Phules Paradise

CHAPTER FIVE

Journal #203

Despite the dubious beginning, relations between the Legionnaires and the actor/auxiliaries improved steadily during our voyage to Lorelei. While not quite accepting their new comrades into the fold, the company seemed at least willing not to condemn them as a group, judging them instead on their performance and character traits as individuals.

In part, this was doubtless due to the shared experience of the in-flight lessons on casino gambling and scams taught by Tullie Bascom and the instructors from the school he ran for casino dealers.

I will not attempt to detail the techniques for cheating and detecting cheats which were imparted in these lessons, as it is my intention to chronicle the career of my employer, not to provide a training manual for larceny at the gaming tables. Since it to say that the instruction was sufficiently challenging and intense that it drew the force together, in part to practice on each other, and in part to swap tales of embarrassing slips and failures.

Watching the eagerness with which the company attacked their lessons, however, I could not help but wonder if they were preparing for the upcoming assignment, or if, perhaps, they were rabidly squirreling away information for their personal use.

Apparently I was not the only one this occurred to ...

Tullie Bascom's report had run long, much longer than anyone had expected after he appeared for the meeting without notes. Twenty-five years of working casinos, mostly as a pit boss, however, had sharpened his eye and memory to a point where he rarely wrote anything down-names or numbers. Instead, he appeared to speak off the top of his head, rattling on for hours as he reviewed each of his students' strengths and weaknesses, while the commander and the two junior officers flanking him filled page after page on their notepads with his insightful comments.

This was a closed meeting, convened in the commander's cabin, and was, in all probability, the final session before Tullie and his team left the ship at its last stop prior to the final leg of the journey to Lorelei.

After the last Legionnaire was reviewed, Phule tossed his pencil onto his notepad and leaned back, stretching cramped muscles he hadn't noticed until just now.

"Thank you, Tullie," he said. "I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say the job you've done has been most impressive-both with the lessons and with keeping us informed of the company's progress."

He paused to glance at his two lieutenants, who nodded and mumbled their agreement, still a little dazed at the volume of data which had just been dumped on them.

"You paid top dollar. You get my best shot," Tullie responded with a shrug of dismissal.

"I can't think of any questions on individuals that you haven't already covered in depth," the commander continued, "but if it's not asking too much, can you give us your impressions of the force as a whole?"

"They're some of the best I've ever trained, though I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell them I said that until after I've left," the instructor admitted easily. "Of course, it's not often that I get students who can attend multiple sessions, one right after the other, day after day, like we've been doing on this trip. Usually, I'm training folks who have to work their lessons in around their paying jobs, at least until they get certified."

"Do you think they're ready to hold down a casino on their own?" Phule pressed.

Tullie scratched his right ear and frowned for a moment before answering.

"They'll catch the casual cheats easy enough," he said. "As to the pros, I don't know. Your boys are good, but the grifters who can do you real damage have been polishing their routines for years. Some of 'em you can't spot even if you know what you're watching for."

"Like a good sleight-of-hand magician," Armstrong observed.

"Exactly," Tullie said. "Some of these mechanics even show you what they're going to do-that they're going to `second-deal' a card and when they're going to do it-and you still can't see it when they work it at normal speed. I can't, and I've been training my eye for years."

The commander frowned. "So how do you catch them?"

"Sometimes you don't," the instructor admitted. "If they don't get greedy just hit once or twice and keep moving they can get away with it clean. About the only way to spot bad action is to watch the patterns. If one player starts beating the odds on a regular basis, or if one table starts losing more often than can be explained by a bad run, you'll know you've got problems. Just remember not to get hung up on trying to figure out how they're doing it. You can lose a lot of money waiting for proof. If something doesn't ring true, shut the table down or run your big winner out of the casino. Of course, if you've got an experienced staff of dealers and pit bosses, they should be able to handle that without coaching from you."

"If you say so," Phule said, grimacing a little. "I just wish we didn't have to rely so heavily on people outside our own crew."

