No Phule Like An Old Phule (19 page)

“Oh ho, I comprehend,” said Qual. “To state the facts, I thought some of you humans were saying very strange things, but I attributed it to your extremely bizarre cultural attitudes. But if it is merely a mechanical delusion, correction would be a boon to both species. How do you intend to adjust the device?”

“Well, to do it right, I need some information on your language,” said Sushi.

“Ah, I am but a simple air warrior,” said Flight Leftenant Qual. “The subtleties of semantics are beyond me. Perhaps you need a certified scholar of language.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” said Sushi, breezily. “You’ve been speaking your native language since you were a kid…”

“Not so,” said Flight Leftenant Qual. “Our people do not acquire language until they are nearly grown, and each finds his own way. And some ways are very strange indeed. But the better a Zenobian speaks, the greater rights and duties that one can achieve. Chief Potentary Korg is the great power that he is because he is the most admired speaker on all the planet.” Sushi stared at Qual for a long moment, then shook his head.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were giving me the business. In fact, I’m still not sure you’re not trying to pull the insulated fabric over my eyes.” 

“It is a verity,“ said Qual, and the other Zenobians working with him, who had followed the conversation with apparent interest, flipped their tails from side to side-a gesture that the legionnaires had learned meant the same to the Zenobians as a nod to humans.

”Perhaps your translator problems arise from this feature of our language.“

“It sounds like a good recipe for problems,” said Sushi.

“Do you mean that everyone speaks completely differently?”

“Oh, not completely so,” said Qual. “Careful guardians will expose the adolescents in their charge to the most admired speakers, hoping to influence their mode of speech. It works, to some degree. I myself was made to listen to the speeches of Korg’s Predecesor, Grand Potentary Zarf. I believe that was a large factor in my rising to officer rank so quickly.”

“Amazing,” said Sushi, shaking his head. “So how do messages that have to reach a lot of people get sent? Do you have some kind of common language that everybody understands?”

“Oh, yes,” said Qual. “But it is curious that you ask, Rawfish. That is a language that everyone knows, but no one speaks.”

“What the…?” Sushi frowned. “If nobody speaks it, how can you communicate in it?”

“Very easy,” said Qual, and the other Zenobians again flipped their tails. “It is a language for the eyes only, which we use to record knowledge that everyone must know. However a Zenobian speaks, he will have learned the written language first.”

“Wow,” said Sushi. “That’s exactly the reverse of how humans do it-and, as far as I know, all the other species in the Alliance , too. Let me get this straight-you’re telling me that the written language has no spoken equivalent?”

“Oh, no, that is the beauty of it,” said Qual. “It has as many equivalents as there are different ways of speaking. Every Zenobian knows the meaning of a written message, but the way of rendering it into sound is left to the speaker’s own choice. A matter of taste, I think you humans call it.”

“Uh-huh,” said Sushi. “Excuse me, Qual, but this has just boggled my mind. I’m going to go think about it over a drink or two, and see whether I can make any sense of it. Do you mind if I come back later and ask you some more questions?”

“Oh, no,” said Qual. “It is invariably an amusement to talk to you, Rawfish.”

“Thanks, I think,” said Sushi, and he wandered off in search of his coworkers on the Zenobian language project. He already had a good idea where to find them.

“All right, how does it look now?” said Ernie. He stepped out into the center of the little hotel room so Lola could inspect him. She stood with her hands on her hips, inspecting the dress suit he wore. “You still look more like an out-of shape bouncer than a high-stakes player,” she muttered.

“To tell the truth, I don’t think it’s the suit that’s the problem-it’s you.”

“Hey, I am an out-of-shape bouncer,” Ernie said brightly. “It’s been a few years since I worked the door anywhere, but don’t go taking me for granted-I’m in better shape than it looks like, baby. You oughta know that…”

“It’s not what I know that matters, it’s what Victor Phule and his bodyguards think,” said Lola, frowning. “If they knew what I know, they wouldn’t even let you in the casino-forget about striking up a casual conversation - with a gazillionaire. We’re stuck with trying to make you look like somebody respectable. Are you sure you can’t shave any closer?”

“Not unless you want my face to look like the insides of a watermelon,” said Ernie. “Hey, why don’t you just put a dress on me and try to pass me off for a cocktail waitress? Maybe he’ll go for that one…”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m stuck with the raw material I’ve got,” said Lola. “Besides, this is Lorelei. He can’t expect all the people he meets-even the rich ones-to be from his own social class. I wonder if he’d believe you as a construction magnate, self-made from the ground up?”

