Phule’s Paradise by Robert Asprin

“This?” the Legionnaire chirped, bending one eyestalk to look at his implement. “You are correct that it is a weapon. It is magazine-loaded, however, which enables me to change the loads depending on the situation at hand.”

He suddenly pointed the weapon at the fallen side of beef, and it erupted with a soft stutter of air.

The thugs could see a line of impacts on the meat, but no appreciable damage. Then they noticed the surface start to bubble, and a sharp hiss reached their ears.

“As you can see,” the Sinthian was saying, “I neglected to bring my tranquilizer darts on duty with me today, an omission which will surely earn me a reprimand if reported. All I have with me are acid balls-and, of course, a few high explosives.”

He realigned the weapon with the motionless men.

“Now, if your curiosity is settled, gentlemen, I suggest you begin unloading the van as requested. I’m afraid it may ruin your clothes, but you should have come dressed for the occasion.”

The thugs glanced at Stilman.

“Do as he says,” the headman croaked, still under the knife.

“And pay for ruined meat before you go,” his captor added.

“But I didn’t …”

“You throw meat on the ground, you pay for it!” the little man growled, tightening his grip. “Yes?”

“Okay, okay!” Stilman gasped. “Pay the man … Now!”

In my privileged position, l was able to hear not one, but two accounts of the loading dock incident: the one which constituted the official report, and the one passed among the Legionnaires over drinks and coffee. As such, I could not help but note that in the account rendered to my employer, both Escrima’s role and the use of the acid balls were diplomatically omitted.