No Phule Like An Old Phule (3 page)

But while the dark-haired woman getting off the BuTse slideway with two huge grocery bags at the Dedisco loop was almost certainly unaware of the history behind her crowded ride home, she was by no means reconciled to it. She stalked up to the nondescript apartment building at the comer, elbowed her way into the gravshaft, and glared at her fellow denizens of the Dedisco Towers as they rose through the shaft together. There was an audible sigh of relief as she swung off on the fifth level and stomped down the hallway to her apartment door.

She palmed the lock, bustled through the door, and headed for the kitchen. From the living room came the sound of a tri-vee set turned to a gravball game. She ignored it and noisily dumped the bags on the kitchen table. From the other room came a male voice: “Lola?” She ignored that too, muttering angrily as she began to unload the bags.

“Lola, you better come in here,” said the voice, louder this time.

“Wait a minute,” she barked. Schmuck can’t even come out and talk to me, let alone help, she thought darkly. I ought to make him get his own meals.

“Lola, we got trouble.” said the voice again.

“You’re the one that’s got trouble,” she snapped, turning to face the entrance to the living room. That’s when she saw the stranger with a beamer pointed at her. “Uh-who are you?” she finished, lamely.

Unfortunately, she already had a very good idea what the answer had to be.

“I’m askin‘ the questions, sister,” said the man, gesturing with the weapon. “You get in there with yer buddy and don’t try nothin’ fancy.” The way he handled the beamer was all the proof she needed that he knew what to do with it in the event something fancy did occur. She went into the living room. There sat Ernie, in a straight-backed chair facing the tri-vee set.

His arms were bound to his sides, and a wide band of elasteel around his torso bound him to the chair.

On the couch next to him sat a small man in an expensive suit.

“Good, everybody’s here,” said the small man. “Why don’t you have a seat, Lola? We have business to discuss.”

“Who are you?” said Lola. “We haven’t done anything.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” said the little man. “Sit down, please, it makes me uncomfortable to see you standing up.” He gestured toward the other chair in the room.

Lola was not by nature docile. But something in the man’s manner told her this would be a very bad time to make herself disagreeable. She sat.

“Good, that’s very good,” said the small man. “It makes things so unpleasant when people aren’t in a cooperative mood. I really hate it when we have to persuade people to go along with us.”

“What do you want?” said Lola. “Who are you, anyway?”

The little man inspected his fingernails, then said, “My name doesn’t matter, but if you wish, you can call me Mr. V. My partner and I represent certain parties from whom you accepted an employment contract some time back. Perhaps you’re familiar with the agreement I’m referring to?“

Lola did her best to appear calm. ”This wouldn’t have anything to do with Lorelei Station, would it?“ she asked.

“Very good.” said Mr. V. nodding enthusiastically. “It’s always good to start from a position of mutual understanding. I was afraid that little matter might have slipped your mind. May I inquire when we can expect you to fulfill your contractual obligations?”

“In fact, we made every effort to do exactly that,” said Lola, twisting her neck to peer up at him. “There was an unexpected development…”

“An unexpected development;” the little man repeated her words, sympathetically. “That’s the way things sometimes go in our business, isn’t it? They never quite go the way you plan.”

Lola nodded, smiling.

Then Mr. V clapped his hands together loudly. “But a professional doesn’t let those little setbacks get in the way of completing the job. A professional knows how to overcome obstacles. You and your colleague are professionals, aren’t you?”

“Of course we are,” said Lola. “But…”

“But me no buts, young lady,” said the little man, leaning forward to look her in the eyes. “You were engaged to deliver a certain package to a certain location. Now, it’s been quite a long. time, and the delivery has not taken place.”

“I can explain that,” said Lola. Her mouth was suddenly dry.

“I’m sure you can,” said Mr. V. “But I’m going to save you the trouble, young lady. My principals aren’t really interested in explanations, and neither am I. If we want explanations, there are any number of professional explainers whose services we can engage. At the moment, we would much rather see results. Do you grasp my meaning, young lady?“

“I think so,” said Lola, in a very quiet voice.

