BY JIM CLEVELAND
CHAPTER 1
Alexi Paczkowzki was a late riser. Late, that is, according to the local conventions of time. Here in this slowly revolving way station in the remote reaches of space, such distinctions as day and night had no meaning. Even years went by unregarded. Alexi could not remember when he had last celebrated a birthday. He had been a drifter for a long time, moving from one station to another as the cards and his luck took him.
Amid the hustle and bustle of the intergalactic traffic, that was routed through these hubs of commerce, Alexi had learned to live by his wits and cunning. Every station had its own subsidiary population that pandered to the insidious demands of human nature and he had done well within the nexus of that parasitic society. Lately though, he was feeling the weight of too many bad deals and had been riding a losing streak when the wave of speculation that had brought traffic to this outpost broke. He had been lucky just to snag the house player's job at the "Silver Veil" saloon.
He gulped his breakfast from the supper menu of the cafeteria across the hall from his single cabin and washed it down with a cup of coffee. Putting the meal on his growing tab, he went out into the hustle of the corridor beyond. The shift was changing and he was moving against the flow of the station personnel, who coming off duty, were heading toward the accommodations sector.
"Mostly those damned avian creatures," he noted as a crew of bird headed technicians marched by. How he loathed them, not just the beaked aberrations who predominated in the low gravity of the stations, but the whole bloody Mandagery of alien freaks that poised in the guise of pseudo humanity. Nor was he alone in his bigotry. His attitude reflected the collective opinion of the Earth born humanity of whom he was representative. It had been a blow to the human psyche to finally climb out of the gravitational sinkhole that had imprisoned them since time immemorial, only to find that others had come that way before them. Instead of daring a new frontier in glorious confrontation, they had been shuffled through a galactic bureaucracy that had completely failed to recognize the innate superiority of humankind.
Worse yet, they had been informed that while they had struggled to achieve the technological prowess to reach into space, they had been subjected to a patronizing interdict that forbade the advanced worlds from aiding them. More than a few of their erstwhile keepers, as it happened, had been of the non humanoid variety and this had fostered resentment among the newcomers to the spaceways.
Stalking along with a frown on his face, Alexi came to the main corridor which divided the accommodation wing from the terminal proper and turned toward the recreational sector. The prostitutes who plied their trade here ignored him. They recognized a down and outer and as such he wasn't worth their notice. Mopping his balding brow with a dirty handkerchief he muttered an oath and passed them by. It hadn't always been like this. He had had his day and better girls than these had done his bidding. There wasn't much to be made at the "Silver Veil." The house put up the stake and the meagre percentage of the winnings left to him after they raked the pot barely kept him in accommodations much less providing the price of a ticket out of the Deneban system.
It was that damned woman dealers fault. He had argued against hiring Belini, but Marcus Veglia, the owner of the lounge, had not been persuaded. "She's a looker. Good for business," he had explained. "An Altairan bitch," thought Alexi, but he kept his opinion to himself. He itched to get his hands on the cards on a good night and doubted that his luck would change until he did.
Reaching the lounge, he found Belini already there. She was shuffling the cards absent mindedly and acknowledged him with a nod as he came in. There were no players yet. Looking about, he scrutinized the room for marks, but saw nothing promising.
"It's a bit early for that," she remarked as he took a seat at the table beside her and adjusted his visor against the glare of the overhead lamp. Ignoring her he pulled out his ancient browning orty-five pistol, and keeping it out of sight of the clientele, checked the clip and undid the safety.
Watching, Belini pushed the deck of cards toward him. "Cut you. Low card shoots themselves," she challenged.
Not deigning to answer Alexi picked up the deck. Ruffling the cards he made them all but stand up and dance before dealing them each a five-card hand. Belini turned her cards over to reveal four queens and an ace.
"Kings, no doubt," she accused, indicating his untouched hand.
"No doubt," he remonstrated, pushing the cards back into the deck not shown.
Picking them up she shuffled the deck. "Don't let the customers see you do that," she warned.
