Robert Asprin - Phule Me Twice

Mahatma smiled and nodded. That meant Big Trouble, in Brandy's experience. Sure enough, the little legionnaire followed up by asking, "Then shouldn't they reward us by keeping us here so we can enjoy the peace and prosperity?"

"That's not how the Legion works, Mahatma," said Brandy. "We're in the business of taking care of trouble, so we go where there's trouble brewing. That's our job, and we're pretty damn good at it." She hoped this answer would give the rest of the squad a feeling of pride in their job, deflecting the subversive implications she suspected-no, knew-Mahatma would somehow make out of whatever she said.

Mahatma looked up at her over his round glasses. "What happens if we do our job poorly, Sergeant Brandy?" he said beatifically.

She answered him solemnly-there was no other way to answer this kind of question-"We could get in a lot of trouble, Mahatma."

"So if we do our job well, we are sent to a place where there is trouble, and if we do it poorly, trouble comes to us," said Mahatma sweetly. "Please, Sarge, how does this system encourage virtuous conduct and constructive effort?"

As usual after Mahatma had asked one of his follow-up questions, Brandy could hear the other trainees muttering among themselves as they tried to puzzle out what their comrade was getting at. "Quiet!" she barked. She didn't particularly mind their talking, but the order would distract the squad from thinking about Mahatma's question while she came up with an answer.

She was sure she'd be able to come up with one...

"I don't want to leave Landoor with this scandal hanging over us, but I don't know how to refute it, either," said Phule, pacing from one side of his office to the other. Beeker, Rev, and Rembrandt sat along the couch, their heads swiveling like spectators at a tennis match.

Beeker raised a hand and said, "Sir, if I may make a suggestion: Why don't you simply repay the complainant the amount he was robbed plus the damages to his restaurant? If you added on a bit more to demonstrate good will, I have no doubt that he'd drop the complaint."

"That would make him go away," said Phule. "And I do mean to see that he doesn't suffer financially, whatever else happens in this case. But giving him money to go away wouldn't clear my people's reputation. People on Landoor would always be able to say that we just bought our way out of trouble. If one of my people has robbed Mr. Takamine, I want him to own up to it and pay an appropriate penalty."

This response was greeted with shocked silence. At one time, buying his way out would have been Phule's natural response to trouble. Now, that didn't seem to be enough. Rev finally spoke. "I reckon it's pretty clear that the culprit in this case is a follower of the King, though I doubt anybody who'd do that is still a true believer. And I don't think he's one of my own flock, Captain. Like I said, there are lots of members of the Church of the King on Landoor. Could'a been any one of 'em. A black jumpsuit don't necessarily mean Legion. It ain't that uncommon a garment among the faithful."

"That's true," said Phule, standing still for a moment to look the chaplain in the eye. "But we can't hide behind that, because Mr. Takamine believes it's one of us. We've got to prove he's wrong about that, and we've got to do that before we leave the planet. I'm open to ideas. Anybody have one?"

Rev spoke again. "I can get a record of the King's followers on this planet who've had their faces remade. That'll be a start, I reckon."

"Yes, that's a start," said Phule, pacing again. "But how do we sort out which one it was? If we can eliminate our people, fine-but it has to be beyond question. I don't want anybody claiming that I cooked the evidence. Better yet, we have to identify the actual culprit, whoever it is."

"I've checked our duty rosters for the time involved," said Rembrandt. "If all our people were where they were supposed to be-which isn't necessarily so, knowing this outfit-we can eliminate six of our people right away. We're checking to verify that they were actually on duty."

"That's over half," said Phule. "That's good, but it leaves five unaccounted for. Any way to establish their whereabouts at the time?"

"We're working on it," said Rembrandt. "The problem is, not everybody who saw one of the suspects can say for sure which one it was. When they all have the same face, it complicates things. Which brings us back to where we started."

"Out of curiosity, am I in the clear or not?" asked Rev, with the slight smirk that seemed to be an unavoidable result of the face-remodeling process.

"For robbing the citizen, yes," said Rembrandt, turning a cool stare toward the chaplain. "You aren't the type who'd do that. Besides, the restaurant owner said you were too fat to be the one who did it. For getting us into this fix to begin with..."

"Now, it's a little late for that, Rembrandt," said Phule wearily. "We can't very well make Rev change the tenets of his faith, even if they're inconvenient for the rest of us."

"Let me point out one more thing, Lieutenant," said Rev. "Just because somebody's thrown in with the King, it don't make 'em perfect. If one of the band goes off key, it's as much my duty as anybody else's to find 'em and bring 'em back in tune. If I find the culprit, I'm gonna turn him in-and I think I've got an inside track on findin' him, too."

"What would that be?" said Beeker. "If you have some way to identify individual members of your faith that the rest of us don't know, perhaps it would be useful to share it in circumstances like these."

"Oh, I don't have nothin' like that," said Rev. "Just access to records, which I promise to share with y'all. And I hope some of 'em will be more willin' to talk to one of their own, if we can narrow the suspects down to two or three."

"Anything of that kind you can do will be a help," said Phule. His nervous energy at last expended, he sat on the edge of his desk and said, "I guess that'll have to do for now. Rembrandt, Rev, if either of you learn anything, report it to me right away. And if the local police tell me something that might help, I'll pass it along. I want to get this solved before we lift off for our next assignment-and we don't have much time. So make it a priority, all right?"

"Yes, Captain," said Rembrandt. Rev added his assent, and the meeting broke up.

But Beeker said, "Well, sir, I suspect you're going to end up repaying the citizen for what he was robbed, after all."

"I think I'm going to do that, anyway," said Phule. "Even if we do find the guilty party he's not likely to be able to make restitution. So why shouldn't I? But we've got the company's good name to uphold, too. That's why I want to prove that none of our people did it-or if they did, to show that we don't just sweep our bad eggs under the rug."

"I agree with your sentiments if not your metaphor, sir," said Beeker. "I just hope you're able to live up to them."

"So do I, Beeker," said Phule. "So do I." He sat musing for a moment, then looked up and said, "You know, I think we're overlooking a resource that might help us. What do you think about this...?"

Beeker listened, skeptical at first, but after hearing Phule's idea, he nodded. "It's not an entirely bad idea, sir. I'll see to it at once."

"He's coming." Ernie's voice in Lola's earpiece was quiet, but she sensed its urgency, nonetheless. They'd already blown one attempt at snatching Phule and somehow managed to remain free to try again. They couldn't assume that they could get away with a second failure. No matter how oblivious the captain was, he was eventually going to notice that somebody was trying to kidnap him and take steps to prevent further attempts. If the current trap didn't catch him, they might not get another chance.

Lola took a deep breath and tried to center herself. She had to play her part to perfection, or the scheme had no chance of succeeding. She was confident that she could do what she had to. What worried her was, she could hit all her marks one-two-three, just like that, and Ernie could still fumble the game away. Or Phule could get lucky, and none of their careful preparation would make any difference. Phule seemed to get lucky a lot-more than his share, if she was any judge.