“Very good again,‘ said the little man, turning away from her and pacing, He stopped and turned, and said, ”Now, to the point. Your contract calls for the delivery of certain goods. We are going to insist that you fulfill that contract. And we are furthermore going to insist that it be done without any further unnecessary delay. Do you understand me?“

Lola nodded. “There may be additional expenses involved in retrieving the goods…” she began.

Mr. V held up a finger, like a scolding schoolteacher.

“Young lady, I wouldn’t be eager to ask for more money when I hadn’t finished the job I’d contracted to do,” he said. “Not if l were in your shoes. Certain people might get very impatient with you.”

“I was merely pointing out the possibility,” said Lola, with a gulp. “It might not be a problem, in any case. We can discuss that when everything’s wrapped up.”

“Good,” said Mr. V, smiling again. “And I notice that you say when everything’s wrapped up, can I take that as meaning you intend to go ahead with your operation?”

“Yes, of course,” said Lola. She smiled. “We never intended anything‘ else.”

“Good, it’s a pleasure doing business,” said Mr. V, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll tell my principals that everything is in order, then. And when can they expect delivery?”

Lola began calculating in her head. The big variable would be travel time; hyperspace had unpredictable twists and wrinkles, and a ship might well arrive, some time before it had set out-or months later. Still, the expected travel time back to Lorelei ought to be something like three weeks. “You want the package delivered to the sameplace as before?” she asked.

“Precisely,” said the little man, with a nod.

“Sixty days from now;‘ said Lola. ’That’s cutting it close, but I think we can do that.”

“We’ll hold you to it,” said Mr. V. “And just in case you’re tempted to think about slipping out of your obligations again, I think we’ll give you something else to think about.” He snapped his fingers, and the man with the beamer stepped into the room. Ernie’s eyes grew wide.

Journal #649

The excesses of youth, as amusing as they may seem to those of riper experience, are nonetheless productive of worthwhile results. Youthful exuberance, wedded to the seemingly inexhaustible energies of the young, can achieve things that sober maturity would never attempt. It is undoubtedly for this reason that armies are made up of the young.

The negative corollary of this verity is that; despite almost comically elaborate efforts to arrive at correct intelligence, armies are more easily duped than almost any other institution of similar size and complexity.

And the same can be said of their individual members-only more so…

“Here’s a package for you from Legion Headquarters, Captain,” said Lieutenant Rembrandt, bustling into her commander’s office.

“Oh, good-maybe it’s the promotion Ambassador Gottesman said I’m supposed to be getting,” said Phule. He took the package from her hands and eagerly began to tear it open. “I never thought I’d make it to major,” he said.

“I mean, I suppose I always hoped I’d do well in the Legion-maybe even make it to general. It’s every officer’s dream, I guess. But realistically, if you keep butting heads with the top brass-and I’ve pretty much made a full-time career of that…” He stopped suddenly, his face a snapshot of disappointment.

“What is it, sir?” said Rembrandt.

“This isn’t my promotion,” said Phule. “It’s a set of environmental impact forms from the Alliance Ecological Interplanetary Observation Union. The AEIOU.”

“That’s interesting,” said Rembrandt. “Have we had any previous dealings with the AEIOU?”

“Sometimes. Why?” Phule asked his lieutenant.

“I just wondered what they wanted,” said Rembrandt.

Phule looked at the cover letter. “They want us to document our compliance with ecological preservation directives for undeveloped planets, and to submit our updated environmental preservation plan. There’s a list of regulations…”

“Undeveloped?” Rembrandt frowned. “Where do they get that? This is an inhabited world, last I looked. The desert out here may be fairly empty, but that Zenobian capital city you were in is about as developed as it gets.”

“That was pretty much my impression:” said Phule, scratching his head. “Somebody’s gotten the wrong information.”

“That could be a first-class pain,” said Rembrandt. “You know these bureaucrats. Once they get the wrong idea, it’s as good as gospel. I remember when the newstapers mixed up my Uncle Daryll with another guy who was killed in a skimmer accident. It took him nearly sixteen years to convince the Planetary Employment Bureau he was still alive-and poor Uncle Daryll worked for them…”

“Well, this is obviously irrelevant to a Legion mission,” said Phule. “We’ve never had to file environmental impact forms before…”

“Don’t bet anything on it,” said Tusk-anini, who’d been sitting in one comer of the office, reading.

