Where the Ships Die (7 page)

A lighter flared as Candy lit a stim stick and offered the cylinder to Dorn. She was pretty,
very
pretty, and a few years older than he. "Smoke?"

Dorn felt very grown-up as he accepted the cigarette and took a drag. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Candy ... thanks for the stim stick."

"No," Candy replied as she moved closer, "the pleasure is mine." Slender fingers caressed Dorn's thigh and slid up toward his groin. The teenager blushed as an erection pushed its way up to meet her touch. "Oh, my," Candy said softly, "look what we have here."

What happened next took Dorn by surprise. One moment he was sitting there, minding his own business, and the next thing he knew his fly was open, and Candy had taken him into her hot, wet mouth. The fragrance of her hair, combined with the delicious sensation, produced an almost instantaneous result. The pleasure was intense but brief.

Dorn was mortified, didn't know what to say or do, and wondered if the driver knew. He was relieved when his companion sat up and straightened her hair. She smiled. If she thought poorly of him, there was no sign of it on her face. "You needed that."

The teenager nodded gratefully, fed the cigarette to an ashtray, and dealt with his zipper. It was hard to be subtle. The limo had been in motion for a while now, and he had no idea where he was. Candy opened a bar. She offered him a glass. "Drink?"

Dorn accepted. He didn't like alcohol, but knew his character would, and took a sip. The liquor was sweet and glided down his throat. He waited for a moment, felt fine, and drank the rest.

"Another?"

Dorn nodded, allowed Candy to refill his glass, and was careful to sip rather than drink it. Better safe than sorry, not to mention the fact that refreshments could cost money, and he needed the credits he had. Which raised an important question. What about Candy? Were her services free? Or was he supposed to pay? His character would know, but he didn't.

The limo made a left-hand turn, entered the cantina's parking lot, and slid to a stop. A streetlight threw shadows across Candy's face. She looked older now and a little bit tired. Dora finished his drink and cleared his throat. "Do I...?"

Candy understood perfectly and shook her head. "No, but a tip would be nice."

Dorn fumbled for his roll, peeled a ten off the top, and handed it over. Candy seemed pleased, kissed his cheek in a sisterly fashion, and made the currency disappear. "Good luck, sweetie ... I hope you break the bank."

Dorn thanked her, stepped out onto the pavement, and tipped the limo driver. The world swayed, then righted itself as the vehicle pulled away. The youth staggered, took his bearings from the cantina's brightly lit sign, and lurched in that direction. The air was cooler now and cleared his head. The sound of music reached up to the bank. He followed it onto the barge. Light streamed through the door and pooled on the deck.

The doorman called Dorn "sir," and smiled engagingly. A man in evening clothes appeared, inquired as to his name, and snapped his ringers. A pretty young woman seized Dorn's arm and led him across the room. He used the trip to examine his surroundings. The room, which had been empty during his initial visit, was nearly full. There were locals out for a good time, spacers in from the black, and an assortment of other individuals who wore expressions of silent desperation and looked as though their entire futures rode on the next toss of their dice—a situation Dorn could empathize with.

There were null gravity roulette wheels, 3-D holo tables, virtual reality scenarios, and a variety of more traditional offerings, including Dorn's choice, a poker-derived electrocard game called Rockets and Stars.

The hostess led Dorn to a circular table and paused. It was occupied by a rather prosperous-looking middle-aged man, a woman dressed in a blue shipsuit with the name
Galaxy Queen
stitched over the left breast pocket, and an XT who, judging from the trade jewelry draped around his neck, owed his allegiance to an Alhanthian merchant clan. The alien had a pronounced supraorbital ridge, barely visible red eyes, and vertical nostril slits. He, she, or it looked around the table, gestured toward some upturned cards, and croaked, "Read 'em and defecate."

"That's read 'em and weep," the middle-aged man said indulgently, "although you may decide to follow your own advice when you see my cards."

"Cut the posturing and let's get on with it," the woman said curtly. "You gonna raise or not?"

The XT threw its cards on the table and leaned back. "Not."

"That's what I thought," the spacer replied contemptuously. "How 'bout you, Pops? You got the balls?"

"All my organs are intact, thank you," the man said urbanely. "But I choose to fold."

