Robert Asprin - Phules Paradise

"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."