A Phule and his Money

by Robert Asprin; Peter J. Heck

  The two officers burst through the door to the command center together. Mother shot them a panicked look, then ducked behind her console. "Good morning, Mother," said Phule. As usual, the reply was inaudible. Phule gave a sigh, and continued into his own office. He'd been working on the assumption that pretending everything was perfectly normal might keep Mother from ducking into a shell every time she had to deal with someone in person. The jury was still out on this approach.

  But when he entered his private office, the light on his desktop communicator was blinking. He picked it up. "Yes, Mother?"

  "Well, honey-bun, I thought you'd never notice," came the saucy voice in his ear, suddenly bold now that she didn't have to look him in the face. "Got some people want to see you, not that I can figure out why. I assume you're still not interested in talking to those pesky IRS agents."

  "That's right, Mother," said Phule. "What did you tell them?"

  "Your morning schedule's full, they should check back later, like ten years from now. It's close enough to true, sweetums. You haven't left yourself much time to get organized for this reassignment."

  "We'll be ready," said Phule. "And with any luck, I can put off the IRS until we've left the station. That'll give Beeker time to work on my taxes. What else is on the menu today?"

  "Another group of civilians dyin' to see you," she said. "You'll love this bunch--all three of 'em look like flunk-outs from charm school. Act like it, too. You wanna know their names?"

  "Three of them, you say?" Phule's interest suddenly picked up. "Sure, let's have the names."

  "OK, sweetie." There was a moment while Mother retrieved the names. "Stonecutter Johnson, Joe the Blade, and Asteroid Annie. Representing the Renegades Hover-cycle Club, they say. Shall I give 'em the brush-off?"

  Phule sat up straight in his chair. "Oh, send them in, by all means," he said, suddenly alert. "But first, why don't you patch me through to the supply depot? I think the time may finally have come to solve another of our outstanding problems."

  "So, Sarge, when these Renegade guys show up, what do we do?" Double-X peered through a slit between the board Chocolate Harry had nailed over the casino loading dock, now converted to Omega Company's supply depot. The view outside was unchanged.

  "We kick ass," said Louie's translator voice. The Synthian brandished his automatic shotgun, as if eager for the impending showdown. "Blow them away."

  "Easy for you to say," said Chocolate Harry, "Problem is, it ain't enough to blow away the first guys they send. We finish this bunch off, there'll be others--and more after them. These dudes don't give up a grudge just because they have a tough time settling it."

  "Yeah, I can get into that," said Double-X. "Back on Crumbo, where I grew up, the Slambeens and the Ratzers used to go at it like that. Those were some tough guys--steal the glimmer right off a cragbolt, and laugh about it like it was nothin'."

  "Yeah, well, you never saw me back down from no cragbolt, neither," said Chocolate Harry, sneering. He asserted this with a certainty bolstered by the fact that he had never to his knowledge been on the same planet as a cragbolt. "A man's got a rep to live up to, he can't pick and choose his fights."

  "I guess that's right, Sarge," said Double-X, who like most sensible legionnaires was more in awe of his own sergeant than of any potential adversary--human, alien, or monster.

  "Somebody coming," said Louie, in what sounded like a hoarse whisper despite the translator's limited range of expression.

  Chocolate Harry leaned over to look at the monitor screen showing the output of the security cameras he had covering the approaches to the supply compound. "Relax," he said, after a moment. "It's the captain." Then, after a longer pause he added, "At least it looks like the captain."

  "Should I challenge him, Sarge?" asked Double-X, picking up the microphone.

  "Nah, I'll hail him on his private frequency," said C.H. "The Renegades might be able to rig somebody up to look like him, but they can't jigger the whole comm system without a lot of work. That ain't their style, anyway--more likely they'd walk up to the door and call me out." He reached to activate the wrist communicator, but before he could do so, Phule's unmistakable voice came from the speaker.

  "C.H., are you in there? I have something we need to talk about."

  "Sure, Cap'n," said the supply sergeant. "Come on in--we aren't gonna shoot you."

  "Oh, I wasn't worried about you shooting me," said Phule's voice. "But you might start trying to shoot the people I've got with me, and get careless."

  "What do you mean, Cap'n?" said Chocolate Harry. Then, as he saw who stood next to Phule, his voice went up an octave. "Look out, Cap'n! It's the Renegades!"

  Phule's calm voice came back: "They've promised not to try anything, C.H.--I think they've realized they'll get more by talking to you than any other way. Will you let us come in and talk?"

  Chocolate Harry said nothing for a long moment, his face impassive but his mind racing. At last he said, "You vouch for 'em, Cap'n? They ain't carryin' heat?"

  "They're clean, Harry," said Phule. "Are you going to let us in?"

  "OK, Cap'n. Yo, Double-X, Cap'n comin' in, with hostiles. Keep 'em covered, but no shootin' unless they make the first move. Got it?"

  "Yeah, Sarge," said Double-X, and he went to unbar the door.

  Phule and the three Renegades picked their way through the obstacles outside the supply depot, and finally entered the door. Inside, the Renegades stopped and stared. Phule stepped over to the side of his supply sergeant, who stood with his fists balled at his sides. "Relax, Harry," he said in a low voice. "I think we're going to solve your problems."

  "I know these guys," said Chocolate Harry, his eyes fixed on the intruders. "Stonecutter Johnson, ain't it? And your old sidekicks, Joe the Blade and Asteroid Annie. Never thought I'd see your nasty faces up here."

  "Not a bad setup you got, Harry," the big Renegade said, nodding appreciatively. "Anybody starts a rumble with you boys, he better know how to take care of hisself."

  "The Legion knows its business," said Phule calmly. "You saw a sample of that."

  "You put on a pretty convincin' show," said Johnson, with a grudging nod. "Them cats can move. And they're only part of what you got. Make a dude stop and think."

  "Yeah," said Harry. "You do that, Stonecutter, and maybe nobody gets hurt. OK?"

  "Hey, Harry, we been thinkin'. OK?" said Johnson. "When we got word that you was on this station, the club took a vote. Maybe it'll surprise you to know that some of the new guys didn't think it was worth comin' after you, after so many years. But us old-timers remembered what you done to our bikes, and payback is payback, no matter how long it's been."

  "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, sne
ering. "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 couldn'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.