"Assuming there are no problems with the opening," Phule growled, continuing to scan the document. "The trouble there is your casino manager's on Maxine's payroll, and he's been staffing your tables with crooked dealers. I'm willing to bet that when you open your doors, they won't be working to rake money in for the house-they'll be passing it out!"
Gunther blinked. "Huey's part of this?"
"That's right. Where did you find him, anyway?"
"Well, Maxine recommended ... Oh!"
"I see," the Legionnaire said, shaking his head. "It all starts to fit together. And what kind of a deal do you have with him?"
"He actually is working fairly cheap," the youth protested. "Barely minimum wage and-oh my God!"
"Don't tell me, let me guess." Phule sighed. ,"A salary and two percent of the Fat Chance. Right?"
Gunther nodded dumbly. "Maxine negotiated the deal for me."
"I figured as much," the commander said, tossing the contract back onto Rafael's desk. "That's where she'll get the missing two percent to give her controlling interest. Huey will side with her on every vote ... if she hasn't had him sign it over completely."
The youth leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.
"I still can't believe it," he said. "Maxine. She's been like a mother to me."
"Believe it," Phule said grimly. "Your `mother' has tied an anchor around your neck and is about to push you off the end of the pier. I suggest you start learning how to swim."
"But how?" Gunther said, almost as a plea. "If you're right, and she's sabotaged the tables, there's no way I can make enough to pay off the loan."
"Don't worry about the tables," the commander said. "We happen to have an honest set of dealers standing by ... and a new casino manager. It'll cost, but we can probably clean house in time to save the casino. I think you'll agree that the time to strike is just before your grand opening. That way, we minimize the chance of Maxine's switching to an alternate plan."
"You mean we can beat her? You've solved the problem?"
"Not so fast," Phule said, holding up a hand. "We have other worries besides the tables. When was the last time you had your computer programs checked and audited?"
"The computer?" Rafael frowned. "It was checked just before you arrived. Why?"
"We've gotten word that part of Maxine's plan is to fiddle with your computer," the Legionnaire said. "Who cleared the computer?"
"There's an outfit here on Lorelei that specifically checks the casino computers," Gunther said. "They're completely reliable and bonded. In fact, Huey said-"
"Huey?" Phule interrupted.
"That's right!" the youth gasped. "Huey was the one who recommended them. If he's working against us ..."
"Then odds are your computer is now a time bomb," the commander finished grimly. "All right, let's take it from there. What all does your computer control?"
"The whole complex is hooked into it. The hotel ... even the theater's lights for our entertainment specials."
"Does the casino hook into it for anything?"
"No, I don't-yes! The computer controls the video slot machines!"
"All of them?" Phule scowled. "Including the ones with the progressive multimillion jackpots?"
The casino owner could only nod.
"That could be disastrous," the Legionnaire said. "What happens if we pull the plug on them? Just shut down the slots until this whole thing is over?"
Gunther shook his head. "We can't do that. The slots are one of the biggest draws we have-any casino has-not to mention the most profitable. If we shut off the slots, we can kiss the whole opening goodbye."
Phule sighed. "Then we'll just have to get the programs fixed." And that means ... Damn, I hate to do that!"
"Do what?" the casino owner said.
"What? Oh ... sorry. It means doing something I really don't like to do: ask a favor of my father!"
One of the Old Earth authors, Hemingway, I believe, is attributed with the observation "Rich people are just like anyone else ... only richer."
During my association with my employer, I have grown to appreciate the truth of these words more and more. The truly rich are different, in that in times of crisis, they reflexively use money and power on a scale so alien to the average person that they almost seem to be of another species. (It should be noted here that I still consider myself to be an "average person." Though it has been mentioned that I'm comfortably well of financially, that condition is relatively recent, and I therefore lack the abovementioned reflexes of the truly rich. That mental state requires a lifetime, if not generations, of conditioning.)
Where they are like everyone else is in the problems they encounter ... for example, in dealing with their parents ...
"Hello ... Dad? It's me. Willard ... your son."
The Legionnaire commander had retreated to the relative privacy of his own room for this call, choosing not to communicate with his father from Gunther's office. This, in itself, was an indication of his uncertainty of how the conversation would go.
"I know," the holo projection in the room said gruffly. "Nobody else has the clout to pull me out of a negotiation meeting."
Seated in a corner, safely out of the camera's view, Beeker took advantage of the rare chance to compare the two men side by side.
If anything, Victor Phule looked more like a military commander than his son did-or the majority of active military officers, for that matter. His manner and bearing displayed what his heir potential might achieve in maturity. Where his son was slender, the elder Phule had the lean, fit look of a timber wolf. His features had the sharp, angular planes of a granite cliff, whereas his son's face still showed the softness of youth. In fact, the only visible clue as to his age was the white hair at his temples, but even that seemed a testimony of his strength rather than a hint of senility. All in all, anyone seeing Victor Phule would arrive at the conclusion, not incorrectly, that this was not a man to be trifled with, particularly if he was annoyed, as he seemed to be now.
"Well, you've got me," the image growled. "What's the problem this time?"
"Problem?" the commander said. "What makes you think there's a problem, sir?"
"Maybe because the only time you call me is when you're in some kind of a scrape," his father pointed out. "It wouldn't kill you to write once in a while, you know."
"As I recall," the commander said testily, "the last time I called you was on that weapons deal with the Zenobians. That didn't turn out too bad for you, did it? An exclusive on a new weapons design in exchange for some worthless swampland?"
"A deal you closed before you had the swampland under contract, as I recall," the elder Phule defended. "I'll concede the point, though. Sorry if I'm a bit touchy. This meeting is a lot rougher than I thought it would be, and it's getting under my skin. The irritating part is that what I'm offering is better than what they're asking for, but they won't budge. It's tempting to just let them have their way, but you know what will happen down the road if I do."
"They'll claim you set them up," the younger Phule supplied. "Gee, that's tough, Dad."
"Whatever," Victor Phule said. "That's my problem, and I shouldn't let it interfere with us. So why did you call?"
From Beeker's vantage point, he could see his employer wince just a bit before answering as he realized he had inadvertently painted himself into a corner.
"I'll keep this short, realizing you're in the middle of a meeting," the commander said. "Basically, Dad, I need to borrow your Bug Squad. Rent them, actually."
It is to the elder Phule's credit that he did not indulge in any "I told you so's" at his son's expense, but instead simply addressed the problem at hand.
"My what?" he said, scowling.