Robert Asprin - Phules Paradise

The commander gave an exaggerated shudder in response.

"Well, good luck, Dad," he said. "No offense, but it sounds like you're going to need it. Say hello for me, if you think it will help."

"And listen to her run on about you and your Boy Scout troop again?" the elder Phule said. "Thanks, but no thanks. Got to go now ... My best to Beeker."

"So that's it in a nutshell, Albert," Phule concluded. "Can you help me?"

The holo-image of the computer specialist nodded slowly. It had the pale, unripened complexion of someone who habitually uses a cathode-ray tube for a sunlamp.

"I'll have to pull a couple people off other things, but yes, I think we can handle it."

"Good," the commander said. "How soon can we look for you?"

"I'll have to check the flight schedules, but I imagine we can be there in a couple of weeks. It's not that far from where we are now."

"Not fast enough," Phule said, shaking his head. "We've got to have things fixed before the grand opening, and that's in a week. Charter a ship if you have to, but-"

"Impossible," Albert interrupted, shaking his head. "We might be able to get there in a week, but to diagnose any program problems, much less fix them, simply can't be done in that time frame."

"Double your fee," the commander said flatly.

"But then again," the analyst said, without blinking an eye, "if you can download the programs to us so we can be going over them in flight, all we'll have to do on-site is load the revisions. It'll be tight, but I guess we can manage."

"Right." Phule nodded. "A pleasure doing business with you Albert."

He broke the connection with a sigh.

"Well, at least that's taken care of."

"If you say so, sir."

The commander cocked an eyebrow at his butler.

"I know that tone of voice, Beek," he said. "What's the problem?"

"If I might ask a question, sir?"

"You mean why don't I just loan Rafael the money to pay off Maxine?" The commander shook his head. "Aside from the ethical question involved with buying our way out of a problem this big, there's the matter of sheer logistics. The kind of money we'd need I don't have in ready cash. It would mean having to liquidate some of my long-term assets, which I don't want to do, and even if I did, it would take more time than we have. Max wants the casino, and she's not about to let Rafael off the hook for anything less than cash on the barrelhead."

"I understand, sir," Beeker said. "However, if I may, that wasn't my question."

"Oh?"

"If I heard correctly, you were instructing Albert and his ... Bug Squad ... to focus their attention primarily on detecting and correcting any computer programming inconsistencies applying to the video slots in the casino. Is that correct?"

"That's our biggest vulnerability. Yes."

"Well, I can't help but wonder, sir, if it's wise to completely ignore the other areas which might be affected by computer tampering. It's been my experience that the people who program computers are very much like the machines themselves when it comes to dealing with users. They do specifically what they're instructed to-usually-but seldom anything else. That is, I doubt they will address any of the other problem areas under their current instructions."

"C'mon, Beek," Phule protested. "You heard him. They're going to be hard-pressed to fix the slots in the time frame we've got. Any other assignments will only slow things up."

"Then you may have to consider alternative solutions to the other problem areas ... sir," the butler said blandly.

"But they're only ..." The commander caught himself and stopped, rubbing one hand across his eyes. "Okay, Beeker. Out with it. Which areas other than the slots are you worried about?"

"Well, sir, if I understand the situation, the computer also controls the lights and sound system for the showroom stage."

"That's right. So?"

"I believe, sir, that the showroom and its featured entertainers are one of the primary draws the casino uses to attract its clientele. In short, if there's no show, there may not be many people attending the opening to play the slots, making the question of the slots program relatively irrelevant."

"I see," Phule said. "Then we-"

"What's more," the butler said as if he hadn't been interrupted, "I believe that Mr. Gunther has booked Dee Dee Watkins for the opening, and-"

"Who?"

Beeker rolled his eyes in not so mock exasperation.

"Really, sir," he said. "You really should read more than the financial pages once in a while. Dee Dee Watkins has been a rising holo star for several years now, and she's just put together a nightclub act tour, which is supposed to premiere at the grand opening."

"Oh."

"Not quite yet, sir," the butler corrected. "You see, while I have not had the privilege of reviewing Ms. Watkins's contract personally, my recent experience with Lieutenant Rembrandt while hiring our own actors leads me to believe that a performer of her standing will have a clause in her bookings requiring that she be paid in full even if she does not perform, providing the reason for her performance is a failure on the part of the booking party to supply stage equipment of at least minimal professional standards-which I would assume includes lights and a functioning sound system. I would further assume that her fees for performing, while, perhaps, not of the same magnitude as the potential losses from multiple jackpots at the video slots, are, nonetheless, substantial-and I know how you dislike paying people not to perform their contracted services."

He paused, then nodded at his employer.

"Now, sir."

"Oh," Phule responded dutifully.

Silence hung in the air as Beeker waited respectfully for his employer to digest this information.

At last, Phule let out a sigh.

"Okay," he said. "I can see where that will have to be addressed. Any other jewels of insight?"

The question was meant facetiously, but that was always a danger in the company Phule kept.

"As a matter of fact, sir," Beeker said, "it occurs to me that you might also want to arrange for some sort of audit or backup system for the front desk of the hotel."

"The front desk?"

"I believe the computer is utilized rather heavily for both the reservations and the billings for the hotel, and aside from the annoyance of double bookings, there is a long-standing law that in such an event, the hotel is responsible for finding the extra guests equivalent lodging and absorbing the cost."

"And there are a lot of tour groups who are supposed to have reservations for the opening," Phule finished grimly.

The commander produced his Port-A-Brain minicomputer from his pocket and pulled up a chair next to the room's holophone.

"Get on the horn and order us some coffee," he said. "We've got a lot of work to do. And Beek?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I don't want to hear any grumbling about my not getting enough sleep. Not for a while, at least."

That Lawrence Bombest was surprised to receive a holo call from Willard Phule was an understatement. While he had formed a grudging respect for the job Phule had done in upgrading the attitudes of his down-at-the-heels Space Legion company while they were temporarily housed at the Plaza, Bombest would not in his wildest dreams fantasize that the two of them were at all close.

In his position of manager of the Plaza Hotel, one of the oldest, most respected on Haskin's Planet, it had been his duty to act as guardian of those stately facilities, and while the Legionnaires had turned out to be much better behaved than he had originally feared, more often than not it had placed himself and their commander in adversarial roles. As surprised as he was at the mere existence of the call, however, he was dumbfounded at its content.

"I know we're both busy, Bombest," the ghostly holo-image said, "so I'll cut right to the chase. Would you be willing to take a brief sabbatical from the Plaza to manage a hotel here on Lorelei? Say, for about a month?"