No Phule Like an Old Phule

11

Journal #711

A sufficiently obstinate conviction is immune to all demonstrations of its falsity-in/act, they are the best means to harden the conviction, no matter how wrongheaded, into an unshakeable credo. And when two or more persons who hold such convictions come into contact, there is no hope of any such thing as communication or mutual enlightenment. The best one can hope for, in my experience, is to keep collateral damage to an acceptable minimum.

Predictably enough, Victor Phule was in the High Rollers' Lounge, where the games were scaled to the ultrarich, and the security discreetly steered away anyone whose pockets weren't deep enough-although not until they'd had a glimpse of the upper crust. Every nickel-dime punter who walked in the doors of the Fat Chance had a. dream of breaking the bank and going home in a private space yacht. Giving them a brief look at the big-time players in action reinforced the glamour that was an essential part of any casino's appeal. Let 'em dream, as long as they don't touch, was Tullie Bascomb's credo. And almost everything in the Fat Chance reflected the veteran casino manager's words.

Ernie found it very curious that the richest man in the place-there was no question at all that Victor Phule fit that description-was playing the least glamorous game of all, the quantum slots. Ernie wondered about that, and about the fact that the casino had set up a row of slot machines here in a room where the players were more likely to prefer roulette and baccarat. You didn't need to know very much about the business to see that something funny was going on.

Ernie's latest theory was that, by ostentatiously playing high-priced slots; Victor Phule hoped to entice other high rollers to drop an occasional token into the machines which notoriously offered the worst payoffs (or, from the house's point of view, the highest profits) in any casino. The casino stood to make a substantial gain if it could find a way to make the slots fashionable for the big spenders. A few thousand here, a few thousand there-that could add up to a nice sum of money quickly enough. If that was all that was going on, there wasn't likely to be any chance for Ernie to get an edge. But if Victor Phule was doing more than just playing the shill... Well, that was what Ernie had come here to find out.

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.

Phule somehow managed to keep a straight face as the Lepoid came to attention at the foot of his desk and saluted-rather smartly, he thought. "At ease, Thumper," he said. "What can I do for you?"

The Lepoid appeared to relax fractionally. "I'm not sure, sir," Thumper said. "I've always wanted to be a legionnaire. But now that I'm in the Legion, I keep having problems with superior officers. I got sent here because General Blitzkrieg thought I'd ruined his uniform..."

"The general had you sent here?" Rembrandt asked. "That explains it, then. He's been trying to make trouble for us ever since he sent the captain here..."

"I hope you don't mean that the way it sounds, Lieutenant," said Phule, with a grin. Before Rembrandt could protest her innocence, he turned to Thumper, arid continued, "What just happened in the mess hall wasn't your doing, Legionnaire. We thought we'd warned all our nonhuman legionnaires to take their meals after Barky had left, so as to avoid something like what happened. But you were new here, and nobody thought to include you in the warnings. I'm sorry about that, and it shouldn't have happened. But it's no more your fault than your being a member of a species that the dog wanted to chase. So relax-nobody here holds it against you."

"Thank you, sir," said Thumper. "But there's another thing..." He paused.

"Go ahead, Thumper," said Phule. He'd already noticed that the Lepoid spoke excellent Standard, without using a translator. Thumper took a deep breath. "As I said, sir, I've wanted to be a legionnaire ever since I was growing up. But what I've seen so far in the Legion hasn't been at all like what I expected."

"I know what you mean," said Phule, with a quiet smile. "Day-to-day life in the military actually tends to be pretty boring..." He looked at the expression on

Rembrandt's face, and added, "Well, maybe this company is an exception."

"I consider that rather an understatement, sir," said Beeker, his eyebrows raised.

Rembrandt cleared her throat. "Perhaps we ought to let Thumper finish what he's saying, sir," she said.

"Ahh, of course you're right, Lieutenant," said Phule. "Please, Thumper, tell us what you were about to say. Sorry for the interruption."