"Well, I can say for sure that your boys are head and shoulders above any casino security force I've ever seen," Tullie pointed out. "Most guards are just for show-to discourage folks from trying to get their money back by stickin' up the joint. I'd say that any team of pros that tries to work their scam assuming your team is window dressing will be in for a nasty surprise. They may not be able to spot every scam, but if the opposition gets even a little sloppy, they'll know it in a minute."

"I guess that's the best we can do." Phule sighed. "I only wish we had some kind of extra edge."

"You do," the instructor insisted. "I told you before, that little girl you got, Mother, is gonna make it real hard for anyone to get cute. She's superb. And I don't say that about many people. Easily the best `eye-in-the-sky' person I've ever seen. Even my own people had trouble pulling stuff while she was watching. In fact, I'd like to talk to her before I leave about maybe hiring her myself when her enlistment's up ... if it's all right with you."

"You can certainly try talking to her," Phule said, smiling, but I don't think you'll get far. She's deathly shy when it comes to face-to-face conversation. That's why we had the whole camera and microphone setup in the first place. If you really want to talk to her, I suggest you borrow one of our communicators and talk to her over that."

"That reminds me," Tullie said, clicking his fingers. "I wanted to be sure to thank you for setting up that crazy camera and mike rig. It's the weirdest thing I've seen in a long time, but it worked like a charm. In fact, I'm thinking of trying the same thing back at my school and adding `eye-in-the-sky' to my curriculum. I owe you one for that. I don't think there's another school going that offers that kind of training."

What Tullie was referring to was the special training Phule had arranged for the company's communications specialist, Mother. Knowing that her shyness would negate her effectiveness on public duty, he had suggested to her, and she agreed, that she stand duty in the casino's eye-in-the-sky center. This was the room in any casino which monitored the closed-circuit cameras hidden in the ceilings over the various gaming tables.

These cameras were equipped with zoom lenses to allow close scrutiny of any dealer, player, or card, and were one of the casino's main defenses against cheats on either side of the table.

In an effort to train her for this duty, Phule had rented a half-dozen closed-circuit cameras and microphones and set them up over the tables where the Legionnaires were receiving their instruction so Mother could hear and see what was going on in her accustomed anonymity. Tullie had been skeptical about the arrangement at first, until Phule gave him a headset so that he could carry on a two-way conversation with Mother as the lessons were in progress. Even the cynical instructor was impressed with the speed with which Mother picked up the table routines, and her ability to spot any deviation from them, though it wasn't clear if he was more taken with the innovative training system or with Mother herself.

"Is that to say I can expect a discounted rate for your services?" Phule asked innocently.

Tullie favored him with a smile.

"I can see why your troops like you, Mr. Phule," he said. "A sense of humor like yours doesn't come along just every day."

"That's what people tell me," the commander said, smiling back to show he hadn't really expected the instructor to cut his profits. "Well, unless there are any further questions, I think we've pretty much covered everything."

He glanced at his lieutenants for confirmation, but it was Tullie who spoke.

"If you don't mind, Mr. Phule, I've got a question myself."

"What's that, Tullie?"

"Well, like I said, your boys have picked up a lot of information about gambling scams during this flight, and part of our deal was that none of my school's records would show them as students, right?"

"That's right." Phule nodded. "What's the point?"

"So how can you be sure you haven't just footed the bill for my training up a new pack of grifters? What's to keep them from taking what they've learned and going into business for themselves once they get out of the Legion? And I don't mean by opening a training school, either."

"Mr. Bascom," Phule said carefully, "we also train our troops to use firearms despite the fact they could use that same training to be maniacal killers in civilian life. We give them the training in the skills they need to stand duty in the Space Legion, and beyond that we have to trust them not to misuse that training once their enlistment's over."

"Trust them? That bunch of crooks?"

Armstrong dropped his notepad and glanced fearfully at his commander, who was staring fixedly at the gambling instructor.

"Excuse me," Phule said in a dangerously soft voice."I didn't quite hear that."

