A Game of Universe (2 page)

It complicated matters because the gambler had to win. It wasn’t my money he bet with. He borrowed the sum from a group of unsavory individuals (at a stiff rate of interest), and if not repaid within twelve hours, they’d extract the balance from his flesh—my flesh. For this amount, I estimated an arm or a few teeth might be left for the Corporation to find. Maybe.

The dealer waved his hand over the call pad and summoned a fresh deck. A glitter of stars, then a gold leaf package faded into reality, never before touched, and with all its random probabilities intact beneath the certified seal, a black seven-pointed star.

“Bets before cards please,” he announced, appearing quite happy with himself.

The gambler quickly composed his thoughts, removed the second, and last, iridium chip from my vest, and set it atop the other in the betting circle. “One hundred thousand,” he answered in a deadpan voice.

The dealer’s smile vanished, replaced by more wrinkles on his forehead. “I am sorry, sir, but to place a wager of that magnitude, I must obtain permission from the manager.”

“Why?” the gambler demanded, raising my voice so everyone within five tables heard. “That’s the maximum legal bet, isn’t it? Or do you have one set of rules for the losers and another for the winners?”

“There is no need to shout, sir. I only wish to—”

“—You’ll accept my bet, or I will withdraw from the game and take my money elsewhere.” Only then did I notice that all the games within earshot had stopped, and a crowd gathered around our table, tourists eager to see the casino lose big. The gambler saw them too, and held his cards closer, fearing Golden City spies.

The master-dealer glanced at the display on his left and saw a blinking green light. “Very well, Mister Germain, the house approves this transaction. It is your money to throw away.” He grabbed the new deck.

“Wait!” the gambler said before he snapped the seal. “I double my wager.”

“Double?”

“Yes, I may double my bet if a new deck is used to finish a hand, and do so on credit. It’s in the rules, number seventeen, section three. Look it up if you wish.”

The master-dealer called up the dictionary of rules on his display, and did just that.

This rule is for suckers,
the gambler explained to us.
It tempts the tourists with dreams of wealth, tempts them into serious debt. The odds favor the house—more so with their professional dealers. They ordinarily make money on it, but not always, and not tonight.

The dealer halted his scan, pausing to read what the gambler knew was there. He nodded to me, and said, “You are correct, sir. You do have the option to double, on credit. I salute your knowledge of the game.”

The crowd buzzed with excitement. No one had won, or lost, such a sum for a long time.

Besides,
the gambler reasoned,
if I’m going to risk your neck for money, it should be an astronomical amount, right?
He threw the nebula away, and said, “One card.”

The dealer snapped the seal.

When shuffling, a dealer will cut the one hundred twenty-eight-card Universe deck into two or three sections that are manageable. Not this time. The master-dealer made them waltz for him, layers of spinning cards, cut, and cut again with one hand, then arched, fanned into a circle, and repeated even faster. He offered us a cut. The gambler took it, but what was the point?

He tossed the top card. It skimmed slowly over the felt, and came to rest in his hand, the first from the supposedly randomized deck, face down. A billion stars gleamed on its backside, stars that determined my fate: riches or ruin.

“The dealer takes two,” he said.

I didn’t hear him. My entire concentration was on the card, still floating a hairsbreadth above the table. The gambler touched it, ice cold, so I knew it wasn’t a star, but maybe all the cards from a new deck were this cold.

Beneath the stars, he turned to find …

Vacuum, black and empty as his luck.

I fold,
the gambler whispered to us and left my body.

Omar hesitated, frustrated by the souring of our fortune.

I moved in quickly before anyone else took control. Like emerging from a tunnel, my full senses returned to me. The cool metallic surfaces of the card plates, the scent of my own perspiration, the whisperings of the crowd, the thumping of my heart—all sensations I’d never take for granted again.

Not a twitch betrayed my emotions; neither a frown nor a sigh marred my expression of stone. I kept my eyes upon the unwanted card, however, so no one saw the panic in them.

There were few options. If I continued to play, I’d lose. Without the last piece of the dragon, this hand was worthless. A single pair of moons beat me. Could I escape? Possibly. Melt into the crowd, sprint to the spaceport, and forget Omar’s meeting? No, that wouldn’t work. For this kind of money, they’d come looking for me. An example would be made of me.

