I smiled. Emblyn, I realized, had hit upon something that all the other promoters had missed.
They tried to hide the rain. They thought people would fear the lightning. Emblyn had raised the Palace so people could stand like gods just beneath the clouds and watch the argent bolts torture the planet below. The sense of power it gave one was indescribable.
And, if dwelt upon too long, might convince one that a planet's fate should be put in his hands alone.
As the storm abated, the evening ended. Quam called down to the high-stakes room host and set up a line of credit for me. I left the party and went there, finding a few people I recognized from above already involved in a game. I sat in and watched, playing cautiously for the first few hands. I folded quickly since I'd caught no cards, but it was really too early for me to do much anyway.
As the old poker saying goes, if you can look around the table and you don't see the person who is the pigeon, then you're it. I actually found several pigeons who played as if the money had no value. They were looking for the thrill of Lady Luck kissing the top of their heads as opposed to using those heads to supplement with guile what luck was denying them.
I watched how they bet and what they bet on. There were a couple of abortive attempts at bluffing, but the bluffers backed off when an aggressive raise came back at them. I knew those people could, therefore, be bluffed. And those who raised to counter a bluff could fall hard to a hand that looked horrid based on the cards showing but had some powerful combinations hidden in the down cards.
I started by pulling thirty thousand stones from the line of credit, and dipped as low as twenty- two before I began winning. I won one hand with a bluff that brought me back even. The very next hand I caught a full house, but you couldn't see that in the up cards, so I was aggressively counterbluffed. I kept raising and doubled my stake on that hand alone.
A couple of the players decided to retire for the night, which left seats open for Bernard and Teyte. The table really hadn't needed more pigeons, but we got a brace in them. It didn't hurt that Bernard didn't like me, that Teyte caught that dislike from his cousin, and that the two of them downed liquor shots with the enthusiasm Quam used in scarfing canapés.
The other players at the table saw how the power was shifting and they continued to play. They lost hands to the Germaynes that they'd not have lost to me. I quickly realized they were paying a voluntary luxury tax, since the Germaynes did have power. If they plied their power the way they played their cards, however, it would be squandered fast and uselessly.
What I did to them that night wasn't pretty. Ideally I'd take little pride in leaving two drunks not so much as a stone in their shoes, but it was a joy to fleece the two of them. They'd likely not faced any real competition in forever and kept ordering up racks of chips, signing chits that, if I'd read the reports on the family financing right, were stealing from their own great-grandchildren.
I kept at them until, finally, Emblyn himself came to the room and cut their credit off. He was good about it and they acquiesced. The others at the table got up, happy to be let out of the meat grinder. I gathered all the chips and chits, stacking them neatly, then picked up the deck, ordering cards and shuffling. I kept my face expressionless despite having won enough to buy myself a little distillery where I could make the finest Irish whisky known to humanity.
Emblyn sat down opposite me as the staff cleared the room, and he motioned to me to remain seated. "You realize, Mr. Donelly, that the Germaynes drew half a million stones into this game and it's all sitting there in front of you. It was my money with which they played, and they will never pay it back. That's a lot of money."
"I know. Half a million of your money, three hundred thousand and change of other people's money." I slid five stacks of chits to the middle of the table, then stacked the deck of cards on top of them. "Cut for high card, double or nothing."
Emblyn sat back for a moment, fingers brushing over his chin. "Interesting. A pure gamble offered by a man who doesn't really gamble. You feel safe in offering the bet because you realize I don't gamble either."
"Oh, he who owns the house has the odds in his favor, so it's not gambling. I know that. You like sure things. As do I. The question is, will you take the chance?" He shook his head. "No. As you said, I don't gamble. Neither do you. So, what I will do is this.
I will double that to a million if you cut the deck. If you cut the deck to the three of clubs."
"And if I don't?" "In four hours there is a DropShip leaving Contressa spaceport. You and your winnings will be on it, never to grace Basalt again."
I thought for a moment, then nodded. I squared the deck there on the stack, then cut and revealed the three of clubs.
"Very good, Mr. Donelly, very good. You stacked the deck. You knew what the bottom card was, so you knew where the three of clubs should be. I like that. I want to know that a man in your position has the foresight and courage to stack the deck in his favor, and then the guts to take the plunge."
"You might mistake me, sir. Could be I thought walking away with my winnings was worth the risk."
"If that's true, there are two fools at this table, and I think the odds of that are highly unlikely."
He stood slowly. "Your account will be credited with an extra half a million stones."
"Send it to the Basalt Foundation."
"So, poker isn't the only game you play?" "Nope." I shook my head. "But every one of them I play to win, and since I'm working for you, I hope you won't mind."
28
Let wealth and commerce, laws and learning die,
But leave us still our old nobility!
- John Manners, Duke of Rutland
Emblyn Palace Resort, Garnet Coast
Basalt
Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere
10 February 3133
While the junket at the resort was supposed to last until the twelfth, I opted to join Bianca and Quam in leaving on the last shuttle on the tenth. A number of the people I'd skinned asked if they were going to get a chance to win their money back, but I could see they really didn't want me at the table.
