Planet Hustlers

by J. S. Morin

  The two other players seated themselves and settled in. Carl raised a finger. “Before we start, I’d like a word with my ship’s wizard.”

  “No,” Tanny said. “Esper’s fine over there.”

  “Piss off,” Carl said. “You’ve got your little toy. I’m checking that Esper’s OK.” He patted the glass dome of the magic detector. It could take a little jostle without throwing a fit, but the slightest telekinesis would set it off.

  At the back of the room, Carl drew Esper aside. She came along willingly and silently, though she had a skeptical look on her face.

  “What?” she asked. “I’m fine. I can look after myself.”

  “Let’s talk in private,” Carl whispered right into her ear. Then he looked that wizard square in the eyes.

  A look of dawning realization spread across Esper’s face. She didn’t nod or grin or any other amateur hour crap. Instead, she opened those eyes wide enough to swallow Carl whole.

  # # #

  It was warm and sunny in that eternal morning of Esperville. The dew never burned off the grasses, and the birds never got tired of singing. Carl breathed in the sickly sweet air and sighed. At least here no one was going to try to double-cross him.

  He was pretty sure, at least.

  Esper swept out of the cottage house in a Victorian ball gown that hung just above the tips of the grass without ever touching. It was pink, but that’s where the similarity to her real-world sweatshirt ended.

  “So, what’s so important you risked me setting off the bell jar to discuss?” Esper demanded.

  Carl ambled over toward the dock. He’d never cared for the ambiance of Esperville, but at least the dock felt manmade, even if it was primitive. “I’m looking for insights on this Chisholm playmate of yours. I know you’ve learned a lot more about her than I’ll ever know. Tanny’s wizard buddy is a blank canvas. Gimme something I can use on Chisholm at least.”

  Dazzling pale skin shone in the sunlight as Esper spread her arms. “What do I know about poker? I fool around with the cards when the crew plays, but I’m not some savant who can get inside people’s heads and know what cards they’re holding by the way they scratch their nose.”

  Carl stalked off, kicking the dew off the grass with his last step before his boots clomped onto the wooden pier. “It’s not like that. Poker is about knowing what makes a person tick. What makes them nervous or angry. What quickens their heart and sends blood rushing to their cheeks. Is your opponent a bully or a trap-setter, a bluffer or a mathematician? The only read I can get on Chisholm is that her whole persona is as phony as Phabian whiskey. I need you to spill everything you know about her. Anything at all that you’ve got. If it might help me pry New Garrelon out of her hands, I’m willing to hear every tawdry detail.”

  Esper folded her arms, which was a lot more interesting a gesture in a ball gown than a sweatshirt, Carl was noticing. “You’re just looking for a cheap thrill before the game starts. You probably know everything you need already, and you just want me to spill all sorts of juicy secrets you think I’m keeping.”

  Carl held up a hand. “With God as my witness, I am not here to get off on your personal pillow-time with the conqueror of New Garrelon.”

  Esper crinkled her nose and puckered her lips as she considered. “Fine. But I’ll have to make it quick. Time’s passing slow enough out there, but it’s still moving.”

  “Right,” Carl said. “But don’t leave anything out.”

  # # #

  Elsewhere in Esperville, a different incarnation of Carl slipped into a bowling alley. As the door clicked shut behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. That’ll buy me a few minutes anyway.”

  Pins crashed. Setters reset them. Bowlers buffed balls and rolled them. The whole place was in full swing even without Esper around to supervise. With a snap of his fingers, Carl was wearing a bowling shirt and shoes like he belonged there.

  His destination was Lane 6.

  Mort was lining up a ball when Carl approached him from behind. “Boo!”

  The wizard didn’t so much as flinch, turning with an icy stare to cow Carl into behaving himself until he’d bowled. Three steps and a release. Mort’s ball rumbled down the lane, curling with its spin as it approached the triangular arrangement of pins.

  With an avalanche clatter, ten pins went down.

  “Now, what’re you doing here?” Mort demanded. “It’s not bowling night for the living.”

