Phule Me Twice

Chapter 5

Journal #514

Even the most punctual worker is sometimes late. Some are more punctual than others; but even they can sometimes be thrown off schedule by the vagaries of weather, transportation, and sheer chance. Bosses and coworkers will fidget, sigh, look out the window, and (depending on factors too various to enumerate) go about their business without the tardy person or await his arrival with some mixture of anxiety and annoyance. If the worker does not appear by some reasonable time, attempts will be made to get in touch, with greater or lesser degree of urgency.

But when a robot is late, that is in itself an occasion for urgency. When the robot is a custom-built facsimile of one's employer, bought at an exorbitant price and put on duty for reasons of utmost security, panic is likely to ensue. It is to the credit of the staff of the Fat Chance Casino that the panic was kept to a minimum on this occasion.

"Disappeared?" Gunther Rafael Jr.'s jaw couldn't have dropped farther if there'd been a 100G gravity field underneath it. "Why, that's impossible."

"I keep hearing about things being impossible, usually right after they happen," said Doc, who had become the Fat Chance Casino's security chief after the departure of Phule's Company. His black Space Legion staff sergeant's uniform was a perfect fit. Only someone with an insider's familiarity with the Legion's insignia and badges would have been able to tell that it was a complete fraud, as were the "Legion" guards Doc commanded. "If it's impossible for the android to disappear, maybe you can tell me what it's done instead of disappearing?"

"OK, Doc, you've made your point," said Rex, who headed up the Casino's entertainment division. "If you're done with the sarcasm, maybe I can interest you in our current problem, which is that the Andromatic Phule has disappeared. The most likely explanation is, the thing's been abducted-or maybe that should be stolen. "

"Who could've done it?" wailed Rafael. "How? Why?" He began to pace nervously around the table.

"Those are all good questions," said Doc. "A better one is, what are we going to do about it?"

"You're the damned security chief," said Rafael, pointing an accusing finger. "Why don't you know what to do about it?"

Doc bristled. "You know the answer to that as well as I do, Gunther: I'm about as much a security chief as you are a casino manager. I'm just an actor who got put in charge of the guard detail because everybody figured the bad boys would be so scared of us they wouldn't start trouble. Now, with our mechanical boss missing, they're bound to figure out we've been bluffing all along."

"And when they do, they'll swoop down on us like wolves," said Rafael, wringing his hands.

"Wolves don't swoop," barked Tully Bascomb. He headed up the gambling operations, and his years of casino experience had been invaluable to Phule when he agreed to run the Fat Chance. "Pull yourselves together, both of you. We've got to come up with an answer to the missing captain before the bad boys do figure out how vulnerable we are. And that means everything's got to look as if nothing's changed. Doc, is there anybody on board you'd trust to play the role of Phule until we can get the bot back?"

"Maybe," said Doc, rubbing his chin. "I've got a couple of kids who're about the right physical type and who are quick studies. With a little makeup..."

"Makeup's no problem," said Rex. "With what we've got here, I could make Dee Dee look like the captain. What I'm worried about is whether your kids can carry off the stunt when they have to talk to customers-and whether they can be trusted keep the secret."

"Well, there's no reason they have to know the whole story," said Doc. "Outside the board of directors, nobody knows that Phule's been replaced by an android. The actor replacing the android doesn't need to know, either. We just tell him the captain's been called off-station on urgent business."

"Or maybe he's sick," said Tully. "That'll do for the short run, sure."

"And as far as the lines, I bet they can do better than the android," said Doc. "They can have a much wider range of permitted responses without getting in over their heads. And they can handle a lot more random situations than the android could."

"I don't know about that," said Raphael. "I was once in a group the android came up to, and somebody started a discussion of the gravball playoffs. I swear, that droid could talk about the sports and weather better than I could! I doubt anybody could have figured out they weren't interacting with a real person."

"Only danger would be if somebody in the group knew the real Phule and spotted the android-or the actor-talking about something Phule didn't know or care about," said Doc. "But with the right direction, even that wouldn't be a problem. Just order the actor to break off the conversation before there's any chance of getting in over his head. We can handle it, believe me."

