by Timothy Zahn
Naturally, Mensant himself didn’t seem bothered. He was a professional gambler, well accustomed to the ebbs and flows of fortune.
Far more interesting was Phramp’s reaction.
It came gradually, as gradually as the reversal of fortune itself. But Lando could see his change from confusion to suspicion to certainty as he realized someone else at the table was playing his game straight back at him.
Only he wasn’t quite as good at spotting cheaters as he was at being one. Lando watched in dark amusement as Phramp’s eyes darted back and forth around the table, trying to tag his unknown opponent. But as far as Lando could tell he never completely narrowed it down.
Of course, the task was made harder by the fact that Zerba wasn’t operating alone. Lando didn’t dare risk any actual cheating, not with this crowd, certainly not with the cam droids hovering at the ceiling showing the hand-by-hand action to the spectators spread out around the ballroom. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t judiciously throw a hand whenever it would help one of Mensant’s rivals.
And as the game progressed through the late-night hours into those of early morning, he wondered what Jydor was going to say when Phramp warned him that someone was messing with his plan.
What he would say, and what he would do.
“The game’s certainly getting interesting,” Bink reported, her tone giving Tavia a quick mental image of her sister’s smugly satisfied expression. “Hard to tell from back here, but it looks like Phramp’s about to burst a blood vessel.”
“That’s nice,” Tavia said mechanically, only a fraction of her attention on Bink’s running commentary. She almost had the encryption solved now. The right nudge, in the right direction, and it should shatter, leaving the mysterious text clear and open.
She took a deep breath, feeling a surge of satisfaction. This kind of computer slicing wasn’t really her forte—her strengths ran more to the hardware side of the electronics spectrum. To have gotten this far this quickly was highly gratifying.
Of course, the person who’d created the patch didn’t seem to be all that skilled at such things, either. But that was okay. An achievement was an achievement, and there was no point in muddying it up with ifs, ands, buts, and qualifiers. She gave it one final tweak—
And the encryption was gone. Smiling, Tavia ran her eyes down the mysterious text. Her smile faded, the glow of satisfaction vanished into something cold and unpleasant.
She read the note three times, her sense of bewilderment growing deeper with each pass.
Distantly, she became aware that Bink was still chattering cheerfully. Reading through the text one final time, she groped for the comlink. “Bink?”
“What’s wrong?” Bink asked, all levity gone from her voice. She knew Tavia’s verbal cues as intimately as Tavia knew hers.
“Something very strange,” Tavia said. “And very wrong.”
“I’m on my way,” Bink said. “Looks like the boys will be going on for a while. Do you need them, too?”
“There’s no rush,” Tavia said. “Actually, the longer they’re in the game, the longer we’ll have to figure out what’s going on. And I’m thinking we’re going to need every bit of that time.”
“No,” Zerba said firmly, his eyes narrowed, his hair again doing that rippling thing Lando had noticed once before. “I don’t buy it.”
“It’s right there,” Bink said, gesturing toward Tavia’s datapad.
“But it’s ridiculous,” Zerba said. “Who leaves a murder note?”
“Lady Vanq, apparently,” Lando murmured, his eyes tracking down the text:
To the Danteel City police authorities:
If I am found dead by violence, be advised that my killer is Master Veilred Jydor. He has been a business rival for many years, and currently holds me responsible for his failed bid for the Lockyern account. He is a violent and vindictive human, and I have no doubt that he will soon make a deadly move against me for pride’s sake.
I have arranged for this note to be transmitted upon news of my death. I beg from the dark beyond that you will bring justice to my fate.
Lady Carisica Vanq, Danteel City, Danteel
“It can’t be legit,” Zerba insisted. “The only way it could work is if the programming patch was in place before the murder, and Lady Vanq somehow managed to intertwine a message into it, and that she did it while dying of a massive blaster burn.”
“And that it didn’t occur to her to simply call the police directly instead of doing all that,” Lando added.