That was fine with me, as I'd done a bit more damage than I expected to and my encounter with Emblyn had made it clear that I was an employee. While he did have an entrepreneur's appreciation of my skills, in his organization there was only one big dog, and he was it.
And on the scale he worked, I made Snookums look like a wolfhound.
I was content to leave early as I'd attracted a bit more attention than I wanted to. People were noticing me and knew my name, and it wasn't because I'd given money to the Basalt Foundation. The story of the B&T Poker Express Limited jumping the maglev tracks and crashing at Half-Mil Junction had gotten around. It was better to fade than stick around and give folks an opportunity to form an opinion.
At the terminal in Contressa Quam was determined that Snookums would not travel as baggage. Bianca opted to help him out and took possession of the dog while Quam wrestled with a big basket of food. The shuttle's conductor recognized Bianca and allowed her to bring the dog on, whereas all other pets were relegated to the baggage compartment.
Quam took up the back bench and we nabbed seats one row forward. Snookums, who sat with her master, growled at anyone lingering around waiting to use the bathroom, so we had a fair amount of privacy. This pleased Quam, who opened his basket and set about melding various foodstuffs into combinations which he shared with us and one three-year-old waif who wandered in our direction while his mother slept.
Bianca smiled at me. "I can't thank you enough for the donation. Ring transferred six hundred thousand into the Foundation's account. It's all anonymous, of course, but it was nice of him to match your donation stone for stone."
"Indeed, it was." I nodded slowly and even smiled. Emblyn had givenmore than he needed to, but claimed half as his own generosity. He had to have known I'd find out. I could think of any of a number of explanations for his action, and all sorts of
messages he was sending me. It was clear he was testing me, seeing if I would take umbrage at his having laid claim to money I had won. If I were a rash man, it would provoke rash action, but he already knew I wasn't rash. So, he reminded me yet again who was more important.
What he seemed to forget was that it was all his money anyway. The conclusions I drew from that oversight were not a message he wanted to send, I was fairly certain.
I reached a hand inside my coat and brought out a cashier's check for another four hundred fifty thousand stones. It had been made out to the Foundation as well. "This represents half the winnings I had, plus the eighty thousand I tried to have friend Quam take as interest on his loan."
"Mr. Donelly, Sam, you have given much too much."
"My lady, this is in keeping with my agreement with Quam."
She fixed me with a hard-eyed stare. "Sam, this is a lot of money."
"I have more than enough left over you know." I smiled. "I appreciate your concern, but I am doing well right now. And if I decide to give more, you'll not protest, right?" "Ahem. I spend my days dealing with people who have unrealistic expectations and ideas about money. You've won what anyone would consider to be a life-changing amount of money. I just want you to be one of the success stories."
"Oh, I'm a survivor."
"Okay, I'll take you at your word. But I won't play cards with you." She softened her expression. "And if there is anything I can do for you . . ."
"You can answer a question."
A hint of fear flashed through her eyes for a moment, then she nodded. "Anything."
"Quam gave me his perspective on the nature of the disagreement between you and your father.
Is your father's opinion of people really that harsh?" Bianca's brows furrowed. "It wasn't always, but it has changed over the years. My uncle Ivan and my mother both used to soften his opinions, but after they died, he relied more on Bernard. You see, my grandfather was a MechWarrior who fought for Victor Steiner-Davion, and then threw in with Devlin Stone. He wanted peace so his sons would never have to pilot 'Mechs, and this was good because my father was singularly bad at it. Bernard, on the other hand, is very good. So is Teyte.
Growing up in a time of peace, they've harkened back to the Davion warrior tradition from before The Republic-this despite Basalt being blessed with a lot of peace and prosperity over the last three centuries. We weren't entirely without combat-what world has been-but fate has been very good to Basalt. As my father has worked with Bernard to train him to rule in his stead, Bernard's influence has grown steadily."
"I skinned your brother and cousin both. Bernard is not exactly the sort of compassionate ruler I'd want over me."
"He wasn't always like that, and I hope he will get back to being himself. He was a happy child. It was his idea that I start the Basalt Foundation. I like working with the Foundation because there is lots of organization to deal with, and I can make a difference. Coordinating things during a disaster is hectic, but I get things done and it feels great." The rising tone of her voice and the light burning in those blue eyes underscored her words. "Here and there we get to ease some burdens for some people."
"You do it well by all accounts."
"You are too kind. I just want to do better and more." She shrugged. "What is your ambition, Sam?" "Same as yours, I think. I like the idea of making life better for folks."
"And you do that by robbing them blind at poker?" I smiled. "Well, sometimes you have to make them look at what they value, and encourage them to take steps to preserve or abandon same. How well you react to adversity reveals the strength of your character. Some folks turn out to be stronger than they think."
"And the others?" "They're a headstone shy of discovering they've got nothing."
I left Bianca with Quam and returned to the Grand Germayne. I placed a call to the cutout and within two hours of my return I was sitting in a nondescript bar with Gypsy. I filled him in on relevant details of the weekend, then quickly outlined a strike. We organized the operation swiftly that night and then, the next evening, we executed it flawlessly.
