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Fifteen

Reba was good. Maybe too good since she was winning instead of losing.

It was the gambler's deal. He'd just lost a long series of small pots, and although he kept his face professionally blank, McCade could see the sheen of perspiration that glossed his forehead. The gambler had upped the ante in hopes of recouping his losses. But would it work? If not, he'd lose his entire stake. A stake he'd need to buy his way off Spin. It was just a theory, but a theory that fit the situation like a glove, and would explain the gambler's anxiety. An extended stay on Spin would be less than pleasant.

The cards made a gentle slapping sound as they hit the surface of the table. Before long there were ten cards facedown in front of each player. Reba looked up. "Dealer flashes first."

The gambler inclined his head slightly. Long white fingers lifted the cards one at a time and showed or "flashed" them at Reba. She had approximately one second to see and memorize each card before the gambler flipped it over and tucked it into his hand.

Then it was Reba's turn. She held each card up for a full three or four seconds before hiding it away. But the gambler was still losing in spite of that advantage. Maybe Reba had a better memory than he did, or maybe she just outclassed him, but whatever the reason things were not going according to plan.

McCade shifted his weight from one side to the other. He wanted to yell, "Lose damn it, lose!" but bit his lip instead.

Now both players were taking turns replacing up to five of their ten cards in an effort to build a full system. A full system included twin stars, six planets, a comet, and one moon. But a full system was pretty rare, so lesser hands usually won.

So when Reba said, "Read 'em and weep, a full system takes the pot," McCade groaned in disgust.

The gambler managed to smile as Reba raked in the pot, but McCade could see the perspiration running down his neck. Chances were the gambler was close to tapped out. If so, he'd pull out pretty soon.

And the gambler was just about to say something when the pirate saved the day.

The pirate was young, no more than twenty-five, and walked across the room with a drunken swagger. He wore a slug gun low on his right hip, like someone who fancies himself a quick-draw artist and worries about what other people think.

From McCade's point of view the pirate was a godsend, just what he'd hoped for in the first place and failed to get.

"Any chance of dealing myself in?"

The gambler spoke quickly. "It's all right with me if the lady has no objection." Maybe another player would change his luck and reduce the magnitude of his losses.

Reba made a show of thinking the proposition over as she tossed off her latest Tail Spin.

Finally, when McCade thought she'd pushed it too far and the pirate would leave in disgust, she gestured toward an empty chair. "Sure, why not. Let's see the color of your money."

The pirate fumbled around in a pocket for a moment before dragging out a wad big enough to choke an Envo Beast. He slapped it down on the table, called for a drink, and shuffled the cards.

Reba's luck took a turn for the worse a few minutes later. The pirate won, and continued to win, until the gambler's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Was she throwing the game? But that wouldn't make any sense. Why cheat to lose? Besides, he was winning, and so long as that continued he'd keep his mouth shut.

An hour passed, and as it did Reba became increasingly careless, forgetting which cards her opponents had and making a series of stupid mistakes.

The others put it down to her heavy drinking, and McCade would have too, except he'd seen her surreptitiously pour them into the semiliquid slush that covered the floor.

Finally it was over and Reba's money was nearly gone. A large pot occupied the center of the greasy table and Reba burped as she threw down her remaining credits. "Well, thaz it, gentlemen. Outside of gark breath over there, and juz enough to cover a number four power board, I'm broke."

The pirate looked down at his hand and up to Reba. His bloodshot eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Fine. Throw in gark breath and I'll show you what I've got."

A frown creased Reba's forehead as though she was trying to understand the pirate's proposal and, finding that hard to do, was pretending to think it over.

The gambler had decided something was fishy. He didn't know what and didn't care. He was slightly ahead and wanted to stay that way. He spread the fingers on both hands. "It's getting too rich for me. I fold."

Reba tried to focus bleary eyes on his face. She nodded heavily. "Zur, just when things get interestin' you bail out. Well, not me. I hereby add gark breath to the pot. Read 'em and weep."

Though not overly thrilled about the name "gark breath," McCade was happy that things were finally moving in the right direction. He watched Reba and the pirate spread their cards out on the table.

There was a long silence.

Reba was the first to frown, followed by the pirate, followed by McCade himself. He couldn't see the cards from where he sat, but something was wrong.

While Reba should be frowning, the pirate should be jubilant, and he wasn't. Suddenly McCade understood. Reba had won! The miserable so and so had won the pot! All that work, all that hobbling around in shackles, all of it a waste of time!

And that's when Reba did the only thing she could. She swayed in her chair, held a dramatic hand up to her forehead, and fell over backward. Her chair hit the floor with a tremendous crash.

Conversation stopped, heads turned, but things were back to normal a few seconds later. No big deal, just another drunk hitting the floor. A somewhat routine occurrence in that or any other rim world bar.

The gambler looked at the pirate. The pirate looked at the gambler. They grinned. "Fifty-fifty?" the gambler asked.

"Done," the pirate agreed. And the two men wasted little time splitting the pot. With that accomplished they turned to McCade.

"You have a ship and I don't," the gambler said thoughtfully. "Give me a hundred credits and gark breath is yours."

McCade knew that fifty percent of a prime slave was worth more than a hundred credits and so did the pirate. "Agreed. One hundred credits it is."

The pirate counted out a hundred credits, stepped over Reba's prostrate body, and jerked McCade to his feet. McCade cringed, thanked the pirate for hitting him, and shuffled toward the lock.

Meanwhile the rest of the pirates were headed for the lock as well. Two were busy trying to out belch each other, while the rest bumped into furniture and cracked crude jokes.

McCade felt his new owner give him a push, and heard him say, "Hurry up, gark breath, we're headed home."

McCade did his best to snivel. "And where would that be, master?"

"Why the Rock, gark breath, the Rock. Where else would members of the Brotherhood go?"

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Framed