"OK," said Tully decisively. "We let Doc pick a couple of doubles, coach them to play Phule, and turn them loose as soon as they're ready. We're trusting you on this one, Doc."

"I won't let you down," said Doc. "But this only solves half the problem, y'know."

"Do I ever," said Tully. "Somebody out there's got the android, and it's not going to be very long before they figure out what they've got and what it means. And then we're going to be a target again."

"I hope not. People could get hurt," said Rex. "We need to notify the captain as soon as possible. I'm not anxious to put my actors in the way of that kind of danger. Besides, he's the majority stockholder. We can't deal with a situation of this importance without his input."

"Second the motion, and call the question," said Doc. "I don't think we can afford to delay even a moment."

"No argument here," said Tully. "Give me a moment to place the call, and we'll see what advice Captain Phule has to offer." The others sat in silence as he reached for the comm unit and entered a code. The tension was as thick as a high-stakes poker showdown. None of them were sure just who they were playing against, but everyone knew that the stakes were the entire casino.

Journal #515

Preparations for the company's move to its new assignment had begun almost as soon as the ambassador had left my employer's office. While the ambassador had instructed the captain not to reveal the company's exact destination, it soon became clear to all who paid attention to such matters that it was not to be another planet with a first-rate hotel designed for human occupancy. To the officers' surprise, this discovery did not set off a round of griping about having to abandon the luxurious conditions to which the company had become accustomed. Indeed, the legionnaires seemed to look forward to the change as a sort of adventure.

The major exception was, predictably the mess sergeant.

"Captain, you got to let me know where we're going," said Sergeant Escrima, leaning forward over Phule's desk. His clenched fists rested on the desktop, and his eyes gleamed. "I got to know what kind of supplies we can get there."

"Sergeant, I sympathize entirely with your viewpoint," said Phule, doing his best to calm down the mess sergeant. "In fact, I'm trying to find out the same thing, not just for food stocks but for the whole company. What I can tell you is, we're going to a planet without any previous human settlement. A lot of things we've taken for granted won't be available. You'll have to make do-at least at first-with what we can bring in ourselves. Of course, there are bound to be a fair number of local items you can use..."

"Water and what else?" demanded Escrima. "Can we eat the local meat? I can't do anything without fresh meat, or fresh vegetables, either. What about power? I can't even cook without power."

"Power's not going to be a problem," said Phule.

"Hallelujah, I can boil water." Escrima sneered. "Lots of nice hot tea and reconstituted soups, hah?" He pantomimed spitting out something foul-tasting. "You got to do better than that, Captain."

Phule stood up. "Escrima, I know for a fact that the natives of this world can eat some of our food, so I'm sure we can eat some of theirs, too. I think you should look on it as a stimulating challenge to find out which of their things our people can use, and ways to prepare them-"

"A challenge?" Escrima's eyes widened. "You don't want to challenge me, Captain. No, not unless-"

"Maybe challenge is the wrong word," Phule cut in quickly. "A chance to prove how good you really are. We've all tasted what you can do when you've got a cordon bleu-quality kitchen to work with. I'll guarantee you, there's not a chef on the planet who could top you." This was true; Phule occasionally had reason to eat a meal off-base, and he knew that Landoor's best restaurants served as good a meal as he'd find anywhere in the Galaxy. But the food Escrima put out daily for the legionnaires of Omega Company was even better.

Escrima wasn't in a mood to be flattered. "I make the finest food in the Legion, and now you tell me I got to rough it, cook over a campfire for all I know. How long you think it'll be before everybody starts cracking wise about the food? Captain, you gonna drive me crazy!"

"No, no," said Phule, raising both hands in protest. "We'll have an up-to-date kitchen for you, don't worry about that. As long as I'm in charge of this outfit, you'll never have to settle for anything less than the newest, finest equipment. You have my word on that, Sergeant."

Escrima raised his eyebrows, and for the first time since he'd entered the office, he lowered his voice to something like a civil tone. "I got to give you credit for that, Captain," he said after a moment's thought. "You said you were going to do just that, and did it, no fooling around. OK, then, I'll take your word on the equipment. But that's not the whole game. You give me rotten eggs to cook, and I don't care what kind of stove I got."