Thumper's ears twitched, and he looked open-eyed first at Rembrandt, then at Phule. "I was going to ask how I could get out of the Legion and go back home," he said. "Everything that's happened to me since basic training had convinced me I'd made a really bad mistake. But I think I just changed my mind. I mean, I never heard an officer admit he was wrong about something, or apologize to an enlisted legionnaire. I've gotta think about this. So if you don't mind, I think I'll withdraw my request to speak to you, sir."

"All right, Legionnaire Thumper," said Phule, carefully. He hadn't seen much of the little Lepoid in action-just that one incredible burst of speed in the dining hall-but he'd read the report from Sergeant Pitbull, who'd been Thumper's drill instructor in basic. Pitbull's report was obviously phrased so as not to set off too many alarms if a certain Someone in Legion Headquarters happened to see it, but reading between the lines, it was full of praise for the diminutive recruit. Maybe Headquarters had done Omega Company a favor without intending to do so. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened. He chuckled, then added, "Go look around the company and see if you like what you see. If you still want to get out of here after you've had a good look at us, I'll make sure nobody stops you. But give us a chance. I have the idea you might fit into this company better than you think."

"I'll give you a fair chance if you'll give me the same, sir," said Thumper, coming to attention and saluting with a crispness that reminded Phule that the recruit was fresh out of basic.

Phule returned the salute, and added a smile. "You've got a deal, Thumper."

"Somebody remind me where we were before the roof fell in," said Sushi. It was early in the evening after the food fight in the mess hall, and there was a prominent shiner under Sushi's right eye, where a too-enthusiastically thrown apple had nailed him. He'd gone to the autodoc, which had dispensed a couple of pain pills and a tube of cream that would take down the swelling, but the discoloration would still last a couple of days.

"Tryin' to learn how these here Zenobians can write before they can talk," said Rev, who'd fallen to the floor early and managed to avoid being hit by anything solid during the food fight. "And, to get right back to square number one, tryin to find out somethin' about this here character name of 'L'VlZ in their mythology, which is what got me started on this whole fuss and botheration."

"Yo, Rev, you really think there's some kinda connection?" asked Do-Wop. He'd somehow managed to avoid any damage other than a thoroughly besmirched uniform, despite being one of the prime instigators and most active participants in the mess hall fracas. "I mean, the dinos and humans never even met until just a couple-three years ago. Don't make sense that they'd know squat about your guy, the King. What d'you think, Soosh?"

"It seems far-fetched to me, too," Sushi admitted. "But tell me, Rev-why haven't you just asked Flight Leftenant Qual what it's about? He's got to know."

"Sure he does," said Rev. "In fact, I tried 'xactly that, and the little leftenant clammed up quicker than a politician on the witness stand. The long and short of it is, I gotta find out on my own."

"All right, I guess that makes sense," said Sushi. "It just doesn't sound like Qual to me. But what if it does turn out that the Zenobians had their own analog of the King? It'd be the most sensational discovery since it turned out the Synthians have a game exactly like human chess, only with a nine-by-nine board and an extra piece on each side, and the pawns reverse direction when they reach the back row, instead of promoting. Who could resist the chance to be in on a discovery like that?"

"Me for one, if they were givin' away free beer across the street," said Do-Wop. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Rev-doin' this job is way better than KP, or nighttime guard duty. But I don't think it makes a whole bunch of difference how it turns out, y'know?" Rev looked at Do- Wop with one eyebrow arched.

"Well, Do-Wop, if this here project don't move you, I could always cut you loose. 'Course, if you were hangin' out in the parade ground doin' nothin' in particular, ol' Beeker might remember just who it was who was flingin' the cheese sauce that got allover the captain's uniform. I won't claim I've had to pull any strings to keep you off'n some kind of punishment duty, but it could happen, y'know. It could happen."

"Aw, c'mon, Rev," whined Do-Wop. "You know the captain wouldn't do that to me. He's a laid-back dude..."

"Sure," said Rev, shrugging. Then he added, with a hint of significance, "But Beeker jes' might be the kind to hold a grudge."

