Phules Paradise

CHAPTER SIX

Journal #209

The in-flight classes and lectures arranged by my employer had given the company every confidence that they were ready for their new assignment. This belief was, of course, encouraged by their commander and his officers, who made a point of keeping their own fears and suspicions from their troops. Thus it was that upon their arrival, the Legionnaires were eager to begin their duties, while the company's leadership was already suffering from a lack of sleep due to their anxieties.

Nothing in the briefings, tapes, or brochures, however, succeeded in preparing them for the total impact of Lorelei itself.

The space station known throughout the galaxy as "Lorelei" was officially an antique. One of the first privately owned space stations, it was originally named "the Oasis," constructed on the old spoked-wheel design, and had been built as an outpost to supply the far-flung colonies and outbound explorer ships-an expensive outpost to be sure, as there was no competition to keep their prices down.

As civilization pushed outward, however, the so-called frontier moved on, leaving the station to compete with an ever-increasing number of spaceports and supply depots places with newer designs and, therefore, lower maintenance expenses. Only one thing saved the station from extinction during that period: its reputation and tradition of being a "safe haven" or a "liberty port." That is, even though people lived and worked at other colonies and spaceports, when they wanted to play or vacation, they headed for the Oasis.

The owner, not government, made the rules at the Oasis, and little was forbidden or outlawed that might generate revenue for the station's coffers. Not surprising, one of the main pastimes that was not only allowed but encouraged was gambling.

Eventually a combine of investors recognized the station's potential and bought it away from the original owner's estate. Hundreds of millions were put into renovating and remodeling the station, not to mention an extensive advertising campaign to change the station's image to that of the ultimate resort and family vacation spot, and the station was renamed "Lorelei."

The new name was due, in part, to the station's beacon, which was said to be strong enough to cause interference in neighboring solar systems. If the ever-present advertising was not enough, the beacon made sure no one passed through that sector of space without hearing of Lorelei's lures and charms. "Once you visit Lorelei," the catchy slogan ran, "you'll never want to leave!"

The reality was a little grimmer: Once you visit Lorelei, you might not be able to leave. Not that there was physical danger, mind you ... it would be bad publicity to hurt a tourist. The real danger on Lorelei was its famous, vampiric casinos.

The inside of the space station's wheel design had been filled in and painted to look like a massive roulette wheel, which, while it was eye-catching to those in ships with view points, had a practical function as well. The surface of the wheel was actually a massive solar energy cell, endlessly gathering power from the stars and feeding it to the casinos ... and they needed it!

The casinos were dazzling to the point of being awe-inspiring, each trying to outshine, outglitz its neighbors. Though there was no "sunlight" on the station, the massive, circular main corridor needed no streetlights, nor did the electric shuttle vehicles moving tourists from destination to destination require headlights. The same artificial gravity which kept the buildings to four stories or less, forcing the casinos to spread out rather than up, was actually a boon to designing their exterior light displays. Freed of the physics of engineering, by the abruptly lessening gravity above the buildings, the casinos' light displays were spectacular, as they almost floated in the "air," fighting for the attention of passing tourists. These displays around "the Strip" kept the station's interior lit to near-daylight brightness-near daylight as the wattage was carefully controlled to create an illusion of darkness above the casinos, thus enhancing the effectiveness of the light shows. There was no day or night on Lorelei, only a perpetual twilight through which the tourists, vacationers, and, of course, gamblers walked, rode, or, eventually, staggered in their pursuit of pleasure. The only concession to normality was that the rooms in the casino hotels all had blackout curtains, so that one could shut out the light when, and if, one wanted to sleep.

Of course, the carefully maintained illusion on Lorelei was that no one slept. The casinos never closed, and neither did the restaurants or shops. Entertainment booked to lure people into one casino or another was simply advertised as "every three hours" rather than specific showtimes.

In short, there was a studied sense of timelessness which permeated Lorelei-for a specific reason. The longer people gambled, the better it was for the casinos. While there might be the occasional "lucky hit" or "hot run," if the players kept betting long enough, the house odds would catch up with them, and all their winnings, plus whatever they were willing to lose of what they brought with them, ended up in the casino vaults.