"Of course you do," the ship's officer said, raking the chips in, " 'cause you're a ground-pounding wimp."

The woman who had accompanied Dorn to the table cleared her throat. "Excuse me, gentlebeings, but I have the fourth player you requested. Citizen Voss, allow me to introduce Citizen Van Kirk, First Officer Harlan, and Citizen Pennuli. Five hundred credits are required to enter the game, the house takes five percent of each pot, and there are no limits. The dealer is using standard decks plus two supernovas. Questions? No? I'll buy your chips and bring them to the table."

Dorn felt the other player's eyes on him, wondered if they recognized the name, and hoped they didn't. He fumbled the bankroll out of its hiding place, wished he'd thought to do so earlier, and selected the correct number of bills. The hostess accepted the money, nodded pleasantly, and walked away. Van Kirk smiled and gestured toward a chair. "Take a load off, son. Welcome to the game."

Dorn nodded, took his seat, and tried to look impassive as the woman reappeared, placed three stacks of chips in front of him, and signaled a waiter. The drink was complimentary and warmed his throat. The dealer, a house-owned android, and one of the few that Dorn had seen on New Hope, was mounted at the center of the table. It could rotate 360 degrees and came equipped with a head, torso, and four arms. Each arm bore a finely articulated hand. Two shuffled a deck of cards while the others prepared to deal. The robot had a dour, nearly funereal expression, as if gambling were a serious business, which it undoubtedly was. A layer of dust frosted the upper surfaces of its black tuxedo.

"So," Pennuli croaked, "what the hell are we waiting for? Deal."

The machine bowed at the waist and servos whirred as it turned and dealt at the same time. Cards sailed out, skidded over green felt, and accumulated in front of the players. Dorn waited until his entire hand had been dealt before picking it up. The XT did likewise, while Van Kirk and Harlan examined each card as it arrived. Dorn fought the desire to arrange the rectangles in order of value.

Although the cards were as thin as their cardboard predecessors, they came equipped with high-definition video screens. Since each card had thirteen potential values, one for each card in a suit, a hand consisted of whatever symbol happened to be on-screen, plus the next image in queue. That meant each player could retain what they'd been dealt, trigger a new image, or fold. Dorn had two rockets, a planet, a star, and an asteroid. Not bad, but not good, not yet anyway. While he was not as experienced as those around him, the teenager had an excellent memory, and knew that the odds against making two pair were only 5 to 1, and that the odds against three of a kind were a quite reasonable 8 to 1, based on a three-card draw. The supernovas changed the odds, however—and the math made him squint.

Dorn glanced around the table, saw that the others were examining their cards, and made the obvious decision. A pair was better than nothing, so he'd keep the rockets and try for three, or even four of a kind.

The first round of betting took place before the players— those who wanted to—morphed their cards. Dorn felt his heart beat a little faster as he pushed the equivalent of twenty-five credits towards the center of the table. Then, holding his breath against what he might see, the teenager made the necessary decisions. The asteroid had the lowest value, so he pressed the card's lower right hand corner, and watched it morph to a comet. Damn! The planet came next. The teenager held his breath, triggered the card, and watched the image change. Planet to planet. Damn! The star, then... it had to be the star. Dorn tried again and felt a tremendous sense of excitement as the sun transformed itself into a rocket. He had triplets ... and a chance of winning.

"So," Pennuli said, as he pushed a small stack of chips out onto the table, "twenty credits says homo saps are losers."

"Dream on," Harlan said tightly. "I'll see your twenty and raise you five."

"I'll pass," Van Kirk said easily. "How 'bout you, son? Are you in or out?"

Another drink had appeared next to Dorn's elbow, and the youngster took a sip. "I'm in."

The XT had a pair, Harlan had two pair, and Dorn took the pot. It, along with the alcohol that had found its way into his bloodstream, boosted his confidence. Time passed. Everybody took pots, but Dorn was most consistent. His chips doubled. He remembered Tull's advice. Assuming he had located a job, and saved every credit he made, it would have taken months to accumulate the chips in front of him. Dorn laughed, upped the ante, and finished the latest drink.