"You think so?" asked Do-Wop, now visibly worried. "Jeez-I wonder if there's any way I could make him forget about what was goin' on there..."

"Why don't you jes' let me take care of it, son?" Rev put his hand on Do-Wop's shoulder and spoke in his most sympathetic voice. "The captain knows I don't have no kind of ax to grind, except maybe to see that the King's good people get treated fair and square. You do a good job for me, and I'll make sure nobody ever says boo to you."

Sushi chuckled. "And if my buddy joins the Church of the King, you'll make double sure nobody bothers him, right?" he said, with a knowing grin.

"Why, Sushi! I'm surprised you would suggest such a thing," said Rev. "Everybody in Omega Company is my concern, you know that."

"Right, but the ones with pompadours, sideburns, and pouty mouths are a little bit more your concern," said Sushi. "Don't worry about Do-Wop, Rev. I think I've known him long enough to have a pretty good idea what he does best. .."

Do-Wop looked up with a surprised expression. "Hey, thanks, Soosh. I didn't know you thought that much of me.. ."

"... which is goofing off," Sushi finished.

"Yo! That ain't fair!" said Do-Wop, punching his buddy on the shoulder. "I thought you was gonna defend me!"

"You've known me long enough that you should've known better," said Sushi. "But seriously, Rev, you don't have to worry about Do-Wop. He knows a good deal when he sees one, and this is about as good as he's going to get in the Legion. Trust us-we'll get you results, if anybody can. Now, here's an idea I just came up with..." Rev and Do- Wop bent close to listen, and soon their heads were nodding.

"Pssst-Harry sent me," said a shadowy figure just beyond the perimeter of Zenobia Base.

"Yeah? What's the word?" said Double-X, who'd volunteered for sentry duty on this part of the perimeter. Rembrandt had been mildly surprised that the Supply sergeant's assistant was volunteering for anything at all, but she'd shrugged and put Double-X on the duty roster. Anytime somebody actually wanted to take on nighttime guard duty, it was one fewer warm body she'd have to cajole into doing

it. And while she'd probably wonder about the reason for the unusual request, the captain's policy was to give the troops a good deal of slack, and she wasn't about to overrule him.

"Bird is the word," said the voice from beyond the perimeter.

"What's the bird?" said Double-X.

"Thunderbird," said the voice, somewhat exasperated.

"Hey, can we come in now? This password stuff is silly."

"Aww, you know we gotta do all this stuff in the Legion, man," said Double-X. "You got it right, anyhow. Come on in-but hurry, we don't want the wrong folks to see you."

"We're comin'," said L. P. Asho, stepping out of the shadows. He was followed by Euston O'Better and Austen Tay-Shun. All three were wearing dark coveralls not quite Legion black, but good enough to reduce visibility on a dark night. The three men stopped just inside the perimeter, then Asho asked, "Which way's Harry's place?"

"Straight ahead," said Double-X. "The Supply shed's right behind that big Zenobian machine-watch out you don't trip over it. I don't know whether you can break anything 'sides your toe, but you wouldn't want to find out the hard way."

"Weird-lookin' thing," said O'Better. "What's it do?"

"Damfino," said Double-X. "They call it a sklem, and if you know what that means you're one up on me. Hurry up, now, 'fore somebody spots you."

"We're going, don't worry." The three hunters moved off toward the supply shed, leaving Double-X alone on the perimeter. He watched them go, then settled back down to wait. He'd be off duty in another three hours. With any luck, the off-planet suckers would still have some money left by then. If what Harry said was right, they had plenty to lose. If they'd already been cleaned out, well, those were the breaks. He'd have to take his chances with the usual crew.

"Four thousand dollars?" Lola's jaw dropped. "Victor Phule gave you four thousand dollars?"

Ernie grinned, and he tossed the four Fat Chance Casino chips lightly from hand to hand. "To tell the truth, it was only a thousand." He stopped and laughed.

"Only-and that was really just a loan to play the slots. For a goof, I guess. I won nine thou, and gave him back his one plus half the winnings. So he came out ahead of the game, too."

