That verified, Victor Phule decided to indulge himself with a few moments' conversation. "Luck doesn't enter into it," he said. "Beating these machines is easy, if you have a good system and stick to it"
"You must have a lot of faith in your system," said the woman, eyeing the machine that Phule had just been playing. "Could you teach me how you play?" Victor Phule looked at her again, sizing her up.. "You don't look as if you have enough money to play on these machines," he said. "They're five thousand dollars minimum..."
"Yes, that's what convinced me you must have a good system," said the woman. She paused, then said, "My name's Lola, by the way."
Phule ignored her attempt to get his name. "You need to get a set of five machines and protect them from anyone else playing them until you've won your quota. So if you were thinking about putting a token in one of these, forget about it" Lola smiled.
"I'm afraid that even if I had your confidence, I don't have your bankroll. If I like your system enough to try it, it'll be on the five-dollar machines. But go ahead, Mr... . ?
"Next thing is, you have to set yourself an amount you're going to win, and once you win it, you stop for the day. Slot machines are calibrated to take a certain percentage of the bets made on them, so you have to resist the belief that you can hit the jackpot twice in a row."
"I see," said Lola. "So you're feeding your own bank of machines until they payoff, then quitting while you're ahead."
"Yes, essentially that's it," said Victor Phule. "I'm betting that most of the players are too undisciplined to follow a system like mine. So their losses build the jackpot even bigger for me, you see."
"I guess so," said Lola, nodding dubiously. "But what happens if..." But by then Victor Phule had decided that the young woman was interesting, but not enough so to distract him from his mission of breaking the bank at the Fat Chance Casino. He rubbed his palms together, a signal to the bodyguard, and said, "Well, Miss, it's been a pleasure talking to you. But I really have to get back to work here." And no sooner were the words out of his mouth than Eddie Grossman was there, gently taking the woman by the elbow and steering her toward the exit, talking quietly to her. Eddie was good at what he did-most likely, the young woman would never be aware that she'd been given the brush-off. If he wanted to renew The conversation, it would be as if nothing had ever broken it off.
He put a token in the slot and pulled the lever... .
Lola walked out of the High Rollers' Lounge in the Fat Chance Casino burning with curiosity. Her first encounter with Victor Phule had been, much stranger than shed had expected. About the only thing that fit any predictable pattern was the bodyguard's moving in gently to encourage her to end the conversation with his client Phule must have flashed him some signal she'd missed. But that was all right-she'd actually gotten to talk to him much longer than she'd hoped to. Unfortunately, she hadn't learned very much of use. Victor Phule's explanations of why he was playing the casino's quantum slots didn't make any sense-and that set off all her alarms. She didn't see any reason to point out.
that nobody else but the armaments tycoon was playing the five-thou sand-dollar machines. Without the undisciplined players he depended on to build up the losses, his supposed "system" was nonsense. Besides, everybody but the most unthinking fish knew that the slots gave the worst odds in the whole casino. Obviously, nobody who could build a financial empire like Phule-Proof Industries could be so cavalier about throwing away his money. So there must be something else going on here. What was Victor Phule's real game? Was his conspicuous high rolling nothing more than shilling, meant to encourage others to play recklessly? Was his so-called system just a way to convince players that the slots might not be the bad investment that every sensible gambler claimed they were? Or was something even deeper going on here? Lola did her best to keep her face cheerful, to keep Victor Phule talking. Whatever his game was, she intended to find out-and to be there to scam him out of a share of the proceeds, whenever it did payoff. It wasn't going to be an easy job, Lola told herself. But it had a lot better chance of paying off than Victor Phule's system for playing the slots. And whether or not he realized it, she had a lot more at stake than he did. She smiled again. Always bet on the hungry fighter, said the old gambler's cliche. One thing for sure: she was a lot hungrier than Victor Phule. And she was going to get her bite out of him, one way or another.
Back at Zenobia Base, Willard Phule's wrist intercom buzzed, then Mother's voice came through the speaker.
"Hate to wake you up, cutie pie, but we've detected an incoming ship. You might want to tidy up before they get here."
Phule, who had been wide-awake {it was midaftenoon, after all) and working at his desk, grinned "Thanks, Mother," he said.
"That must be the party of bigwigs we've got to entertain for Ambassador Gottesman. Try to hail them, and patch me in when they answer."
"Will do, sweetums," puited Mother, and she broke the connection.
"Do you plan to meet these, uh, bigwigs in person?" asked Beeker, looking up from the financial program he'd been running.
"Sure, if it really is them," said Phule. "I'm not going to go charging out to meet just anybody again. I learned my lesson with those AEIOU inspectors. I all but rolled out the red carpet for them, and they've been nothing but trouble ever since."
"That's an understatement, sir," said Beeker, sniffing faintly. "I found them an unpleasant company from the beginning. I am more and more convinced that they were dispatched here by one of your enemies and now need to find sufficient violations to justify the expense of shipping them to this planet."
"It does seem like the kind of thing General Blitzkrieg would try," Phule said, musing. "Although it might even be a bit too subtle for him. He's more the kind to try something direct, like sending Major Botchup to replace me in command. That's the old Legion way, which is all Blitzkrieg seems to understand."
"I don't think I'd use the term understand to describe the general's mental processes," said Beeker. "Still, I wouldn't be so quick to overlook the possibility that he might from time to time come into the possession of competent advice and actually follow it. Even as you do on occasion, sir."
Phule stared at Beeker, trying to figure out whether or not the butler expected him to take offense at the comment.
After a long moment, he shrugged, and said, "Well, I can't deny the possibility. But now that they're here, figuring out who sicced them on us is secondary to figuring out how to get them off the company's back. 1 think we're about as environment-friendly..."
"A barbarous locution," muttered Beeker.
Phule hesitated one beat, then continued, "About as environmental-friendly as we can be and still carry out our mission," he said. He was used by now to the butler's correcting his grammar and diction on the fly, although he couldn't always figure out exactly what Beeker was objecting to. Judging from Beeker's sour expression, his attempt to correct himself hadn't made things any better. "Besides, this is the Zenobians' home world," he added. "I'd think as long as they're happy with the company's performance, a bunch of Alliance bureaucrats don't have much to say about it."
"Don't be so sure of that, sir," said Beeker. "Have you looked into the precise terms on which Zenobia joined the Alliance? 1 would be very surprised if the natives of a new world were allowed to come in without major concessions to the powers that be-of which the regulatory bureaucracy is a not insignificant constituent. Having gotten a toehold on this world, the AEIOU is bound to do all it can to increase its power and influence here. No sensible person could expect otherwise."