Phule's Paradise (20 page)

     
Beeker rolled his eyes in not so mock exasperation.

     
"Really, sir," he said. "You really should read more than the financial pages once in a while. Dee Dee Watkins has been a rising holo star for several years now, and she's just put together a nightclub act tour, which is supposed to premiere at the grand opening."

     
"Oh."

     
"Not quite yet, sir," the butler corrected. "You see, while I have not had the privilege of reviewing Ms. Watkins's contract personally, my recent experience with Lieutenant Rembrandt while hiring our own actors leads me to believe that a performer of her standing will have a clause in her bookings requiring that she be paid in full even if she does not perform, providing the reason for her performance is a failure on the part of the booking party to supply stage equipment of at least minimal professional standards-which I would assume includes lights and a functioning sound system. I would further assume that her fees for performing, while, perhaps, not of the same magnitude as the potential losses from multiple jackpots at the video slots, are, nonetheless, substantial-and I know how you dislike paying people not to perform their contracted services."

     
He paused, then nodded at his employer.

     
"Now, sir."

     
"Oh," Phule responded dutifully.

     
Silence hung in the air as Beeker waited respectfully for his employer to digest this information.

     
At last, Phule let out a sigh.

     
"Okay," he said. "I can see where that will have to be addressed. Any other jewels of insight?"

     
The question was meant facetiously, but that was always a danger in the company Phule kept.

     
"As a matter of fact, sir," Beeker said, "it occurs to me that you might also want to arrange for some sort of audit or backup system for the front desk of the hotel."

     
"The front desk?"

     
"I believe the computer is utilized rather heavily for both the reservations and the billings for the hotel, and aside from the annoyance of double bookings, there is a long-standing law that in such an event, the hotel is responsible for finding the extra guests equivalent lodging and absorbing the cost."

     
"And there are a lot of tour groups who are supposed to have reservations for the opening," Phule finished grimly.

     
The commander produced his Port-A-Brain minicomputer from his pocket and pulled up a chair next to the room's holophone.

     
"Get on the horn and order us some coffee," he said. "We've got a lot of work to do. And Beek?"

     
"Yes, sir?"

     
"I don't want to hear any grumbling about my not getting enough sleep. Not for a while, at least."

That Lawrence Bombest was surprised to receive a holo call from Willard Phule was an understatement. While he had formed a grudging respect for the job Phule had done in upgrading the attitudes of his down-at-the-heels Space Legion company while they were temporarily housed at the Plaza, Bombest would not in his wildest dreams fantasize that the two of them were at all close.

     
In his position of manager of the Plaza Hotel, one of the oldest, most respected on Haskin's Planet, it had been his duty to act as guardian of those stately facilities, and while the Legionnaires had turned out to be much better behaved than he had originally feared, more often than not it had placed himself and their commander in adversarial roles. As surprised as he was at the mere existence of the call, however, he was dumbfounded at its content.

     
"I know we're both busy, Bombest," the ghostly holo-image said, "so I'll cut right to the chase. Would you be willing to take a brief sabbatical from the Plaza to manage a hotel here on Lorelei? Say, for about a month?"

     
"I ... I'd have to think about it, Mr. Phule," the manager stammered, caught totally unprepared by the question.

     
"Unfortunately we don't have a lot of time," the image said, shaking its head. "Yes or no?"

     
"In that case, I'm afraid the answer would have to be no," Bombest said. "If nothing else, my commitment here would forbid it. I'd have to apply for the necessary leave time, and arrange for a replacement ..."

     
"I'm afraid you're underestimating me again, Bombest," Phule broke in. "That's already been handled. I cleared it with Reggie Page ... you remember the name? The CEO of the Webber Combine that owns the chain? Anyway, I've explained the situation to him, and he's agreed to give you the time off, with pay, of course, and to arrange for a replacement until you return. By the way, I hope it goes without saying that you'll be generously compensated for your work here, as well as having an expense account, so that your combined income for the period will be substantial."

     
"So this was all done in advance?" Bombest said.

     
"There was no point in asking you if you weren't going to be available," the image said, "and, no offense, Bombest, I figured I had a better chance of getting through to Reggie and getting a timely answer than you did. Anyway, the question isn't whether or not you can do it, it's whether you will do it. You're the only one who can answer that."

     
"I see. If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Phule, why me? Forgive me, but I was under the impression that we didn't particularly get along while you were staying here."

     
"Oh, I don't pretend that I like you, Bombest," Phule said with a tight smile, "and I don't expect that you particularly care for me as a person. Our styles are far too different for us to ever be `good buddies.' You are, however, the best I've seen at what you do, which is handling problems at a hotel, and I happen to be in a jam right now where I need that talent. The question isn't if we are or will be friends, but if you're willing to work with me."

     
Bombest pursed his lips. "I don't suppose you've checked the availability of flights from Haskin's to Lorelei, along with your other inquiries?"