“Forget it,” said Ernie, impatiently. “You wanted, an actor, you should’ve hired somebody off a tri-vee; stage. Now, do you have any other improvements on the scam, or are we goin‘ to get any real work done today?” Lola threw up her hands. “Oh, the hell with it,” she said.

“You’re right-we’re not going to get anywhere if I spend all my time trying to get your act perfect. You’ll go over to the casino, talk up Victor Phule, and see if you can figure out what he’s up to-if anything at all. Keep an eye out for his son-he’s the one they’re paying us to snatch-and make sure the Legion guards don’t get too suspicious. I may need you to go back there again, and I can’t do that if they throw you out of the place as an unsavory character.”

“Yeah, yeah, and I won’t scratch my ass in front of the marks, neither,” said Ernie, sullenly.

“I’d settle for your using civilized grammar,” said Lola.

She shook her head, then relaxed, and said, “All right, then. Try not to lose all your money, you big dumbbell. And call if you’re going to be later than midnight getting back.”

“Ah, the old guy prob’ly ain’t even up that late,” said Ernie. Then he grinned, and said, “I’ll call, though. Wish me luck!”

“You’ll need all you can get, you goofball,” said Lola, and gave him a punch on the biceps. Ernie just grinned more broadly, and ambled out the door toward the bus line that would take him to the Fat Chance Casino. Lola watched the door close, then shrugged and went over to her computer. She couldn’t do much about Ernie’s part of the job besides sit and worry, but she could get to work on other parts of the plan. She sat down and began working. Before long, she’d even forgotten that she ought to be worried about Ernie.

Chocolate Harry’s hovercycle coasted down the slight incline into the camp and came to a halt outside the largest tent. There was nobody in sight “Hey, hey!” called the Supply sergeant. “Anybody home? The man you need to see is here to be seen. You want it, I got it-c’mon out and let’s talk turkey.” A bleary-eyed face appeared between the flaps of the tent “Who the hell are you?” it said, staring at Harry’s considerable bulk and his black Legion uniform.

“Chocolate Harry-Sergeant Chocolate Harry, of Omega Company. The man in charge of supplies-which on this planet, means the main man you need to know. You the dude that’s buyin‘ for this outfit?” The face came out in front of the tent, accompanied by a beer-bellied body. The man looked around as if to make sure the two were alone, then said in a quiet voice, “Not for the whole outfit, but maybe for myself. I’d be interested in some military-grade guns and ammo—something that can knock over some of the big critters I hear tell they have on this planet”

“Knock ‘em over?” said Chocolate Harry, rubbing his hands together. “No sweat, buddy-I can sell you the same weapon the locals use. Guaran-teed to coldcock anything that walks, runs, swims, or flies. How many you gonna want?”

“Just enough for me,” said the fellow, lowering his voice even further. “One, with the ammo-enough for a couple weeks hunting. Can you do it?”

“Like I said, no sweat,” said the Supply sergeant. He wondered briefly why a hunting party would come to a distant world without the weapons it needed to do the job. Did they come from one of the worlds where private ownership of arms was banned? “Say, it ain’t any of my business,” he said, “but it’s kinda funny you’d come all this way without any guns.”

“Oh, hell, we got lots of guns,” said the hunter. “I’d jes’ like to get somethin‘ a little bit better than store-bought for myself, anyway. If the other boys want to get their own, that’s their lookout.” Chocolate Harry wasn’t quite convinced; what if they’d come to a world without a conveniently corrupt Legion Supply sergeant? Would this fellow have settled for the “store-bought”? Or was he trying to obtain the military weapons for some purpose other than hunting? Then he shrugged it off-it really wasn’t his business. If there was money to be had, that was all he cared about. He smiled, and said, “It’ll run you fifteen hundred bucks, though. And you gotta keep quiet about it-this is Legion issue, top secret stuff. Word gets out I sold it to you, both our asses are gonna be in the cooler for a lo-o-ong time.”

“Price isn’t a problem.” said the fellow. “By the way, Sarge, the name’s L. P. Asho. And you don’t have to worry about me passin‘ along any secrets. I do lots of big government contracts, so I know how to zip the lip. I’d hope you’ll do the same for me-I get the idea your boss don’t like us playin’ with guns.”

