The major flaw in the picture of Phule as a shill was that he totally lacked charisma. If the managers of the Fat Chance wanted to convince patrons that the slots were an exciting way to gamble, they could hardly have picked a worse role model. Pumping his tokens into the machines, shirt-sleeved Victor Phule had all the glamour of a middle aged file clerk trying to avoid reinjuring a bad paper cut. Unless you knew who he was, there wasn't a hint of his money and power. So why was Phule out here working the slots, when he could undoubtedly sit in an easy chair sipping cold drinks and earn more money in half an hour from his businesses and investments than he was likely to win in the biggest payout these machines offered?
Wait a minute, Ernie though, with the stunning awareness of someone who's overlooked an iceberg in a swimming pool. Just how big was the payout on these machines? What if the casino was offering enough to give even Victor Phule a rush of adrenaline every time he yanked the handle?
Casinos always make it a point to list the payout on the front of the slot machines, to remind the customer just how much he stands to win in the unlikely event of the symbols actually lining up right. Trying to appear as casual as possible, Ernie strolled up to one of the machines at the other end of the bank that Phule was playing, reaching in his pocket as if he might be interested in trying his luck.
"Sorry, my friend, these machines are in use," said a calm voice at his side. Ernie turned to see a compact, competent-looking man with eyes that looked as if they could've cut a clean hole straight through a planet. The bodyguard, he thought.
"Hey, no problem," said Ernie, genially. "Just taking a look at the payout, to see if it's worth my while to play. I can always come back after you're done."
"The payout's fine," said the bodyguard. "But the price is a bit steep. You might do better over at the roulette table-it's only a hundred dollars a spin, there." His manner was as casual as Ernie's, although it was perfectly clear he was doing his best to discourage anyone else from playing this bank of machines. That was enough to eliminate any idea that Phule was shilling for the house. No shill would stand in the way of a customer anxious to drop a few tokens in the slot. Thousand-dollar tokens, Ernie realized, looking at the machine he was standing next to.
Then he saw what the payout was, and in spite of himself, he let out a low whistle. "Whoa, are these guys kidding?" he asked. "A partner's share in the casino-that can't be for real."
"Oh, it's completely legitimate," said Victor Phule, stepping up to the machine next to Ernie. "I made certain of that, you can be sure. I'm not going to throw my money away for nothing."
"I guess not," said Ernie, stepping back to give Phule room to pull the lever. He was fully aware of the bodyguard's steady glare as he said, suddenly putting on his best imitation of an educated accent, "Sorry, I don't mean to cramp your style."
"That's all right," said Phule. "I've about done my six hour stint for today. If you've a mind to play these machines after I'm gone, feel free. I don't think anyone besides me - has been trying them, though. Shame. A few more players would shorten the odds against someone's winning."
"Well, I guess I got nothing against being part owner of the casino," said Ernie, feigning an interest much milder than he really felt. "I'd have to turn it over to somebody else to run, though. I've got too many other balls in the air back home to stay around here to watch one more small business."
"Here, then, have a pull on me," said Victor Phule. "If you hit the jackpot and don't want it, you can always sell it back to me." He reached in his pocket and tossed Ernie a silver-colored metal token. Ernie stared at it in disbelief. It was heavier than it looked from a distance. In the center of each side was a hologram, showing a roulette wheel that spun as the token was tilted to different angles. Around the rim in raised letters it read: "Fat Chance Casino-$l000." Smaller print added the phrase, "Redeemable in Alliance funds at any window."
The bodyguard was scowling even more fiercely, but Ernie gave the token a flip, and said, "Oh, all right. Just one spin. If I win anything, I'll give you half."
He dropped the token in a slot and pulled the lever. The symbols began to spin in front of him...
"All right," said Phule, shading his eyes with his left hand. "Explain to me just what happened at dinner."
Rembrandt stood at the foot of his desk, looking just as unhappy as her superior officer. "Well, Captain," she began, "we warned all the nonhuman members of the company to avoid the dining hall until Barky and the AEIOU group were gone. It looks as if Barky has some particular grudge against nonhuman sophonts-you'd think they'd have trained that out of him, but there it is. What nobody had picked up on is that we've got a new member in the company, Thumper by name. He's a Lepoid from Teloon."
"And nobody remembered to warn him about Barky," Phule finished the sentence for her. "Or me about him, either. I had such a perfect plan, too. We'd give the AEIOU inspectors a nice guided tour of the base, pointing out all the neat environmental things we're doing. Then we'd feed them a better meal than they get in their own camp, let the troops make friends with Barky, and send the inspectors home with everybody feeling good about each other/"
"Yes, sir," said Rembrandt, not lifting her gaze to meet his.
Phule shook his head, then continued in a quiet voice. "The worst thing is, it almost worked. Even after Barky had his run-in with Tusk-anini, I thought we'd managed to smooth it all over. Then this Thumper walks into the mess hall, and Barky takes off after him like... like a dog after a rabbit. And now we've got another incident on our hands, just as I thought we were about to make some real headway."
"Escrima didn't make it any better," said Rembrandt, quietly.
"No, I guess not," said Phule. He raised his hand to grip the bridge of his nose, as if his sinuses were paining him. After a bit he looked up, and asked, "The new recruit Thumper-is he all right?"
"Yes," said Rembrandt. "He's pretty fast-maybe faster than Qual, from what I saw last night. Barky never had a chance to catch him."
"The canine made an astounding effort, though," Beeker observed quietly. "I've rarely seen such a... dogged pursuit."
Rembrandt groaned. "Well, it was in character," she conceded. Then her eyes opened wider, and she said, "But that reminds me, Captain-Legionnaire Thumper wants to speak to you personally."
Phule nodded. "Oh, of course. Is he here? Bring him in, then."
Rembrandt went to the door and beckoned to the waiting Legionnaire, and a moment later Thumper came into the room. Phule took a moment to size up the new member of his company, whom he'd seen before only in the chaotic action that had taken place in the mess hall earlier that evening. Thumper stood just under 1.5 meters tall, if you counted his long ears-which in any case were hard to ignore. His eyes were the second most prominent feature of his face: big and brown, nervously checking out the room as he entered. His incisors were prominent, and below his twitchy pink nose were long, catlike whiskers. His feet ..were long, too--or perhaps it was the obvious adaptation of his entire lower legs for speed that made them appear so., The instant reaction any human child would have had upon seeing him-or any other of his Lepoid race-was "big bunny." Phule had to consciously restrain himself from allowing a goofy grin to spread across his face. And he couldn't help wondering whether there was a fluffy white tail under that black Legion jumpsuit.