The commander squinted briefly at the manager’s brass name badge.
“Yes, Mr. Bombast. My name is Willard Phule and I’d like to know who canceled my reservation for a hundred rooms.”
Safely out of the line of fire and sight, the desk clerk struggled to hide a smile. Phule had inadvertently hit upon the staff’s nickname for Bombest … Bombast … though, until now, no one had uttered it to his face.
“That’s Bombest, sir … and I canceled that reservation myself. “
“May I ask why?”
“Certainly. I assumed there had been a typographical error on the part of whoever placed the reservation. It was done by computer rather than through our staff, and I’ve found that such errors are commonplace.” The manager gave a smug smile, which was not returned. “Realizing the cost of a hundred of our rooms for a period of several weeks would be, shall we say, prohibitive, and, not being sure if the actual request was for one or ten rooms, I canceled the reservation as a courtesy. At the time, I felt we could accommodate you on site according to your actual needs.”
“I see. I don’t suppose you bothered to run a check on the credit card number that accompanied the reservation?”
“That is correct. As I said, the cost would be prohibitive.”
Phule made a magician’s pass with his hand and dropped his credit card on the desk in front of the manager.
“I think that should settle the question of prohibitive cost.” To Bombest’s credit, he neither gaped nor cringed at the sight of the card, but rather made a show of turning it over to examine the signature on the back. It was a Dilithium Express card, reserved for the ultra-rich in the galaxy and normally only used to expedite the buying and selling of companies. Despite his outward calm, the manager began to experience a vague niggle of fear that he had bitten off more than he could chew.