Chapter 9: Bad Beat

Harry felt his companion stir, one of her feathery antennae tickling his cheek as she lay her head on his shoulder. They were still sat on the couch in front of the holographic fireplace, the flames crackling in the hearth as they licked at the burning logs. The two had talked for what must have been a couple of hours before Holly had fallen asleep, seeming to cling to him instinctively in her groggy state. She was accustomed to sleeping in piles with her sisters, so she had told him, and so sleeping alone might be unnatural to her. Her two right arms were wrapped around his left, and her fluffy ruff was pressed up against his sleeve. She didn’t snore, she might not have lungs at all, but her torso and her thighs seemed to slowly rise and fall as though they were doing the breathing instead.

As her eyes slowly opened, she blinked up at him, drawing back as she came to her senses.

“My apologies,” she stammered, shuffling away from him. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, flexing his now free limb. “You made my arm fall asleep, too. You must have been tired, didn’t you like the bed?”

“I find it ... difficult to sleep alone,” she replied, confirming his theory. “Why did you not move me?”

“You looked like you needed it,” he said, the tingling in his fingers slowly abating. “Feel better now?”

She nodded her head, reaching up and cleaning her antennae with her hands. Harry rose to his feet, stretching his arms above his head and yawning widely. He noticed Blackjack, who was sleeping in his usual place, walking over and giving him a tap on the flank with his boot.

“Wake up, you lazy lizard, you’re on watch. I gotta take a shower before I start smellin’ like a Rask’s jockstrap after a workout. I didn’t think we’d be stuck here for so long.”

The Krell rumbled his displeasure, but rose to his feet obediently. He shook his massive body like a dog, sending a ripple through his fat and muscle, his jaws opening wide to expose his jagged teeth and his purple tongue as he yawned.

“You want anythin’ to eat ... er ... drink before I get in the shower?” Harry asked, Holly shaking her head as she peered at him over the back of the couch. “Cool, I’ll be out in ten. Let BJ know if you need anythin’.”

He was already shedding his armor before he reached the bathroom, removing the ceramic plates that were strapped about his thighs and shins, unstrapping his chest carrier. He stripped down to his Navy-blue uniform, stacking his armor by the door, then entered. Once it had closed behind him, he removed the rest of his clothes and took a much-anticipated shower. Wearing the heavy, black combat armor in a casual setting for hours on end was a bit of a nightmare. It was about as light as they could make it, but there was no getting around the weight of the ceramic plates that were designed to dissipate the heat from plasma bolts.

Harry sighed as he stepped beneath the showerhead, letting the cool water flow through his hair, washing away the prior day’s sweat and grime. As he upended a bottle of shampoo into his hand, his thoughts turned to Holly. She had reacted strangely when he had jokingly asked her what he smelled like. She was far more sensitive to scents than humans were, it might be polite to use a lot of scented soaps, maybe human body odor was unpleasant to her.

As much as he wanted to get out of the suite and feel the artificial breeze on his face again, he had to admit, he was starting to like Holly enough that he might miss her when she was gone. It had never really hit him before now, how tragic her death would have been at the hands of the assassin, how undeserved. He would never have imagined that he would feel sympathy for a Bug, but his desire to keep her safe now went beyond the Chief’s orders.

Was he starting to sympathize with her cause? No, he still thought that admitting the Bugs to the Coalition was a bad idea, but what if they were all like her? What if every Drone and Worker had the capacity to empathize and emote in the way that she did? The question was becoming less black and white. Maybe she was right in that they deserved the chance to prove that they were different, if nothing else. He knew that the thought of gunning her down as he had so many others made his heart sink, he saw her as a person now, not as an insect.

Harry emerged from the bathroom, still drying his hair with a towel, finding Holly sitting quietly on the couch as Blackjack watched over her like a scaly gargoyle. For a moment, he wondered why she wasn’t finding some way to entertain herself, then he remembered that the Chief’s orders prevented her from accessing any of the entertainment that would usually be available.

