You didn’t want to get caught cheating in a Bragonian Casino. They bring you in to talk about it in a very diplomatic way, offer you a drink or two, then rip your limbs off.
Tragg, the owner of the station’s Casino, stared down his long reptilian nose at me.
“You look uncomfortable,” he said smiling through thin lizard lips.
I was uncomfortable. The heat and humidity required to keep Bragonians satisfied gave Tragg’s office a reptilian locker room smell which had me on the verge of both sweating and gagging. The looming dismemberment thing didn’t help either.
“I could use a glass of water, some potato chips if you have them – maybe a nice bagel or muffin – anything snacky, really,” I said.
Tragg raised a scaly green finger, and looked in the direction of Drogg, his Bragonian henchman. He was about to have Drogg go get those things but then his yellow eyes narrowed when he realized I was stalling.
“No snacky for you!” he said, slamming his big fist down on the concrete desk. He pointed at me.
“We found playing cards up your sleeve! You were cheating! This is a punishable offense. Drogg, rip his arms off.”
So much for the diplomatic phase.
Drogg grabbed me from behind, and lifted me out of the chair like I was an anorexic kitten.
“No! Wait! I’m a magician. I need my arms for my show,” I said.
“Yes, yes, we’ve seen your repulsive show,” Tragg said. “Drogg is a better magician than you. Watch him make your arms disappear.”
With the advent of cloaking technology, no magician bothered with disappearing tricks anymore, but at that point I didn’t think Tragg was open to honest criticism.
Drogg pinned me up against the wall with one claw while his other completely encircled my left bicep. I felt tension, then pain as Drogg started separating my shoulder.
“But I’m not the only one!” I said through clenched teeth. “There are other cheaters in your casino. I can help you find them, – but I need arms!”
“Wait,” Tragg said, stomping out from behind his desk. He bent to my level and turned his lizard head to the side to peer at me with one yellow eye. His breath smelled like dog food. I had heard they ate it like popcorn.
“Do you belong to a team of thieves?” he asked.
“No, nothing like that. I work alone – I mean, I did. Not anymore, of course,” I said giggling like a schoolgirl. I cleared my throat to regain composure. “I saw three other players cheating.”
“Impossible! We catch every offense.”
“I’m sorry to say this, particularly considering how numb and vulnerable my left arm is right now, but there is significant cheating happening in your casino.”
Tragg stood, putting a claw to his chin.
“Our numbers are way down. We actually lost money last month.”
“You lost money?” It came out before I could stop myself. Tragg snapped his gaze back to me.
“Okay, smart guy,” he said, “I’ll make a deal with you. If you can find three cheaters in 24 hours, I’ll let you go, but if not, you go out the airlock with the trash.”
I went for broke.
“If you throw in two tickets off this station, I’ll do it.”
“Even better. That way I can be rid of you,” he agreed.
Trying to get off this station was the reason I was stupid enough to attempt cheating in the first place. After landing my big magic act, I made a lot of promises to my fiancée Miranda in order to get her here. It went something like this: I would be the amazing illusionist and she, the lovely assistant who would get cut in half, then reassembled, six nights a week. And while it’s embarrassing to admit now, there was even talk of our own designer doves; four different colors, and monogrammed, like all the big-name illusionists.
But apparently the life forms that come to this station – mostly freighter pilots hauling ore – are more interested in fast money at Tragg’s casino, or a good time with one of the dancers. The arts – including my show – are truly dead in this cold dark sector of space.
With no show and no money, Miranda wanted off this oversized framework of girders, and whatever Miranda wants, I want too. While that may make me sound like a good Fiancée, in reality, she is just way better at arguing her point. I never won an argument against Miranda.
And because of our predicament, the argument du jour revolved around her Nana’s pearl necklace. It was worth several thousand credits which would be enough to pay for tickets to get us off this station, but that idea was out of the question. Miranda considers Nana’s necklace a “precious heirloom.” She holds tightly to this axiom despite the fact I see the same necklace advertised every Valentine’s Day on the shopping network.
