No Phule Like An Old Phule (31 page)

“If he does, it’ll be the first time in years,” said Bascomb. “But I agree, we’ve got to be ready with something sensible before our principals come back with their proposition. What do you think of this idea…” The discussion went on into late hours.

Journal #732

The rationalist is convinced that every sophont is at bottom predictable, acting according to consistent (if not necessarily already well-known) rules. The mystic, for his part, believes that every creature conceals within its breast some element of the wild and unpredictable. Of the legionnaires who play parts in this ongoing chronicle perhaps young Sushi best characterizes the former point of view, with Rev perhaps the most obvious advocate of the latter.

The realist (a label I believe I may fairly apply to myself) is aware that both of these philosophies have merit. Most of us are predominantly creatures of habit and pattern, but even the quietest of us has depths, from which the most unexpected actions can sometimes emerge…

Tonight, Thumper was standing perimeter guard duty for the first time. Brandy led him out to the position he’d be occupying, to show him the ropes and give a word or two of advice.

“The biggest thing to remember is that you’ve got instant comm contact with Mother, if anything weird happens,” said Omega Company’s Top Sergeant. “Don’t worry about bothering her-first of all, she loves to talk, and second, whatever’s going on, she’s probably talked to a lot of legionnaires in exactly the same spot you’re in-so she may have a pretty good idea what’s happening. And third, if you really do need help, she can get it to you faster than anybody else. Got the picture?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” said Thumper, peering out into the formless surrounding the base. He felt small and alone, even with the Zenobian stun ray he cradled in his arms.

Brandy nodded. “And the second thing to remember is, even though we’re on a strange planet light-years away from your home or mine, there’s not really much that can go wrong. The only other humans on the planet are the AEIOU team, over there, and the hunters who brought you. And none of them are going to invade the camp-though if those hunters get boozed up, they might do something stupid. The Zenobians are our allies-in fact, they’re the ones who invited us here. And the Nanoids, the microscopic colony intelligence that the captain and Beeker found out in the desert-nobody’s seen them since the captain sent his robot double to deal with them. Not much chance they’ll decide to come back on your watch. As for the local animals, they pretty much keep their distance. If in doubt, buzz Mother, then shoot to stun if you think you’re being threatened.“

“Right, Sergeant,” said Thumper. He was doing his best to sound confident and competent.

“OK, then, you’re on your own,” said Brandy. She gave the new legionnaire a friendly soft punch in the shoulder. Moarbo will be here to relieve you in four hours. Do your rest to stay awake until then.“

“Yes, Sergeant!” said Thumper, grinning a little bit now as Brandy headed back in toward the modular base building. His Lepoid eyes were already adapting well to the darkness, and he could see the vague outlines of some of the larger specimens of the local vegetation out against the starry horizon. After a couple of minutes, he heard the faint sound of the door to the base building opening and closing.

Now he really was alone.

Thumper looked around in all directions, taking his time to make sure he didn’t overlook anything.

Finally, satisfied that he wasn’t under observation, he took a deep breath, and, as quietly as possible, slipped out across the perimeter of Omega Base into the cool desert night.

“Hey, kid, wake up,” said a loud voice in Lola’s ear. “We’re back!”

“Ernie!” Lola sat bolt upright, her eyes suddenly focused. “You idiot! Where’ve you been all this time?”

“Hey, take it easy,” said Ernie, backing away a pace. “Mr. Phule and I just went someplace quiet to talk things over without any audience or interference, OK?”

“No, it’s not OK!” said Lola. She suddenly became aware of Victor Phule standing slightly behind Ernie, and Tullie Bascomb in his chair behind his big desk. Bascomb was rubbing his eyes, so at least she hadn’t been the only one to fall asleep. “What time is it?” she asked, lamely trying for a graceful change of subject.

“Three in the morning,” said Victor Phule. “Reminds me of old times, staying up to the wee hours to hammer out details of a deal. Exhausting, but there’s nothing more rewarding. Why, I remember the foundry strikes of ‘58 we negotiated around the clock and finally convinced the union scum they’d lose thirty-five hundred jobs if they didn’t settle! The rascals tried to put the best face on it for their followers, but it was all on our terms in the end, of course.”

“Wonderful,” said Lola, with a frozen smile. “And did you two uh, hammer out a deal this time?”

