War Games (6 page)

A POKER CRYSTAL
Iay
in front of me. It was my turn to bet. I was trying to decide the best strategy. Other players watched me from across the gaming table. Just like old times, huh? You might think nothing had changed, that I was still a flamboyant playboy back on Earth. You’d be wrong if you thought that.

Lance Corporal Detrs, at your service. Pride of the First Ghost Cavalry. Veteran combat hybrid,
par excellence.
Member in good standing of the Legion of Lost Souls. Mercenary killer of elves. But I’ve killed for reasons other than money. But those reasons are my business.

I’d taken to soldiering like a computer takes to chess. The Cavalry was more fun than anything I’d ever done before—like a hunting trip with your buddies, half of whom were women. A real shame I was going to have to leave. Right when things were getting interesting.

I’d been in a bush garrison on Titan for over six months. You see a lot of firefights in six months—a lot of your buddies get killed. You waste a lot of elves yourself. There are good times and bad times. The initial thrill of being in the Ghost Cavalry wanes. I’d stared death in the face too many times to be afraid anymore. I’d developed a fatalistic philosophy common among combrids—when your number was up, it was up. Your time had come. There was nothing you could do about it except to make sure your death was as glorious as possible, and to be sure to get the elf that got you. I was no different from anyone else. I didn’t know when my time would be; I just knew how I’d look then. An insignificant difference. I’d made a separate peace with death.

Don’t think I no longer wanted to find the timestone. I did. Only my motives had changed. The Terran Empire was about to fold. There’d be a power vacuum when that happened. An enterprising young man with an advantage like a timestone could carve out quite an empire for himself. A lust for power had replaced my previous greed.

Besides, I was getting a little bored playing Cowboys and Indians.

I was just about ready to make my move. I had enough money saved to pay for the cosmetic surgery that would be needed to change my appearance. (There was nothing more obvious than a combrid deserter.) It had taken me six months to accumulate the necessary capital. I’d sat at gaming tables a lot of hours during those six months. I’d diverted a lot of goods to the black market. I had a duplicate set of keys to a ground vehicle and a forged set of travel orders that would get me to Chronus. I could leave anytime. Except for a couple of loose ends. One of those was a fem combrid named Vichsn. She knew too much about me; I’d foolishly told her too much. When I deserted, the spooks would question her. I couldn’t be sure she’d keep quiet. She was becoming a real problem.

She was sitting across the table from me now. I couldn’t go over the hill until I figured out what to do with her.

I glanced at my poker crystal. A black queen stared at me: the bitch of spades.

I looked beyond the green felt gaming table past shadowed faces of other players, to the noncom club’s picture window. The window commanded a good view. A shame nobody cared to see its scenes. Light ebbed outside. Soon glass would turn to mirror.

Night came quickly on Titan. Darkness closed suddenly. Thick hydrocarbon fog rolled over steep mountain slopes covered with crystal forest. Before long, we would hear the banshee howls of elves as they swooped from tree to tree before eventually settling into the forest ringing the base perimeter, there to taunt us with their shrieks throughout the night. Maybe that’s how they mourned their dead—the ones we’d killed that day. Maybe that’s why they wailed so. It didn’t matter. Lamentations couldn’t wake the dead, they could only keep the living from sleeping.

I’d hoped I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. I was still wired tight from the day’s shooting. But I hadn’t arranged a liaison yet. The prospect of our usual sex games bored me. I was ready for something more exciting. Only I didn’t know what. I was killing time playing crystal poker. Gambling was as good as any other way to wait for something interesting to happen. I prided myself on being a good gambler.

But no matter how much psionic influence I tried to exert on my poker crystal, I couldn’t transmute the queen to the jack of diamonds. She continued to smirk at me from her facet in the pentagonal crystal. I hadn’t been worth a dog at telekinesis since I lost the timestone. I hoped to change that inadequacy before too long.

I quickly calculated how deep I was into the pot. Pretty deep, all right. Almost a grand. I had no choice. I was going to have to bluff my way out of this mess.