Maybe he really was interpreting those orders too literally. It wouldn’t do any harm to let her watch a movie, or read a damned e-book. Although, there were other options...

“Come on guys,” he announced, the two aliens turning to peer at him from across the open-plan living room. “I’m gonna go stir crazy if we don’t find a way to spend the time. You up for a Poker game?”

Blackjack loosed an affirmative rumble, Holly kneeling on the cushions and leaning on the backrest as she looked between them in confusion.

“What is Poker?” she asked.

“I’ll show you,” he replied, gesturing for her to follow him. She hopped down off the couch, making her way over to the kitchen on her digitigrade legs, her dainty feet giving her a graceful gait. Blackjack lumbered along after her, as far as one could get from graceful, his many-toed feet making the floor shake as they slapped against the wood.

The three of them sat around the kitchen table as Harry drew a pack of cards and his tablet computer from his pocket, Blackjack sitting on the floor, his stature putting him at an appropriate height. His long tail trailed out of the kitchen and into the hall, tall enough that a human would have needed to step over it as if it was a low garden fence. Harry shuffled the deck, then began to deal, Holly watching with fascination as his practiced technique landed the cards directly in front of her.

“What is the purpose of this game?” Holly asked, holding one card in each of her four hands as she examined them carefully.

“Poker is a game of subterfuge,” Harry explained, shuffling the deck again. “It’s about gambling, strategy, deception. You’re supposed to defeat your opponents by outwitting them.”

Blackjack rumbled affirmatively, the vibrations making the hanging skin beneath his jaw vibrate. He was holding his own cards in his scaly, seven-fingered hands as he examined them with his beady, yellow eyes.

“We’re teaching Holly to play,” Harry warned, glaring across the table at the giant reptile. “So don’t cheat!”

The Krell replied with another low, resonating vocalization that made Harry’s teeth chatter.

“Yes you do, I don’t know why you bother denyin’ it. Just because we have faster metabolisms than you doesn’t mean that we have no attention span, you were doin’ it just the other day!”

Holly glanced between them, trying not to laugh as they had their one-sided argument.

“Alright,” Harry continued, turning his attention back to her. “There are four suits, those are the little symbols on the cards. Clubs, hearts, spades, and diamonds.”

“Why are they called that?” she asked, looking down at her cards in confusion.

“Er ... I dunno, they just are. Then you have thirteen different ranks, those are the little numbers on the cards. The higher the number, the more value it has. There are also Jacks, Kings, Queens, and Aces. Those are the highest ranks. Ace is the highest, then King, then Queen, then Jack.”

“But the Queen should be the highest rank,” Holly protested, cocking her head at him.

“If it was based on Betelgeusian hives, yeah, but it’s based on the human feudal system. There are also Jokers, but don’t worry about those right now.”

“So the goal is to find the highest value card?” Holly asked, Harry shaking his head.

“No, you have to have what’s called a hand. A hand is a combination of cards, and some hands have more value than others. Here,” he said, tapping at his tablet for a moment before sliding it across the table. She caught it, turning it around and examining the screen. “These are the different hands, you can use this as a reference until you’ve learned them.”

“This looks complicated,” she grumbled. “Where does the strategy lie if what cards the players are dealt are randomized?”

“You’ll see,” he replied. “When you play Poker, you’re usually playin’ for money, or for some substitute for money. You make a bet, which means that you gamble with a certain amount, then the other players have to raise or call. Call means they bet an equal amount, and raise means they bet a larger amount, which the other players then have to match. If you think your hand is too weak to win, you can fold, but that means forfeiting the money that you bet so far.”

“My people do not use money,” Holly replied, “the hive works cooperatively to provide for the needs of its members.”

“Oh, right,” Harry mumbled. “Well, we’re just playin’ for fun, so it doesn’t really matter. We have no chips, though. What can we use instead?”

