A Phule and His Money

"No accidents," said Maxine. "I don't see how I've got anything to lose passing along a tip that might help me as much as it does you, if you'll do the same for us. And we'll pass along your butler if we catch him. My guarantee on it.

"And we'll send your assistant back," said Phule. "Here's what we know: My butler didn't come back from a visit to this hotel, for a lunch date. We searched his room a while ago; there wasn't much missing, just everything he'd take if he weren't pla

"Right, one of our guys saw him leaving here," said Maxine, deciding she could confirm Phule's deduction. "Right about lunchtime, in fact-with my assistant. Ten-to-one those two have gone freelance. They're old enough to know better."

"That's for sure," said Phule. "I thought Beeker was..." His communicator buzzed. "Jester here," he answered. He put it to his ear for privacy, but Maxine could hear the buzz of an excited voice-a woman's voice from the pitch. "When?...I see. They're certain?...Well, we'd never get the authority to run them down in space, but we can grab them at the other end. Who do we know there? OK, stay in touch. Jester out."

"They've left the station," said Maxine.

"Right. Two-nineteen shuttle to the Patriot liner, which went translight three hours ago. Next stop is Tra

"Maybe," said Maxine, trying to remember which family was in charge at Tra

Phule broke into her thoughts. "I'll get the arrival info sent to you as soon as I get back to my office, but it looks as if we've got them," he said. "They aren't going to get off a liner in hyperspace."

"Good," she said. "I think we've got a deal-and now, would you and your soldiers get off my property? You're frightening the marks."

21:48-a little more than ten minutes left before departure time. If the captain hadn't appeared by then, Lieutenant Rembrandt was going to have to delay the shuttle. Her orders said to leave precisely on schedule, no matter what. But she also had her own judgment, and she meant to use it. Abandoning the captain wasn't an option.

A quiet tone notified Rembrandt that someone had entered the corridor she was guarding. She put down her book and stood up to see who was coming. She didn't expect trouble, but she pulled her weapon out of its holster just in case. If trouble did come calling, she was armed with the Phule-proof adaptation of Qual's stun ray.

The broad corridor was well-lit, and so she easily made out the two figures approaching her. They wore regulation Legion black, with unit patches for the Omega Mob. But despite the familiar uniforms, she didn't recognize the faces. One, a lean, black woman, was a complete stranger to her. The other, a heavy-built man, had sergeant's stripes on his sleeve and an ill-fitting full beard...there was something about him, but...

The eyes gave him away. "Beeker!" she whispered, recognizing him through the disguise. "What's with the chin shrubbery? And who's your friend?"

"The new recruit, Lieutenant," said the butler, his voice a low-pitched growl. "Permission to board?"

"Permission granted, Sergeant," she said, doing her best not to let her amusement show. Beeker was the last person she'd ever expected to see in uniform. As for his companion, she was obviously a good bit past the usual age for recruits-even in the Legion, notoriously lax in its entrance requirements. The "sergeant" and "recruit" saluted-superfluous, since she herself was in mufti-and went through the shuttle entryway.

Rembrandt peered along the corridor, but there was no one else. She checked her watch. She had time to finish a chapter, so she sat back down with her book.

She'd read half a page when the alarm sounded again. She looked up to see a single figure approaching: the captain. She put down her book and rose to her feet. "Good to see you, sir," she said. "How'd it go?"

"Smooth as butter, I think," said Phule. "Lex's actors were very convincing as legio

"Yes, they were right ahead of you. Very well-disguised, too. I didn't recognize Beeker right away, and if I didn't, his own mother couldn't."

"Good. Then if everyone's here, let's go on board and get started. No need to wait to the last minute."

"I'm afraid there is, Captain," said Rembrandt. "Sushi and Do-Wop haven't reported in."

"That pair!" said Phule. "I should have known they'd find some kind of trouble to get into at the last minute."

"They aren't out on business?" said Rembrandt, frowning. "What if they miss the ship-out?"

Phule shook his head disapprovingly. "They might be able to get on something fast enough to catch up with us at the transfer station at Bellevue, but it'll cost them a bundle."

"And even then they might get caught in a hyperspace loop and get to the transfer point a year late-or early," said Rembrandt. "Serve them right to pay a years' room and board while they wait for us to show up."

Phule chuckled. "Well, if they do miss the shuttle, whatever it costs to get them back to the company is coming out of their pockets. Sushi's dangerously bright, but I don't think he's figured out all the ramifications of `time is money' yet."

"This may teach him," said Rembrandt, laughing. Then her face turned serious. "What if they're in real trouble?"

"Anything those two can't talk their way out of isn't going to get fixed in a few minutes. I can spare a little more than that, but not much. We'll lift at..."-he looked at his watch-"22:15, whether they're aboard or not. I'm going to go give the orders. And Rembrandt...?"

"Sir?"

Phule looked her in the eye. "Don't you get caught behind, waiting till the last second for them to show up."

"I won't, sir," she said, and turned back to her seat by the door. She might as well finish reading that chapter.

"Are you being followed?" said Sushi. He spoke without turning his head, and he'd turned up the volume so the microphone would pick up normal-volume speech at full arm's length. No sense in letting any watchers realize he was using the communicator. He'd have to abandon that trick if he got close enough for anyone to overhear him speaking, but that wasn't a problem yet.

"Can't tell," came Do-Wop's muffled voice through the speaker. "People around-can't talk much."

"OK, hurry-and keep your eyes open," said Sushi. Several blocks back, he and his partner had thought they spotted someone tailing them. It could have been a coincidence, or the security guard back at the casino might have gotten suspicious. They split up-as two legitimate workers would have done. Neither Sushi nor Do-Wop was a novice at eluding pursuit. And if one of them were caught-well, that was better than both.

At the next street corner was an open convenience store. A pair of shabbily dressed men stood on the corner outside the store. Casino strandees, thought Sushi-Lorelei had a "proof of work" requirement for residence, which meant that fired casino workers either got another job right away, or were shipped out. Strandees were more common. Usually they were luckless gamblers who'd hocked the ticket home to finance one more try to beat the house. They could survive for a while by scrounging and hitting an occasional small payoff. Sooner or later security caught up to them, and they were on their way anyhow-with a heavy lien against their credit to cover their passage and the fines for whatever offenses Lorelei security decided to charge them with. They weren't normally dangerous, but there was always a chance these two were different. Sushi couldn't spare the time to find out. He crossed the street. Almost at once he became aware that the two were looking at him.