“He’s the last dude I’m gonna tell, believe you me, Asho,” said Chocolate Harry. “Now, guns ain’t the only thing I can put in your hands. You folks need any fancy food or drinks? I got real Galactic Bohemian from New Baltimore, in the bottle or in the keg. Or I got genuine scotch whisky from Aldebaran IV -they even got sheep to pee in the water, give it the Old Earth flavor. Or maybe you boys need some pills…”

“Naah, we brought all that kind of stuff with us,” said L. P. Asho. “Maybe if we run low-good to know there’s a local source for the better things in life. But say-you wouldn’t know where I can find a good poker game, would you? The other boys can’t play worth a damn, and I wouldn’t mind that so much if they didn’t know they can’t play, which means they don’t play-unless it’s for the kind of money I throw the guy who opens a door for me in a fancy restaurant. And that ain’t hardly poker at all, in my DB. A fella likes a little real action, where’s he’s‘posed to go on this planet?” Chocolate Harry rubbed his chin.

“Gee, I dunno. Most of the guys in Omega Company don’t have those kind of bucks, either,” he said.

“We do have a little game every now and then, if you’re looking for some action. Not a lot of money, y’understand-the Legion doesn’t pay all that much, not even to fellows like me who’ve been pulling our weight for a good long while. But if you and your buddies are interested in something a little livelier, maybe we could get a few of the guys to show up for a five-buck ante…”

“That’s the kind of stuff I like,” said Asho. “What do y’all play?”

“Dealer’s choice,” said Harry. “Mostly pretty tame stuff like Anaconda or Hold ‘Em. Every now and then something a bit funkier, like Aldebaran, orTexas Chainsaw…”

“So if a fella came in with a different game he didn’t mind explainin‘ the rules, you wouldn’t have a problem with that?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” said Chocolate Harry, grinning. “Why don’t I see how many of the boys I can scare up. Would tomorrow night be cool?”

“Very cool,” said L. P. Asho, with a predatory grin.

Chocolate Harry grinned right back at him then revved the hover cycle and roared back toward the Legion base.

After a few moments, Euston O’Better came out of one of the tents. “What the hell was that noise?” he asked.

“Legion sergeant invitin‘ us to play poker,” said Asho.

“Poker?” O’Better frowned. “Hey, I came here for the hunting, not cards.”

“Sonny, this is the best kind of hunting there is,” said Asho. “Sucker hunting-and I think I just found me a big one.” He rubbed his hands together and smiled-a very nasty smile.

First Sergeant Brandy hadn’t seen the AEIOU team arrive, nor had she watched the hunters’ shuttle landing out in the desert. She’d been too busy with her squad of new legionnaires-none of them raw recruits anymore, but most of them still unseasoned, by her lights. This morning’s training exercise had gone all haywire, and now she had to figure out how to make it work tomorrow morning. It had started out simply enough: she’d broken the squad into two groups, then sent one of them into the desert to prepare an ambush and, after a decent interval, sent the other to try to find them without falling into the ambush. The spirit of competition should have spurred them to do their best, and in the process, both groups should have learned a good bit about the terrain around the camp and how to operate in it.

Except the first group had gotten lost right away, in spite of its maps and instruments. That wouldn’t have been all that bad, if they’d just chosen a more or less suitable site, set up some kind of position, and waited to ambush the second team when it came to find them. No such chance. Instead, Roadkill had gotten into a discussion with Brick about which way they were originally supposed to go, and most of the rest of the squad had taken sides with one or the other. Meanwhile, the other squad, which admittedly had the somewhat tougher job of finding the first, got itself lost even more thoroughly than the first. When Brandy had finally gotten annoyed and sent out a search party, she’d found the second team trudging through the desert-in an almost perfect circle around the first party.

In fact, the only thing both squads had done according to orders was to maintain comm silence so as not to alert the “opponents” of their position. And, since nobody had kept an eye on the emergency comm frequency, both groups were utterly unaware that Brandy had been trying to recall them for several hours before she’d given up and sent out the search party. Which, to her utter annoyance, had promptly gotten itself lost. It had taken most of the afternoon to finally get everybody found and back on base-luckily with no injuries worse than sunburn. And all this while the captain was entertaining the AEIOU team; which was snooping around the base looking for reasons to find Omega Company guilty of environmental offenses (with Barky ready to attack suspected polluters), and while trying to keep the AEIOU team from noticing the party of bigwig big-game hunters that had landed just south of camp and apparently insisted on instant VIP treatment. All this was enough to turn Brandy’s mind, yet again, toward the prospect of an early retirement… and maybe, this time, Captain Jester wouldn’t manage to sweet-talk her out of it. So Brandy wasn’t really paying attention when an unfamiliar sophont in a Legion uniform came up to her, dropped a duffel bag, came to attention, and saluted. “Legionnaire Thumper reporting for duty, Sergeant!” it said.