Read Online Where the Ships Die by William C. Dietz - Free Book Online
Authors: William C. Dietz
Tags: Science-Fiction
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brightly lit sign, and lurched in that direction. The air was cooler now and cleared his head. The sound of music reached up to the bank. He followed it onto the barge. Light streamed through the door and pooled on the deck.
The doorman called Dorn "sir," and smiled engagingly. A man in evening clothes appeared, inquired as to his name, and snapped his ringers. A pretty young woman seized Dorn's arm and led him across the room. He used the trip to examine his surroundings. The room, which had been empty during his initial visit, was nearly full. There were locals out for a good time, spacers in from the black, and an assortment of other individuals who wore expressions of silent desperation and looked as though their entire futures rode on the next toss of their diceâa situation Dorn could empathize with.
There were null gravity roulette wheels, 3-D holo tables, virtual reality scenarios, and a variety of more traditional offerings, including Dorn's choice, a poker-derived electrocard game called Rockets and Stars.
The hostess led Dorn to a circular table and paused. It was occupied by a rather prosperous-looking middle-aged man, a woman dressed in a blue shipsuit with the name Galaxy Queen stitched over the left breast pocket, and an XT who, judging from the trade jewelry draped around his neck, owed his allegiance to an Alhanthian merchant clan. The alien had a pronounced supraorbital ridge, barely visible red eyes, and vertical nostril slits. He, she, or it looked around the table, gestured toward some upturned cards, and croaked, "Read 'em and defecate."
"That's read 'em and weep," the middle-aged man said indulgently, "although you may decide to follow your own advice when you see my cards."
"Cut the posturing and let's get on with it," the woman said curtly. "You gonna raise or not?"
The XT threw its cards on the table and leaned back. "Not."
"That's what I thought," the spacer replied contemptuously. "How 'bout you, Pops? You got the balls?"
"All my organs are intact, thank you," the man said urbanely. "But I choose to fold."
"Of course you do," the ship's officer said, raking the chips in, " 'cause you're a ground-pounding wimp."
The woman who had accompanied Dorn to the table cleared her throat. "Excuse me, gentlebeings, but I have the fourth player you requested. Citizen Voss, allow me to introduce Citizen Van Kirk, First Officer Harlan, and Citizen Pennuli. Five hundred credits are required to enter the game, the house takes five percent of each pot, and there are no limits. The dealer is using standard decks plus two supernovas. Questions? No? I'll buy your chips and bring them to the table."
Dorn felt the other player's eyes on him, wondered if they recognized the name, and hoped they didn't. He fumbled the bankroll out of its hiding place, wished he'd thought to do so earlier, and selected the correct number of bills. The hostess accepted the money, nodded pleasantly, and walked away. Van Kirk smiled and gestured toward a chair. "Take a load off, son. Welcome to the game."
Dorn nodded, took his seat, and tried to look impassive as the woman reappeared, placed three stacks of chips in front of him, and signaled a waiter. The drink was complimentary and warmed his throat. The dealer, a house-owned android, and one of the few that Dorn had seen on New Hope, was mounted at the center of the table. It could rotate 360 degrees and came equipped with a head, torso, and four arms. Each arm bore a finely articulated hand. Two shuffled a deck of cards while the others prepared to deal. The robot had a dour, nearly funereal expression, as if gambling were a serious business, which it undoubtedly was. A layer of dust frosted the upper surfaces of its black tuxedo.
"So," Pennuli croaked, "what the hell are we waiting for? Deal."
The machine bowed at the waist and servos whirred as it turned and dealt at the same time. Cards sailed out, skidded over green felt, and accumulated in front of the players. Dorn
The doorman called Dorn "sir," and smiled engagingly. A man in evening clothes appeared, inquired as to his name, and snapped his ringers. A pretty young woman seized Dorn's arm and led him across the room. He used the trip to examine his surroundings. The room, which had been empty during his initial visit, was nearly full. There were locals out for a good time, spacers in from the black, and an assortment of other individuals who wore expressions of silent desperation and looked as though their entire futures rode on the next toss of their diceâa situation Dorn could empathize with.
There were null gravity roulette wheels, 3-D holo tables, virtual reality scenarios, and a variety of more traditional offerings, including Dorn's choice, a poker-derived electrocard game called Rockets and Stars.
The hostess led Dorn to a circular table and paused. It was occupied by a rather prosperous-looking middle-aged man, a woman dressed in a blue shipsuit with the name Galaxy Queen stitched over the left breast pocket, and an XT who, judging from the trade jewelry draped around his neck, owed his allegiance to an Alhanthian merchant clan. The alien had a pronounced supraorbital ridge, barely visible red eyes, and vertical nostril slits. He, she, or it looked around the table, gestured toward some upturned cards, and croaked, "Read 'em and defecate."
"That's read 'em and weep," the middle-aged man said indulgently, "although you may decide to follow your own advice when you see my cards."
"Cut the posturing and let's get on with it," the woman said curtly. "You gonna raise or not?"
The XT threw its cards on the table and leaned back. "Not."
"That's what I thought," the spacer replied contemptuously. "How 'bout you, Pops? You got the balls?"
"All my organs are intact, thank you," the man said urbanely. "But I choose to fold."
"Of course you do," the ship's officer said, raking the chips in, " 'cause you're a ground-pounding wimp."
The woman who had accompanied Dorn to the table cleared her throat. "Excuse me, gentlebeings, but I have the fourth player you requested. Citizen Voss, allow me to introduce Citizen Van Kirk, First Officer Harlan, and Citizen Pennuli. Five hundred credits are required to enter the game, the house takes five percent of each pot, and there are no limits. The dealer is using standard decks plus two supernovas. Questions? No? I'll buy your chips and bring them to the table."
Dorn felt the other player's eyes on him, wondered if they recognized the name, and hoped they didn't. He fumbled the bankroll out of its hiding place, wished he'd thought to do so earlier, and selected the correct number of bills. The hostess accepted the money, nodded pleasantly, and walked away. Van Kirk smiled and gestured toward a chair. "Take a load off, son. Welcome to the game."
Dorn nodded, took his seat, and tried to look impassive as the woman reappeared, placed three stacks of chips in front of him, and signaled a waiter. The drink was complimentary and warmed his throat. The dealer, a house-owned android, and one of the few that Dorn had seen on New Hope, was mounted at the center of the table. It could rotate 360 degrees and came equipped with a head, torso, and four arms. Each arm bore a finely articulated hand. Two shuffled a deck of cards while the others prepared to deal. The robot had a dour, nearly funereal expression, as if gambling were a serious business, which it undoubtedly was. A layer of dust frosted the upper surfaces of its black tuxedo.
"So," Pennuli croaked, "what the hell are we waiting for? Deal."
The machine bowed at the waist and servos whirred as it turned and dealt at the same time. Cards sailed out, skidded over green felt, and accumulated in front of the players. Dorn
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