Chess With a Dragon (11 page)

“Good players?” asked Larson.

“Nah. A fish. A sucker. Somebody with money who's willing to believe whatever you tell him—especially when you tell him that you couldn't possibly have the fourth ace, because you want to keep him in the game as long as he has money to lose. That's us—we're the poor fish in this game! Humanity! We're the suckers! As long as we're playing by their rules, we have to lose. It's their game! We can't win unless we change the rules on them—”

“Yake,” Madja chose her words carefully. “I do not understand what you are saying. It sounds like you are suggesting that we break agreements here.”

“No—I'm not. I'm suggesting that we . . . reinterpret the boundaries of those agreements to include the possibility that we could win a hand here too.”

Madja did not look convinced.

“You don't understand, do you? This isn't a game about playing by the rules. It's a game about how cleverly you can cheat. If that's the game, then cheating isn't wrong, is it?”

“Is interesting capitalist justification. Do they teach that at UCLA?”

“USC. And I didn't go there. Never mind. I just want to make this game a little less interesting for us and a little more interesting for everybody else.”

“I do not see it, Yake.”

Larson leaned across the table and laid one hand on Madja's. “Think of it this way, dear.
Everything
is justified in the class struggle against the imperialist war-mongers.”

“Is not good comparison, Larson. I am not sure that these creatures are really imperialists. Besides, imperialists on Earth are at least human. Theory is that human being should
know better
. In the act of oppressing the class struggle of the workers, they renounce the noblest part of their humanity and deserve to meet their fate on the gallows. But Dragons and slugs and talking turnips might not be capable of knowing better. In that case, we cannot take advantage of them—
or we would be the oppressor
.”

Kasahara paused in the act of reheating his sahki. “Are you sure you're a real Communist?”

“I show you my card,” said Madja, standing up and unbuttoning her blouse pocket. “I carry it everywhere I go.”

“Never mind,” interrupted Yake. “We're off the track. Madja, maybe this is only a game to the other species because they don't have as much at stake—but you're the one who pointed out that the stakes in this game are human dignity. Maybe this game is about measuring your dignity by how clever you are, not by how honorable. Maybe honor is the booby prize.”

“I had not thought of that,” Madja admitted. She fell silent. She looked sad at the idea, and for a moment even Yake felt sorry for her. She looked so . . . vulnerable. Abruptly, she looked up. “Is one thing wrong, Yake.”

For just a moment, Yake hoped she was right. “Yes?”

“Is assumption you are making here about InterChange. You keep saying is game. Is clever. Is very American clever. But is maybe sacrifice truth for clever, Yake. For one hundred and sixty-seven years, we have known what InterChange was—interstellar government, no? Now you are saying it is not?”

Yake said, a little too quickly, “Maybe that hundred and sixty-seven years was the false assumption—” and immediately wished he hadn't said it.

Madja took it seriously. The color was draining from her face.

“You are right, Yake,” she said finally. “We must question everything.” She looked to Yake again. “But if we question everything, we must question if game analogy is also accurate?”

“I think that's what we have to find out.”

Kasahara said softly, “We're going to have to make some very hard assumptions here.”

Larson turned to him and asked, “Nori. Tell me something. What do you do if you're losing a game?”

Nori shrugged. “I pay my debts and go home.”

“We can't do that here. What else can you do?”

“I don't know poker that well.” Nori looked up. “Yake, you're the expert. What do you do?”

Larson shrugged. “I don't know either. I'm no expert in Game Theory.”

“Forget Game Theory. I'll tell you what I'd do.” Yake leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the table. “I'd bring in the pros from Dover and kick some assets.”

“The what?”

“The ‘pros from Dover.' It's an American expression. It means—you bring in the power hitters. Um—you call for an expert.”

“There are no experts here,” moaned Madja. Just capitalists. That is what makes the whole thing so
dreary
.”