If Alexi heard her, he made no acknowledgement. His attention was distracted by the appearance of a dandified gentleman, with an entourage of equally gaudy supplicants trailing in his wake, who had just come through the door. They were garbed in brightly hued livery with armour designed more for appearance than function. Wide bladed swords, likewise of questionable efficiency, were sheathed in jewelled scabbards at their waists, while rings of extraordinary worth fairly dripped from manicured fingers.
"Out and out bumpkins," thought Alexi, as he regarded them with a predatory stare.
Moving quickly to intercept them he suggested a game, but they evidenced little interest until Belini contributed some persuasions of her own. Seats were offered and after chips were purchased four of the more flamboyant of the men settled in to play. The game would be stud poker. A uniquely Earthborn contribution to the galactic milieu, this game was all the rage in the spaceways just now, and Alexi was a master player. A few hands were sufficient to convince him that these really were greenhorns. "Hell"; he might not even have to cheat to pull the fleece over their heads. Of the four, the one the others addressed as "liege," was the real sheep. A dandified Princeling, he was likely the overweened ruler of some remote corner of a backwater world, with an exaggerated view of his own importance. He liked to win and his tendency to try to buy the pot appealed to Alexi's sense of avarice.
There was no need to hurry, though. Alexi let the Prince win for a while before he began to subtly turn the tables. The Prince still won the majority of the pots, but Alexi raked in the big ones. Heating up, the game attracted a crowd of spectators, so that when one of the Prince's entourage begged out, an onlooker took his place. Alexi regarded his reptilian scales with distaste, but it soon became apparent that he was no better at the game than the others. The ante was growing and the more fools there were to feed it, the better Alexi liked it.
Another member of the Prince's party excused himself and the Prince began to bet more recklessly. The game had become a matter of face for him and those of his minions that had dropped out had not left. Taking positions behind their lord, they glared menacingly down upon the remaining players.
Shifting the browning in his lap Alexi called for another deal. Belini began to shuffle, but before she could pass out the cards her attention was arrested by the emaciated visage of a newcomer on the scene. This one, possibly the staring functionary at his own exhuming, was a cadaverous faced apparition with a look of pure malice about him.
"Is this table open?" he inquired, his voice a rasping lisp of dried out vocal cords.
Alexi looked him up and down and he didn't like what he saw. He had been about to land his fish and this man was definitely intruding. He had the look of a shark about him too. Garbed in black from head to foot he was espousing an old earth look. Wild west stuff, polished boots, tailored coat, even a wide brimmed hat with the requisite snake skin band and to top it all off he was sporting a cartridge belt with a couple of silver handled pistols holstered at his waist.
"Crazy," thought Alexi, but there was no accounting for idiom. These spacies were all crackers. Some of the eccentrics went in for the period stuff. This one had the corpse thing down pretty tight. He had the smell for it too. Alexi was just about to warn him away when the prince, who was becoming uncomfortable with his losses, intervened to invite him into the game. The others concurred and Alexi was forced to swallow his objections and go along with it.
Taking the offered seat, the stranger produced a large leather valise that he had been carrying and opening it, dumped out a flood of glistening coins onto the table. Gold and platinum, the coins were stamped with the old Imperial insignia. Eyes widened. This was real money, not just the digitized readout on a credit voucher that passed for currency within the Federation. This stuff wouldn't jump around in value like a wild steer at a bucking contest the way the Federation currency did.
Eyeing the pile speculatively, the Prince, finally reached under his robes and produced a sizable pouch of his own. Untying the drawstring, he disdainfully, poured out a pile of coins to match the stranger's. A hush fell around them. Few of the onlookers had ever seen so much naked wealth in one place. Mesmerized, they dumbly watched the flickering dance of the light on the metallic sheen.
Alexi pushed himself away from the table. "I'll be right back. Don't start without me," he admonished Belini, as he hurried to find Marcus Veglia. The stakes had just gone up exponentially and he had to confirm his backing.
Marcus was in his usual place at the far end of the bar. He had been watching the game and put a hand up to forestall Alexi as he approached. "No way," he warned. "I am not going to risk a year's profit on a one night stake."
