Phule's Paradise Part 14

"Oh," Phule responded dutifully.

Silence hung in the air as Beeker waited respectfully for his employer to digest this information.

At last, Phule let out a sigh.

"Okay," he said. "I can see where that will have to be addressed. Any other jewels of insight?"

The question was meant facetiously, but that was always a danger in the company Phule kept.

"As a matter of fact, sir," Beeker said, "it occurs to me that you might also want to arrange for some sort of audit or backup system for the front desk of the hotel."

"The front desk?"

"I believe the computer is utilized rather heavily for both the reservations and the billings for the hotel, and aside from the annoyance of double bookings, there is a long-standing law that in such an event, the hotel is responsible for finding the extra guests equivalent lodging and absorbing the cost."

"And there are a lot of tour groups who are supposed to have reservations for the opening," Phule finished grimly.

The commander produced his Port-A-Brain minicomputer from his pocket and pulled up a chair next to the room's holophone.

"Get on the horn and order us some coffee," he said. "We've got a lot of work to do. And Beek?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I don't want to hear any grumbling about my not getting enough sleep. Not for a while, at least."

That Lawrence Bombest was surprised to receive a holo call from Willard Phule was an understatement. While he had formed a grudging respect for the job Phule had done in upgrading the att.i.tudes of his down-at-the-heels s.p.a.ce Legion company while they were temporarily housed at the Plaza, Bombest would not in his wildest dreams fantasize that the two of them were at all close.

In his position of manager of the Plaza Hotel, one of the oldest, most respected on Haskin's Planet, it had been his duty to act as guardian of those stately facilities, and while the Legionnaires had turned out to be much better behaved than he had originally feared, more often than not it had placed himself and their commander in adversarial roles. As surprised as he was at the mere existence of the call, however, he was dumbfounded at its content.

"I know we're both busy, Bombest," the ghostly holo-image said, "so I'll cut right to the chase. Would you be willing to take a brief sabbatical from the Plaza to manage a hotel here on Lorelei? Say, for about a month?"

"I ... I'd have to think about it, Mr. Phule," the manager stammered, caught totally unprepared by the question.

"Unfortunately we don't have a lot of time," the image said, shaking its head. "Yes or no?"

"In that case, I'm afraid the answer would have to be no," Bombest said. "If nothing else, my commitment here would forbid it. I'd have to apply for the necessary leave time, and arrange for a replacement ..."

"I'm afraid you're underestimating me again, Bombest," Phule broke in. "That's already been handled. I cleared it with Reggie Page ... you remember the name? The CEO of the Webber Combine that owns the chain? Anyway, I've explained the situation to him, and he's agreed to give you the time off, with pay, of course, and to arrange for a replacement until you return. By the way, I hope it goes without saying that you'll be generously compensated for your work here, as well as having an expense account, so that your combined income for the period will be substantial."

"So this was all done in advance?" Bombest said.

"There was no point in asking you if you weren't going to be available," the image said, "and, no offense, Bombest, I figured I had a better chance of getting through to Reggie and getting a timely answer than you did. Anyway, the question isn't whether or not you can do it, it's whether you will do it. You're the only one who can answer that."

"I see. If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Phule, why me? Forgive me, but I was under the impression that we didn't particularly get along while you were staying here."

"Oh, I don't pretend that I like you, Bombest," Phule said with a tight smile, "and I don't expect that you particularly care for me as a person. Our styles are far too different for us to ever be 'good buddies.' You are, however, the best I've seen at what you do, which is handling problems at a hotel, and I happen to be in a jam right now where I need that talent. The question isn't if we are or will be friends, but if you're willing to work with me."

Bombest pursed his lips. "I don't suppose you've checked the availability of flights from Haskin's to Lorelei, along with your other inquiries?"

"Actually I've gone a bit further than that," the image responded. "When-excuse me, if-you're ready to go, you'll find the governor's military ship standing by at the s.p.a.ceport to bring you directly here. As I said, we're on a tight timetable."

This bit of information spoke volumes to Bombest. While there had been no love lost between himself and Phule, their relationship was positively rosy if compared to the Legionnaire commander's interaction with the military governor of the planet. While details of those encounters were never made public, it was no secret that they fought like cats and dogs whenever their paths crossed. The fact that Phule would approach the governor for the use of the official s.p.a.ce launch, not to mention what he must have had to commit to obtain it, was a tribute to how badly the commander wanted Bombest's services. Much more so than a casual call to Reggie Page.