“Exactly,” Zerba said, nodding. “That sort of thing only happens in badly written mystery holodramas.”
“Agreed,” Bink said. “And you’re right about the patch having been created before the murder—otherwise, the droids would have seen the killer come in. As you also said, the message had to have been intertwined at the same time.” She seemed to brace herself. “And since the message implicates Jydor, that means he’s not the murderer.”
Lando looked at Tavia. She’d always been the less talkative of the pair, though she was perfectly capable of relaxing and having fun if the circumstances and company were right. But at the moment her usual reserve had descended into something dark and brooding. “If not Jydor, then who?” he asked. “Tavia?”
Reluctantly, she raised her eyes from her contemplation of the floor. “There’s only one person that makes sense,” she said. “Jydor’s business manager, Chumu.”
“Chumu?” Zerba echoed, his eyes widening briefly. “No—that’s ridiculous. He’s a businessman. An accountant and deal maker. They’re not the murdering type.”
“That guard, Rovi, is probably in it with him,” Bink pointed out. “From what I saw, he could definitely be the murdering type.”
“But—” Zerba began.
“Look at the facts,” Bink interrupted. “Or rather, look at the situation if this all goes down the way it looks like it was supposed to. Lady Vanq, a serious business rival, is now gone. Her supposed warning note will be enough to launch an investigation, and under Danteel law Jydor will be barred from running his business until the probe is complete. That leaves Chumu in charge.”
“There’s more,” Tavia said. “I’ve done a correlation analysis with HoloNet communications and credit transfers, and I’m pretty sure Mensant is playing the tournament on behalf of another of Jydor’s business rivals, a Twi’lek named Arvakke. If Phramp can throw a charge of cheating against Mensant, and make it stick, that’ll wash up against Arvakke under Danteel’s agent–principal felony linkage laws.”
“Meaning that Arvakke won’t be able to run his business, either, until the charges are cleared up,” Bink said. “With two major rivals out of the way—three if you count Jydor himself—Chumu is in the perfect position to move in and take over.”
Zerba gave a little snort. “Winner take all, just like Jydor said.”
“Except it’s not the winner he had in mind,” Bink agreed tightly. “The question is what we do about it.”
Zerba shrugged. “I’m still good with running, especially if Chumu’s targeting Jydor. With a fish that big on the hook, he’s not going to bother hunting minnows.”
“Only if the big fish stays on the hook,” Tavia said. “If he wiggles free, I don’t doubt Chumu would go back to pointing fingers in the most convenient direction.”
“That direction being toward Bink?” Lando asked.
“Exactly,” Bink said. “With the bio-suppressant masking the decay profiles and time-of-death readings, the cops won’t know whether she died two weeks ago or yesterday until they do a complete layer-autopsy. There’s no way Jydor or I or anyone else will be able to come up with an alibi for that long a window.”
“And the whole thing will be triggered by the supposed murder note,” Lando said. “I assume the encryption vanishes when the programming patch is taken off?”
“Basically,” Tavia said. “And it doesn’t just sit in her computer system, either. Like the note said, it’s set to be tran
smitted straight to the police.”
“So Bink’s only way out is for us to prove that Chumu did it?”
“Basically,” Bink said, eyeing him closely. “You have an idea?”
“I think so,” Lando said. “Tavia, can you get into the text of that note? I mean far enough to change it and then put the encryption back on without that being obvious?”
“Probably,” Tavia said. “But not from here. This is just a copy—I’d have to get back into Lady Vanq’s house to do that.”
“Good,” Lando said. “One more question: can you also get into the casino’s computer system?”
“How deep in do you need?”
“Not very,” Lando assured her. “I just need access to low-level functions. Housekeeping, environmental functions—that sort of thing.”
“She’ll need a tap,” Bink said. “But I can pop one in anytime and have it ready whenever she needs it.”