Cards hit the table, voices were raised in protest, and the teenager won again. The room felt warm and the chips wavered as he raked them in. Servos whirred as the droid dealt, and for reasons the teenager couldn't fathom, he felt lucky. And sure enough, after the others collected their cards, and were checking them over, he discovered he had three planets, a rocket, and an asteroid. The rocket morphed to a comet and the asteroid dissolved to a planet. Now he had clones... or four of a kind. The second highest hand there was.

The others must have held fairly good cards, though, because the pot grew and grew until half of Dorn's newfound wealth sat at the center of the table, and sweat soaked through his clothes. That's when disaster struck. The XT produced a pair, and Harlan had triplets, but Van Kirk blew them away. The older man had a star system consisting of a rocket, asteroid, planet, star, and comet. It was the equivalent of a straight flush—and beat the youngster's four of a kind.

Dorn felt fear gnaw his belly as Van Kirk pulled the chips toward his chest and built orderly stacks. The teenager considered dropping out of the game, but couldn't bring himself to do it. No, the older man had what amounted to
his
money, and he would win it back.

Hours passed, and while there were no further disasters on the scale of the first one, Dorn suffered a long series of minor losses, was forced to buy more chips, and wound up broke except for the fifty hidden in his boot.

But his luck had to change, or so it seemed to Dorn, so he stayed and waited for a break. It came at two in the morning. Dorn was looking at another so-so hand when the dealer droid slipped him a supernova, quickly followed by another, which was nothing less than remarkable, since the deck contained only two of them. Both cards were wild, meaning they could assume any value he gave them. Due to the fact that Dorn had three asteroids, he could claim the equivalent of a full house, the third highest hand possible.

Dorn struggled to hide his elation, bet, and bet again. The others, confident that they could beat the boy, went along. The pot grew larger and larger. Finally, certain of victory, and eager to capitalize on his hand, the teenager pushed the last of his chips toward the center of the table, pulled the fifty out of his boot, and tossed the gold Voss Lines pin on top of the pile. The stacks crumbled—giving way to a red, white, and blue chip avalanche.

There was a moment of silence while the others studied their hands. "I'm probably crazy," Harlan said slowly, "but I want to see what the boy's got. Or doesn't have. I'll see the last bet and call."

More chips were pushed toward the center of the table as cards went face up. Their eyes went to Dorn. He smiled, laid his hand out for all to see, and reached for the pot. He had just started to pull it in when Van Kirk grabbed his arm.' 'Wait a minute, son. A straight beats three of a kind, so what the hell are you doing?"

Dorn was still formulating a reply, still celebrating his win, while his eyes went to the cards. What he saw sent ice water through his veins. The asteroids remained as they were, but the supernovas were gone, replaced by a rocket and a planet. But that was impossible! That was ...

Dorn came to his feet and looked around the table. Blood pounded in his ears, faces wavered, and his hands shook. "All right... which one of you did it? Empty your pockets. Someone used a remote on my cards."

No one moved, and Miss Carmen materialized on the far side of the table. She wore a red evening gown and the arm serpent he'd seen earlier. Two men, both larger than Dorn, stood to either shoulder. She looked cold and disapproving. "Good evening. Do we have a problem of some sort?"

"Yes we do!" Dorn said emphatically. "I had three asteroids, plus two supernovas. Then, just as I went to collect the pot, the novas disappeared."

Miss Carmen raised a carefully drawn eyebrow. "Really? What are you suggesting? That you were cheated?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting," Dorn said grimly. "Search these beings ... one of them used an illegal device to alter my cards."

Harlan wore a smirk, Van Kirk shook his head sadly, and Pennuli glared from deeply set sockets. It was as if they'd seen the whole drama before and knew how it would go.

The proprietress frowned delicately. "That's a serious allegation, Citizen Voss, and one that I take seriously, especially in light of the fact that it reflects on my customers and the cantina itself. First, allow me to say that
no one,
absolutely
no one,
gives orders to me, especially the drunken sons of bankrupt space trash. That's correct,
Citizen
Voss, I checked on your has-been family, and you are broke.

"In addition, it might interest you to know that the Cantina Roja is equipped with some rather sophisticated detection systems, so sophisticated that devices like the one you describe are discovered instantly, and confiscated moments later. You lost fair and square. Rudy and Sal will see you to the door. Don't come back."