Robert Asprin - Phules Paradise

"The computer?" Rafael frowned. "It was checked just before you arrived. Why?"

"We've gotten word that part of Maxine's plan is to fiddle with your computer," the Legionnaire said. "Who cleared the computer?"

"There's an outfit here on Lorelei that specifically checks the casino computers," Gunther said. "They're completely reliable and bonded. In fact, Huey said-"

"Huey?" Phule interrupted.

"That's right!" the youth gasped. "Huey was the one who recommended them. If he's working against us ..."

"Then odds are your computer is now a time bomb," the commander finished grimly. "All right, let's take it from there. What all does your computer control?"

"The whole complex is hooked into it. The hotel ... even the theater's lights for our entertainment specials."

"Does the casino hook into it for anything?"

"No, I don't-yes! The computer controls the video slot machines!"

"All of them?" Phule scowled. "Including the ones with the progressive multimillion jackpots?"

The casino owner could only nod.

"That could be disastrous," the Legionnaire said. "What happens if we pull the plug on them? Just shut down the slots until this whole thing is over?"

Gunther shook his head. "We can't do that. The slots are one of the biggest draws we have-any casino has-not to mention the most profitable. If we shut off the slots, we can kiss the whole opening goodbye."

Phule sighed. "Then we'll just have to get the programs fixed." And that means ... Damn, I hate to do that!"

"Do what?" the casino owner said.

"What? Oh ... sorry. It means doing something I really don't like to do: ask a favor of my father!"

One of the Old Earth authors, Hemingway, I believe, is attributed with the observation "Rich people are just like anyone else ... only richer."

During my association with my employer, I have grown to appreciate the truth of these words more and more. The truly rich are different, in that in times of crisis, they reflexively use money and power on a scale so alien to the average person that they almost seem to be of another species. (It should be noted here that I still consider myself to be an "average person." Though it has been mentioned that I'm comfortably well of financially, that condition is relatively recent, and I therefore lack the abovementioned reflexes of the truly rich. That mental state requires a lifetime, if not generations, of conditioning.)

Where they are like everyone else is in the problems they encounter ... for example, in dealing with their parents ...

"Hello ... Dad? It's me. Willard ... your son."

The Legionnaire commander had retreated to the relative privacy of his own room for this call, choosing not to communicate with his father from Gunther's office. This, in itself, was an indication of his uncertainty of how the conversation would go.

"I know," the holo projection in the room said gruffly. "Nobody else has the clout to pull me out of a negotiation meeting."

Seated in a corner, safely out of the camera's view, Beeker took advantage of the rare chance to compare the two men side by side.

If anything, Victor Phule looked more like a military commander than his son did-or the majority of active military officers, for that matter. His manner and bearing displayed what his heir potential might achieve in maturity. Where his son was slender, the elder Phule had the lean, fit look of a timber wolf. His features had the sharp, angular planes of a granite cliff, whereas his son's face still showed the softness of youth. In fact, the only visible clue as to his age was the white hair at his temples, but even that seemed a testimony of his strength rather than a hint of senility. All in all, anyone seeing Victor Phule would arrive at the conclusion, not incorrectly, that this was not a man to be trifled with, particularly if he was annoyed, as he seemed to be now.

"Well, you've got me," the image growled. "What's the problem this time?"

"Problem?" the commander said. "What makes you think there's a problem, sir?"

"Maybe because the only time you call me is when you're in some kind of a scrape," his father pointed out. "It wouldn't kill you to write once in a while, you know."

"As I recall," the commander said testily, "the last time I called you was on that weapons deal with the Zenobians. That didn't turn out too bad for you, did it? An exclusive on a new weapons design in exchange for some worthless swampland?"

"A deal you closed before you had the swampland under contract, as I recall," the elder Phule defended. "I'll concede the point, though. Sorry if I'm a bit touchy. This meeting is a lot rougher than I thought it would be, and it's getting under my skin. The irritating part is that what I'm offering is better than what they're asking for, but they won't budge. It's tempting to just let them have their way, but you know what will happen down the road if I do."

"They'll claim you set them up," the younger Phule supplied. "Gee, that's tough, Dad."

"Whatever," Victor Phule said. "That's my problem, and I shouldn't let it interfere with us. So why did you call?"

From Beeker's vantage point, he could see his employer wince just a bit before answering as he realized he had inadvertently painted himself into a corner.

"I'll keep this short, realizing you're in the middle of a meeting," the commander said. "Basically, Dad, I need to borrow your Bug Squad. Rent them, actually."

It is to the elder Phule's credit that he did not indulge in any "I told you so's" at his son's expense, but instead simply addressed the problem at hand.

"My what?" he said, scowling.

"The Bug Squad," the Legionnaire persisted. "At least, that's what you used to call them. You know, Albert's crew-the computer auditors."

"Oh. Them." Victor Phule nodded. "Sorry, son. I can't help you there."

"Come on, Dad," the commander said. "You know I wouldn't ask if I didn't really need them. Neither of us has time to play games on the price. I'll go two points on our next deal, but beyond that ..."

"Whoa! Hold it, Willie," the elder Phule said, holding up a restraining hand. "I didn't say I wouldn't help you. I said I couldn't! Albert and his team don't work for me anymore. They split off and formed their own company. Now I have to contract them myself for any work I need."

"I see," the Legionnaire said thoughtfully. "Tell me, was the parting amicable?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you and Albert still on good terms, or is he going to dig in his heels if anyone mentions the name Phule to him?" the commander clarified. "It sounds like I'm going to have to approach him on my own, and I'm trying to figure out if I'll have to go through an intermediary or not."

"Oh, there were no hard feelings involved-at least, not from his side," Victor Phule said. "He's not an easy man to deal with, though. He doesn't even give me a discount for his services, even after I footed the bill while he recruited and trained the team he's running."

"Well, you didn't hire him for his personality," the Legionnaire responded with a chuckle. "And weren't you the one who always told me that loyalty had to be earned, not hired?"

"Don't start using quotes on me unless you want to soak up a few in return," the elder Phule warned dryly. "Now, are there any other nonproblems I can help you with? Like I said, I'm in the middle of a meeting."

"No, that covers it. If you can just tell me how to get through to Albert, I'll get out of your hair."

"Stay on the line and my secretary will give you that info," the elder Phule instructed. "I've got to run, myself. You know how your grandmother is if you keep her waiting too long."

"Grams?" The Legionnaire blinked. "Is that who you're meeting with?"

Phule grimaced. "That's right. And she's in one of her 'holy crusade' moods, and you know what that means."