Ghost War mda-1

by Michael A. Stackpole

“My pleasure, child.” Quam glanced at me. “Your name, sir?”

  “Sam Donelly. I’m a special projects consultant.” I smiled. I didn’t offer Quam my hand because I figured I’d lose a finger or two, either to him or Snookums. Bianca shook my hand, enfolding it in a strong grip. “If I might ask, what did Quam mean about your father’s moods?”

  Quam rolled his eyes. “Not from around here are you?”

  “Be kind, Quam.” Bianca smiled softly. “My father rules the planet benignly and well, but holds certain philosophies with which I disagree. He sees The Republic’s requirement of community service in exchange for citizenship as a call for everyone to work. He finds those who fall below the poverty line to be malingerers and sociopaths who would suck us all down into a morass. He thinks they were born evil and have failed to rise above their base nature.”

  Quam swallowed a mouthful that was more than I’d eaten in my last two meals combined. “This angel here, on the other hand, believes in the virtue of mankind, and has dedicated her life to helping the less fortunate. She created the Basalt Foundation, which uses private donations to fund shelters, meal programs and the like—for all people, regardless of their backgrounds. Her father thinks she is coddling criminals, though his mood lightens when her efforts are praised.”

  Bianca risked a growl from Snookums by patting Quam on the shoulder. “Quam donated his fare to the foundation, and was instrumental in getting restaurants to save leftovers for delivery to the shelters.”

  “One does what he can, isn’t that right, Snookums?” The man planted a kiss on the dog with lips so thick that he obscured half the dog’s head.

  “It sounds as though you do very good work.” I reached into my pocket and withdrew one of the two five-thousand-stone credit chits I’d been given for my winnings. “Please, take this. I’d like to help as well. I saw all those poor people who were rendered homeless because of the sewer flooding.”

  Quam shifted from foot to foot as if his knickers were bunching up and the dog whimpered in sympathy.

  Bianca accepted the chit with wide eyes. “Mr. Donelly, this is quite generous. I really can’t… I mean, it will help, but are you sure?”

  I nodded. “Not me you should thank, but the inferior poker prowess of that man over there, those two there, the woman there and that red-headed man over there.”

  She followed my finger as I pointed, then she snorted. “This is the first donation they’ve made to the Foundation. I will take it, then.”

  “Good. If I win any more, I will continue to donate.”

  Quam frowned. “You should really join one of the high-stakes games. More money, worse players.”

  “You know this from experience?”

  He shook his head, and his jowls remained shaking long after he’d stopped. “They don’t let Snookums in the room with daddy, do they. But I watch, I listen. I am a journalist, after all, even if all they value me for is my palate.”

  I’d walked past the high-stakes room, and the buy-in started at twenty thousand. “Alas, they won’t let me in there either.”

  Quam gave me a long look up and down. “I’ll stake you for a hundred thousand. Half of what you win goes to the Foundation.”

  “And if I lose your money?”

  He laughed. “My dear boy, I have little need for money. Any establishment I wish to visit on this planet will give me a meal or three, and a room, and lavish gifts on me in the hopes that I will, if not mention them favorably, at least not mention them scathingly. And there are a whole host of companies that create these dreadful packaged meals who hire me at incredible fees as a consultant, specifically so my conflict of interest will prevent me from telling people that consumption of the plastic containers in which the food arrives would impart more nutrition and more taste than the alleged foodstuffs themselves.”

  Snookums, having heard that diatribe before, backed it with a chorus of growls.

  “You’re most kind, then.”

  A harsh voice growled, “That’s the first time that’s been said of this tub of bacon drippings.”

  “Better to be the renderings of a noble animal than an ignoble beast.” Quam sniffed and turned away to the buffet table as a tall young man with blond hair and hazel eyes laid a hand on Bianca’s shoulder.

  The man looked at me with pure contempt dripping from his sneer. “You are dismissed.”