"You can't mean that," argued Alexi. "This is big time. You know I've played heavy before. If we get into trouble, Belini can slip me a card or two. We can take these fish."
"He's an Antarean," countered Marcus, still not convinced.
"An Antarean? What the hell has that got to do with anything?" blurted Alexi, trying to digest the intent of this piece of news. He had heard the stories, of course. The almost mythical Antarean Wizards were everybody's favourite bugbears. They had been the scourge of the Federation once, but that was long ago. The wars were history and although the Antareans still steered their own paths through the void they had been brought safely into the Federation constituency where they were subject to the same laws as everybody else.
"Who told you that?" he demanded.
"A customer. He lit out of here like he had his tail on fire when that thing wondered in," replied Marcus.
"You believe that? Marcus! Don't you see it? That's the oldest con in the book. They're trying to push us off our mark. We've got Belini. Nobody else touches the cards. This is no time to climb out of the saddle. We can win," coaxed Alexi.
Marcus seemed anything but convinced, but after some reflection he got up and went to a small safe kept out of sight behind the bar. "So help me, Alexi. You had better have the rights of this," he warned, as he handed over a sack of coins.
"Count on it," replied Alexi, gloating at his good fortune. Hurrying back to the game he clumped the coins onto the table and told Belini to deal him in.
The remaining member of the Prince's entourage had taken the opportunity during Alexi's absence to vacate his place at the table, but the reptilian gentleman had produced coins of his own and seemed intent on continuing. The cards went around a number of times after that without inciting much action, but as the players felt one another out the pot began to sweeten. The Antarean eyed the others imperturbably, drumming an emaciated digit on the end of the table, while the reptilian man sat with lurking patience. The Prince began to fidget. Soon, it was costing Alexi a months wages just to turn a card.
"Room for one more?" inquired a gruffly commanding voice from behind him.
Glancing disgruntled over his shoulder, Alexi was confronted by the massive form of yet another beast man. This one, a lion headed man, was silhouetted against the glow of the overhead lamp so that the light made a halo of his fiery red mane.
"What the Hell. We got the rest of the menagerie," conceded Alexi. Might as well rake in all he could while the faucet was running, he figured.
Taking a seat, the lionman threw his cloak over a shoulder and adjusted the scabbarded sword at his side. A Regulan, speculated Alexi. Troublemakers, all of them, or so he had been told. Subscribers to the old Imperium, they had refused inclusion in the Federation.
"Stakes?" inquired the lionman, pulling out a roll of bills.
"We are playing for real money here," sneered the Antarean, gesturing toward the glimmering heap of coins weighting the table.
"Good enough," replied the lionman, peeling off a couple bills to pay the barmaid for the drink she had just brought him, before reaching into a pouch at his belt and producing a heavy bag of coins.
"Must be some sort of epidemic," muttered Alexi, assessing the import of this development.
The ante went up quick. It was white knuckle time and Alexi was beginning to perspire. He was still in it, but he had not gotten the big break he had been looking for. He meant to clear the table at a single draw and he suspected the others had similar notions. Worse for them, though. They did not have Belini to slip them the right cards at the right time.
"Deuces wild, next round," suggested the Prince and to Alexi's amazement nobody objected. Smirking, he surmised that Belini had been feeding the Prince a steady diet of twos. This was what he had been waiting for. With the introduction of wild cards into the game the odds would go by the board. It would be difficult for anyone to get a good read on the hand and when the cards were turned up Alexi would be holding the deuces.
"Double ante," he challenged, pushing a stack of coins toward the middle of the table.
The others matched him and the deal went around. Showing an ace, the Antarean made a sizable bet and Alexi doubled that. The others checked. His jack was high enough to make them wonder, but not enough to scare them. Sitting smugly, he waited for Belini to deal another round. This would be the first deuce to show.
"Aces bet," rasped the Antarean, pushing another stack of coins toward the centre of the table.
"A most peculiar pair," hissed the reptile man glaring at the duplicate aces of spades in the Antarean's hand.
Alexi's heart caught in his throat. This was bad, very bad. The Prince was up and standing while his minions crowded around menacingly.