“Then we'll bring in an expert capitalist—” Yake said, and then caught himself in surprise. My Ghod! That's it! He turned excitedly to Kasahara. “Warm up your keyboard, Nori! I want you to download a complete set of—no, wait. Limit your search to mammalian species only. Which species has been the most successful overall in its transactions with the InterChange?”

“Don't bother, Nori,” said Anne. “Yake, I can tell you without looking. It's the Rh/attes.”

“The rats?”

The Rh/attes. The ‘/' is silent.” Larson grinned. “They're the ones who want to indenture themselves to us.”

“Oh, right.”

“I've been doing some research. The Rh/attes are so successful that
nobody
trusts them.”

“Oh, that's terrific,” said Madja. “Capitalist pigs.”

“No. Rh/attes.”

“Is no difference.”

“Wait a minute—” said Yake. “I don't care if they're dancing bears if they're successful! What's the gimmick, Anne? How are they doing it?”

“I think—that they're uh, there's no polite word for it. They're ‘snitches.'”

“Snitches?” asked Madja. “What is ‘snitches'?”

“It's an American word,” said Larson. “It means Supreme Hero of the Soviet Republic.”

“Oh,” said Madja. And then frowned, as much in puzzlement as in anger.

“They're spies,” said Yake. “Right?”

“Mmmm,” Larson made a face. “Not quite. That's one of their services. Information management. Nobody wants to issue a warrant of foreclosure on them because they're too valuable as snitches. And besides, nobody is sure what secrets they'd accidentally let drop about the species who signed the warrant.”

“Nice position to be in,” said Yake.

“How did Rh/attes get this way?” asked Madja.

“Apparently,” said Nori, studying the screen of his clipboard. “They have the nasty habit of indenturing themselves to anyone who'll take them on.”

“Interesting. What happens to the species that do?”

“Apparently, they benefit.” Nori hesitated, then added, “Well, most of them, anyway.” He peered at his screen with a frown. “Apparently, there were a couple that didn't.”

“Were?”

“Maybe I don't understand the reference. It just says here ‘
retired
.'”

Yake sipped his bheer and thought for a moment. He looked across the table at his colleagues. “Well. Okay. It looks like there are risks involved here too.”

Larson said, “I don't think we have any choice. I vote yes.”

Madja sighed and said, “Of course, I must officially protest dealing with capitalist swine like Rh/attes.”

Yake looked over at her. “And off the record?”

“Off the record? Off the record, I am very curious and will allow myself to be outvoted.”

“Nori?”

“My grandfather was a capitalist.” Nori grinned broadly. “I'll take the chance.”

“Good. Then it's three yes and one abstention. We talk to the Rh/attes.”

“First, we have another dhrink—” said Larson. “We're going to nheed it.”

The Rh/attes were as unsavory as their name suggested.

They smelled musty—like old hair. Like old cheese. Like mildew.

The Rh/attes were dark and sinister creatures only chest high to a man. They had little malicious eyes and stood hunched forward, like crones over a cauldron, rubbing and twisting their ugly bony fingers in a continual wringing motion. To make it worse, they wore coarse black capes with hoods that made them look like Assistants to Death. Their eyes gleamed red in the shadowed cowls—but not the searing red of the Dragon's eyes, no; the Rh/attes' eyes were embers, like smouldering coal.

Yake could see just far enough within their hoods to tell that they had coarse black fur and round pink ears that lay flat against the sides of their narrow heads.

They had yellow stained teeth.

And they hissed and sprayed spittle when they spoke.

Yake tried not to think about the comparisons, but it was impossible. He couldn't help but think of these creatures as . . . well,
rats
.

There were six of them. They sniffed the air and eyed the humans suspiciously.

The four humans sat on chairs facing the six Rh/attes. The Rh/attes curled their naked gray tails around them and sat on their haunches.

Yake swallowed hard and looked at his colleagues. Madja looked a little gray. Anne Larson was expressionless. Kasahara's eyes were narrowed and his jaw was tight.

At last, one of the Rh/attes spoke. Its voice squeaked like a rusty gate. “You are stupid very species,” it said. “Mammaloids have time enough hard in the universe. Not have to make it worse for us, the rest.”