  The sneer I could have taken, but the high-handed attitude and complete conviction that I was something he’d easily crush under a boot heel got to me. I looked slowly at Bianca. “You would know, my lady, if there is a doctor present at this gathering.”

  The question surprised her and she blinked distractedly. “I think so. Yes, of course. Why?”

  “Because if he does not remove that hand from your shoulder, I will dislocate his elbow in a manner he will find painful and that will require two operations and a year’s worth of physical therapy to mend.”

  The icy tones in my voice froze the sneer on his lips. “Do you have any idea…”

  Bianca shook her head. “Bernard, Mr. Donelly is new to Basalt. Sam, this is my brother, Bernard.”

  I looked him up and down and could see the resemblance. He looked different from the book illustrations, with his hair now lighter and without a beard. I said nothing.

  Bernard sniffed, and didn’t do as good a job at it as Quam had. He let his eyes linger on me for a moment, then looked at his sister. “Father wishes to see you.”

  “Here? Now?” She stood on her tiptoes to look at where Count Germayne was shaking hands with Emblyn, the two of them smiling as Tri-Vid cameras recorded the event for posterity. Despite the smiles, however, I could see the tension in the tight grip, and the way the smiles stopped at the corners of their mouths. In those eyes there was nothing but pure venom.

  Behind the Count in the line stood two more people who bore a family resemblance to Bianca and Bernard. The man was Teyte—a little older, a little taller and a lot stronger than Bernard. The woman, Sarah, I recognized from articles about Emblyn that showed her in his company. In the pictures she had been a blonde, but now wore her hair dark brown. Her brother was still blond, but that hue came from a bottle.

  Bianca smiled at me. “If you will excuse me, Sam.”

  “Of course, m’lady.” I bowed my head to her, then just looked up and glared daggers at her brother.

  The two of them slipped into the seething mass of people, and Quam again appeared before me, eclipsing the reunion. “There you have it, Sam, the future of Basalt. Bernard will rule after his father, and you’ve just seen him on his best behavior. I’ve heard a rumor that when the sewers backed up on the west side, Bernard and Teyte stood on a balcony of the palace and laughed so hard at the plight of the little people that they actually soiled themselves. I doubt it is true per se, but not wholly out of character for either of the racist prigs.”

  I frowned. “I gathered, from Bianca’s surprise at her father being here, that this was the last place she’d expect to see him.”

  “Indeed, but so many of the rich and powerful are here that the Count could not afford not to be seen among them. He and Emblyn had a falling out after our host asked for Sarah’s hand in marriage. The Count, who is conservative enough to make the Blakists appear to be the soul of liberal enlightenment, was incensed that a lowly off-world merchantman commoner would think he was worthy of Germayne blood. The pity is that Emblyn really liked the old man, and had cut him in on a number of deals that buoyed the family fortunes for a bit, but now that pipeline has been closed off.”

  “And yet he is here.”

  Quam snorted and his dog sneezed. “Of course he is. Emblyn would not stop him. I’m sure no invitation was issued to him, but a suite was reserved all the same. Emblyn does want entrée into the highest echelons of Basalt society. He wants to be seen as an equal, and if his blood does not measure up, his manners can. His sense of philanthropy helps as well, and he donates to the Foundation both to help his image and to tweak the
other Germaynes for their niggardly participation in Bianca’s enterprise.”

  I gave the man a sly look. “That’s rather astute political analysis for someone who purports to be little more than a food critic.”

  Quam started to slip back into his character and deny all, then his dark eyes narrowed. He whispered in the dog’s ear. “Mr. Sam sees what others do not, Snookums. He will bear watching.”

  “I hope you do watch, Quam.” I smiled. “After all, it’s your money I’ll be playing with.”

  The dinner was very good. I was seated at a table for ten, between an actor and a psychic, which was pretty much my definition of hell, especially when the psychic congratulated her on the awards she had won in past lives. As they compared notes on who it was the actress likely had been, I felt myself slipping closer and closer to my next life.

