In the high stakes world of television, Paramount has struck it rich with Star Trek. Playing the cards of fanfic, Decker is ahead of the House with Star Traks. At the BorgSpace slots, Meneks keeps plugging in her quarters.
High Roller
The orbital complex was humongous. Located in prime territory of the L5 spot, it glided like a stately prima donna behind the dot of watery blue known by its natives as Mircar. The Mircarians, however, did not visit the station, although it did have an entire wing dedicated to aquatic entities. The intelligent porpoise-like sentients of Mircar did not gamble, and the station - Casino #23 or Graygem - was a shrine to betting in its myriad of forms. The Mircarians, despite their gambling aversion, were nonetheless content to collect rent on exclusive use in their homeworld's L5 real estate, as well as cater to those tourists which managed to leave the casino's clutches and travel to Mircar for a look-see.
Graygem resembled a miniature unimatrix complex. The design was deliberate, for the owner, Green Borg, was most comfortable building in the traditional manner. Large blocks half a kilometer across connected to each other via walkways and transport tubes. The former were multi-leveled and transparent, allowing customers the chance to press noses, eyeballs, snouts, tentacles, whatever against an unseen barrier and gawk at the sights. For those so inclined towards agoraphobia, runabout-sized cars moved passengers and cargo quickly through transport tubes. Unlike the space construction practices of many races to build on a level plane, the casino was arrayed in a three-dimensional matrix.
Girding Graygem were forty-four free-orbiting half-crescents, each sporting three long docking pillions. Designed for ships without transporter technology, or for those who preferred not to use it, the crescents were docking hubs which offered complimentary shuttle transport to the main complex. Thirty-nine of the pillions were currently in use, providing services for every type of ship from a rundown tramp freighter to a high-class luxury liner. Elsewhere, designated parking areas were available for ships and crews with no transporter phobias; and clots of vessels drifted near the casino complex in these specified volumes.
The gambling hall designated for oxy-nitro atmosphere tolerant organisms (planet class M1-M23 variants) was opulent. The designated beam in area for Hall #6 was a foyer inside one of the complex blocks, but no unimatrix ever looked like this. Sentients of all kinds bustled here and there, most utterly ignoring the presence of the ten drones which had materialized at the edge of the crowd. Those few glances the group did receive were ones of disinterest. Great chandeliers of crystal shed a glittering light in the foyer, augmented by cleverly disguised glow strips and a floating pair of plasma globes. The walls were an abstract frieze in faux marble, showing carvings of famous panoramas from hundreds of worlds. A grand staircase paved with a light gold stone approximating the rich tones of ambras wood wound up to a mezzanine full of beings talking at tables as they drank coffees or other light stimulant drinks. The greatest concentration of people, however, was the ground level, and more precisely, beyond the huge arched passageways leading to gambling floors tailored to appeal to the varied tastes of every conceivable customer.
Games of chance, games of strategy, games of strength, games of telepathy, games on which rode a mere 1/100 of a credit, and games with an ante of an entire populated world, if it could be bet upon, it was provided. One floor was an excited, noisy place of one-armed (and two- and twenty-) bandits robbing the masses and occasionally spitting back riches. Another floor was completely silent, customers intently watching the live n-dimensional Partini chess match between two galaxy-class champions - mech species #3 Pog and noncorporeal species #8 "call me George" [rapid-flicker-of-blue-and-green-lights]; entire civilizations rode on the outcome, a game which had lasted three Mircar years and was expected by experts to require another four to complete. Other floors held a variety of card and dice game variations, bingos, and simulcast betting on animal races, vehicular contests, and sparring matches; and one floor, set off slightly from the others due to the ever-present smell of spilt body fluids, was dedicated to blood sports which featured both animals and sentients in contest, and the thinking being did not necessarily win.
At every arch which led to gambling floors, prominently placed in every restroom, and strategically located at beam in locales, was a small plaque bearing a warning: "Enter and have fun, but remember the House always wins. If you overextend yourself and cannot or are not willing to pay credits owned, your individuality is forfeited to the House as per Galactic Ruling 25.b-h. Resistance is futile." The words always were in a language understandable by the reader, or, in the case of no written language, were whispered in the ear of the gambler. The threat was not an idle one.
Graygem was a Green establishment, as was every major casino in this part of the Gamma quadrant. By entering the premises, a contract was established, one which allowed no forfeiture on bets. The penalty for inability to pay was immediate introduction to the House, i.e., the Green Greater Consciousness. Despite the danger of ultimate loss, Green casinos remained a major attraction in whatever system they were located, for the lure of riches was equally great. Unfortunately, for every individual who had left a Green casino with a ship full of money, hundreds succumbed to the gambling addiction and never left at all, or at least did not leave in the condition entered. Establishments like Graygem were one of the reasons the Great Borg were one of the strongest Color factions.
