A Phule and His Money

7

Journal #310

The key to happiness in life is timing. This is certainly true in finance: Sell stock early or late, and you will always blame yourself. The same is true in military affairs: A general who commits his reserves too soon may see them beaten back by an enemy still strong, and one who delays is likely to find the battle already lost. Even a thing as trivial as entering a room can be done at better and worse times.

My employer had the knack of good timing. Perhaps it was inherited-his father had certainly been adept at timing the introduction of new products. Or perhaps young Phule had simply inherited a more mysterious, but even more useful, trait: the ability to convince everyone around that what one has just done was precisely the right thing to do at that particular time.

"Too good?" Armstrong guffawed. "Some of our troops are too good? That's the first time this company's been accused of that!"

"Lieutenant, I sincerely hope it's not the last time," said Phule, pacing behind his desk. "But if Brandy says it's a problem, I want to hear about it. Sergeant?"

Brandy had an unaccustomed worried look on her face. "Well, Captain, those Gambolts are so good that the other recruits can't keep up with them. I ask for a hundred pushups, and they finish them before the rest have done twenty. We practice unarmed combat and nobody can touch 'em. We haven't run the obstacle course yet-it's still being set up over in the park-but I'll bet my stripes that when we do run it, the Gambolts will make everybody else look sick."

Armstrong let out an appreciative whistle. "Great. This company's needed somebody to set an example for our people. Now the rest have something to emulate."

"Except they can't," said Brandy, shaking her head. "They might as well try to outrun a laser beam. Any time speed or strength or agility makes the difference, the cats have the humans completely outclassed. And the whole training platoon is starting to get discouraged. Unless we can figure out something, their morale's going to go straight down the pipes, Captain."

"It seems to me we had this same problem right after I came to the unit," said Phule. He pulled out his desk chair and sat down, leaning forward. "It was the obstacle course that gave us all the answer, if you'll remember."

"Sure, I remember," said Brandy. "That turned the whole company around-showing us that working as a group we can accomplish things that only a few of us can do by ourselves."

"The recruits need to learn that lesson," said Phule. "And I think the Gambolts especially need to learn it. But for it to work, we'll have to change the exercise a little. Tell me what you think about this idea..."

He went to the sketchboard and began outlining a variation on the Omega Mob's obstacle course exercise. At first Armstrong and Brandy were skeptical, pointing out flaw after flaw. Phule adapted his plan in response to their objections, and soon the three were working together, eagerly designing the new exercise. It was late at night when they declared it ready, but they were convinced they had the answer.

Still, the whole plan depended on the new troops rising to the occasion. So far, there'd been no sign they were capable of it. Unless that changed, Phule's Company was in danger of returning to the mediocrity from which it had risen.

"What the hell's going on over there?" Maxie Pruett gestured toward the Fat Chance Casino. The gesture was unnecessary; everyone in the room knew exactly what she was referring to.

"As far as I can tell, Boss, not a damn thing," said Altair Allie. Maxie had sent Allie to keep an eye on the Fat Chance as soon as she'd heard that her plans for Phule's Company were ripening. "There was that one day when all hell broke loose, with the Yakuza guy starting a fight, and the little lizard playing chase through the casino, and the tax collectors and bikers showing up, and then nothing. The Army guys are acting like it's all routine."

"Not Army-Space Legion," said Laverna.

"Legion, schmegion," said Altair Allie with a dismissive wave. "They got guns and uniforms, and that's Army enough for me. Point is, they're acting like nothin's wrong."

"Precisely," said Laverna. "They've announced a major training exercise scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Open to the public-we'll be watching, of course. In fact, I plan to go see it myself. Still, they're carrying on as if they hadn't noticed any of the aggravation we've been sending them. We pulled a lot of strings to give them all that grief. Greased quite a few palms, too."

"And I expected a hell of a lot more effect," said Maxie, with a fierce frown. "They ought to be worried...No, more than that. Under that kind of pressure, they ought to be sweating bullets. What's wrong?"

"The Yakuza agent shipped out two days ago," said Laverna. "He and the woman who came with him left with out contacting us, so we don't know what happened there. But the impostor they came looking for is still very much alive."

"That's right, I seen him in the Pub last night," said Altair Allie. "Didn't look like he'd lost any sleep lately."

Maxie's frown deepened. "What about the Renegades?"

