The Complete Phule’s Company Boxed Set

by Robert Asprin

  “Don’t matter if there ain’t but two of us left alive,” growled Joe the Blade. His fingers twitched in the vicinity of his vibroblade sheath, but then he remembered it was empty. He punched his fist into his empty palm, with a curse. Behind him, the Synthian guard took a tighter grip on his shotgun.

  “What the hell is this?” said Chocolate Harry, turning to Phule. “Cap’n, you said they was comin’ to talk!”

  “We’re talkin’, ain’t we?” said the woman Renegade, with a gap-toothed grin that conveyed very little warmth. “Didn’t say we was gonna talk nice.”

  “Easy, now, all of you,” said Phule. “I don’t ask you to be friends after so long, but I do think we can arrive at some way to solve your problems. You Renegades have brought a grievance against Chocolate Harry, perhaps a legitimate one—I don’t think he denies that there was some incident in the past.”

  “Damn straight there was a freakin’ incident,” growled Stonecutter Johnson. “Harry’s a freakin’ liar if he says anything else.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d do without the profanity,” said Phule, his voice suddenly cold. “Whatever the merits of your argument, that sort of language adds nothing to it. Now, what we’re here for is to find a way to end this feud, because frankly it’s an impediment to the Legion’s operation.”

  “It shouldn’t be too hard to end the feud,” said Asteroid Annie, sneering. “Give the three of us five minutes alone with the fat boy, and no interference. We’ll settle it right fast.”

  “Harry might surprise you,” said Phule, calmly. “But that’s not how we’re going to solve this. The Legion looks after its own. If you attack my sergeant, you’ll find out what it means to take on a full Legion company. And the same goes for any other member of my command.”

  Stonecutter Johnson put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “That’s right, Annie, the Cap’n told us that before, and I believe him. It’s the same way we’d be if somebody came after one of our own—or at least, that’s how it was in the good old days, before all the snot-nose kids came into the club and let all the biker traditions go to hell.”

  “A-men, Stony. Things ain’t like they used to be,” agreed Joe the Blade. His face took on a wistful expression, and he added, “It must be five, six years since I last cut somebody’s ears off.” He scratched his scraggly beard, and gazed speculatively at the supply sergeant.

  “Cap’n!” Harry squawked. “You gonna let ’em threaten me like that?”

  “Kick ass!” came Louie’s translated voice, and the little Synthian brandished his shotgun. “Blow them away!”

  “Now who’s makin’ threats?” snarled Stonecutter. “Cap’n, I didn’t think you was lurin’ us into a ambush, but if that’s how you’re playin’ it, I’m ready to snaggle.” He struck a defensive martial arts pose, and his cohorts followed suit.

  “Everyone calm down,” barked Phule. “Louie, put that weapon away. These people came here unarmed, in good faith, and that’s how we’re going to play it. Now, Chocolate Harry, if I understand the situation, these people accuse you of tampering with their hovercycles.”

  “Well …” Harry began.

  “Tamperin’ ain’t the word for it,” shouted Asteroid Annie. “He reversed the wires on the hover circuit, so they flipped over when we went to ride ’em.”

  “And he poured Insta-Stick glue on the seats, so we couldn’t get off without taking off our jeans,” said Joe the Blade, shaking his fist.

  “And he put helium in the reaction tanks and burned out the mass converters,” said Stonecutter Johnson. “Any man that’d do that to somebody else’s hawg … well, he ain’t fit to ride, Cap’n. He ain’t … fit … to ride.”

  “Is this true, Harry?” Phule turned to his supply sergeant.

  “Well, Cap’n, it was like this …” Harry began again.

  “The explanations can wait, Harry. There’s only one thing I need to know right now: Is what they’re saying true?”

  Chocolate Harry pulled himself up to his full height and saluted. “Yes, sir!” he barked.

  “That’s all I wanted to know,” said Phule. “At ease, Sergeant. I told you the Legion protects its own, and I meant it. But these people are entitled to some recompense for what you did to them, and I mean to see that they get it. It’s the only way to end this standoff, and to get back to our real business.”

  “What you gonna do, then?” asked Chocolate Harry, his gaze shifting warily between Phule and the Renegades.