{Why are we here, again?} asked 22 of 79 as he panned the mezzanine section, automatically cataloguing being designations.
Captain glared at his fellow hierarchy-mate, {Because the Collective told us to. Because the Collective is planning to rid this sector of Green influence as it is too close to BorgSpace, and we have been ordered to examine the complex for the Greater Consciousness in order to assist with efficient assault planning. Mostly because the Collective told us to. You already know this, and asking won't change the answer.}
While the unassimilated masses ignored the ten new drone arrivals, unable as a rule to tell one Borg from another, such was not so of the Greens which freely intermingled in the crowd or stood statue sentry at the room parameters. Green was well aware of the Collective intrusion, and knew exactly why Cube #347 was there. The Greens did little except observe, however, for Graygem was a casino open to whomever desired to visit. Only if outright attacked either bodily or through the guests would Green respond. The sub-collective of Cube #347 knew Green knew of the cube's purpose; and Green knew Cube #347 knew that Green knew; and Cube #347 knew that Green knew that Cube #347 knew that Green knew; and Green knew...let's just say both parties were crystal clear concerning the Collective's blatant trespass.
Captain watched as a pair of burly Green tactical drones dragged a struggling human from the card games floor. The other patrons averted eyes or outright ignored the display. The human, on the other hand, became increasingly frantic in his attempts to escape the drones' clutches the closer he was brought to an unassuming door at the side of the foyer leading to those parts of the casino complex which retained their unimatrix nature. On the door were the delicate spider runes of "Assimilation Chamber" chased in silver. The human likely could not read the script, but that did not mean he was unaware of the fate awaiting him behind the door.
"No! Wait! I can pay my credit, really!" the human pleaded. "I just need to make a few phone calls, cash in a few favors! Just give me another chance at the tables, the slots, anything! One slot, that's all I ask, that's all I need to make it right! I feel a lucky streak coming on, I tell you, a big lucky streak! I don't wanna be a Green Borg!" The last beseech was cut off mid-wail as the soundproof doors to the Assimilation Chamber slid shut. The glimpse of the inside Captain had saw bore a very strong resemblance to the facilities on Cube #347, only much more used.
Wanna-be cheaters and thieves to a Green casino did not even have the luxury of being taken to an Assimilation Chamber: they were assimilated on the floor, on the spot.
{Commence,} said Captain. {Recall our purpose here. Do not become distracted. Avoid nonessential conversation. Do not assimilate anyone or anything.} That directive was pointed at Doctor, who was among the drones on the mission. {And, above all, do not play any games or become involved in any gaming activity. We are present only to observe casino security and defenses, and to catalogue Green drones. Understand? Acknowledge.}
{Compliance.} {Acknowledgment.} {Ten-four, good buddy.} {Righty-o.} Firm words of understanding were Captain's response.
Captain listened to all the voices, making sure all designations had positively replied. {Let us begin.}
Five groups of ten drones each scattered from their respective beam in locales, bee-lining towards separate gaming floors. Each group was in a different node - oxy-nitro, arid carbon dioxide terrestrial, amphibious aquatic, immersed aquatic, and methane. Each node was similar to the next, discounting radical differences in atmosphere and gravity; and although there were a total of fifteen nodes comprising the complex, only the five were open "to the public," the others serving as support for the open nodes and as living space for the extensive drone population.
Captain entered the card floor, his assignment. Canasta, go fish, blackjack, and mitahk tables attracted knots of people. One hundred sixteen variations of poker were visible (the game had developed over and over again on various planets in an odd example of convergent evolution in gambling), and many more were available upon request. An archway only slightly less grand than the foyer entrance led into a room dedicated to machine play for those uncomfortable with live tables; and a second subroom included tile games such as Mah Jongg, cousins to the traditional cards. In the far back a large alcove was visible partitioned from the main floor by a forcefield - here the high-rollers gambled extraordinary sums of money, enough wealth as to sate even a Ferrengi, for a few hours at least.
At every table and circulating through the crowd were Green drones. Cards were deftly shuffled and multicolored chips redistributed as hands were played. No "eye in the sky" system or levitating cambots marred the scene, the interconnectivity of all drones with their respective implants better security than individual cameras. Serious gamblers and tourists alike gravitated towards their favorite games, either to bet or to observe, hands and other appendages reaching automatically for complimentary alcoholic beverages borne by Borg tasked as waiters.