"They're still hangin' out," Altair Allie answered. "No action yet, far as I see. But part of the hotel is closed off to outsiders now, and it didn't use to be. It could be they're hidin' some new secret weapon or somethin', but I'd lay you two-to-one that big mug Chocolate Harry-the one the bikers are after-is hidin' out there."

"Well, if he is, he has to come out sooner or later," said Maxie, nodding. "All we have to do is keep those Renegades around to nail him when he does. And that won't be hard. A free first-class hotel room and meals on the house are a pretty good incentive, don't you think?"

"I'd hang around for that," said Altair Allie. "But not gettin' any action might get to 'em after a while."

"If they get antsy, we'll stir up some action for 'em," said Maxie. "A good old-fashioned smoke bomb in the right place can scare a lot of people out of hiding..."

"Legionnaires aren't a lot of people," said Laverna, shaking her head. "I wouldn't bet on that kind of trick working."

"And since when did you become such a legionnaire fan?" Maxie snapped. "Is that fancy-dressing butler sweet-talking you into double-crossing me?"

"You know better than that," said Laverna. "You pay me to tell you the truth, and that's what you're getting from me. The next time I pull my punches will be the first time."

"I didn't say you were pulling your punches. I said you were taking the Legion side," Maxie retorted, standing up and walking around the table. She aimed a finger at Laverna from point-blank range, and bellowed, "If you double-cross me, you're finished. Got it?"

"I knew that a long time ago," said Laverna, still calm. Her nickname, the Ice Bitch, had never seemed more appropriate. "I'm not under any illusions; my only insurance is being too useful for you to do without me. That's what I'm doing now-telling you something you need to know. I shouldn't even have to tell you-you should remember the last time you tried to play rough with Phule's people. You don't want to see what they can do if they get really angry-as I'm certain they would if you flushed Chocolate Harry out of hiding for the Renegades to catch."

"I didn't say anything about doing it ourselves," said Maxine. "I figured we might drop a little hint here or there..."

"I know what you meant, and so do you," said Laverna. "Do what you want to do-that's your usual way, anyhow-but don't pretend you'll like all the consequences. You might even try not to get angry at me for warning you."

Maxine glowered, but nodded. "OK, I get the idea. All right, then. We won't poke up that hornet's nest. Besides, we still have the IRS on his tail. Allie, any report on them?"

"They're poking around and asking people questions, but that's about it," said Altair Allie. "That's their game, though. Pop up out of nowhere with a piece of paper that says you owe 'em everything you got. If soldier boy ain't playing by their rules, he's a goner. And there ain't nobody in the casino game can play it straight enough for them buzzards-not and still make a buck, they can't."

"Tell me about it," said Maxine. "Well, now that they're on to him, we'll have to let them play it their way. And hope they don't notice anybody else on Lorelei."

"Present company, for instance," said Laverna grimly. Maxine looked at her intently, but the Ice Bitch's face betrayed no sign of emotion. Perhaps it was only an offhand comment-and perhaps it was a subtle hint that Laverna might have other kinds of insurance against her boss than she'd admitted. Whatever it was, Maxine didn't like it one bit. But there wasn't much she could say about it, for the moment.

"You bastards don't have any right to do this," shouted Gears, as two stone-faced bouncers unceremoniously hustled him out of the Three Deuces. Neither bouncer answered. At the doorway, they picked him up between them, gave him a couple of warm-up swings, and tossed him bodily into the street. He landed in a heap, but rose quickly to his feet, turning with raised fists to confront his adversaries. Too late: They'd faded back inside the door, not even waiting to see if he'd try to return.

Gears stood for a moment, pondering what he should do next. He wasn't drunk enough-though he was nearly angry enough-to charge back in and confront the bouncers. That game had only one likely outcome. He patted his jacket pocket. His wallet was still there, where the bouncers had shoved it after frog-marching him over to the cashier to collect his winnings. They'd cashed his chips honestly enough, then stuffed the money into his wallet and given him the heave-ho. But they'd made it clear he wasn't welcome to gamble in the Three Deuces again. No gambling house likes system players, especially not when their system actually wins.

What now? he asked himself. It was late-not that that made any significant difference on Lorelei, where the casinos and saloons were open round-the-clock, ready to take a sucker's money any time he appeared. But it did make a difference to Gears, who had to be ready for duty back at the Fat Chance in just under four hours. Some of that time ought to be spent sleeping-if he wasn't going to nod off on duty, and get yelled at by Chocolate Harry, which he wasn't anxious to try.

