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The Matter at Hand [An Amazing Conroy Story]
by Lawrence M. Schoen
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Science Fiction

Fictionwise, Inc.
www.Fictionwise.com

Copyright ©2005 by Lawrence M. Schoen

First published in Aliens and AIs, January 2005

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

Never play cards with a telepath. Quarter-ante poker once a week with the boys is harmless, even fun. But the game takes on a very different feel when the stakes involve a half-billion credit contract and your opponent can read your mind.

A week ago I'd been sitting at the head of a boardroom table; a dozen lawyers down either side ignored me as they haggled and bickered over the fine points of a complex contract. The sound of it gave me a headache, but I didn't dare leave. I sat there, my eyes half closed, and fed bits of delicate fractal pastry to Reggie, the pet buffalo dog on my lap. It was that classic Terran tableau, a man and his dog. Well, almost. Buffalo dogs aren't dogs at all, but incredibly valuable alien lifeforms, far too expensive to have as pets. Reggie was the exception, possible only because I had a monopoly on the creatures throughout human space. That's why the lawyers were there.

Half worked for me. The rest represented a Taurian archaeological consortium from Arcadian space. In between bits of pastry I tried to follow the three or four simultaneous exchanges of legalese bouncing from left to right faster, and with more dead earnest, than any championship tennis match. I understood maybe one word in ten. Maybe. My head throbbed, and I was already regretting my promise to Betsy that I'd sit in in her place.

While I'd come a long way from my days as a stage hypnotist, I'm not really equipped to run things at my company. I usually leave that chore to Dr. Elizabeth Penrose, a woman with more talent in her big toe than I have in my whole family tree. Ordinarily, she'd be the one sitting in on this kind of meeting, right in the thick of it, squeezing concessions and favorable terms out of the opposition until they begged her to stop. There'd be no begging this time. An outbreak of Skurlia influenza had left her stranded in a temporarily quarantined spaceport on the other side of the solar system. The meeting couldn't be rescheduled. Instead, she'd sent me a curt note instructing me to go to the meeting but keep my mouth shut.

My initial excitement about learning a bit about how my business actually worked quickly faded when the lawyer babble began. Even Reggie had tired of all the blather. In desperation I'd started entertaining myself by trying out the new gizmo the guys down in Security had given me. I wore a thick gold ring set with tiny dials on my left pinkie, a surveillance jammer that could block all data transmissions in a ten meter radius. About ten minutes into the meeting, when the lawyer prattle had saturated my boredom filters and Reggie had started to fidget, I turned it on. Several of the lawyers on both sides twitched and shot to their feet, glancing about furtively. I continued petting Reggie with an expression of total innocence honed from years performing in some pretty seedy establishments. I don't think I fooled any of them. With nary a grumble they adapted, downgraded to legal pads and ink sticks, and resumed their intense negotiating.

Tiresome as it was, I knew why Betsy had wanted me to sit in. Dealing with Taurians is tricky; maybe it's just human projection but the bullish-looking aliens tend to be both stubborn and hot-tempered. It had taken months to get their lawyers this far, and with the end nearly in sight Betsy expected some last minute trick and wanted someone with authority there just in case. Regrettably, that someone was me.

The voices of the lawyers drifted in and out of my consciousness as they argued about leasing buffalo dogs. The thing you have to keep in mind is that buffalo dogs can eat anything. At first glance this might not seem a particularly marketable talent, let alone one that had made me a fortune in just a couple of years, but it was just what the Taurians needed. Their consortium was trying to excavate priceless artifacts buried beneath tons of toxic waste. The effluvia had proven too corrosive for conventional hardware and too deadly for traditional field operatives to extract. They'd already lost time and equipment and personnel trying.

My company offered them the perfect solution. In a few weeks time we had trained a trio of buffalitos to not only enjoy the taste of the noxious soup, but to eagerly lap up the mess, and delicately nibble their way down through more than ten meters of the stuff, and then lick the artifacts clean without harming them in the slightest. The relics reclaimed during the demonstration had dazzled the consortium and all that remained was for the lawyers to finalize the contracts. The Taurians wanted to lease one hundred trained buffalo dogs over a five year period. It should have been a simple matter after that, but the lawyers seemed to want at least as much time for their negotiations.

