A Phule and his Money

by Robert Asprin; Peter J. Heck

  Journal #412

  In the end, Lieutenant Rembrandt decided she would have fewer regrets sending the rescue team than waiting to hear from Phule. Flight Leftenant Qual had remained out of communication, and lacking any report from him, it was reasonable for her to assume the worst.

  The rescue team was led by Lieutenant Armstrong. He had managed to hire a waterman familiar with the area of the mainland where Armstrong thought the rebel camp to be. Supplemented with what meager satellite intelligence they could gather, and armed with a mix of lethal weapons and Zenobian stun rays, the rescue party set out. Naturally, they had no idea what lay ahead of them.

  The flat-bottomed boat skimmed quickly and almost silently along the waterway. "This is how the rebels travel around the swamps," said the boatman, whose name was Hansen. "They kin duck back in these here bayous quicker than a nutria jumpin' off the bank."

  "I can see how they'd be tough to catch," said Armstrong. "These waterways all look the same to me--I don't see how anybody would ever find their way without GPS." Raised on a high-tech world, he took the benefits of a full satellite network for granted.

  "GPS--huh!" said Hansen. He spat in the water. "Genuine Piece of Shit, you ask me. Maybe that stuff can tell you where you at on a map, but that don't mean you gonna find your way anywhere else. The swamp keep a-changin', and if the map don't show the change, GPS can't help none. You better off havin' a local boy out on your skiff."

  "Maybe so," said Armstrong, with a tight-lipped smile. "But relying on locals works until the locals decide they're on the other guy's side--no offense, but it happens too often to ignore. If you wanted to, I bet you could get me so lost I'd never come back out. GPS gives me a chance--though I'd give a lot to have a few more sats up there."

  "Something up ahead," said Tusk-anini, pointing over the bow. There was an opening in the trees, and through it those on the boat could see a structure of some sort.

  "Stand ready for action," said Armstrong, and the legionnaires took their equipment in hand and looked ahead at their destination--or had it been designated as a target, now? They'd know when Armstrong spoke.

  "That's jes' Bobby Czerny's place, nothin' we got to worry about," said the boatman. "Ol' Bobby sells a little food, a little bait, a little fuel, a little hooch--money or trade, he don't care what he sells or who he sells it to, long as he gets by. Don't need no artillery here."

  "We don't usually get worried," said Super-Gnat, who was carrying a Rolling Thunder automatic shotgun that looked bigger than she was. She grinned. "But somebody took a potshot at the captain when we landed, and now the looie thinks he's a prisoner. So maybe we do need the artillery, y'know? If we have to use it, you get down flat and stay out of the way."

  "Assumin' we don't capsize from the first shot, I reckon I'll do jes' that," said Hansen. "You folks better be careful with them big ol' guns--these here flatboats flip right over, you start to skip around on deck. A warnin' to the wise."

  "We hear you," said Armstrong. "Everyone make sure you have a steady position if you need to fire. Closing on target."

  The legionnaires spread out around the little boat, trying to distribute their weight equally. Most crouched down, or lay prone on the deck, to reduce the target they offered any hostile observer--and not incidentally, to lower their centers of gravity. The pilot, taking Gnat's advice, flattened himself under the tiller. And so, as the boat pulled around a bend in the waterway, Armstrong was the only one standing upright.

  That was when the trouble started.

  Chapter 15

  Despite their guide's claimed familiarity with the waterways, the boat rounded the bend and plowed directly into a submerged mud bank. Armstrong, standing upright near the prow, was thrown straight over the mud bank into water deep enough for him to go completely under.

  Most of the others went overboard, too, landing in the shallow water that hid the bank--perhaps a half meter below the surface. That was enough to break their falls, although Tusk-anini landed hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Even the few who managed to remain on deck got a good shaking up. By sheer luck, none of them accidentally fired their weapons. Considering the firepower they were carrying, that kept the accident from turning into a disaster. Even the stun ray, if it had hit someone in deep water, could have been lethal.

  Armstrong's head appeared above the water, and he looked around in all directions before swimming back toward the bank, where the legionnaires were beginning to find their feet. "What happened?" he said, as he reached wading depth.