“Sure did,” said Ernie. “Here’s what’s going down…”

“Wait a moment,” said Tullie Bascomb, sitting up straighter. “We can’t just wing it on something this important. Have you got anything written down, or shall I call in a stenobot?”

“Ahh, we don’t need no stenobot,” said Ernie. “Mr. Phule and me have got a gen’lman’s agreement…”

“Send for the stenobot,” said Lola, cutting him off. “I don’t want anything these two gentlemen have agreed on slipping between the cracks while everybody’s getting a good night’s sleep and sobering up.”

“And just maybe we will have a few little suggestions on how to make the language more precise,” said Tullie Bascomb, with a smile that would do a piranha proud. He pushed a button on the desk and winked at Lola, who gave him a slight nod in return. She wasn’t anywhere near as confident as Bascomb seemed to be. They’d come up with a more or less workable understanding, but there was still the chance that Victor Phule and Ernie would dig in their heels, either together or separately. Especially after Phule’s bragging about the good old days of union-busting…

A side door slid open and a small officebot glided through, with an almost inaudible whirring sound. It rolled over and stopped next to the desk, waiting. Bascomb said, “Record,” and a light began winking off and on. “All right, Mr. Phule, Mr. Erkeep, tell us what you’ve arrived at. Once it’s in memory, we can look at it and see what needs to be twiddled.”

“Very well,” said Victor Phule, sitting up and clearing his throat. He looked at Ernie. “I’ll explain this, and Mr. Erkeep can confirm it.” He waited for Ernie to nod, then continued. “What we’ve agreed on, in principle, is a buyout. Mr. Erkeep agrees to assign his share of the casino stock to me, and renounces the right to any input into the day-to-day operation of the business.”

“I don’t wanna go to an office every day and sit through all those business meetings,” said Ernie, spreading his hands apart. “Suits make me look fat, anyway.”

“Your lip’s going to look fat if you didn’t get something worthwhile in return,” said Lola, staring hard.

She turned to Victor Phule. “Just how large is the share of stock you want him to assign you?”

“I was getting to that,” said Victor Phule, smoothly. “The jackpot my friend here won was sixteen thousand shares of stock, from the portion that was held by my son, Willard-as Mr. Bascomb told us earlier today.”

“And what’s the current market value?” asked Lola, a suspicious expression on her face.

Phule tucked his thumbs into the lapels of his jacket. “Well, since this is a closely held stock that isn’t normally traded on the open market, that’s a bit of a tricky question,” he began.

“Oh, su-ure,” said Lola. “I think I’m going to insist on an independent confirmation of whatever value you claim.”

“Hey, hey,” said Ernie, making shushing motions. “Don’t queer the deal, Lola. You haven’t even heard what we’re getting…”

“All right, I’ll listen,” she said. “But it better be mighty good.”

Victor Phule raised his brows and said, “Our best estimate of current market value is 250 dollars a share. That would yield a gross value of four million dollars for the shares in question.”

“Yess!” said Ernie, pumping a fist into the air.

Lola thought for a moment, then said, “Your previous valuation was a lot higher.” She stared pointedly at Phule.

“Something like fifty million dollars, if my client quoted you correctly.”

“Well, you can’t really hold me to that,” said Victor Phule. “That was an off-the-cuff estimate. These figures are much more scientific…”

Lola cut him off. “For a thousand-dollar bet, that makes it only a four-thousand-to-one jackpot. Not very impressive odds, if you ask me.”

Victor Phule held up a hand. “You haven’t heard the whole agreement,” he said. “We are also prepared to pay an annual royalty of one percent of par value per share for twenty-five years, for a total of another one million dollars; deferred payments if the stock remains at its current value. Naturally, the payment could fluctuate, but under good management, I’d expect the value to go steadily up.”

“I tried to get him up to fifty years, but he wouldn’t bite,” said Ernie, sheepishly.

Tullie Bascomb shook his head. “I’m going to have to run this past the captain, but I think he’ll okay it. I don’t see where he has a lot of choice. Is that everything? I can have the stenobot print it up and send it to the captain. Are you satisfied with the terms, Miss?”