"All right, but he had no way of knowing. you were going to win," said Lola. "Why'd he give you money to throwaway in one of those stupid slots?"

"He was gonna play it if I didn't," said Ernie. "I think he was just using me to change his luck or something. Or maybe he did know it was going to come up a winner-if he's shilling for the casino, maybe he'd have some way to rig that, figuring that if I do hit a winner, I'll put the money, plus some of my own, back in the machine trying to win again."

"And just as likely, you'll walk away and cash it in," said Lola, frowning. "Which is exactly what you did except you didn't cash in. Why not?"

"I wanted him to think I don't need the dough that bad," said Ernie. "I'm pretending to be a guy with a few bucks of my own. If I cash the chips in right away, it looks like I'm hungry for the money. If I just throw a few thou in my pocket like small change, and walk out like it's too much of a pain in the ass to wait in line to change 'em, it makes the scam look better. Next time I walk in there, Phule will think I'm one of the big boys, just like him. And the chips are good anytime-you could go cash 'em in, one chip at a time, and nobody'd know any better."

"Don't be so sure about that," said Lola. "They may have them marked some way. In fact, they may even have them sending out a signal so they can tell where you've gone with them."

"Ahh, you're being paranoid," said Ernie. "They wouldn't go to the trouble to rig something that fancy for somebody like me."

"Don't be so sure," said Lola. "Remember, we're dealing with two guys who can very easily get their hands on all the latest military and spy hardware. Or are you forgetting just what it is that the Phules do for a living, besides running a casino?"

"Shit, that's right," said Ernie. He stared at the chips for a second, then suddenly stepped over to the bed and stuck them under a pillow. "You think they're bugged?" he whispered.

"If they really are, we're dead ducks already," said Lola quietly.

"Shit!" said Ernie, more vehemently. He stared at the pillow, then turned back to Lola. "I should've known better than to let that old skinflint slip me those phony chips. What the hell are we gonna do now, Lola?"

Lola sat on the windowsill, back to the window. She stretched her arms up and folded her hands behind her head, then said, "We don't have a lot of choices. Either they've got us pinned or they don't. If they're bugging us, they already know enough to kill any chance we have of our plans working. If that's true, we might as well cut and run-and take our chances about Mr. V catching up with us again. I don't like that idea, although four thousand dollars would give us a fair head start."

"Assuming the Phules don't have their security boys waiting to bust whoever tries to cash in the chips," said Ernie, his voice still low. He shot a glance at the pillow covering the chips, as if he expected it to do something unusual. It didn't cooperate.

"Right," said Lola. "The other choice is just to go on with the plan, on the theory that nobody knows nothin' about us and everything's exactly what it looks like. I don't especially like that idea, either, but at least it leaves us with something to play for."

"Yeah, I guess I can see that," said Ernie. He thought a moment, then said, "What if we're wrong about that?"

Lola shrugged. "If we're wrong, we find out just how good Phule's security guards are and just how serious they get with somebody who tries to do what we're planning on doing. At least there's a chance they'll put us someplace Mr. V can't get to us very easily. Maybe he'll even accept it as an occupational hazard if we're locked up somewhere and not come down too heavy on us."

"Yeah, right," said Ernie, gloomily. "So which way do you want to play it, then?"

"Dead straight," said Lola. "Go on back to the casino, joke with Victor Phule about forgetting you'd won, and drop those chips right back in the slot."

Ernie was flabbergasted. "Throw four thousand pazootlers back down the hole? Do I look like a dimwit to you?"

"Yeah," said Lola. "But for a moment, there, I thought maybe you were getting the idea. I'll explain it again. You've got to look as if you don't care about a few lousy chips. Then Phule won't think you're just out to get his money. Then maybe he'll start telling you what's really going on with his son, who's the one we want anyway. Get it?"

"I got it," said Ernie, sourly. "It just seems like we could hold back one or two chips, in case of emergency."

"Ah, come on, be a sport," said Lola, with, a grin. "Besides, if you pull that lever just right, you might win. Then you'll thank me."