  "Hit a bar," said Hansen, who had rushed to the prow and was looking over the side to see what damage his boat had sustained. He glowered at Armstrong and said, "You'd 'a let me stand up, I'd 'a seen the bastard. Damn near kilt my boat."

  "Killed your boat? You damn near killed my squad!" bellowed Armstrong. He pulled himself upright--no easy feat in the slippery mud--and said, "OK, everybody, back on board."

  "Not so fast," said Hansen, raising a hand. "We done sprung a leak here. I don't know if she can carry the weight."

  "Well, we can't stay out here in the middle of the water," said Armstrong. "Can you at least get us to shore?" He pointed toward the trading post, about a kilometer away. A small group of locals had come to the bank to gawk at the boat and the floundering legionnaires.

  "She's shippin' water pretty fast," said Hansen. "I take you all, she's like to sink 'fore we get there. I could maybe take a couple of you, and send the boys on shore back for the rest. They got a couple canoes along there. Or you could all hang on to the gunwale to lower the weight. You'd get wet, but you'd get to shore a bit faster."

  No sooner had he said this than there was a series of three loud splashes along the bank nearest the boat.

  "What was that?" said Super-Gnat, one of the few still on deck. She swivelled her head around to look, but there was nothing to be seen but a series of expanding rings on the surface of the bayou.

  "Nutria," said Hansen, ominously. "They're thick around here. Maybe you better all grab the gunwale, after all. Don't want to mess with nutria."

  "Hurry it up," said Armstrong. "Put your weapons in the boat, so they don't get any wetter."

  "Hey, I don't know if she can take that extra weight," said Hansen. "I can only carry the guns if all of you hop off in the water."

  "I'm not getting in the water with nutria," said Super-Gnat. "I don't weigh very much, anyhow."

  Hansen nodded. "OK, little lady, why don't you stay on board and keep an eye out for the nutria, and the rest can put the guns on deck and just hang on. I'll get you there, all right." Luckily for him, Gnat was too preoccupied with the nutria to react to being called a little lady.

  Do-Wop and Moustache took the weapons from the legionnaires in the water and piled them on the foredeck before grudgingly jumping over the side. Then Hansen gunned the engine--gently, so as not to open the leak any wider--and the boat limped over to the shore, where the crowd of onlookers had grown to half a dozen. There was no further sign of nutria.

  At last the bayou grew shallow enough for the hangers-on to touch bottom, and they simply let go and began wading ashore alongside the boat.

  Hansen pointed forward and said to Super-Gnat, "Grab that line and throw it to the boys on shore so's they can tie us up."

  Super-Gnat put down her shotgun and turned to pick up the rope. When she turned around again, Hansen was pointing it toward her. "Now, young lady, don't get no ideas. I'm the only one with a gun now. I'd hate to use it on somebody so pretty."

  "You tricked us!" she said. "I bet you ran into that bar on purpose."

  "No, ma'am, that was a mistake. But I ain't got as far in life as I have not takin' advantage of mistakes. Now, put them hands up, if you don't mind." The other spectators had begun swarming on board and picking up the rest of the abandoned weapons.

  Armstrong stopped and stared at him. "You're turning us over to the rebels!" he said, accusingly.

  "Not exactly, mister," said Hansen. "I am a rebel.
And I'm takin' you all to Le Duc Taep, so's he can decide what's what. You'll get your guns back the minute he says so. Till then, we ain't takin' no chances."

  At that very moment, a large rodentlike creature came waddling down the bank from the woods to the water, about ten yards away from the group. "What the hell is that thing?" said Do-Wop.

  "Aww, that's a nutria," said a bystander, who was now cradling a Zenobian stun ray. "Good eatin'. Don't mind him, they wouldn't harm a fly."

  Super-Gnat turned accusingly to Hansen. "You lied about the nutria!"

  Hansen grinned self-consciously. "Yeah, that, too," he said.

  The dripping hostages were handcuffed, then marched along a narrow trail to the rebel base. Their captors kept them moving, but did not force the pace, and it was not much more than half an hour before the tents of Le Duc Taep's encampment came into view.

