Investments

by Walter Jon Williams

  “Shall we roll the bones?” asked Lord Mukerji.

  Mukerji doubled three times on the first three rounds and drove everyone else out of the game. Martinez realized he’d found his way into a very serious and potentially expensive contest, and began to calculate odds very carefully.

  Terza won the following game with the Six Cardinal Directions. Lord Pa won the next. Marcella the game after. Then Lord Pa, then Martinez with a Bouquet of Delights over Lord Mukerji’s Crossroads.

  “Roll the bones,” said Lord Mukerji.

  Lord Pa took another game, then Terza, and Marcella won three games in a row. In the next game, the bones rolled six, so the stakes were doubled and the bones rolled again, and this time proclaimed Martinez dealer. He discarded Two Sunsets, only to have Lord Mukerji claim it, which argued that Lord Mukerji was aiming at filling a Bouquet of Sorrows. Mukerji in his turn was dealt, and discarded, a South, which Martinez claimed to add to his East and Up to make three of the Six Cardinal Directions. On subsequent turns, Martinez was dealt a South, needing only a North and a Down for six. Mukerji claimed Four Night Winds, doubled, kept a tile he was dealt, doubled, was dealt and discarded Two Ancestors, then doubled again anyway. Terza and Lord Pa dropped out of the game during the doubling, turning over their tiles to reveal unpromising schemas.

  Martinez looked at the total and felt his mouth go dry. He received a generous allowance from his father, but to continue the game would be to abuse his parent severely.

  His contemplation of the score made him a critical half-second late when Marcella, dropping out of the game, made her final discard, a Down.

  “Claim,” Mukerji said.

  Mukerji had claimed the tile simply to thwart him. Martinez, the word already spilling from his lips, had no choice but to let Mukerji take the tile he badly needed to complete his hand.

  “Double,” Mukerji said, his eyes gleaming.

  Martinez looked at his schema, then scanned the discards and the tiles of the players who had dropped out of the betting. Neither of the two Norths was revealed, and neither was the second Down.

  He looked at his own tiles again. Beside the Directions he had Three and Four Ships, a Sunlit Garden, and a Road of Metal. If he got Two or Five Ships, he’d have a Small Flotilla. A Flotilla plus the Cardinal Directions equaled a Migration.

  He scanned the discards and reveals again, and saw singletons of Two and Five Ships, which meant other Ships were still in the sorting machine.

  Or already in Lord Mukerji’s schema.

  Martinez decided it was worth the risk.

  Without speaking Martinez dealt himself another tile. It was Four Ships, and he discarded it. Lord Mukerji ignored it and took another tile, which he discarded.

  Five Ships. Martinez claimed it, discarded his Road of Metal, then dealt himself another tile, which he discarded.

  He was suddenly aware that the room had fallen silent, that others stood around him, watching. Roland watched from amid the spectators with a frown on his face, and Cassilda with her hands pressed protectively over her swelling abdomen. Lord Pa’s red eyes were obscured by nictating membranes. Marcella was frozen in her seat, but her hands formed little fists and her knuckles were white.

  Terza, on his right, had the serene smile that she wore to conceal her thoughts, but he saw the tension crimping the corners of her eyes.

  Lord Mukerji was dealt and discarded a tile, and then Martinez dealt himself an Angle, which he discarded.

  “Claim,” Mukerji said in triumph.

  He laid down his completed Bouquet of Sorrows, then added the Angle to his Point and his Coordinate, making a Geometry. His grin broadened beneath the spreading mustache as he pushed the odd Down into the discard pile.

  “That’s a game for me, then,” he said.

  “Claim,” said Martinez.

  He turned over his tiles to reveal the incomplete Migration, which he completed by adding the Down and discarding his Sunlit Garden. From the room he heard a collective exhalation of breath.

  He looked at Mukerji, who was suddenly very white around the eyes. “That’s a limit schema,” Mukerji said.

  Honesty compelled Martinez to speak. “And the bones came up six, if you remember, so the limit is doubled. And I’m dealer, so that doubles again.”