I always had been a sucker for an inside straight. When I had a timestone, I knew when I’d drawn into one. I’d developed bad habits. So when diamond face cards started rolling up in my crystal, they lured me into jazzing up the pot. Besides, it wasn’t that bad a draw—I also held four to a flush. The jack of diamonds would have given me a royal flush. Not a bad draw at all.

Then the bitch queen rolled up.

Busted.

A crummy pair of queens. (I was holding the diamond queen as my hole card.) But maybe I could make them think I was holding a jack instead. A royal straight wasn’t a bad hand in stud poker. If you had one. I didn’t. Not by a long shot.

I waited for Vichsn to bet. She was high with a pair of tens showing. She threw in a C-chip.

I bumped her a grand.

No point being timid now. Go for broke. I would be broke if she didn’t bluff out. Not only were all my winnings tied up in this pot, but so was the week’s pay I’d started with. There was not much to do at base anyway, but with no money it was even worse. It could be a very boring week until next payday. Umess night games broke the monotony. I had no new prospects for that. Boring!

I made sure my face was a mask of nonchalance. It wasn’t very hard. I’d risked my life too many times for less money than was in the pot. Gambling sometimes seemed silly and futile compared with the big risk. But it was better than nothing.

Besides, this was just for fun. I’d already stashed away all the money I needed.

The other crystals went blank one by one as players folded. My bluff was working.

The bet passed to Vichsn again. Light gleamed from her oiled scalp, which was convoluted into ridges by buried vitalium wires. Her ocular membrane snapped shut for a moment, then dilated. She looked into my eyes, running the tip of her tongue along the edge of fine, white teeth. She’d been trying to distract me all night by letting her tunic fall open as she threw chips into the pot, revealing glimpses of her breasts. Not that I minded. I enjoyed the show. It took more than a few flashes of taut young nipples to distract me away from gambling. Well, maybe not all that much more.

A bare foot touched my leg under the table, then stroked my shin.

Vichsn smiled, “I think you’re trying to buy the pot,” she said.

“It’ll only cost you a grand to find out.” I knew my voice carried just the right amount of flippancy. I really couldn’t care less.

Vichsn toyed with the chips in front of her. Her toes continued to play footsie with my leg. She must be holding the third ten. Three of a kind wasn’t a bad hand in stud. But she was thinking I had filled my straight. A straight beats three of a kind on every moon in the system. Even Titan. Her other two cards were a six of hearts and a jack of clubs. No help there. She had to be holding a ten.

“I don’t think you’ve got the jack,” she said. “I think you’re trying to bluff your way out of a tight spot.” She smiled. Her skin gleamed like obsidian. She wasn’t going to bluff. Dogs.

Vichsn counted out her chips carefully, stacking them into a neat pile. She looked at my face. Her eyes shone blue with retinal reflections. She pushed her stack of chips into the center of the table, then delicately tipped them over so they spilled and mingled with the others. They skittered over the green felt of the table.

“Call,” she said.

“Dogs,” I said, and iIluminated the side of my crystal facing her. The queen’s image formed. “Two ladies. What’s your hole card?”

“Two pair,” she said. A jack of diamonds showed on her crystal. No wonder she didn’t bluff out. She was holding the fourth jack. My jack. She knew all along I didn’t have my straight. Sneaky little tart.

As Vichsn gathered in the chips, I got up to leave. I was broke and I didn’t want to have to play with her marker. I knew how she’d want it redeemed. Be more fun to listen to the elves’ taunts. Well, almost.

As I turned, I saw the Gunny standing in the doorway. He was smiling like a sandcat. “Had enough poker lessons for tonight, Detrs? Looks like you’re into Vichsn pretty deep already. Ready to call it quits for the day?” He leered at Vichsn. “While you’re still capable of redeeming your marker.”

“I suppose. Frogging run of bad luck.” I stood up from the table.

Vichsn winked at me. “Later,” she said.

