Phule's Paradise (7 page)

     
"It sounds like you had some rank before you retired," Phule observed cautiously.

     
"Let's just say I was a noncom and leave it at that, sir. I've been trying not to make a big thing of my experience. Seen too many new blokes to an outfit come in ringing the mission bell and preaching to the heathens how they should be doing things. The noncoms you have seem to be doing a right good job, especially since you got them back on track. Truth is, it's been a bit of a treat for me to be back in the ranks-letting others do the thinking and just following orders."

     
"I see," Phule said, then reached for his notepad. "Well, Moustache, I'm afraid your vacation is over, as of now. I'm refusing your offer as a volunteer, and instead am assigning you duty as an acting sergeant for this assignment. We'll see about making it permanent when it's all over."

     
"Yes, sir. Very good, sir."

     
The Legionnaire snapped into a rigid, parade-ground salute, but Phule did not return it immediately.

     
"Just one more thing, Moustache. Excuse me for asking, but exactly what is that accent you have, anyway?"

     
"Holo-movie, sir," the Legionnaire said, flashing another quick smile. "I never could master the Southern American drawl that's so popular with noncoms, so I settled for the next best thing. Studied every war holo I could find with a proper British sergeant major in it. It may not be authentic, but after forty years, it's habitual ... sir!"

And so it went, hour after hour, volunteer after volunteer.

     
True to Becker's prediction, even with making an extra effort to keep the interviews brief, it was late even by Phule's standards when the last Legionnaire had been dealt with. Finally alone, he tried to review his notes, but set them aside with a sigh when his eyes refused to focus.

     
He didn't really need to read the list to confirm what he already knew. While he had more than enough volunteers for a full complement, there was one name missing from the roster, one he had been counting on since receiving the assignment.

     
Glancing at his watch, he debated briefly over whether he should call it a night and deal with this problem in the morning. At this hour, the Legionnaire in question would probably already be asleep, and ...

     
With a conscious effort, the commander accepted a mental compromise. He'd just make a casual walk-by of the Legionnaire's room and then, if the lights were out, he'd get some sleep himself.

"Come in, Captain. I've been expecting you."

     
Sushi set aside the book he had been reading and beckoned his commander through the open door and into a chair.

     
"Sorry to be calling so late," Phule managed, sinking into the offered seat, "but there were a lot of volunteers for the new duty-more than I expected, really."

     
"More than you need?"

     
"Well ... yes and no," the commander hedged, glancing around the room. "Where's your partner?"

     
"Do-Wop? He headed into town to do a little celebrating. Late as it is, I expect he won't be back until morning."

     
"Good, good," Phule said absently. Now that he had found Sushi, he wasn't quite sure what to say to him. "I, um ... wanted to talk to you."

     
"Let me make this easy for you, Captain," the Legionnaire said, holding up a hand. "You want to know why I didn't volunteer. Right?"

     
"Well ... yes. If it isn't prying, that is. I would have thought the assignment would be a natural for you. Considering ..."

     
He let his voice trail off, leaving unsaid what was already common knowledge between the two of them.

     
Phule knew Sushi-or, at least, had a passing acquaintance with him-from before their respective enlistments in the Space Legion. They had traveled in the same, or similar, circles, both coming from exceptionally wealthy families. Phule also knew, as did a few in the company, that Sushi was an embezzler and that most of the money he had stolen had gone to finance a passion for casino gambling.

     
"I should think the answer is obvious." Sushi shrugged. "I'm a compulsive gambler. I love high-stakes risks the way an alcoholic loves a bottle. That was bad enough when the only thing to lose was my own money and reputation-or that of my family's company, as it turned out-but to have our company's reputation riding on my control ..." He shook his head. "I just think it would be safer all around if I stood normal duty and avoided the tables completely. The only sure way I've found to stop gambling is not to start."

     
Phule leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment, frowning thoughtfully.

     
"This is a volunteer mission," he said finally, "and I wouldn't want to frog-march you into it, Sushi, particularly not if it means asking you to go against a decision you've made for your own good. The problem is ... let's face it, you're probably the only one in the company who really knows casinos as a gambler. I had been hoping you'd take the role of one of those high rollers-the big-stakes players that the casinos give red-carpet treatment to. You could move around openly with more freedom than the team members we infiltrate into the staff, since they will be pretty much limited to those areas defined by their jobs, plus you'd have a better feel for normal operations and when there was anything going on at the tables that warranted closer inspection."

     
"Sounds like you were counting on me as one of your main spotters," Sushi said, chewing his lip slightly.

     
"I was," Phule admitted. "But, still, I can understand your reluctance. I'll just have to figure out some other way to-"

     
"Don't bother, Captain," Sushi interrupted. "I'll do it on one condition. If I feel like I'm losing control, or if in your personal opinion I'm plunging too hard, you'll pull me out of there, even if it means locking me in my room with a guard to keep me away from the tables. Agreed?"

     
"Agreed." Phule nodded with a smile. "Okay. That's a load off my mind. Let's see ... you'll need a bankroll to play with ... shall we say, a hundred thousand for starters?"

     
"Excuse me, Captain, but if-and I stress if-I happen to come out ahead, who gets the profits?"