  Lord Mukerji surveyed the table, then slowly leaned backwards into his chair, draping himself on the chair back as if he were a fallen flag.

  “What is the limit?” Martinez heard someone ask.

  “Ten thousand,” came the reply.

  “Fucking amazing,” said the first.

  “Well played,” said Lord Mukerji. “I do believe you let me have that Cardinal Direction on purpose.”

  “Of course,” Martinez lied.

  Mukerji held out his hand. “You must give me an opportunity for revenge,” he said.

  Martinez took the hand. “Later tonight, if you like.”

  There was applause from the crowd as the two clasped hands.

  “I need to visit the smoking lounge,” Marcella said, and stood.

  Martinez rose from the table. His head spun, and his knees felt watery. Terza rose with him and took his arm.

  “That was terrifying,” she murmured.

  “Ten thousand doubled twice,” Martinez breathed. “For forty we could buy a small palace in the High City.”

  “We already have a small palace.”

  “I could have lost it tonight.” He passed a hand over his forehead.

  Roland loomed up at his other elbow. “That was well judged,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “But you were lucky.”

  Martinez looked at him. “I am lucky,” he said. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t have been a senior captain before he was thirty.

  “Just so you don’t go counting on it.” A mischievous light glowed in Roland’s eyes. “You’re not taking up tingo as a substitute for the excitement of combat, are you?”

  “Combat’s easier,” Martinez said. He looked at his brother. “That isn’t true, by the way.”

  “I know.”

  A thought passed through Martinez’ mind. “Mukerji wasn’t playing with our money, was he?”

  “You mean the Company’s? No. His presidency is ceremonial; he doesn’t have access to the accounts. He doesn’t even take a salary.”

  Martinez raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh,” Roland said, “we gave him lots of stock. If the Chee Company does well, so does he.”

  “He may have to sell some of his stock after tonight.”

  Roland shook his head. “He can afford a lot of nights like this.”

  “How many, I wonder?” Terza said. She stroked Martinez’ arm. “I should make sure Gareth’s got to bed. If you’re all right?”

  “I could use a drink.”

  “Absolutely not,” Roland said. “Not if you’re committed to an evening of high play.”

  Martinez let go a long breath. “You’ve got a point.”

  Terza smiled, patted his arm, and went in search of the children. Martinez went to the bar with Roland, ordered an orange juice, and poured it over ice.

  Roland ordered champagne. “You don’t have to rub it in,” Martinez said, and turned to find Severin at his elbow.

  “You’re finding your way all right?” Martinez asked.

  “Yes. There’s a Cree band tuning in the ballroom. I’ll dance.”

  “Good.”

  “I hear you’ve done something spectacular at tingo. Everyone’s talking about it.”

  Martinez felt a tingle of vanity. “I made a mistake early on,” he said, “but I calculated the odds correctly in the end.”

  He explained the play as he made his way back to the parlor. They came to Mukerji, who was speaking with Lord Pa. “If the geologist’s report was in error, then it must be done again, of course,” he said. “I’m sure Cassilda will— ” He broke off, then looked at Martinez. “Lord captain,” he said. “Shall we resume the game?”

&nbs
p; “We seem to be without a few players as yet,” Martinez said. “May I introduce Lieutenant Severin? He saved the empire at Protipanu, and saved me a few months later, during the battle there.”

  Pa looked down from his great height, nictating membranes clearing his red eyes as he gazed at Severin with studious intensity. “I don’t recall any of that in the histories,” he said.

  “The wrong people wrote the histories,” Martinez said. Those same people had decided to keep Severin’s contribution to the war a secret. He had used a trick of physics to physically move a wormhole out from under a Naxid squadron, and since the empire depended for its very existence on the wormholes that knit its systems together, the censors had decided not to remind people that such a thing could be done.

  “In any case, lord lieutenant, I am pleased to meet you,” said Pa to Severin.

  “So am I,” Mukerji said. His long mustache gave a twitch. “You wouldn’t care to join us for a game of tingo?”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Severin said, “but I don’t play.”

