Sir Giles had a gut feeling he was about to get lucky. “Let’s alter the rules just a bit and make it clear who is the best baccarat player.”
Bobba scowled. “How so?”
“Let’s eliminate ties.”
Bobba considered this. “Very well. No tie hands. The winner must have the better score of nine.”
“Agreed,” said Sir Giles. “With that I wager ten pellets.”
“Does the Banker agree?” Bartleby asked Bobba.
Bobba hesitated. “That’s a rather a bold wager. Are you trying to make this about a single hand? If so, it could backfire on you.” He rubbed his wings together in contemplation.
Sir Giles shrugged giving Bobba his best nonchalant bluff. “This bantering of stakes is tiresome.”
Glounce looked worried as he moved in close to have a word with the Terran. “Are you sure this is a wise move?”
Sir Giles masked his voice. “A nine is due to show up soon. Whoever gets it first will win this hand. Bobba knows this too. I’ve a hunch.” Glounce nodded. “I aim to put this pipsqueak down where he belongs for insulting me with his accusation of my ineptness with Ambassador Toesle.” Glounce winked his eyes and resumed a watchful position behind Sir Giles’ shoulder. “Go ahead Bartleby. Let’s see the next card.”
Bartleby turned over a King of Hearts. Glounce relayed the significance of the worthless card to Pi which evoked a grumbled curse. Bobba looked pleased with the card showing. He tapped the table with his wing, sure his winning card would show up.
Another card was flipped. “Banker has a Queen of Diamonds,” said Bartleby laying the card down in the Banker spot. “No score. Would you like to raise your bet, Sir Giles?”
“Ten more pellets.”
“On a king!” roared Bobba. “Are you mad? A total of twenty pellets?” He flapped about reveling in his amusement. “Fine! It’s your money. Proceed.”
Bartleby drew another card and turned over a Jack of Clubs. “Player still has no score.” Then came Bobba’s card; a Jack of Spades. “Banker has a no score. We continue.” Bartleby began sweating and dabbed the perspiration off of his forehead. Glounce took a tissue and wiped his upper lip nervously. Twenty pellets were at stake. Quite a fortune even for him. Pi fidgeted engrossed in the drama with his eyestalks split between Sir Giles and Bobba. Bartleby, now composed, looked to Sir Giles for his wager.
“I wager another eighteen pellets.”
“What?!” roared the three ambassadors.
“I’m all in,” coolly stated Sir Giles. “All or nothing.”
Bartleby breathed deeply and twisted his lips nervously. “That is a very large sum of money to bet on a zero scoring hand. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Of course he’s sure,” said Bobba happily dancing about on his perch. “Ha-ha-ha! Thirty-eight pellets on a worthless hand. I’ll say one thing for you Terries. You have the biggest brass balls in all the Galactic Guild.” Bobba was ecstatic. “Now let the best card player win.” He paused. “That being me!”
Bartleby dragged the next card for Sir Giles but before he could turn it Sir Giles slapped his hand down over the card. “Burn the card.”
Bartleby looked for approval from Bobba. “That is highly unusual after the card has been drawn. The Banker must assent to this request.” Everyone had eyes on Bobba.
“On one condition,” demanded Bobba. “Banker gets the next card.” He looked smug with his wings folded upon his plump breasts.
Sir Giles smiled. “Fair enough. Banker gets the next card.”
Bartleby burned the card in the waste stack and drew another from the deck. Slowly he turned it over to reveal an Eight of Spades. “Banker has eight. A very good hand.”
Bobba was beside himself with joy. He flapped, he bobbed, he pranced a victory dance. Glounce and Pi thought of all the money at stake and felt pity for Sir Giles and his brashness. After a moment of exuberance on Bobba’s behalf everyone settled down for the last card. Bartleby—with shaking hands—drew the next card. Everyone watched the card slide to the Player spot. Then it was revealed. It had nine red hearts.
“Nine of Hearts!” Bartleby roared. “Player wins!”