This was the real trap of the Lorelei's song, and many who arrived by private ship left by public transport. Others, who could no longer afford even public transport, were absorbed into the station's work force until they could raise enough money to leave, which rarely happened, as they would usually succumb to the temptation of the tables once more, trying desperately to "build a stake" while the house yawned and raked in their savings. Those that did manage to escape, vowing never to return again, were quickly replaced by the next shipload of eager faces and fat wallets, each planning to have a good time and maybe win an instant fortune on a lucky roll or turn of a card.

There was a seemingly endless supply of these replacements, as the publicity machine of Lorelei was mercilessly effective, and unceasing in its quest to find yet one more way to keep the lure of Lorelei in front of the public. Thus, it was no surprise to insiders that the media had been alerted and was waiting when the Omega Mob arrived on Lorelei.

"Excuse me, Mr. Phule?"

The Legionnaire commander halted, not ten paces from stepping off the gangplank, and blinked in surprise at the figure blocking his way. The pudgy man was wearing a fluorescent-green jumpsuit with a large blue bow tie, leaving one with the quick impression of being confronted by a prize-winning frog.

"Actually it's `Captain Jester' when I'm on duty," he corrected gently.

"But you are Willard Phule? The megamillionaire turned soldier?"

Phule flinched a bit, as he always did when publicly confronted with his wealth-generated fame, and shot a quick glance at the company. The Legionnaires were ambling off the ship, some gawking at the casino light displays while others started to crowd close to see what was happening with their commander.

"That's correct," he said levelly.

"Great!" the man exclaimed, seizing Phule's hand and giving it a hurried pump. "Jake Herkamer, here. I was wondering if we could have a few minutes of your time for a quick interview on your new assignment?"

As he spoke, he made a magician's pass, and a microphone appeared in his hand. Simultaneously the portable floodlights came on, alerting Phule to the presence of holo cameras, which, until then, had been undetected.

"Umm ... could this wait until I get my troops settled in the hotel?" Phule hedged.

"Good point! Hey, guys! Get some shots of the soldiers before we lose them in the hotel!"

Phule felt his muscles tighten as the camera crew obediently began to pan over the gathering Legionnaires, who mugged or glowered for the cameras depending upon their individual inclination. While he had known all along that this assignment would put his force in the public eye more than ever before, he also knew that there were several Legionnaires who had joined up specifically to escape from their earlier lives, and were therefore quite nervous about having their pictures and current location broadcast by the media.

"Rembrandt ... Armstrong!"

"Sir!"

"Here, sir!"

The two lieutenants materialized at his side.

"Form the company up, over there, while I take care of this. If it runs more than a couple minutes, move them out to the hotel. Get them away from these cameras."

Turning back to the reporter as the junior officers started off, he forced a smile.

"I suppose I could spare a few minutes," he said.

"Great!" the reporter beamed. "Hey, guys! Over here! Start shooting. Now!"

He leaned into the microphone, showing an impressive number of teeth.

"We're here today with Willard Phule, or, as he's known in the secretive Space Legion, Captain Jester. He and his famous elite force of Legionnaires have just arrived on Lorelei. Tell me, Captain, are you and your force here for business or pleasure?"

Of course, I have no way of telling how the interview upon our arrival was received by the viewers, as it went out on stellarwide broadcast and, as I've mentioned before, I am not omnipresent.

From subsequent events, however, I feel I am able to project with some accuracy how it was viewed in at least two locations: back on Haskin's Planet and here on Lorelei.

"Hey, Jennie! Come here a sec! I think you'll want to see this!" Annoyed at the interruption, Jennie Higgens glanced up from the notes she was reviewing for that night's broadcast.

"What is it? I'm kinda busy here."

"Your boyfriend's being interviewed on interstellar, and Jake the Jerk's got him."

"Really?"

Jennie decided the notes could wait a little longer and joined the small cluster of newsroom staff crowding around the monitor bank. Due to the multiscreen nature of their business, they had the monitors set to display the broadcasts on flat screens to avoid the chaos of multiple projections.

"It's a bit of an experiment," Phule was saying, "a test to see if the Space Legion can be effective in more commonplace, civilian security roles. Of course, being stationed here on Lorelei is a real treat for my force. It really is a spectacular place. Can your cameras pick up some of the light displays behind us?"

Unnoticed by her fellow reporters, Jennie narrowed her eyes a bit at this. She had barely seen Phule in the weeks before his force's departure from Haskin's, and then only hurriedly-supposedly due to the pressures of preparing for their new assignment. So this was the tough duty he had been so engrossed in, eh?

