Canto Bight [Star Wars]

by Saladin Ahmed

  “The accountant. I remember,” Kal said, gulping. “I didn’t know you worked for Ganna then.”

  “Over the last decades I have worked for many illustrious figures. Their money is as good as anyone else’s. Please sit,” he said, gesturing to an empty seat between the Wookiees. Kal shuddered as he complied.

  The clamorous call to the post sounded—and Mosep looked to Orisha. “Thank you, my dear. It’s possible we may not need you anymore today, but please remain at the Canto Casino.”

  She nodded. “Goodbye, Kal.” She departed.

  The Nimbanel spoke over Kal’s shoulder. “My contact in the surveillance office tells me you’ve been busy trying to meet your obligations—if a little late.” Mosep gestured to the field, where Kal saw the fathiers entering the gate. “And now you own a fathier.” He chuckled. “Such a peculiar act. I see quite a lot of late money has come in—I suspect you’re responsible for that, too. Your odd friends have some inside information, I suppose.”

  “It happens.”

  “It certainly does. But this is not the sort of gamble I was looking for in investing in your talent—and unlike the Suertons, I do not believe in luck.” He nodded to the Wookiees, who frisked Kal. All he had was the contract for Time for Flatcakes’s purchase. “Nothing. Tsk, tsk.”

  A bell clanged below, and nine fathiers responded by bursting from the gate. It took three full seconds for the tenth to emerge, in no particular hurry.

  “My eyes aren’t what they used to be,” Mosep said, handing Kal a pair of macrobinoculars. “Would you care to identify that sad straggler for me?”

  Kal knew before he brought the animal and rider into focus. “Come on, Three,” he mumbled under his breath, referring to the brothers as much as to the fathier. It looked hopeless.

  “Councilor Ganna does not make bad investments—nor does he invest in those who do so themselves,” Mosep said. “The losses stop here.”

  Kal shook as he watched the fathiers go around the near turn. Training the device closer, he saw the Lucky Three, their backs to him on the bottom row of the stands, cheering wildly—and futilely—for their miserable choice. “You…you gave me until sunrise,” Kal said, shaking as he held the macrobinoculars.

  “I’m always on the lookout for opportunities,” Mosep said. He rose and leaned to look over the side into the maintenance pit. “I think this might be an excellent place for a suicide, ladies, don’t you think?”

  The Wookiees growled in agreement.

  “A gambler loses everything and ends it all,” Mosep said, sitting back down. “It happens here often, as you know. Quite a few are former mistakes of mine—but the other gamers we handle know what really happened. You’re an expensive example, Master Sonmi, but at least we’ll get that from you.”

  The fathiers were on the backstretch. Kal’s pulse quickened, and his hands tightened on the forward railing of the box. It was too high to vault, and there was no way past the Wookiees. His thought was to scream—but up here, and with all the attention on the track, it would have been pointless.

  “Let’s not introduce delay, sir,” he heard Mosep say. “I’m up earlier than usual for you, and have a full schedule. Whenever you’re ready, ladies.”

  Kal clung to the railing, his eyes darting among the pack, the far-trailing Time for Flatcakes, and the Lucky Three. The Suertons seemed more excited than ever, apparently not in the least concerned about their flagging choice.

  And then, just as the Wookiees behind Kal stood, something happened. Kal released the railing and raised the macrobinoculars—

  —and watched as Wodi, in a frenzy of cheering, spread his arms wide, accidentally smacking an exotic beverage from the hand of a nearby spectator. The spraying liquid struck the long smoking implement held casually by a fashionable tentacle-headed Nautolan and continued to fall, now ignited. It landed on the hem of her colossal hoop-skirted dress, setting it on fire.

  The woman ran screaming up the staircase, untouched by flames herself but her trailing skirt ablaze. Upon reaching a landing, she thought long enough to step out of the skirt, which she then unwisely threw over the side of the grandstand—into, Kal saw, one of the maintenance pits. The burning garment was out of sight for only a moment when workers quickly piled out like rodents fleeing a hole. A fiery flash so bright Kal had to put down the macrobinoculars was followed by a muffled explosion, with sparking energy crackling up along the heavy wire leading from the pit. There followed a much louder symphony of bangs, as the soaring light fixtures around the near and far turns each burned brightly for an instant before exploding.