Tullie shrugged. "I just meant that I've never seen so many blatant or potential criminals assembled in one-"

"I think what the captain means, Mr. Bascom," Rembrandt interrupted hastily, "is ... if you could, perhaps, rephrase your statement?"

The instructor finally caught the warning in her voice. The Space Legion commander doubtlessly already knew the caliber of the troops under his command, but they were still his troops, and derogatory comments about them, however true, were ill advised.

"I ... umm ... just meant that your boys seem to show a real ... flair for larceny," Bascom said, backpedaling hastily. "I was just a little worried ... Well, there's always a chance that they might be tempted to misuse what I've been teaching them. That's all."

"I trust them," Phule intoned in a voice that would have sounded more in place coming from a burning bush. "End of subject. Do you have any other questions?"

"No. I ... no," Tullie said. "That covers everything."

"Very well," the commander said. "Then, if you'll excuse us, there are a few things I have to go over with the lieutenants. Again, thank you for your work with the company. Be sure to relay my thanks and appreciation to your instructors."

"I'll do that," Bascom said, and fled gratefully from the meeting.

"Do you believe that?" Phule huffed after Tullie's departure. "The man suspects our troops may be less than upstanding citizens!"

The three officers looked at each other for a moment, then exploded into laughter.

There was an edge of hysteria to their gaiety, not surprisingly like people who had been too long without sleep and under pressure who finally found an outlet for their tension.

"Guess he's never worked with the Space Legion before," Armstrong gasped, trying to catch his breath.

"Well, certainly not with our crew, that's for sure," Rembrandt agreed, wiping a laugh tear from one eye.

"Seriously, though," the commander said, bringing himself under control at last, "Tullie does have a point. Be sure to brace the company about keeping their hands in their pockets, at least until this assignment's over. No showing off, and no grifting for pocket-change pots. We're supposed to be the guards on this caper, and it wouldn't do to have anyone get busted for the exact same thing we're policing the casino for. That kind of media coverage we don't need. Besides, I think it would be tactically sound not to let on how much we do or don't know just yet."

"Gotcha, boss," Rembrandt said, flipping an index-finger salute at him. "You want us to tell them as a group or as individuals?"

"Both," Phule said firmly. "A general announcement should do for most of them, but I think some of them would benefit from a personal reminder that we're watching them and won't tolerate any nonsense this time around."

"So what else have you got for us, Captain?" Armstrong said, picking up his notepad.

"Nothing, really," Phule said, stretching his arms. "I just thought I'd give you two a chance to ask any questions that Tullie shouldn't be hearing. I figure I'll give you some time to review your notes before we get down to the final shift assignments-that and get some sleep. You two have been pushing yourselves awfully hard on this trip so far."

Rembrandt gave out a snort.

"Look at who's talking," she said. "You'd better get some sleep yourself, Captain, or Beeker's going to sneak something into your food."

"Beeker never thinks I get enough sleep." Phule shrugged, dismissing the subject. "You get used to his grumbling after a while. So, anything either of you want to go over just now? Anything at all, not just Tullie's report."

"Not that I can think of, sir," Armstrong said, giving his notes one last glance. "As near as I can tell, we've got everything covered."

The commander nodded. "I know. And to be honest with you, that worries me a little."

"How so?"

"Well, there's an old saying in business," Phule said with a rueful smile. "If you think you've got everything covered, it means there's something you're overlooking."

"Cheerful thought," Rembrandt observed wryly, then glanced at the commander with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "As a matter of fact, I have one question for you, sir-if you're really throwing the floor open."

"Shoot."

Rembrandt sneaked a wink at her partner. "I was just wondering, how are you doing at staving off the Red Menace?"

The Red Menace was the nickname the Legionnaires had assigned to Tiffany, mostly due to her blatant and obvious efforts to herd Phule into her bed. Of course, to her face, the moniker was shortened to just "Red."

"Isn't that question a bit personal, Lieutenant?" the commander growled in mock severity.

