Phule’s Paradise by Robert Asprin

At last, Phule let out a sigh.

“Okay,” he said. “I can see where that will have to be addressed. Any other jewels of insight?”

The question was meant facetiously, but that was always a danger in the company Phule kept.

“As a matter of fact, sir,” Beeker said, “it occurs to me that you might also want to arrange for some sort of audit or backup system for the front desk of the hotel.”

“The front desk?”

“I believe the computer is utilized rather heavily for both the reservations and the billings for the hotel, and aside from the annoyance of double bookings, there is a long-standing law that in such an event, the hotel is responsible for finding the extra guests equivalent lodging and absorbing the cost.”

“And there are a lot of tour groups who are supposed to have reservations for the opening,” Phule finished grimly.

The commander produced his Port-A-Brain minicomputer from his pocket and pulled up a chair next to the room’s holophone.

“Get on the horn and order us some coffee,” he said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. And Beek?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I don’t want to hear any grumbling about my not getting enough sleep. Not for a while, at least.”

That Lawrence Bombest was surprised to receive a holo call from Willard Phule was an understatement. While he had formed a grudging respect for the job Phule had done in upgrading the attitudes of his down-at-the-heels Space Legion company while they were temporarily housed at the Plaza, Bombest would not in his wildest dreams fantasize that the two of them were at all close.