No Phule Like An Old Phule (21 page)

In most places, he’d have taken his chances and figured on tipping the security guards to turn a blind eye. But the Fat Chance Casino’s policy was to expel any cheaters it caught not just from the casino, but from Lorelei itself and its guards were apparently tip-proof. If Ernie and Lola were identified as cheats, their chances of completing the mission that brought them here shrank very close to zero, as did their chances of convincing a certain Mr. V to let them keep breathing. That was good enough to convince Ernie to keep his hands to himself and leave his educated dice at home.

His specific mission tonight was to find either of the Phules, Willard (A.K.A. Captain Jester) or his father Victor. In principle, that was a no-brainer. He knew what both men looked like and had a fair idea where, in the public parts of the casino, they might be found this time of day. In practice, as his previous experience with the younger Phule had taught him, the job was far from easy.

On their previous visit to Lorelei, Ernie and Lola had laid a subtle trap to kidnap the captain of Omega Company, and on the space liner away from Lorelei Station, found themselves in custody of an Andromatic robot whose features were a dead ringer for Captain Jester’s. The situation had fallen entirely apart when the robot had commandeered an escape pod and left the space liner entirely. Luckily, nobody on board ship had managed to connect them to the incident, or else (in addition to their other troubles) they might now be trying to figure out how to come up with the replacement value of a deep-space escape pod. Ernie had no idea whether the robot had been recovered or replaced; certainly the Phules could afford to do either.

But barring information to the contrary, he and Lola agreed that any Phule they encountered had to be considered a possible robot. Since their contract had said nothing about robots-since, in fact, Mr. V had been emphatically uninterested in hearing. about their misadventures-the two kidnappers needed to be sure they were getting the real thing. And with a high-priced bodyguard standing nearby, an experimental poke or pinch to determine the subject’s reaction would not be a good idea.

Ernie drifted nonchalantly through the casino, stopping to look at the play at a table here or there, occasionally placing a small bet on a whim. If anyone were watching, they were likely to check him off as a bored dilettante, with no fixed purpose. But he gradually made his way toward the higher-priced rooms, where his quarry was likely to be playing, or watching the action. What would happen when he found one of the Phules remained to be seen. But he’d think of something, he was sure. He could always think of something.

“Well, I believe you’ve seen our whole camp,” Phule said to the AEIOU inspectors. “I can see it’s getting close to dinnertime; could I persuade you to stay for a taste of Omega Company’s cooking? I think Sergeant Escrima is as fine a chef as you’ll find in this arm of the Galaxy…”

“Is the food organic?” asked Slurry, a dubious expression on his face. “We absolutely insist on that.”

“I believe you can take it for granted that Sergeant Escrima’s offerings fulfill that requirement,” said Beeker, his chin inching upward. “In fact, it is all but impossible to obtain nutrition from inorganic substances.”

“The Nanoids seem to do just fine with sand,” said Phule, grinning. “But I think you’re missing the point, Beeks.” He turned back to the AEIOU team. “In fact, Escrima insists on only the freshest and purest ingredients-I ought to know, since I’m the one paying for them. And he prides himself on being able to supply a satisfying meal to anyone who walks into the mess hall. At the moment, he’s responsible for feeding members of at least five different species and I don’t know how many ethnicities. So I’m sure you’ll find a wide selection of dishes that meet your requirements-unless you insist on your food being bland or overcooked, in which case he’ll probably come after you with a red-hot skewer. Would you like to join us?“

Inspector Gardner chuckled. “I’ve been eating camp food for long enough that I’m tempted to take you up on it. Unless your chef’s an even worse terror than you say…”

“You may be certain he’s a terror, sir;” said Beeker. “But I’d advise you to take up the captain’s invitation nonetheless. The food is the best on the planet.”

“Given the alternatives, I’d be very surprised if it weren’t,” said Gardner. “Even so, I’d love to join you. But I can only speak for myself. Chief, do you think we can eat here, or do we need to go back to our own camp?”

“Eating here would help conserve our own food supplies,” added Slurry. “And it would give us a chance to evaluate the Legion’s energy efficiency and waste management procedures.”