"No rotten eggs, Escrima. I promise," said Phule, smiling. "Not even powdered eggs, which as far as I'm concerned are even worse."

"At least a rotten egg used to be an egg," agreed Escrima, wrinkling his nose. "That powdered stuff, maybe it came out of a vat in some chemical plant. About all it's good for, is you can use it to kill bugs, if you got bugs."

"Kill bugs?" Phule's brow wrinkled. "How do you kill bugs with powdered eggs? I didn't think even bugs would eat the stuff."

"No," said Escrima, a sly grin now on his face. "The way you kill bugs, you take a whole big box of the crap and drop it right on top of the bug. Kills him real good, you bet."

Phule laughed. "I promise, Escrima, you get the best ingredients," he said. "If you ever get anything that isn't good enough for you to feed the troops, feed it to me first."

"What?" said Escrima, mortally offended. "You want me to feed you trash?"

Phule nodded. "Yes, absolutely," he said. "That way I know when we're being cheated, and I'll get mad enough to do something about it. You know I'm behind you all the way, Escrima. Look here: On this new assignment, if you want something, let me know and I'll figure out a way to get it. If I have to put a fleet of private transports on the job, I'll get it. But believe me, we should be able to use the local stuff, too. Just wait and see."

Escrima nodded. "If you tell me that, I believe you. All right, then, Captain. We got a deal."

"Good," said Phule. "Now, I told you I'd get you the best equipment available. I've got a new field kitchen ordered-a prototype, designed to allow you to prepare anything you could do in a five-star restaurant under field conditions. We're going to give it a test here on Landoor before we get out somewhere where we can't get it replaced. It arrives day after tomorrow, if everything goes right. I want you to give it a full test and let me know anything it needs to meet your specifications. OK?"

"Yes, sir!" said Escrima. Like half the men in the legion, he loved the chance to play with new toys. Now he was going to get his hands on a brand-new one. It would keep him busy for a while, Phule knew, figuring out ways to get the most out of it. The results would be well worth the effort.

"All right, so I was wrong," said Lola, not sounding in the least contrite. She turned off the hotel room's built-in computer screen, which had been displaying Do-It-Yourself Turing Test, by Minsky & Hofstadter Enterprises. "We've gone and stolen the damned robot dupe instead of kidnapping Willard Phule. Now what?"

They'd realized something wasn't right almost as soon as they'd dissolved the goo gun bonds they'd used to capture their prey. The captive's response to the situation had been thoroughly inappropriate, unless one assumed that a total idiot had been running a Legion company and a major Casino Hotel-not only running them, but running them successfully. Their suspicions aroused, they'd called up the Turing test, and the robot had failed it miserably.

Ernie shook his head, miserably. "We've blown it, for sure," he said. "The bosses send us here to snatch a guy and all we get's a stupid bot. They're gonna wale on our butts for this."

Lola paced back and forth in short steps, thinking furiously. "I think it's time we stopped thinking about the bosses and start looking after ourselves," she said. "We can still make something out of this if we don't panic."

"Panic?" said Ernie, his voice squeaking. "You ever seen what the bosses do to guys who stiff 'em?"

"That's the ones they catch," said Lola. She stopped and pointed at Ernie, and continued, "If we play our cards right, who says they're going to catch us? Especially if we can get Phule to pay to get his robot back. These things can't be cheap. It ought to be worth enough to him to give us enough of a nest egg to run off and hide someplace safe."

"Yeah, I guess the boys gotta be worth somethin' to him," Ernie said, scratching his head. "I wonder what he'll pay to get it back."

"We need to know the going price for an Andromatic dupe, for starters," said Lola. She flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling a moment before continuing, "I guess. he'll pay that much just to avoid waiting for the factory to turn out a new one for him. This thing's gotta be a custom model-nobody else would want one that looked like him."

"Yeah, I guess we can get replacement value, whatever that is," said Ernie. He looked once more at the replica of Phule sitting, with an expression of seeming unconcern, cross-legged in a chair by the window. It might have been waiting for a dinner date.