Lola exchanged a quick glance with Bascomb. She was amazed. These two clowns had somehow managed to come up with a workable scheme-one she could actually live with. There was, of course, no point in Ernie’s having a serious interest in any kind of legitimate business, let alone a casino. He’d run it into the ground in record time if he ever tried to manage it. And he’d be robbed blind if he tried to hire somebody to run it for him. Lola knew that. And Tullie Bascomb, who was as shrewd an operator as she’d ever laid eyes on, probably knew it, too. So a flat buyout was the most sensible deal they could have asked for. The only question was whether they could realistically jack up the buyout price any higher.

After a moment’s reflection, Lola decided not to press her luck, and shrugged. “I think we can live with that.” she said. “Are there any other conditions you haven’t told us? Any reason we can’t pick up our money and go as soon as the captain’s OK comes through?”

“No, that’s the whole deal,” said Ernie, and Victor Phule nodded.

A high-pitched mechanical voice spoke-the stenobot “The agreement is subject to two legal restrictions that have not been made explicit. Shall I include them in the memo to Captain Jester?”

“Uh-legal restrictions?” Lola was frowning, now. “Just what are those?”

“First is the security and exchange commission registration fee for transfer of stocks. Since the stocks are being transferred twice, the fee is doubled. It comes to twelve hundred dollars.”

“Twelve farkin‘ hundred? No way!” said Ernie.

“You cannot own the stocks without registering them, and you cannot sell the stocks unless you own them,” said the stenobot, in an irritatingly pedantic tone.

“I don’t care,” said Ernie. “I’m not payin‘ no fees.”

“We’ll pay the fees,” said Tullie Bascomb, raising a hand. “What else?”

“Lorelei casino regulation statutes require winners of all jackpots in excess of ten thousand dollars to have their holo image taken and put on file for use in casino publicity. A copy will also be kept on file in the station police headquarters.”

“That’s a completely unacceptable condition,” said Lola. “Mr. Erkeep will not allow his image to be used.”

“Aww, why not, Lola?” said Ernie. “I always wanted to see my picture on the cover of a mag-even if it’s the back cover, in an ad.” Lola grabbed him and pulled his head down close to her mouth. “You want Mr. V to see that image?” she hissed in his ear. “Or have you forgotten just why we came back here?”

“Oops, that’s right, no pictures!” said Ernie. “Completely unacceptable condition!”

“I’m afraid we’re gonna have a problem with that,” said Bascomb. “The casino security system automatically takes a picture of all big winners. It’s been on file with the police ever since the jackpot bell went off. And unless the publicity department is asleep on the job, I’d bet we’ve been sending it to every media outlet in the galaxy, too.”

“Oh shit,” said Lola, with utter sincerity. Abruptly she stood up. “Come on, Ernie, we’re out of here,” she said, and before anyone else could say a word, the two of them stalked out of the office, leaving Bascomb and Phule standing openmouthed.

“Captain, there’s something you need to know,” said Sushi.

Phule looked up from the screen of his Port-a-Brain. Sushi was leaning against the frame of his office door, looking dead tired. “Come on in and sit down, Sushi,” he said, activating the computer screen.

When the legionnaire was seated opposite him, he said, “From the way you look, it’s pretty important. I hope it’s not bad news…”

“it is if we don’t do anything about it,” said Sushi. “But I think I know what we can do—if we’re quick enough, and if I’m right about what I think the Zenobians are doing.”

“This is getting complicated,” said Phule. “Why don’t you go back to the beginning and tell it straight through? Maybe that’ll make it easier to figure out.”

“All right, there are a couple of parts to it,” said Sushi. “First of all, I’ve figured out what those so-called hunters are really here for.”

Phule sat up and pushed his Port-a-Brain aside. “Now that’s something we’ve been wondering about ever since they showed up. I didn’t think they acted all that interested in getting out into the wilds and finding game. What are they up to?”

“Yes, I’ve been wondering that myself,” said Beeker.

“They certainly aren’t here for the cultural experience.”

“Nor for the waters,” said Sushi. “In fact, as best I can tell, they’re here to spy on us.”

“Spy?” said Beeker. “To steal military secrets? If young Mr. Phule will pardon my saying so, I find it difficult to believe that the commanders of the Legion would entrust this company with any highly sensitive information. For that matter, even if there were such secrets to be found, to whom would they be sold? The Alliance has no enemies that I know of.”