“You shouldn’t judge the Legion as a whole by us,” said Lieutenant Rembrandt, earnestly. “To be as clean and green as we are, you have to have a CO who cares about something besides kowtowing to the top brass. Most Legion companies spend so much time trying to avoid getting on the wrong side of headquarters that they can barely achieve their basic mission, let alone worry about the environment.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Chief Inspector Snieff. “But I believe I’m going to make my own decision on this company’s environmental practices rather than accept the testimony of an undoubtedly biased party. Granted, I haven’t found any blatant destruction of vital habitats, or flagrant pollution of the environment-so far. The lack of evidence doesn’t mean this company isn’t guilty.”

“What a convenient system,” said Beeker. “Guilty until proven innocent-it must save you ever so much trouble.”

“We nearly destroyed Old Earth by giving the antienvironment forces too many loopholes,” retorted Snieff. “The AEIOU has sworn never to let that happen again.”

“Perhaps you should consult the local inhabitants before you make your decision,” said Rembrandt. “The captain has worked very closely with the Zenobians to minimize the impact of this base on their planet. If they’re satisfied, why is it your concern?”

“Locals can be very shortsighted,” said Slurry. “It’s our business to think of the long term.”

“Well, at the moment, I’m not thinking any farther ahead than dinner,” said Phule, stepping forward to cut off any reply from his officers. “If you all want to join me, now’s your chance-and I cannot only promise you the best food on the planet, but one of the best meals you’ll ever eat.”

Gardnerand Slurry both looked at Snieff, but apprehension was clear on their faces as their chief wrinkled her brow, trying to decide. Some of the legionnaires who’d overheard the discussion shook their heads, or grinned ruefully. Escrima’s cooking had spoiled them for the kind of rations the AEIOU contingent had undoubtedly brought with them to Zenobia. The inspectors would be sorry if they missed it-but they’d be even sorrier if they accepted the invitation, and then had to go back to their own cooking.

At last, Chief Inspector Snieff shrugged, and said, “Very well, Captain, we’ll dine with you tonight. It’s late enough that by the time we returned to camp we’d be behind schedule for our meal. I suppose we will simply have to trust this Legion cook to make us something moderately healthy and not too extravagant.”

“I think you cart trust Escrima for that,” said Phule, with a knowing smile. “Come with me!” And he turned and led the AEIOU inspectors toward the mess hall.

Mess Sergeant Escrima, undisputed ruler of Omega Company’s kitchens and dining hall, hadn’t been told to expect company for dinner, but that didn’t matter. Every meal that came out of his kitchen was a special occasion, as far as he was concerned. And when he learned that the visitors were humans, he shrugged. For someone who regularly cooked for Synthians, Gambolts, and a Volton, that was no challenge at all.

Sure enough, the captain’s guests had found plenty to put on their plates as they went through the line.

One of the AEIOU- inspectors, a severe-looking woman, restricted herself to plainly cooked vegetables and rice; Escrima, watching from behind the counters, thought she could use a little fattening up, but kept his opinion to himself. If she didn’t appreciate his sauces and meat dishes, she wasn’t worth talking to, anyway, he thought. As long as she didn’t say anything, he’d leave her alone.

The others took a wider sampling of the cuisine, and seemed excited to find so many tasty choices in what they must have expected to be a typical military mess. That made Escrima feel better; he always enjoyed surprising visitors who thought that institutional food was required by some cosmic law to consist of- subpar ingredients, unimaginative recipes, and bad cookery. Even Barky, the Environmental Dog, was relatively easy to please. An interplanetary tri-vee star could have gotten away with being much more temperamental-even ace reporter Jennie Higgins had been known to get picky about her dinner selection-but the legionnaires of Omega Company (at least the ones who dared get close to his teeth) oohed and ahhed to see such a famous animal in their midst. And so, with a good dose of fan appreciation as appetizer, the ever-environmentally aware Barky settled right down with a medium-rare prime vege-rib and seemed as happy as a clam in unpolluted water. Escrima grinned.

Most cooks-even the specialists in vegetarian cuisine had a tough time making vege-beef taste like anything but recycled cardboard (which it mostly was), and then only by disguising it with enough marinade and sauces to swamp a space liner. Only a genius like Escrima could serve it up plain and make it not just edible but delicious. He’d been more worried by another variation from the normal routine tonight-the unannounced arrival of a new legionnaire of a species not previously represented in Omega Company. Escrima pulled down his trusty copy of The Practical Chef’s Encyclopedia of Culinary Preferences and Nutritional Requirements of Sophonts Around the Alliance and looked up the entry on the new arrival. It’d be just his luck to be short of some nonsynthesizable nutrient the Lepoids’ required, with no way to get it but express delivery at exorbitant prices. And since the entire expense would be to feed just one legionnaire, some bean-counter in headquarters was likely to gripe at the expense. That was tough luck, as far as Escrima was concerned. They should have thought about that before they’d sent a Lepoid legionnaire to Zenobia. His job was to feed ‘em, and screw anybody who didn’t like the expense. But after flipping through several cross-references and charts of substitutions, scowling as he matched the names of the exotic ingredients with their common equivalents, Sergeant Escrima sat back and smiled. Feeding the new guy was going to be a piece of cake, after all. Carrot cake, to be exact.