Drogg was assigned to shadow me as I shopped for cheats. He made a formidable ally, but his size eliminated any chance at blending in. Lucky for me, the casino was getting bent over and taken financially on a regular basis. Our first stop: the roulette wheel.
A dozen Muldonians surrounded the table. These short dark-brown beetle-like creatures are known for two things: their delicious ale and how they travel in tight clusters. Only three were betting. The rest were pinned up against the roulette table watching the little white ball go round and round. I spotted large stacks of winnings in front of the ones playing and a very uncommon empty space within the ones who weren’t.
After a couple spins it became obvious the white ball didn’t follow the laws of physics.
“I need a cigar,” I said to Drogg.
“We aren’t here for fun.”
“I don’t even smoke. I need it to catch the cheater.”
Drogg looked around the casino until he spotted a Taronian smoking a Cohiba. I was foolish enough to think Drogg would politely ask the Taronian if he could have, or possibly buy, the cigar from him. Instead, he yanked the lit Cohiba out of the Taronian’s tentacle and walked away. I felt like a jackass when Drogg came back and handed the cigar to me. I waved apologetically to the Taronian and he gestured back with something a little less friendly.
I puffed the cigar to get it going, drew in a mouthful of smoke, then blew it directly at the empty space where a Muldonian should have been. High-pitched clicking came from the other Muldonians, and when they saw I was human, complaints of “Watch it!”, “What’s the idea?” and my favorite, “You shit head!”
As the smoke met the empty space it clearly outlined an invisible something or someone.
“Hey!” Drogg said, pointing to the outline. The smoke spun into two tight swirls as the invisible culprit made a break for it.
I slammed the cigar into my mouth, and jumped, grabbing for the invisible Muldonian. I touched the back of his hard shell and slipped off, but before my body slapped the ground, I was lucky enough to catch hold of a leg. I held tight, feeling like I was gripping a broomstick, but the Muldonian’s strong legs pulled me forward. Their home planet was massive and from the way this one was moving he could have played Running Back for the Green Bay Packers had they still existed.
Since the Muldoinan was invisible, I am sure it was amusing for the patrons to see the human with a lit cigar sliding along the carpet with one arm out like a slow-moving ground-level Superman.
Drogg broke the illusion by slamming his fist into the side of the invisible creature, making a nauseating crunch. The Muldonian blinked into view as a small disk-shaped cloaking device fell to the floor. Next to it was a broken half-meter long curved stick. The stick must have been used to redirect the white ball to the numbed spots his partners were betting on. I tossed the stick into the trash and let the very illegal, but very handy, cloaking device quietly find its way into my pocket.
Drogg radioed for security to round up the Muldonians. I suspected each of the Muldonians would have only four of their six legs left after a visit with Tragg, and I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt for turning them in. They really did make some amazing ale.
My next target: a male Lacronian. Lacronians were an intimidating lot. At over two meters high, they were slightly taller than Bragonians, but sinewy-thin, with phthalo-blue leathery skin and spiked wings. The males consider their wings a sign of virility. Out of safety concerns, the casino, like most places, require Lacronians to tuck their wings into special security casings before they enter. The Lacronian males held resentment for this practice as they considered it, however temporary, to be a form of forced neutering. The Female Lacronians think it’s a great practice.
This particular Lacronian was getting way too lucky at the craps table. As I milled around, talking with some of the other players, I learned he had made point 37 times in a row. I am no odds maker, but I knew the probability of that happening had to be somewhere between zero and Tragg taking up ballet. And they don’t make a septuple-X tutu.
I realized the Lacronian could only be cheating if he were somehow forcing the outcome of the dice. I asked the stickman if I could check them. He looked at me, then up to Drogg. Drogg authorized the request with a gruff guttural sound that wasn’t quite a bark, and the stickman shoved the dice to me.
I put one die up to the light, holding it between my index finger and thumb, rotating it carefully. When I turned the die I noticed the pip on the one side seemed slightly out of round. As I was looking at it, it suddenly became a perfect circle. I flicked the die, spinning it between my forefinger and thumb.
Nothing.
