Robert Asprin: A Phule and His Money

Inside, the bartender was dressed in camouflage, and the menu was full of fruity concoctions served in glasses shaped like voonga-nut shells. The piped-in music was heavy on percussion. A few other customers, off-planet tourists in newly purchased straw hats, sat at other tables, chattering brightly. Neither Phule nor the general was in the mood for small talk, but the ambassador kept up a well-practiced line of easy banter until the drinks came. Then, after a ritual sip of his Planter's Punch, he folded his hands and leaned forward. "Now, gentlemen, the real reason I'm here has to do with the Zenobians."

"The Zenobians?" General Blitzkrieg's puzzlement was obvious.

"Do you mean Flight Leftenant Qual?" said Phule, and he was suddenly even more apprehensive than he'd been when the general was chewing him out.

"Right-o," said Ambassador Gottesman. "As you know, Qual has been observing your unit as part of his government's decision-making process whether or not to ally with the Federation. Naturally, he's been sending back regular reports all along."

"He has?" said Phule. "Oh, of course he has-it only makes sense, but he's been such a part of the company that I didn't think of trying to intercept them."

"I'm not surprised," sneered Blitzkrieg. "This is typical of your slapdash methods."

"He wouldn't have had much luck at it anyway, old fellow," said the ambassador. "Qual was using some ultrasecret comm equipment their military has developed. I don't understand how it works-of course, that's not my bailiwick-but our tech boys have been on top of it since the beginning. Anyway, we've been able to monitor his messages all along."

"Oh, that's good," said Phule, looking from the general to the Ambassador, and back again, "At least, I hope it's good..."

"Well, as you know, Qual came here to make a detailed study of our tactics and ethics. Apparently he's learned a great deal about both by watching your company."

"I knew it!" said Blitzkrieg, slapping his hand on the table-top. "You've delivered us into the hands of the enemy, Captain! The lizards have stolen all our secrets. I knew you were the kind who'd do anything for a few dollars, but selling out your own species...There'll be a court-martial on this, I guarantee you, and this time you won't get off with a slap on the wrist."

"General, you're off-target," said the Ambassador, tiredly. "Qual confessed that he found the company's tactics utterly baffling-he said several times that it would be suicide to fight a race so unpredictable."

"Really?" said the general, sniffing. "Well, perhaps Jester's security breach may not cost us as much as it might have. But I can't exonerate him on that count. These things have a way of changing, once the enemy's had a chance to absorb their stolen knowledge."

"I know the historical precedents, General," said Ambassador Gottesman, swirling the artificial voonga-nut shell holding his drink. "But you haven't heard the whole story yet. Flight Leftenant Qual's comments on our ethics were even more telling. He told his people that our race is utterly unprincipled, except for loyalty to our friends. He evidently considers this the best possible reason to forge an alliance with us. In fact, we received a formal proposal to that effect just before I was dispatched here. So I think we have the captain to thank for making the alliance possible."

"To thank?" The general's jaw dropped like a lead weight. "Are you telling me..."

"I'm pointing out that the captain has done a good deal to forward our concerns at State-both here on Landoor and in the Zenobian alliance. Some important allies might take it the wrong way if the captain's broad interpretation of his orders were taken as grounds for punishing him, especially in view of how things have turned out. State doesn't like to meddle in the Legion's business, but a word to the wise..."

"Ambassador, I'm old enough to know better than to spit into the wind," said Blitzkrieg. He picked up his gin and tonic and drained it in a gulp. Then he stood and said, "Since State intends to stick an oar in, we'll let the violations of orders slide-this time. But it would be in the captain's best interests to learn to do things the Legion way. Ambassador, thank you for the drink."

"You're welcome, General," said Ambassador Gottesman genially. "The Legion will profit by this in the long run."

Phule watched the general go out the door-a beaded curtain that concealed a low-level force field that kept the cool air inside from escaping-then turned to the ambassador. "Sir, I don't know how to thank you. If there's anything I can do..."

The ambassador smiled. "Captain, State will take its quid pro quo sooner than you think. In fact..."

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said an unfamiliar voice.

Phule and the ambassador looked up to see two humans dressed in identical bad suits: the IRS agents, Peele and Hull. "Why, what a surprise to see you here," Phule said, not meaning a syllable of it. "Somehow, I didn't expect to see you here in New Atlantis Park. I hope you're enjoying yourselves..."

"Not in the least, Mr. Phule," said Agent Peele, with no trace of humor. "We had been at the park office on business-looking for you, as a matter of fact-and were on our way out when we ran into your superior, General Blitzkrieg. We inquired as to your whereabouts, and he directed us here."

"A stroke of luck," said the ambassador. "Will you have a seat and join us in a drink?"

"You know, I think for once I will," said Special Agent Hull, pulling back a chair and plopping herself into it. Peele's mouth fell open; then, shrugging, he pulled back another chair and joined his partner. The ambassador signalled the waiter, and after they'd ordered drinks-unsweetened iced tea for Peele, and a tequila and tonic for Hull-Phule sat back and waited to hear what the IRS agents had to say.

Peele looked at the ambassador, then shrugged and said, "It's not customary to talk business in front of a third party, but I suppose this time there's no reason not to. Mr. Phule, I'm disappointed in what we've learned, and there's no two ways about it. You've set up your affairs at the Fat Chance Casino so as to minimize your personal profits, and we can't find any irregular practices at all. This is anomalous."

"Not at all," said Phule. "It's simply good business. My butler set up the programs himself."

"Yes, there's a sharp character," said Hull, staring into her drink. "We had no luck at all dealing with him. You'd think he'd written the regulations himself, with your personal benefit in view. Every time we thought we'd spotted a few million, he'd find a way to make it vanish. I wish we had somebody like that on our team, to tell you the truth."

"To tell you the truth, I'm glad you don't," said Phule. "So does this mean I don't owe you anything, after all?"

"Worse than that," said Peele, gloomily. "That rascal of a butler found a loophole giving double deductions for investment in undeveloped worlds, for which of course you are eligible."

"Well, that's a relief," said Phule, suddenly sitting up straighter.

"To you, perhaps," said Peele. "But it goes on. As you may know, Mr. Phule, when you travelled here, by a peculiarity of hyperspace, you arrived on Landoor before you left Lorelei. Your butler discovered a precedent that allows you to apply the deductions to last quarter's income despite the fact that you didn't loan out the money until after you arrived here."

Peele slumped in his chair, glaring across the table for a moment. At last he said, "Mr. Phule, unless we can find an error in your butler's figures, I am afraid that we owe you a damned refund!"

After the IRS agents left Joe's Jungle Juice, Ambassador Gottesman took Phule back to the park offices, where a rollicking party had broken out to celebrate the opening. Le Duc Taep was playing bartender, pouring chilled Aldebaran champagne for all.