"Yes, sir," said the butler, who'd sat quietly in a chair behind his employer. He opened a door and in walked...Phule. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," the new arrival said in a voice indistinguishable from the original.
"What the devil, have you cloned yourself?" said Tullie Bascomb over the babble of voices.
"Not quite," said Phule. "This is a custom model from Andromatic, set up to our specifications. It has a very limited set of functions, but they should be sufficient for the purpose. Most of the time, it'll sit behind a desk, looking busy. But it can also walk around the casino, even sit down for a drink. It can carry on a conversation, as long as it doesn't have to be too profound-and it's programmed to break it off the minute somebody strays beyond general topics."
"Good lord, Captain, you don't intend to leave this android to run the casino in your absence?" Rafael said.
"Oh, it won't be running anything," said Phule. "You and your staff will be doing that. All it has to do is show up often enough to convince people that I'm still on the job. If somebody really needs to talk to me-which shouldn't happen all that often-well, that's what communicators are for."
"But, Captain, you have a habit of getting yourself in the news," Lex pointed out. "Your company is bound to attract attention in its new assignment, and then your picture will be on screens all over the galaxy-showing you're obviously several light-years away from here."
"Nobody believes what they see on the news," said Phule. "They've seen too many stories where they used stock footage of some politician-usually, it doesn't matter a bit. Just tell people I'm back and forth all the time, taking care of details on both ends. Andromatic tells me this basic model is very popular with political leaders. It should work for us."
"So, instead of a Phule running the place, we'll have a dummy," said Doc, grinning broadly.
"I can see you've got everything set up," said Rafael, after the laughter had died down. "Well, then, I guess the only thing to do is to iron out the details."
"I hope so," said Phule. "And the sooner the better. Now, you'll be getting back the block of rooms the troops have been using. That's going to be good for the bottom line, of course, but there'll be some reconversion needed..."
The meeting got down to business, with the Andromatic Phule standing behind the original, occasionally nodding as if in agreement with some point being made. After a while, nobody paid it much attention-which was exactly what Phule had hoped for.
10
Journal #341
Once a timetable had been set for the company's departure from Lorelei, the actual preparations went ahead smoothly. The main complication was keeping the withdrawal a secret from the public particularly from the local criminal elements that might try to seize the opportunity to press their own interest in the lucrative casino.
I myself thought the elaborate efforts to deceive the mob leaders, especially Maxine Pruett, were perhaps more complex than necessary. That was before I found an incentive to take a personal role in the subterfuge...
Lieutenant Rembrandt checked her communicator. Its readout showed Galactic Standard Time as 21:29-half an hour until the shuttle carrying the last of Phule's legionnaires was scheduled to leave. So far, everything had gone as well as anyone could have expected-she was almost tempted to describe it as having been done with military precision, except she knew the military far too well. The company's heavy equipment was already in transit, and would be waiting in orbit when they arrived at Landoor. And almost all the Legion personnel were already on the transport ship.
It was the "almost" that had her worried.
She had a very good idea which members of the company would show up at the last minute. The captain was one of them-no surprise there at all. He was still at the casino, settling the last details of the withdrawal. Nor was she particularly disturbed to see that the captain's butler had not checked in. As a civilian, Beeker was of course not subject to Legion discipline or rules. Most likely, the butler was with his employer-or on an errand for him. Still, he was normally punctuality itself; it would be a real surprise if he missed the shuttle.
On the other hand, the absence of Sushi and Do-Wop was some cause for concern, predictable though it was. Whenever there was trouble, one or the other was likely to be in it up to his ears. This time it looked as if both were involved. They'd never missed a ship, to her knowledge-not yet, at least. But they were an excellent bet to come racing up at the last possible second, with someone or another in hot pursuit. She hoped she wouldn't have to slam the shuttle door in a security officer's face. She'd spent so much time building a positive image for the company, it'd be a shame to leave the station on that sort of note.
But with half an hour to go, she might as well spend the time doing something other than worrying. She pulled out the art history book she'd been reading. She'd never had much interest in the old twentieth-century "moderns"-it seemed curious to call them that, so long after they were all dead and gone-but the author was making a good case that Picasso was, after all, a very talented draughtsman. She turned to where she'd left off and began reading...
Maxine Pruett didn't usually answer the communicator herself. In fact, it was fairly unusual that she even heard its summons. People didn't call her-she called them. If they needed to get in touch, there was an office number, with a secretary during the day and an answering service at night. Only very close personal friends (and there weren't many of them, nowadays) ever called her at home. And when they did, Laverna answered it.
So it took her some time to notice the persistent buzz. She had the sound on the holovision turned up loud, as always, and the comm unit was in another of the suite's eight rooms. Maxie didn't have a nagging fear of missing an important call. That was for other people to worry about. She was perfectly capable of letting the communicator buzz until she felt like picking it up, or turning off the buzzer if she wasn't in the mood. It wasn't her that was going to be in trouble if an important message didn't get through...
But the damned thing had been buzzing for at least five minutes, and Laverna still hadn't answered. Where the hell was Laverna? Finally, Maxine stomped out to her office-really Laverna's office, since Laverna was the one who used it ninety-five percent of the time-and picked up the handset-a basic, voice-only unit. Nobody in her business wanted a videophone in her private home. "Who's there?" she growled.
"Ah, Mrs. Pruett, I was beginning to wonder if you were there," said a familiar voice.
"Captain Jester," she said, although she knew perfectly well his real name was Phule. Now this was a surprise. "What can I do for you, Captain?" she added. She wasn't inclined to do anything for him, but it was good policy to be minimally polite to somebody who had an armed Legion company on call.
"You can tell me where my butler is," snarled the captain. "Better yet, you can send him back-all in one piece, if you don't mind."
"Your butler?" Maxine's brow furrowed. "I don't know anything about your butler."
"Don't play games with me, Mrs. Pruett," said the captain. "Beeker was near your headquarters when he disappeared, and I have reason to believe he had gone there to see one of your subordinates. Now, are you going to send him back or not?"
"I don't know what you're talking abou...Wait a minute," said Maxine, suddenly making a mental connection.
"Which of my subordinates was he coming to see?"
"I don't know her full name," said Phule stiffly. "Livorno, Laverne-something like that."