I placed the die on the edge of the craps table and gave it a good snap, spinning it like a top.
Still nothing.
If the pips were what I thought, then they were sure holding on tightly. I brought the die above my head, and slammed it against the hard surface of the table rail. Four white spots fell off the die. I leaned in close to examine the spots and one by one they puffed up into little fuzzy spheres and began bouncing their way off the table. Now that the jig was up, four more white spots leapt from the other die, and joined the first group. The fuzzy spheres made their way to the floor bouncing along toward the exit like a herd over-caffeinated of albino fleas.
I scrambled, crawling after them, cupping my hands to the floor to catch the little buggers, but they were quick and elusive. Then, from in front of me, a Bragonian who had been cleaning the carpets, rolled over the fleeing spheres with his floor cleaner, sucking them up inside his machine.
I stood, mostly to regain dignity, then went to the Braginoan janitor and helped him pull out the dirt canister. He shook it, and we heard thin excited screaming coming from inside. Drogg said something to the Bragonian janitor in their low dog-growl dialect, then surprisingly, gave him a high-five, their hard claws clacking when they hit.
I didn’t know what Tragg would do to the little life forms in the vacuum cleaner canister, but I was sure the Lacronian would lose his arms and possibly his wings. I thought about the inevitable stack of Muldonian legs Tragg was piling up in his office and felt another wave of guilt.
I grabbed the canister, ran over to the Lacronian and pushed it to his chest.
“Take your little friends and get the hell out! And don’t ever let us see you in here again!”
The Lacronian didn’t have to be told twice.
My impetuous act caught Drogg flat-footed. The big reptile stood with his mouth open, pointing in the direction of the fleeing Lacronian.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“He won’t be back. Besides, he left his chips so Tragg’s got his money. ”
“Tragg will be pissed.”
I had known Bragonians for quite a while, and I had never heard one of them use the word “pissed”. But then, I didn’t know they high-fived either. It gave me a wierd feeling, like all of a sudden finding out your beloved pet cat can ride a tricycle.
#
The next gambler to catch my attention was a human at a blackjack table. The attention grabbing part was that he was crying. Crying and winning. He had a holo image of – by the way he was carrying on – his deceased wife. He placed a chip in the betting circle, held the holo firmly, then looked up, and blubbered, “This one’s for you, Cindy!”
The dealer drew cards, pulling a 21 for the gambler.
“We did it again, Cindy,” the man cried to the ceiling tiles.
“That poor man,” said Drogg. I turned to see my large lizard friend wringing his hands together with a sullen expression on his face. His sympathy startled me.
“You can’t be buying that act,” I said.
He looked at me with disgust.
“Your fellow human has lost his partner and you are not saddened?”
I was flabbergasted. Drogg had almost ripped my arm off, slugged a Muldonian, and wanted to bring the Lacronian to Tragg who would’ve certainly torn him apart, but this blubbering idiot made him sad?
“I will never understand Bragonians,” I said. “Do you realize that guy is probably taking this casino at a rate of a thousand credits an hour, and you feel bad for him?”
“But his waif?”
“It’s ‘wife’ and if he has ever been married I’ll eat that holo.”
Drogg looked at me in astonishment.
“Not literally,” I said. “Now come on, I’ve got to hit my apartment for some gear. I think I know how to bust this guy.”
#
When we returned to the table the man was crying even harder. He wailed “Why, Cindy, why did you have to leave me?” as he pushed two black 100 credit chips to the betting circle. Evidently there was a direct correlation between how large of a he bet placed and how distraught he felt.
I approached the table and asked for a moment with the player.
“Looks like you’ve been doing pretty well,” I said to the man.
“After Cindy passed, this is the only thing that can bring me joy.”
“Yes, you look rather joyful.”
“I’m sorry; I just miss her so much.”
“Well, at least you can drown your sorrow in those stacks of 100 credit gaming chips.”
Drogg, grabbed me by the arm and dog-growled a whisper into my ear.
“We should leave this human male alone,” he said.
I motioned to Drogg that it would be okay.
“So that’s your wife?” I asked.