  Jarred by the noise and sights, the fathiers on the far turn stopped in the near darkness, illuminated only by the lights from the clubhouse. Jockeys struggled to retain control of their animals, most of which cowered in place; some ran backward. Another jumped the infield fence. Only one creature kept moving in the right direction: the one too deaf to hear the blasts and who knew how to do only one thing, run in a circle when he couldn’t see anything.

  And as the Wookiees took hold of Kal’s arms, the announcer’s voice boomed, “And the winner is Time for Flatcakes!”

  When the emergency lighting came up, Kal looked down to see the Nautolan woman, unharmed, being consoled by track personnel—and the Lucky Three, below, beside themselves in their cheering. Three fathiers ultimately recovered and finished; the Six, Vermilion, finished fourth out of four. Called that one, Kal thought.

  The distracted Wookiees, finally remembering their orders, strengthened their hold on him. “Stop!” Kal shouted. “Didn’t you hear? I just won!”

  “A moment, ladies,” Mosep ordered. The titans released Kal while their boss looked down at the stewards flooding the track. Mosep frowned. “They’ll declare this race null for sure.”

  “They won’t,” Kal said, confidence returning. “I told you when we first met. You’ll get your money back.” His eyes focused on the still-functioning tote board display. The race had not gone final yet, locking in his win—but he had to believe it would.

  “Amazing,” Mosep said, reading from his device. “My contacts tell me the presiding steward who has the power to nullify races went to the medcenter earlier tonight.” He raised a hairy eyebrow. “Apparently he was drinking before his shift and fell while trying to balance on a planter.”

  Kal’s eyes widened. He had been there—with the Lucky Three.

  Mosep rose. “I’m told the race will likely go final and bets will be paid. I don’t believe in luck, my friend, but you seem to have found some. Will you earn back my eight hundred thousand?”

  Kal hadn’t bet anything, but knew the purse would get him halfway there. “I’ll be close.”

  “Close is not enough. I want every coin—and by sunrise, as agreed. You have three hours, by my calculations.” He opened the gate to the box and looked back. “If you don’t think that’s possible, of course, I would be happy to take what you have.”

  “But you’d still kill me.”

  “My accounts always balance, Master Sonmi. Farewell.” The Wookiees followed him out.

  BY THE TIME KAL REACHED the clubhouse level, the track lighting was well on its way to being fully restored—another testament to the efficiency that ruled Canto Bight. The Lucky Three were already inside, celebrating.

  “Did you see him?” Wodi asked, nearly stepping on Kal’s shoeless foot as he enveloped him in a warm embrace. “Our big pal did it!”

  “You did it,” Kal said.

  “Did what?”

  “Never mind.” It didn’t surprise Kal that Wodi was oblivious to his role in events. Kal was just glad to have won. Overjoyed, in fact. Enough that he shared a similar hug with Thodi, whose self-assured imagined expertise had made him the hardest for Kal to like.

  “Slowest time ever for this distance,” Thodi said. “If only there’d been a way to bet that!”

  “You sure bet everything else.”

  The boys had their vouchers out and waiting, but the race display
s in the clubhouse remained blank. Outside, preparations were under way for the final race of the red-eye card—yet the thirteenth remained under review.

  Kal calmed their nerves for a change. “Guys, I heard back in the box from someone who knows. The race will be official.”

  Dodi smiled—and then his expression grew a shade more serious. “I thought I saw you up there with some strange people. Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine.” He didn’t know what Dodi thought he’d seen, but Kal’s mood was the best it had been all day. When a waiter passed with a tray of drinks, the four seized upon glasses and toasted their victory. “Time for Flatcakes!”

  From behind, a familiar voice. “You’re back!”

  Kal turned to see Joris, who had just left the betting window with her voucher for the final race. “Hey,” he said with delight. “My guru!”

