Hyperspace, coordinates ******/******/******
June 28th, 666 GE
Twiglet was down forty-two credits.
Arto Wol wasn’t faring much better. He wiped the sweat from his brow and silently cursed himself for inviting the mahjit to join the game. She had looked like easy prey, but…
She was maddeningly slow. Painfully cautious. She held her cards close — cupped tightly in both hands, barely an inch from her face, as if someone might snatch them away.
And those damned red eyes — always watching, always noticing. Nothing slipped past her.
Twice, Wol had tried dealing from the bottom of the deck. No luck. She’d called him out with a polite smile each time, like she was doing him a favor.
About ten minutes ago, she’d even requested a new deck.
“These cards… they look weird,” she’d said sweetly.
Now Wol was losing his focus.
Twice, he’d folded on solid hands — once on a flawless three-card Zaphir — only to watch the mahjit win with two pitiful pairs.
“Did I win?” she beamed. “Oh, that’s great! This must be my lucky night!”
Wol was ready to lose his mind.
An hour later, Twiglet was up one hundred and sixty-five credits.
“I’m getting good at this game!” she chirped.
A silent crowd had gathered around the table. The only sounds were the soft gurgle of the jellyfish’s humidifier and the muffled thrum of the ship’s propellers.
Then came the tongue.
Twiglet had started unrolling and rolling her thin, forked tongue, over and over. Like a snake. Just a tic, probably. Or maybe not.
At first, the old trick had worked: through her sensory appendages, the jellyfish Gloorgl had been reading the mahjit’s surface thoughts and relaying them to Wol via a micro radio in his ear.
But something had changed.
Now Gloorgl kept receiving the same image — again and again — a writhing heap of revolting, swarming bugs.
That’s when fate finally smiled on Arto Wol.
A Great Zaphir.
Dealt clean. No cheating, no sleight of hand, no manipulation. A once-in-a-lifetime hand. Maybe twice, if you were lucky.
And then Twiglet, without hesitation, said:
“I’m folding.”
Wol nearly leapt across the table to strangle her.
Hyperspace, coordinates ******/******/******
June 28th, 666 GE
Kyle paused dramatically, waiting for her to ask what a moshaawk was.
He waited in vain.
“May I have some biscuits?” Shirl asked at last. “And coffee too, please.”
“Changed your mind, huh?” he muttered, standing to fetch another cup.
“What were you saying about those… um…”
“The moshaawk?” Kyle perked up. “Flying fish. A few meters long, vicious as hell—true-born killers. Their abdomens are lined with mouths, at least a dozen, all packed with blade-sharp fangs. They can slice a man in two without even noticing.”
He noticed she was staring at him oddly.
“The day that picture was taken, we caught so many, the barge nearly capsized. Every time you fired a harpoon—”
He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly self-conscious. What the hell was he doing, telling childhood stories to a synth? She probably couldn’t care less.
“I don’t know why I’m rambling,” he said. “You must be bored stiff.”
“No! It’s not that…” She turned her gaze away. Was she… blushing?
“Something happened to me,” she said quietly.
“Oh?” Kyle tilted his head, uncertain. “What exactly?”
“I… I have my period.”
“What?” His brain stalled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Menses,” she said, almost apologetically. “You know… I’m menstruating.”
“Oh, perfect,” Kyle groaned. “That’s just what I needed.”
So now he was playing nursemaid to a synth girl who couldn’t even manage that kind of issue?
“And what am I supposed to do about it?”
“I was wondering if you had… any tampons or something?”
“Of course I do!” Kyle snapped, his voice thick with sarcasm. “I always pack a few crates of them before every flight. Right next to the fuel cells and the cat food!”
“All right, all right… Don’t get mad,” Shirl whispered.
Kyle snorted and turned away. He knew he was being a jerk—again—but damn it, she always knew how to throw him off balance.
“I APOLOGIZE, CAPTAIN,” came the Aranui’s voice, “BUT WE’RE APPROACHING THE EXIT COORDINATES. SHALL I INITIATE THE COUNTDOWN?”
The interruption was a relief.
“Since when do you ask?” Kyle grumbled. “Of course, start the countdown. And hurry up—we’ve got an emergency.”