“Yes, my Cindy,” he said breaking into a sob.
“Uh-huh. So I have some coins here,” I said throwing five one-credit coins on the table in front of the holo. They all landed heads up.
“Interesting,” I said. “The odds of them all being heads is something like one in 32. But I suppose that could happen. Should we try again?”
His sobbing had stopped and a worried look came across his face.
“Hey, I don’t know what this has to do with – look, I just came here to gamble,” he said pulling the holo down to his lap.
“Oh, we are just trying an experiment,” I said. “And please, don’t hide – what was her name? Cindy? – Don’t hide her. Let Cindy see this, too.” I helped him bring the holo back to the table, then picked up the coins and tossed them in front of Cindy once more.
“All heads again!” I said. “The odds on that are unbelievable! Unbelievable unless that isn’t really a holo of your wife, but rather a probability manipulator. Some people call it a luck generator. I have never seen one so small, but that has to be what it is, right?”
“But – I – but–”
“Should we try it again?” I said, tossing the coins a third time.
All heads.
“But it’s not on!” he said, eyes going wide as he realized his mistake. He jumped up, bolting from the table.
I tried grabbing for the guy, but caught the frame of the holo instead. It slipped from his grip and he kept running. Drogg didn’t even attempt to help.
“You forgot your wife!” I said, holding up the holo.
I looked closely at the image. It was actress Juliet Weatherton.
“I thought she was too pretty for him; he downloaded the image of a movie star.”
The dealer had a confused look.
“But how did the luck manipulator know you wanted heads? Wouldn’t all tails be just as lucky?”
“Great question,” I said. “Check out the coins.” He picked one up, examined it, then another.
“They have heads on both sides,” he said dumbfounded.
“Tricks of the trade,” I replied, putting the holo on the table. “Just be glad that guy didn’t think to look at them. He had a good idea,” I said. “Who wants to sit next to some sob crying over his dead wife? Players want to have fun, not be exposed to a downer like that. He had the table all to himself.”
“It is deplorable to use the sorrow of a dead partner to better one’s self financially,” Drogg said.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about humans,” I said. “And apparently, a lot I don’t know about Bragonians. For big brutal thugs, you guys really have a soft spot for anyone grieving over the death of a partner.”
“It is the greatest sorrow that can ever be known.”
“I am sure that depends on the partner,” I joked. Drogg didn’t look amused.
“So, why’d you let him go, isn’t Tragg going to be pissed?” I asked.
“I felt bad for him.”
“Didn’t we just establish the woman in the holo wasn’t his wife, and that he was stealing lots of money from the casino? What happened to ‘deplorable’?”
“He was so sad over his partner.”
“But none of it was real. There is no partner.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Drogg fully understood the man had cheated the casino with what sounded like the highest level of deception, but somehow the idea of the man being a grieving widower flipped on a sympathy switch that overrode all common sense. On the cognitive level he knew what happened, but emotion had bitch-slapped logic to the ground.
“I am engaged. How would you feel toward me if my fiancée died?” I said.
“You shouldn’t say such a thing! You can only hope to die together, that is the best.”
We obviously had a different definition of the word “best” but it did tell me that somewhere in the millions of years of Bragonian evolution a sympathy-over-logic gene got muddled in. While there was a certain endearing quality to it, it was also such a silly thing it made me wonder if that was what actually killed the dinosaurs back on Earth.
“Well, in any case, that was number three. Can we go see Tragg so I can get out of here?”
On our way to Tragg, Drogg seemed to come out of the sympathy spell and regain logic.
“That human male wasn’t really sad,” he said.
“No, he wasn’t.”
“He was only pretending,” he said angrily.
“Exactly,” I said.
So there was a half-life to their sympathy switch.
#
We caught up to Tragg on his way out the office. He was in a hurry, but listened as Drogg reported our progress. Tragg was pleased, so I asked for the tickets.
He waved a claw, making a “slow down” motion.
“I don’t think we are done quite yet,” he said “You found those three so easily, it would be nothing for you find more. There must be more, right?”
I didn’t like where it was going.
