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There stood Mahatma, smiling his beatific smile at the Environmental Dog. "Hello," said the little legionnaire. "It is not often that a famous animal star visits Omega Company." Rembrandt took a deep breath. So far, at least, Barky didn't seem to be taking exception to Mahatma's presence. But she knew Mahatma too well, especially his uncanny ability to find the single most unsettling question to ask in any given situation. That might not make Barky angry, but she couldn't be sure that Chief Inspector Snieff wouldn't sic the dog on him if she thought he was getting impertinent. And Mahatma could get very impertinent...

"Mahatma," said Lieutenant Rembrandt, "weren't you supposed to be on perimeter guard duty just now?" Maybe he'd get the hint...

But Mahatma wasn't taking any hints. "I wonder why the inspectors risk bringing a genetically engineered animal to this world?" Rembrandt stepped forward, putting an arm around Mahatma's shoulders. "Uh, I'm sure the inspectors know exactly what they're doing..."

"Oh, we can speak for ourselves, Lieutenant," said Chief Inspector Snieff, with a predatory smile. "Of course Barky is genetically engineered," she continued. "But since there are no other creatures of his species here, there is no chance of his passing on his genes, and therefore no threat to the Zenobian environment."

"On worlds with other dogs, we take additional precautions, naturally," added Inspector Slurry.

"Naturally," said Mahatma, still smiling broadly.

"Well, shall we go see the captain?" said Rembrandt, attempting to herd the environmental inspectors toward the entrance to the base module. It was only a matter of moments before Mahatma sprung his inevitable follow up question, which was likely to be even more unsettling than the first one.

She wasn't fast enough. "Of course, there are other ways for those genes to get into the environment;" said Mahatma.

Slurry looked at him quizzically. "I'm not sure what you mean..."

Mahatma's smile got even wider. "There are many hungry beasts on this planet," he said. "What if one of them ate the poor Environmental Dog?"

"Ate Barky?" said Snieff, her jaw falling.

"Be very, very careful," urged Mahatma. "I am sure the AEIOU would not want to be responsible for destroying an unspoiled ecology because it let its famous mascot roam about unguarded." He smiled and bowed, and turned away, leaving the three inspectors dumbfounded.

Rembrandt said once more, "Shall we go see the inside of the base?"

"Yes, by all means," said Snieff, looking around apprehensively. "Come, Barky-stay close to me!"

"Woof!" said Barky, the Environmental Dog, lifting a hind leg to give his ear a vigorous scratch.

"A slots system?" Ernie sat up, an eager expression on his face. "Y'know, if he's really got one, that's like money in the bank. People have been looking for a way to cut the house odds in slots for centuries . ."

"Ernie, we're talking about Victor Phule, the arms dealer," said Lola. "This is a man who already has more money in the bank than most small planetary governments. He's the last person in the galaxy to need a system for beating slots."

"Hey, maybe he's like, diversifying," said Ernie. He took a sip of his cold beer, and added, "You know, in case the old mans business goes through some hard times. I hear wars are a bit scarce nowadays..."

"Right, and the food business might hit a patch of real hard times, too," said Lola, scornfully. "Whatever reason Victor Phule has for playing those slots, it's not because he needs the money-or the exercise, either. If we can figure out his game, there's a good chance we can get in on it"

"What if he's just having fun?" asked Ernie. "You know, even a rich guy must like to let his hair down and stop pinching every last penny. Some guys tool around in space yachts, some play the rocket races-maybe the old boy gets his splats out by throwing five scragoonchies into a slot and pulling the handle. Hey, he can afford it"

"It's such a dumb idea, it might even be right," admitted Lola. She paced back and forth in her stocking feet, thinking out loud. "But we can't ignore the chance that he's up to something bigger, Ernie. Besides, he's the closest person on the station to the guy we're supposed to be snatching. He could be the whole key to our getting off of Lorelei Station with our hides intact, not to mention coming out ahead of the game. It's worth our time and effort to scope out whatever it is he's doing, and look for a way to turn it to our own advantage."

"I'll buy into that, I guess," said Ernie. He spread his hands apart, palms up, and said, "Thing is, how are you gonna find out what he's doing? You already asked him flat out, and you don't wanna believe the answer he gave you.

So what've ya got that's better?"

"I don't know-yet" Lola peered out the window of their modestly priced room. The view was nothing special; another block of workers' living quarters like theirs. Then again, nobody came to Lorelei expecting to see natural beauty, unless the showgirls in the casinos fit that description (some did). Lola drummed her fingers on the plastiglas, then turned to Ernie, and said, "Victor Phule is the real thing.

Even a small fraction of his money could put us on Easy Street But we can't afford any mistakes. The one thing I don't want to do is alert him-or more likely his bodyguards-that somebody's keeping an eye him. So I need you to do some of the spy work. You think you're up to it?"

"Sure, sure," said Ernie, stretching. "You know me..."

"That's why I'm worried," said Lola. She walked over and put her hand on Ernie's head. "This bodyguard isn't some third-rate musclehead." said Lola. "I don't know where he came from, but he's very smooth, and very professional. He's likely to remember my face a good long time. So I've got to be really careful where and when I pop up."

"I get the picture, babes," said Ernie. "What you want me to do is peek over the old boy's shoulder, try to figure out his system, but keep the guard from noticing. Nothin' to it..."

"Wrong!" said Lola, and she smacked her hand on top of his head. "You couldn't fool this guard if he spotted you six dry martinis and a fake beard. I'm sorry, Ernie, he's just way out of your class. And nearly out of mine, I think. But I've got a plan..."

"Yeah, sure," said Ernie, rubbing his head where she'd hit him. "Your last brilliant plan blew up in our face, with nothing to show until for it until we got sent back here to finish the job right-at our own expense. What kind of dope do you think lam?"

"A smarter one because of what's already happened," said Lola. "And so am 1 Listen to this..." Ernie listened, skeptically at first, pointing out objections to Lola's plan. But gradually he, began to nod, then enthusiastically to offer suggestions of his own. Finally, after nearly an hour, he said. "All right you win. It's worth a try, especially considering we got nothin' else to try."

"Good," said Lola. "Now; here's what I want you to do first..."

The shuttle was already on the ground, and the dust of its landing mostly settled, when Gears guided the Legion hoverjeep over a low hill and came into sight of it. There were a couple of men at work unloading large cases of equipment from an open hatchway, and another stood studying a map under the shade of the shuttle. The afternoon sun was beating down fiercely, without a trace of cloud in the sky.

Lieutenant Armstrong stood up in the passenger seat and waved. "Hello the shuttle!" he called. Phule had chosen him to greet the hunting expedition while he and Lieutenant Rembrandt escorted the AEIOU inspectors on a tour of the Legion base.