"WHAT THE FARKING HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" roared Sergeant Pitbull, instead of whatever else he had been about to roar when the lights went out. Then he saw the general, and his eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. "Oh, golly," he said, in a voice the recruits had to strain to hear-the first time in Thumper's memory that one of Pitbull's statements hadn't threatened to shatter his highly sensitive eardrums.
By now, every sophont in the room had managed to grasp that something dreadfully wrong had happened that fact was probably within the intellectual grasp of the pea-sized AI that regulated the water level in the toilets.
Likewise, even the dullest-witted recruit's eyes had managed to trace the damning chain of evidence that led from the general's ruined dress uniform to the odoriferous bucket in Thumper's hands. In fact, it slowly dawned on Thumper that every eye in the barracks was staring directly at him.
"I didn't do it," he managed to sputter as Sergeant Pitbull advanced toward him, mayhem in his eyes. But by then it was way too late.
6
Journal #675
Who among us does not take pleasure in the discomfort of our enemies? Such is common wisdom, noted by many observers.
It is less frequently observed that, by choosing one's enemies with a degree of care, one can significantly increase the number of occasions on which to enjoy the pleasure of seeing them discommoded. In fact, it is likely that infelicitous choice of rivals is the cause of more frustration than almost any other miscalculation. This is as true in business as in those more personal areas of human enterprise.
The subtleties of the matter are clearly illustrated by the fact that my employer; despite his lack of any salient qualities that might warn off a calculating opponent, had over and over turned unpromising situations to his own advantage and frustrated the hopes of those arrayed against him. In fact, so improbable were his victories, that the defeated party was often inclined to step right up to make another attempt at besting him. But almost inevitably, the outcome of the first encounter was only repeated in the return engagement.
That didn't stop his world-be enemies from coming back for more... .
It was 5:00 P.M. Galactic Standard Tune on Lorelei. But it might as well have been 5:00 A.M. or high noon, for all the difference it made in the casinos that were the economic lifeblood of the resort satellite. The casinos were open twenty-four hours, and there was no time of day or night when the brightly lit gaming tables or banks of quantum slot machines were without a full quorum of bettors. Even the exotic potted plants lining the hallways of the Fat Chance Casino got twenty-four-hour attention from the throng of gardeners and housekeepers who filed unobtrusively but efficiently through every public space of the hotel and casino-watering, trimming, cleaning up.
"What games are you going to play?" Lola stared suspiciously at Ernie. She'd intercepted him on the way to the Fat Chance Casino cashier's window to purchase gambling chips.
"Poker's got the best odds, the way I see it," said Ernie, shrugging. "The house just takes a percentage of every pot, and the winner keeps everything else. I figure I can swindle most of the bozos that end up at the poker table here-and beat 'em at cards, too."
"Don't get too creative--if they catch you cheating, you're on the next shuttle off the station," Lola reminded him. She took him by the arm and led him along one of the central aisles through one of the casino's middle-priced gaming rooms. Working their way through the overflowing crowds were cocktail waitresses, dispensing free drinks to the gamblers-a time-honored strategy for increasing the amount wagered. A significant majority of the gamblers were taking the bait, guzzling down the drinks (and free eats) as if they were at a permanent party. Some were undoubtedly shills, encouraging the real customers to act as if the party would never end. And here and there, casino guards in the black uniform of the Space Legion served as silent reminders who owned this casino-and what would happen to anyone caught cheating.
Lola stopped and turned to face Ernie. "Remember, you're playing it straight today. If casino security comes down on you, it's your butt that's on the grill-I don't know you, and I'm not helping you. Got it? So don't go screwing up this job just as it's getting started. Especially considering what's likely to happen to us if we mess up this time..."
"Don't worry, kid, I'll play it close to the vest," said Ernie, grumpily. He waved vaguely toward the nearby blackjack tables. "We gotta have enough spare bucks to keep ourselves flush..."
"And we have to keep from losing what little we have," said Lola, stopping and turning to face him. She gripped him by the lapels, and said firmly, "Your budget for today is fifty dollars..."
"Fifty lousy bucks!" Ernie grumbled. "That's barely enough to get into a decent game!"
"Build it up enough, and you'll have more tomorrow," said Lola. "No sucker bets, nothing that'll get you busted by Casino security. We've got to keep ourselves afloat long enough to get the job done-because if we don't get it done, we're really sunk. You remember Mr. V, don't you?"
"All right, I get you," said Ernie. "Fifty bucks it is. By the time I'm done, it oughta be three-four hundred."
Lola smiled, and said, "Good, and if it is, you get to keep half your winnings to play with tomorrow. Now, excuse me-I'm going to go snooping." She gave him a punch on the biceps and turned toward the high-rollers' section of the casino. Odds were, if their quarry was anywhere on the casino floor, it would be there, where the action was fastest and most furious. Lola's step quickened--even she could feel the excitement There were a pair of guards in Legion uniform flanking the doorway to the elite playing area, but Lola whisked right past them. The casino didn't discourage gawkers in this section, as long as they didn't interfere with the play and didn't linger an unseemly long time. The way Lola was dressed, they weren't likely to single her out-not that they seemed to be enforcing any dress code at all in this section. It wasn't unknown for someone dressed like a day laborer to enter one of the Lorelei casinos and plop down a grease-stained paper sack that turned out to be filled with thousand-dollar bills.
There was an even more private area for those upperclass gamblers who insisted on playing their games out of the sight of the common rabble--but she wasn't interested in them. She was after Willard Phule-and he wasn't going to hide from the paying customers. As she knew from her previous visit to the casino, he spent as much of his time as possible accessible to the patrons. She'd even seen him with his Port-a-Brain set up on a bar table, working where he'd be visible to the players, rather than anonymously in some back office.
But it didn't take more than a glance-to eliminate the possibility that he was in this area. The only Legion uniforms in sight were the pair of guards at each end of the room, visible but unobtrusive. Everyone else in the room was in the casual garb of rich people on holiday-a range that ran from the garish display of the self-made to the tastefully drab leisurewear affected by Old Money.
Then Lola did a double take. To one side a lean man pumping tokens into a bank of quantum slot machines. That was completely off the expected pattern. The high rollers had their own preferred games-obsolete games like roulette and baccarat were their style, rather than the faster-moving, high-tech games that predominately in the outer rooms. Never mind that the odds on the elite games were heavily stacked in the house's favor. The very rich enjoyed the risk, and they were willing to pay to be seen playing the more prestigious games. But slots were utterly declasse-there was almost no pretense of skill to them, and even less of elegance. So why, suddenly, were there slots here in the high-priced area of the casino?