  “Yeah, man, what you gonna do to him?” said Stonecutter Johnson. He and his fellow Renegades cast suspicious looks toward the Legionnaires.

  “Nothing,” said Phule. Then, as the others’ mouths opened in protest, he held up a hand. “Nothing to him, that is. We’re going to follow an old maxim: ‘Let the punishment fit the crime.’ Sergeant, where is your hovercycle?”

  “Cap’n!” Harry dropped to his knees like a felled ox. “Cap’n, let ’em cut my ears off! Let ’em tattoo me paisley from head to toe with a dull needle! Let ’em throw me out the airlock, but Cap’n, please don’t let ’em have my hawg!”

  “Cuttin’ them ears off would be fun,” said Joe the Blade, grinning evilly. Asteroid Annie’s eyes lit up.

  “Yeah, go ahead, cut ’em off,” bawled Harry. “Cut ’em both off, and shave me with a ripsaw, and then boil me in Chinese mustard. But don’t mess with my hawg!”

  “Where’s the hovercycle?” repeated Phule. “No more delays, Harry. I’ll have the cycle or I’ll have your stripes.”

  “Sure, bust me back to buck private, Cap’n,” said Harry, still on his knees. “Bust me all the way back, and throw me in the stockade, and dump the key in a black hole, and feed me on sawdust and battery acid. I won’t complain, no sir, not one word, long as you don’t let ’em have my hawg.”

  “Hey, man,” said Stonecutter Johnson, stepping up to Phule. “We don’t care what you do with his fat ass. It was our bikes he screwed with. Give us the hawg and we don’t care what else happens to him.”

  “Is that so?” said Phule. “Will you stick by that? If I give you the hovercycle, will you drop your grudge against Harry?”

  “Let us have the hawg, to do whatever we want with it,” said Stonecutter, leering. “After that, it’s over. Stonecutter Johnson says so, and what Stonecutter says, no Renegade’s gonna go against it. That right, dudes?”

  “Nothin’ but right,” said Asteroid Annie, grinning. Joe the Blade nodded his assent, as well.

  “Very well, then,” said Phule. “Harry—the bike.”

  Sobbing incoherently, the supply sergeant pointed to a door in back of the supply office. Phule strode over and opened it, to reveal a shining hovercycle—a machine gorgeous enough to make any rider drool. The Renegades let out a collective gasp at the sight. “It’s yours,” said Phule. “Take it and go—and I’ll hold you to your word. The Space Legion will hold you to your word.”

  “No need for that,” said Stonecutter Johnson. “We got more than we ever expected. Chocolate Harry, the feud is off. You don’t got nothing ever to fear from us again.”

  “Thanks a million,” said the supply sergeant bitterly. “I’d rather you’d cut my ears off. Don’t stand there and rub it in—take the hawg and go.”

  “You ain’t gotta ask me twice,” said Johnson. He gestured to his cohorts, and the three Renegades walked the cycle out of the supply depot, grinning broadly. The door closed behind them.

  There was a moment of silence, as they all stared at the door. Then Harry said in a near-whisper, “Great god-a’mighty, Cap’n—I think it worked!”

  “Of course it worked,” said Phule. “As far as they’re concerned, they’ve got their revenge. And they’ve got what they think is the single thing you valued most in life. Great acting job, by the way.”

  “Thanks, Cap’n. Once you called me up and told me what was comin’ down, I saw it was the only way to play it. And I really did have a qualm or two seein’ ’em take away my good ol’ hawg. Even if I co
uldn’t really use it here, that there cycle was my oldest friend. Had a lot of memories connected with it.”

  Phule clapped him on the back. “Well, I told you I’d replace it, and you know I’ll stand by that. You pick the model, and it’s yours—soon as those Renegades go back home.”

  “Sounds good, Cap’n,” said Harry, smiling. Then his face turned wistful, and he said, “Maybe there ain’t no real hurry, though. There wasn’t a whole lot of chance to ride it here, and that ain’t good for a hawg. We’re gonna get planetside again before long, where I can really crank it up and run—I guess I can wait till then to get a new hawg.”