     
"Actually I've gone a bit further than that," the image responded. "When-excuse me, if-you're ready to go, you'll find the governor's military ship standing by at the spaceport to bring you directly here. As I said, we're on a tight timetable."

     
This bit of information spoke volumes to Bombest. While there had been no love lost between himself and Phule, their relationship was positively rosy if compared to the Legionnaire commander's interaction with the military governor of the planet. While details of those encounters were never made public, it was no secret that they fought like cats and dogs whenever their paths crossed. The fact that Phule would approach the governor for the use of the official space launch, not to mention what he must have had to commit to obtain it, was a tribute to how badly the commander wanted Bombest's services. Much more so than a casual call to Reggie Page.

     
"Very well, Mr. Phule," the manager said, making up his mind. "I'll do it. There are a few matters I have to clear up before I go, but they shouldn't take more than an hour or two. Then I'll be on my way."

     
The image smiled. "Excellent. Welcome aboard, Bombest. I'll be looking forward to seeing you."

     
After the connection was broken, Bombest had a few moments to reflect on the call which had just turned his immediate future topsy-turvy.

     
To his surprise, he realized that the money being offered had not been the major factor in his decision, though it had paved the way. The real deciding point was that he had been flattered at the lengths to which the Legionnaire commander had gone to obtain his services. For someone of Willard Phule's stature and experience to say you were the best he knew at what you did and that he needed you was enough to make you move heaven and earth to prove his opinion of you justified.

     
For the first time, Bombest began to understand exactly how it was that Phule was able to get zealous loyalty where others were hard-pressed to get obedience.

CHAPTER TEN

Journal #227

To say the final days before the casino's grand opening were a study in freneticism would be like saying Genghis Khan dabbled in real estate.

     
There were a myriad details to be handled, and my employer, with his customary tendency to position himself in the heart of things, managed to involve himself with most of them.

     
Of course, they all had to be dealt with immediately.

"I was told I could find Captain Jester here?"

     
"He here ... but in meeting. Not to be disturbed."

     
"We'll see about that!"

     
The verbal exchange was conducted at sufficient volume that it penetrated the room's door, and the Legionnaires assembled had ample forewarning of the interruption even before the door opened.

     
Tusk-anini had specifically been chosen to stand guard on the meeting, as his sheer presence was enough to intimidate most would-be intruders. Unfortunately intimidation alone was not enough to deter the petite bundle of energy which now burst through the door. Though dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, she carried herself as regally as a queen-or, to be more accurate, a spoiled princess throwing a snit fit. The sight of a dozen black-clad Legionnaires sprawled about the room, staring at her like a pack of panthers, was, however, sufficiently unnerving to at least bring the young lady to a halt.

     
"Captain Jester?" she said hesitantly.

     
"Yes?"

     
The commander rose lazily to his feet from his seat on the sofa.

     
"I need to talk to you right now. I was told-"

     
"Excuse me," Phule said, holding up a restraining hand with a smile. "Now that you know who I am, may I ask who you are?"

     
Though they eventually grow to dislike the intrusions on their privacy by droves of nameless admirerers, big-name entertainers nonetheless depend on public recognition for their livelihood. It is therefore more than a little jarring to them to be confronted by someone who is not only unimpressed by but unaware of their identity.

     
"Tough house," the intruder muttered, almost to herself. "All right, Captain. We'll play it your way. I'm Dee Dee Watkins, the featured attraction for the casino's grand-opening show."

     
"Got it," Phule said with a curt nod. "Forgive me for not recognizing you, Ms. Watkins. Though I'm familiar with the name, I rarely have time to watch the holos, and am woefully ignorant when it comes to the various entertainers, much less their current positions in the pecking order. Now then, what can I do to help you?"

     
"I was just checking on the showroom's availability for rehearsals and was told that I was going to be working with a live stage crew instead of a computerized setup-by your orders."

     
"That's correct," the commander said. "Is there a problem with that?"

     
"Aside from the fact that a live crew never handles their cues the same way twice, not at all," the singer said sarcastically. "Look, Captain. It's been a long time since I worked in front of an audience. I'm going to have my hands full remembering my own cues without wondering whether or not the follow spot is going to be on me or on the piano when it comes up."

     
"I guess my information was incorrect," Phule said. "I was told that you would prefer to work with a live crew, provided they were competent of course."

     
"Oh?" Dee Dee frowned. "Who told you that?"

     
"I'm afraid I did, love."

     
She turned toward the speaker, then did a visible double take.

     
"Lex? My God, is that you? I didn't recognize you in that getup. Did you enlist or something?"

     
The actor shot a quick glance at Phule before answering.

     
"Just a temporary arrangement, I assure you," he said with a smile too easy to be genuine. "As far as the stage crew goes, would it help at all if I gave you my personal reassurance that things will be handled properly?"

     
"You're working crew?" Dee Dee said incredulously.

     
Lex's smile tightened slightly.

     
"I'm managing the crew," he corrected, "but I've worked with them long enough that I feel confident they can handle it."

     
"I didn't know you knew anything about the techie side of theater."