think we can trust Tullie Bascomb to find that out for us,” said Phule. “In fact, I think that’s one of the things we’d know by now, if there were anything to concern us. My suspicion is that the big winner’s just a regular fellow maybe a salesman, or a small businessman-who wanted to play with the high rollers and ended up getting luckier than he had any right to. When he realizes he’s in deep water with all the big fish, he’ll listen to reason and let the professionals handle things.”

“It would be pleasant to think there was such an elegant solution,” said Beeker. “Unfortunately, sir, in my experience the ability to recognize that one is out of one’s depth is a rare commodity—especially among those most in need of such insight. Far more common is an indomitable thickness of skull bordering on complete absence of gray matter.” Before Phule could answer, Mother’s voice came over me intercom.

“Captain, we’ve got trouble,” she said. At that very instant, Chief Inspector Snieff of the AEIOU burst through his office door. She was one step ahead of Lieutenant Rembrandt, this morning’s OD.

“Captain, I demand an explanation of this outrage,” Snieff barked.

“Do you, Chief Inspector?” Phule‘s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “And what outrage do you want me to explain? I haven’t noticed any outrages in particular, unless maybe you’re talking about your dog.”

“Aha!” said Chief Inspector Snieff, pointing a finger at me captain. “And exactly why do you mention our beloved mascot, Barky, the Environmental Dog?”

“That ought to be pretty obvious,” said Phule, staring at her. “He’s been attacking my people ever since he set foot an this planet.”

Snieff pulled her self up into a fair semblance of wrongly accused innocence. “Barky never attacks unprovoked,” she said. “He only responds to pollution, or to direct harassment. He would not attack your people unless they were causing some kind of ecological problem. And he is ‘trained not to injure the suspects he apprehends, merely to hold anyone who has detectable levels of a carefully delimited list of pollutants on their person, or in their ongings, until one of the human members of our team arrives to take charge.”

“I’m sorry, Inspector, but you’ll have to find somebody else to swallow that line,” said Phule. “Your dog was chasing one of my legionnaires all around the dining hall just last night. You saw him, too—you were there.”

“I am surprised at you, Captain,” said Snieff. “The incident was clearly provoked by your legionnaire.”

Beeker, who had been sitting quietly until now, snorted and said, “Provoked? Good Lord, madam, provoked in what way? By walking to the salad bar to get his dinner?”

“I saw him taunting poor Barky,” said Snieff, lifting her chin and looking down her nose at the butler.

Beeker looked up at her, and said quietly, “Madam, you might discover more insight into the unfortunate animal’s lack of manners by looking to the character of his human guardians than by postulating any provocative acts by his unlucky victims. If your dog is so poorly trained that he responds to this supposed taunting, then an objective observer would have no choice but to interpret that as proof of malfeasance on the part of his handlers.”

Acting quickly, before Snieff could respond to Beeker’s indictment, Phule smiled, and said, “Have a seat, Inspector. Tell me what the trouble is, and we’ll try to sort it out.” Snieff glared at Beeker, then settled into a chair next to Phule’s desk.

“I’ll get directly to the point, Captain. The last two days, I have heard your people firing weapons out in the desert-no doubt shooting at the local wildlife, possibly even harming it.”

“I beg your pardon, ma‘ am,” said Rembrandt. “If our people are shooting at something, you can be dead certain they’re harming it. That’s what weapons do, you know.”

“Easy, Lieutenant,” said Phule, raising a hand to quiet Rembrandt. He turned to Snieff. “Yes, Inspector, our people do shoot weapons out in the desert. Weapons training is an important part of the Legion’s job, you know. But we aren’t shooting at any local fauna—or the local flora, either, in case you’re worried about that. We have a regulation practice range set up out beyond the perimeter. If you’d care to inspect it, I think we can even let you and your people fire a few test rounds…”