Thumper’s introduction to Omega Company was progressing at whirlwind speed. In the short time he’d been at the company’s Zenobia Base, he’d already met the first sergeant, who’d shown him to a comfortable barracks room and explained how Omega Company did things. He was going to be paired with one of the other legionnaires on base, not just as a roommate, but as a partner. This was one of Captain Jester’s innovations, though Thumper didn’t quite understand the reason for it. But eventually he’d get it, he knew. He was a smart Lepoid, and had the grades in school to prove it. Things hadn’t gone quite so well in basic training, but that had been his first exposure to mass human psychology. Now he had a better idea what was going on. Or so he thought…

The mess hall was open for the evening meal beginning at 1700 hours, the same as in basic. Here, though, the legionnaires apparently had the option of going to eat at any time between then and 2030, instead of being assigned a set (and usually too short) time slot during which they had to report for their meal. Having had his last meal just before the human hunters’ shuttle landed on Zenobia, Thumper was starved. He finished stowing his gear, washed his paws and combed his whiskers, and stepped out into the corridor, hoping the mess hall was close by and easy to find. It was. At the end of the short corridor leading to his barracks room, Thumper turned left and almost immediately saw the double doors of the mess hall in front of him. There was a small group of legionnaires standing around chatting just outside the doors, while a stream of their comrades walked through. Not really knowing anyone yet, Thumper stepped past them and took a tray. He was unavoidably conscious that the conversation in the group behind him had stopped just after he had passed, then resumed in a lower tone. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had caused it.

New guy, they were undoubtedly saying. New guy. Well, he was a new guy, here at least. Before long, he’d get a chance to show them just what kind of guy he was. And if he’d learned anything from his last talk with Sergeant Pitbull, he thought they’d be glad to have him on board. Meanwhile, his stomach reminded him, he hadn’t eaten in hours.

There was a food service line ahead of him, with absolutely wonderful aromas wafting out to the nostrils of the waiting legionnaires. Thumper stepped into line and took one of the trays-which, he was surprised to see, was not the ugly standard-issue plastic that everyone in Legion basic had used. Instead, these trays came in a variety of pastel shades with geometrical designs that might actually enhance the user’s enjoyment of eating. Even more surprising, they all managed to be attractively clean, rather than unappealingly sterile. Thumper hadn’t been in the Legion very long, but he already knew enough to recognize that this wasn’t typical of mess halls. He stepped into line behind a tall legionnaire-almost all of them were a lot taller than he was, but he was used to that, too-and peered over the edge of the counter at the food. There was a selection of raw vegetables, the kind the humans called “salad.” He took a large helping of that, and an equal amount of cooked greens-which, for the first time since he’d joined the Legion, weren’t boiled beyond recognition. He wondered how Omega Company got enough fresh vegetables to supply the mess hall; he hadn’t noticed a garden patch on his way into the base. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t one away from the route he’d traveled. It was just a real treat to see fresh veggies once again. It almost felt like home. Best of all, there was no sergeant standing there to tell him what to take, or how mucheither. Omega Company apparently let its legionnaires eat whatever they wanted. That was a really triff idea, thought Thumper. He couldn’t remember a time when there wasn’t somebody telling him what to eat, beginning with his mother. He was ready for a change. He looked around the room for a place to sit-he’d only met a couple of members of the company so far, so he had nobody in particular to look for. Plenty of table had empty seats, so he had his choice of dinner companions. Then he caught a whiff of something he hadn’t in his fondest dreams expected to find this far away from home. Carrot cake-his favorite dessert! Thumper followed the delicious aroma to its source, a serving station piled high with desserts of all kinds. He recognized some of them as distant relations of the offerings in the mess hall back in basic training-obviously far more palatable, even to his nonhuman taste buds. But it was the carrot cake that he craved, that promised his taste buds all the delights of home. He was so intrigued by the aroma that he didn’t even notice when the trouble started.