Suddenly, three little words cut through the miasma of lethargy that engulfed me. “Everything is satisfactory,” said the Taurian spokesperson for the consortium's team. I blinked repeatedly, like a condemned prisoner in disbelief upon hearing he's been pardoned. My heart sang, this exercise in boredom was finally coming to and end. Then, just as quickly, the song soured as the Taurian continued. “If you agree, then Seljor Thu wishes to add a single condition."

I sat there, numb. The fractal pastry fell from my fingers. Reggie bleated in annoyance, his lips nipping at my fingertips. Seljor Thu ran the Arcadian consortium. He was my opposite number, but unlike me he knew what he was doing. I set Reggie on the carpet so he could get at his snack and leaned in, giving all of my attention to the lawyers.

“Seljor Thu is an accomplished player of cards. He wishes to play a single hand of Matter with your CEO.” The Taurian spokesman nodded to me, and then returned his attention to my lawyers. “If he wins, instead of leasing the buffalo dogs to our consortium you will sell them outright for the same price. If he loses, the consortium will lease by the terms you have offered, but will also provide testimonials and documents of introduction to no fewer than fifteen alien concerns currently leasing buffalo dogs from your competitors, the Arconi."

My lawyers’ stunned silence lasted several seconds, followed by an explosion of dismissive remarks and comments about irregularities, absurdities, and questionable alien senses of humor. When they quieted down again the consortium's spokesperson quietly added, “Seljor Thu has instructed me to tell you this is, as you say, a ‘deal-breaker.’”

And right then and there I had one of those moments of total clarity where time seems to stand still. You know what I'm talking about, the kind of instant normally reserved for situations where something horrible is about to happen or when you suddenly realize you're looking at the one true love of your life. The particulars were different, but the enormity of the situation was the same; I was at a choice point. My company, my life, could be irreversibly transformed by what happened in the next instant, if I could only figure out the right thing to do.

I only knew one thing for certain, Taurians didn't bluff.

It wasn't about the money; being wealthy was still new enough to me that none of it seemed real anyway. Losing would hurt the company, possibly even cripple it. Even with litters of five or six buffalitos, replacing and training one hundred of them would be a tremendous strain on a young company's resources. Hell, filling this five year contract was going to be a tremendous strain on our resources. Which is why I felt certain that Betsy, smart pragmatic Betsy, would consider the risk too great and step away from the table. Thanks, but no deal.

But I wasn't Betsy. I couldn't stop thinking about the unparalleled opportunity. The contract with Seljor Thu established a precedent. His consortium had approached us with our first contract outside human space. There'd been feelers before, from other races, other conglomerates and corporations, but dealing with the first humans in the buffalo dog trade made them skittish. They all wanted what we offered, but none of them wanted to go first. The contract with the Taurians held the possibility of opening up markets beyond the limitations of human space. Seljor Thu knew that, and his offer to provide introductions to other alien corporations would launch Buffalogic, Inc. to stellar heights. Suddenly I was grateful Betsy'd missed her ship. She'd have walked away from such high stakes, but there was no way I was going to let the potential windfall slip through my fingers because of a card game.

I slapped both hands flat on the table, startling all the lawyers and causing them to look my way. “Make the deal,” I said. Then I scooped up Reggie and exited the room as quickly before I could second guess myself. Betsy was going to kill me, but it would all be over, one way or the other, long before she got back.

* * * *

The game was called ‘Matter’ because of the four states of play, but the professional gamblers I knew liked to call it Telepath's Poker. It was a complicated game, or more accurately four games in one. Imagine a traditional game of High-Low Poker in which you're trying to make both the best high hand and the best low hand you can, using your cards and, if you dared, the cards in a dummy hand common to both players. Now imagine that instead of just high and low you're trying for four good combinations, based on four different sets of rules, criteria, and objectives, arbitrarily named solid, liquid, gaseous, and plasma. To make things trickier, although you could express a preference among the four modes of your hand, the end result depended upon what your opponent declared for his hand, as well as the value of the common cards.