"Su-ure, and maybe Victor Phule will disown Junior and put me in his will," said Ernie. "What did you figure the odds against that jackpot were? Twenty billion to one?"

"Yeah, but somebody's got to win it," said Lola brightly.

"Why not you?"

"Better me than anybody else, that's for sure," said Ernie. "Except 1 know better than to hold my breath."

"Go play it anyway," said Lola. "We don't have any other choices, so we might as well have fun with the one we do have."

"Aw right, but don't blame me if 1 come back broke," said Ernie, and he headed out the door and back to the casino.

"Great Goombah, who dealt this drutz?" growled Euston O'Better, scanning his cards. The game was Red Comet Stud, High-Low, with a buy after the last down card.

"Your good buddy over there," said Chocolate Harry, who was sitting behind an impressive pile of chips. "You don't like 'em, throw 'em in. Otherways, there's a bet on the table you gotta call-or raise."

"I ought to fold," said O'Better. "But 1 guess I'll look at one more card." He shoved a red chip into the center of the table.

Chocolate Harry shrugged. "Ain't no law 1 ever heard of says you gotta play if you're afraid of losin'. And that's the only gamblin' tip you're gonna get from me." He shoved in a blue chip. "Raise you five."

"Call," said Sushi, whose own pile of chips was slightly smaller than Chocolate Harry's, but still a good bit larger than when he'd bought into the game.

L. P. Asho, in the dealer's seat, looked at his cards. "What the hell, it's only money," he said. "Your ten"... he slid a blue chip into the pot-"and mine." He added a second blue, grinning.

"That's what 1 like to see," said Harry, beaming. "Man knows how to play the game. You still in, Street?"

"Not with these cards 1 ain't," said the legionnaire, turning his cards face down. "Can't get high or low either one. Why don't somebody invent a game where middle hand wins 1"

"You can call it when it's your deal," said Harry.

"Meanwhile, we got cards and money on the table, and time's a-wastin'. You in, Mr. Tay-Shun?" Austen Tay-Shun took a sip of his drink-bourbon and cactus juice-and contemplated first his own cards, then those visible in the other hands. "I like what 1 see," he said.

"Call."

"You can't like it that much or you'd raise," said Harry.

"Your turn, O'Better. Fifteen bucks to play, jet out for free.

What'd'ya say?"

"I said I'd see another card," said O'Better, putting in two chips. He looked like a man whose word of honor has just been impugned. Which of course was exactly what Chocolate Harry was banking on.

"Here's the raise," he said, "and last raise for another blue one." Punk went his chips into the pot. Sushi rolled his eyes and folded, but the three hunters all called, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The game had been going like this all night long.

"More cards, Mr. Dealer," called out Harry. "Make 'em good-I don't want to hear no complaints about how folks came to Chocolate Harry's to play poker and couldn't get a hand to play!"

"Yeah, yeah," said Asho, turning over another card for each of the players. "Read' em and weep."

"That's what the farmer said," said Tay-Shun. "Or was it 'Weed 'em and reap'? Har har." He shoved a red chip into the pot. "Five."

Euston O'Better snorted. "I don't know what's worse, your jokes or my cards. And that's a mighty sad comment on this hand." He tossed his hand in and pushed back his chair. "Gotta get me another brew."

"Help yourself-we got plenty of it," said Chocolate Harry, gesturing toward the cooler in the back of the Supply shed. He turned back to his cards and shoved two chips into the pot. "Your nickel and my dime."

"Sarge is nickel-dimin' us to death," said Street, looking enviously at the growing pot.

Chocolate Harry snorted. "A man wants to take the boodle home, he got to feed the pot," he said. "You don't have to play the game if it's too rich for your blood-we got a lot of folks on base would like to take some of this money if you ain't up to it. Hey, Soosh, you think Do-Wop's up for a game?" Before Sushi could answer, Street said, "I didn't say I was givin' up my seat. Just kibitzing, is all."

"Whatever you say," said Harry. "Didn't want to see a man jump in over his head."