  “Don’t play tingo?” Mukerji said, blinking with apparent astonishment. “What do you do in those officers’ clubs or wardrooms or whatever you call them?”

  “Mostly I do paperwork,” Severin said.

  “Perhaps we should actively search for a fifth player,” Martinez said. “I’m not certain that Terza will return from putting Gareth to bed anytime soon.”

  He spoke quickly. He knew that, as someone promoted from the ranks, Severin was unlikely to possess the large private income normal for most officers. Very possibly the unfortunate man was forced to live on his pay. A game of tingo played for high stakes wasn’t simply unwise for a man like Severin, it was impossible.

  Best to get him off the hook as quickly as possible.

  Pa and Mukerji went in search of a tingo player, and Martinez asked Severin about his last voyage, several months in which Surveyor had been in the Chee system, making one rendezvous after another with asteroids, strapping antimatter-fueled thrusters onto the giant rocks, and sending them on looping courses to Wormhole Station One, where they were used to balance the mass coming into the system on the huge freighters. The task was both dull and dangerous, a risky combination, but the voyage had been successful and the wormhole station wouldn’t need any more raw material for a year or more.

  “Fortunately the mass driver on Chee’s moon is taking over the job of supplying the wormhole stations, “ Severin said, “so we’re available for other duties.”

  “Excellent. Your voyage was uneventful otherwise?”

  “Our skipper’s good,” Severin said. “No one on the trip tore so much as a hangnail.”

  “Do I know him?” Martinez asked.

  “Lord Go Shikimori. An old Service family.”

  Martinez considered, then shook his head. “The name’s not familiar.”

  Marcella returned from the smoking lounge brushing ash from her jacket. Pa and Mukerji arrived with an elderly, fangless Torminel named Lady Uzdil.

  “I seem to be caught up in the game,” Martinez told Severin. “My apologies.”

  “I think I hear music,” Severin said.

  “Enjoy.”

  What did Severin do with himself in his ship’s wardroom? Martinez wondered. He probably couldn’t afford most of an officer’s amusements.

  And judging by his uniform, he couldn’t afford much of a tailor, either.

  Martinez settled in to play tingo. Lady Uzdil seemed to be shedding: the air was full of graying fur. Martinez played conservatively, which meant that he frequently allowed himself to be driven out of a round by Mukerji’s insistent doubling. He held firm when fortune gave him good tiles, though, and managed a modest profit on top of the forty thousand he’d won earlier. Lord Pa did very well, Cassilda well enough, and Lady Uzdil lost a modest amount. It was Mukerji who lost heavily, plunging heavily on one bad venture after another. Though he didn’t run afoul of any limit schemas, and he didn’t lose another High City palace, Martinez calculated that he lost at least the value of a sumptuous country villa— and not one on Laredo, either, but on Zanshaa.

  After two hours Martinez considered that he’d done his duty in giving Mukerji a chance to win his money back, and left the game. Mukerji protested, but Cassilda and Pa were happy with their winnings and left the game as well.

  “I’m glad he doesn’t have any financial control in the Chee Company,” Martinez told Terza later, when he was abed. “Not if he runs a business the same way he gambles.”

  “I’m sure he has no idea whatever of how to run a business,” Terza said as she approached the bed. “That’s what Marcella’s for.” She wore a blue silk nightgown, had bound her long black hair with matching blue ribbon into a long tail that she wore over one shoulder. The look gave her a pleasing asymmetry. Martinez reached out one of his big hands and stroked her hip with the back of his knuckles.

  Their marriage had been arranged by their families, one of Roland’s more elaborate and insistent conspiracies. Martinez felt free to resent Roland’s interference, but he had decided long ago not to resent Terza.

  “What about Ledo Allodorm?” he asked.

  Terza’s almond eyes widened faintly. “You noticed?” she asked.

  “I saw you react to the name. I doubt the others know you well enough to have seen what I did.”

  “Move over. I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Martinez made room on the bed. Terza slipped beneath the covers and curled on her side facing Martinez. Her scent floated delicately through his perceptions.

