Strong Arm Tactics (18 page)

Chapter 10

“Hey, Dai,” Carmen called, at the beginning of second shift, “are you heading for the wardroom? The rest of us are going to the crystal amphitheater showing of
Peristalsis III: The Devouring.
”

Daivid didn’t halt in his businesslike trot down the corridor, but he turned and jogged backwards. “No, I’ve got to take care of something. Tell me about it later.”

“Will do!”

Daivid hummed to himself as he went. A little praise went a long way. During his stop in to visit the platoon on duty in the pumping station that day, they all seemed to be in good spirits. Success, however unconventionally achieved, was a great morale booster. He figured now was the best time to pry open a few of the troopers’ shells and find out what they were really like underneath.

“Permission to enter?” he asked, at the door of the day room.

Lin glanced over. The platoon was still settling in. Vacarole was scrolling impatiently through the snack menu of the food dispenser set in the wall. Boland was pouring purple-red bug juice from a pitcher half-and-half with the clear liquid Daivid recognized as the Cockroaches’ proprietary white lightning.

“Come on in, sir. Want a drink?”

Daivid sidled in casually, knowing they were all looking at him. “I thought I’d spend the evening with you, if you didn’t mind. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Lin’s left eyebrow rose high on her forehead. The others looked as curious, and as wary.

“We thought this’d come sooner or later,” Boland said. “Aren’t you happy with the way we’ve been working? We’re heroes! The whole ship knows about it. Even the captain likes us today.”

“It’s not that,” Daivid said, settling down in a chair and tilting it backward until his shoulders touched the wall. “It’s what happened after the poetry slam. And back on Treadmill. There are a dozen other land mines that I am tired of stumbling over. I keep pissing all of you off over things I don’t know existed or ever happened, and I’m sick of it. Break out some of the white lightning. I want to hear your stories.”

Somulska crossed her arms. “I don’t think I want to talk about mine.”

“Or mine,” Software chimed in.

“Then I’ll play you for them,” Wolfe said, the gold glint in his eyes. He picked the deck of cards off the big table and shuffled it from one hand to the other like an accordion. “Any game you want. If you can beat me, you can take my money….”

“Or we can hear
your
story,” Mose said. “There’s no good reason for you to be here, either, or so you say. Give us a chance to find out.”

“All right,” Wolfe said slowly, calculating. “For that
all
of you have to beat me once. You’re entitled to one question per winning hand. I will consider it a debt of honor, and if you know about my family that means more to me than life itself. I swear by anything I hold dear that I will tell you the truth, however painful it is. Is that worth it to you?”

“Fair enough,” agreed Boland.

“But if you throw in your marker and I take it, you owe me the truth. The
whole
story. How about it?”

“Our whole lives against one question to him? That doesn’t sound like an even exchange,” Ewanowski rumbled.

“It’s a game,” Mose said, flippantly. “He can’t possibly beat us all.”

“I dunno,” Streb ruminated. “Anyone who marches in and makes a claim like that is either stupid or really clever.”

Vacarole’s eyes twinkled. “Like a fox.”

“Like a Wolfe,” Daivid corrected him. “Is it a deal?”

“Okay, why not?” Gire said. “It’s not like we have anything to do. This adds some spice to the nightly game. It sounds like fun. What’ll we use for markers?”

“Plastic’ll have to be good enough tonight,” Jones said. “I’ll whip something together in the machine shop tomorrow.”

“Do you need mine?” Lin asked. “I already told you about me.”

“Just to be fair,” Wolfe said. “Maybe I can think of something really nosy to ask you. And if you’re really uneasy about letting me hear what you’ve got to say, you can redeem your marker, cash only. But then don’t jump me if I step over invisible lines.”

“How much should the buy-back be?” Aaooorru asked.

“A hundred?” Injaru asked.

“Too cheap,” Wolfe dismissed the suggestion. “I’ve seen pots bigger than that on a single-card hand in our own barracks. I know you’ve been shafting the local talent out of that much.”

“Five hundred?” Nuu Myi asked.

“Too much!” Boland growled. “When was the last time you saw five hundred credits?”

“Three hundred,” Lin suggested.

“Okay, Top,” Gire agreed. “Three hundred, sir?”

“Yeah, that sounds fair,” said Meyers. “It’s a couple of high stakes hands’ worth at the worst.”

“You’ll enjoy the challenge,” Wolfe said, looking at each of them in turn. “This is for your benefit as much as mine.”

D-45 snorted. “I’ve heard that before, mostly from people who were about to beat the crap out of me.”