Sir Giles was relieved yet kept a neutral expression. Glounce was relieved and showed it with shivering tentacles. Pi was happily dancing about spinning his eyestalks, hooting in the air, fist pumping. Bobba squawked in frustration.
“You cheated!” accused Bobba. “How, I don’t know. It has to be a trick.”
Glounce prodded Bobba with a tentacle. “You lost by your own hand. If you hadn’t asked for the next draw you would’ve had the winning card. So don’t go accusing Sir Giles of trickery.”
Bobba watched Bartleby hand Sir Giles over both U238 vials with thirty-eight pellets in each. Gleefully Pi bounced around holding his near empty vial of pellets in anticipation of replenishing his funds.
With solicitous attention Sir Giles handed Glounce back his original vial and then swirled the other vial about feeling the pellets rolling around. “Let’s give the croupier, Bartleby, a token of our appreciation shall we?” He poured one pellet onto the table that rolled up into the Banker slot. “I suggest you two offer the same which will leave an equal split of nine pellets each.”
“We have the means now to be generous,” remarked Glounce. “What do you say my friend, Pi? Are we thankful for Sir Giles’ luck?”
Pi cringed. “A pellet is an awful lot of money to be giving away.”
Glounce nudged him by patting him hard on the back. “Pi?!”
“Oh, very well. Give the man one of our pellets.”
Sir Giles did. Bartleby was shocked at their gift. “I couldn’t take that much money.”
Pi reached in to retrieve a pellet and received a slap on the hand from a tentacle. “Nonsense!” roared Glounce. “Take them. You earned it by putting up with such an unorthodox game of baccarat.” Bartleby didn’t look convinced. Glounce scooped the two pellets up and put them in a spare vial and crammed it into Bartleby’s breast pocket. “We insist.”
“Now,” said Sir Giles. “We need to divvy up the winnings.”
“Wait!” squawked Bobba. “I want a rematch.”
“No.” Sir Giles poured nine pellets into Glounce’s vial.
“Then I want another show of skill to try and win back my money.” Bobba looked desperate. “Do you skeet shoot?”
Sir Giles stopped before pouring pellets into Pi’s vial. “Skeet shooting? Why, yes. I rather like the sport. Do they have that available on board the Euripides?”
“They do,” said Glounce. “It is on the main deck all the way aft.”
Pi moved his still near empty vial about tracking Sir Giles’ hand as he motioned to Bobba, pointing to the avian ambassador. “What do you suggest?”
“The best out of three sets of clay pigeons. Whoever has the most hits wins. Simple skill. In the advent of a tie, we extend the distance until one of us is the winner.”
“Agreed. When?”
Bobba kicked up and flapped into the air hovering. “After Toesle’s memorial service tomorrow.” He began moving away. “I’ll have my revenge. Mark my words Thackery. I’ll make you pay.”
Sir Giles grinned at the vehemence in Bobba’s words. Pi grasped Sir Giles’ hand with the vial of pellets and poured his nine out. Then he grinned up into Glounce’s disapproving face.
* * *
HERBERT AND MARTHA SAT and listened to Smythe’s discussion on the outcome of his first date with Nanette. The older couple nodded when he stopped. Herbert broke the uncomfortable silence that followed. “Well, at least she didn’t throttle the life out of you when you got personal. My experience with SLASP hasn’t been one that I’d like to come in contact with again. Mostly, they’re the Galactic Guild’s enforcers. Not generally in a diplomatic way, if you get my meaning. She could’ve snapped your neck and left you to be found by the cleaning crew without any remorse.”
Smythe, who was looking for sympathy, didn’t feel com
forted with these insights. “That’s good isn’t it? I mean, she might have some feelings for me? Right?”
Martha had a sour look on her face. “She threw up on you. That isn’t quite the result you were looking for.”
“Good point,” said Herbert. “But the boy is on to something. He needs to find out how the girl really feels about him.”
Martha patted Smythe’s hand. “Wouldn’t it be easier, dearie, to just find a nice normal girl to spend your time wooing?” Smythe shook his head. “Can’t you see there’s no future with a Galactic Guild assassin?”