"Sure you did," said Sushi, leaning back in his chair to study the visible cards. "You run a poker game every few days, and I never yet saw you tell somebody he couldn't play because he wasn't good enough. Or rich enough, for that matter. You might be the most democratic sergeant in the Space Legion, when it comes to taking other people's money."

"Well, I'll take that as a compliment," said Chocolate Harry. "Even though I have to say you're wrong. You give me my choice, I'd much sooner take a rich man's money than a poor man's. And the reason why is easy..."

"Because there's more of it to take," said Sushi and Street in unison.

Chocolate Harry frowned. "What's wrong with you boys, steppin' on all a man's best lines?"

"Just tryin' to save you the effort," said Street, grinning broadly. "You workin' so hard as it is..."

"Hellfire, there's a game goin' on," said Austen Tay-Shun. "You boys playin' or not? It's your bet, ain't it, L. P.?"

"I'm callin' ," said the dealer. "You in or out, buddy? If you ain't holdin' anything better than you're showing, you best get out while you still got some skin left."

"There's one more card before the buy," said Tay-Shun, unfluttered. "Plenty of time to get better. Cal!." The call went around the table and Asho dealt the remaining players one card each, face down. "All right, pay dirt!" said Tay-Shun, peeking at the card he'd gotten.

"You might have the dirt, but I'm the one who's takin' home the pay," said Chocolate Harry, with a broad grin. He was showing three queens in his face-up cards.

"We'll just have to wait and see on that there question," said Asho. "You can brag all you want about your popgun, but don't expect it to carry no weight with somebody that's got a cannon."

"That's the truth," said Austen Tay-Shun. "There's gas and there's neutronium, and a man that don't know which one's which better keep tight hold of his wallet. I bet twenty-five." Chocolate Harry looked at Tay-Shun's cards. "Must be goin' low. Bump it twenty-five."

"And another twenty-five," said Asho, shoving three blue chips into the pot and grinning broadly.

Tay-Shun raised another twenty-five. "Looks like we got you whipsawed, Sarge," he said.

Chocolate Harry chuckled deep in his throat. "You talk bad, but it's the cards that get the last word." Sushi had been kibitzing the game, waiting for the next deal. Perhaps that was why he noticed that O'Better, after folding his hand, was taking a long time to fetch himself a beer. He looked around the shed and spotted the absent player standing by a rack of weapons. He had a beer can in his hand, all right, but his attention was raptly focused on the military hardware. Casually, Sushi made his own way back to the cooler, got himself a cold one, and sauntered over to stand next to O'Better. "You look like a man who knows his way around a gun," said Sushi.

"Huh?" said the hunter, startled. "Oh yeah, yeah-gotta have some serious weapons if you're gonna hunt big game, heh heh. I surely do admire some of the stuff you Legion boys have got, though."

"Yeah, I guess it's pretty exotic to civilians," said Sushi. "We use it all the time, so it's nothing special to us. Then again, we have specialized requirements-most of this stuff would be no use for you. You don't get much of a trophy if you blow the whole animal to constituent quarks, do you?"

"Naw, I reckon not," said O'Better, with a guffaw. "But there's trophies and trophies, y'know? And with some of the critters I hear tell this planet's got, maybe just stunnin' the critter so's you could cut off the head would be fine. ." He waved his hand in the direction of a Zenobian stun ray-a weapon that, as far as Sushi knew, was still available only to Omega Company, thanks to the captain's father's munitions plant.

"Stun it? Yeah, that'd be triff, if there was some weapon that would do it," said Sushi, watching O'Better's reaction carefully. But before the Tejan could say anything, a voice came from the card table.

"Hey, Euston, you playin'? We're dealin' Chainsaw..."

O'Better gulped, and said, "Scuse me." He headed back to the card table, obvious relief on his face. But Sushi couldn't help but note that both Tay-Shun and Asho were staring daggers at their fellow hunter.