"I must have shuffled in a card from another deck. Let's just call it a misdeal," mollified Belini.
"No! By the powers. We are going to play this hand out!" exclaimed the Prince who was showing a couple of kings.
"Fair enough, but we will do it without corpse face here," concurred the reptileman.
"I beg your pardon?" remonstrated the Antarean. "But . . . as you can see I have already made a considerable investment in the outcome of this hand. I have neither touched the deck nor even my own cards. The appearance of a second ace of spades in my hand was by no contrivance of mine. It is an ace, though, and as such I mean to play it."
"Let it go," suggested Alexi, desperate to salvage the deal. "Call it a wild card. Who knows how it got there? If he meant to cheat, he wouldn't be so outlandish about it.
The suggestion met with a grudging approval. Wild cards aside, the deal was loaded and each of the players still thought they held the winning hand. Bets were made and Belini nervously dealt another round. With a horrible foreboding she flipped over the Antareans latest card.
"By the nine heads of Hydra," spat out the reptileman as he lunged toward the Antarean. Only then, in this blinding blur of motion did Alexi realize that the creature's extremities, which he had taken for hands were really jawed heads. Doubtless those exposed fangs precursed deadly venom, but this was not to be demonstrated. Quick as the reptileman was, his movement was as nothing compared to the lightning swift reaction of the Antarean. With an alacrity that defied the eye to follow he jerked out his replica peacemakers and fired, dealing thunderous death straight into the face of his oncoming assailant.
Suddenly remembering business elsewhere, onlookers began to edge toward the door, until the Antarean called them back. "Nobody leaves here until this business is concluded," he warned and none of them volunteered to test his resolution.
Satisfied that his words had had their proper effect, he returned his attention to those at the table. "Aces are still wild, I trust," he intimidated, glancing meaningfully about him as he pushed another stack of coins out onto the table.
Alexi choked back the lump that had risen to his throat and matched the Antarean's bet. The Prince numbly followed his lead while the lionman seemed content enough to continue with the charade as well. It was time for some serious reevaluation here. Alexi did not fancy making his life the object of contention. By rights, he should still take this pot. He had the deuces, but how had that corpse face managed to have himself dealt three straight aces of spades? Had Belini sold him out? If the prince had the king in the hole as had been arranged then that nullified the lionman's bid for an inside royal flush. Vain hope anyway. Alexi's five jacks would beat that, but even so, would the Antarean allow it even if he did win?
Well! Alexi didn't fancy himself a coward. He still had his browning. Maybe, just maybe, there was something to be salvaged from this. Knocking back a swig of whiskey for fortification, he lit a cigar, and casually blew fumes toward the Antarean. Encouraged by the aliens lack of response, he reached down and lifting his ancient pistol into view, clumped it down on the table between them. Point made, he gestured for Belini to deal them another round.
Alexi got his deuce and there was the Prince's king. The Lionman drew a ten. Alexi wondered what he had been thinking. His hand made no sense without that ten in the hole. Alexi had assumed he had been looking for the king which the Prince was supposed to be holding. The Antarean's card came next and it was another ace. Belini gasp at the sight of it and the Prince half rose in his seat. A glance from the Antarean was enough to sit him back down, however, and everybody else held their breath.
"Take it!" moaned the Prince, folding his cards, "It's only money."
Alexi would have liked to get a look at that hole card. By every convention of poker his own hand should be unbeatable. With the deuces, he was holding five jacks. Except for the Antarean's damnable wild aces the cards already showing excluded any better combination. He had himself, agreed to recognise the first of those as a wild card. Did that apply to the others? He supposed it was a moot point. The Antarean had a sudden way about him in an argument.
"Aces bet," said the Antarean, pushing the rest of his considerable stack of coins into the pot.
It suddenly occurred to Alexi that he could not match the bet. "I'm short. You'll have to take my marker for the difference," he growled.
"If the pot is too rich for you, I would suggest you fold," insinuated the Antarean.
