by E. M. Foner
“What a mess,” Paul exclaimed, finding nearly the entire hold was filled with loose folds of the heavy monofilament netting. “How can one puppy cause so much trouble?”
“I’ve been trying to get him free without having to do any cutting, but he’s not exactly cooperating,” Kevin said. “Is the net valuable?”
“I’m not sure. Jeeves gave it to me, and I doubt you can cut it with anything we have on the ship.”
“I think I’m tangled up worse than the puppy now,” Kevin admitted. “I’ve got to say that he’s been pretty calm about the whole thing.”
“Speaking of which, I should get the other puppy out of the evacuation lock before he develops claustrophobia,” Joe said. “I think that would be easier if you activated your magnetic cleats,” he added for Kevin’s benefit.
“I’m not wearing them,” the young man replied dolefully. “Dorothy wanted me to try on these Horten-style boots to give her feedback. She says she has an idea about a footwear line for traders.”
“I’ll get you a pair of the old buckle-ons,” Paul offered, activating his own cleats and then shuffling along the deck towards a storage locker. Like Joe, he’d had enough of floating around in Zero-G for one day. “You know, the mesh should be big enough to let both you and the puppy through. It just looks solid because you’ve got a net big enough to hold a spaceship deployed in a small space.”
“I wondered about that. So if I just start pulling the mesh over both of us, eventually we’ll put the whole mess behind us.”
“Yeah, but do it facing the bulkhead,” Paul cautioned him. “I can see from here that the main part of the net is between us. The puppy must have been caught near the edge when he triggered it.”
“You should have heard him howl,” Kevin said, pulling a large pentagonal section of mesh over himself and the puppy.
“Incoming,” Joe called, pulling the second puppy out of the evacuation lock, and then pushing him gently towards the ladder to the bridge. “Go see Beowulf.”
The floating puppy barely cleared the edge of the billowing net, and to everybody’s relief, he hooked the ladder with a paw, and then carefully made his way through the opening to the bridge and disappeared.
“I think we’re out,” Kevin said. “At least, there’s no netting between us and the bulkhead.”
“I’m coming with the cleats,” Paul responded, and cautiously began making his way past the billowing net. “I wonder why it seems to want to fill up the whole space rather than bunching.”
“Could be some sort of static charge,” Joe speculated. “It doesn’t look like it’s attracted to the metal as much as it’s repulsing itself, and I guess it stayed away from the main hatch because of the atmosphere retention field at this end. What did Jeeves say it’s made of?”
“Some kind of crystalline monofilament, but he had it done up special by a Verlock lab on the station. He said it works on a principle similar to our tow cable, except instead of the crystals aligning and going rigid when it’s powered up, the current will increase the strength of the net by several orders of magnitude. Just hold onto the puppy and stick your feet out, Kevin. I’ll strap the cleats on for you.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry I didn’t keep a better eye on them.”
“Wasn’t your job,” Joe said. “We let them follow us down here. I’ll have to reset all of the control pads so that a warm paw won’t open any locks.”
Kevin kept one arm around the giant puppy while he ran the other between the bulkhead and the netting and made his way to the ladder. The tendency of the net to expand into all of the space available meant that he had to stop several times to get it clear of his feet, which he slid forward on the magnetic cleats rather than lifting them off the deck. Eventually he was able to send the puppy after its brother up the passage to the bridge.
“Feel up to a space walk to net a habitat?” Paul asked Kevin.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Joe cut in. “What do you think would happen if we crept the Nova up to the target, sealed the bridge, and then dropped the ramp?”
“You mean you’d blow the air out of the hold and let it take the net with it?” Paul looked at the tangled folds of mesh speculatively. “Can you aim it?”
“I won’t miss,” Joe said confidently. “We used to practice decompression net casting as a way to discourage boarders when my unit served a stint on a Vergallian ship doing anti-piracy patrols. Even though armored spacesuits can make short work of a light net, nobody likes to see one coming at them. I’ll drop the ramp all the way down and then cut the atmosphere retention field so it blows out all at one. All of the air in the hold doesn’t mass enough for the exhaust to throw us into anything.”
