"The Legion's lexical preferences are not my affair," said Korg. He showed his own teeth-which Phule knew was probably equivalent to a human smile. At least, when Flight Leftenant Qual showed his teeth, it was a smile. So at least the Zenobian didn't seem to be personally offended by the request. It looked more as if his refusal was a policy matter that Phule could turn around by offering a few incentives.

Phule had dealt with that kind of problem before. "Of course, we - wouldn't expect to bring a party of off-world hunters onto your planet without some compensation..." he began.

"Compensation?" Korg blinked. "It is not a matter that can be orthagonalized by compensation, Captain. This is the sacred ancestral swampland of the Zenobian race that you propose I allow your off-world hunters to invade."

Phule held up his hands. "Chief Korg, I hope you don't think I'd come to you with such an unseemly proposal. In fact, we offworlders are only here at your invitation. It would be very bad form for us to try to tell you to open up any particular areas of your beautiful planet for off-world visitors. But you were willing to open an area that your people weren't using for our Legion camp: Why not another area for off-world people to hunt in-for appropriate compensation, of course?"

Korg stood up and went to the window, staring out at the huge asparagus-like trees that lined the street outside. After a moment he turned to face the video pickup, and said, "I will take this under consideration. There may be areas we can allow your hunters to visit-as long as they remain within the-bounds specified, and destroy only those species we permit And at the same time I shall determine what compensation ought to be appropriate-if your hunters are prosperous enough to come visit Zenobia simply to hunt, I would expect that they can sustain a significant disbursement for the privilege."

"That sounds like something we can agree on," said Phule. "Could you have some of your people give me a list of areas that might become available for hunting? And, if possible, some indication of what kind of game would be available in those areas? Once I have that in hand, we can begin to find out how much our bigwigs might-be willing to pay for the privilege of coming here to hunt."

"So let it be encoded," said Chief Potentary Korg. "So let it be done." He closed the videophone connection.

Phule turned to Beeker, who had sat just out of the video pickup's field of view, monitoring the exchange.

"Well, Beeks, I think we've got what we're after-assuming the old lizard doesn't set too high a price for shooting his dinos."

"Since State will be footing the bill, I suspect the price will be no object, sir," said Beeker.

"They can simply have the IRS pass the cost along to the taxpayers-business as usual, in other words."

"IRS?" said Phule. "Ugh-don't remind me. If you hadn't found me a galaxy-sized loophole, those bloodsuckers would have drained me dry. I'm amazed they gave up so easily."

"Don't be so sure that they have, sir," said Beeker. "Or alternatively, that they haven't persuaded their friends in other government agencies to single you out for their attentions. It may be no coincidence that the Alliance Ecological Interplanetary Observation Union has chosen to request an environmental impact statement from you, not exactly the thing one would expect them to require of a military unit, if you follow me."

"Oh, I doubt that's anything to worry about," said Phule. He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. "Odds are, it's just some bureaucrat looking for a way to pressure us into tossing him a bribe. I don't mind that-as long as the rascal stays properly bribed, once I've paid him."

"There's never any real guarantee of that, sir," said Beeker. "The best one can hope for is that not too many other bureaucrats learn where the pot of gold is located. But sooner or later, they're certain to sniff it out."

"We'll worry about that if it happens," said Phule. "And unless I get old and fat before my time, I'll have moved on to something else by the time they realize they might be able to get a few credits out of me. It's hard to pick a man's pockets when he won't stand still and wait for you."

"I hope you're right, sir," said Beeker. "One never ought to underestimate one's enemies-especially when they wield the power to tax and to imprison."

"Oh, I won't underestimate them, old bean," said Phule.

"But I'm not about to let them scare me, either."

"Very well, sir," said Beeker, but his expression made it clear that he had ample reservations.

"Well, if you're trying to hide anything from me, you're doing a damned good job of it," said Victor Phule, grudgingly.

"The captain brought in some pretty slick accountants," said Tullie Bascomb, with a shrug. "In this business, your bookkeeper can make you almost as much money as your bookmaker."

"Understood," said Victor Phule. "That's precisely why I asked to examine both sets of books-more to the point, it's why I'm still not entirely convinced they're accurate. Are you certain you don't have a third set you're hiding from me?"

"If there's a third set, the captain hasn't told me anything about it," said Bascomb. The casino manager stood comfortably at the foot of the desk where Phule was working, showing no signs of anxiety. "Not that it's any of my business, you understand," he continued. "I make sure the floor's running smoothly, and leave the rest up to the people the captain's put in charge. He wants my opinion, all he has to do is ask. But I'm not going to stick my nose into their business."

Victor Phule shuffled the hard copy pages, thinking. He knew better than to comment on Bascomb's unstated corollary: that a certain nose that was being stuck into the captain's business and that it didn't belong there. Still, he made a mental note of the crack. Bascomb was far as he could tell, a thoroughly competent manager, but it was worth remembering that his loyalty lay with the younger Phule.

That was all right with Victor Phule, as long Bascomb was willing to do as good a job for the father he'd done for the son-assuming, of course, that Bascomb had been doing a good job for the son. As long as he was sticking his nose into his son's business, Victor Phule intended to find that out as well. If he was going to stir up resentment, he might as well do a thorough job of it.

He stood up from the desk and said to Bascomb, "I can see already that the gambling operations are driving the entire business-it looks as if everything else you're doing is designed to attract customers to the casino floor to bet. So I want you to show me through the casino, give me a satellite view of all that's involved in that end of the business."

"OK," said Bascomb, without any great show of enthusiasm. "You want the tour right now?"

"Right now," said Victor Phule, his voice absolutely level. It was time to show Bascomb who was boss. Phule hadn't built a galaxywide munitions business by being soft on his people. That appeared to be a lesson his son had failed to learn. Well, if the boy couldn't do a man's job, there was a man here ready to do it. He smiled coldly.

"Lead the way," he said, and fell in behind Bascomb as the casino boss led him out of the office. Behind Phule came his bodyguard, quiet and unobtrusive.

Their first stop was a large room filled with video screens showing the casino from the viewpoint of the myriad cameras mounted above the floors. For every two or three screens, there was a casino employee intently peering at the scenes on display. "This is the nerve center of the whole operation," said Bascomb. "Everything that goes on is recorded, so any funny business that goes on can be nipped in the bud. There's always somebody who thinks he can beat us at our own game. We don't mind the system players-in the long run no system can change the fact that the odds are rigged in the house's favor. If a few people win in the short run, that just encourages more people to try to beat us. And the bigger the handle, the bigger our profit."