"Yes and no, sir," Armstrong chimed in with a grin. "You see, the crew is giving odds as to your holding out, so you might say it affects the morale of the whole company, which, as you keep telling us, is our business."

"Really?" Phule said. "What odds?"

Armstrong blinked and glanced at Rembrandt, who admitted her own ignorance with a shrug.

"I ... I don't actually know, sir," he sputtered. "It's just something I've heard. Why? Is it important?"

"Well, if the payback's big enough, I just might put some money down myself, then rake in the whole pot-if you know what I mean," Phule said through a yawn.

There was no response, and he glanced at his lieutenants, only to find them staring at him.

"Hey! It's a joke. Okay?" he clarified. "You know I don't fool around with women under my command-or you should know it by now."

His junior officers rallied gamely, though their late laughter was a little forced.

"Of course"-Rembrandt grinned-"as one of the subcontractees, it could be argued that Big Red isn't really under your command."

"For the duration of this assignment she is," Phule said grimly, "and if she wants to do any chasing after that-"

A knock at the door interrupted them, and they looked up to find Tusk-anini framed in the doorway.

"Excuse, Captain," the giant Voltron rumbled. "Must talk to you ... soon."

Phule waved. "Come on in, Tusk. We were just finishing up here. Say, how's your new partner-what's her name-Melissa working out?"

"Nice girl. Very smart," the Legionnaire said. "But not fighter like Super Gnat. Not worry, Captain. I watch out for her."

"I'm sure you will," the commander said. "So what brings you calling? Is it all right if the lieutenants hear it, or is it personal?"

"Not personal ... company business."

"Okay. What have you got?"

The Voltron raised the small stack of paper he was holding into view.

"You ask me ... look at records for casino employees? See where they hired from?"

"That's right."

Tusk-anini was a closet insomniac and a rabid reader, and Phule had utilized this by making him into a company clerk, reviewing the massive paperwork necessary to run a company and interface with Headquarters. More recently, as part of the plan to infiltrate the casino with undercover Legionnaires, the commander had asked the Voltron to go through the employment records of the existing casino employees, making a list of the various employment agencies they had been hired through. With that information, it would be a relatively easy matter to engineer a computerized break-in, sneaking carefully prepared resumes and references into the appropriate files.

"You look at this, Captain," the Voltron said, passing the stack to Phule. "All these hired from same service. Golden Employment Agency."

"All right," the commander said, idly leafing through the sheets. He had every confidence in Tusk-anini and if the Voltron said they were all from the same source, he was sure they would be. "So what's the problem?"

"It not exist. No such agency."

Phule sat bolt upright as if someone had just plugged in his chair.

"Are you sure?" he said, staring at the pages as if they would talk to him themselves.

"Yes, Captain. Otherwise not bother you. Check many times. No such agency ... ever."

"I don't get it, sir." Rembrandt frowned. "How could so many employees use the same fake reference?"

"It means we aren't the only one sneaking people onto the staff," the commander growled. "That's the trouble with being impressed with your own cleverness. You tend to forget that there are other people out there just as clever."

"All have same person approve reference check. Huey Mar-tin," Tusk-anini supplied, stumbling a little over the name.

"The new casino manager," Phule said grimly. "If he's bent, we could have an uphill fight on our hands. Great work, Tusk-anini! If you hadn't caught this, we could have walked into a swinging door."

"Thank you, Captain," the giant said, drawing himself up proudly to an even greater height.

"We'll take it from here ... and Tusk? Don't say anything to anyone else about this. Okay?"

"Can keep secret, Captain. Not worry."

The officers sat in silence for a few minutes after Tusk-anini had left.

Finally Phule heaved a sigh.

"Remember what I was saying about thinking everything was in hand?" he said.

"This assignment just keeps getting better and better," Armstrong spat bitterly. "If you don't mind my saying so, sir, Headquarters' idea of an easy job in paradise leaves a lot to be desired!"