"But don't you feel that the rather massive firepower of a Space Legion company is unnecessary for normal security duty?" the interviewer pressed, ignoring Phule's attempts to divert the interview from his force to the casino light displays.

"Oh, we won't be carrying our normal weapons on duty in the casino, Jake." Phule laughed easily. "But I've always found it's easier not to use equipment you have than to use equipment you don't have, if you know what I mean." For the briefest second, his eyes flickered from the interviewer to look directly into the camera, as if he were speaking personally to one of the viewers.

"I've got to admit, your boy gives good interviews," one of the reporters commented to Jennie. "He's giving the impression of being just plain folks, but still managing to come across as someone you wouldn't want to tangle with. Nothing to scare the tourists off there."

"Yeah, but look at some of the plug-uglies in his crew, though. They scare me just looking at them."

"Those aren't the really mean ones," Jennie put in. "Wait until you see ..."

Her voice trailed off to silence as she stared at the monitor, focusing now on the figures in the formation behind Phule rather than on the commander himself. As if reading her thoughts, the camera did a slow pan of the force, showing the formation from one end to the other.

A small frown appeared on the reporter's forehead as she studied each face in turn. Something was wrong here. While she was interviewing them, not to mention while she was dating their company commander, she had gotten to recognize many of the Legionnaires on sight-and there were faces missing in the formation!

Where was Chocolate Harry? He would stand out in any crowd. And the woman standing next to Tusk-anini was small, but she wasn't Super Gnat. For that matter, where was Brandy? The company's top sergeant should be standing prominently in front of the formation, yet she was nowhere to be seen.

"Are you taping this?" Jennie asked, not taking her eyes from the screen.

"Yeah, I figure it might have some local interest if we want to replay it here. Why?"

"Oh, nothing." Jennie was suddenly all smiles and innocence. "I just forgot to ask Willard for a picture before he left, and this might make a nice remembrance until we see each other again. Can you make me a copy when it's over?"

"You got it."

As the technician turned his attention to the screen once more, however, Jennie's smile vanished and she edged backward out of the group.

"Sidney?" she murmured, drawing one of the photographers aside with her. "Have you still got those shots you took when we were doing the big spread on this crew while they were stationed here? All of them, not just the ones we used."

"Sure. Why?"

"Get them and see if you can find the tapes from their competition with the Red Eagles. Then meet me in viewing room two-pronto."

"What's up?"

"I'm not sure"-she smiled darkly-"but unless my intuition is failing me completely, I think there's a story brewing on Lorelei."

In a large penthouse, discreetly screened from the light shows in one of Lorelei's lesser casinos, the holo-images of the Omega Mob were arrayed across the sunken living room like so many ghostly specters.

Watching them with her characteristically frozen stare, Laverna sat on one end of the sofa, so rigidly immobile she might have been taken for a part of the room's furnishings. Specifically she almost reminded one of a floor lamp, as her skin was very nearly the color of the black baked enamel so often found on those appliances, and her long body was thin almost to the point of being skeletal. Still, there was an easy, elegant grace to her movement as she rose and walked to the closed bedroom door and rapped on it sharply with her knuckle.

"Maxie?" she said, raising her voice slightly to be heard through the door. "You'd better come out here."

"What?" came the muffled response from within.

"It's important," Laverna said shortly.

Her message delivered, she returned to her seat without waiting for additional discussion or comment. She had voiced her opinion, and her opinions were rarely challenged.

Scant seconds later, the bedroom door opened and Maxine Pruet emerged into view wrapped in a housecoat. She was a small woman in her early fifties, with high, angular cheekbones that might have been called "striking" when she was young, but now, combined with her piercing eyes and silver-streaked hair, could only be referred to as "severe." Because of the timelessness of life on Lorelei, she, like many of those who dwelt here, had no regular sleep patterns, sleeping only occasionally and briefly as fatigue demanded. Despite her years, however, Maxine was still very energetic and active, setting a demanding pace for those who worked for her.

"What is it, Laverna?" she said without rancor.

"The new security force has just arrived," Laverna said flatly. "I thought you should take a look at them."

"I see."

Maxine stepped down into the sunken living room, walking, through several of the images as she did so as if they weren't there, which, of course, they weren't, and joined her assistant on the sofa, studying the figures in silence like a prim aunt watching children at a piano recital as the interview rattled on.