The game had one other kink. Beyond the rules of play there were no rules. None. It was one of the few games of chance in the galaxy open to telepaths and they flocked to it. Knowing your opponents’ hand and/or the mode of play wasn't a lock, the complexities of the game and the luck of the draw kept it interesting, even among telepaths.

As often happens with such things, the game had become something of a fad, a badge of status, among certain captains of industry, particularly those with one form or another of telepathic gifts. I possessed no such gifts, but I had other resources available to me. Ten minutes after leaving the boardroom, Reggie and I were seated in the back of the company limo on our way to Newer Jersey. I had a favor to call in.

* * * *

“You're asking me to teach you how to cheat?” Left-John Mocker glared at me from across the back corner table of the Golden Turtle Palace. He loomed even while sitting, more like a bear than a full-blooded Comanche. His features looked carved in red sandstone, a large hawk-like nose, deep-set eyes beneath a thick broad forehead. His lips formed a tight, accusative scowl.

I ignored the question and instead focused my attention on the bowl of fortune cookies halfway around the spinnable inner table. I reached out, gave the lazy-susan a half turn, and helped myself to a prophetic desert.

YOU HAVE A NATURAL TALENT FOR MAKING PEOPLE DO WHAT YOU WANT.

I crumpled the fortune in my hand and looked up. Left-John hadn't moved. “I'm not asking you to teach me how to cheat. I'm asking you to teach me how you play."

“So you're saying that I cheat?” The tone of his voice contained a warning. I ignored it.

“John, we're not talking about ‘Stud’ or ‘Hold'em.’ This is ‘Matter.’ Everyone who plays it cheats. And you've not only played it, you're one of only seven ranked human players."

That mollified him. He leaned back and his features moved from hostile-neutral to simply neutral. It made me wonder just how many poker faces the man had.

“What's in it for me?” he asked and gave the inner table a spin, bringing the fortune cookies within reach. He selected one, broke it in half and unfolded the fortune as he chewed the fragments of the cookie.

Reggie lay curled up on a nearby booster seat. He had polished off a huge plate of Quizzical Shrimp Suspense that Left-John had thoughtfully had waiting for him, and then fallen asleep. Tiny whistling snores played in the background of the conversation.

“I'm prepared to pay a reasonable fee,” I started, but John cut me off with a sweep of one hand.

“I don't want your money, Conroy. We go back a long way, and you should know me better than that. I'm a gambler. I don't work for a living. Don't insult me again by suggesting otherwise."

I shrugged. “Sorry. Throwing money at problems is a new habit I've picked up. Betsy's been trying to discourage me from it too. Okay, so, um, how about doing this for me because you owe me?"

He laughed at that, laughed with his whole body. It was like watching a grizzly bear laugh. Right before it knocked your head off with the swipe of one massive paw.

“You're going to try and hold that little incident on Canopus over me?” He smiled as he said it, but I knew his smile could mean any thing.

“That little incident cost you a broken arm and the affections of a very talented hat-check girl, as I recall. Not to mention my losing four performances and a month's pay when I had to sneak you onto a freighter."

Left-John had picked up another cookie. He crushed it at my reply and his face went cold again. “Are we back to money?"

“No,” I sighed.

“Good. Because you ended up with that girl after my freighter took off."

He had me. I didn't know how he'd found out what had happened after that freighter had left, but I'd been more than repaid at the time. I was down to my last reason. “How about you just do it, as a favor to an old friend?"

Left-John Mocker opened his fist, letting bits and pieces of cookie fall to the table. He gazed at the fortune and then looked up at me. “Did you rig the fortunes?” His tone made it clear, he was asking a question not making an accusation.

I shook my head. “You picked the restaurant,” I said. “I've never been here before."

He grunted once, and pushed the fortune from his first cookie to me.

YOU HAVE A TALENT FEW MEN POSSESS. SHARE IT.

“One of the things you learn as a gambler,” he said, “is to shut up and listen when the universe is trying to tell you something.” He crumpled the other fortune in his hand and tossed it at me. I caught it and unfolded the slip of paper.

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE WILL SEEK YOU OUT. AID HIM.

I couldn't keep myself from smiling. “Timing is everything,” I said.

“Ain't it the truth."

