Scoundrels

by Timothy Zahn

  “Or cheat a little on behalf of whoever’s losing.” Zerba gave a theatrical sigh. “And since I doubt you can cheat worth anything—no offense—I guess that’ll be my job.”

  Bink reached over and laid a hand on the Balosar’s forearm. “Thanks, Zerba,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome,” Zerba said sourly. “The main game starts at five tomorrow evening. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll be in by then?”

  Tavia shook her head. “I first need to find a datapad with the right programming hardwired into it.”

  “I know a couple of places to look,” Bink said. “But it’ll probably take most of tomorrow, and I don’t want to risk going back to the house until it’s dark. That’ll be about an hour after you start.”

  “Can you stall the game that long?” Tavia asked.

  “No problem,” Zerba assured her.

  “In fact, given the caliber of the players we’ve got, it’ll probably drag out at least six hours without any finagling at all on our part,” Lando added. “Sounds like we’ve got a plan.”

  “Right,” Zerba muttered. “Lucky, lucky us.”

  The players assembled at the table precisely at five, after Jydor had once again made his grand entrance and placed the Tchine in the center of the table. After looking at it for two days from across the ballroom, Lando decided the thing didn’t look all that impressive close up.

  Maybe it was because he couldn’t look at it anymore without seeing a sheen of blood on it. Or maybe it was because the double ring of Jydor’s guards now encircled him as well as the figurine.

  Still, at least all the guards were facing away from him. That was worth something.

  Jydor gave the standard best-of-luck speech that tournament hosts always made, resumed his seat in the game judge chair, and the game began.

  As Lando had already noted, the assembled players were some of the best in the galaxy. Most of the main six were far better than he was, and they certainly knew it. More than once he caught a side look from one of them directed at him or Zerba that clearly carried the unspoken question of what such rank amateurs were doing in their company. It was just as well, he thought, that he was no longer trying to win.

  But all the rest of them were, and the play was every bit as cutthroat as he’d expected. It was going back and forth so much, in fact, that they were two hours into the game before he noticed something odd.

  One of the players, a craggy-faced Rodian named Mensant, had settled into a pattern of winning every few hands. Every eight hands, in fact, plus a handful of others.

  The logical suspicion was that the guy was cheating. The problem was that he wasn’t winning the hands he himself was dealing. Instead, it was the hands being dealt by a blank-eyed man named Phramp.

  Lando gave it another dozen rounds, just to be sure. Then, during one of the deals, he casually looked over at Zerba and gave a microscopic nod toward Phramp.

  Zerba’s lip twitched, and he gave an equally small nod in response. So he’d caught it, too. An hour later, Jydor called for a break. Heading toward the bar, carefully avoiding getting anywhere near Zerba, Lando pulled out his comlink and keyed for Bink. “We need a conference,” he said when she answered. “Can you add in Zerba?”

  “Sure.” There was a short pause.

  “Yes?” came Zerba’s voice.

  “What do you think?” Lando asked.

  “I was wondering why Jydor had set it up so that the players took turns dealing instead of having one of his own people do it,” Zerba said. “Looks to me like he’s got Phramp trying to throw the game to Mensant.”

  “He’s throwing the game?” Bink echoed. “What in chaos for?”

  “I don’t know,” Lando said. “Before you told us about Lady Vanq I would have said Mensant and Phramp were working for Jydor and that he was trying to scam the Tchine back into his collection.”

  “But now it looks more like he’s trying to unload the stolen one onto someone in particular,” Zerba said.

  “Let’s see if we can find out who Mensant is fronting for,” Bink said. “I’ll see if Tavia can track that down after she finishes the coding search.”

  “Good,” Lando said. “How’s that going?”

  “Slow,” Bink said. “But she’s making progress.” There was an indistinct voice in the background. “She says it’s creepy in here.”

  “You’re in the bedroom?” Zerba asked.

  “It’s the only place we’re absolutely sure the droids can’t see anyone,” Bink pointed out. “Talk to you later.”

