"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."
"I'll be the judge of that, thank you," said Victor Phule, displaying no emotion. "From what I've seen so far, the boy hasn't entirely lost his head for business. But the devil is in the details, as you gentlemen know. And I'm going to withhold judgment until I've had a look at your books and your operations."
"Can he do that?" asked Gunther Rafael, turning to Bascomb. He had a perpetually nervous look, as if he expected to be called on the carpet.
"Technically, probably not," said Bascomb. He held up a hand to forestall Phule's protest "But I'd be a damned fool if I didn't let him satisfy himself that the place is on a sound footing. Unless the captain explicitly forbids it, that is. Mr. Phule carries a lot of weight around here, but as far as I'm concerned, the captain carries more. No offense, Mr. Phule-but he's the man who put me in this job."
"I appreciate your loyalty to my son," said Victor Phule.
"But loyalty only goes so far, Bascomb. I've done business with the military long enough to know how much it values loyalty. That's all well and good-but where I disagree with it is when it elevates loyalty over competence. If a man can't do the job, I want another man in that job before the first one costs me more money than his loyalty is worth. Do you understand me?"
"I understand you, Mr. Phule," said Bascomb, with a shrug. "Maybe I wouldn't be so quick to put a price on loyalty, but I agree with you on competence-I don't think I'm flattering myself to say that your son hired me because I've shown a fair bit of competence in the casino business. Now, would it be convenient for you to look over those books after lunch? While you're eating--on the house, of course-we can set up one of the executive offices for you to use."
"Bring me the books now," said Phule, brusquely. "I want to see both sets-the real ones, and the phony ones you use for the tax auditors. And I'll work at the desk my son uses when he's here. I don't expect there's anybody else who needs that particular space."
"I'll need you to excuse me a minute for that," said Bascomb, standing up. "I'll send in a waiter to take your drink order..."
"Forget the waiter," snapped Phule. "Just bring me the books. And it better not be too long."
"It'll take as long as it takes, growled Bascomb. He turned on his heel and marched out of the room.
Twenty minutes later Bascomb returned, with a determined expression on his face. Without saying a word, he unlocked a file drawer, removed a pair of memory modules, and handed them to Victor Phule. "These have both sets of books on them," he said. "I guess you'll want to use your own computer, but we can give you one to use if you'd like."
"I'll let you know," said the elder Phule, brusquely. "Now, have that impostor clear off the desk and get out of my way. 1 want to get to work."
"Aw right, smarty, so what's the plan now?" Ernie grumbled. Their unwanted visitors had left, but he'd had to wait until Lola managed to find a tool strong enough to cut the plasteel tape Mr. V's muscle man had used to confine him before he could get out of the chair they~ d put him in. He still had sticky patches on his arms from where the tape had held them. Touching them made him shudder. He didn't even want to think about what might have happened.
She shrugged. "We go back to Lorelei, of course," she said. "That's our only choice."
"And when we get there?" She shrugged again. "I'll figure something out"
"You'll figure something out?" Ernie's voice rose an octave. "You bet you will! You're the one who got us in this whole farkin' mess to begin with!"
"I seem to remember you agreeing to taking the job way back when it was first offered," said Lola. "In fact, you were pretty gung ho about it"