“Good.” Lando looked at Zerba. “Winner take all, you said? I think it’s time we realigned Chumu’s way of thinking.”
The next evening’s session was well under way when Bink arrived at Jydor’s private turbolift and announced she was there to see Master Chumu. There was a short comlink conference, after which the guard allowed her passage.
Not surprisingly, Chumu was waiting when the turbolift doors opened. Also not surprisingly, he didn’t look happy to see her. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“You said you wanted me to check out the Tchine downstairs,” Bink reminded him.
“The operative word being downstairs,” he retorted. “I don’t need you up here.”
“You do if you want your readings,” Bink said, slipping past him and heading for the lounge outside the art display room where the two of them had held their meeting the previous day.
“Wait a minute,” Chumu said, hurrying to catch up. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t exactly wander the streets with an illegal sensor,” Bink said over her shoulder. “I have to assemble it, and for that I need privacy.” She reached the lounge and sat down in the chair directly in front of the security holocam.
“You might be more comfortable at the kitchen counter,” Chumu said, dithering uncertainly in the doorway as she opened her bag and started laying out the collection of electronic components she and Tavia had thrown together. “There’s more space and considerably more privacy.”
“This is fine,” Bink assured him. “If you really want privacy, you can shut off that holocam behind me. Or feel free to leave it on—I’m sure you’ll be able to explain my presence somehow.”
Chumu threw a hooded look at the holocam. “You’re here to take some acoustical readings for a possible new entertainment system,” he said. “There’s no sound on that holocam, so you don’t have to worry about what we say.”
“Fine,” Bink said. “Incidentally, you’re welcome to watch. But I promise you won’t see anything.”
For a moment she continued laying out her gear in silence. Chumu looked at the security holocam again, then crossed reluctantly to one of the other chairs around the table. Pulling out a datapad, he settled down to read.
Bink finished laying out the components. As she started putting them together, she surreptitiously checked her chrono. Her timing, as usual, was perfect.
Any minute now …
Theoretically, Tavia knew, the maid outfit Bink had worn a couple of days ago should fit her just as well as it had her sister. But where Bink had worn it with casual ease, Tavia could feel the clothing pressing against her torso and arms, the effect hovering on the edge of claustrophobia. The stack of towels she’d collected from their room as camouflage felt as heavy as an Imperial cruiser balanced across her forearms. The plush carpet and carved ceiling and walls of the ninety-ninth-floor hallway seemed to stare accusingly at the intruder even as they echoed her heartbeat back at her.
She hated this. She really, truly hated this. “You! Stop!”
Tavia’s breath froze in her lungs, her muscles fortunately stiffening instead of betraying her by jerking with obvious guilt. Sternly ordering her body to behave, reminding herself that by all appearances it was perfectly reasonable for her to be here, she turned around. “Yes?” she asked diffidently.
An elegantly dressed Togruta was striding down the hallway toward her, his striped upper horns gleaming as if freshly polished, the dark eyes in the red-and-gray-patterned face staring at and through her.
“Yes?” Tavia repeated, this time hearing a slight shaking in her voice.
The Togruta reached her and, without a word, plucked the top towel off the stack in her arms, then turned and walked away.
For a moment Tavia watched as he headed back to his room, her heart slowly calming down. He could have just asked. He should have just asked.
But she was simply a maid, a human doing a droid’s work, here for no better reason than that Jydor thought living servants made for a more elegant background than mechanical ones. Why shouldn’t one of the guests treat her as if she were nothing?
She turned back around and continued on her way. She really, truly, passionately hated this.
But it was Bink’s life on the line. What else could she do?
The suite Bink had specified was, thankfully, unoccupied. Locking the door behind her, Tavia crossed to the window and set down her small pile of towels on a nearby chair. She pulled out Bink’s ghost-burglar sensor and the rest of the equipment that had been hidden in the middle of the stack, and set to work.