* * * *

Every night for the next week I met with Left-John Mocker at the Golden Turtle Palace. It turned out, he was part owner. He'd won a quarter share in the place during a card game the year before, and made a point to eat there whenever he was on Earth. Over plates of Imperial Cashew Decadence, Drowning Man's Beef, and Flaming Duck of Good Fortune I learned the basics of Matter. I'm a quick study, and my teacher grudgingly admitted that in time I might be able to hold my own against other human, non-telepathic players. The praise was small consolation for the twin facts that the game was mere days away and my opponent was an alien.

All week long I'd studiously ignored the daily clamor of Betsy's interplanetary memos urging me to abort abort abort. Meanwhile, my staff had compiled information on Seljor Thu. Telepathic gifts of one kind or another show up in nearly one percent of all Taurians, but so far none of the information I'd received indicated if my opponent was just an executive game fancier or had the ability to pull the cards from my mind. I mentioned my concern to John, but he just shrugged it off.

“Telepathy is overrated,” he said, dealing out the cards again. “I've been playing cards my whole life. It's what I do."

“You took first prize in a tournament that included several known telepaths. They knew what you were holding, knew what mode you were going to declare. How could you beat them?"

“Two parts,” he said, holding up two fingers. “First, I prevented them from knowing what mode I was going to declare, despite their telepathy. And two, I knew what cards they were holding."

“How? How did you block a telepathic probe, and how did you read their cards?"

He grinned, really grinned. It was the first time I'd ever seen that kind of warm expression on his normally stony face. “I cheated,” he said and gestured for me to concentrate on the game.

I considered my cards, and made my play. He did the same, and we both revealed our hands and modes. We'd both declared liquid. I had the better hand in that mode, but the game's other factors turned the winning configuration to solid, and John's solid hand easily won over mine.

A young waiter came and refreshed our tea and then went away. Left-John leaned across the table toward me, reached one hand up to his left eye, and popped the orb from its socket.

“I lost it in the war,” he said.

“What war?"

“That's not important. What's important is I've got a cybernetic implant. I can receive visual input from a variety of self-contained prostheses like this one, switching between them at will."

“So?” I still didn't get it.

“So they're small and easy to disguise. I can leave a dozen of them scattered about the room before the game, and flick my input from one to another of them to see what my opponent's holding."

“That's cheating,” I said, smiling.

“No such thing as cheating in Matter,” he said. He held up the eyeball for my inspection. “This beauty can discriminate seventeen bands of infra-red. Even if someone's playing his cards close to the vest I can still usually read them through the backs by the differing heat signatures of suits and values. It's like playing with a marked deck."

“Isn't that a one shot trick?"

“Only if they figure it out. Most telepaths are so arrogant about their talents that they just assume I must have similar gifts, and a better mental shield to hide them."

“Very handy,” I said and held up my left hand, wiggling my pinkie to display the small gold ring set with tiny dials. “Remind me to use this if I'm ever in a game where cheating isn't allowed."

“You have a surveillance jammer?"

I shrugged. “It keeps private business meetings private."

John laughed and rolled his single eye. “Have you really gone that corporate? What's become of the mesmerizing rogue I once shared a jail cell with?"

“He's trying to keep his company in the black and expand it beyond human space,” I said. “So, you explained about knowing his cards, but how could you keep your opponent from seeing your intended state of play."

He nodded and popped the eye back into its socket, squinted to get it to set right, and then looked up at me. “You know about all that left-brain right-brain stuff?” he asked.

“Sure, I passed intro-psych,” I said. “Left side of the brain controls the right side of the body, has the language centers, all the empirical thinking. Right brain gets the left side of the body and does the more holistic thinking."

“That's the crux of it as I understand it,” he said and began shuffling the cards again. “In most folks the two sides talk, signals passing back and forth through a bundle of brain fibers called the corpus callosum."

I nodded. The name didn't mean anything to me.

“I don't got one."

“You don't have what?"

“A corpus callosum. Mine got severed. Long story, happened during the war."

“What war...” I started to say, but he cut me off.