  “That makes sense,” said Phule. “I’m sorry to see you lose that old one, though. Do you really think they’ll destroy it?”

  “They ain’t that crazy,” said C. H. “More likely, they’ll take it back home as a trophy—maybe they’ll do somethin’ to mark it, but no real rider would ever really hurt that bike. I bet they keep it in good shape, break it out and ride it every now and then, to show off how they got their revenge on me.”

  “And do you think they did?” asked Phule.

  Harry thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess they did—at least by their lights. And I got somethin’ I wanted, too—somethin’ I never thought I’d see again.”

  “What’s that?” said Double-X, who’d started taking boards off the windows.

  Harry’s smile was beatific. “Peace of mind, dude, peace of mind. Ain’t nothin’ in the galaxy to match it.”

  * * *

  From his seat at the head of the table, Phule looked around the conference room. For once, he was addressing a group of civilians: the managers and department heads of the Fat Chance Hotel and Casino. He reminded himself that he couldn’t take their obedience for granted, as he would with his Legion subordinates. This time, he’d actually have to convince them he was right.

  On the other hand, as majority owner of the Fat Chance, he carried considerable authority here. That had its downside, actually—it could mean that a major loophole in his plans might go undetected because nobody had the nerve to call the boss on it. Well, he’d had that trouble with his Legion command at first, too. The people he was leaving here were good enough that any miscalculations he made should be spotted and corrected before they got out of hand.

  “Everyone’s here, so let’s begin,” he said. The murmur died down. “You’ve all heard the news by now, that my Legion company has been transferred to another assignment. That means that we will no longer be available to guard the casino.”

  “I’ve heard it, and I think it’s a disaster, plain and simple,” said Gunther Rafael, the former owner of the Fat Chance. Phule had kept him on as a figurehead manager, and planned on putting him in charge of day-to-day operations once the company was gone. “Your people have been the only thing keeping the mobsters from walking into the casino and taking it over at gunpoint. Quite frankly, I expect them to try exactly that, the minute your ship leaves the station.”

  “The mobsters have had their wings clipped,” said Phule, looking at Rafael. He hoped he hadn’t overestimated the former owner. “I don’t think you’ll find them anywhere near as bold as that. We won’t be leaving you without security, you know.”

  “You might as well,” said Rafael. “Everybody knows it’s the Legion that’s protecting this place. That’s kept us safe. When you go, it’ll be like leaving babies to guard a bank vault.”

  “No it won’t,” said Phule. “As many of you know, most of the ‘legionnaires’ in the casino are actually uniformed actors. The real Legion guards are out of uniform, undercover. So, if a few uniformed personnel leave, it can be explained as normal turnover. As far as the public sees, the Legion will still be here. I’ll be away, but that shouldn’t affect security.”

  “It certainly shouldn’t,” said Doc. He’d been training the actors impersonating legionnaires for the last few months. He was in Legion uniform, with a set of sergeant’s stripes—a “promotion” he’d been granted in anticipation of Moustache’s leaving with the real Legion. Doc looked every bit the part, standing straight as an arrow at the foot of the table.

  “The place was a target before,” said Doc, “because the mob thought the new owners would be pushovers. The mob’s been pretty quiet since they found out the Legion means business. And after the way the company tore up that obstacle course the other day, I’d guess that just having a few Legion uniforms visible will keep the hoodlums out from underfoot. I doubt we’ll have to deal with anything much worse than the occasional rowdy drunk after word of that gets out.”

  “And we don’t need a Legion company to handle that kind of problem,” said Lex, who’d taken over managing the casino’s entertainment program. “We can take care of that by giving some of our stagehands overtime as bouncers to back up Doc’s team.”

  “You can go a long way in this business by putting up the right front,” agreed Tullie Bascom. Phule had lured Tullie out of retirement to run the Fat Chance’s gambling operations. “The Legion’s rep is all the security we need.”

  “As far as the other operations, I’m satisfied they’re in good hands,” said Phule. “The entertainment is the best on the station, thanks to Lex …”

  Lex gave his best professional smile. “Well, I have to give a lot of credit to Dee Dee Watkins,” he said. “She may have the biggest case of artist’s temperament I’ve seen since I first stepped on a holostage …”

  “And that’s longer ago than even I want to think about,” said Doc in a stage whisper.