"Very well, Mr. Phule," the manager said, making up his mind. "I'll do it. There are a few matters I have to clear up before I go, but they shouldn't take more than an hour or two. Then I'll be on my way."

The image smiled. "Excellent. Welcome aboard, Bombest. I'll be looking forward to seeing you."

After the connection was broken, Bombest had a few moments to reflect on the call which had just turned his immediate future topsy-turvy.

To his surprise, he realized that the money being offered had not been the major factor in his decision, though it had paved the way. The real deciding point was that he had been flattered at the lengths to which the Legionnaire commander had gone to obtain his services. For someone of Willard Phule's stature and experience to say you were the best he knew at what you did and that he needed you was enough to make you move heaven and earth to prove his opinion of you justified.

For the first time, Bombest began to understand exactly how it was that Phule was able to get zealous loyalty where others were hard-pressed to get obedience.

CHAPTER TEN.

Journal #227.

To say the final days before the casino's grand opening were a study in freneticism would be like saying Genghis Khan dabbled in real estate.

There were a myriad details to be handled, and my employer, with his customary tendency to position himself in the heart of things, managed to involve himself with most of them.

Of course, they all had to be dealt with immediately.

"I was told I could find Captain Jester here?"

"He here ... but in meeting. Not to be disturbed."

"We'll see about that!"

The verbal exchange was conducted at sufficient volume that it penetrated the room's door, and the Legionnaires a.s.sembled had ample forewarning of the interruption even before the door opened.

Tusk-anini had specifically been chosen to stand guard on the meeting, as his sheer presence was enough to intimidate most would-be intruders. Unfortunately intimidation alone was not enough to deter the pet.i.te bundle of energy which now burst through the door. Though dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, she carried herself as regally as a queen-or, to be more accurate, a spoiled princess throwing a snit fit. The sight of a dozen black-clad Legionnaires sprawled about the room, staring at her like a pack of panthers, was, however, sufficiently unnerving to at least bring the young lady to a halt.

"Captain Jester?" she said hesitantly.

"Yes?"

The commander rose lazily to his feet from his seat on the sofa.

"I need to talk to you right now. I was told-"

"Excuse me," Phule said, holding up a restraining hand with a smile. "Now that you know who I am, may I ask who you are?"

Though they eventually grow to dislike the intrusions on their privacy by droves of nameless admirerers, big-name entertainers nonetheless depend on public recognition for their livelihood. It is therefore more than a little jarring to them to be confronted by someone who is not only unimpressed by but unaware of their ident.i.ty.

"Tough house," the intruder muttered, almost to herself. "All right, Captain. We'll play it your way. I'm Dee Dee Watkins, the featured attraction for the casino's grand-opening show."

"Got it," Phule said with a curt nod. "Forgive me for not recognizing you, Ms. Watkins. Though I'm familiar with the name, I rarely have time to watch the holos, and am woefully ignorant when it comes to the various entertainers, much less their current positions in the pecking order. Now then, what can I do to help you?"

"I was just checking on the showroom's availability for rehearsals and was told that I was going to be working with a live stage crew instead of a computerized setup-by your orders."

"That's correct," the commander said. "Is there a problem with that?"

"Aside from the fact that a live crew never handles their cues the same way twice, not at all," the singer said sarcastically. "Look, Captain. It's been a long time since I worked in front of an audience. I'm going to have my hands full remembering my own cues without wondering whether or not the follow spot is going to be on me or on the piano when it comes up."

"I guess my information was incorrect," Phule said. "I was told that you would prefer to work with a live crew, provided they were competent of course."

"Oh?" Dee Dee frowned. "Who told you that?"

"I'm afraid I did, love."

She turned toward the speaker, then did a visible double take.

"Lex? My G.o.d, is that you? I didn't recognize you in that getup. Did you enlist or something?"

The actor shot a quick glance at Phule before answering.

"Just a temporary arrangement, I a.s.sure you," he said with a smile too easy to be genuine. "As far as the stage crew goes, would it help at all if I gave you my personal rea.s.surance that things will be handled properly?"