“So it's like I got two brains in one body and both of them look at the cards but they have different styles. Each side plans the strategy of play, how many cards to claim from the third hand, the state of matter to declare. But they do it differently. Only the left-brain has language, and that's the only side a telepath picks up. I use my left hand to select my mode token and to point to cards in the third hand, all right-brain strategy. Telepaths get caught flat-footed every time."

I whistled in appreciation. Several of the waiters glanced our way, frowning.

“That's an impressive trick,” I said. “But it's not going to help me."

“Nope,” he agreed. “It's my trick. You got any of your own?"

“Maybe,” I said. “But I've got to get better at the game before they'll have a prayer of working. Deal the cards again."

* * * *

Seljor Thu agreed to hold our game at the Golden Turtle Palace after I'd sent him the menu. Who knew that minotaurs liked Chinese food? According to his assistant, Seljor Thu was particularly interested in sampling the Bamboo With Steaming Virgin Goddess. Taurians have a very similar physiology to humans, once you get past the bullish configuration of their skulls. Beyond that, they're remarkably like humans, good and bad, psychology and appetites.

At my request, Left-John Mocker had reserved the entire restaurant for our use. Regular patrons were given coupons for a free dinner on another night and turned away at the door. The lawyers from both sides arrived early. They came armed with multiple copies of two different versions of the final contract and happily helped themselves to one of the best dinners they'd ever had. When Seljor Thu arrived, he and I would share a light meal, get to know one another a bit, and then play our single hand of Matter. I had it all planned.

The plan hit a snag when he strolled in twenty minutes later, accompanied by the last of his staff. Never say that Taurians don't have a sense of humor. Seljor Thu wore an authentic matador's jacket and pants, tailored to his tall and broad physique, all bright red silk and metallic embroidery. The rest of his immediate group, Taurians all, had dressed as picadors in somewhat more muted colors. His lawyers, already well into their meal, were dressed nearly identically to my own, which is to say, like lawyers, nondescript and interchangeable suits dripping with legal expertise. Seljor Thu paused by the door to speak with one of his people. Left-John looked over at him and seconds later his elbow was nudging me in the ribs. “You've been set up,” he said.

I'd been standing to one side, mentally reviewing the hypnotic programming set in place that morning. Reggie was tucked under my left arm, squirming to get free every time another waiter passed by with a tray of food. I scowled at John. “What are you talking about?"

“I recognize him. He's on the Matter circuit. A pro. When he plays in human space he goes by the name ‘Digger.’”

I stared at him, counted to ten in my head, and managed to keep my tone of voice conversational despite a sudden desire to strangle my tutor. “I'm playing against the Taurian head of an archaeological consortium, and you don't think to mention that one of the professional Matter players is a Taurian named ‘Digger'?"

John shrugged. “It's worse, he's a rated telepath."

I swallowed hard. My plan was unraveling. “Do you know his range?"

“Just under two meters, more than enough to pick the cards from your mind across the table. You want to bail? It's only money."

I shook my head. “Money is the least of it. This is a power game, and always has been."

He nodded. “The best card games are. So, what's the play?"

“We go ahead as planned. I want you to try and stay out of his range. Keep your ears open and wait for my signal. If necessary, we go to Plan B."

“You got a Plan B?"

“Of course I've got a Plan B."

“The last time you said that to me, we ended up sharing that jail cell. Is this plan going to end any better?"

I swallowed half a dozen retorts and just shrugged. “One way or another, we'll find out real soon.” I took hold of Reggie with both hands and passed him to the gambler. Then I went to meet my adversary.

As I crossed the room Seljor Thu broke away from his staff and turned to greet me.

“Ah, so, this must be the Amazing Conroy,” he said, using my stage name from a hundred spaceport lounges. I acknowledged it with a slight bow.

“And you must surely then be the famous Digger,” I replied.

Seljor Thu chuckled. “Not so famous as some.” He glanced in the direction of Left-John. “I am not yet perfectly skilled at distinguishing between humans, but I was fairly certain that gentleman you were speaking with was the Mocker. Has he been coaching you? I had not thought you would be able to hire such a distinguished tutor."

I shrugged. “Oh, Left-John's just a friend. We go way back, former room mates.” I gestured and a hostess appeared to lead us toward the private table in the back of the restaurant that had been my study hall for the past week.