Or, more likely, looking for a chance to escape. But the two kidnappers weren't betting that their captive would remain docile. The robot's left leg was shackled to the heavy chair, and even with its superhuman strength, it wouldn't make much progress dragging such an awkward impediment. Still, if it managed to escape the building, it was a good bet that it would find its way back to the Fat Chance, and that shortly thereafter, the two botnappers would be in the hands of unsympathetic security guards, learning firsthand about the penal system of Lorelei Station.

"One thing hasn't changed," said Lola. "We have to get off-station with this thing as quick as we can. The heat's going to be turned way up. We've still got a chance to turn a profit. The bot's worth something. Let's get someplace where we can cash it in."

Ernie looked her in the eye for a long moment, then shrugged. "OK, you're running the game," he said. "But first things first. What do we do to keep the Fat Chance security from beating down our door?"

She stood and moved quickly to the computer terminal she'd signed off from only a few minutes before. "Like I said, we have to get off-station-and take the bot with us-pronto. Tell you what; you go to the public 'puters in the lobby and do some research on the going price of these robots. Meanwhile, I'll see if I can get us a berth on something headed out-and right now, I'm not particular about destinations. Don't take too long, OK? 'Cause I'm grabbing the first thing I can find, even if we have to leave without our luggage to make it. Got it?"

"Got it," said Ernie. He walked over and patted the robot on the head. "You just rest, of boy, you're gonna be our ticket to Rich Man's Row before it's all over." The robot, still gagged, said nothing.

"Be careful, it might grab you," said Lola, wrinkling her brow.

"Nah, the Asimov circuits won't let it," said Ernie. "Be back in a bit."

"Make it half a bit," said Lola, but Ernie was already out the door. She turned to the terminal and began searching for a ship headed out-out to anywhere.

"Andromatic stands behind its product without reservation, Captain Jester," said the customer service representative with an audible sniff. A name badge, which read Stanton, was visible on his chest. "However, if you will examine your purchase agreement, you will see that customer negligence is excluded. It appears that the android's automatic theft alarms have been turned off by you or your agents."

"The factory default settings on the theft alarms prevented us from using the android as intended," said Phule. "With my initial order, I specified that the robot had to be able to mingle freely with customers in the casino. It was your factory-recommended installation consultant that suggested disabling the alarms in that environment so they wouldn't go off every time some unfamiliar person got too close."

"I am afraid that your consultant-who, I should point out, is an independent contractor and not one of our employees-has given you bad advice," said Stanton. "That is not an authorized modification. If you had read the documentation-"

Phule cut him off. "I did read the documentation," he said. "So did a couple of pretty talented engineers. We all agreed that it was nearly useless. Just for starters, the index is completely inaccurate, and the illustrations look as if they were drawn by somebody who'd never laid eyes on the product."

"Of course," said the customer service rep with an insulted expression, "you can't expect the standard manual to cover all the custom features you ordered. Why, we'd have to write a new manual for every order we filled."

"For what I paid, that doesn't seem an outlandish service to expect," said Phule.

"For what you paid, I'd think you could have detailed one of your soldiers to stay with it and guard it," sneered Stanton.

"My men are legionnaires, not soldiers," Phule corrected the Andromatic representative somewhat testily. "More to the point, my whole reason for acquiring an android double was to convince various people that I was still on Lorelei instead of several parsecs away. I've never found it necessary to walk around with a bodyguard, and if I suddenly appeared to change my routine, it would attract attention. That's exactly what I didn't want."

Stanton shook his head slowly. "Nonetheless, I think we have a clear-cut case of customer negligence here. You must understand, Andromatic cannot take responsibility for unintended uses of our products." He made handwashing gestures.

"I think I need to speak to the manager of customer service," said Phule.

"I am pleased to be able to accommodate you," said Stanton, with a mock bow. "As it happens, I am the manager of customer service."

Phule glared at the vidscreen. "I see," he said. "Let me see if I understand this, then. None of your stock units would do what I wanted a robot double for, so I had to custom-order one that would. But the custom modifications I paid extra for aren't covered in the manual, and the warranty doesn't extend to the uses for which I specifically requested the modifications. My failure to follow instructions I didn't receive constitutes negligence or misuse of the product. Is that about right?"

