Several legionnaires turned to look as the lieutenants-Rembrandt in the lead, with Armstrong gaining rapidly-hurried through the dining room out toward the company offices. Just as the rear door closed behind them, Moustache, who was sitting near the front door, leapt up and shouted, “Ten-hut! General Blitzkrieg, sir!”
The assembled legionnaires straggled to their feet, their mouths gaping open. The sight of any high-ranking officer was a rarity at Omega Company, and the troops’ demeanor showed it. Moustache and Mahatma managed to snap off salutes that might have satisfied a moderately lenient drill sergeant. If any of the others had ever known how, they had long since forgotten it.
It hardly mattered. Looking neither to the left nor to the right, General Blitzkrieg stormed through the dining room toward the company offices. Even those who didn’t know of Phule’s previous run-ins with Legion brass had no difficulty figuring out that their CO was about to get his head chewed off.
“Jester, you’ve overstepped every trace of your authority,” roared General Blitzkrieg. “You’ve allied yourself with the damned rebels, and put your troops to work to overthrow the very government you were sent to protect. Hmpfff! This won’t just get you drummed out of the Legion-you’ll be in the stockade, if I have my way.”
“Sir, I can explain everything,” said Phule, standing at rigid attention behind his desk. He was maintaining his aplomb remarkably well, considering that he’d had perhaps two minutes’ notice of the general’s arrival.
“I’m sure you can,” snarled the general. “You’re good at making your schemes look harmless, but I can see through them. This time, you’re going to pay the price. And it will give me great pleasure to watch it!”
Seizing the pause in the general’s rant, Phule broke in, “Sir, I have done nothing that isn’t within my orders.”
“Within your orders? Hah! We’ll see about that,” said Blitzkrieg. He walked around the large marble-topped desk and wagged a finger under his subordinate’s nose. “But I’m not going to waste time arguing with you. I’m relieving you of your command, effective instantly. You will go directly to your quarters and consider yourself under house arrest. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” said Phule, standing his ground. “Do I have the general’s permission to have visitors? I will need to see my butler. I also request permission to speak to my officers, with a view to preparing a defense.”
Blitzkrieg waved a hand, knocking an empty plastic coffee cup off the desk. He didn’t seem to notice. “Permission granted,” he said. “It’ll do you no good, but never let it be said that I denied you the right to counsel. I warn you, though-don’t try to enlist your officers in any conspiracy against me, or you’ll all be charged with mutiny. Dismissed!”
“Sir!” Phule saluted and turned to make his way to his quarters. He’d get out of this, he knew. He’d been in plenty of trouble with the brass before, and he’d always gotten out of it. It might be a little tougher this time, with both his commanding general and the government of the planet he was supposed to be protecting lined up against him. But he’d figure it out. At least, he hoped he would.
Journal #445
Those who, like my employer, are accustomed to taking matters in their own hands are prone to forget that some matters don’t want to be taken in hand. Alternately, these active souls prefer to put recalcitrant matters out of mind and concentrate on problems they can deal with directly. As a result, they are often surprised when something they have deliberately neglected jumps up and bites them.
Phule was about to turn down the corridor to his hotel room when he was stopped by two people in civilian outfits so identical that they might as well have been uniforms. “Mister Phule?” said the taller of the two.
“Yes,” he said. “I am Phule. I’m afraid I can’t really stop to talk, though.”
“Captain, it is your decision whether or not to talk to us,” said the man who’d spoken. Phule could now see that the other was a woman. “However, we are here on important government business, and it would be very wise of you to make the time.” He opened a wallet and displayed an ID card: Special Agent Roger Peele of the Interstellar Revenue System.
Phule struck himself on the forehead and said, “I knew there was something I’d been forgetting! You were looking for me back on Lorelei, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Peele. “And after what we’ve found there, we’re even more anxious to talk to you.”
“I guess we might as well do it now as later,” said Phule with a sigh. “At this point, there’s nothing you can do to make my day any worse.”
“Perhaps not, Mr. Phule,” said the other, female, IRS agent. “However, I must warn you-it’s our job to try.” Her thin smile made it clear that she was not joking at all.
“Well, come with me, then,” said Phule, and they followed him to his quarters.
“Well, sir, which shall we tackle first-saving you from the stockade, or from bankruptcy?” Beeker sat calmly at the keyboard of his Port-a-Brain computer, watching Phule pace nervously across the room and back again.
“Getting this house arrest lifted would be a good start,” said Phule. “The park opens tomorrow morning, and I want to be there. I can work on the rest of my problems from a jail cell, if need be, but I think I’ve earned the right to be at the opening.”
“Your priorities astonish me, sir,” said Beeker. “However, I am certain we can find a way to persuade the general to give you your freedom for the day-possibly you’ll have to put up with a guard, but that should be a minor inconvenience.”
“Good, I trust you to explore all avenues on that one,” said Phule. “As far as the rest-well, I told the IRS you had the figures to prove I’m in compliance with the tax laws, but they didn’t want to hear it. I think they’re so used to dealing with criminals that they can’t imagine anyone actually obeying the law.”
“More likely, the laws make it impossible to file a tax return without some sort of violation,” said Beeker, dryly. “How much do they claim you owe?”
“Including penalties and interest, it’s something like twenty million,” said Phule. “That’s absurd, of course-I can’t possibly owe them penalties or interest if I’m not guilty of any violations to begin with.”
“Your faith in common sense is quite inspiring, sir. I regret to inform you that the IRS operates on some entirely different system, as appalling in its way as anything the military can conjure up.”
“Well, if you can’t find me a way out, I doubt anybody can. You’ve got all the records here, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Beeker, nodding in the direction of his Port-a-Brain. “I’ll set up a meeting to show them the relevant figures-that will take a good while, though. And we may still have to drag it through a couple of levels of appeal before we satisfy them. It might be easier to agree to some token payment, say a couple of million, to get rid of them.”
“Blackmail!” said Phule. “I won’t do it!”
“As you wish, sir. Unfortunately, they can tie up your assets rather thoroughly pending appeal. Not even Dilithium Express can entirely shield your money from the IRS, although I suspect you’ll be able to pay your personal bills.”
“I’ll need more than that, if I’m going to keep running the company,” said Phule.
“General Blitzkrieg seems bent on preventing that, sir,” Beeker pointed out. “It might be prudent for you to give some thought to counteracting the general’s plans, while I’m saving you from the IRS.”
“Believe me, Beeker, I’m trying.” Phule paused, then said, “Well, to be honest, keeping me from going bankrupt is of some urgency, as well. But I’m going to leave that in your hands, Beeker.”
“I appreciate your confidence, sir,” said Beeker.
Phule smiled. “It’s been well-earned, Beeker. This won’t be the first time you’ve saved my assets.”
Journal #448
Obtaining my employer’s release from house arrest turned out to be easier than anticipated. All that was really necessary was Le Duc Taep petitioning Ambassador Gottesman to allow Phule to attend the opening of the park he had done so much to bring to fruition. The ambassador, recognizing the former rebel leader as a significant player in the Landooran political arena, conveyed to General Blitzkrieg that keeping my employer confined would have undesirable political consequences. Surprisingly, even the Landooran government agreed that preventing him from attending the opening would be excessively cruel punishment for someone not yet proven guilty of anything. That was enough to get my employer his freedom-at least, for the day.
Le Duc Taep stood looking out a tower window at the customers standing in line outside the park. It was quarter to eight in the morning, and some people had been standing in line since before sunup. A few had even camped out overnight so as to be among the first to enter. They would have camped out longer, except the Legion security guards had made it clear they wouldn’t allow them to.