  After dinner there were music and dancing. I did manage to get Bianca onto the floor and we moved well together. I would have asked her to dance more, but the night’s storms rolled in early. Everything ground to a halt as massive silver spiderwebs of fire raced over the dark clouds and stabbed at the earth. The lightning came so quickly and so bright that it left dark spots before my eyes, and spontaneous applause arose after particularly spectacular strikes.

  I smiled. Emblyn, I realized, had hit upon something that all the other promoters had missed. They tried to hide the rain. They thought people would fear the lightning. Emblyn had raised the Palace so people could stand like gods just beneath the clouds and watch the argent bolts torture the planet below. The sense of power it gave one was indescribable.

  And, if dwelt upon too long, might convince one that a planet’s fate should be put in his hands alone.

  As the storm abated, the evening ended. Quam called down to the high-stakes room host and set up a line of credit for me. I left the party and went there, finding a few people I recognized from above already involved in a game. I sat in and watched, playing cautiously for the first few hands. I folded quickly since I’d caught no cards, but it was really too early for me to do much anyway.

  As the old poker saying goes, if you can look around the table and you don’t see the person who is the pigeon, then you’re it. I actually found several pigeons who played as if the money had no value. They were looking for the thrill of Lady Luck kissing the top of their heads as opposed to using those heads to supplement with guile what luck was denying them.

  I watched how they bet and what they bet on. There were a couple of abortive attempts at bluffing, but the bluffers backed off when an aggressive raise came back at them. I knew those people could, therefore, be bluffed. And those who raised to counter a bluff could fall hard to a hand that looked horrid based on the cards showing but had some powerful combinations hidden in the down cards.

  I started by pulling thirty thousand stones from the line of credit, and dipped as low as twenty-two before I began winning. I won one hand with a bluff that brought me back even. The very next hand I caught a full house, but you couldn’t see that in the up cards, so I was aggressively counterbluffed. I kept raising and doubled my stake on that hand alone.

  A couple of the players decided to retire for the night, which left seats open for Bernard and Teyte. The table really hadn’t needed more pigeons, but we got a brace in them. It didn’t hurt that Bernard didn’t like me, that Teyte caught that dislike from his cousin, and that the two of them downed liquor shots with the enthusiasm Quam used in scarfing canapés.

  The other players at the table saw how the power was shifting and they continued to play. They lost hands to the Germaynes that they’d not have lost to me. I quickly realized they were paying a voluntary luxury tax, since the Germaynes did have power. If they plied their power the way they played their cards, however, it would be squandered fast and uselessly.

  What I did to them that night wasn’t pretty. Ideally I’d take little pride in leaving two drunks not so much as a stone in their shoes, but it was a joy to fleece the two of them. They’d likely not faced any real competition in forever and kept ordering up racks of chips, signing chits that, if I’d read the reports on the family financing right, were stealing from their own great-grandchildren.

  I kept at them until, finally, Emblyn himself came to the room and cut their credit off. He was good about it and they acquiesced. The others at the table got up, happy to be let out of the meat grinder. I gathered all the chips and chits, stacking them neatly, then picked up the deck, ordering cards and shuffling. I kept my face expressionless despite having won enough to buy myself a little distillery where I could make the finest Irish whisky known to humanity.

  Emblyn sat down opposite me as the staff cleared the room, and he motioned to me to remain seated. “You realize, Mr. Donelly, that the Germaynes drew half a million stones into this game and it’s all sitting there in front of you. It was my money with which they played, and they will never pay it back. That’s a lot of money.”

  “I know. Half a million of your money, three hundred thousand and change of other people’s money.” I slid five stacks of chits to the middle of the table, then stacked the deck of cards on top of them. “Cut for high card, double or nothing.”

  Emblyn sat back for a moment, fingers brushing over his chin. “Interesting. A pure gamble offered by a man who doesn’t really gamble. You feel safe in offering the bet because you realize I don’t gamble either.”