“Environment all around us, so we having impact every day. Bureaucats’ right to worry. I think is smart to fill out forms.”

“How about you do it, then,” said Phule, handing the pile of papers to the huge Volton legionnaire. “You fill out the paperwork, I’ll sign it, and we’ll send it back to the AEIOU. That’ll get ‘em off our back.”

“I do it,” said Tusk-anini. “When you want back?”

“I don’t know-a week or so ought to be enough time,” said Phule. “It’s your baby, now-you can use the spare desk in the comm center to work on it. Let me know if you run into any problems.”

“Will take good care of baby,” said Tusk-anini. He tucked the papers under his arm and headed for the comm center.

Rembrandt watched him go, a trace of worry on her face. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to give that job to him, Captain?” she said. “He’s likely to come up with very strange answers to some of those questions-you know how his mind works. Sometimes I think he’s too smart for his own good.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about the AEIOU,” said Phule.

“You know what happens to paperwork-it just sits on some secretary’s desk until they file it and forget it. Odds are nobody will even glance at those forms, except to make sure we’ve filled them out and that I’ve signed them.“

“I hope you’re right,” said Rembrandt. “There are enough people looking for ways to make trouble for you and for this company-that I’d hate to see somebody else have an excuse to get on your case. It worries me that this came from Legion Headquarters instead of directly from the AEIOU.”

“You don’t need to worry,” said Phule, waving his hand.

“Remember, I’m the guy who handles problems from upstairs. And as long as Colonel Battleax and Ambassador Gottesman are on our side, we’ve got two people who can keep the trouble from ever getting as far as me. And I’ve got a pretty good idea how to keep them happy.”

“I sure hope so, Captain,” said Rembrandt. She let her frown relax. Phule was probably right. Ever since he’d been on board, life with Omega Company had been steadily improving. Who was to say it wouldn’t keep getting better and better?

Three men met Victor Phule as he entered the casino offices. Two were dressed in well-tailored civilian garb, the third in a black Space Legion officer’s uniform. Only someone familiar with the minutiae of Legion uniforms would have noticed that the various patches and insignia he wore were completely bogus.

“All right, where’s my son?” barked Victor Phule, ignoring the proffered handshake. “I’ve been trying to catch up with him for weeks, and every time I call I either get some actor or a bunch of excuses. I want to see Willard—or talk directly to him, if he’s not on the station.” The elder of the two men in business suits answered him, in a quiet but urgent voice. “Mr. Phule, I’m Tullie Bascomb, head of gambling operations at the Fat Chance. I understand your concern. But I think this is a discussion that ought to take place in private,” he said.

Phule glared at him, but after seeing the man’s expression, he nodded. “All right, then,” he said. “This had better be good.” The man who’d spoken to him indicated a doorway to one side, through which a comfortably appointed small conference room was visible.

At a nod from his boss, Phule’s bodyguard stepped inside, quickly scanned the room, then nodded.

“Nothing obvious,” he said.

“It’s clean,” said one of the men who’d greeted Phule.

“Your son made sure of that. Come on in, Mr. Phule. Would you like coffee, tea, something else?”

“I’d like to talk to Willred,” said Victor Phule. “And I’ve had about enough of your stalling. Where is he?”

“Off-station,” said Bascomb. “And at last word, he was doing just fine. Come sit down, Mr. Phule. I’ll give you the full. story. And, if you insist, we can connect you to him, he’s close enough so we can use regular intrasystem comm.” Phule grumbled, but took a seat Bascomb introduced the others in the room: Gunther Rafael Jr., former owner of the casino, and Doc-a veteran character actor Phule had hired to impersonate a legionnaire in order to keep the crooked operators who ran Lorelei Station from learning that Omega Company had been transferred to another post, leaving the casino unguarded.

“This isn’t for general publication, you understand,” said Bascomb. “The captain is off-station because he’s decided that his military command takes priority over his other businesses. For the interim, he’s left the place in our hands. And I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Phule, if the captain walked in here unannounced five minutes from now, I don’t think he’d find one thing that isn’t being done exactly the way he’d do it himself.”