  She clicked off. Grimacing to himself, Lando put away his comlink—

  “Excuse me,” a voice behind him said.

  Before Lando could even start to turn, a large man appeared beside him. “Master Chumu’s compliments,” the man continued. “He’d like a word with you.”

  “And Master Chumu is …” Lando prompted, edging away.

  “Master Jydor’s business manager,” the man said, staying right with him.

  “Maybe later,” Lando said. “I’ve got a game to get back to.”

  “I’m afraid I have to insist,” the man said. “Don’t worry about the game—it won’t resume for at least twenty minutes.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because Master Jydor’s gone to the private dining room for a snack,” the man said. “He always has crab rotoven, and it always takes him twenty to thirty minutes to eat it.”

  Lando frowned. “And how do you know that?”

  “Because I’m one of his household guards,” the man said tightly. “Call me Rovi.” He gestured in the direction of the private turbolifts. “And I really must insist.”

  “Did you see where he took him?” Bink asked, gripping her comlink tightly.

  “Straight to one of Jydor’s private turbolifts,” Zerba said, his voice strained. “And the guards there obviously knew the guy.”

  “They probably play cards together after hours,” Bink said, staring at the body lying on the bed. She’d known this charade couldn’t last. But she hadn’t expected it to fall apart this fast. “But you’re still free?”

  “Free and clear, as far as I can tell.”

  “Then it must have been something he said that was overheard,” she concluded, trying to remember Lando’s exact words. He’d said Lady Vanq’s name, she remembered. That might have been all it took, especially if that particular guard knew the old Devaronian had been murdered.

  Even if they didn’t know the details, Jydor certainly did. Lando was in it, all right, all the way up to his neck.

  Unless Bink could manufacture another interpretation for his comment …

  “Okay,” she said, crossing over to Lady Vanq’s safe. “I’ll handle this. Stay put and pretend you don’t know anything. That means rejoining the game if and when it starts up again.”

  “I know what it means,” Zerba growled. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Me, too,” Bink said. “Let me know if anything interesting happens.”

  “What are we going to do?” Tavia asked tightly.

  “You’re going to keep on the programming patch,” Bink said, setting to work opening the safe. “Where are you right now?”

  “I’ve got the patch itself figured out,” Tavia said. “But I haven’t been able to backtrack it yet. There’s something funny in one section of the coding, too.”

  “What kind of funny?”

  “The confusing kind,” Tavia said. “It reads like encrypted text. I’m trying to clear it so I can see if it’s something we should be worried about.”

  “But you could cut out the patch and let the droids see what’s happened in here?”

  “Anytime you want,” Tavia confirmed. “I’d like to decrypt that text first, though.”

  “Go ahead and give it a shot,” Bink said. “But if we run out of time, we’ll just have to pop the patch and hope the text isn’t a problem.”

  The safe lock snicked open. Pulling on t
he door with one hand, she keyed Lando’s comlink with the other. “Here goes nothing.”

  Darim Chumu was a middle-aged human with the look and feel of a born huckster. From his casual body language as he sat comfortably in one of the chairs in the penthouse entryway lounge, to the deep smile lines in his face, it was clear that he was a man who’d closed countless deals over the years.

  But that face wasn’t smiling now. And the languid posture carried the same underlying tension of a gambler trying to read an opponent’s hand. “I apologize for the abruptness of my invitation,” he said after the somewhat strained introductions had been made and Lando had been seated across from him. “But you mentioned Lady Vanq, and that name is not to be spoken casually in the High Card Casino.”

  “I’ll make a note,” Lando said, striving to match his host’s tone. “Was there anything else?”

  Chumu’s eyes narrowed microscopically. “I don’t think you fully understand, Master Calrissian,” he said. “Lady Vanq cheated Master Jydor out of a great deal of money a few months ago. Friends of hers aren’t welcome here.”

  “I’m hardly a friend,” Lando protested mildly. So Chumu was probing to see just how close Lando and the murdered Devaronian had been. “More a business acquaintance.”