As a muse I had mental constructs. That was cheating—not that I had any objections at this point—but the casino tortured to death the muses they found cheating at their tables. Six engrams of power were mine to use, three of my own, and three stolen.

“Additional bets?” the dealer inquired.

My mental constructs were impractical in this situation:
The Theorem of Malleability
softened metals; the ocular enhancer enabled me to see in absolute darkness; and the ritual of borrowing gave me the power to absorb my extra personas—all useless in a game of chance.

The dealer cleared his throat and again asked: “Mister Germain, are you betting?”

Three of my extra personalities contained mnemonic lore. These were priceless to me because I could use them only once. Each had originally required years of laborious study from their former owners. Forcing that knowledge unwound their intellect like threads from a tapestry.

In Omar’s mind was the
Abridged Manifoldification.
I had only to visualize another place, and I appeared there, exchanging my mass with another of equal value. It made escape trivial. But again, it would buy me only a brief respite, then the casino and the gambler’s money lenders would track me down.

Next:
Aaron’s Air Attraction,
held within the persona of an alien king. For the span of three heartbeats, it condensed a large volume of gas into liquid. When the surrounding air rushed in to fill this void it added enough thermal energy to the liquefied air to flash vaporize it, and explode. Using it within the confines of the casino would kill me. And I had never been suicidal.

Finally, my Master’s mnemonic construct, the
Enchantment of Time Lost,
reversed time for seven seconds, to replay, hopefully, with an alternate outcome. Seven seconds would change nothing now. I spent longer than that just thinking this through.

Pandemonium erupted in my mind as my personas offered their advice:
We don’t have a chance!
the gambler cried.
Don’t panic
, whispered the psychologist.
I am certain if you explain your situation to the authorities they would be reasonable
. Omar hissed,
You deserve what they’re going to do to you. Keep your chin up, honey
, Celeste cooed.
You’ll figure a way out
. And Fifty-five said,
Five security men at your back, watch it
.

Why don’t you go to Hell?
I answered them all. They couldn’t, of course. They were motionless within my mind, insects petrified in resin. Motionless? Motion implied movement, a shift from one place to another—or a switch! Yes, a switch.

How many cards covered the gambler’s first discard, the dragon? There were the dealer’s six, then his two, for a total of eight. Add one for the nebula he just threw away, so nine. Nine cards were ahead of the one I wanted in the disposal chute. There was no time to go over it again. I held the vacuum card in my left hand, concentrated, and released the
Abridged Manifoldification.

Omar struggled, and held onto his memories.

I knew that if I didn’t pull this off, we’d all be tortured for the gambler’s crime. Omar’s will was no match for that. I ripped the engrams free; they drained from his intellect, and the last moments of his life passed before my eyes—a disturbing image of my own face leering above his while I strangled him.

Please,
he begged, but his voice faded. Omar’s soul unraveled, then was gone.

The power to travel light-years through space made my ears buzz and my eyes water; yet, I only exchanged two cards about a meter apart. Mentally counting through the card plates in the discard chute, top to bottom, I grabbed the tenth and held it firmly in my imagination.

But as I grabbed the card, something grabbed me. A spike of white hot metal shattered my thoughts.

That would be the casino’s psychologist probing for illegal constructs,
my psychologist informed me.
He shall confirm who you are, determine precisely what you are doing, then scramble your mind.

How do I stop him?

You cannot.

Like hell I can’t.

A glowing sapphire seven-pointed star appeared. It was transparent with hundreds of veins zigzagging to the center, pulsing with energy and life.

That is his construct,
the psychologist said.
Quite impenetrable. He is protected in the center.

I entered. Inside, the pathways intersected, pulled apart, pinched closed, and opened at random. I took the first right. I guessed left next, then right, then found myself trapped in an infinitely decreasing spiral.

This has a pattern,
whispered the psychologist.

I recognized it: Hadrian’s Law of Diminishing Returns. The exit had to be straight up. I took it. Behind me the path I had been on snapped shut.

The tunnel narrowed. I moved faster like a liquid forced into a smaller pipe. Omar’s
Abridged Manifoldification
trailed behind me, brushed the sides of the maze, and sent sparks into the ether.

