"Asprin, Robert - Phule 04 - Phule Me Twice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asprin Robert)

Without intending it, my employer had become a symbol. And in the nature of all such things, that meant that he represented different things to different people.

To one faction in the Space Legion, he was the bright hope for the future; the (literally) fair-haired young captain who would restore the Legion to its former prestige. This image was shared by a number of supporters in the Alliance government, particularly those who had long chafed at seeing progress stalled by Legion Brass. And to his own men and women (and alien members of his company, as well) he was a hero, the first CO who'd ever really given them a chance to be something.

But to another faction, a very powerfully entrenched one, he was a threat to everything the Legion had become. He was a boat-rocker of the worst sort. Chief among these enemies was General Blitzkrieg.

"Military advisors? Over my dead body!" roared General Blitzkrieg. He put enough vehemence into the roar that his listeners, veterans of the rough-and-tumble of General Staff infighting, fell back from his wrath for a moment.
But only for a moment. "This is a signal honor to the Legion," growled General Havoc, the Legion's representative to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking that he meant every syllable. "The Legion doesn't get a whole lot of honors, Blitzkrieg-in case you hadn't noticed. I'll be damned if we're going to turn this one down just because it puts one officer's nose out of joint."
"I'm afraid you don't get it, General," said Blitzkrieg, his brow wrinkled. He'd realized belatedly that he couldn't bully Havoc, but it took him a moment to decide on alternate tactics. He wasn't accustomed to dealing with people he couldn't bully. "It's nothing to do with getting my nose out of joint. Captain Jester is a troublemaker and an incompetent, and his troops are the dregs of the Legion. We can't risk sending him someplace where he could damage relations with an important ally."
"Colonel Battleax tells me he's had a number of remarkable successes," said General Havoc, looking at the officer in question.
"That's correct, General," said Battleax. She hefted a thick portfolio meaningfully. "Not only has his company handled its assignments with complete success, he's gotten the Legion the most positive publicity we've seen in years. It's only fair to send his company on this assignment. They've earned it."
Blitzkrieg pulled himself up to his full height. "Earned it? Earned it?" He pointed to the service stripes on his uniform and put all the scorn he could muster into the question. "Their captain has been in the Legion what, three years? And you're telling me that Jester somehow deserves more than an officer who's served the Legion through good times and bad for the better part of four decades?"
"Quite frankly, General, I don't see how this new assignment for Jester in any way diminishes your status," said General Havoc. "It's a feather in the Legion's cap, and that goes to all our credit. As Jester's commanding officer, you have the right to oppose this assignment. But I would very strongly advise against it. Not only does it deprive the Legion of the chance to score points with State-they haven't been our strongest allies in the past-but if you veto State's request for Jester's company, they'll give the assignment to a Regular Army unit-probably the Red Eagles. We can't allow that to happen."
Blitzkrieg walked over to his office window, a scowl on his face. He stood staring at the view-the jagged skyline of the old city, with the snow-capped North Rahnsom Mountains as backdrop-for a long moment before answering. "All right, damn it," he said. "Send them on this assignment. But let the record show that I opposed it. When Jester gets himself into the kind of trouble he can't buy his way out of and gets half his company wiped out by hostiles or causes some diplomatic catastrophe, it's his doing, not mine. I want it on record that I opposed the operation from the word go. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly clear," said General Havoc, peering intently at Blitzkrieg. After a pause, he added, "You realize, of course, that if we put that on record, you'll be in no position to claim credit for a successful mission."
"There is no way in hell Jester's luck will hold out that long," snarled Blitzkrieg. "That weasel has gotten out of one fix after another by the skin of his teeth. Sooner or later, class will tell-and Omega Company is the Legion's worst outfit. Oh, they've managed to pull off a couple of coups, but the day of reckoning will come. Send them into a real fight, and there's going to be nothing left but crumbs."
"That's bullshit, General," said Colonel Battleax with a grim smile. "You've been dead wrong about Captain Jester all along, and he's going to prove it again on Zenobia."
"I'll bet you a thousand dollars he falls flat on his face," said Blitzkrieg.
"Done!" said Battleax gleefully. "General Havoc, you're our witness."
"Ridiculous," said General Havoc, pursing his lips. "The bet is much too vague. How do you decide who's won?"
"Phule's orders will include a list of objectives for the mission," said Battleax. "I'll pay up if his company leaves the planet without fulfilling ninety percent of those objectives."
"Hah!" said Blitzkrieg. "Jester will be lucky to get anything done. General Havoc, I trust you to make an unbiased decision. Will you be our arbiter?"
"Oh, very well," said Havoc. "But that's a lot of money to ride on one man's decision. I suggest you find at least one more arbiter, preferably someone outside the Legion."
"He's right," said Colonel Battleax. "Why don't we choose a panel of three, two of whom will have to agree on whether Captain Jester has met his objectives. Since the general is your choice, I should choose the second; then let them choose a third, who won't be beholden to either of us."
"Who's your second?" asked Blitzkrieg, frowning.
"As General Havoc suggests, it should be someone from outside the Legion," said Colonel Battleax. "I was thinking of Ambassador Gottesman."
"There's a fine choice," scoffed Blitzkrieg. "State's completely hoodwinked by Jester. Gottesman's likely to give him the win without even bothering to look at the list."
"The ambassador isn't quite as gullible as you paint him," said General Havoc. "I saw him make some very hardheaded decisions when we negotiated the Landoor peace treaty. But even if he does go easy on Jester, there'll be a third judge to convince, and I can promise you it'll be somebody impartial."
"Who did you have in mind?" said Colonel Battleax.
General Havoc shook his head. "The ambassador and I need to decide on that, and when we do, I don't think we ought to tell you. If you know who it is, you may try to influence him. If you'll accept those terms-and if the ambassador agrees to judge-then I'm your man. If not, then find yourself another boy." He smiled at his joke.
"I can live with those terms," said Colonel Battleax.
"I suppose I can, as well," said Blitzkrieg. "Very well, then, do we have any other business to attend to today?"
The three officers busied themselves with other details for another half hour, and then Battleax and Havoc took their leave. The general saw them to the door and then closed it behind them with an evil smile upon his lips.
"What's the secret, General?" asked Major Sparrowhawk, his adjutant, who'd been present taking notes during the entire meeting. "I've known you long enough to know you wouldn't offer a bet for that kind of money unless you were sure of winning. How can you be sure the judges will agree?"
"Easy, Major," said Blitzkrieg, rubbing his hands. "Battleax seems to have forgotten that I'm the one who makes up the list of mission objectives for any Legion unit under my command. And I'm going to make damned sure that nobody in the galaxy can complete the list-not even their precious Captain Jester."