“Should we try to untangle the net first?” Kevin asked.
“I’m hoping the static repulsion does that for us,” Joe replied. “Worst thing that can happen is that you and Paul will have to suit up and chase it down to drag into place by hand. I’ve had enough floating around for one day. Let’s make sure all of the lockers are sealed and that there’s nothing unsecured down here.”
After confirming that the only loose item in the hold was the giant net, the three men joined the dogs on the upper deck and Paul closed the rarely used hatch at the top of the ladder as a double precaution. Even though the bridge had its own atmosphere retention field, it hadn’t been tested with explosive decompression of the hold.
“Switching to visual,” Paul announced. He changed the display from the enhanced sensor mode that created images from a blend of radar and infrared to the visible light spectrum. “I’m going to inch her over on manual.”
Firing the navigation thrusters on short pulses, the pilot expertly maneuvered the Nova to a position about ten ship lengths from the small habitat. Then he pulled his hands out of the holo-controller and said, “Your turn.”
“Nova. Bring us around to, uh, seventy degrees on axis,” Joe commanded. The ship controller fired a couple of small thrusters that imparted a slow axial spin to the ship, bringing the main hatch around to face the boxy habitat. “Close enough. Nova. Drop technical deck atmosphere retention field.”
“The main hatch is open,” the controller warned him.
“Nova. Override safety protocols,” Joe instructed.
There was a gentle lurch as the atmosphere blew out of the hatch, taking with it the net, which expanded gracefully to its full extent just before it touched the habitat, where momentum drove the edges forward to wrap the target in a large mesh bag.
“Target secured,” Paul reported. “Let’s hook the pull-cord and go see a Dollnick about a paint job.”
Eight
“Who invited the Farling?” Herl inquired, not bothering to lower his voice.
“If it isn’t the head of Drazen Intelligence,” the giant bug replied. “It makes one wonder what the tail of Drazen Intelligence might look like.”
“I invited him,” Clive interjected, stepping between the two aliens. “He’s my doctor.”
“He’s my doctor too, when I’m on the station, but that doesn’t mean I’d ever invite him to a poker game,” Herl replied. “Didn’t it occur to you that a creature who can diagnose the ills of another species is likely to be an expert in reading body language? The Farlings are so sensitive to heat and moisture that they can tell if most biologicals are lying from across the room. On top of everything else, he counts cards!”
“A sore loser with a long memory,” the Farling commented, rearranging a couple of chairs so he could lean forward on the sectioned front of his belly armor, the closest his carapace allowed him to come to sitting. “Have you regained full use of your tentacle?”
“It’s fine now,” Herl allowed grudgingly, taking his seat as far from the doctor as possible. “I stopped doing the stretching exercises after I returned to Drazen Prime and my personal physician told me they were no longer necessary.”
“The exercises were never necessary,” the Farling informed him. “I just found it amusing to think of yo
u faithfully doing them.”
“You really invited him just because he’s your doctor?” the Drazen spy asked again, turning back to the director of EarthCent Intelligence.
“Well, that and I lost a bet,” Clive admitted. “He agreed to let me off the hook if I could find him some new suckers.”
“And based on who I see coming, your debt is cancelled,” the Farling declared.
“What’s he doing here?” Woojin asked, pulling out a chair.
“Clive lost a bet,” Herl replied sourly. “No Lynx tonight?”
“She’s at her baby shower, just a couple of weeks to go.”
“I read about those in our backgrounder on Human culture. Aren’t they usually held a little earlier?”
“Showers are an old tradition, from the days when people thought pregnant women shouldn’t leave the house, and nobody was quite sure when the baby would actually arrive. But Doc here gave her a countdown watch and a guarantee.”