He sighed and looked down the street toward the Fat Chance, then shook his head. His luck was hot tonight-even with a system, you needed luck to win big. Tonight the dice had been coming up right. It would be a shame to quit when everything was in the groove. He turned the other way, and went looking for another casino.

Next thing he knew, he was in an unfamiliar neighborhood, with dimmer lights and fewer people than the ones he normally frequented. Belatedly, it crossed his mind that it might not be as safe, either...

That was when a large, dark shadow loomed from a nearby alleyway, and a gravelly voice said, "You just found the wrong part of town, buddy."

"Who's that?" said Gears, suddenly aware that he and this newcomer were the only ones on this side street.

"I'm not stupid enough to tell you that," said the stranger, in a surprisingly reasonable tone of voice. In the dim light, Gears could see that he was dressed in workman's clothing, and muscled like a man used to heavy physical work. He was also very big. The stranger stepped closer and said, "The less you know about who I am, the less you can tell." He reached out a huge paw. "Just give me your money and it'll go easy with you."

"No way in hell," said Gears, and he spun away from the man, already breaking into a run. He remembered an open saloon at the next street corner; he'd go there and call the Fat Chance for backup.

He'd barely taken two steps before something slammed into him from the side, knocking him to the ground. His breath went out of him in a rush as the attacker landed on top of him, and the gleam of a blade in the other man's hand put a stop to any idea of fighting back. "What's the hurry, sonny boy?" said a voice in his ear. "We ain't done talkin' to ya."

"You really should have given me the money," said the big man, kneeling down next to Gears. His voice sounded genuinely sad. "Now you've got my friend involved, and he's a lot nastier than I am."

"That ain't no way to talk, Chuckie," said the second assailant. "You're likely to make sonny boy think we don't like his kind hereabouts. Truth is, we likes 'em fine."

"Long as they aren't stingy with their money, that is," said Chuckie. "OK, tourist, my friend's going to let you get to your money so you can hand it over, and then we'll all go our separate ways. Now, don't make any tricky moves. I don't think you want to find out what he likes to do with that vibroblade."

The second man sat up; this took his weight off Gears's chest and arms, but kept his legs pinioned. The blade hovered over his unprotected belly. "You heard Chuckie," he said. "Give us the money and nobody gets hurt."

Gears had won a lot of money that night-nearly enough to pay off his debt. But the blade was hard to argue with. "All right, take it easy," he said. "Just let me get to my pocket."

Gears reached for the pocket where his wallet was, but as his hand approached it, the man pinioning his legs brandished the knife and grabbed his wrist. "Hold still," the man said. "Let's see what's in there." He reached down and removed the wallet. "Well, sonny boy's a good boy after all," he said, handing it to his partner.

"You'd be surprised how many people my friend has had to cut because they thought they could outdraw him," said Chuckie. He opened the wallet and whistled. "Sonny boy's been lucky tonight."

The other man looked up at the money, and Gears saw his chance. A quick chop to the wrist sent the vibroblade flying, and Gears followed with a punch to the throat, throwing the man to one side. He pushed his way free of the choking assailant, and made a leap for Chuckie, who'd fallen back.

Chuckie held him off with a straight arm, long enough for the other man to recover first his breath and then his knife. He threw a crushing forearm around Gears's throat, and a moment later, the legionnaire felt the blade throbbing next to his rib cage. He went limp.

"Tsk, tsk. That wasn't very smart," said Chuckie, in a mock sympathetic voice. "Now we'll have to hurt you-it's bad business to let people think they can fight back without getting hurt, you know."

Gears saw motion off to one side, and then a mechanical-sounding voice said, "Great Gazma, what a curious sight! Is this a common economic transaction?"

"This isn't your business," said Chuckie, moving ominously toward the speaker, whom Gears now recognized as Flight Leftenant Qual, the Zenobian. "Walk on by before something happens to you, too."

"Oh, no, this appears to be one of my comrades," said Qual, moving forward. "It would not be soldierly not to assist him."

"One step closer and I cut his liver out," snarled the man with an arm around Gears's throat. "Stand off and nobody gets hurt."

"I take exception," said Qual. "You are now the ones in danger of a hurt. Let the human go, if you would."

"We wouldn't," said Chuckie. "Now, we're going to back away real slow. You stay right where you are if you want your friend safe. My partner's dangerous when he gets nervous, and I'm afraid you've put him right on the edge."