"So. Our Mr. Rafael's called in the Army," she said at last. "I'm not sure I understand why you feel this is important. The security force has a minor impact, at best, on my plans. Uniformed guards are little more than a decorative deterrent."

"Take another look at their commander," Laverna instructed. "The one being interviewed."

Maxine obediently turned and peered at the lean figure in black.

"What about him? He's not much older than Mr. Rafael himself."

"That's Willard Phule," Laverna said. "Probably the youngest megamillionaire in the galaxy. You may not know it, but he's a bit of a legend in financial circles-a real tiger when it comes to corporate infighting and takeovers."

"How very interesting," Maxine said, studying the figure with a new respect. "Forgive me, Laverna, but I'm still tired and sleepy, and my mind is a little slow right now. What is it exactly that you're trying to tell me here?"

Now it was Laverna's turn to shrug.

"To me, this changes the game," she said. "Whether he knows it or not, Rafael just hired himself some real heavyweight help. I thought you might want to reconsider your whole idea of taking over the casino."

While Maxine might give the appearance of being someone's grandmother or, perhaps, a maiden aunt, this impression couldn't be further from the truth. Locally she was known simply as "Max" or "the Max." She had married into organized crime while still young, and surprised everyone by successfully stepping into her late husband's shoes after his untimely demise during a shoot-out with unsympathetic authorities. She had sold off most of the "business interests" her husband had maintained, focusing her entire energies and resources on one specialty-casinos.

Max liked casinos, officially because of their money-laundering capacity, which earned her a steady income providing that service for other crime families, but, in actuality, because she liked the glittery life-style that prevailed at those establishments. She was a common fixture at the tables around Lorelei, though she rarely placed a bet for more than the table minimum. The tourists who gambled beside her never realized that she held controlling interest in nearly every casino on the space station, but the permanent residents knew who she was and treated her with appropriate deference.

Despite her years of experience in behind-the-scenes casino work, however, Maxine had a lot of respect for Laverna, which was why the black woman was in her current, favored position of being Max's main advisor and confidante. Not only did Laverna have advanced degrees in both business and law, she was by far the coldest analyst of risks and odds Max had ever met. Maxine, though she prided herself on her levelheadedness, still might be swayed by feelings of anger, vengeance, or ego, but Laverna was as emotionless as a computer, weighing all pluses and minuses of any endeavor before bluntly stating her opinion, however unpopular. The others in the organization called her "the Ice Bitch," or just "Ice," but there was always an undercurrent of respect in the title. If Laverna said this uniformed gentleman could affect their plans, Maxine would be foolish not to give her words serious consideration. Still, Max was a gambler.

"No," she said finally, shaking her head. "I want this casino. This Mr. Phule may know numbers and corporations, but I know casinos. If anything, it adds a bit of spice to the challenge. We're going to take this enterprise right out from under his nose, and if he gets in our way, we'll just have to persuade him to stand aside."

Laverna glanced at her employer sharply, then looked away again. Max's casual mention of "persuasion" was, of course, a reference to violence-the one point the two women disagreed on. What was more, it was far from an empty threat.

Maxine had proven herself to be a more than competent general for her troops on the occasions when other crime factions had thought her territory easy pickings and tried to move in. Nor was she averse to getting personally involved in the bloodshed.

The sleeves of Max's housecoat were loose, as were the sleeves of all her clothes. This was to accommodate the custom pistol and spring holster that she always wore. It was a very small caliber, .177 to be exact, the same size as a BB, and the sound it made when firing was no louder than a man snapping his fingers. The small size of the hollow-point bullets meant that she could fit twenty-five of them into a magazine no larger than a matchbox, yet they were deadly if they hit a vital organ, and Max was a crack shot who could hit anything she could see.

Laverna knew this, and while she acknowledged the constant potential for violence in their profession, she didn't approve of it.

"Suit yourself," she said, shrugging again. "You pay me for my opinions, and you've heard my thoughts on this one. By the way, if you're seriously thinking of leaning on that child, remember he has a couple hundred troops of his own backing him. What's more, that isn't the Regular Army, that's the Space Legion, and it's my understanding they aren't big on playing by the rules."

"Oh?" Maxine said, raising one eyebrow. "Well, neither are we. See if you can locate Mr. Stilman, and tell him I want to see him in about an hour. I'm still a little tired. Not getting any younger, you know."

Her decision made, Max retreated back into the bedroom, leaving Laverna to stare at the holo-images alone again.