He glanced around the room, thinking for a moment, then rose from his chair. He opened one of the drawers and fumbled around, then returned to his seat to deposit a handful of small, colorful packets on the table.

“We’ll play for condiments,” he declared. “Ketchup packets are worth twenty, mustard and mayonnaise are ten, and salt packets are one.”

“Ten of what?” Holly asked skeptically.

“Just ten, that’s their value. It’s a substitute for money.”

“Alright,” she said, her long antennae twitching. “I will try this game.”

“Fold,” Harry said, tossing his cards on the table. “That’s it, I’m out of mayonnaise. All I have left now is the shirt on my back and two salt packets.”

Holly glanced up at him, her pink eyes flashing mischievously, then she turned her gaze to BJ. They both had large piles of condiments, but it looked like Holly was edging ahead with that last hand. She had picked up the game remarkably quickly, and she was surprisingly good at it. She had been designed from the chromosome up to be good at diplomacy, and what was Poker if not diplomacy boiled down to its most basic form? The ability to persuade, to mislead, knowing when to play your cards and when to take a loss.

“Talk about a Poker face,” Harry muttered, “how is this fair? Your face is made of chitin,” he said, gesturing to Holly. “And you have the emotional range of a doorstop,” he added as he turned an accusing finger to Blackjack.

“I like this game,” Holly replied, the plates that made up her face shifting to form a smile.

“Beginner’s luck,” Harry said, feigning poor sportsmanship.

Blackjack pushed a handful of his condiments to the center of the table, grunting his challenge. Holly examined her cards for a moment, clutched in her upper pair of hands, then called with the lower pair as the off-white tips of her antennae bobbed in the air.

“Let us see your cards,” she said, BJ laying his hand down on the table.

“Full House,” Harry said with an impressed nod. “Three Kings and two threes.”

Holly revealed her own hand, grumbling as she compared the two.

“Flush,” Harry said, peering across the table at her cards. “A King, a Jack, a nine, a four, and a two. Full House beats a flush. Hang on,” he added, narrowing his eyes at Blackjack’s cards. “Why are there two Kings of Spades in the deck, BJ?”

Holly began to giggle as the reptile produced another pair of high-value cards, using a sleight of hand trick to make it seem as though they had appeared from thin air, holding them between his scaly fingers.

“I don’t know why I play with you,” Harry complained. “Where are you even hidin’ those? You’re not wearing any clothes!”

Holly’s laughter filled the kitchen as the Krell rubbed his hands together, revealing his empty palms. Harry reached across the table and tried to grab his wrist, determined to see where they were going, Blackjack moving his arm out of reach.

“It’s behind his hand,” Holly giggled, “I can see it!”

“So you’re back-palmin’ them, are you?” Harry demanded. He couldn’t keep a straight face as Blackjack’s hand vanished below the table, reemerging with what looked like most of a stack of cards and spraying them at him. Holly doubled over as the torrent of cards scattered about the table, the Krell loosing a rhythmic, low-frequency huffing sound that was his equivalent of laughter.

She reached out and scooped up his pile of condiments, returning them to her own stash.

“I win,” she announced, “I have accrued a total value of five hundred and twenty-seven.”

“It’s a shame you can’t spend mustard on anythin’,” Harry replied, “or you’d be rich.”

“I will purchase some food,” she said, sliding a ketchup packet across the table towards him.

“Oh, I see,” Harry said as he snatched up the condiment. “You’re practicin’ for when you’re gonna be rollin’ in Coalition money. At your service, Madame.”

“The station personnel will have provided me with nutrient paste,” she said, gesturing to the cupboards. “There will be a supply here somewhere.”

“Does it need to be refrigerated?” Harry asked, and she shook her head. He reached up and rummaged through a couple of cupboards before finding what she had described. There were several clear packets that looked like blood bags, filled with an amber-colored, translucent fluid that resembled honey. As he set them on the counter, he realized that he recognized them. They were UNN-branded, he had eaten them as a component of some of the more recent MREs out in the field. The stuff was great on crackers.