Herbert snorted. “It’s obvious to me the boy is smitten with her. The Maker only knows why. But love isn’t selective. It can strike anyone, anywhere, anytime without reason. Now tell me, young man, is this girl worth pursuing or not?”
“Definitely worth pursuing.”
“Then, by gum, you have to give it your all to prove that you’re worthy of her affections.”
Smythe fidgeted. “Just how do I do that?” Herbert reached into his pocket and brought forth a few little blue pills and placed them into Smythe’s palm. “Love pills?” Herbert grinned sheepishly. “I don’t think having sex with her is going to make her fall in love with me. She’s more likely to be a black widow spider and eat me afterwards.”
“You’re thinking about this all wrong,” grumbled Herbert. “The pills are for your confidence. It’s obvious that this girl can intimidate any man into not being ready when the moment strikes. If she gives you even a hint that she wants to be close you’re going to have to seize the moment and perform. And I mean, really perform.” His eyebrows lifted knowingly. “You don’t want your Johnson to peter out on you just when the going is good.”
Martha nodded. “Now we have to come up with the right circumstances to coax her into your arms.”
Herbert thought back to a moment in his life filled with fond memories. Martha was young, lithe and ran beside him like a yearling foal on the sandy shore to be caught up in his arms under the moonlight. He cascaded her with kisses along her neck and lips until they were panting with desire. The sound of the crashing waves at their feet swept them into a tangle of passionate intercourse. That moment burned in his mind forever. His love for her was unquenchable.
He snapped his fingers in delight. “A moonlight walk by the ocean.” Martha knew just what he was alluding to. Her memory of their time together warmed her heart. That night they had conceived their first child. There were many more memorable nights as they returned to that beach year after year to rekindle their love for each other. Herbert went to the table and unfolded a brochure. He flicked the paper with his middle finger and thumb. “I knew I saw it somewhere. Look here.” He handed the brochure over to Smythe.
They looked down at the activities provided on board the Euripides. Squash courts, archery, shuffleboard, bingo and a plethora of other mundane functions that the tourists could participate in were all available. Looking toward where Herbert flicked his finger Smythe said, “Needlepoint for beginners?”
Herbert rolled his eyes. “No! Not that!” He pointed at the fancy picture of a pristine beach under an artificial sky of three moons glimmering across the waves. “The Euripides has its own ocean—well not a real ocean I’m sure—but enough of one to set the right mood for your next date.”
“Oh,” moaned Martha. “The ocean is a fantastic suggestion.” She went to the bedroom and returned with a wicker basket filled with fruit. She dumped the fruit out onto the counter and refolded the checkerboard linen, then handed the empty basket to Smythe. “Fill this with a light meal and wine. When you’ve eaten, take a walk along the shoreline. Frolic about and find out just what this girl is made of. If she’s like me, she won’t be able to resist the sound of the waves. She’ll be putty in your arms.”
Smythe nodded. “The pills, wine, walking, frolicking. Is that all there is to it?”
“Hardly,” said Martha and Herbert together.
“Then what is the secret to winning her over?”
“There’s no secret,” began Martha. “Either she’s the one or she’s not. But you’ll know soon enough. If you’re both nervous together and she still wants to be close, then you’re on the right track.”
“I see.” But the purser wanted better instructions. Something a little more tangible. Like a recipe. “I’ll try my best.”
Martha and Herbert patted the young man’s back as they escorted him out of their suite. When he left they looked at each other. Herbert drew her close and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Martha reached into his pocket and drew out one little blue pill and put it to his lips. He swallowed. Then he tickled her ribs and she squealed running toward the bedroom. Herbert felt the little pill start to take effect and he walked into the bedroom.
Smythe, outside the suite, stood listening to the older couple and envied them. He looked down at the basket and then the pills. Smiling, he put the pills in his pocket and briskly walked away wondering where he might find Roderick; the next date with Nanette needed some planning.