  A guard hailed them as they came into view. "Who you got here, Hansen?"

  "Bunch of soldiers came lookin' for the camp," said Hansen. "Don't know what their business is, but I ain't lettin' 'em come walkin' up with guns. Might somebody get hurt."

  "You're going to get hurt if I ever get my hands on you," said Super-Gnat, glaring at Hansen.

  "Them uniforms look like the ones that captain wears, the one Taep's been talking with all week," said the guard. "If they're his folks, he might not like 'em being cuffed."

  "Well, if they're somebody's friends, they shouldn't come around wavin' artillery at people," said Hansen. "Taep can decide--that's his job, right? Come along, folks." And he waved them toward the command tent.

  A young woman wearing a red bandanna over her thick, dark hair stood up at their approach. She was carrying an old hunting rifle. "Hello, Hansen," she said. "Taep's in a business meeting. You'll have to wait."

  "In a business meeting?" said Hansen. "What the hell, Pilar, that ain't the way things used to be around here. Is Taep puttin' on airs in his old age?"

  "He's getting smart in his old age," said a new voice. The newcomer wore the rebel uniform. The man who walked out of the tent right behind him wore Legion black.

  "Taep!" said Hansen. "I didn't mean no offense."

  "Captain!" said Armstrong, almost in the same breath. "Tell this man to set us free."

  "Do you know these people?" Taep raised an eyebrow and turned to Phule.

  "I certainly do," said Phule. "Assuming they haven't done anything more serious than trying to find me, I hope you will set them free."

  "Uh, maybe you could make an exception for the little lady, Taep. At least let me get a head start on her," said Hansen, looking apprehensively at Super-Gnat.

  "This is my fault," said Phule, putting a hand on Taep's shoulder. "I owe everyone an apology. It seemed important to maintain secrecy, but I can see I've carried it too far. I should have known my people would come looking for me if I didn't report back, and that it could have been real trouble when they came in contact with your people."

  "I understand the need for military secrecy," said Armstrong, massaging his wrists, which Hansen had uncuffed after a nod from Taep. "If my superior officer doesn't tell me something, I have to assume he has good reasons. Whatever brought you out here to meet the rebels has to have been pretty important, or you wouldn't have risked it."

  "Well, yes," said Phule. "In fact, you arrived just as we were putting the finishing touches on it. The rebels have agreed to end their rebellion! Instead, they're going to return to Atlantis and enter into peaceful competition with the government."

  "They have?" Armstrong's jaw fell. "That's brilliant, sir, absolutely brilliant. How did you manage to convince them?"

  "Well, it wasn't all that hard, once I understood how people on this planet think," said Phule. "All I had to promise was that I'd help them build the galaxy's greatest roller coaster."

  Journal #420

  My employer's decision to do business directly with the rebels appeared to be a sound one. After his initial hostility, Le Duc Taep turned out to be far more a pragmatist than many of his followers. My employer was pleased to discover that Taep had a good grasp of details and a willingness to set aside dogma in favor of attainable goals. The two of them sat down to create a blueprint for the return of the rebel army to the mainstream of Landoor--as entrepreneurs.

  Having settled the project's main outlines, my employer returned to the Legion base to begin his part in building the rebel amusement park. He began by securing title to a large plot of land directly across the road from the government's park. The actual owners were the rebel leaders, now reconstituted as a corporation--a status many of them found more congenial than camping in the jungle. Since the laws forbade off-planet citizens from owning shares in local businesses, my employer was constrained to act behind the scenes, making loans to the new park's owners, and bringing in outside experts to aid their enterprise.

  Predictably, the government was not happy to learn this.

  Phule had settled into a comfortable rhythm on the rowing machine at the LandoorPlaza's fitness club when his communicator sounded. He was tempted to ignore the signal; he'd lost several days on his exercise program during his trip out to the rebel base, and he was in the mood for a good workout. But the readout on his wrist said PRIORITY, which meant that Mother judged it important enough to interrupt him.