“AN EMERGENCY? STRANGE. ALL SYSTEMS ARE FUNCTIONING NORMALLY.”
“Forget it. I’ll explain later.”
“Are we there yet?” Shirl asked from behind him.
“Almost. We’re about to drop out of hyperspace near New Xanadu. Think you can manage?”
“I think so,” she said softly.
Hyperspace, coordinates ******/******/******
June 28th, 666 GE
At dawn, Twiglet was up seven hundred and twenty credits.
Then she won another two hundred and ninety-eight with a clean three-card Zaphir.
Wol dealt himself three cards and studied them. After a pause, he tossed in a hundred-credit chip and drew a fourth.
He froze.
How likely was it—really—to draw a Great Zaphir twice in the same night? Still, the key now was not to panic. His own voice sounded distant, dreamlike:
“One more hundred.”
He gave the agreed-upon signal. One by one, the hooded figure and the jellyfish folded.
“Uh, uh… I don’t know what to do,” Twiglet said, fidgeting with her forked tongue.
“What’s the word when you want to, um… bet more money?”
“You say raise,” Wol replied curtly.
To hell with pleasantries. The time for charm was over.
“Well then, I raise. Three hundred credits, I think.”
“I’ll see you and raise you six hundred,” Wol hissed.
“Me too.”
“Fifteen hundred.”
“I…” Twiglet hesitated. “I own a house. It’s on Bageechaa, one of Gienah VI’s moons. A very nice place.”
Wol barely blinked. Victory felt close enough to touch.
“Fine,” he said coolly.
He laid his cards on the table and tapped each to activate the embedded microcircuits. Glowing symbols appeared. A murmur rippled through the crowd, and a few spectators groaned as Wol began dragging the pile of fiches toward himself.
But before he could pocket them, Twiglet’s claw caught his wrist.
“Not so fast, Mr. Wol,” she said sweetly. “You haven’t seen my cards yet.”
“No need,” he said. “You can’t beat this hand.”
“Actually,” she said, leaning back, “I can. Want to bet?”
Wol’s smile faltered.
“But… the only hand that could beat this would be a perfect run. Nine cards. Increasing value. No duplicates.”
“You mean these?” she said innocently, spreading her hand.
“I’ve got several of the ones with the little black doodles. Is that good?”
She fanned out the cards in a graceful sweep.
Gasps filled the room—at least, from those with mouths. A stunned silence followed.
Arto Wol looked around in disbelief. Beaten. By a mahjit. Impossible.
“Right,” he said hoarsely. “Great tactic, colleague. I couldn’t have done better.”
“Thanks,” Twiglet replied, scooping up the fiches. “So, that’s fifty-seven hundred credits you owe me.”
Wol gritted his teeth and nodded to the bartender, who loaded a chip with the amount.
“One thing I don’t get,” he muttered. “Why the bugs? That’s all my jellyfish friend could pick up. Was it a trick? To throw me off?”
Twiglet gave him a flat look, completely unsurprised.
“Of course not. That was my dinner,” she said. “I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”
Hyperspace, coordinates ******/******/******
June 28th, 666 GE
Beyond the porthole, a breathtaking sight unfolded.
Only a couple of hours remained before landing, and the captain of the Ari Husqvarna had just announced re-entry into normal space.
New Xanadu lay within a globular cluster, surrounded by thousands of stars—some blazing with vivid color, others faint and distant—forming a dazzling swarm against the deep black of space. The capital planet gleamed like a lone beacon, undimmed even by the brilliance of a nearby supergiant. The Galaxy itself was hidden on the far side of the ship.
“How did ith go?” Uful’lan asked.
“I won, obviously,” Twiglet replied.
“Really? Buth thhath’ss greath!”
He lowered his voice conspiratorially.
“Did you cheath?”
“Of course not!” Twiglet snapped, clearly offended.
“Well, I didn’th know you gambled.”
She fell silent for a moment, watching the stars swirl past.
“That Kryple game was a joke,” she said at last. “But it won’t always be so easy. From now on, no more nonsense. Even the smallest mistake could cost us everything.”
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