“I am,” Wolfe said pleasantly. Now was the time to show off the lessons that Randy had beaten into him from the age of eight.
Fingers, don’t fail me now!
He riffled the cards, built a neat little castle in the air, and tucked all the cards into a tidy block again. Jaws all around the room dropped.

Boland whistled admiringly. “We’ve been had. He’s a sharper. We should have known.”

Wolfe smiled ferally. “What’ll it be? Seven card draw? Five card stud? Bridge? Crazy eights? War?”

“How do we know you won’t cheat?”

Wolfe raised an eyebrow. “You don’t. How do I know
you
won’t cheat? You’re the ones with the reputation.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one with the family background,” Okumede said.

Wolfe waved the deck enticingly. “Come and find out.
Try
and find out.”

“I’m in,” Lin said at once.

“Me, too,” said D-45. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

Wolfe took the deck, divided it into two parts, divided those into two parts, then shuffled the pairs separately with one hand each.

“
He
is,” Ambering groaned.

O O O

There wasn’t room at the table for all the people clamoring to take their first shot against Daivid and his personal markers. They finally drew cards for six seats, and the rest agreed to take turns on successive evenings. Jones elected to sit out. The burly armorer took a seat with a good view of the proceedings, cutting a sheet of discarded viewscreen into strips.

He dumped the first half dozen on the table. “I’ve cut your names into them so there’s no mistake,” he said.

“Thanks,” Mose said, shuffling his chip to the bottom of his stake. “My underwear goes into the pot before this does.”

“Not the leather thong,” Streb teased him, seated behind the taciturn petty officer’s shoulder. “Anything but that.”

“No, that I keep,” Mose said with a dry twinkle. “The melody may be ended, but the thong will linger on.”

“What?” Daivid asked, thoroughly bewildered.

“Ancient literary allusion,” Mose said. “I don’t expect anyone to recognize it. Deal, big cheese.” He tapped the table.

Daivid stopped the card pyrotechnics, let Haalten on his right cut the deck, then shot cards around the table clockwise. Aaooorru, Ewanowski, Mose, Lin, Meyers, and the itterim had all won places. They picked up their cards and arranged them, shoving their ante into the kitty.

The corlist put his hand face down on the table and shoved a credit chit forward with a delicate claw. “Fifty.”

“Fifty,” the semicat added, “and fifty more.”

“Give me two,” Mose said, sliding discards toward the dealer. Daivid dealt him fresh cards. “I’ll see your hundred credits.”

“I’m out,” Lin grunted.

“Me, too,” Meyers said.

“See you,” Haalten chittered.

“Raise a hundred,” Daivid said. He held a safe three sevens and a queen. His hand could only get better. It was good to be handy with cards; it was better to be lucky, and he was lucky. His nanny had always told him so. “Trust it,” Randy said. “Trust it and it will never let you down.” The bidding went around twice more, until Ewanowski called.

“Let’s see ’em,” the semicat said. Obligingly, the others laid out their cards.

“A pair of queens!” Meyers announced.

“Ace high nothing,” Mose said, with the gambler’s air of ‘win some, lose some.’

“Three threes,” Haalten hissed with pleasure.

“Three sevens,” Daivid said, pulling the pot towards him.

The semicat looked him straight in the eye. “You stacked the cards.”

“Prove it,” the lieutenant said. “I’m just lucky. I don’t have to be dishonest.”

“Or the cards are marked.”

“Which he did while you watched?” Mose asked, scornfully. “Forget it, Puss in Boots.”

“I want to deal,” Ewanowski insisted.

Daivid pushed his cards into the center. The semicat gathered the deck with his eyes fixed on the lieutenant as he shuffled and dealt. Daivid almost crowed as he gathered up his cards.
Trust luck, and it will never let you down.
He set the cards face down and raised every time the bid went past him. The others dropped out in turn, leaving only him and Ewanowski in the round.

“Okay, sir,” the semicat said. He spread out his hand. “Three aces.”

“Three twos,” Daivid said. Ewanowski started to reach for the pot. “And two threes.”

“A natural full house!” Lin gasped as he flipped the hand over. “Damn!”

“The fate gods love you, sir,” Ewanowski said, with respect. “I dunno what yet, but they’re keeping you for something.”

Not every hand went his way. He lost seven hundred credits on one big hand, including a chance at two markers, when his two pairs of queens and jacks were beaten out by Lin’s straight.

“Ha HA,” Mose said, taking his turn dealing, a couple of hours later. “Aces for me, and garbage for the rest of you.” He looked at his cards, then his stakes, which were growing meager. “Er, ten.”

“Raise you twenty,” Lin said.