"How unfortunate," said Qual, stopping and touching something on his belt. "Perhaps he needs a period of inactivity." He held out his hand and did...something. Gears felt a sudden lethargic feeling overcome him, and he slumped to the ground. He was vaguely aware of the arm around his throat coming loose, and as he fell, the other man's body dropped to the ground next to him. Idly, he wondered what had happened.

Then Qual was standing over him. "Rest, friend, and have no concern," said the Zenobian. "I have communicated to Mother to send us help-all the trouble is complete now."

I don't know what he did, but I think he saved my life, thought Gears, and then unconsciousness overcame him.

"Am I making a mistake to trust him, Beeker?" Phule pushed aside the sheaf of printouts he'd been reading during breakfast and leaned back in his chair.

"I take it you are referring to Sushi, sir?" said Beeker. He set down his coffee cup.

"Right," said Phule. "Do I continue to trust a man who can take control of my Dilithium Express account, or do I safeguard the money-and show him I don't trust him? When the lives of everybody in this unit could depend on that trust some day?"

"One always needs to strike a balance between trust and security, sir," said Beeker. "There are things that every member of your company needs to know-daily pass words, for example. But only a few are cleared to receive top secret information-and yet nobody takes that as a matter of distrust. The fewer people who know some things, the more secure we all are. It would seem axiomatic that access to your money needs to be restricted."

Phule took a sip of juice and rubbed his chin. "That's great advice, Beeker-except, what is there that's more secure than Dilithium Express? If he can hack that account, is there anything he can't hack?"

"Perhaps not," said Beeker. "But if Dilithium Express is vulnerable, obviously some alternative is necessary."

"I guess you're right," said Phule. "Too bad there's no way to keep the information quiet-but even if we captured that Yakuza agent, there's no way of knowing he hasn't already reported to his bosses. Or that any of several people have not figured out what happened."

"Yes, the genie is out of the bottle," said Beeker, his face impassive as always. "Now our goal should be to minimize the damage it can do. Or better yet, to turn it to our advantage."

"I don't see how I'm going to get any advantage from having people know my credit account is vulnerable," said Phule. He stood up from the table and began to pace. "As far as I can tell, the only person who comes out of this with any advantage is Sushi, if you get right down to it."

"Oh, I believe there may be a way to profit from Sushi's skills," said Beeker. "Sometimes, letting everyone know you can do something is as good as actually doing it. Word that one of your men can meddle with a Dilithium Express account should make its way through the criminal underworld quite rapidly. This will undoubtedly prompt many of them to turn all their efforts toward duplicating the feat-but of course, you will have protected your assets against any such attempt."

"I see," said Phule. "And while they're doing that, they're not trying to attack us in other ways. Well, it's not much of a silver lining, but I'll take what I can get. But we still need a way to protect my assets without losing easy access to them."

"As to that, sir, I have a suggestion I believe you will find of interest," said Beeker, a faint smile on his lips.

"Do you, now?" said Phule. "What do you have in mind?"

Beeker was about to reply when Phule's wrist communicator buzzed. "Yes, Mother?" he said, wondering what new crisis had occurred.

"Get yourself prettied up and don't drag your feet, sweetie," came the familiar voice from the communicator. "Your favorite brass hat wants to see you on the holophone."

"General Blitzkrieg?" Phule's jaw fell.

"Well, it sure sounded like him to me, silly boy. If I were you, I'd hurry up and talk to him. I can stall the old lizard-face as long as you need me to, but I doubt it'll improve his not-so-sunny disposition."

"Give me three minutes," said Phule. "Did he say what it was about?"

"You must be out of your ever-lovin' mind," said Mother. "Now, get your tail movin', toots-that three minutes is already started, and as much as I'd enjoy giving the general the run-around, I'm worried about what he'd have done to me if he found out I was wastin' his time." She broke the connection.

"General Blitzkrieg," said Phule, looking at Beeker. "He certainly picked an interesting time to call."

"Yes, sir," said Beeker, looking at Phule critically. "You've enough time to comb your hair before you talk to him. It would be exactly in character for the general to waste the first five minutes of a trans-space holophone call reprimanding you for your appearance."

Phule grimaced. "I wish I had time to change the whole uniform, but I doubt it'd make any difference. Let's hope the news isn't too bad this time."