* * *
THE HANGER DECK OF THE EURIPIDES was once again packed with delegates from all parts of the Galactic Guild, all mourning the loss of another of their own, the oldest ambassador who had served when the smaller Alliance was opened up to more worlds and became known as the Galactic Guild. Many of the ambassadors adored Toesle and her flamboyant personality. In commemorating her life they had their toes—the ones who had toes—painted in her honor. Digits twinkled and glittered, sparkling the onlookers’ eyes. Sir Giles and Nanette stood awaiting the body to be presented.
Nanette hung her head low to hide any expressions. Sir Giles hugged her about the shoulders. “I didn’t know Ambassador Toesle meant that much to you my dear.”
Nanette looked up, her face haggard and drawn. “She didn’t. I’m still sick from my date with Smythe.”
Sir Giles looked concerned. He saw dark rings under sad hazel eyes and a general grey-green coloring striping along her jawline. “Sick? From what?”
“An allergic reaction to some chocolate flavored flowers,” she burped covering her mouth. “I’ve been puking my guts out all night. Didn’t you hear me?”
“I’m sorry my dear. I was playing cards for most of the evening. When I got back to the stateroom I instantly fell asleep.”
“You’re the lucky one. I haven’t gotten a wink at all.”
“So should I even ask how your date went?”
“It went fine until I ate one of the buds and tossed my cookies all over Smythe. He took it well but he had to nurse me in the bathroom until I ordered him to leave. He needed some rest and a good shower before being part of the toe-bearers this morning. It was a total disaster. I wouldn’t blame him if he never wants to see me again.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t so bad.” She looked at him with a forlorn gaze. Then burped again. The smell of her sour stomach reached his nostrils. He winced. “Some relationships have a rocky start. Given time, all obstacles can be overcome. Think of your date with young Mister Smythe as getting the disaster out of the way. It can only get better from here. Let’s hope he’ll let you make it up to him on your next date.”
She pointed at the procession. “There he is.”
Smythe was wearing his dress uniform and carrying the first of forty-five silver trays, one for each toe. With military precision, the forty-five toe-bearers marched very slowly keeping perfect rhythm. Behind them a casket containing the rest of Ambassador Toesle was borne by six other officers of the crew. Behind all that marched Captain Aubrey.
The delegates wailed as the procession passed them. Then when the body was placed on the stage surrounded by pedestals to hold those forty-five toes, banners dropped from the ceiling displaying endearing quotes from her prolific published life. The lights flickered and twenty-one las-guns roared out streaming their pulses through the phasemic field at the end of the hanger bay. An impressive farewell salute. Finally the crew of the Euripides saluted and waited for Captain Aub
rey to make his way to the podium.
Screech! Thump! came the noise from his mic again. “Let’s have a moment of silence for the dearly departed.” He took off his hat and tucked it under an arm. He closed his eyes and waited for an appropriate amount of time to pass. He then took up his eulogy which sounded a lot like Ambassador Pudge’s eulogy.
“It appears the good captain needs a speech writer,” commented Sir Giles. “Maybe we can edge our way to the back of the stage so we can watch the ambassadors’ reaction to the speech?” Nanette nodded and elbowed her way through the crowd to finally make a path to the secluded spot. Smythe watched them coming and moved off the back of the stage to meet them behind a banner of Toesle smiling that read:
It’s better for your toes to look good than to feel good.
—Ambassador Toesle
“Why are you back here?” whispered Smythe. “Shouldn’t you be watching the crowds?”
“We will my boy,” said Sir Giles. “But first, Nanette has something to say. Don’t you my dear?” She looked horrid and felt the same. Sir Giles nudged her. “I’ll leave you two alone for a moment. When you’re done, can you both take up your positions to watch the delegates as they give their last respects?” Distracted, they nodded as he left.
“Um—I just wanted to apologize for last night.” She felt like being sick again and resisted throwing up on him once more.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. If anyone needs to apologize it’s me not knowing you’d react so badly to the flowers. It won’t happen again.”
“Thanks.” She tried to smile at him. “I never answered your question.”
“That can wait. You don’t look like you’re feeling your best.”
“It can’t wait.” She fidgeted like a school girl. “You asked me why I relented to a date with you.”
“I remember the question. It was a silly whim. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
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