"That covers most of it, yes," said Stanton with a smirk. "Is there anything else that I can help you with today?"

"Evidently not," said Phule. He'd fallen into very precise diction, which anyone who knew him would have recognized as a very dangerous sign. "However, you might save yourself considerable trouble if you started clearing out your desk as soon as this call is over. I'm going to make sure that Andromatic cleans house, and the first department to get swept out will be customer disservice." He cut the connection abruptly and slumped into his chair.

"Shall I begin acquiring Andromatic shares, sir?" said Beeker, who had watched the entire conversation.

"Check the profitability first," said Phule. "If they're running as sloppy an operation as it looks from here, the shares might be overpriced. I suspect the company can turn a decent profit if it's managed right, but I don't see any reason to pay more than we need to for the privilege of turning it around."

"Perhaps it would be advisable to start rumors to get the price down to a reasonable level," noted Beeker.

"If we have to, sure," said Phule. "But don't put a lot of effort into it. We've got bigger fish to fry-among them, figuring out just who's got the robot and how to get it back."

"I should expect they'll give us the courtesy of a ransom call before long, sir," said Beeker. He opened the cover of his Port-a-Brain computer and began calling up his mail program.

"Possibly," said Phule. "That depends on their reasons for the robbery in the first place. If they're looking to make the most possible mischief for me, they can do a lot better by holding onto the thing than by selling it back to me."

"I fear you're right, sir," said Beeker. He looked at the screen, then continued. "At any rate, there's no word on the android at present. We shall have to pursue other channels."

"Well, pursue away," said Phule. I'm going to go see how Sushi's coming along with his search for the man who robbed that Japanese restaurant. Give me a buzz if there's any useful news."

"Immediately, sir," said Beeker. He turned back to the Port-a-Brain and began his search.

Journal #520

Crises never choose a convenient time to manifest themselves. Of course not; otherwise, they would hardly qualify as crises. So it did not in the least surprise me that the theft of the robot coincided with an impending move by the company. In comparison, the contretemps with the local citizen convinced that he had been robbed by a legionnaire was a trivial matter.

In this, at least, my employer was fortunate enough to have an eminently qualified subordinate to whom he could delegate the job of identifying the robber. Sushi's computer skills were as good as any in the company. But it was his newly acquired status as a Yakuza overlord that gave him access to the information on which to proceed.

The perhaps not entirely inadvertent result of taking on this responsibility was the transformation of Sushi into a rather good facsimile of a valuable member of the company. While my employer saw this as a desirable alteration, that opinion was not necessarily universally shared.

"Yo, Soosh, you still workin'?" Do-Wop stood in the doorway of the hotel suite, obviously with several beers on board. Behind him were Super-Gnat and Tusk-anini. "You know what time it is, man?"

"I thought the one staying home was supposed to ask that question," said Sushi, looking up from the computer screen. "It's two in the morning, just in case your chronometer's broken. And yeah, I'm still working. Did you guys shut down the bar again?"

"Hey, somebody's gotta do it," said Do-Wop. He sauntered into the room, fairly steady on his feet, and slouched into an easy chair. Tusk-anini and Super-Gnat followed him, taking seats on the couch. "Everybody's worried about you, man," he added. "You workin' that hard, you gonna give yourself headaches or somethin'."

"I already have headaches, Do-Wop," said Sushi, turning his chair around to face his partner. "But this is a different kind-the kind I can get rid of by finishing up this job. And the best part is, when the job's done, I can go back to hanging out with the guys."

"You been saying that for weeks, now," accused Do-Wop. "After a while, it sounds like nothin' more than an excuse." He sat up in the seat and pointed a finger at Sushi. "I told you this before, and I'll tell you again. You're startin' to act like an officer, man."

"Hey, cut the squabbling," said Super-Gnat. "We didn't come by to watch you guys fight." She reached down into her bag and pulled out a bottle of Atlantis Amber, beads of condensation on its surface. "Here, Sushi, we thought you'd like a cool one to wet your throat after working all night."

"She mean wet inside of throat," explained Tusk-anini helpfully.

