He looked back at Phule and said, “My compliments, Captain. There have been times I despaired of this park ever opening. Now, we have come to the crowning moment-and look: The people have turned out for us in overwhelming numbers. The triumph of our cause is imminent.”
“Don’t get too enthusiastic,” said Phule. “We’d have gotten a big crowd for opening day no matter what, with the half-price tickets. Our publicity campaign can’t have hurt the crowds-we’ve beaten the government’s pants off in that department. The real test will be how many people we have in line after the novelty wears off.” Despite his cautious words, Phule smiled. It was hard not to smile, looking at the lines snaking through the turnstiles, and stretching as far back as the eye could see.
“I wonder how the lines are for Landoor Park,” said Rembrandt.
“They’ve got huge lines, too,” said Phule. “We think we’ve done a little better, but it’s anybody’s guess until we have real numbers. And the day’s barely begun.”
“We’re still working to build attendance,” said Rembrandt. “Our people will be handing out flyers at their exits, offering anyone with a ticket stub from their opening day a half-price ticket for our park, valid for one full year.”
“That’s a brilliant idea,” said Taep. “Once the park has shown them the superiority of our principles, not many will endorse the government’s sleazy operation.”
“I’d hope they keep coming to both parks,” said Phule. He put his hand on Taep’s shoulder. “It’s important for your park to succeed, but it’s even more important for all your world’s people to do well. And that’s going to depend on drawing off-planet visitors. Your people will support the parks, but they can’t revive the economy all by themselves. It would be like two men passing a dollar back and forth every few seconds and claiming they were each taking in ten dollars a minute.”
“We’re not reduced to that,” said Okidata, chuckling at the image. “We’ll see how well the off-planet attendance holds up in the long run, but we’ve got a great start.”
“Well, if Jenny’s opening day report gets broadcast widely enough, that’ll be a big plus,” said Phule, pointing to the reporter and her cameraman, working the crowds. There were other reporters there, too-the press had sensed a good human-interest story. “The only thing better than publicity is free publicity,” he said. “I think I’ll go down and mingle with the crowd some-I haven’t even tried any rides yet.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Le Duc Taep. “We’ll make a proper New Atlantean of you yet!”
“I’ll come with you,” said Rembrandt. “I’ve got to check on our attendance monitors.”
The stairs led down to the park’s main street, where groups of tourists were surging forward toward the newly opened rides. Others were more leisurely looking into the souvenir shops along the way.
Rembrandt stopped outside the door and said, “All right, Captain, I can tell something’s eating you. What is it?”
Phule turned to her and said, “The IRS has decided I owe them some enormous amount in back taxes. I mean to fight it, of course, but that’ll take time away from running the company. You may be in charge a lot more-assuming I’m not replaced entirely.”
“Replaced?” Rembrandt stopped in her tracks. “That’s going to happen over our dead bodies, Captain!”
Phule responded with a thin smile. “I appreciate the support, Remmie, but General Blitzkrieg is trying to get rid of me. Knowing him, he’d probably enjoy wiping out the entire company in the process-he considers its very existence a blot on his record.”
“And making it a success is probably a deadly insult,” said Rembrandt. The two of them began walking, sharing the street with the ebullient crowds. “The brass hats couldn’t make this company effective, but you came in and did it in a couple of years-mainly by scrapping their system. And in the process, showing them up as incompetents who couldn’t recognize good legionnaires if they fell over them.”
“Don’t say that where the general can hear you,” said Phule, smiling. “Actually, as much as I appreciate the compliment, you know as well as I do that everybody in the company deserves the credit. It’s a shame it’s all going down the drain, now that we’ve finally accomplished something worthwhile.”
“Sir, I’m going to do my best to make sure it doesn’t go down the drain,” said Rembrandt. She stopped at the corner of a little cross-street leading off to more shops and attractions. “Why don’t you enjoy the fruit of your labors? If this park doesn’t cheer you up, we’ve done something very wrong. I’d stay with you, but I’ve got work to do.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant,” said Phule. “I suggest you take your own advice and enjoy the park, too.”
But Rembrandt was already striding purposefully away.
Phule strolled around the park soaking up energy from the crowds for most of the morning. He returned to the central offices to have a working lunch with Taep, who had attendance figures for the morning. Both parks had been thronged with patrons, but the best estimates indicated that New Atlantis Park had drawn a larger crowd-so far. The difference seemed to be in the off-planet visitors, a testimony to the effectiveness of Phule’s publicity campaign. And the lines outside to buy tickets were still impressive. Phule and Taep drank a champagne toast to the clear-cut success. Phule privately hoped that it could continue on the same scale. It had to.
He strolled around the park some more after lunch, watching hoards of local children patiently waiting to board rides (“Stop shoving, Abdul! We’ll all get on when it’s our turn.”), and happy riders emerging from the exits of one ride to go immediately to join a line for the next. He ate an ice-cream cone and took his own turn on the Skipper-a ride that gave the illusion of piloting a small boat through rapids, out in the jungle by the rebel camp. It was thoroughly unauthentic, but great fun.
Finally, despite his worries, he realized he was actually enjoying himself. With a smile, Phule headed back to get the latest attendance figures from Le Duc Taep. But as he entered the little cul-de-sac leading to the park offices a familiar voice addressed him, “About time you got back, Jester.”
It was General Blitzkrieg, rising from a bench outside the park offices, where he’d evidently been waiting for some time. He shook his finger under Phule’s nose and bellowed, “You’ve outdone yourself, Jester. If this is your notion of following orders, I don’t want to see your idea of mutiny.”
Blitzkrieg was literally trembling with anger. Phule had never seen his superior so disturbed. It almost made him hold his tongue. But he knew he had to make one more attempt to make the general see reason.
“General, I don’t think you understand my position,” said Phule. He looked around nervously, but this area had nothing to attract the fun-seekers. At least there were no witnesses to the chewing-out he was undoubtedly about to receive.
“There’s not much to understand,” said Blitzkrieg, backing him toward a corner. Somewhere in the distance, incongruously, Phule heard a brass band playing. “What’s your excuse for aiding and abetting the enemies of the government you were sent to protect?”
Phule did his best to keep his voice calm. “Sir, I have done no such thing. In fact, I’ve insured a lasting peace by persuading the rebel forces to adopt a peaceful program instead of trying to overthrow the government. Stamping out the rebels would have pleased the current government-someone tried to push me in that direction by shooting at me when I arrived on-planet. They probably figured I’d blame it on the rebels and send out a punitive expedition. But that would have started a new war-and my orders were to protect the peace.”
The general loomed over him. “You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, Jester. Not recognizing that is your single greatest failing as an officer.”
“I disagree, sir,” said Phule. “I can’t see how the Legion is hurt by a solution that minimizes the expense of life and property.”
“Minimizes expenses? You gave the rebels millions of credits!” shouted Blitzkrieg. “Now every bandit in the galaxy will be trying to hold us up for business loans!” The general strode forward, backing Phule up against the wall.
“Sir, I gave them nothing until they had declared an end to the rebellion. Once they agreed to work within the system, it was consistent with my orders for me to offer them a private business loan. After all, a successful businessman is the last person who wants to overthrow the government.”
“That’s an excellent point, Captain,” said an unfamiliar voice. Phule and General Blitzkrieg turned to face the person who had come out of the park offices; he was an impeccably dressed man with a cleft chin and an ample mane of gray hair, parted in the middle.