  “I don’t have much time. Esper doesn’t know I’m here,” Carl said hurriedly.

  “How did you get—”

  “There’s two of me,” Carl said. “The other guy’s letting her yak his ear off about playing patty-cake with Admiral Chisholm.”

  Mort’s lip curled in a sneer. “Sleazy trollop. My Cedric’s a sensitive lad. She—”

  Carl snapped his fingers, but this time it was merely to break the wizard’s momentum before he went onto a full-blown tirade. “You want out of here?”

  Mort’s eyes lit with a fire unlike Carl had remembered ever seeing. “Have a care what you say, boy,” he warned. “It’s a dangerous thing to get a wizard’s hopes up in vain.”

  “Here’s the deal. You’re familiar with what’s going on out there?”

  Mort huffed. “Vaguely. Some card game or something. Getting the rhino his planet back. Didn’t get much of the details.”

  “Three players. One’s a wizard. There’s a doohickey on the table that’ll go bonkers if it gets a sniff of magic.”

  “I’m familiar with the devices,” Mort said with disdain.

  “You know me. I’m not that good at poker,” Carl admitted.

  Mort threw back his head and laughed like a madman. “That’s like saying that goats aren’t terribly good on ice skates, or that azrin aren’t particularly good swimmers. Boy, you’ve lost more money at poker than some honest men see in a lifetime.”

  “That’s why I need to cheat.”

  Mort kicked dirt over the fires of his mirth. “OK… I’m starting to see where this is going.”

  “Esper can’t beat that gizmo on the table,” Carl said. “I’m no street magician to play sleight of hand when some mob accountant is doing all the dealing. I need magic—real, expert magic—to win this game. You sick of Little Miss Morals keeping you cooped up in here? Once we figure out an exit strategy for you, I’ll let you back into whatever body we can find you.”

  “Since when are you willing to—?”

  “It’s a whole fucking planet, Mort,” Carl snapped. “Those poor, naive fools practically worship me. They got conquered by fucking pirates, and they turned to me, to me, for help. I’m willing to let some poor bastard donate you a body to help them. We’ll make sure it’s someone who at least kinda deserves it, but I’m willing to let the math shake out here. One life for you, a few million for the stuunji people.”

  Mort rubbed a thumb against his chin. “Won’t Esper try to do something if I fly the coop?”

  “Can you do that trick you taught me?” Carl asked. “The one I’m doing right now?”

  The sour face Mort made was already an answer. “Your mind is a porcelain vase I pieced back together with spit and kiddie clay. Mine’s a granite tower that stretches into the clouds. It’s not like I can just flake pieces off and—”

  “Just a fragment. One Mort to take a blaster bolt for the team.”

  The wizard stewed.

  Back on the pier, the other Carl was sifting through a shockingly graphic recounting of Esper’s time aboard the pirate flagship. It was almost enough to convince Carl to throw the poker game and let himself get captured.

  “All right,” Mort said, sticking out a hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Carl shook the wizard’s hand and stepped in close. Then, he opened his eyes wide and let Mort climb aboard the escape pod he offered.

  # # #

  “You done checking her for cataracts? We’ve got a game to play,” Tanny barked.

  Carl blinked.
So did Esper. He had no idea how long had actually passed. Long enough for it to be awkward watching the two of them, certainly. “Sorry if I don’t have Mort around to check if these pirates have been tampering with her brain. The eyes are the window to the soul, but damn if they aren’t sort of greasy and hard to see through.” He hooked a thumb at Esper as he made his way back to his seat. “Plus, hers are made of stained glass.”

  This was his element. Bald-faced lies in front of a crowd of skeptics. He didn’t even need a persona to pull this one off. The cover story rolled off his tongue like the day’s weather—the bland native language of the planetsider.

  Once he settled into his stuunji-made chair, however, he was tied to his own schoolyard whipping post.

  Carl loved poker. But it was an abusive relationship. The game didn’t love him back. It accepted his adulation with indifference, occasionally offering up complimentary beverages as an impersonal token to keep him interested. It promised thrills and gave heartbreak instead. It hinted at riches while suckling at his bank account like a tick.