“Me, too,” Meyers added, with a fat look of satisfaction on her face. “Twenty more.”

“Fold,” Aaooorru bubbled.

“Fold,” Ewanowski echoed.

“Fold,” Daivid made it three.

Mose glanced at his bank. “Twenty.” Nothing was left but his marker. Lin and Meyers looked at one another.

“Raise fifty,” the chief said, with a mischievous expression.

“Fifty more,” Meyers said.

With a disgusted look, Mose threw in the marker. Lin folded. Meyers pounced. “Call.”

Mose put his cards down. “A straight.”

Meyers laid hers out in a tidy line. “A flush. Mine!” She gathered the chips in and stacked them, placing the plastic marker on top of her own.

“Well, I’m out,” Mose said, pushing back slightly. “Anyone want to take my place?”

“No, thanks,” Boland said, speaking for the rest of the Cockroaches. They had their eyes fixed on that marker on Meyers’s bank.

Meyers did not have a poker face. When her hand was good, it showed in her eyes. The next deal made them light up. She threw in fifty to start. The corlist folded at once. His fortune had not been good that evening, and he was nearly stripped. Ewanowski stayed in. Daivid watched the other players and peeked at his own cards. Three threes! He made sure his face didn’t twitch. The other two cards were a two and a four. He threw in the fifty and twenty more. Meyers matched him, and raised. One by one the others dropped out. When the bet came around to him again Daivid signed for two cards. The first was an eight. The second was the fourth three. Holding his breath he put in a hundred then turned to Meyers.

She drew two, too. Her expression still said she was holding a terrific hand. She looked at the lone fifty-credit chit to the left of her smaller change, then at the two plastic tags. Suddenly, she tossed Mose’s chip into the center. Daivid held his breath as the bidding went around to him again.

“Call,” he said.

“Full house,” Meyers said.

Daivid didn’t say a word, but set down the cards one at a time.

“Goddammit!” Boland howled.

“I’ll take that,” Daivid said, raking in the pot. He picked up the marker. “Unless you want to redeem it?” he asked Mose. “Three hundred.”

Mose grimaced. “I don’t have it. You can see that.”

“Then, pay up, trooper,” Wolfe said, making himself comfortable with hands folded behind his head. “Tell me all about yourself. How’d you get here?”

“I don’t want to tell you my life story,” Mose said, settling back as Lin cut the cards and Aaooorru began to deal.

“No fair, no fair!” the others shouted.

“That’s not the deal,” Boland boomed. “You agreed, like the rest of us.”

“Now, now,” Mose raised his voice over all of theirs. He held up his drink and twisted the glass from side to side to admire the warm gold of the contents. “I’d rather tell you a hypothetical tale of things that can happen to an innocent person. The traditional way to begin a tale is “once upon a time.” Once upon a time there was a meek little lieutenant who worked in the Central Command intelligence service. He was an observant little lieutenant, who did his job and went home at night to his quiet little hobbies and his quiet little friends. But along the way, the meek little lieutenant observed,” Mose stressed the word, “that security procedures in the CenCom intelligence service were laughably ineffective. He went to his superiors, who were big bad bureaucrats, and explained to them what he had seen, and gave them some practical suggestions on how to solve the problems, for little money and with very little fuss. But the big bad bureaucrats decided in their experience and wisdom that to change things was to suggest that they were being done wrong to start with. Other people might notice that the big bad bureaucrats were not perfect, and make fun of them in public. So nothing changed. And bad things happened to lots and lots of innocent people, all of which could have been prevented if only they had listened to the meek little lieutenant.

“Now, even meek persons can become outraged. This lieutenant sat down one day while he was on his meager annual leave, and wrote a tell-all book about the intelligence service. The very first publisher who read it was just as outraged as he, bought it, and brought out millions of copies, with royalties being paid to a blind trust, because one thing the meek little lieutenant had observed was that the bureaucrats knew how to follow the money, so he made sure none of it ever appeared to reach his hands. So, the one thing that the service cannot prove is that he did it. He’d been with them long enough to know how to cover his tracks. If they can prove he wrote this naughty book, he will go to prison for a long time for blabbing state secrets, even though the book helped to spur the system to change because they came to light, but so far they can’t, and they can’t get him to confess, not even with drugs or mind control, because they themselves taught him how to resist those. They hope that a stretch in a punishment detail will change his mind, or he might get himself killed, thereby taking the problem out of their hands forever. Either way he has nothing to lose by keeping his mouth shut.” Mose swished his drink and took a swig. “But that’s just a story. That little lieutenant and I have nothing in common except a literary bent and an outraged sense of justice.”