“You’re welcome,” the Farling said. “Will this evening be an all-male game?”
“Yes. We’re expecting two more, but Daniel’s wife is hosting the shower and Walter is helping him set up,” Clive replied. “They’re married to sisters.”
“The more the merrier,” the insect doctor buzzed. “Unless it includes those two,” he added in a subdued fashion, indicating the approaching pair with a leg.
“Hello, M793qK,” Jeeves rattled off. “Taking time away from your busy business for a little recreational gambling?”
“Not if I knew ahead of time that you’d be here,” the Farling retorted. “Hello, Dring.”
“I assure you that neither the young Stryx nor myself employ unfair advantages when playing cards with the younger species,” the Maker replied. “I assume we can count on you to do the same.”
The giant beetle unfolded his wings from his carapace as if he were considering flying off, then tucked them back in again. “I suppose I can make an exception in your honor, Dring.”
“Here we go,” Joe said, pushing his homemade bar cart over to the table. “I finally got around to mounting a keg so nobody will have to run back and forth to fill pitchers. Can I interest you in a beer, Doc?”
“I shall make the attempt in order to be sociable,” the Farling responded.
“Great. I asked Paul to mix up a couple of Divverflips before he headed out, Herl.” Joe put on heavy rubber gloves, unscrewed the lid of a ceramic-lined thermos, and poured out a toxic beverage for the Drazen. “Nothing for Jeeves, beer for the rest,” he continued, drawing glass after glass of his home-brew.
“Did Kelly already leave for the shower?” Clive asked. “I’ve got a few new items to pass along.”
“She actually went into the embassy a couple of hours ago to prepare for the status review, despite the fact she doesn’t have a clue what to expect,” Joe said. “All I could get out of her is that she’s memorizing first contact protocols like she expects a pop quiz. I’m sure the ladies will ping her if she doesn’t show up on time.”
“Are you referring to a review of humanity’s status on the Stryx tunnel network?” the doctor inquired. “I didn’t realize you were sufficiently advanced to be considered for full membership.”
“And as the Farlings never saw fit to join the tunnel network, this concerns you how?” Jeeves retorted.
“I might be persuaded to place a small wager…”
“How much?” several voices asked at once.
“I see you weren’t exaggerating the action,” the Farling said, turning his head in Clive’s direction. “I wouldn’t want to make any of you uncomfortable, so how about twenty creds each, just to keep it interesting. Of course, I must exclude our Stryx friend from the offer as I’m sure he already knows the results.”
“Which outcome are you betting on?” Woojin demanded.
“You have to ask?
“I’ll go twenty,” Joe said. “It would be disloyal to Kelly not to.”
“If you put it that way, I’ll back the EarthCent Ambassador as well,” Dring concurred.
“I guess it comes with my job,” Clive added, nodding to the Farling.
“Herl?” the insect inquired.
“Stranger things have happened,” the Drazen mumbled, nodding his assent.
“Don’t tell Lynx,” Woojin said, accepting the bet. “Ever since her morning sickness stopped on the day that Doc predicted, she thinks he’s infallible.”
“You really are biologically simple creatures, even for humanoids,” the Farling said, flexing his mandibles good humouredly. “So how does this game work?”
“You’ve never played poker?” Joe asked, breaking into a broad grin.
“Clive said that there are cards and chips involved, so I’m sure I’ll pick it right up. I brought my own deck if you want to try a Farling game.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Herl said hastily. “Give me the cards, Joe, and I’ll run him through the hands while you cash us in.”
The owner of Mac’s Bones slid a box of cards across the table to the Drazen, and then began accepting creds from the players in return for chips.
“A simple game of valuing hands based on magnitude, suits, progressions, and collections of like cards,” the Farling commented as the Drazen Intelligence head rushed through examples. “That will be sufficient as I’m sure I can infer the rest from the pattern. How much may I change into chips?”
“This is a friendly game,” Joe explained. “The yellows are ten millicreds, the reds are a hundred, and the blues are one cred. Most of the players buy in with twenty creds.”