  "Jester here," he said, dropping one oar to raise the communicator to mouth level.

  "Hate to bother you, loverboy," said Mother's saucy voice. "A couple of local bigwigs want to see you soonest. You put their names on the let-through list, so I'm lettin' you know. Shall I send 'em in, or do you want to get dressed first? They've got steam coming out their ears."

  "That depends on who they are, and what their business is," said Phule. "I assume you asked them?"

  "Ah, roger, sweetie," said Mother. There was a moment's pause and she said, "The nasty one's Colonel Mays and the ugly one's Boris Eastman--they said you'd know them. As for their business, Mays mentioned espionage, sedition, and harboring criminals. Have you been a bad boy again?"

  "Not exactly," said Phule. "I guess I'd better see them anyway. I'll be in my office in five minutes."

  "I'll tell them," said Mother. Then, after a pause, "That doesn't give you enough time to change. You aren't going to change to meet them? Tsk, tsk."

  "If they're that anxious to see me, I shouldn't make them wait," said Phule. "Besides, if I show up in skivvies, it proves I'm taking them seriously. It can't hurt. Tell them I'm on my way." He toweled a few beads of sweat off his forehead, and made his way through the hotel's back corridors to his office.

  Mays and Eastman were in the waiting room. Eastman was seated, tapping his fingers nervously, but Mays was pacing, jittery as a caged predator. They both turned to glare as he strode briskly through the door. "Well, gentlemen, sorry to keep you waiting," said Phule. "We in the military have to stay in shape, and I'm afraid I haven't had much time for that lately. What can I do for you?" He indicated the open doorway into his private office.

  "You've had plenty of time for meddling," snapped Eastman. He rose to his feet, his fists balled at his side.

  "That depends on what you mean by meddling," said Phule, as calmly as he could manage. "Come inside and we can discuss it."

  The two followed him into the office, grumbling, and he closed the door behind them. He directed them to a large couch, then perched on the edge of his desk and said, "Gentlemen, I have good news for you. I have just returned from a mission to persuade Le Duc Taep to end his rebellion. I'm sure you will be pleased to learn that Le Duc Taep is disbanding his army. Instead of trying to overthrow the government, the rebels are ready to do their part to build a strong economy."

  "Build the economy? Better you should say destroy the economy!" said Eastman. "We know the score. The outlaws plan a theme park in direct competition with LandoorPark--endangering a project the government has invested millions in!"

  Phule smiled. "Le Duc Taep's new park will create jobs--I'd think you'd be in favor of t
hat."

  "He will steal our workers--people we've trained!" snarled Eastman, "The workers should be grateful for government jobs."

  "If the jobs are that good, Taep won't be able to hire the workers away," said Phule. "I'm a businessman, Deputy Eastman. I don't expect the law of supply and demand to suspend itself for my benefit."

  "No, but you're not above diddling with it," said Colonel Mays, grimacing. "I won't deny you your due, Captain--if you have convinced the rebels to lay down their arms, you have earned our sincere congratulations. But tell me this, Le Duc Taep is not a poor man, but he has never had the capital to start up a project like this. You're bankrolling him, aren't you?"

  "I've extended him a business loan," said Phule, with a shrug. "I've had everything vetted by a local lawyer, and she assures me we're in perfect compliance with your laws."

  Eastman made a rude noise. "You can find a lawyer to approve anything, if you're willing to pay enough. Don't bandy legalisms with us, Captain. You've been trying to undermine this government ever since you arrived on-planet--"

  Phule cut him off. "Let's get one thing straight, Deputy. My orders come from the Galactic Joint Chiefs of Staff--not from anybody on this planet. I'm not so foolish as to ignore local opinion in arriving at my policies. But so far all I've heard from the government is accusations and bluster."

  "That's the line you're taking, is it?" said the Colonel. "Well, I give you credit for guts, if not for common sense. Don't think we won't go over your head, Captain--you are a very small fish, whether you know it or not."

  "I am no egomaniac, Colonel," said Phule. "But I suggest you stop trying to intimidate me. That's already been tried. By the way, have your police found those snipers yet?"