Her first task was to find and neutralize whatever alarms had been set up on the windows. Fortunately, there was only one, which the sensor quickly spotted. Bink, Tavia knew, could probably have disarmed it in five seconds or less. It took Tavia two nerve-racking minutes.
Most hotels in Danteel City employed the standard opaquing window glass common throughout the galaxy. But true luxury places still used curtains or drapes, especially in their finest suites, and Jydor was clearly determined that his ninety-ninth floor be as elegant as the best of them. The window had two sets of curtains: one set gauzy, with a half-twist weave that turned stars and city lights into individual spinning galaxies, the other set a much heavier and more luxurious material that would block the morning sunlight from late sleepers.
The gauzy ones would be faster and easier to work with, she decided. Pulling down one of them and its support rods, she arranged the curtain and rods in a square on the floor. Two minutes later, she had the curtain stretched across the rods like a wind sail, all of it glued solidly together with dabs of rock putty. She fastened two more curtain rods to the far end of the square, angling them back and upward.
Now came the tricky part. Opening the window, she eased the net outside, setting it horizontally just beneath the window and gluing the near end to the wall. Two more daubs of putty on the ends of the support struts, likewise anchoring them to the wall, and it was ready.
For a moment she gazed out at her handiwork. Bink had assured her this would work, and Bink was almost always right about these things. Tavia could only hope she was right about this one, too.
She checked her chrono. Any minute now …
It started subtly, with Zerba muttering under his breath as he gazed hard at the Tchine sitting in its display pyramid in the center of the table. But it didn’t stay subtle for long. Gradually, his volume increased until the whole table could hear him.
“I’m telling you, there’s something wrong with it,” the Balosar insisted. “I saw another Tchine up close once. There’s just something wrong with this one.”
Lando looked around the table. The current dealer—Mensant, as it happened—was still shuffling, either oblivious to Zerba’s monologue or simply ignoring it. The other players, though, were paying attention, and some of them were now also staring hard at the figurine.
Time for Lando to put in his half credit’s worth. “It’s probably some kind of optical illusion,” he told Zerba. “I saw one once, too, and I agree it looks odd.
It’s probably just some kind of reflection off the transparisteel.”
“Maybe,” Zerba said darkly. He half turned into his seat and gestured to Jydor. “How about letting us see it without its fancy dress?”
“I think not,” Jydor said, his tone polite but with an edge to it. “I owe it to the eventual victor to keep his prize safe.”
“Besides, I’m sure he has a certificate of authenticity,” Lando said. “He would hardly have bought it without one.”
“Maybe he could show that to us,” Zerba suggested, still gazing suspiciously at Jydor.
“I’m sure Master Jydor is trustworthy,” Lando said. “As I said before—”
“A trick of the light,” Zerba growled. “Yes, we all heard you. I’d still like to see the certificate.”
Across the table, Phramp cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Master Jydor, it wouldn’t take long, and we’re about due for a break anyway.”
Jydor hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “If it’ll put an end to this nonsense, fine,” he said. He pulled out his comlink.
Right on schedule, Chumu stirred and pulled out his comlink. “Yes?”
There was a moment of silence as the person at the other end spoke. Watching out of the corner of her eye, Bink saw Chumu’s lip twitch. “Yes, of course,” he said. “I’ll bring it down immediately.”
He clicked off and stood up. “I have to go downstairs for a minute,” he said, crossing the lounge in the direction of Jydor’s private office.
“Take your time,” Bink said, not raising her head from her work. “I’d just as soon not have an audience anyway.”
Chumu reached the door and hesitated, and she saw his eyes again flick up to the security holocam. The reminder that she was under constant surveillance seemed to calm him a little. “There’s a guard in the next room over,” he added. He was trying to project a gruff forcefulness, but Bink could hear the tension and nervousness beneath the words. Clearly, he wasn’t happy with all these changes that were interfering with his neat little frame-up. “If you need anything, just call. If he asks, don’t forget—”