"I'd never have guessed," said Sushi, smiling. He took the beer and opened it. "Thanks, Gnat," he said, raising the bottle in a salute and taking a sip.

"No prob, Sushi," she said with a smile. "We did miss you, y'know. We got talking about where we're going next, and there were some pretty weird ideas going around-stuff that makes Chocolate Harry's shtick about the renegade robots look fairly logical."

"Well, some people are buying that line," said Sushi, with a wry grin. "Either that, or there's an incredible bargain on purple camouflage somewhere in town."

"I not believing renegade robots," said Tusk-anini. "Chocolate Harry must make a mistake."

"If it's a mistake, it's a damn lucky one for the sarge's bank balance," said Do-Wop. "Wonder where he found all that purple stuff, anyhow?"

"Some surplus catalog, is my bet," said Super-Gnat. "But here's my question, Sushi. You've been doing this job for the captain. Do-Wop says he was here talking to you this afternoon. So, naturally, we sort of wondered-any chance he dropped any hints where we're going?"

Sushi thought for a moment, tapping his fingers on the cool glass. "I'm not sure," he said. "But Chocolate Harry let something slip in between his pitches for robot-proof camouflage. The captain's bought a special modular base camp-MBC-that he's going to have us practice setting up. What I think that means is, there aren't any hotels where we're going. That makes me think we're going to a world without a large human population. Maybe even none at all."

"No hotels?" exclaimed Do-Wop. "Does that mean no bars? That sucks, man!"

Tusk-anini sat up straight, which made him nearly as tall as Sushi would have been standing. "Maybe we go to my home world," he said. "That would be good. Not such bright sun, good food..."

"Don't let Escrima hear you say that," said Super-Gnat with a chuckle. Then she added, "It'd be interesting to see your world, though. Anybody who wants to stay in hotels his whole life doesn't have any business joining the Legion." She shot a sharp glance in Do-Wop's direction.

"Look who's talking," said Do-Wop. "You ask me, ain't nobody here had a whole lotta business joinin' the Legion."

"I join Legion for business," said Tusk-anini. "I join to learn about humans, so I can teach other Voltons about you people."

"Have you learned anything?" asked Sushi. "I sometimes wonder whether that Leftenant Qual wasn't right in his report on us, that we're the most dangerous race in the Galaxy because we're so unpredictable..." He stopped and put his hand to his chin. "Say...you don't think we might be going to the Zenobians' home world, do you?"

"Zenobia?" Super-Gnat whistled. "That'd be something, wouldn't it? As far as I know, we'd be the first humans to see their world. I wonder what it's like."

"Hot, I guess," said Sushi. "And swampy. They think our worlds are cold and dry."

"Dry's the word," said Do-Wop glumly. "Qual never took a drink of liquor the whole time he was with the company. I knew it, a place without bars. I'm gonna purely hate this."

"Hey, we don't even know if it's true yet," said SuperGnat. "It's just a guess, so far."

"Besides, Chocolate Harry'll make sure there's something to drink," said Sushi. "He's not gonna miss the chance to sell the whole company its daily hooch. Say, maybe we should lay in a supply, see if we can make a little profit on our own."

"All the other times we've moved, we've had pretty tight limits on personal supplies," said Super-Gnat. "It'd be hard to take along enough to compete with Harry. He can bring in anything he wants, as long as he can claim it's for the company."

"It ain't fair," said Do-Wop. "The damn sergeants and officers get all the edge."

"Now you know why I've been acting like an officer," said Sushi. "Get the captain owing you a couple of favors, and you just might be able to turn them to your advantage." He knocked back his beer and stood up to take the bottle to the recycler. Then he stopped and grinned. "If I play my cards right, it might even be worth missing a night or two in the bar."

Do-Wop's mouth fell wide open. He made a couple of tentative efforts to say something, but then, stunned with the enormity of Sushi's statement, he simply shook his head in incomprehension. In his universe, there was no conceivable favor a captain could dispense that would make up for a lost night in the bar.

Sushi didn't stop grinning. But privately, despite all his instincts and training, he found himself wondering whether, on this particular topic, Do-Wop might not be right after all.