“What’s up?” I asked the first shirt as I walked outside with him. He was stocky for a combrid, with the forearms of a miner. I’d seen him decapitate an elf with one chop of a combat glove. The Gunny didn’t smile very much. I’d never asked him why. You didn’t ask that kind of question. But he was smiling now.

“We’re finally getting another medic,” he said when we got outside. “And about damn time. It’s been almost two months since Doc bought his.”

“Wasn’t there some hang-up Luna-side?” The Corps had their hybridization tanks on Earth’s moon.

“Yeah, they’re bringing out a new series of Corpsmen and ran into a few production delays. Sornething about needing a certain personality profile. But the tanks are on line now. They’re putting out ten a week. The new medics are supposed to be the hottest hybrids since the new-model cybernetic marines came out. Completely self-contained. Entirely autosynthesizing. And we’ve got one waiting for our company. So I want you to grab a skimmer and move ass over to the port to pick her up.”

“But it’s almost dark.” I put just a touch of whine in my voice. “And it’s a hundred klicks to the spaceport.” Then I realized what he’d said. “Her?” I asked, suddenly interested. A new player? I mused to myself,

“That’s what I said. Don’t you listen to the scuttlebutt? All the new-generation medics are female genotype. Something about needing an X chromosome for the hybridization to be successful. Why do you think their mark designation is X-M-R?”

“I hadn’t thought much about it.”
Chi-M-Rho.
Chimera. “Chimera,” I said out loud. “So that’s where the name comes from.”

“Sure,” he said. “Now move. It’s almost dark.”

We both knew what dangers night would bring.

* * *

Harsh sodium light glared from each of four guard towers, brightly illuminating the supply pad. I saw the chimera standing on the pad next to a gravtug. Cargo and passenger pods were lined up behind the tug. The pods’ hatches were open and stevedores were busily unloading them. Other combrids also loitered about, but I had no trouble recognizing the medic. She wore a cape with spec-five stripes on the shoulders above a medic’s coiled serpent insignia. For the first time I realized how apt that symbol was for her specialty. A duffel bag lay beside her. She stood nearly two meters tall, average height for a combrid, but weighed maybe eighty kilos—definitely on the skinny side, Her arms and legs were long and lithe. Her skin was black with antiradiation pigment granules and gleamed with protective monomer sweat. Pretty standard adaptations. Just like any other combat hybrid. But if the rumors were true, her significant adaptations would be internal. Chimeras were supposed to be a new generation of combat medic.

I touched her shoulder.

She turned. Ocular membranes contracted quickly, then dilated again. Jade eyes examined me dispassionately. Men used to fight wars over a face like hers. Now they had sillier reasons. I thought I was in love. But I knew better. I could recognize the beginning of a testosterone shower.

“Lance Corporal Detrs,” I said. “A Company, Second Brigade, First Ghost Cavalry. Welcome to Titan. The Gunny sent me to fetch you to the garrison.” There was something wrong with my voice.

“Peppardine,” she said. “Firiel Peppardine. I mean, Specialist Five Peppardine.” “She laughed, then paused. Her face became lax again.

I recognized the name from somewhere. Of course, that might not mean anything. The Corps would give you a new name if you wanted. She might have taken a familiar one. She remained unmoving. Frogs! She probably expected me to salute or something. Noncoms fresh from the hypnotanks always did. So I didn’t salute. The sooner she learned the realities of a combat situation, the better for everyone. I slouched a little more than usual and gazed about laconically.

She must have gotten the message, because she shrugged and shouldered her duffel bag. I led the way to the skimmer.

Night had deepened. Fog rolled across the road like surf on a beach. During the day, logging trucks lugged cargoes of crystal trees from deep in the interior to the civilian spaceport. The trees were hauled to labs in the asteroid belt for further processing, so the elves wouldn’t have the necessary technology to process radiacrystal into war materiel. That was the theory, anyway. The Lord Generals could have saved themselves some shipping charges. The elves had the technology, anyway.