Yake thought about an appropriate response. He discarded the first two things that came to his mind and chose the rest of his words carefully. He looked to the others, then turned back to the first Rh/atte. “We also find your species disgusting. You remind us of the vermin of our own world. Do you also spread disease and parasites wherever you go?”

Larson looked at Yake astonished. Madja Poparov's head snapped around so fast, Yake was surprised it didn't come off.

“Yake—!” For a moment, even Kasahara lost his inscrutability. Yake ignored all three of them.

“Good!” The Rh/atte grinned. “Understand we each other.” Its grin was disgusting.

“Yes, we do,” said Yake. “We know who you are and what you are. So we would prefer not to waste time on false performances of courtesy and friendship.”

“Slugs you have been talking to, yes? Dhrooughleem? Yes? One hundred and twenty-three ritual ways to commit copulatory obscenities, yes?”

“Yes and yes,” said Yake. “Tell me, how many ways do the Rh/attes commit copulatory obscenities?”

“Is price to pay for that information,” said another of the Rh/attes. Its eyes were narrow and flat.

“Yake!” whispered Madja angrily. “What do you say?”

“Shut up,” Yake snapped back. He turned back to the Rh/attes. “I am Yake Singh Browne. I would deal with you on behalf of my species. Will you deal with me?”

“How bold you are,” said the second Rh/atte. “Particularly now when your species has one foot in Dragon's mouth and the other in slime.”

“Do you want to trade information or insults? If you want to trade insults, I'm afraid you will find that your species is hopelessly inadequate to the task. You don't have the brains to be insulted.”

“Not bad,” said a third Rh/atte. “Not bad at all—for amateur one.”

Yake stood up. “Let's go,” he said to his colleagues. “I have better things to do than listen to the droolings of pretentious vermin.”

“Wait—!” said a fourth Rh/atte. “Proposal, we listen.”

“Proposal,
you
offer,” retorted Yake. “You are the ones who asked to indenture yourselves to us. Why?”

“Why not?” The fifth Rh/atte answered. “If win you, win we. If lose you, still win we.”

“What's to keep us from selling you as food or larval incubators or bio-sites for bacteriological and viral colonies?”

The Rh/atte smiled. “Thinking are you of our albino cousins. Useful are they very for those purposes. We are not.”

“I see. So, what you're saying is that the Rh/attes are not much use for anything, are you?”

“Some species think that. Some species are retired, yes?”

“Yes, I've heard that.” Yake looked at the Rh/attes. “We have no intention of being retired.”

“And if retired you are, then know will we that you have changed mind, yes again?”

Yake didn't answer that. He thought frantically for a moment, then turned back to the Rh/attes again. “All right, let me come right out and ask it. Exactly what advantage could we gain if we were to accept your indenture?”

“None at all. None at all.”

“So then, why should we accept your offer? Why should we enter into this deal. You offer no benefit to us.”

“Benefit not is not to you. It is to us.” That was the sixth and final Rh/atte. “Offer benefit us and we not need this indenture.”

Yake stared at it.

The Rh/atte met his gaze with quiet rheumy eyes.

“Understand you? Yes?” It asked.

“Understand I,” Yake agreed. He turned to the others. “Do
you
understand what he's offering?”

“Is nothing offered, I see,” said Madja.

“That's right. Is nothing offered.”

Larson sniffed. “I'm with Madja. I'm confused.”

“I am not confused. I just see nothing.”

“Never mind—” interrupted Yake. “Nori?”

Kasahara shook his head slowly. “I don't get a read on this, Yake. It's your hunch.”

“I want to be cautious,” Yake whispered to his colleagues. “I really do. We got into this mess by
trusting
the damn Dhroo. But we can't afford to be cautious anymore.” He turned back to the Rh/attes abruptly and asked. “We don't believe in indentures. We want to try something different.”

“Different?”

“Do you
trade
information?”

“
Trade
. . . information?” The Rh/attes all looked surprised.