  “Oh, he who owns the house has the odds in his favor, so it’s not gambling. I know that. You like sure things. As do I. The question is, will you take the chance?”

  He shook his head. “No. As you said, I don’t gamble. Neither do you. So, what I will do is this. I will double that to a million if you cut the deck. If you cut the deck to the three of clubs.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “In four hours there is a DropShip leaving Contressa spaceport. You and your winnings will be on it, never to grace Basalt again.”

  I thought for a moment, then nodded. I squared the deck there on the stack, then cut and revealed the three of clubs.

  “Very good, Mr. Donelly, very good. You stacked the deck. You knew what the bottom card was, so you knew where the three of clubs should be. I like that. I want to know that a man in your position has the foresight and courage to stack the deck in his favor, and then the guts to take the plunge.”

  “You might mistake me, sir. Could be I thought walking away with my winnings was worth the risk.”

  “If that’s true, there are two fools at this table, and I think the odds of that are highly unlikely.” He stood slowly. “Your account will be credited with an extra half a million stones.”

  “Send it to the Basalt Foundation.”

  “So, poker isn’t the only game you play?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “But every one of them I play to win, and since I’m working for you, I hope you won’t mind.”

  28

  Let wealth and commerce, laws and learning die,

  But leave us still our old nobility!

  —John Manners, Duke of Rutland

  Emblyn Palace Resort, Garnet Coast

  Basalt

  Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere

  10 February 3133

  While the junket at the resort was supposed to last until the twelfth, I opted to join Bianca and Quam in leaving on the last shuttle on the tenth. A number of the people I’d skinned asked if they were going to get a chance to win their money back, but I could see they really didn’t want me at the table. That was fine with me, as I’d done a bit more damage than I expected to and my encounter with Emblyn had made it clear that I was an employee. While he did have an entrepreneur’s appreciation of my skills, in his organization there was only one big dog, and he was it.

  And on the scale he worked, I made Snookums look like a wolfhound.

  I was content to leave early as I’d attracted a bit more attention than I wanted to. People were noticing me and knew my name, and it wasn’t because I’d given money to the Basal
t Foundation. The story of the B&T Poker Express Limited jumping the maglev tracks and crashing at Half-Mil Junction had gotten around. It was better to fade than stick around and give folks an opportunity to form an opinion.

  At the terminal in Contressa Quam was determined that Snookums would not travel as baggage. Bianca opted to help him out and took possession of the dog while Quam wrestled with a big basket of food. The shuttle’s conductor recognized Bianca and allowed her to bring the dog on, whereas all other pets were relegated to the baggage compartment.

  Quam took up the back bench and we nabbed seats one row forward. Snookums, who sat with her master, growled at anyone lingering around waiting to use the bathroom, so we had a fair amount of privacy. This pleased Quam, who opened his basket and set about melding various foodstuffs into combinations which he shared with us and one three-year-old waif who wandered in our direction while his mother slept.

  Bianca smiled at me. “I can’t thank you enough for the donation. Ring transferred six hundred thousand into the Foundation’s account. It’s all anonymous, of course, but it was nice of him to match your donation stone for stone.”

  “Indeed, it was.” I nodded slowly and even smiled. Emblyn had given more than he needed to, but claimed half as his own generosity. He had to have known I’d find out. I could think of any of a number of explanations for his action, and all sorts of messages he was sending me. It was clear he was testing me, seeing if I would take umbrage at his having laid claim to money I had won. If I were a rash man, it would provoke rash action, but he already knew I wasn’t rash. So, he reminded me yet again who was more important.

  What he seemed to forget was that it was all his money anyway. The conclusions I drew from that oversight were not a message he wanted to send, I was fairly certain.

  I reached a hand inside my coat and brought out a cashier’s check for another four hundred fifty thousand stones. It had been made out to the Foundation as well. “This represents half the winnings I had, plus the eighty thousand I tried to have friend Quam take as interest on his loan.”