Robert Asprin - A Phule and His Money

Faced with the reality of the jungle, Phule belatedly began to wonder if everything was going to be as easy as it had looked when he was planning it. If he'd miscalculated, he might have gotten himself in far worse trouble than he'd bargained for...

Journal #410

The first roller coaster on Landoor was built by an unemployed mining engineer, J.T. Dressage. Inspired by seeing youths in the mining towns taking daredevil rides on abandoned mine railroad cars, he purchased a quantity of track at salvage prices. Borrowing the money to buy a plot of land outside Landoor City, he built a ramshackle wooden trestle, and opened his ride-"the Daredevil." It caught the fancy of the public and, within a short time, Dressage had not only paid off his debts, but purchased fifty acres of adjacent land and expanded his operation to become the first of Landoor's theme parks.

The success of Dressage Park caught the eyes of several small businessmen, who pooled their savings and set up a rival operation south of the city-Dunes Park, with an even wider range of rides and attractions. Within a few years, no Landooran considered a vacation complete without a visit to one of the Atlantis theme parks. Indeed, they were the first enterprises on the planet developed without the participation of the Moguls. They (and the smaller parks that sprang up in their wake) thus became an important symbol of national pride to the Landoorans-the working people to whom the Moguls were alien princes with no roots in their world. This image was confirmed when the Moguls decamped to greener pastures and left Landoor to the Landoorans.

At that point, Landoor found itself with all the circuses it could ask for. But as they soon realized, there was a desperate shortage of bread. And therein lay the seeds of revolution...

The trail took Phule's group and their guards on a mildly strenuous hike through dense, steaming jungle, in which the occasional Earth-origin tree or animal could be spotted. (The original settlers appeared to have brought along a fair supply of parrots-or possibly a few escaped breeding pairs had been sufficient to start a population explosion.) The contrast between the slightly purplish local foliage and the brighter green Terran-import leaves made the walk unusually picturesque-although not quite enough so for Phule to stop worrying about his reception at trail's end.

At last, the trail crossed a little stream on stepping stones, and on the other side was the guerilla camp. Phule thought to himself that the camp was completely vulnerable to an air attack. Given the government's manifest eagerness to put the rebels out of business, the fact that they hadn't done so was proof of how thoroughly they had been disarmed.

There were a good number of two-person tents in camouflage colors-obviously off-planet in origin, since the hues clashed with the local vegetation. Open cooking fires were scattered at intervals among them. Here and there were small groups of armed men and women, sitting on the ground or engaged in various tasks, from cooking to construction of larger, more permanent buildings. There was nothing resembling a consistent uniform, although many appeared to have adopted the red bandanna as a quasiofficial badge.

Buster pointed to the center of the clearing, where a large tent stood next to an improvised pole bearing a colorful flag, different from the one flying over the government buildings: the rebel flag, no doubt. "That-a-way," he said. Phule and his group followed, drawing curious stares from the groups of rebels they passed on their way through the camp.

The main tent had an awning protecting a folding table at which sat a lean man with a fringe of stringy gray hair beneath a field cap. He wore the closest thing to a real uniform that Phule had seen so far, although it bore no recognizable insignia. He looked up as Buster herded Phule and his companions into the shade of the tent. "Who's this?" he said, squinting at the newcomers.

"Found 'em out in the woods," said Buster. "They drove right up in a hovercar, asked to see you. So here they are."

"Have they been searched or questioned?" said the man, looking at the uniformed legionnaires.

"Nah, they weren't showin' no hardware, so we just brought 'em in," said Buster. "Like I say, this guy in the front wanted to talk to you."

"This is an inexcusable lapse in security," said the rebel leader-for that was obviously what he was. "If these men had been carrying concealed weapons..."

"Oh, give us a break, will ya?" said Buster, with a sweeping gesture. "Look at these jaspers and tell me any of 'em has the brass to sneak in a weapon. Minute they pull it, they's gonna be buzzard meat even if they do get a few of us. They look like the suicidal type to you?"

"Perhaps not, but we have security procedures for a reason," said the leader. "This is not the first time you have shown a lack of judgment..."

"I think he showed excellent judgement in bringing us directly to you," Phule interrupted. "I think you will find what I have to say very interesting-and very much to your advantage."

"And you are?" asked the rebel leader, glaring at Phule.

"Captain Jester, Space Legion," said Phule, with a little nod. "With me is Chaplain Rev, as well as my chauffeur and my personal butler. And whom am I speaking to?"

"A chauffeur and a butler, eh?" said the rebel leader. "And a chaplain, too. That's a first, for sure-most people who come looking for me bring along an infantry brigade or so." Belatedly, remembering that Phule had asked his name, he puffed up his chest and said, "I am Le Duc Taep, Provisional President of the Restored Republic of New Atlantis."

"Ah, then I am speaking to the right man," said Phule. "Mr. President, I have come to show you how to win your revolution."

"What did you say?" said Le Duc Taep. He looked at Phule's uniform again. "Aren't you from the peacekeeping team?"

"That is correct. In fact, I am its commanding officer," said Phule, smiling broadly.

"You!" Le Duc Taep rose to his feet and pointed at Phule, "You are the officer formerly known as Captain Scaramouche?"

Phule's smile didn't waver. "Mr. President, perhaps you aren't familiar with our Legion traditions. A legionnaire's previous identity is unimportant. Even when a member has been..."

"You are Scaramouche!" shouted Le Duc Taep. He turned to Buster and the guards and exclaimed, "Seize him!"

"Salutations, Lieutenant Strongarm!" Flight Leftenant Qual came bouncing into Comm Central, located in the penthouse suite of the Landoor Plaza.

Armstrong looked up from the printout he was scanning. "Good morning, Qual. What's the good word?"

"If you mean news of Captain Clown, I am afraid the word is a bad one," said Qual. "Or no word at all, to be more exact. Have you received intelligence of him?"

"Heard nothing," said Tusk-anini, stationed behind a bank of electronic intelligence monitors. "Best guess is rebels holding captain prisoner."

"This comes of acting like the hero of some holodrama," said Armstrong. He slapped the printout down on the desktop with a degree of force that underscored his frustration. "Going out to find the rebel camp was like asking to be taken prisoner. We can only hope the rebels have sense enough to keep him alive. As long as he's alive, at least we've got a chance to rescue him."

"Well spoken, Strongarm," said Qual. "With resources of this company, such should be within ready capability. But a clever plan must be made before commencing, no?"

"Before even that, we have to figure out where the rebels are," said Armstrong. "Of course, the captain went squiring off without bothering to leave an itinerary. I suppose he went out and followed his nose, so maybe we could find them the same way. But even if we find their main camp, there's no guarantee the captain's there..."