  “I didn’t know she did business with gamblers,” Chumu said. “Do you own a casino or gambling pit?”

  “Actually, it was regarding one of my other professions,” Lando said. “It’s rather confidential, I’m afraid.”

  Chumu’s eyes narrowed a little more. “I’m afraid I must insist on an answer.”

  “I don’t know if I can—” Lando broke off as his comlink twittered.

  “Go ahead and answer that,” Chumu said.

  “They’ll call back,” Lando said, leaving the comlink where it was. Odds were that it was Zerba calling to chat, and cheating, scams, and murder were the absolute last topics of conversation he wanted brought up right now.

  “Answer it,” Chumu said, his tone making it clear it was an order. “Or Rovi will.” With a grimace, Lando pulled out the comlink. As he did so, Rovi reached over his shoulder and closed a massive hand around Lando’s. “On wide-focus, if you please,” Chumu added.

  There was nothing for it but to comply. Mentally crossing his fingers, Lando clicked it on. “Lando.”

  “It’s Michelle,” Bink’s voice came. “Listen, do you know where Lady Vanq is? I’ve tried all the comlink numbers I have, but I can’t get ahold of her.”

  “I don’t have any numbers you don’t,” Lando said, trying to hide his relief. Bink calling—and using a pseudonym—meant that she was on to the problem. Probably Zerba had spotted the grab and alerted her.

  Of course, he had no idea where she was going with this. But whatever it was, it would probably beat anything he could come up with on the fly. “Is it important?”

  “Of course it’s important,” Bink said stiffly. “She still owes me the last payment on that Tchine copy.”

  And with that, Lando was suddenly up to speed. “She hasn’t paid yet?” he asked, feigning surprise.

  “And she’s late on the initial for the Caffreni flutterine,” Bink said. “You told me she could be trusted to pay on time.”

  “That’s her reputation,” Lando agreed. “I’ll see if I can get hold of her.”

  “You do that,” Bink said. “When you do, tell her the Jam’arn circlet’s also done. That one I’m not so worried about—it was a lot easier than the others. Don’t tell her that, of course.”

  “I won’t,” Lando promised. “I’ll get back to you.”

  He clicked off. “I suppose there’s no point in being coy now,” he said to Chumu. “I also act as intermediary on small art jobs.”

  “You mean forgeries?” Chumu growled.

  “They’re not forgeries,” Lando countered. “Forgery implies intent to deceive, and there’s no such intent here. Collectors are well within their rights to have decoys fabricated to throw off potential thieves.”

  “Perhaps,” Chumu said. His expression was still under control, Lando noted, but his face seemed a couple of shades whiter than it had been.

  Small wonder. He clearly was in this with Jydor, and was now facing the horrible possibility that they might have committed murder for nothing more valuable than a high-quality forgery.

  “Trust me,” Lando said. “I always check out the legal issues before I accept a job of this sort.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Chumu said. “Interesting you should happen to pop up here. Master Jydor was just wondering a few days ago whether we should do something similar for a few of the pieces in his own collection. But he was never convinced that anyone could make copies good enough to fool a knowledgeable thief.”

  “Michelle can,” Lando said. “I’ve brokered quite a few of these deals, and I’ve never seen anyone better than she is.”

  “I’d like to meet her,” Chumu said. “Do you think she’d be willing to drop by?”

  “I’m sure I could set something up,” Lando said. “Right now, though, I have a game I need to get back to.”

  “Of course,” Chumu said. “Just call and set up a meeting, will you? Then Rovi will take you back down.”

  Lando sighed. “Fine,” he said, pulling out his comlink again.

  “And ask her to bring samples of her work,” Chumu added. “I’d like to see them.”

  Bink finished her conversation and clicked off. “I’m in,” she announced. “Any progress on that text?”

  “Not yet,” Tavia said, frowning at her datapad. “How much time do I have?”