"You're working crew?" Dee Dee said incredulously.

Lex's smile tightened slightly.

"I'm managing the crew," he corrected, "but I've worked with them long enough that I feel confident they can handle it."

"I didn't know you knew anything about the techie side of theater."

"I've worked a few summer-stock tours," the actor said with a shrug. "In that situation, you do a bit of everything. One week you're playing the lead, the next week you're working lights-"

"Sorry to interrupt this reunion," the commander broke in, "but there are still a lot of things we have to cover in our meeting. If there are no further questions, Ms. Watkins?"

"Can I be excused from the rest of the meeting, Captain?" Lex said. "We've already covered the stuff that concerns me, and there are a few things I'd like to go over with Dee Dee while she's free ...

"Go on ahead," Phule said, sinking onto the sofa once more. "But report back to me when you're finished. I want to be sure to be kept apprised of any modifications in your original plan."

The actor nodded his agreement and left, relishing the envious looks he gathered from the other men in the room.

"Sorry for the interruption," Phule said, as if he were responsible for the disruption caused by the singer. "Now then ... back to business. I want you to pa.s.s the word through the company that I'm going to need the services of a forger. I repeat, a forger, not a counterfeiter ..."

"Excuse me ... Mr. Beeker ... sir?"

Reluctant to let anything intrude on his rare off-duty time, the butler nonetheless paused at the hail, to find Bombest hastily emerging from behind the front desk.

"It's simply 'Beeker,' sir," he said.

"Yes, of course," the manager replied absently. "I was wondering if I might speak with you for a moment?"

"In regards to what, sir?"

"Well"-Bombest glanced around as if he were afraid of eavesdroppers-"I've been going over the reservations-manually, as Mr. Phule suggested-and I'm afraid we're going to need an extra hundred rooms for the opening."

"Why?"

The manager shrugged. "I can only a.s.sume computer error. Most of the reservations were entered correctly, but they don't seem to appear on any-"

"I meant why are you bringing this to my attention ... sir?" Beeker said. "I have no authority in these matters. Surely you were provided with a procedure by which you could report any irregularities through normal channels."

"I was," the manager admitted, "but ... well, frankly I've been reluctant to speak with Mr. Phule directly. He seems quite preoccupied with the arrangements for the opening, and I hate to interrupt him unless it's important."

"I'm sure he would feel it was important enough to warrant interruption," the butler said. "After all, he felt it was important enough to import you specifically for the task, didn't he?"

"I ... I guess so," Bombest said hesitantly. "I've barely spoken with him since my arrival, though. I didn't expect a bra.s.s band, mind you, but my lack of contact has left me feeling that there are higher priorities than my work occupying his mind."

"More likely it's a tribute to his confidence in you, Mr. Bombest," Beeker said easily, long accustomed to soothing the ruffled feathers and bruised feelings which invariably followed in his employer's wake. "He doubtless feels that you are able to carry out your duties with minimal guidance or input from him."

The manager's posture, never sloppy, improved noticeably at these words.

"I never thought of it that way," he said.

"If, however, you still feel uncomfortable dealing directly with my employer," the butler continued smoothly, "might I suggest you speak with one of his officers? Lieutenant Armstrong or Lieutenant Rembrandt? I notice you're wearing one of the company's wrist communicators. I'm sure Mother will be able to put you in touch with them or relay your message if they're unavailable."

Bombest glanced at the communicator on his wrist as if seeing it for the first time, then grimaced slightly.

"I suppose that's the only way to handle it," he said. "You know, Beeker, this is part of the problem." He tapped the communicator with his forefinger. "When Mr. Phule contacted me for this job, I was prepared to work as a hotel manager, but at times I feel more like a secret agent. Between the wrist radios and the intrigue-undercover people I'm not supposed to admit knowing, not saying anything to the casino manager-I keep feeling I've gotten in over my head ... in something I'd normally avoid like the plague."

Beeker allowed himself a small smile.

"If it's any comfort to you, sir, that feeling is not at all uncommon among those employed by Mr. Phule. He has a tendency to get carried away with things, and has the charisma to carry others right along with him. I'm sure you'll do fine once the initial shock has worn off."

"How do you do it?"

"Sir?"