"What are we going to do, Captain?" Rembrandt asked, ignoring her partner's irritation. "Should we alert the owner that he's got a rat in the woodpile?"

"Not just yet," Phule said thoughtfully. "First of all, we don't know for sure what Br'er Huey is up to. He might just be indulging in a little feather-bedding."

"Feather-bedding, sir?"

"Filling the roster with friends and family members," Armstrong explained.

"We're going to hold off sounding the alarm until we've had a chance to check things out firsthand," the commander continued, almost to himself. "Fortunately Tusk-anini's alertness has provided us with a list of exactly who we have to be watching." He tapped the stack of records with a smile. "Lieutenant Rembrandt, be sure this entire list and the complete files of everyone on the list get passed to Mother. In the meantime, I'll get busy and do a detailed check on one Huey Martin."

"What if it turns out that he is crooked, sir?" Armstrong said. "Him and the people he's been hiring?"

"Then we lower the boom on him," Phule said grimly. "But not until just before the grand opening. If he is a part of a bigger scheme, we'll let him think it's working, then pull the rug out when it's too late to switch to an alternate plan."

"But we can't wait that long to dump everybody on the list," Rembrandt protested. "The casino couldn't find that many replacements on such short notice."

"They can't, but we can," the commander responded with a grimace. "It's going to hurt a little, though. I'll have to reopen negotiations with Tullie for him and his instructors to stay on as a stopgap reserve-and I just gave him a rough time for the sake of a cheap laugh." He shook his head ruefully. "I just love negotiating contracts with someone who's already annoyed at me."

"Maybe you could wait to talk to him, sir," Armstrong suggested. "Maybe it would be easier after he's had a chance to forget about the last round ... and you've had a chance to get some sleep."

"It's a tempting thought," Phule said, rising to his feet, "but I'd better try to catch up with him now. I don't think I could sleep, anyway, with this hanging over our heads."

A casual stroll through the ship's more popular gathering spots failed to locate Tullie Bascom, so Phule began a more careful search through the less frequented areas.

"Excuse me ... Gabriel, isn't it?" he said to a Legionnaire he found sitting alone in one of the smaller lounges.

"Sir?" the man responded, rising to his feet.

"As you were," Phule said, waving him back to his chair. "I was just wondering if you had seen Tullie Bascom recently."

"I think I heard him come by a while ago," the Legionnaire reported. "I didn't look around, but he was telling someone that he was going to his cabin to get some sleep."

"Okay. Thanks." The commander sighed and headed off down the corridor toward his own quarters.

So much for that idea. Maybe it was just as well. He should probably do a little more checking as to the actual necessity for contracting Tullie's crew for backups before beginning negotiations. Besides, his lieutenants were right-he could use a bit of sleep to clear his mind. Maybe he could get Beeker to ...

Phule suddenly halted in his tracks as realization struck him.

The Legionnaire, Gabriel, had been sitting alone in the lounge.

While Phule and Tusk-anini weren't the only night owls in the company, the Legionnaires by and large were social animals, tending to gather together in their off hours, and to his knowledge Gabriel was no exception. Rather than being at one of the normal ship hangouts, however, the Legionnaire had been sitting alone, without a book or work in sight-not even a deck of cards.

Abandoning his plan for sleep, the commander retraced his steps back to the lounge.

Gabriel was still sitting there, sprawled in an easy chair with his head tipped back, staring at the ceiling.

"Are you feeling all right, Gabriel?" the commander said, speaking gently.

While some of the Legionnaires were borderline hypochondriacs, others were more like children, hiding it when they felt ill rather than reporting to the ship's doctor.

"What? Oh. No, I feel fine, sir," Gabriel said, suddenly aware that he was no longer alone with his thoughts.

"Is there something bothering you?" Phule pressed. "Anything you'd like to talk about?"

The Legionnaire hesitated. "It's ... well ... I'm afraid, sir. Of this."

He made a vague gesture, encompassing the air in front of him.