  The brothers cheered her. She shook her head, bewildered. “In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “You should have bet him,” Thodi said. “We’ll win big.”

  “Don’t spend it until it’s on the tote.” Still, she chuckled. “How much did you have riding on it?”

  “Them, lots,” Kal said. “Me, nothing. But it doesn’t matter. I win the purse.” Kal grinned. He only needed to double up again—and with the brothers on his side, that seemed possible. He’d get out of debt and get his life back, with new shoes for every day of the week. “What coins do they use to pay out four hundred thousand?”

  Joris looked at him with horror. She shook her head. “Oh, sweetie, you don’t know, do you?”

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you look at your contract?”

  Kal barely remembered it. He put down his drink and found it, from where one of the Wookiees had shoved it into his pocket. At first glance, it was a lot of legal folderol. On second glance, too.

  “You don’t have to look. Everyone who plays knows,” she said, putting her hand on his. “One of the basic rules of claiming races. You can buy the fathier—but the previous owner gets any earnings from the race.”

  Kal’s mouth went dry. “What? Why?”

  “Because it’s not a livestock auction.” She pointed outside, where the fathiers for the final race were parading. “The owners pay to train these animals for a race. They get anything the fathier earns from it. Buyers start earning on the animal’s next race.”

  No. Kal’s shoulders sank. “That…won’t be before sunrise, will it?”

  “No, baby.”

  Kal thought back. Surely Mosep must have understood he wouldn’t receive the purse, which was why he’d called the purchase peculiar. But he’d assumed Kal had also bet money on the fathier, which is why he’d let the card player go, not knowing all he had was title to the animal.

  “On the bright side,” Joris said as she released his hand, “your friends will still make out.” She folded the voucher she’d gotten and put it into her bag. “I’ll have to cash this tomorrow, if I win. I’ll see you sometime, maybe.”

  The quartet nodded to her as she departed.

  For several moments, nobody said anything. Kal had faced death mere minutes earlier, only to be saved—and now his world was falling apart again. Worse—it had already collapsed. He’d never had a chance.

  Fire filled his eyes as he looked at the contract. Crumpling it in his hands, he turned on the brothers. “You see? You see? You actually have to know…stuff!”

  “Hey,” Thodi said, “I think we did pretty well.”

  “You did well. I win nothing.” Kal threw the balled-up contract at Thodi’s and Wodi’s feet. “Did you hear Joris? You idiots spent all my money on a fathier that won a purse for someone else!”

  Wodi stepped back, a little wounded. “How were we supposed to know any of that?”

  “The way anybody knows,” Kal said, uncaring that he was creating a scene. “Smart people don’t just plop thousands down and hope. Smart people learn the ins and the outs of the game. This is why I didn’t want to come here. I’m a card player!”

  “Didn’t help you much yesterday,” Thodi said.

  “Thodi, back off.” He jabbed a finger at him. “You’re the worst. You think you know what you’re doing, but everything you know about every game is completely wrong.” Kal got in Thodi’s face. “Dice do not remember what they landed on before. Slot machines do not hit better if you rub the coin in your hands before putting it in. Jubilee wheels do not favor certain colors because of the redshift effect. And there is no benefit in zinbiddle in sitting at the table in alphabetical order!”

  Thodi’s upper lip trembled. “Well, I’m not giving you a loan.”

  “You weren’t going to before!” Kal stepped back—and saw Dodi watching him in stunned silence. He felt he could not stop, especially when he saw the winning vouchers stuffed in their hands. “I’ve worked my whole life learning to forget superstition, forget luck. You guys?” His hands shook in the air—and then he shook his head. “You’re amazing.”

  He turned away and looked down, feeling drained. He was ashamed of what he’d said, but it had also been there, simmering. He shook his head. “I’ve actually had a good time with you guys tonight,” he admitted. “But I’m broke—and that means I’m dead.”

  Silence for a moment, and then another announcement: “Kaljach Sonmi to the trackside stable, please.”

  He looked around, confused. He appealed to the information clerk. “Do you know what this is about?”