Right and left corkscrew tunnels, and I emerged in the center. The casino’s psychologist turned, startled.

Mental probes link mind to mind,
I said,
which is risky not knowing whom you face.

Who are you?

We are many.

I snuffed him.

A flash of light—

—then my perspective flickered. I again sat at the Universe table.

The card in my hand blurred, almost imperceptibly, as if I waved it rapidly back and forth (but I did not). In the blank blackness that was once a vacuum, hundreds of shimmering golden scales appeared. I had the gambler’s original dragon back.

I exhaled and looked up from my card. Had anyone seen the switch? No, the dealer’s face was still wrinkled with concern, not filled with the joy I’d expect if he caught my deceit. I glanced to the first dealer, the girl. Her eyes locked with mine. There was something in her stare, a glimmer of understanding. She knew.

“Last call for bets sir,” the master-dealer announced.

Why hasn’t she said anything?

I sense,
the psychologist replied,
that she derives pleasure from the casino’s ill fortune.

“Sir?” the master-dealer asked. “Stand pat or raise?”

“I double my bet
again.”

“Double? Again sir?”

“Double and call,” I stated flatly.

He swallowed, and the diamond in the corner of his eye flashed blue, reflecting the overhead lights, then he reversed the magnetic field of the table. His cards turned first: a cluster of three binary stars, two quasars, and a black hole—an excellent hand, for which I privately admired his skill at cheating.

Then, my cards flipped.

The six spun apart and came to rest in a hexagon pattern, the sections of the celestial dragon melding in one seamless circle, joined by the head eating tail, a ring of gold.

“Universe!” I cried.

The master-dealer hung his head, and an appreciative “ahhh” rolled through the crowd, along with a smattering of applause.

The end game tone sounded thrice, and my winning cards animated. The dragon leapt off the cards and into the air, a serpentine circle. It twisted and growled and consumed itself in a contorted toroidal Möbius, head devouring tail, shrinking until it was no more than a golden ball over the betting circle, then compressed to a point of light. A roar, primeval, part reptile, part earthquake, came from every direction. And while the echoes still lingered, the compressed dragon detonated. Scales, ivory teeth, and talons erupted from the point, each one transforming into a glistening galaxy, motes of brilliance that spun with celestial grace.

It was a beautiful sight to behold. I was rich and alive.

The stars revolved about the table clockwise, spiraling in ever larger circles, every cluster of galaxies rotating at a different angle, some spinning fast, others globs of star dust with no perceivable gyrations. They slowed, and when the universe spanned five tables in diameter and touched the chandeliers overhead, it halted. With a scarcely detectable motion, it reversed course, counterclockwise, into the center, increasing speed, galaxies colliding, faster and faster, a million stars exploding, still faster, blurring into a single mass, the light compressing into solid scales and teeth and talons, a dragon again! He winked his single eye at me, and back into the cards he slithered.

The master-dealer, without meeting my eyes, said, “Pardon me, Mister Germain, we have insufficient funds at this table to settle our wager.” His display flashed amber. He glanced into it, and hastily added, “However, I have been authorized to open an account at the casino bank, and deposit your winnings there, if that is acceptable.”

“Eminently acceptable,” I said.

He offered me a receipt ring, which I slipped on. I allowed it to imprint my DNA pattern, then handed it back to him.

“Thank you for the game. Now, if you will excuse me.” I quickly left the Universe table before questions were asked, loans requested, or someone bothered to count the dragons in either deck.

Stay a while,
Celeste urged.
There were ladies and boys, delectable young things, itching to meet you back there. Spend some cash. Buy them a few drinks. Pleasure yourself. Why don’t we? You never relax.

My dear,
I said,
that’s why I’m still alive.

I crossed the sparkling, smoke-filled arena, past one-armed machines that glittered prismatic and bleeped cheerfully while they ate money, past dealers who carefully milked the tourists, and past cocktail waitresses who wore only sequins and veils and offered an endless supply of pleasures. A plaque of gold above an indigo curtain on the far wall proclaimed, TURQUOISE ROOM—RESTRICTED, in clear black letters. Twin guards, part human and part mechanized tank, bristling with armor and weapon implants, blocked the entrance.