"I ... I'm not sure I understand." Phule frowned. "What is it you're afraid of? The new assignment?"

"No ... this," the man said, repeating his gesture. "You know ... space travel."

"I see," the commander said. He had encountered nervous travelers in the past, but not recently, and he tended to assume that everyone was as accustomed to space travel as he was. "Haven't you ever been on a ship before?"

"Sure," the Legionnaire said. "A couple of times. But it always affects me the same way. I keep thinking about what will happen if anything goes wrong. Life pods may be effective for interplanetary travel, but for interstellar, we wouldn't stand a chance. The only choice would be between dying fast or slow."

Phule thought for a moment, then heaved a sigh.

"Sorry, Gabriel," he said. "I can't help you with that one."

"That's okay, sir," the Legionnaire said, hanging his head slightly. "I guess it's a silly fear, anyway, in this day and age."

"I didn't say that!" the commander snapped, then ran a hand across his eyes. "Don't put words in my mouth, Gabriel, please. I soak up enough grief over what I do say."

"Sorry, sir."

"There are no silly fears," the captain continued. "If you're afraid of something, it's real, and it affects your thinking and performance no matter how invalid or valid someone else thinks it is. It's like there's no minor pain when it's yours. If it hurts, it hurts. What you got to do is figure out how to deal with it, not use up your energies trying to decide if it's real or not."

Phule leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest until he was almost hugging himself.

"All I meant to say was, I can't do or say anything to set your mind at ease. Telling you not to be afraid doesn't change anything. I can tell you there's no danger, but we both know that things can go wrong, and there's nothing I can do to lessen the danger that hasn't already been done. I could cite the low accident stats on space travel, but you're already aware of those yourself, and it hasn't made any difference. Realizing that, about the only thing I can do is beat a hasty retreat-for my own protection."

"Your own protection, sir?"

"Fear is contagious," the commander explained with a shrug. "If I tried to compare notes with you on the dangers of space travel, there's a chance that all I'd do is start worrying myself, and I can't afford that. You see, Gabriel, there are lots of dangers in our lives that we can't do a thing about-traffic accidents, bad food-dangers that have a low probability rating, but that if they hit will be devastating. All I can do-all anyone can do-is to do my best to put them out of my mind. It may seem like a head-in-the-sand approach to fear, but the only option I see is letting the worries eat you alive-paralyze you to a point where you cease to function. To my thinking, that means you're dead, whether you're still breathing or not. I'd rather try to focus on things I can do something about. I can't danger-proof the universe, or even guarantee my own personal safety. I have no way of telling for sure exactly how long my life is going to be, but I'm determined that while I'm alive, I'm going to be a doer, a worker-not a do-nothing worrier."

He broke off, realizing that his fatigue was making him prattle.

"Anyway," he said, forcing a conclusion, "I'm sorry I can't help you with your problem, Gabriel, but frankly it's out of my league."

"Actually you have, Captain." The Legionnaire smiled.

"I have?"

"Well, at the very least you've given me something to think about. Thank you, sir."

Strangely enough, of all the problems that had beleaguered him that day, it was the final conversation with Gabriel that haunted Phule's thoughts and kept him from dozing off when he finally tried to sleep. Despite the Legionnaire's claims that the commander's talk had helped him, Phule felt that his help and advice had been inadequate.

Group dynamics, personal image, military strategy, and, of course, finances-all these things the commander felt qualified in helping and training the people under his command. But deeper problems? Matters of the soul?

With a flash of insight, Phule decided to do what he had always done when confronted with a problem beyond his personal abilities: find an expert. Sliding out of his bunk, he marched over to his desk, fired up his Port-A-Brain computer, and blearily composed a personnel request to Legion Headquarters. If his Legionnaires needed spiritual guidance, then, by God, he'd get them a spiritual expert. A chaplain!

There was an almost tangible load lifted from his mind as he hit the Send key, but close on its heels came the crushing weight of exhaustion. Staggering back across his cabin, Phule toppled into his bunk and fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.