We sat at the same table where John and I had met when I'd first asked him to teach me the game. A dozen waiters began arriving, placing platter after platter of exotic cuisine before us. Seljor Thu and I spun the inner table back and forth, sampling each dish, comparing impressions, and sharing light dinner conversation. He was witty, I was charming, and if not for the game looming large at the end of the meal I would have surely enjoyed myself quite a bit.

After a delicious repast the dishes were cleared away and we both helped ourselves to fortune cookies. The Taurian popped his into his mouth whole, chewed, and then extracted the paper fortune from between his lips.

“On my world, there is a group of people, island dwellers, who have a similar custom. At the start of each season they gather all their young people together and randomly pass out small minty wafers, dark ones for the males, lighter ones for the females. One of each bears a small pictograph inside, the symbol for eternal happiness and union. The two youths are matched and mated then and there. They are said to be selected by the gods to form a perfect union."

I smiled. “I don't know where the tradition began here, but nowadays it signifies nothing more than the end of a pleasant meal. The fortunes are generally viewed as little more than a silly game."

I opened my own cookie and stared at the slip.

YOU CANNOT PLAN FOR ALL FUTURES.

Shit. Even the cookies were against me.

“A pity,” said my opponent. “This one seemed quite apt. Amazing defeat awaits those born in the Year of the Dog."

I flushed. “Some defeats are more amazing than others."

“Very true,” he said. “Shall we proceed then, and learn which kind awaits one of us?"

I nodded. Left-John Mocker temporarily handed Reggie to a waiter. He stepped forward and offered a sealed deck of cards to the Taurian for his inspection.

“With your approval, I have asked my friend here to deal for us."

“As long as he only deals,” said Seljor Thu, barely sparing a glance at John. “The game is between us. You may not have the Mocker act as your proxy."

“Of course not,” I said. “I think I'm capable of winning on my own."

Seljor Thu laughed, a surprisingly kindly sound without a trace of animosity. “Neither of us believes that, but if it pleases you to say so I won't argue the point.” He broke the seal on the box, examined the cards, and returned the deck to John. “You may shuffle at your leisure, Mocker. I defer the cut to my opponent and host."

John rearranged the cards with the dexterity and ease of long practice, his movements simple and efficient. He was not so much shuffling as stacking, gazing off abstractly into space as his hands did the work. How he managed it with the two halves of his brain mute to each other, I can't imagine, but he'd practiced it in front of me just the day before and the results had been impressive. We were still running on Plan A. Both Seljor Thu and I would be dealt good hands, identical hands, in fact. It was the only way I'd come up with to neutralize his greater experience. It wasn't much use against a telepath, but it wasn't my only trick.

Left-John dealt out the cards, retrieved Reggie, and backed quickly into the corner. I left my cards face down upon the table.

Seljor Thu smiled, a big, bovine grin of contentment that made me think of that bull in the children's books who was always sniffing flowers. “Are you conceding already?” he said. “Won't you even look at your hand?"

“Do I need to?” I replied, managing a smile myself. “Don't you already know?"

“I do,” he said. “The answer is there in your mind for any with the talent to read it. You expect your hand to be the same as mine. A different suit here and there, but it balances out I'm sure. Very clever of you, Conroy.” He paused and bowed his head toward John. “And my compliments to you, Mocker. I never saw you work the trick, not in your hands and I didn't think to seek for it in your mind. Most impressive.” He turned back to me. “So you've learned my cards without need of telepathy. But I know yours too, and once you actually look at your cards I'll know what mode you plan to call and choose my own accordingly. And I'm still the better player."

“The proof is in the playing,” I said, “and our comparable hands are just the first stage of my plan. Are you ready for the second?” I reached for my cards, gathering them up but still didn't look at them.

The Taurian looked amused, confident. “And what is stage two?"

“Raspberry Gong De Tian,” I said softly, and triggered the post hypnotic suggestion I'd given myself that morning. I slipped into a very light trance, and a thin layer of my sensory reality took a sudden detour. “A flavor and a deity. More specifically, my favorite flavor and a Chinese god of luck. I doubt the two have ever been spoken aloud together by anyone else."

