Friends in the Stars

by Mackey Chandler

  Their table had a large copper dish hanging inverted with wire cloth fitted across the bottom. Lee motioned for the maître d to pull it down since she’d need a step ladder, and he pressed something on the top edge, looking a question at Lee. The noise from the bar and other patrons faded. Lee pointed down and made a gesture with fingers close together. The fellow dropped the noise level a little more and Lee gave him a thumb up.

  “Marcel will be serving your table tonight,” the maître d said and excused himself.

  “Marcel turned out to be a near blond Derf. Jeff wondered if that was natural or if he had his coat artificially colored like that. He had a modern pad to take their order looking at Lee expectantly first.

  “I’d like a Coke, a glass with ice, and a bottle of bourbon. Just bring the bottle and leave it,” Lee instructed. “

  “I’ll share, if you don’t need the whole bottle,” Jeff quipped.

  “That’s fine. Get some mix if you like,” Lee suggested.

  “Just a glass of ice for me,” Jeff told Marcel.

  “A bottle of redberry wine and sweet soda,” Strangelove said. Lee made a face but didn’t say anything out loud.

  “A local product?” Jeff asked.

  “Yes, think dessert wine, sweet even before the soda,” Lee said.

  Marcel nodded and hesitated. “Would you care for appetizers?” he asked Lee.

  “Sure, bring a variety. Enough for a few extra people,” Lee said.

  Marcel tapped a few lines on the pad and tucked it under an elbow. Jeff expected him to leave, but he just stepped back out of the noise canceling hush-field and stood watching for any sign they needed anything. Apparently serving their table meant full time, and didn’t mean serving anything by his own hand, he had minions for that. One showed up quickly with their drinks on a cart. Lee was offered bottles of Knob Creek or Belle Meade. She took the Knob Creek without asking Jeff.

  The music started up again with sharp cracking noises like smacking drum sticks across a ceramic jar, punctuated by a clear bell tone occasionally. Jeff caught himself drumming the table to it without being aware he’d started.

  Marcel looked over their appetizers with a critical eye before he allowed them to be put on the table. Then he took their orders at Lee’s bidding. Jeff let Lee order for him.

  The crusty little rolls were dipped in oil with chopped herbs rather than spread with butter. When Jeff’s dish ran low Marcel made a little gesture to someone out of their sight who ran in and replenished it. On the whole, he’d rarely seen this level of service anywhere.

  There was a sudden surge of excited voices from further in the establishment that penetrated even under the hush hood.

  “Do you have any idea what that is all about?” Jeff asked.

  “They have a little gambling parlor too. If somebody makes a big play, they do get worked up,” Lee said. “The Fargoers are insane about gambling and the Derf are happy to accommodate them. It was an issue among my fleet. We had no idea they were such diehard gamblers when we hired a majority Fargoer crew. They were playing poker with million-dollar pots on the way back, anticipating being rich.”

  When Jeff looked a question at her she added. “Dollars Ceres.”

  Marcel supervised the serving of their entrees. Strangelove had ham steaks fried with cloves, the cloves being imported thus more costly than the ham. Lee ordered local beef and new potatoes. Jeff couldn’t fault local cuisine. It was as good as anything he could get back home.

  “You know how Derf like sweets,” Lee said. “I hope you left room for dessert.”

  “I’m a bit full actually. I’m afraid I got carried away with the appetizers,” Jeff admitted, “but I’m curious. Could we go see this gaming parlor and have dessert later?”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Lee said, “but let’s yield the table to them. By the time we’re ready for dessert, the crowd will have thinned and they should have tables open.

  Lee, being familiar with the club, had noise reducing ear-plugs, offering a pair to Jeff. He gratefully accepted. Strangelove was unbothered. Derf tolerated a much higher level of noise better than Humans.

  There were some games being played Jeff could recognize, and the Humans, Fargoers by their dress, seemed to favor those. There was a roulette wheel, dice, and a Human appearing to be dealing Blackjack. What attracted his attention was a table with mostly Derf from which there were occasional clacking noises and lots of exclamations from the players.

  “What is that?” Jeff asked, nodding towards the table. He wasn’t sure if pointing was acceptable or rude.

  “That’s a local game,” Lee said, “It’s called Baht.”

  She said it with a soft a. “That translates to Oops, or said more emphatically, maybe, Oh crap.”

  There were eight active players. Jeff got behind the single Human playing, not because he felt any affinity, but because he was easier to look past to see the play.

  The table was pretty big, about two meters square with a polished surface and a rail all the way around broad enough to hold your playing pieces and a drink, or even a snack one player had parked at hand. The dealer stood at one corner.

  The game pieces were colorful disks a little bigger than a hockey puck, which all things considered were fairly dainty for a Derf true hand. A hole in the middle of the table was slightly larger than the puck so they could fall through. That was demonstrated shortly after Jeff started watching. A red puck was propelled to strike a yellow puck and knocked it forward into the hole.

  “What is the object of the game?” Jeff asked.