“I am sure there are, but it’s not fair for you to force me to stay on. We had a deal.”
“Who’s forcing you? I am merely suggesting we come to some agreement. I could pay you well — say 500 credits for each offender?”
It sounded like a great offer. I just had a one major problem with it. Bragonians like Tragg had a nasty way of renegotiating after the fact. He knew I wanted out, so he wasn’t going to give me one red credit until he was done with me, and then it was just a coin toss in Hell whether he would pay me or send me out the airlock. But then my odds of survival if I refused his offer were even worse.
“Make it 1000 credits and I’ll stay on.”
“It’s a deal,” he said and his large reptilian claw shook my puny human hand.
He accepted too quickly. He had no intention of paying me, but there was more than one way to skin a cat, or in this case, giant lizard.
#
When I told Miranda I needed Nana’s necklace to run a con to get out of Tragg’s grip, she was as thrilled as I thought she would be. As with all of our arguments, I let her have the last word. The word was “on,” as in “Screw that idea and the horse it rode in on.”
Later, when she was busy watching holos, I used the Muldonian cloaking device to sneak into her jewelry box, and walk out the door with the necklace. It felt awfully heavy in my hands, but that was just the weight of a small amount of guilt and a large amount of fear. If she found out, I would see those woefully sad doe eyes followed by her slapping the living shit out of me.
#
Once inside the casino, I turned the necklace over to the nearest Bragonian employee saying that I found it and thought it may be valuable.
I knew Tragg had his employees well in hand, so I had a very good idea where the necklace would end up. When the Bragonian started making his way upstairs, I went to a stall in the omni-species bathroom and re-cloaked. Back outside, I spotted the Bragonian at the top of the escalator.
Since no one could see me, I had to take a circuitous route to keep from running into patrons. This was compounded by the fact the cloaking field was calibrated to the small stature of a Muldonian, and not my 1.8 meter frame. I had to hunch to keep my feet and legs from playing peek-a-boo while I ran.
Tragg was out of his office so the Bragonian marched right in without knocking. I slipped in behind. He went to the walk-in vault and started to key in a code. I leaned in to see the sequence. Bragonians use esoteric symbols closer to hieroglyphs than letters or numbers, so I was afraid I might not be able to remember it. My fear was premature as there were only five buttons on the door and he pressed the buttons in sequence from left to right. The Bragonian equivalent of “1-2-3-4-5”. Maybe our species weren’t so different after all.
I couldn’t squeeze by him, but I needed to see where he was putting Nana’s necklace and spot what I was really after–how much money was in there. When I positioned myself to look past the bulky Bragonian, I was surprised to see the Muldonians huddled together, cowering at the back of the vault. Tragg had obviously stashed them until he had time to deal with them later.
I noticed the antenna on each of the Muldonians go from a submissive bent over arc to an inquisitive straight up and that they were looking right at me. Even though I was invisible to most life forms, I guessed their insect eyes must be able to pick up some wavelength of light not affected by cloaking. My theory was confirmed when one of them said:
“Shithead’s here!”
I reflexively pulled back to where the door frame gave me cover. I heard the creaking twist of reptilian skin as the Bragonian turned to the Muldonians.
“What did you call me?” he asked in a gruff tone.
I waited, my heart pounding. Several moments passed. I was sure the Muldonians were going to rat me out. Then a lone Muldonian broke the thick silence.
“Sooorrrweeee”
As scared as I was, I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Apparently, Muldonians learned how to apologize from a three-year-old human with a speech impediment.
“That’s better,” the Bragonian said. He turned, walked out, slammed the vault door shut, and left Tragg’s office.
I decloaked, keyed in the sequence to the vault and found it took all my strength to open the heavy door. Muldonian antenna popped up like meerkats on a prairie.
I paused, looking over the group; oddly cute in a buggy sort of way, all huddled together, looking at me, silently waiting. Since they would be the first thing Tragg would check when he got back, if I let them go, he would know someone was here and I would be in jeopardy immediately.
But then I didn’t like the guilty feeling that accompanied the mental image of Drogg snapping off their legs. Celery-stalk cracking echoed in the back of my mind.