I looked at my cards. Across the table from me Seljor Thu began to frown. “What have you done?” I could hear astonishment and perhaps a hint of admiration in his voice.

“I've altered my perceptions. The suits and values that I see on the cards are randomly changing every few seconds. They may have little or no resemblance to what the cards really are."

Seljor Thu rewarded me with a look of puzzlement. “What could you possibly have to gain by such manipulation?"

I shrugged. “It occurred to me that the advantage a telepath has in this game is knowing what his opponent is going to do, what suits and values he has, what state of matter he'll declare. It's an interactive game, but since I don't know what I have, I can't make an accurate call, which means telepathy won't help you make an accurate prediction."

Seljor Thu threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, well done, Conroy. I see how you come to be called Amazing."

“I'm glad you approve,” I said.

“I more than approve. This is exactly why I wanted to play against you. How better for me to take the measure of the Terran who wrested control of buffalo dogs from the Arconi? Now, what do you say to a further test of your mettle? What's the expression in your language, ‘care to make it more interesting?’”

“What did you have in mind?"

“Double or nothing,” he said. “If I win, the buffalo dogs are mine for free. And if you prevail, my consortium will pay you twice the fee and I will personally introduce you to no fewer than thirty corporate leaders of my close acquaintance and recommend to them they lease their buffalo dogs from you instead of the Arconi. Well?"

I'd said it wasn't about the money, but one hundred trained buffalo dogs represented more than half my inventory, and a half-billion credit loss wasn't something that my company could readily absorb. And yet, this was still a game about power, not simply money. I tried to focus on the opportunities and complexities represented by thirty successful contracts outside human space. Either way, Betsy was going to kill me.

“Done,” I said and waved a hand to John. “You don't mind if I pat Reggie's head for good luck, do you?"

Left-John frowned and stayed where he was. “If I come any closer, he'll know what cards I put in the dummy hand and have the advantage again."

I smiled and waved him over again. “That's why we had our little session this morning. Trust me, it's my ass on the line not yours."

John stepped forward and I took Reggie from him. Seljor Thu's eyes twinkled but I couldn't tell if it was delight or disappointment. I gave my buffalo dog a thorough scritching just under his woolly chin and was rewarded with a contented bleating.

“I'm not a telepath,” I said, “but I know what you're thinking. Even though to me, my hand keeps changing, you think you know what it is. You think it's the same as your hand. Knowing that, and knowing now the cards available in the third hand, you think I've blown any slight edge I might have had from random chance. You think you've won. But what if you're working from a false assumption? What if my friend here didn't stack the deck as you believe?"

The Taurian grinned. “Why should I doubt my own perceptions? I see the truth clearly in his mind."

I shook my head. “You see only what I put there. Watch closely and I'll take it away. Coyote rhubarb."

John staggered slightly as the hypnotic trigger took effect, and the false awareness of what he'd dealt faded from his mind. Seljor Thu gasped in wonder. “He only knows half the cards."

I nodded. “Only the ones shuffled by his right hand. Coincidentally, those are the ones he dealt to you. His earlier memory of what he dealt both to me and to the third hand might be false. You can't rely on what you see in his mind, and you can't trust what you see in mine. All you know for certain is what you're holding."

Seljor Thu pounded the table with one beefy hand. “Hah! You are wasting your time heading your company. You should let the Mocker take you out on the gaming circuit. You'd make several times your fortune with all these tricks."

I did my best to look inscrutable and simply bowed my head at the compliment. “You're welcome to concede,” I said. “I respect an opponent who knows when he's beaten. There's no need to take things further."

He chuckled at that. “But you forget one thing, Conroy. Even left with just the knowledge of my own cards, I'm still the better player. And you are playing completely blind.” Ignoring the dummy hand, he placed his cards down on the inner table, then picked up the token that indicated his mode of play. He rolled it around in one hand a moment, and placed it alongside his cards, his hand lightly blocking my view of his choice.

I handed Reggie back to John and watched as the gambler retreated to the corner again. Seljor Thu stared at me, a faint whuffle of air emerging from his bullish nostrils. I could feel the Taurian's eyes on me, and I imagined his gaze penetrating my skull and probing deeper.