  “… but she has the goods to back it up, too,” said Lex, grinning wryly as everyone laughed. “And with her signed to a long-term contract, we’re set for the foreseeable future.”

  “There’s one more element we’ll be putting in place shortly after I leave,” said Phule. “Just so my prolonged absence doesn’t start the mob thinking, we’re going to implement a plan I’ve kept absolutely under wraps until now. I urge you all not to say a word about this outside this room—because it’s the heart of the plan. Beeker?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the butler, who’d sat quietly in a chair behind his employer. He opened a door and in walked … Phule. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” the new arrival said in a voice indistinguishable from the original.

  “What the devil, have you cloned yourself?” said Tullie Bascom over the babble of voices.

  “Not quite,” said Phule. “This is a custom model from Andromatic, set up to our specifications. It has a very limited set of functions, but they should be sufficient for the purpose. Most of the time, it’ll sit behind a desk, looking busy. But it can also walk around the casino, even sit down for a drink. It can carry on a conversation, as long as it doesn’t have to be too profound—and it’s programmed to break it off the minute somebody strays beyond general topics.”

  “Good lord, Captain, you don’t intend to leave this android to run the casino in your absence?” Rafael said.

  “Oh, it won’t be running anything,” said Phule. “You and your staff will be doing that. All it has to do is show up often enough to convince people that I’m still on the job. If somebody really needs to talk to me—which shouldn’t happen all that often—well, that’s what communicators are for.”

  “But, Captain, you have a habit of getting yourself in the news,” Lex pointed out. “Your company is bound to attract attention in its new assignment, and then your picture will be on screens all over the galaxy—showing you’re obviously several light-years away from here.”

  “Nobody believes what they see on the news,” said Phule. “They’ve seen too many stories where they used stock footage of some politician—usually, it doesn’t matter a bit. Just tell people I’m back and forth all the time, taking care of details on both ends. Andromatic tells me this basic model is very popular with political leaders. It should work for us.”

  “So, instead of a Phule running the place, we’ll have a dummy,” said Doc, grinning broadly.

  “I can se
e you’ve got everything set up,” said Rafael, after the laughter had died down. “Well, then, I guess the only thing to do is to iron out the details.”

  “I hope so,” said Phule. “And the sooner the better. Now, you’ll be getting back the block of rooms the troops have been using. That’s going to be good for the bottom line, of course, but there’ll be some reconversion needed …”

  The meeting got down to business, with the Andromatic Phule standing behind the original, occasionally nodding as if in agreement with some point being made. After a while, nobody paid it much attention—which was exactly what Phule had hoped for.

  Chapter Ten

  Journal #341

  Once a timetable had been set for the company’s departure from Lorelei, the actual preparations went ahead smoothly. The main complication was keeping the withdrawal a secret from the public—particularly from the local criminal elements that might try to seize the opportunity to press their own interest in the lucrative casino.

  I myself thought the elaborate efforts to deceive the mob leaders, especially Maxine Pruett, were perhaps more complex than necessary. That was before I found an incentive to take a personal role in the subterfuge …

  Lieutenant Rembrandt checked her communicator. Its readout showed Galactic Standard Time as 21:29—half an hour until the shuttle carrying the last of Phule’s legionnaires was scheduled to leave. So far, everything had gone as well as anyone could have expected—she was almost tempted to describe it as having been done with military precision, except she knew the military far too well. The company’s heavy equipment was already in transit, and would be waiting in orbit when they arrived at Landoor. And almost all the Legion personnel were already on the transport ship.

  It was the “almost” that had her worried.

  She had a very good idea which members of the company would show up at the last minute. The captain was one of them—no surprise there at all. He was still at the casino, settling the last details of the withdrawal. Nor was she particularly disturbed to see that the captain’s butler had not checked in. As a civilian, Beeker was of course not subject to Legion discipline or rules. Most likely, the butler was with his employer—or on an errand for him. Still, he was normally punctuality itself; it would be a real surprise if he missed the shuttle.