“Just get out of here,” I said, stepping aside. Each one offered a grateful “Thanks Shithead!” as they passed.
In the confusion with the Muldonians I missed where the Bragonian stashed the necklace. I started searching through the huge slide-out trays and found that Tragg had at least 50K in credits bundled and stacked in the vault. While I was tempted to clean him out, I took just what he owed me, holding the credits tightly in my left hand while I continued my search for the necklace. It didn’t matter how much cash I brought back if I couldn’t find the necklace.
I was so focused on my search I didn’t notice the vault door slowly coming closed. It was three centimeters from latching shut when I reached it. I pushed hard and found the inertia of the massive door unstoppable. In my panic, I ripped the Muldonian cloaking device from my chest and jammed it in the narrowing opening. There was a crunch as it bent, but it stopped the door. Unfortunately, this meant no more invisibility.
I looked at the stack of credits in my hand, then swore, realizing I could have just as easily used those to stop the door.
I eventually got the door all the way open and was searching for something to keep it in place when Tragg walked in.
“What are you doing here?” He asked.
“I– I–”
I had nothing.
There was no good excuse for me to be there holding his vault door open with a bundle of his credits in my hand.
Lizard eyes narrowed to little yellow slits. He stomped over to me, put a claw around my neck and lifted me off the ground.
“Wait!” I said.
“For what? For you to steal more?” he said ripping the credits out of my hand.
He looked inside the vault.
“You let them out?” he said in an agonizing wail. “I was really looking forward to making an example of them! This time I’ll tear you apart, myself!”
He pushed the vault door shut then wrapped a claw around my arm. There was only one thing I could do.
I started crying.
“But my wife died!” I bawled.
“What?” Tragg asked, releasing me. “Your wife?”
“I miss her so much!” I sobbed.
“That is terrible,” he said, face visibly saddened, claws wringing.
“My life partner is gone! I have no one!” It sounded cheesey and I wasn’t even acting well, but his sympathy switch had flipped.
“There is no greater pain,” he said. A lone tear ran down his face.
“I need water.”
“Wait here,” he said, then turned and walked to an adjacent room inside his office. I had no idea what his emotional half-life was, but I didn’t wait to find out.
#
At the apartment I quickly explained that I had lost Nana’s necklace, had no cash, and that we immediately had to find a place to hide or we would die. There was distinct possibility Miranda would call it quits right then, but to her credit she started packing – very loud and unforgiving packing– but at least she was packing.
#
We decided docking port 16 would give us the best possibility of catching a ride to a nearby station. I was sort of friends with a group who made maintenance runs, so if they happened to be on-station, and we could find them, maybe we could barter our way onto their shuttle. It wouldn’t be out of Tragg’s reach, but at least we’d be harder to find, and gain some time to figure out what to do next.
I was frantically searching the crowd for a familiar face when Miranda said:
“Is that Muldonian wearing my Nana’s necklace?”
I turned to see the comically irreverent sight of a meter-tall insect wearing a string of pearls. He was uncoupling a hose from a service bulkhead. We ran to him.
“Hey, Shithead,” he said.
“Shithead?” Miranda asked. I waved it off.
“No, I think I like that,” she said. “It fits.”
Ignoring her I explained our predicament to the Muldonian. He finished with the Ale hose and rattled off a bunch of high-pitched clicking noises to call over some others. After more clicking with the group, he turned to me.
“No problem. We can take you as far as Ares 10. Thanks for freeing us from Tragg’s vault.”
Considering I put them there in the first place, it was better treatment than I deserved, but I still pressed my luck.
“Is there any chance I can have that necklace?” I asked. Before he could answer, Miranda interrupted.
“Why don’t we let him keep it, Shithead?”
“Hey, I like you lady,” he said slapping her the Muldonian equivalent of a high five.
While I would now and forever be known as “Shithead” in our relationship, I felt I finally won an argument. We had, in effect, traded Nana’s stupid necklace for a ride off the station.
But I could never ever tell Miranda that.
Breaking Into The Craft 