"Sir, I doubt very much that even General Blitzkrieg could do very much to make the situation worse," said Beeker. He paused a beat, then added, helpfully, "Of course, if there's any way he can make it worse, I'm sure he'll be glad to do it."

General Blitzkrieg was smiling. It was not a pleasant smile, but Phule tried to ignore that and concentrate on what the general was saying. "Captain, I must admit we haven't always seen eye to eye, but it seems somebody's bought the image you've created for your unit. Your company has been requested for an assignment that might be a genuine feather in the Legion's cap-assuming your people are up to it, of course. Wouldn't want to send them if they can't deliver, you know."

"I'm pleased to hear that, sir," Phule said cautiously. He stood at attention, facing the general's holographic image across the room. He knew Blitzkrieg could see his every move, as well as he could see the general's. He would have to make an effort to keep his emotions off his face-never easy with someone as infuriating as the general.

"I have complete confidence in my people," he continued. "What sort of assignment, sir?"

The general's smile stayed on. "There's a world that just got over a civil war. Well, to tell the truth, the Federation had to step in toward the end and stop things from getting out of hand. The Legion had a part in that, I'm proud to say. They've got a new government in power, and they're making progress toward putting things back on track. But of course, there are factions that aren't happy with the new order, and so the Federation has been supplying troops to keep things in hand. A peacekeeping team from the Regular Army is being rotated out, and we've managed to convince Ambassador Gottesman to accept a Legion unit as their replacement. It took some politicking, believe me, but when the ambassador found out the Legion was available, he asked if we could send your unit."

"That sounds like a genuine coup, sir," said Phule. "What's the planet called, if I may ask?"

"It's got some silly name-let's see..." The general frowned, then leaned over and punched a button on a computer somewhere offscreen. "Landoor. They call their world Landoor."

Phule thought a moment. "I don't recognize the name, sir-not that it makes much difference, of course. You say they requested my company specifically?"

"That's right, Captain," said the general. The predatory smile was back. "I admit I was surprised-you haven't always been my idea of a model officer, you know. But you have had a knack for getting favorable news coverage, and evidently that's paid dividends. All things considered, I must admit it hasn't hurt the Legion as much as it might have. So we've decided it's time for you to wrap up the guard assignment on Lorelei and get ready to transfer to Landoor."

"Yes, sir," said Phule. Then, after a pause, he continued, "Uh, as you no doubt realize, sir, my company is the majority stockholder in the Fat Chance Casino. That makes us the contract holders, and naturally we're very concerned about continued security after we're transferred away. We'll need sufficient time to arrange a replacement before we can leave."

The general's smile vanished. "Captain, this is no time for barracks-room lawyering. There's a whole planet asking for your company to protect its people, and all you're worried about is your pocketbook. That's not the Legion way, and I'll be hanged if I'm going to stand for it."

Phule held his ground. "Sir, with the general's permission, may I point out that the security of Lorelei is of concern to far more people than just my company? Several thousand people arrive on this station every day, staying for an average of five days, and they spend an average of three thousand dollars apiece during their stay-on hotels, food, gifts, and entertainment as well as on gambling. They come with families and children, too-and they expect a safe environment. Some of them are retired, and a lot are ordinary working people who saved up their money for a dream vacation. Any breakdown in casino security affects them more than it does my pocketbook-because from their point of view, they have much more at stake."

"Fine sentiments," said Blitzkrieg. "Or they would be, coming from any other officer. Coming from you, I suspect they're a ploy to look altruistic as you protect your own interests. Quite frankly, Captain, you aren't a team player."

"I take exception to that, sir," Phule said, rather hotly. "I treat my people not just as members of a team, but as a family. Believe me, these troops have very little tolerance for posturing. They'd find me out in a minute if I was merely paying lip service to that dogma."

"Perhaps," said General Blitzkrieg, momentarily taken aback by Phule's fervor. Then he recovered his aplomb; he leaned forward and pointed a finger at the transmitting camera, and at the man viewing his image. "But the Legion can't permit officers to set their own conditions for accepting an assignment. If you refuse the assignment, you'd better be ready to justify that decision to a court-martial. And I can tell you now, Captain, all your headlines won't do you a lick of good if it comes to an insubordination charge. And I'll make sure it does come to that. Now, are you going to accept the Landoor mission or not?"

Phule didn't hesitate. "Sir, my company will go where the Legion sends it."