“Then change me twenty creds,” the Farling said, producing a coin seemingly out of thin air.
Herl groaned. “I forgot to mention that he does sleight-of-hand tricks.”
“I believe it’s my turn to deal first,” Dring said, holding out a hand with stubby fingers for the deck. “Seven-card stud will offer our new player a good overview of betting while reinforcing the rankings of the cards.”
“Stud? As in a breeding male? A piece of jewelry for a body piercing? A construction member?”
“Stud poker refers to games where most of the cards are dealt face-up,” Jeeves explained to the Farling. “Dring’s preferred version of seven-card stud starts with an ante, followed by two face-down cards and one face-up. The best hand showing controls the bet, with suit deciding ties.”
“There are hundreds of versions,” Joe added. “Some of them originated in different regions on Earth, some I think the guys in the mercenaries just made up on the spot. So, what do you think of the beer, Doc?”
“It has an interesting visual appearance,” the Farling replied, studying the glass through multi-faceted eyes. “The aroma is quite muted for a Human beverage, and the carbonation appears to be natural.” Grasping the mug with the same set of specialized legs he used for rubbing out audible communications, the giant insect raised the beer and tipped it back so the contents poured into his mouth. After replacing the empty mug on the table, the Farling rubbed out, “Not bad,” while simultaneously burping.
“Show off,” Herl muttered, and took a hit from his Divverflip.
“Allow me,” Joe said, reaching over for the mug and refilling it from the cart-mounted keg.
“Ante is two yellows, gentlemen,” Dring announced, starting off the pot with a pair of his own chips. Then he began shooting cards around the table, not pausing until he placed a face-up card on his own pair of down cards. “And the king bets.”
“Another twenty,” Herl said, pushing in the chips.
“Not very confident in that king, are you?” the Farling inquired.
“He just wants to keep us in,” Woojin said, but paid the price anyway.
“Dealer plays,” Dring declared, adding another two chips.
Joe turned his two of diamonds over to go with his concealed five of clubs and eight of hearts. “Fold.”
“Are three spades a good start?” the Farling asked.
“It depends what y
ou’re starting,” Herl replied. “Of course, asking doesn’t mean you have them.”
“Of course. I shall buy another to see what happens.”
“I’ll double it again,” Jeeves said, putting in a red chip and taking back four yellows. “Not that I have anything to write the Galactic Free Press about, but I wanted you to know that raising the bet is always an option,” he added for his neighbor’s benefit.
“And it’s not worth sixty for me to see the next card,” Clive said, folding.
The others all cast suspicious looks at Jeeves, but they paid up, and Dring dealt the second open card.
“Lady Luck favors our newcomer,” the Maker remarked. “Ace of spades bets.”
“You said the ace was at the bottom of the rankings,” the Farling accused Herl.
“Only for low straights and only in some games,” Joe told him. The Drazen simply looked amused and took another sip from his drink.
“Then my ace will bet a hundred,” the doctor said, pushing a red chip into the pot.
Jeeves contributed a red chip of his own without comment, and Herl pushed in a hundred, looking unhappy about it. Woojin snuck another look at his hole cards, grimaced, and mucked his hand, followed by Dring.
“I’m more intimidating than I realized,” the Farling declared. “You know, I think a little salt would match well with this beverage.”
“Right here,” Joe said, taking a bag of pretzels from the cart, opening it, and filling a bowl while Dring dealt the remaining three players another up-card. The sound of furniture being knocked over and claws scratching at metal decking immediately followed, and before Herl received his next card, two hopeful looking puppies and one very large hound arrived at the table.
“Do they play poker?” the beetle asked, eying the dogs speculatively.
“Beowulf used to sit in for me when I went on beer runs, but he’d rather just eat pretzels,” Joe replied, flipping three snacks into the air like a spread of torpedoes to ensure that each of the mooches could get one.