  “I can stall him for at least a day,” Bink said. “That should give you plenty of time.” Her eyes flicked to the body in the bed. “That is, if you don’t mind staying here overnight.”

  “I’m not staying any longer than you do,” Tavia declared with a shiver. “I’ve got a recording. I can work on it from our room.”

  “Good enough,” Bink said. She wrapped the Caffreni and Jam’arn carefully and slipped them into her hip pouch. Just borrowing them, she thought with a twinge of guilt toward the dead Devaronian. “Grab your gear, and let’s go.”

  Chumu was impressed by Bink. He was even more impressed by the Caffreni and Jam’arn she’d brought. “These are really forgeries?” he asked, peering closely at each of them in turn.

  “They’re copies,” Bink corrected. “Forgery implies intent to deceive. A copy is intended only for whatever legal purpose the owner wishes to put it to.”

  “You sound like your friend Calrissian.”

  “He’s a colleague, not a friend,” Bink again corrected.

  “My mistake.”

  Casually, Bink looked around. Chumu had brought her deeper into the penthouse than Lando had been, right into the main conversation room. Presumably because there was more privacy here, along with more comfortable chairs.

  The view was certainly better. Directly behind Chumu was the massive but artistically decorated door to Jydor’s art display room. “Let’s cut to the core,” she said. “What do you want copied?”

  “Not so fast,” Chumu admonished. “I’m still not convinced your copies can stand up to a sensor scan. How close a match is one of these to the real thing?”

  Bink suppressed a smile. “It’ll pass any test a normal thief could run on it,” she said. “You’d need a special sensor array to tell the difference.”

  “How special?”

  “Special enough that I doubt there’s anyone in the sector except me who knows how to put one together.”

  “Interesting,” Chumu murmured. “I’d like to see one.” Bink cocked her head. “Why?”

  Chumu’s lip twisted. “There were some rumors going around at the time Master Jydor bought his Tchine figurine,” he said with just the right mix of reluctance and embarrassment. “Hints that the statue might be a forgery. Naturally, we had it checked out, and it came through clean.” He set the other two art objects onto the conversation room’s low center
table. “But at the time we had no idea that a special sensor was needed.”

  “Hold on,” Bink said, frowning. “You’re saying the big prize on display downstairs might be a fake?”

  “I think the likelihood of that is extremely small,” Chumu assured her hastily. “But if there’s even a chance that it is, we need to know about it before the tournament ends.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Bink agreed, peering thoughtfully off into space. “I can certainly put a sensor together and take a look. Unfortunately, I can’t do so until tomorrow.”

  “Not tonight?”

  “There are some special components I need to get.” Bink smiled faintly. “Components I can’t simply carry around with me, for various legal reasons. You may also need time to collect the necessary money.”

  “What money?”

  “My money,” Bink said. “The fee for the test will be ten thousand.”

  Chumu didn’t even bat an eye. “That will be satisfactory,” he said. Standing up, he pulled out a data card. “Here’s my contact information,” he said, handing it to her. “Call me when you’re ready.”

  “I will.” Tucking the data card away, Bink returned the two art objects to her bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have my fee ready.”

  As best as Lando could tell, Phramp was the only player at the table doing any serious cheating, and he was still cheating toward Mensant.

  Or at least he was the only one until Zerba got going.

  Lando had seen plenty of cheating over his years at the gaming tables. He’d seen it done well and badly, adroitly and so incompetently that he wondered how the perpetrator avoided getting blasted on the spot.

  Zerba was an artist.

  His eyes never betrayed his moves. His hands never fumbled or twitched. His tells, which Lando suspected had been carefully designed to give the other players the illusion that they knew everything they needed to about him, never wavered.

  And slowly, Mensant’s steady climb toward victory began to falter.

  Zerba didn’t throw the hands to himself or Lando, of course. That would have been too obvious, not to mention dangerous. Instead, he threw his deals to the other players around the table, never falling into a pattern, chipping away methodically at Mensant’s lead.