  Strangelove answered from behind him. “When the players have used all their pieces the one closest to the hole wins the whole pot. There are variations but they aren’t very popular. If you announce a non-standard game it can be hard to fill the table. Four can play with double pieces, but usually, there are eight players with six pucks each. Right now they are playing a dollar Ceres to buy in a game. It goes pretty fast.”

  “How does the house make anything?” Jeff wondered.

  “The winner is expected to pay the house one puck from the pot. Serious aficionados of the game will tip the dealer according to their mood. If the table is clear at the end with no pucks remaining the house gets the whole pot,” Strangelove said.

  “Does that happen very often?” Jeff asked him.

  “No, but I’ve seen it happen. The last piece on the table will get bumped just a little too hard and… Baht, the active puck follows it right in the hole.”

  This game ended with a red and yellow puck tight against each other very close to the hole. The last piece in play was white and he tried to split them to push them away from the hole. The shot hit one harder than the other splitting them successfully but the white went in the hole after doing that. The red puck won, even though it was halfway back to the rail. Its owner politely said thank you to the white puck player when collecting.

  Several players stepped away and their places were taken by others. The Human in front of them turned and told Jeff. “Go ahead, I heard you asking about the game. Let me watch somebody else throw his money away for a change.”

  Jeff got a little push from behind to encourage him. What amused him was it was two shoves, from Lee and Strangelove both.

  “The players all slid Ceres silver dollars across the table to the dealer, and Jeff saw there was already an informal competition to get as close to his corner as possible.

  Jeff dug in his pocket and got a coin. “Can you make change?” he asked the dealer, and slid a gold solar across the table to him.

  “Of course sir,” the dealer said, but there were a couple hoots and whistles from the other players. That was interesting. He’d never heard a Derf whistle.

  The dealer sent another worker around the table with a tray. Jeff hadn’t any idea what the exchange rate was but they gave him twenty-two dollars Ceres on a tray. He took one and slid the silver dollar across to the dealer. The dealer slid it right back and informed him he’d
already deducted his dollar to play.

  When everybody paid up their pucks rose from a recess in the table. Apparently, the table sorted them automatically. “Winning color starts the new game,” Strangelove leaned over and said by his ear. “Then it goes clockwise looking down on the table.”

  Red smoothly propelled his piece and it went right up to the edge and slowly tipped in the hole. That got some comments and ribbing around the table. “Alas, that was the dealer’s game tip,” he quipped.

  Two more pucks went close to the hole without falling in. The fourth player bumped one of them in but was left not very close to the hole. That brought the play to the player on Jeff’s right. The pucks in play were to the other side of the hole, so they could not be addressed directly. He leaned to one side and slid his puck forcefully, bouncing off the table rail and striking the more advantaged puck from behind. Unfortunately, he just improved its position.

  Being less experienced, Jeff figured any play aimed right at the hole was too risky. He’d likely drop it down the hole like the first play. He aimed to one side and didn’t do too badly. It was short of the hole but in the right neighborhood.

  The player next to him did another high energy throw that bumped Jeff’s puck in and continued beyond to bounce off the rail and come back near the hole.

  “Very nice play,” Jeff told him.

  “If aiming to the side, it’s a little better to go slightly beyond,” the fellow graciously gave him a tip on playing the game. Jeff nodded acknowledgment.

  Next time around Jeff took his advice but red, on the opposite side, knocked him in.

  At the game’s end, Jeff had one piece on the table, but it was off in a far corner nowhere near the hole. It had been hit so hard it went across the hole without falling in.

  When the game ended Jeff stepped away. “These guys are good. I’d get as much entertainment value by throwing my money in the street and watching people scramble for it, and as much chance of winning,” he concluded.

  “It does take some experience,” Strangelove agreed. “I can see the difference between you and Fargoers. One of them could never walk away after one turn at play.”

  “On the Moon, I’m Lord of a small town,” Jeff told him. “It’s sort of a protectorate or dependent territory under my Sovereign Heather. It has a casino she barely tolerates, not being fond of compulsive gamblers. Mostly it attracts Chinese gamblers from Earth as it was originally a Chinese colony. They easily satisfy all the expectations of Chinese players, including dealers and servers fluent in Chinese. I’m going to have to introduce this game to them. I think it would be a hit. I need to get plans for a table or buy one and have it taken apart to reproduce.”

  “I tell you what, I’d like a table in my suite to play,” Lee said. “I’ll inquire of the management where to buy one and have Born and Musical hire somebody to disassemble it and measure up everything.”

  “Thank you,” Jeff said, “I hadn’t expected this trip to be profitable too.”

  “What Strangelove said made me think of it. I wasn’t willing to pay to practice here until I had a chance of winning. But I expect if I have my own table on which to practice my next trip here will be profitable, and a lot more fun too.”

  “I’d like to come see that if you’ll give me a call,” Strangelove said. “Is it too early to go back for dessert?”

  “Not at all, since I had the same gene tweaks Jeff has, I get hollow awfully fast.”

  * * *

  The car was there when they went back to it, as well as a crowd of town Derf admiring the historic armor their guards were wearing. A lot of second and third generation town Derf had never seen full fancy armor. It wasn’t just ceremonial, in its time it was in battlefield use. They actually put that much effort and art into the functional armor. The locals were taking pictures and requesting they pose beside them.