  “No, sir,” she said. “But I can lead you there.”

  He looked at the brothers. “I guess I’ve got to go.”

  “Yeah,” Thodi said. “Guess you do.” He turned and walked away—as did Wodi, without a word. Dodi simply watched Kal go.

  When Dodi found Kal again, it was twenty minutes later, in one of the stalls in the veterinary facility off the trackside stable. The Heptooinian barely noticed his arrival. His attention was on Time for Flatcakes, whose head rested on his lap as Kal sat on the straw-covered floor.

  “He died as soon as he got off the track,” Kal said, stroking the pale spot on the fathier’s head. “He gave it all he had.”

  “I know,” Dodi said, approaching from outside the pen.

  “I suppose you heard.”

  “Yes, they put the report out when they took the race final,” Dodi said. “The track vet said he’d been getting injections of an illegal performance enhancer by his previous owner.”

  “And he nearly came in last anyway,” Kal said, shaking his head. The drug plus the effort had caused the fathier to expire. “Poor guy.” He looked back. “Who else is poor?”

  “Well, we lost everything,” Dodi said. “Flatcakes was disqualified, so the other three finishers wound up one-two-three.”

  Kal considered the news and shook his head. “So Vermilion wound up third after all, like Joris said.”

  “That’s true.” Dodi looked over the short wall into the pen at him. “Back there in the clubhouse, Kal—that was bad.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Dodi shook his head. “That’s how you were when we met you yesterday. I thought you’d relaxed since then.”

  “How can I relax?” Kal eased out from under the corpse’s head and started brushing the straw off his clothes. “You don’t understand, Dodi. That was all my money!”

  “I gathered that. But you’ll get more.”

  Kal stood and stared at Dodi. “How?”

  “What do you mean, how? You’ll just get more—like we will.”

  “When? From where?”

  Dodi shook his head, befuddled. “Where everybody gets it.”

  “I’m not you, Dodi.” He gestured to his feet, his socks now ragged and covered with debris. “I don’t walk everywhere on a cushion of gold dust!”

  Dodi shrugged. “You could.”

  “I can’t. I get blisters, Dodi. So does everyone else who doesn’t have your luck. You don’t know where it comes from—and you don’t care.” Kal shook
his head. “I’m not sure I could accept getting everything in life handed to me like that.”

  Dodi took a deep breath—and turned away. He had only gotten a few steps when he returned. “I almost forgot,” he said, lifting something into the pen. “On the way over here, I found your shoes.”

  Expressionless, Kal took them. “Lucky they were still there, I guess.”

  “Good night, Kal. It’s been fun…mostly.”

  NOTHING IN THE CASINO EVER closed, but fourteen hours without a break was, finally, enough for Ganzer. Kal sat on a couch behind a darkened table and watched as the bartender emerged from the Grotto’s back room, carrying his folded vest over his arm.

  “You look beat,” Kal said.

  “That makes you my mirror image—if you were older, uglier, and had more hair in the wrong places.” Ganzer produced a protein bar from his shirt pocket. “You want half of this?”

  “Keep it. You’re still on for a couple of hours.”

  “But you’re done.” Ganzer watched as Kal removed his shoes and placed them on the cushion beside him. “Sure hope nothing from the track is stuck to those.”

  “They were never on at the track,” Kal said. He closed his eyes and stretched.

  When he opened them, he saw that Ganzer had pulled up a chair to sit across from him. “Orbital failure around Lucky Three, I take it?”

  “Crash and burn.” Kal shook his head. “You’re looking at the wreckage.”

  “I’m guessing there’s a reason you had to win all this money tonight.”

  “The usual one.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Ganzer said. Kal had never told Ganzer about his debts, but the bartender didn’t seem surprised. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

  “No. But thanks.” Kal looked at the table. “You know, it’s funny. This is where Orisha Okum was sitting this evening.”

  Ganzer nodded. “I served her. Thought I saw you two talking. Quite the celebrity. Usually she stays near the high-roller rooms.”

  “She was here to see me,” Kal said. “She was the one that passed along that Ganna had called in my debts.”