The Heights district of Manville was located in the southeast quadrant. It had grown up around the Germayne palace and featured some of the finest homes in the city. Because these homes were built on the sides of hills well above the level of the rivers, water was pumped up to the tops of the hills to reservoirs, then gravity served to provide suitable water pressure to deal with the citizenry's needs.
Our operation consisted of three separate actions. The first involved setting fire to the wooden framing for a seventy-four-thousand-square-decimeter mansion on Beryl Road. While rain had soaked the wood, suitable application of accelerant started a merry blaze that was visible from most of the city. An alarm immediately went out and fire crews from two station houses reported to fight the blaze.
The second stage of the operation, in which I participated directly, involved the blowing of two pumping stations that sent water up to the reservoirs. Bolt cutters got us through the lock holding the gate shut. A code-cutter used some arcane device to pull the lock code from the pump house door, then fed it back and got us inside. We rigged explosives to both the pump, since replacing it would be tough, and the pipe on the downhill side of things.
Once we'd wired our station, the team and I pulled out and blew it. Because it was night, it was possible to see a tiny flash, but even in the news Tri-Vid of the fire coverage, the explosions of the pump houses are barely noticeable. The effect of the explosions, however, aside from requiring the replacement of two relatively expensive pumps, was to have a lot of water gushing around. The water cut through a roadway and gnawed the foundation of another mansion.
Because we couldn't possibly hide the damage to the pump houses, we decided to go for a trifecta and also blew up one of the two firehouses from whence the firefighters had responded. The team that took it out stole a liquefied natural gas hovertruck, drove it through the closed garage door, then detonated it after the crew had gotten clear.
Nowthat explosion showed up very well on a Tri-Vid. It leveled the building and left the wreckage burning brightly. The blackened skeleton of the hovertruck, with the ribs of its skirts looking like cilia on some twisted insect, was impressive. To make the whole thing a bit more complicated, the first fire was drawing enough water out of the fire hydrants that the company fighting the firehouse blaze had a tough time getting suitable pressure.
Because news organizations were putting out reports as fast as they could field rumors, and because the fires could be seen from elsewhere in the city, the media went into high gear. Pundits claimed everything from it being an accident to the work of subversive Clan agents bent on completing the conquest of the Inner Sphere. Newscasters started by being very grave about the goings on, but when the majority of damage was limited to buildings that put no one out of their homes, they grew calmer.
The citizenry had a variety of reactions, all captured and broadcast live over multiple channels.
What played very well was Tri-Vid of rich Heights residents who had low water pressure using buckets to harvest water from their pools. Their panic over not being able to water their flowers, or having to shut off their interior waterfall features pointed up how out of touch they were. While some newsies did note that the lack of fresh water could become a health concern, even they cracked a smile when watching Tri-Vid of a doyen in a sequined gown kneeling at the edge of a pool and drinking alongside her two lapping hounds.
The people in the street felt some vindication as barely a week before they'd been unhomed by a catastrophe that had left the rich untouched and decidedly unsympathetic. Some people did fill up jugs of water and run them up to the Heights in neighborly gestures, but a lot of others just sneered. As one man pointed out, "They're worrying about water on a world where, in another fifteen minutes, it'll be pouring so hard you can't see three meters in front of your face. It's not a desert."
The Germayne government fared very badly, since th
e Count and many of his Ministers happened to be ensconced at the Emblyn Palace when the disaster struck. Ring immediately jetted back and did what he could to help out. He arrived two hours before the Count, and rumors had it that Hector had waited until someone could hunt Bernard and Teyte down in a Capellan brothel in Contressa and sober them up. One news-wag noted that Bernard had "diddled while his home burned," and everyone who caught the allusion to Nero agreed it was on point.
Bernard just found the word "diddled" entertaining.
The government did point out that the three events were related and clearly were acts of terrorism. Linkage was made with the whole sewer system problem, again citing the blown gates there.
The forensics folks did aptly point out that the same explosive was used, and that the placement pointed to professionals, but government critics turned around and suggested that the government was behind the second set of attacks, to bolster the claims they had made about the first, and to elicit sympathy for the rich. The fact that so many of the well-to-do in the government were at the Emblyn Palacedid make the idea of a government conspiracy sound good.
And, as one commoner put it, "How come we had to clean up stuff, and they're just reduced to drinking their bottled water and their wine? Where's the justice in that?" Bianca and Emblyn came off as the big winners in the whole aftermath. Emblyn had his own crews come and help make repairs to the pumping stations. He even brought in a pump that was supposed to be used at the Emblyn Palace to make a fountain. Since the Palace's reception had been part of the shake-out month and the place had another six weeks before opening, the sacrifice was not that huge, but the symbol endeared him to many folks.
Bianca won because of the news angle of one of the rich doing things for her beleaguered brethren, especially when they were the ones normally giving to charity. Many were the rich who, upon receipt of a case of bottled water, waxed eloquent on the nature of The Republic, and how charity was so appropriate for the citizenry. They said they would give more and do more, and many even volunteered to help the Foundation do the sweaty work of delivering things to others less fortunate than they-by which they meant those living lower down.