  After dropping the troopers off, the three of them returned to Lee’s suite at the hotel. It was late but Lee offered an Earth brandy nightcap and they accepted.

  “Did my guys show you their equipment?” Lee asked.

  “A little, they had the spinner there, but we didn’t go look at the glass-metal fabber they have at the university. I don’t care. Fabricators are standard tech and nothing about theirs is unique. As a bonus, I didn’t have to see Leonardo or any of his minions. Also, most of the time was spent with me telling them about our drive and its development history. They hadn’t considered the possibility of their current device being used as a weapon, but we used it from orbit that way in Home’s original rebellion. I got the clear message Musical doesn’t trust me and wanted to have me show our cards plainly before he revealed anything. I’m not sure if Born is any more trusting or if he is just more polite about it.”

  “Good,” Lee surprised him by saying. “Maybe they aren’t hopelessly stereotypical academics. If they pay attention to the changes Strangelove here insists on, they may develop some concept of security.”

  “They aren’t stupid,” Strangelove allowed, “so I’ll be careful to explain why I insist on certain things, detailing how neglecting them can lead to an unfortunate chain of events. I find people obey directives better when they understand the reasons for them, smart people all the more so than stupid ones.”

  “That would be useful,” Jeff agreed. “I’d also like you to hire a third person to work with them,” he told Lee. “They shouldn’t have to rely on the Engineering College in the future beyond hosting their fabber. Or anything connected with Leonardo. I’d like you to hire a machinist and fabricator, somebody ideally who can do design work to their specs. They did fabricate their own frame to hold the spinner, but it looks like it, the welds are about as ugly as anyone can make them and still be functional.”

  “I could supply such a person, if you don’t mind giving the Mothers another window on your activities,” Strangelove said.

  “Ultimately, it’s their business too, at a political level. It’s worth using clan people for the improved security. Don’t you agree, Jeff?”

  Jeff was surprised he got a vote, but agreed readily.

  “Thanks for the brandy,” Strangelove said. “It’s the finest I’ve ever had and I’m not going to ask the name of it. Like the honey I enjoyed for breakfast with Jeff, I’m sure the price of such star goods would flabbergast me. But it was a fun experience.”

  That was interesting. Rather than wait on Jeff to signal he was done Strangelove made it clear he was finished and ready to leave. It would have been awkward for Jeff to argue otherwise now and he also thanked Lee and got to his feet after Strangelove. That was unexpected. The whole thing still left Lee wondering if it was a date or not.

  * * *

  “I think Jeff or his sovereign got a good deal from Lee,” Musical said.

  “Well yes, I agree. But it isn’t a zero-sum game. I think we’re getting a pretty good deal too,” Born insisted. “Sometimes you are needlessly skeptical, almost like Humans.”

  “His superconductor is a fluid, which just complicates everything. It has to be contained and it doesn’t contribute to supporting itself in motion. That means the machine has more failure modes, and our version will be easier to build and stronger. If he told the truth that he can’t even make the fluid himself. Why would his own mother deny him the technique?”

  “He did try to explain that, and he might well have refused since it is such a personal thing,” Born said. “I have to admit it doesn’t fit my cultural expectations. I get that isn’t him his mother distrusts. It’s the fact this Earth government is making such extraordinary efforts to seize her work. If China is as crazy as the other Earth government Lee dealt with, North America, I can’t discount her caution. He might make every effort to safeguard it and fail. I’d say more, but I’m not an expert on the psychology of Earth Humans.”

  “No please, I’m eager for any scrap to try to understand this. Tell me your idea, and I’ll weigh it as a tentative theory without assigning it too much weight,” Musical
asked.

  “Alright, with Derf we have our clan structure. I thought we have a wider range of people taking a hand in our upbringing than Humans, but Lee assured me there is a lot of variation in Human cultures. Some raise their children with very little help, perhaps even without grandparents, given their shorter lifespan. Some even school their children at home for some years before sending them for secondary education. Other Earth cultures have a saying that it takes a village to raise a child.

  “But she indicated that whether parents or an extended group, the ones teaching a child have a very hard time admitting in their mind they are ever finished, and the person is a full adult, just as capable as them. They are always twenty or thirty years ahead. So in the teacher’s mind, they are always a child. That also might be a factor with his mother.”

  “Sweet screaming little goddesses, you just described my Aunt and Uncle perfectly,” Musical said. “When they visit my parents instead of asking me how I’m doing they ask my parents how the cub is doing with me sitting right there. Like I’m six years old and don’t have ears or feelings to be insulted.”

  “It may be a fault common to all intelligent species,” Born suggested. “It’d not like we are fish who can lay eggs in the gravel and never see their offspring until they are grown. If you have to instruct your young, you have seen them at their stupidest, and most naïve. A person would have to be pretty impressive to convince a parent they are finally full peers.”

  “You seem to grasp these concepts readily. Perhaps you should have been a mind doctor,” Musical said.