Ernie sauntered into the Fat Chance Casino as if he owned the joint. Well, why not? Looking and acting confident putting up a good front-was one of the main weapons in a con man's arsenal. If nobody thought to question him, he was home free. And, after all, right there in his pocket were chips worth $4000 that he was planning to play with. That gave him just as much right to be there as anybody else-more than most of the other customers, if the amount of money he had meant anything.

His first stop was at the cashier's window, to change one of the thousand-dollar chips into fifties. The smaller denominations would allow him to gamble with the money over a longer stretch of time, although he'd still be betting amounts significant enough to distinguish him as a bigtime player-an "elephant," in the casino workers' slang. He would reserve the remaining big chips to play Victor Phule's thousand-dollar slots, allowing him-or so he hoped-to strike up a further conversation with the weapons magnate.

Ernie was looking forward to renewing that acquaintanceship. He still had hopes of finding out exactly what Phule's real plans were. They couldn't possibly be as stupid as trying to win a jackpot big enough to break the bank, as Phule had insisted he was doing. And just maybe, he could find out where Willard Phule was, so he and Lola could decide whether or not to change their original plan of kidnapping the young Space Legion captain who was majority stockholder in the casino. Whether they could convince the people who'd hired them to go along with a change in plans was another problem. Ernie preferred not to think about that one, just now.

He sat down at a blackjack table and played a few hands. The cards weren't running his way, and he ended up dropping three hundred dollars in fifteen minutes. It was hard to keep his hands from shaking; here he was, frittering away more than his entire daily budget before Victor Phule had tossed him a chip and told him to play the slots. A person with any brains at all would probably pocket the money and get the hell off Lorelei. But, of course, Ernie wasn't going to do that. Lola was the brains, and she'd told him to come back here and play with it. She didn't have to tell him twice.

He stood up and wandered over to a roulette table; he'd get worse odds, but the game was more in line with the high roller image he was trying to project. A perky redhead with a really spectacular figure was watching the action waiting for two or three blacks in a row, then sliding a large bet onto the red, figuring it was more likely to come up now. Ernie had heard somewhere that it didn't make any difference how many times one color came up, the odds were still the same old fifty-fifty on the next turn of the wheel. That didn't make sense to Ernie. If you couldn't trust the law of averages, there wasn't any point to gambling at all.

Ernie bellied up to the table alongside the redhead. He slipped a fifty-pazootie chip out of his pocket and placed it on the red, right next to hers. Startled, she looked up at him. He grinned at her, not worrying for the moment about what Lola would have to say if she found out about it. Hey, I gotta play the role, he told himself.

The croupier announced the end of betting with the traditional incomprehensible phrase in some forgotten Old Earth language. Impulsively, Ernie pulled a second fiftybuck chip out of his pocket and put it atop the first just as the wheel began to spin. The redhead's eyes widened, and she turned a very curious sidelong stare at him before returning her gaze to the wheel.

Ernie caught himself involuntarily holding his breath as the wheel spun. He made himself relax. If he was supposed to be a big spender, a hundred bucks shouldn't be a big deal to him. Hell, a thousand shouldn't be that big a deal.

In a little while, he was going to go throw that much into a slot machine in a couple of pulls, and unless he got really lucky, he wasn't ever going to see it again.

The wheel slowed, and the redhead leaned forward, showing off a nice stretch of decolletage. Ernie wondered if it was for his benefit, and decided it probably was. He chuckled, and managed to keep from turning right around to stare at her. As interesting as she might be, he had to remember his real purpose here. More importantly, he had to remember what was likely to happen to him if Lola found out he'd been fooling around with some bimbo in the casino. Yes, those were the words she'd use. Then she'd use considerably harsher words directed at him. And unless he got very lucky, the harsh words might be followed by a stream of very hard objects flung in his direction.

It probably wasn't worth it, Ernie thought, even as the roulette wheel came to a stop and showed the ball resting in a red slot. He-and the redhead-had won. She let out a whoop, and gave a little jump, brushing up against him on purpose, he was sure. He was going to have to be very disciplined. He was going to hate it, but that was the price a fella had to pay.

Even so he managed to smile as the redhead brushed up against him again and turned her big eyes his way as he scooped up his winnings.