Phule’s Paradise by Robert Asprin

“By the way, where is Beeker?” Rembrandt said, peering around the room as if expecting to discover the butler hiding behind the furniture. “I’d like to buy him a drink sometime now that things have eased up a little.”

“He has the night off,” Phule said. “In fact, I believe he has a date.”

“You mean with the Ice Bitch again?” Rembrandt scowled. “I don’t know why you don’t try harder to discourage that, Captain. That woman gives me the creepy-crawlies.”

“I figure who Beeker sees is his own business,” the commander said. “Since you asked, though, I believe he’s seeing Dee Dee Watkins tonight.”

“Now, there’s a mismatch,” the lieutenant growled, refilling her glass.

“You see something wrong with a starlet showing interest in a lowly butler?” Phule said, his voice chilling slightly.

“No … I mean I don’t know what he sees in her.”

“I do,” Armstrong smirked.

Rembrandt stuck her tongue out at him.

“Speaking of Ms. Watkins,” Armstrong said, “there is a situation that’s come up that you should be aware of, Captain.”

“Now what?”

“Well, sir”-Armstrong sneaked a wink at Rembrandt, who grinned in return-“you know that fake holo-movie we threw together as an excuse to evacuate the complex? It seems we’ve gotten a raft of calls both from people who want to invest in the film as backers and from outfits that want to bid on exclusive distribution rights. So far Mother’s just been taking names and messages, but eventually someone is going to have to call them back and let them all know there’s no movie. Remmie and I have talked it over, and we agree that you’re the logical person to handle that … sir.”