     
"Well ... I hadn't given it much thought, but I suppose if you're gambling out of the company fund, then any winnings should go back into that fund."

     
"In that case," Sushi said, flashing a schoolboy's grin, "I think I'll provide my own bankroll, if you don't mind. I did squirrel away a few dollars before I enlisted, in case of just such a rainy day."

CHAPTER FOUR

Journal # 197

I will not attempt to chronicle the endless details involved in packing up the company for relocation. For one thing, they are boring and tedious; for another, they contribute little to the account of this particular assignment. Perhaps most important, however, is the simple factor that I was not present for those proceedings. Let it suffice to say that knowing my employer's habit of wanting to put his personal stamp on everything, and Lieutenant Armstrong's tendency to be overly formal and by the book when carrying out orders, however minor, I'm rather glad I was elsewhere at the time, at least until I observed the condition of my employer's wardrobe after having left it to someone else's care.

     
I, of course, was occupied elsewhere, specifically on the planet Jewell, assisting Lieutenant Rembrandt in her efforts to find and recruit the actors necessary to replace those Legionnaires who would be working under cover for this assignment.

     
As I find is often the case with higher executives, my employer had grossly underestimated, or simply chosen to ignore, the difficulties involved with performing a specific task delegated to a subordinate, choosing instead to lump all his assistance and advice into the brief phrase "Just do it. Okay? Make it happen!" While this may be a successful method for said executive to shift the bulk of the responsibility for a task off his own shoulders, it effectively leaves the designated subordinate to, as they say, "twist in the wind," bearing the brunt of the blame for the methodology, as well as the results, of their efforts.

     
With my humble assistance, however, Lieutenant Rembrandt had completed her assignment prior to the company's arrival on Jewell, or, should I say, completed most of it.

Phule barely recognized his senior lieutenant as he disembarked from the shuttle at the Jewell spaceport. In fact, he might have missed her completely had she not been standing next to Beeker in the waiting area.

     
Rembrandt had forsaken her usual long-braided ponytail, and her dark brown hair now hung loosely almost halfway down her back. There was no sign of her customary black Legionnaires uniform, either, as she was dressed in a deceptively simple white blouse and dark skirt combination, topped off with a camel-colored sweater worn over her shoulders like a cape, with the arms tied loosely around her neck. Her wardrobe, combined with the stack of folders she was hugging with both arms and the pencil stuck behind her ear, gave her the appearance of the young assistant of someone in some branch of the entertainment field-which was, of course, what she was striving for.

     
"Lieutenant ... Beeker," Phule said, coming to a halt in front of them. "That's a new look for you, isn't it, Rembrandt?"

     
Rembrandt's normally pale complexion suddenly exploded with a bright pink blush.

     
"Sorry, sir. Becker said ... I mean, I felt ... Well, you said we shouldn't let anyone know I was with the Space Legion, so I thought ..."

     
"Whoa! Stop the music!" the commander said, holding up a restraining hand. "There's no need to apologize, Lieutenant. I was just teasing you a little. You look fine ... really. In fact, you look exceptionally good in that outfit. You should wear skirts more often."

     
Rather than looking relieved, Rembrandt's blush deepened to the approximate red of a tomato in a seed catalog.

     
"Thank you, sir," she mumbled, averting her eyes. "Beeker helped pick it out."

     
Painfully aware that his efforts to lighten the mood were only making matters worse, Phule cast around desperately for a change in subject.

     
"So ... what have you got for me there?" he said, looking pointedly at the folders Rembrandt was clutching.

     
"These are the resumes of the actors and my notes on them for your review, sir," the lieutenant said, gratefully slipping into the more familiar military mode as she thrust her load at her commander.

     
"Excellent," Phule said, accepting the stack and idly opening the top folder to glance at the contents. As he did, the three-dimensional holo-photo which was the inevitable inside cover of an actor's portfolio sprang to life, projecting a miniature person who seemed to be standing on the folder. He ignored it, scanning the printed pages instead. "I assume they'll be ready to load and board this evening?"

     
Rembrandt licked her lips nervously.

     
"I ... those are only my final recommendations, sir. I've been holding off finalizing them pending your approval."

     
The commander's head came up with a snap.

     
"You mean they haven't been notified to be ready for departure?"

     
"Well, I have them on standby, but I explained that you had to approve the final selection, so they're-"

     
Phule slapped the cover shut on the top folder, squashing the actor's image in the process, and handed the entire stack back, interrupting her in midsentence.

     
"Get them on the horn and tell them they're hired," he said firmly.

     
"Lieutenant," the commander cut her short, "I gave you this assignment because I trust your judgment. If you say these are the best candidates, then that's what we'll go with."

     
"But I'm not sure of a couple of these, sir. I was hoping you could-"

     
"Being sure is a luxury you rarely get as an officer, Lieutenant. You make the best guess you can in the time allowed, then make it the right choice."

     
"But ..."

     
"Our main criterion is that they fit into uniform sizes that we have in stock. Outside of that, they're mostly window dressing. As to personalities ... well ... if you'll recall, we took potluck with this company to start with. I doubt there is anyone in there that will be more of a problem case than the Legionnaires we're already dealing with. Agreed?"