  Lady Luck had ever been Carl’s mistress. She looked out for him, gave him a little lovin’ when he needed it most. She’d been trying for years to convince him to stop playing poker, sabotaging him and undermining him with cards that fell just short of brilliant in the worst possible ways. He’d lose his bankroll and crawl back to her, and she’d protect him from blaster fire and backstabbing data techs.

  Around the table, the others all stared at him. He was the latecomer who’d held up the sermon, the guy who’d taken a comm during a wedding, the mid-level executive who’d gone for a piss during a board meeting.

  Enzio had two chips on the table in front of him. Carl owed the table one of his own. Eyes of players and spectators alike boring into him, he picked through his stack of real-estate. Ithaca 007 sounded like a chip that would serve him well. Pressing a finger down on his chosen parcel of land he didn’t own, he slid it into a betting position.

  Blinds in place, Gale held the cards at the ready. “Before I deal, a quick reminder of the rules lest anyone find later cause to dispute them. We are playing Texas Hold ‘em per Galactic Poker Federation 2555 rules conference. There will be no rebuys, no outside money, and no cash-outs. Play will continue until mutually agreed by all players, with a minimum of two hundred hands played. The minimum will be waived for any player or players who have busted. There will be no use of technology or magic to communicate during an active hand. Any player may request between hands that the equipment be validated for trustworthiness. If at any time a player is found to have violated the sanctity of these rules, their remaining chips will be forfeited to the next pot, and they will be removed from the proceedings.

  “Any questions?” Gale concluded.

  “Yeah,” Carl said, pointing to the magic detector acting as the table’s centerpiece. “How do we know this thing works?”

  Enzio sighed. “Forgive me.” He waved a hand over the device, and it let out a shriek like someone had put a marching band in a blender.

  All around the room, spectators covered their ears. Mriy in particular seemed off-put by the racket. Carl winced and tried to tough it out, but he covered his as well. The only one who failed to succumb to the noise was Cedric. He stood stoic, face a mask of studied endurance.

  After ten or twelve years—possibly seconds—the damn thing shut up.

  “Hope you’re happy,” Tanny said. “Next time someone sets it off, they’re getting a blaster bolt in the gut.”

  “No,” Gale stated. “Rules for this contest were set out by all parties en route. There are to be no weapons in the room. If you are currently armed, I would ask that you relinquish your weapon or weapons to me for safekeeping.”

  Tanny snorted. “Yeah, right.” She flagged the stuunji waiter who delivered Carl’s beer. “You, rhino. You’ll be working for me soon enough. Make a good impression, and take care of this for me.” She pulled a blaster from her jacket and handed it over.

  Carl hid his smirk. Beneath the white suit coat, he could make out the rank insignia on the stuunji’s uniform. The shoulder pips raised lumps in the fabric enough that someone familiar with stuunji culture could tell Tanny was belittling a lieutenant commander in the stuunji navy.

  Then again, Carl realized, a lieutenant commander in the stuunji navy wasn’t terribly impressive outside of New Garrelon.

  “Now, are we ready?” Chisholm asked in that weary drawl of hers.

  Carl shrugged. “I’m good.”

  Enzio gave a nod to the dealer. “Proceed.”

  Gale flicked cards around the table with a practiced hand.

  Carl looked down at the cards he received and kept his grimace off his face. This wasn’t going to be a hand won by cards.

  # # #

  The inside of Carl’s head wasn’t some grand medieval kingdom or a quaint lakeside town. It didn’t have a cutesy name. There was merely a riot of Carls crowded together like passengers at the starport just before the holidays.

  Weaving his way through the crowd, the main Carl found a gruff and put-upon Mordecai The Brown holding court with several Carls badgering him with questions.

  “No, I’m not a ghost. For the tenth time, I’m a mental construct!” Mort boomed.

  Carl chased away the pestering gaggle. Though just incarnations of Carl, they knew which of them had real business and what the stakes were.

  “You ready to spin straw into gold?” Carl asked.