“I've left you an opening, Conroy. Will you use the dummy hand without me?"

It was an obvious lure to further muddy the outcome, bringing into play the added complication of interactive rules that would have helped me if we were evenly matched in other respects. I doubted that was the case.

“I wouldn't put myself at that kind of disadvantage. I'll play the cards I was dealt.” I whispered another trigger to myself ending the perceptual dance and the shifting cards in my hand settled into place.

Across the table Seljor Thu slapped the table in one-handed applause. His cards were down and he was committed. I studied my own cards, trying to choose the best configuration for all four possible modes of matter. I tried to remember everything John had taught me, everything he'd told me.

I sighed and laid my cards down on the inner table. I picked up my token, John's lessons racing through my mind. I set the token plasma side up, covering it with my hand, though I knew full well that Seljor Thu saw the choice in my mind.

“You have played well,” he said. “A far better game than I expected of you. With a bit more practice you might have beaten me. I almost feel bad about taking the contract for free, but a wager is a wager.” He pulled his hand away from his token and reached to turn over his cards.

A professional gambler admits when he's over-matched and knows how to accept defeat gracefully. I'd seen John do just that on those rare times he lost. But I've always been more of a kick-the-table-over type. Instead, just before Seljor Thu touched his cards, I twisted a tiny dial on the ring on my right hand.

Left-John Mocker screamed.

“John?! Reggie?!” I shouted, shoving my chair back and rising to my feet, one hand pointing over Seljor Thu's shoulder to the corner where Left-John Mocker stood. The big gambler had dropped my buffalo dog. He clutched at his left eye with both hands; wisps of smoke drifted from between his fingers. Reggie tumbled to the floor, bleating in panic. He bolted to me for safety. I scooped him up with relief.

Seljor Thu caught my concern for my pet in my mind. He turned to look at John, only for an instant. It was all the time I needed.

I spun the inner table one hundred eighty degrees. My cards and token now lay in front of Seljor Thu, and his rested before me. Seljor Thu turned back to regard me silently. I tried my best to look apologetic.

“Sorry, John. I must have accidentally activated the surveillance jammer in my ring.” I took my seat and turned the cards face up on the inner table. I looked over to the Taurian. “Shall we finish our game? All that's left is for you to reveal your hand."

Seljor Thu laughed. “This may be my hand, now, but they are not my cards. I have underestimated you again, Conroy."

I shrugged. “This is Matter. Beyond the rules of the game, the game has no rules."

“Just so,” he said. “I will have my staff draw up a new set of contracts. The entertainment and education I've received tonight more than justifies the added cost. As for the introductions, I have some appointments to attend in the next few days, and then if it pleases you, we can meet again to compare schedules and arrange those meetings."

I bowed my head. “Thank you. I'm sure you'll be happy with the results of our arrangement. It's a pleasure to deal with a professional who knows how to accept a loss."

“Oh, I haven't lost, Conroy. Today, perhaps, but this is just one battle. We will play again, some day, and I will be better prepared for your tricks.” He stood, still smiling, and walked away, summoning his staff with a curt gesture. Papers flurried, and moments later the Taurians, their lawyers, and my lawyers had all left the Golden Turtle Palace. I let out a sigh and hugged Reggie close.

John pushed away from the wall. He scowled at me and rubbed his eye.

“Does it hurt much?” I asked."

“Nyah,” he said. “Just stings a bit. Mostly it just scared the hell out of me. Worth it though, to see you surprise a telepath.” He reached for Seljor Thu's cards and turned them over. “He lost,” he said. “How did you know? Between the stacked deck and the hypnotic tricks you pulled, and with neither of you pulling from the dummy hand, you had a fair chance of winning against another player by calling plasma. What made you spin the table like that?

“I didn't think Plan B was going to work, and that was the best Plan C I could come up with on the spot. You said he was a pro, and he kept boasting about being the better player. I just took him at his word.” I glanced down at the winning hand I'd acquired from Seljor Thu. “Looks like he was right.” I sighed again. Thirty introductions to alien corporate leaders. I'd just overextended my company by an order of magnitude and more. Betsy was going to kill me.

THE END

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