Sushi and Do-Wop had called together the original ridetesting squad from the days when Landoor Park was being built with the help and protection of the Omega Mob. With Mahatma, Tusk-anini, and Rube in tow, they'd taken a hoverjeep over to the gates of Dunes Park, where they were met by Okidata, the local friend who'd tipped them off about the new ride.
"Glad you all could make it," said Okidata, shaking Sushi's hand. "This looks like a really triff ride-not as hot as any of ours, but one you'll want to ride a couple of times."
"What's it called?" asked Do-Wop, who was perhaps the most avid connoisseur of thrill rides in the company.
"The Snapper," said Okidata with a shrug. "Dumb name, but you can't judge by that. Dunes Park always has dumb names."
Dunes Park was one of the older and smaller amusement parks on Landoor, a child's playpen in comparison to the gigantic parks that had grown up in more recent years, especially the ones built by the government and by the ex-rebels working with Phule. But the older parks were still popular with many of the locals, and they had made an effort to keep their audience with a string of new rides, of which the Snapper was the latest.
Do-Wop laughed. "Yeah, almost as dumb as some people's Legion names. Who makes 'em up, anyway?"
"Hieronimus Ekanem, the owner," said Okidata, rolling his eyes. "Guess the guy's got no imagination."
"So why doesn't he hire somebody?" asked Sushi. He pointed toward the park entrance. "Hey, we're wasting time. We can talk about this while we're waiting in line, if it's so fascinating."
"Sushi right," said Tusk-anini. "Can talk anywhere. But longer we talk here, longer line keeps getting and we aren't in it. Let's going."
The group headed through the gates, drawing stares from the other customers. The two aliens, Tusk-anini and Rube, were unusual enough to turn heads anywhere, but on Landoor, a world settled almost entirely by humans, a giant warthog and a human-sized cat couldn't walk the streets without being targeted for rubbernecking and finger-pointing by local youngsters. While the aliens in Phule's company were used to being singled out for attention, the humans in the group didn't like seeing their comrades treated as exotic specimens.
"Mommy, Mommy!" cried a small voice to one side. "Look at the monster!"
"Be quiet, Nanci, that's not a monster," said a woman in hushed tones. "It's an alien soldier."
"Hello," said Tusk-anini, waving. With his alien dentition, he couldn't manage anything a human would recognize as a smile, but he made his voice as friendly as he could manage. "Not soldier-we Space Legion. Better than soldiers!"
"Funny mans," said the child, sticking its finger in a corner of its mouth and smiling shyly. The mother smiled, too, and the legionnaires relaxed. The Volton couldn't change his fearsome looks, but that didn't mean he thought it necessary to go around frightening babies, either. Tusk-anini had learned that talking to children could let him cross the line from "monster" to "man," and become something to smile at. He waved again, and the group headed on toward the rides.