Robert Asprin - Phule Me Twice

"No hotels?" exclaimed Do-Wop. "Does that mean no bars? That sucks, man!"

Tusk-anini sat up straight, which made him nearly as tall as Sushi would have been standing. "Maybe we go to my home world," he said. "That would be good. Not such bright sun, good food..."

"Don't let Escrima hear you say that," said Super-Gnat with a chuckle. Then she added, "It'd be interesting to see your world, though. Anybody who wants to stay in hotels his whole life doesn't have any business joining the Legion." She shot a sharp glance in Do-Wop's direction.

"Look who's talking," said Do-Wop. "You ask me, ain't nobody here had a whole lotta business joinin' the Legion."

"I join Legion for business," said Tusk-anini. "I join to learn about humans, so I can teach other Voltons about you people."

"Have you learned anything?" asked Sushi. "I sometimes wonder whether that Leftenant Qual wasn't right in his report on us, that we're the most dangerous race in the Galaxy because we're so unpredictable..." He stopped and put his hand to his chin. "Say...you don't think we might be going to the Zenobians' home world, do you?"

"Zenobia?" Super-Gnat whistled. "That'd be something, wouldn't it? As far as I know, we'd be the first humans to see their world. I wonder what it's like."

"Hot, I guess," said Sushi. "And swampy. They think our worlds are cold and dry."

"Dry's the word," said Do-Wop glumly. "Qual never took a drink of liquor the whole time he was with the company. I knew it, a place without bars. I'm gonna purely hate this."

"Hey, we don't even know if it's true yet," said SuperGnat. "It's just a guess, so far."

"Besides, Chocolate Harry'll make sure there's something to drink," said Sushi. "He's not gonna miss the chance to sell the whole company its daily hooch. Say, maybe we should lay in a supply, see if we can make a little profit on our own."

"All the other times we've moved, we've had pretty tight limits on personal supplies," said Super-Gnat. "It'd be hard to take along enough to compete with Harry. He can bring in anything he wants, as long as he can claim it's for the company."

"It ain't fair," said Do-Wop. "The damn sergeants and officers get all the edge."

"Now you know why I've been acting like an officer," said Sushi. "Get the captain owing you a couple of favors, and you just might be able to turn them to your advantage." He knocked back his beer and stood up to take the bottle to the recycler. Then he stopped and grinned. "If I play my cards right, it might even be worth missing a night or two in the bar."

Do-Wop's mouth fell wide open. He made a couple of tentative efforts to say something, but then, stunned with the enormity of Sushi's statement, he simply shook his head in incomprehension. In his universe, there was no conceivable favor a captain could dispense that would make up for a lost night in the bar.

Sushi didn't stop grinning. But privately, despite all his instincts and training, he found himself wondering whether, on this particular topic, Do-Wop might not be right after all.

Journal #523

"Set a thief to catch a thief" is, in the abstract, excellent advice. After all, who knows the tricks of the trade better than an experienced practitioner? Thus it is that the Galaxy's most successful police forces recruit their members from the very class of society that produces the criminals they combat. But when an entire society, as on the space station Lorelei, is oriented toward quasi-criminal activity, this formula does not necessarily ensure success. In fact, it may mean only that the laziest and least intelligent members of the criminal classes end up as police.

It wasn't the most elegant space liner, and it certainly wasn't the fastest, but the Star*Runner was leaving Lorelei now, and that was what mattered. Lola and Ernie stood in the boarding line, doing their best not to look over their shoulders or otherwise attract the attention of anyone who might have the authority to ask what was in the large trunk Ernie had on the luggage cart beside him. If it came to that, the two kidnappers had agreed to abandon the trunk and do their best to elude capture by the station's security forces. Lola hoped they could call in enough favors from their underworld contacts to get them smuggled off the station somehow. If not, well, they'd deal with that when they had to.

A lot depended on whether or not the Fat Chance had put out a bulletin on the missing robot. Lola was betting that the casino's instincts would be to keep the theft secret. After all, if the local criminals knew the casino's owner had left a robot to look after his property, there'd be nothing to deter a serious takeover attempt. As long as they'd believed the most charismatic officer in the Space Legion was there to guard the place, they'd kept their distance. But if it became general knowledge that the Fat Chance was a paper tiger...

Lola hadn't immediately grasped the implications of that particular piece of information. Now she was beginning to see that it might, in and of itself, be worth more than the robot. The question was, how was she going to take advantage of her knowledge without sticking her own head into a noose? The obvious approach was to let the Fat Chance know that she knew, and milk it for as much as it was worth. Not just for returning the robot-although that'd be worth a fair amount-but for her silence about the robot and what it represented. And, of course, there were potential customers for the information that the Fat Chance was a hollow shell-although the window of opportunity to make capital on that was narrow.

The boarding line edged forward, and she snapped back to reality. None of those plans would much matter if they were intercepted before the liner kicked into FTL and they were out of the local authorities' reach. Then she'd have the luxury of long-range planning. For now, she had to be ready to cut her losses and run for her life on a moment's notice.

"Destination?"

Lola started, realizing that in spite of her determination to be alert, she'd been lost in her thoughts. The woman asking the question was short, with shoulder-length brown hair and a neat Lorelei Station Administration uniform with a name tag reading Gillman. She had her hand held out, presumably for the ticket.

"Ken's Trio," said Lola, handing over the coded plastic card that served as her ticket, passport, and luggage check all in one. The Ken trio was a system of three Earthlike planets in close orbits around a midsized G star, well-developed and populous. A high proportion of Lorelei Station's customers hailed from there, since the journey was comparatively short and inexpensive, as such things go. Lola had chosen the destination for no other reason than its being the first stopover on the first ship headed out. There, she hoped, they could cover their tracks and choose a final destination more to their liking.

The woman behind the counter slid the card into a reader and glanced at the readout. "Anything to declare?" she asked in a bored voice.

"No," said Lola. "A few gifts for my family." The question, she knew, was routine and perfunctory. A few planets monitored the departure of indigenous artifacts, but on a station like Lorelei, where the entire economic base was gambling and tourism, the only things likely to be leaving were souvenirs. The occasional visitor might get lucky and leave with more money than he'd come with, but it didn't happen often enough to be any threat to the station's solvency.

"OK, you're in stateroom twenty-three-A, on deck three," said the woman, gesturing vaguely with her left hand. "Turn right at the head of the stairs, and there'll be a steward there to show you the way. Need any help with the luggage?"

"We've got one big case we could use a hand with," said Lola, pointing to the trunk Ernie had been wheeling along.