"Well, sir, if I understand the situation, the computer also controls the lights and sound system for the showroom stage."
"That's right. So?"
"I believe, sir, that the showroom and its featured entertainers are one of the primary draws the casino uses to attract its clientele. In short, if there's no show, there may not be many people attending the opening to play the slots, making the question of the slots program relatively irrelevant."
"I see," Phule said. "Then we-"
"What's more," the butler said as if he hadn't been interrupted, "I believe that Mr. Gunther has booked Dee Dee Watkins for the opening, and-"
"Who?"
Beeker rolled his eyes in not so mock exasperation.
"Really, sir," he said. "You really should read more than the financial pages once in a while. Dee Dee Watkins has been a rising holo star for several years now, and she's just put together a nightclub act tour, which is supposed to premiere at the grand opening."
"Oh."
"Not quite yet, sir," the butler corrected. "You see, while I have not had the privilege of reviewing Ms. Watkins's contract personally, my recent experience with Lieutenant Rembrandt while hiring our own actors leads me to believe that a performer of her standing will have a clause in her bookings requiring that she be paid in full even if she does not perform, providing the reason for her performance is a failure on the part of the booking party to supply stage equipment of at least minimal professional standards-which I would assume includes lights and a functioning sound system. I would further assume that her fees for performing, while, perhaps, not of the same magnitude as the potential losses from multiple jackpots at the video slots, are, nonetheless, substantial-and I know how you dislike paying people not to perform their contracted services."
He paused, then nodded at his employer.
"Now, sir."
"Oh," Phule responded dutifully.
Silence hung in the air as Beeker waited respectfully for his employer to digest this information.
At last, Phule let out a sigh.
"Okay," he said. "I can see where that will have to be addressed. Any other jewels of insight?"
The question was meant facetiously, but that was always a danger in the company Phule kept.
"As a matter of fact, sir," Beeker said, "it occurs to me that you might also want to arrange for some sort of audit or backup system for the front desk of the hotel."
"The front desk?"
"I believe the computer is utilized rather heavily for both the reservations and the billings for the hotel, and aside from the annoyance of double bookings, there is a long-standing law that in such an event, the hotel is responsible for finding the extra guests equivalent lodging and absorbing the cost."
"And there are a lot of tour groups who are supposed to have reservations for the opening," Phule finished grimly.
The commander produced his Port-A-Brain minicomputer from his pocket and pulled up a chair next to the room's holophone.
"Get on the horn and order us some coffee," he said. "We've got a lot of work to do. And Beek?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I don't want to hear any grumbling about my not getting enough sleep. Not for a while, at least."
That Lawrence Bombest was surprised to receive a holo call from Willard Phule was an understatement. While he had formed a grudging respect for the job Phule had done in upgrading the attitudes of his down-at-the-heels Space Legion company while they were temporarily housed at the Plaza, Bombest would not in his wildest dreams fantasize that the two of them were at all close.
In his position of manager of the Plaza Hotel, one of the oldest, most respected on Haskin's Planet, it had been his duty to act as guardian of those stately facilities, and while the Legionnaires had turned out to be much better behaved than he had originally feared, more often than not it had placed himself and their commander in adversarial roles. As surprised as he was at the mere existence of the call, however, he was dumbfounded at its content.
"I know we're both busy, Bombest," the ghostly holo-image said, "so I'll cut right to the chase. Would you be willing to take a brief sabbatical from the Plaza to manage a hotel here on Lorelei? Say, for about a month?"
"I ... I'd have to think about it, Mr. Phule," the manager stammered, caught totally unprepared by the question.
"Unfortunately we don't have a lot of time," the image said, shaking its head. "Yes or no?"
"In that case, I'm afraid the answer would have to be no," Bombest said. "If nothing else, my commitment here would forbid it. I'd have to apply for the necessary leave time, and arrange for a replacement ..."
"I'm afraid you're underestimating me again, Bombest," Phule broke in. "That's already been handled. I cleared it with Reggie Page ... you remember the name? The CEO of the Webber Combine that owns the chain? Anyway, I've explained the situation to him, and he's agreed to give you the time off, with pay, of course, and to arrange for a replacement until you return. By the way, I hope it goes without saying that you'll be generously compensated for your work here, as well as having an expense account, so that your combined income for the period will be substantial."
"So this was all done in advance?" Bombest said.
"There was no point in asking you if you weren't going to be available," the image said, "and, no offense, Bombest, I figured I had a better chance of getting through to Reggie and getting a timely answer than you did. Anyway, the question isn't whether or not you can do it, it's whether you will do it. You're the only one who can answer that."
"I see. If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Phule, why me? Forgive me, but I was under the impression that we didn't particularly get along while you were staying here."
"Oh, I don't pretend that I like you, Bombest," Phule said with a tight smile, "and I don't expect that you particularly care for me as a person. Our styles are far too different for us to ever be `good buddies.' You are, however, the best I've seen at what you do, which is handling problems at a hotel, and I happen to be in a jam right now where I need that talent. The question isn't if we are or will be friends, but if you're willing to work with me."
Bombest pursed his lips. "I don't suppose you've checked the availability of flights from Haskin's to Lorelei, along with your other inquiries?"
"Actually I've gone a bit further than that," the image responded. "When-excuse me, if-you're ready to go, you'll find the governor's military ship standing by at the spaceport to bring you directly here. As I said, we're on a tight timetable."
This bit of information spoke volumes to Bombest. While there had been no love lost between himself and Phule, their relationship was positively rosy if compared to the Legionnaire commander's interaction with the military governor of the planet. While details of those encounters were never made public, it was no secret that they fought like cats and dogs whenever their paths crossed. The fact that Phule would approach the governor for the use of the official space launch, not to mention what he must have had to commit to obtain it, was a tribute to how badly the commander wanted Bombest's services. Much more so than a casual call to Reggie Page.
"Very well, Mr. Phule," the manager said, making up his mind. "I'll do it. There are a few matters I have to clear up before I go, but they shouldn't take more than an hour or two. Then I'll be on my way."
The image smiled. "Excellent. Welcome aboard, Bombest. I'll be looking forward to seeing you."
After the connection was broken, Bombest had a few moments to reflect on the call which had just turned his immediate future topsy-turvy.