"Good, that's settled, then," said Blitzkrieg, although without great enthusiasm. It was easy to guess that he'd wanted Phule to give him an excuse for an insubordination charge. He frowned at Phule and said, "You will ready your company for shipment to Landoor in-"he turned and looked at the readout again-"sixty standard days. That will be all, Captain!" Blitzkrieg broke the connection.

Phule sighed, and turned to Beeker. "Well, that's done," he said with a weary smile.

"Yes, sir," said the butler. "Now you can withdraw your company from Lorelei, and no one can question your motives or impugn your honor."

"True," said Phule. "But that's not the whole story, Beeker. If Blitzkrieg thought I really wanted this transfer, he'd break his back to prevent it. Now, he'll make sure we stay there long enough for me to get the unit back on track. This new assignment will give the company a worthy common goal-and that kind of motivation is exactly what's been missing here."

"I suppose so, sir," said Beeker, skeptically. "I'd think the opportunity to build the company's portfolio would have been enough to motivate them, but perhaps I fail to comprehend the military mentality."

Phule cracked a wry grin. "Military mentality? After watching my interview with the general, I'm surprised you even use those two words in the same sentence."

Beeker sniffed. "Sir, I suspect that the general's mental powers are beneath ordinary calculation. However, some of your troops show a modicum of intellect, albeit in my opinion largely misdirected. It was to them that I referred."

"Thank goodness," said Phule. "I was afraid it was some backhanded reference to me."

"Sir," said Beeker, pulling himself up even straighter than usual, "let me assure you that, had I wished to refer to you in a derogatory manner, I would have done so in such a way as to leave no doubt as to my intentions."

"Good. I was afraid you might not be feeling well," said Phule. "Well, that still leaves us one question to settle. Now that we've gotten something we want from the general, what are we going to do with it?"

"Well, sir, I think you had better begin by informing the company," said Beeker. "Some of them, I suspect, will be a good bit less sanguine than you are about departing this station."

"Man, I'm gonna miss this joint," said Do-Wop, setting his lunch plate down at a table with three fellow legionnaires. Word about the company's reassignment had gone out in midmorning. Within an hour it was the only topic of conversation among the Omega Mob.

"Are you really?" Super-Gnat raised her eyebrows. "I'll be glad to get back to a real planet, myself. Something about natural sunshine and fresh air..."

"I be happy if not too much sunshine," said Tusk-anini, who came from a nocturnal race. "But fresh air good to breathe. Soft ground feel good underfoot, too."

Do-Wop had already begun shovelling food into his mouth. But between two forkfuls he mumbled, "I'm a city kid, y'know. I hear the place we're headed for is the real boonies jungles and swamps. If they got any sidewalks at all, I bet they take 'em in after dark."

"That not true," said Tusk-anini. "Landoor City have more people than Lorelei, lots of buildings, too. I know-I study maps and books."

"Yeah, but what's there to do?" growled Do-Wop. "I mean, here we got all kinds of entertainment, lotsa places to grab some action, y'know? What's Landoor got?"

"Not as much as here," said Sushi, who had done his own research as soon as he'd learned of the new assignment. "It had some pretty lively resorts back when the mines were working, but that was in your grandpa's time. Now the main attraction is the scenery-some nice beaches and mountains, they say. And supposedly some pretty good amusement parks."

"Hey, that could be cool," said Do-Wop. "I ain't been on a good roller coaster since before I joined the Legion."

"That's not why we're going there," Super-Gnat pointed out. She took another of the warm butterhorn rolls Escrima had made for that night's meal, and said, "We've got a job to do, is all. I'm glad we're not being sent to some iceball asteroid to do it. In the Legion, you take what you can get. Could you pass the butter, Sushi?"

Sushi handed her the butter plate and said, "Gnat's right, you know. We've been pretty lucky, since the captain took over. You watch the news, you realize how many rotten places we could've been going."

"I don't pay no attention to the news," scoffed Do-Wop. "Waste of time, if you ask me."

"That why we no ask you," said Tusk-anini. "Sushi and Gnat telling truth-plenty bad places to go to."

"Yeah, and I'm afraid we're about to go to one of 'em," said Do-Wop, helping himself to a roll. "Those people just had a war, right? So some of 'em must still be shooting each other, if they need peacekeepers. Maybe they start shooting at us. Don't tell me that's better than what we got here."

"You don't want to hear, so why you want us tell you?" said Tusk-anini. "Me, I wait and see new place. We going there whether like it or not. Tusk-anini will try and like it."