  Mort licked his lips and raised an eyebrow. “You’re really going to let me pilot that paunchy carcass of yours?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “You’re not worried about what I’ll do?”

  “I’m hoping you’ll cheat at cards.”

  “Has it crossed your mind that I might kill all the pirates and a few of Tanny’s goons and solve your troubles without resorting to card tricks?”

  What was this, twenty questions? “Do you want out or not?” Carl demanded. “Because I can take a few wild swings and see if I can luck my way through this if you’re not happy about it. I can return you to Esper’s head on bowling night.”

  Mort put up his hands in surrender. “No. Don’t be hasty. Just getting a feel for the situation. Esper’s… a might more cautious.”

  Carl snorted. “Everyone’s more cautious than me. I’ve just gotten used to having my old pal Mort there to bail me out when the shit gets sucked into the ion intake.” He clapped Mort companionably on the shoulder. “And I’m not going to hold it against him that he’s a ghost now.”

  Mort shrugged off the hand. “I’m not dead, confound it!”

  “Sure you are.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Want to argue about it or do something about it? I’m not Esper. You deliver the goods; I’ll look the other way while you find a host body to rejoin the land of the living.”

  “Not worried it’ll be you?”

  Carl threw back his head and laughed. Several eavesdropping Carls in the vicinity joined in. “Esper can worry about that. If you try to take up residence, you’ll have an army of Carls storming the gates. Maybe you think you can hold us off forever, but have you ever walked on a beach wearing shoes?”

  Mort’s eyes narrowed. “Probably…”

  “Well, you never get all the sand out again. That’s me. I’m a beach full of little grains of Carl. You’re not going to take over my body permanently. It’d be the worst place in the galaxy to live.”

  “Fine. Fair point. But don’t look the other way. I’ll need you looking someone in the eye. I might be able to do it while I’m in charge, but it’ll be easier from in here, not having to vacate one consciousness before leaping to another. It’ll make the—”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” Carl mocked with a flapping hand that mimicked a mouth. “Save the magi-babble, and go play some poker.”

  # # #

  “You gonna stare at your cards all night, Ramsey?” Enzio asked.

  Mort peeled up the edges of the two ca
rds in front of him and saw a four and six of mismatched suits.

  “They haven’t changed since last time,” Enzio pointed out.

  “Fold,” Mort said and slid his cards into the middle.

  “What?” Carl demanded from behind Mort’s eyes. “You’re supposed to turn them into aces or something.”

  Mort ignored him since Carl was an idiot. If he were to change the cards now, chances were good that one of the other players would be holding the twin. For all he knew, the fop and the lady pirate had all four aces between them. Six on a table was a recipe for blasters.

  Enzio raked in Mort’s lone chip, and the game moved on.

  Next it was Mort’s turn as “dealer,” though Gale still distributed the cards. That meant Mort got his for free without having to pitch in any chips beforehand.

  Eight.

  Two.

  Free or not, the cards were worthless. Mort mucked them.

  “This is the part where you magic up the cards you need.”

  The pestering pilot wouldn’t rattle a steady hand like Mort. Patience. Caution. There were hundreds of chips in Mort’s pile and similar quantities around the table. Taking a feel of the game before springing a trap was perfectly reasonable.

  Plus, Mort didn’t get out much. Even if Carl kept his word, it might be weeks or months before they found a suitable vessel for a wizard of Mort’s magnificence. Despite more lower back pain than Carl ever let on about, it was nice to be breathing air and feeling a chair beneath his ass. Esper’s body, svelte and limber though it might have been, was too foreign. It was the hotel that was too nice to sit on the furniture, and everything looked staged.

  “You know, Ramsey,” Chisholm said, sliding in a second chip to join her first and remaining in the hand. “For all your bluster and what everyone says about you, I’d expected a freewheeler.”

  Enzio pushed six more chips in, adding to the two he’d been forced to start out with. “Raise. And yes, I’ve heard so much about you. This timidity doesn’t fit at all. Nor does your silence. Game a little too big for your boots?”