  “I found out about Allodorm when I was asked to review some old contracts left over from the war,” she said. The Ministry of Right and Dominion, where she was posted, was the civilian agency that encompassed the Fleet, and dealt with issues of contracts, supply, Fleet facilities, budgets, and support.

  “Allodorm is a Daimong from Devajjo, in the Hone Reach,” she continued. “During the war he received a contract to build four— or was it five?— transport vessels for the Fleet. The war ended before he could deliver the ships, and the contract was canceled.”

  “So what did he do?” Martinez asked. “Convert the transports to civilian purposes? That would be allowed, wouldn’t it, if the government didn’t want them anymore?”

  Terza frowned. “There was an allegation that he never built the ships at all.”

  Martinez blinked. “He took the money and did nothing?”

  “Other than commission some architects, print some stationary, and recruit some staff and some high-priced legal talent, no.” She looked thoughtful. “It was possible to make a calculation that the war would be over before he had to deliver. If we won, the contracts would be canceled; and if the Naxids won, they wouldn’t care if he’d started work or not.”

  “Didn’t the Investigative Service climb all over Allodorm’s operation? Couldn’t the ministry at least have asked for its money back?”

  Terza offered a mild shrug. “After the war the IS was involved in purging rebels and their sympathizers, and didn’t spare a thought for the people who were supposed to be on our side. When the file finally came across my desk I recommended an investigation, but the ministry decided against it. I don’t know why; it’s possible that Allodorm is politically protected.”

  “So now Allodorm is on Chee, and Marcella and Lord Pa are traveling to consult with him.”

  “Maybe he’s a sub-contractor.”

  “That doesn’t speak well for the prospect of the Chee Company’s balance sheet.”

  “The Chee Company may be all right,” Terza pointed out. “It’s Lord Pa and the Meridian Company that’s the prime contractor. If anyone’s being gouged, it’s probably them.”

  “Either way, it’s my family’s money.” He shifted closer to Terza’s warmth and she rested her head on his shoulder and put an arm across his chest. “Our balance sheet has improved anyway. What shall we do with Mukerji’s cash?”

  He could sense her amusement. “Buy someth
ing preposterous, I suppose. You’ve always talked about taking up yachting.”

  Martinez felt a twinge of annoyance. “They wouldn’t let me into the Seven Stars or the Ion Club,” he said. “A provincial can’t past their august doors, no matter how many medals he’s won.” He kissed Terza’s forehead. “Or how many high-placed ministry officials he’s married.”

  “So join a lesser club,” Terza said, “and beat the pants off the Seven Stars in every match.”

  Martinez grinned at the ceiling. “That’s not a half-bad idea,” he said.

  He felt Terza’s warm breath on his neck as she spoke. “Is this the room you lived in as a child?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. Same furniture, too, but the model Fleet ships that I hung from the ceiling are gone. And so are the uniform guides to the various academies that I’d tacked up on the walls.”

  Her low chuckle came to his ear. “So joining the Fleet was your idea, I take it.”

  “Oh yes. I had a lot of romantic ideas— must have got those from my mother. And my father didn’t mind, because in the Fleet at least I’d learn some useful skills.”

  He remembered, before the war, when speaking with— with a certain person, a woman he preferred not ever to think about, a woman with pale hair and milky skin and blazing green eyes— he’d expressed his frustration at being in a meaningless service, a club not unlike the Seven Stars but less useful, a club devoted to ritual and display and serving the limitless vanity of its commanders.

  The war had changed that, at least for a while.

  What hadn’t changed, apparently, were the politically-connected contractors who gouged the government while delivering shoddy, late, or nonexistent work.

  That, he supposed, was the government’s business. What concerned Martinez was that if Allodorm were stealing money now, he was no longer stealing it just from the government, but the Martinez family.

  In which case, it had to stop.

  Terza pressed closer to Martinez on the bed. She kissed his cheek. “I wonder,” she said, “if when you were a boy in this bed, you ever imagined— “

  Martinez sat up, displacing Terza’s head and arm. “Comm,” he said. “Wall display: on.”