"That's the attitude I like," said Brandy, stopping to eavesdrop on the conversation. "It figures Do-Wop starts griping about a place before he even gets there."

"Ah, give us a break, Top," said Do-Wop, looking up with a hurt expression. "A guy's got a right to gripe a little bit, ain't he?"

"Sure, gripe all you want," said Brandy. "But don't expect anybody to give you any sympathy if it turns out you actually like the place." She grinned and went on her way to the dessert counter.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" said Do-Wop, as the others at the table laughed.

"I don't know for sure," said Super-Gnat, "but I think it means she expects you to piss and moan no matter what's going on."

"Well, sure," said Do-Wop, puzzled. "What else is a guy supposed to do to pass away the time?"

The others at the table laughed again.

"So you're going away," said Laverna. She and Beeker sat in a softly lit back booth in the Tumbling Dice Casino's Domino Bar. The other tables near them were empty; this time of afternoon, most of the casino's customers were at the gambling tables. Anybody who wanted a drink could have it delivered to the floor. That made this a perfect spot for a quiet talk.

"My job is moving to another planet," said Beeker, shrugging. "I can't very well do anything but go with it."

Laverna toyed with her glass. "I don't believe that for one minute," she said, staring at the butler. "You could retire right now and be comfortable for life. Don't bother to deny it-I looked it up after a few things you said, and I know just how much you have. You're not going to be buying a private asteroid as your retirement home, but you're not going to miss that regular paycheck, either. So you damn well could stay here, if you felt like it."

"I suppose so-although this place is hardly my ideal retirement home." A few bars of brassy music came over the sound system as Beeker paused, weighing his words carefully. He continued, "Since you make no secret of having looked into my financial state, I will admit having researched yours. It appears to me that there is no financial reason for you to remain with your employer, either."

"No financial reason," said Laverna. She lowered her head, then looked up at Beeker. "Still, I won't be buying that ticket any time soon. I think you know what I mean, Beeker."

"Yes, I understand what you are saying," said Beeker. "Let me point out that, if you really wish to leave, there are ways it can be done. Once you are off-station, it becomes that much easier for you to disappear."

"Yes, if I don't mind spending the rest of my life hiding," said Laverna. She shook her head. "I'd mind that less than most, I suppose-time to read all the books I've never had time for, time to try writing something of my own. I've never lived the kind of life that attracts attention. But that's not the problem. I know too much, and Maxine can't afford to let me out of her control. Even if she were gone..."

"Her successors would worry about what you might reveal-or might be made to reveal, if you turned against them. And the successors would have no personal ties to you to make them hesitate." Beeker leaned forward and lowered his voice so the music prevented his words from being heard beyond their table. "Still, if you wanted to try, my employer and the Space Legion have resources beyond those of any private person."

Laverna was quiet for a long moment before saying, "And why should Phule use those resources for my benefit? You don't expect me to believe he'll do it out of benevolence-or because you have asked him to help me. As for the Legion-I don't really think I'm the sort to join-not at my age, anyhow."

"Actually, there's rather a tradition of people joining the Legion because they want to escape the past," said Beeker with a thin smile. He sat back up and looked around at the garishly decorated room, before leaning forward and continuing. "In my employer's unit, at least, the food and accommodations are as good as in any luxury hotel-and the retirement plan is actually rather good. Granted, the work is sometimes dangerous...but you're used to that, of course."

"Stop it," whispered Laverna. "You're starting to sound like a recruiting sergeant." She peered at him intently. "You don't really mean it, do you?"

Beeker steepled his fingers. "I merely offer it as an alternative to staying here, recognizing as you do that eventually someone will decide that you know more than is good for them. As an intelligent and perceptive woman, you must have given some thought to making your escape before that moment comes. It seems to me that now, with your employer's influence waning and competitors beginning to circle, is as logical a time as any. But of course you have to judge the moment for yourself."

Laverna's eyes looked from one side to the other, making certain nobody was within hearing distance. "You know, Beeker, you might be right about that," she said. "I'm not going to make any decisions on the spur of the moment, you understand. But you have given me something to think about."

"Don't think too long about it," said Beeker. "The opportunity won't be here much longer, you know."

"I know," said Laverna, and she fell silent. The music system was playing a sinuous minor-key dance tune from two decades ago, music from when they'd both been young. An innocent time, before either had known much responsibility.

The conversation, when it resumed, moved on to other things.