“Whatever it is, we didn’t have nothin’ to do with it,” said Do-Wop. He had the outraged look of a Federation Senator accused of taking bribes from someone he hadn’t thought to solicit.
“I suppose I should consider it a compliment that you think we can manipulate events at that distance,” added Sushi, “but we really can’t take credit for everything. There are a number of operatives from various criminal organizations on Lorelei, you know.”
“Interesting that you automatically assume I’m referring to criminal activities,” said Phule, glowering. He paced a few steps, then turned suddenly to face the two legionnaires. “What were you doing that made you so late? And why were you wearing repairmen’s uniforms? What were you pretending to repair?”
“Pretending?” the two legionnaires asked almost in unison. Then Do-Wop went on alone, “Jeez, Captain, if we was gonna repair somethin’, it’d be fixed when we finished with it.”
“Fixed is probably the right word,” said Phule. He looked Sushi directly in the eye and said, “There’s been a very small but steady drain on receipts at the Fat Chance-a fraction of a cent from each credit card transaction-ever since shortly before we lifted off. Not enough for any one individual to notice, but quite a bit if you spread it out over the entire station for the week since we left. Now, I wonder where those odd fractions of a cent are going?”
“Gee, Captain, that’s an interesting question,” said Sushi. “I guess you think we had something to do with it.”
“I’d think that somebody who knows how to gimmick a Dilithium Express card might be able to figure out how to do something like this, yes,” said Phule. “You realize, of course, that you’re skimming from your own profits here-you two being part-owners of the Fat Chance. Not to mention skimming from all your buddies in the company.”
“Hey, Captain, you still ain’t proved we’re the ones who did it,” said Do-Wop. “Just because somebody knows how to do somethin’, that don’t mean he did it. Lorelei station’s full of crooks, y’know.”
“Yes, it’s been full of them practically since it opened up,” said Phule. He turned his penetrating stare toward Do-Wop, who suddenly found something to look at on the floor. “But nobody figured out how to pull this stunt until you two left the station-disguised as repairmen, and running as if you had a pack of rippers after you. I’ll ask you again-what were you two `fixing’ back there?”
Sushi and Do-Wop glanced at each other, while Phule allowed the silence to stretch out. It stretched further, and Phule was beginning to wonder if it was time to abandon the tactic when Sushi shrugged and said, “All right, Captain, if you’ve already figured it out, there’s not much point in trying to hide it anymore. We were opening up one of the hatchways that access the station’s climate control system. What most people don’t realize is that the same central computer controls all the credit card transactions, as well as some other stuff we weren’t interested in. But it shouldn’t have tapped into the Fat Chance. It was just supposed to take from the other casinos. You know I wouldn’t rob the other guys in the company.”
“Why not?” demanded Phule. “You can’t expect me to believe that one without corroboration.”
“Well, before that, I’d planted a chip in the Fat Chance’s central computer. That was how I cut off your card when I fooled the Yakuza. Lucky for me, he didn’t ask me to use your card at one of the other casinos-it would’ve blown the whole caper. But that chip was also a one-way filter between the Fat Chance and the rest of the system. You see, I was already planning this little prank back then. I can’t understand why it didn’t work.”
Phule walked up to within inches of Sushi’s face and snarled, “Probably because Beeker and I figured out how you had to have broken into my account, and counteracted it. We couldn’t inspect the entire system, but we could insert our own override into the software. So when you pulled your little prank, the Fat Chance was back in touch with the rest of the system, and your chip stole from us as well as all the rest.”
“I told you it wouldn’t work,” said Do-Wop, glumly. “The captain’s too smart for us, Soosh.”
“I guess he is,” said Sushi. “OK, Captain, I’ll tell you where the substitute chip is so you can undo the swindle, and we’ll refund all the money it’s taken from the Fat Chance. Will that make everything all right?”
“It’ll do for a start,” said Phule. “Unfortunately, you’re going to have to go a step beyond that. I want you to refund all the money it’s taken from all the casinos. If I let you keep any profits from this, you’re likely to learn the wrong lesson.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sushi unhappily. “To tell the truth, that’ll actually be easier than separating out the Fat Chance’s share.”
“Good. Then I want it done as soon as possible,” said Phule. “Can you do it from the ship or do you have to wait till we’re out of hyperdrive?”
“I can do it from your desk phone,” said Sushi, pointing.
“You’ll do it as soon as we’re finished talking,” said Phule. “One more thing. You two are going to be on a shorter leash once we get to the new assignment. Landoor is a military operation, and we’re going to run it by military rules. That means no more freelancing by you two. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” said Sushi, and Do-Wop echoed his partner in an even more plaintive tone. Neither one looked particularly happy, but Phule didn’t think he could demand that of them.
“Good,” he said, looking them both in the eye. “Now, Sushi, you’re going to make that comm call, and then we’re going to see if you two hoodlums can learn how to work as part of the team. For your sake-for the whole company’s sake-I hope you can.”
Sushi and Do-Wop both nodded. Phule pointed to the phone, and sat down to watch. There might be something more he could learn from this…
11
Journal #369
As usual, my employer carefully read his briefing materials about the new world his company was going to. Landoor had been settled two hundred years ago as a mining colony (the planet was unusually rich in certain rare earths). The Moguls, as the mine owners were called, had imported convict labor to work the mines, with the promise of land and freedom after the laborers had served a stated term in the mines. The Moguls had grown enormously rich off the sweat of their imported convicts. They built their capital city on an unspoiled tropical island they called Atlantis-which became a popular vacation spot for the wealthy of that era.
Nowadays, the mainland mines were largely owned by offplanet cartels, which found it more difficult with every passing year to derive a profit from the played-out beds of ore. The original owners had, for the most part, taken their profits and left the planet for more cosmopolitan worlds where they could enjoy their wealth unhindered. That left the government in the hands of the former bureaucrats and middle managers. They ruled a population of miners, farmers, factory workers, and small merchants, who did not have the luxury of pulling up stakes and moving to a new world at whim.
Then, a few years ago, revolutionary fervor had swept the planet, and Federation troops were imported to stem the violence. Peace had been established placing the rebel faction in the saddle, with the former government as an opposition party within the system. (A few diehards had escaped to the mainland and set up as a resistance movement, but they were considered of no consequence.)
While peace itself was greeted with rejoicing, its imposition by outside forces had left a sour taste in the mouths of many Landoorans-especially after Federation pilots strafed the peace conference. The Legion officer who ordered the gratuitous strafing was a certain Captain Scaramouche, who disappeared from the Legion rolls shortly before Captain Jester took command of the Omega Mob. This fact was not widely known on Landoor-but it was about to become so.
And for some reason, that fact had been omitted from the briefing materials General Blitzkrieg provided to my employer.
The Atlantis spaceport on Landoor was typical for a thirdrate developing world: weeds growing in cracks on the roadways, peeling paint on all the buildings, and all the other evidence that nothing very important ever happened here. But to the Omega Mob, it was gorgeous. As they piled out of the landing shuttle, the legionnaires craned their necks to look up at the first natural sky they’d seen in over a year. And off in the distance, if they listened carefully, was the muted roar of surf on a broad, sandy beach. “It’s good to be back on a real planet,” said Rembrandt, and there were no dissenting voices.