"Bloody Hell. You will either take my marker or you will get something else that you wont like as much," countered Alexi, fingering the butt of his forty-five for emphasis. His mind was racing. It had suddenly occurred to him that the Antarean meant to buy the pot. Why would he bother if he had the fifth ace? "The bastards bluffing. I'm going to win this thing," he surmised.
Regarding him with pensive contemplation the Antarean finally suggested that if Alexi had something else of value that he would risk in lieu of the money he would consider it.
"Such as?" queried Alexi.
"Your soul," replied the Antarean.
That put some slack into his jaw. "My soul?" he blurted. "You have got to be kidding?"
"Absolutely not," the Antarean assured him.
"Done then," roared Alexi. Superstition was not one of his weak points. If some damned fool wanted to weigh gold against a metaphysical concept then he was the man to oblige him. "Jacks, by God, five of them!" he exclaimed, waving his hole card in the Antarean's face.
The Antarean was not impressed. He turned his own hole card over and Alexi went for his gun. It was not a contest. The Antarean's bullet ripped through Alexi's heart before he could even get a good grip on the forty-five, and the second caught him right between the eyes, throwing him backwards out of his chair. Hitting the floor in the midst of the scattering spectators, he convulsed once and then lay still.
The Prince sat trembling in his seat while his retainers backed fearfully away. Others, who had been attracted by the rumour of high stakes and violence, figured they had seen enough of both and headed for the door. A word, though, from the Antarean forestalled them and they stood daunted as he pushed away from the table and rose to menace them.
"He's dead," accused Belini, who had rushed to succour the wreckage that had once been Alexi Paczkowzki.
"What of it?" intoned the Antarean who had come to stand like some great carrion bird above the body of his victim. "There is still an accounting to be made."
"For the love of God. I told you that he is dead!" exclaimed Belini.
It was as if there was suddenly not enough oxygen to go around in the space about them. No one was breathing. No one, that is, except the lionman, who having paused to light a pipe, was sitting quietly watching as the drama unfolded. "Rise," proclaimed the Antarean, pointing his fetid finger at the crumpled corpse. "Rise, and fulfill the obligation which you willingly undertook toward me."
No one made a sound. Each heart beat with a sepulchral toll as if someone were slamming coffin lids shut one by one. The corpse began to stir.
Whimpering in abhorrence, Belini snatched her hand back from the blood stained body. Staggering erratically, it strove to do as it was bidden, and finally stood dripping gore before them. Two officers of the station police, who had finally shown up to investigate the reported killings at the lounge, hastily backed away into the crowd. Nobody else moved. They didn't dare. This was completely beyond their experience and they wanted no part in it.
Ignoring them, the Antarean contemptuously turned his attention back to the table. Opening his valise, he reached to scoop the sum of his winnings into the bag.
"Uh uh, not just yet," remonstrated the lionman, motioning with a huge curved talon toward his unrevealed hole card.
Glowering, the Antarean paused in mid motion. There was something terribly disconcerting in the lionman's composure. "It boots nothing," he snapped. "Even if you have the king, a royal flush still losses to my aces."
Eyes, hard as steel, the lionman held his gaze, as he turned the remaining card over.
The Antarean stiffened. His fingers twitched and he appeared to have suddenly developed a tick in one eye. For just a moment it seemed there would be violence, but then snapping the valise shut, he backed away from the table. "This time, Regulan," he spat and turning on his heel headed for the door.
"Hold it there," commanded the lionman. "You still have something of mine."
The Antarean hesitated. It appeared that he was having real difficulty swallowing this latest effrontery, but whatever compulsion the lionman held over him, it did not relent. With a look that might have withered a lesser being, he finally conceded the point, and Alexi's necromantically animated body slumped and fell in a heap onto the bloody floor.
This done, the Antarean took his departure, and the police rushed in to take charge of the murdered bodies. Belini fled to her dressing room to wash the blood from her hands and the crowd moved closer to the table to get a look at the card that had so unnerved the evil Wizard.
It lay face up where the lionman had turned it over and upon it was printed in bold text, "Gryan Lamfhada," and under that a monogram that some recognized as the insignia of the Rakshasa, the legendary blood guard of the old Imperium.