Most unassimilated people in the crowd were oblivious to Captain's presence, subconsciously marking him as just another Green drone, but some species, particularly those who had been the subject of occasional assimilation for thousands of years, became agitated as he glided by. Millennia of years of selection for genes promoting resistance traits provided a sixth sense that the drone near was not quite the same as the local Greens. Most so affected simply shook off the feeling, unable to pinpoint the reason of their anxiety. A very small minority, however, stopped their gaming, stared at Captain, then quickly proceeded to the nearest exit.
Captain abruptly stopped as he was confronted by a pair of species #9111, Hygin. The Hygin were humanoid bipeds of a distinctly rhino resemblance, including a stubby horn and partially prehensile upper lip. The average individual massed 250 kilograms and often topped two and a half meters in height; and hard muscles rolled under thick skin. Incongruously, while the kilts the two wore were standard species #9111 garments, the very loud Hawaiian shirts were not. The female unslung a camera from her thick neck.
"Oh, Green drone sir, could I, like, get a picture of you and, like, my mate together? We just got in here - our honeymoon, you see - and I, like, don't know what to do first. I absolutely /have/ to get my mate in a picture with a Colored Borg, first," burbled the female.
The male sighed and shrugged his massive shoulders. "Bertha, honey, this nice fellow doesn't have the time. He was moving awfully purposefully."
Before Captain could open his mouth to confirm his busy status, Bertha poo-pooed. "Don't be ridiculous, bun-buns, like, that is the purpose of these Green Borgs, to cater to people like us. I'm sure he can be spared for a couple of photographs. Now, buddy right up to him. That's right, darling."
Captain shifted his eyes sideways slightly, catching sight of several Green drones watching the interplay with interest. As they noticed that Captain was looking at them, one unit allowed a wide, mocking grin to temporarily cross her face before erasing the expression. The meaning of the wordless gesture was clear: "You can't not cater to the tourists without blowing your cover. Too bad." Captain resisted the temptation to assimilate the big male as Bertha insisted on having him drape his arm across her mate's shoulders. The action required him to stand on tip-toe.
"Say, porleese!" bubbled Bertha as she took a picture. "Oh, come on drone fellow, smile a little. I know you can!" One of the watching Greens was obviously trying not to burst into unBorg laughter. Captain stretched his face into a rictus of a fake smile which had more akin to bearing of teeth than a grimace. Bertha did not seem to care, satisfied that an expression other than deadpan was present. "Oh, great! Like, just a couple more pictures."
Finally the ordeal was done and the pair trundled off to either play a game or annoy a real Green. Captain returned to his trek across the card floor, aware that the Green trio was now following him at a distance, likely making sure he did not attempt anything other than his blatant casing.
As Captain criss-crossed the card floor and made forays into the subrooms, his body was on automatic pilot. Head turned this way and that as he panned his surroundings, and he avoided obstacles in his path, but he was not paying much attention. Fifty input feeds from fifty drones in fifty separate locales required organization. Fifty points-of-view were prominent in his mind, not to mention the general background impressions of the thousands of crew on the cube, so it was understandable why his actions were extremely automatonistic.
Swinging in an arc to a trajectory which would allow him to exit the gambling floor and return to the foyer, Captain grumbled, {This is ridiculous.} He had received more than his fair share of odd looks from casino patrons trying to decipher the drone's unusually stiff manner; and the necessity of exerting direct influence to stop others of the reconnaissance team from doing something unwarranted was also a drain on those facilities which could be spared for real world navigation. {I will be returning to the ship and coordinate our assignment from there.} He paused as a random designation was generated. {147 of 480, report to the foyer of this node to take my place.}
Second loudly groused as Captain made his way to the foyer, an unshielded portion of the node allowing transporter activity. {How come when random designations are assigned to an away mission, and said away mission turns sour or uninteresting, you are allowed to return to Cube #347, while other, most notably myself, are required to continue?} Second was, in this instance, not among the crew in the casino complex; however, this fact did not stop him from asking his question. Little stopped Second in his queries, the more sarcastic they could be construed, the better.
Captain could have treated the question as rhetorical, but he answered, {I am primary consensus monitor and facilitator. Unless there is a requirement for a Collective liaison, my presence can be adequately filled by any other designation. It is just a little perk, one /you/ have exploited more than once during your tenures as head baby-sitter.}
Second could not defend himself from the accusation because it was true.
Captain beamed from foyer to his favored nodal intersection. Immediately he set to arranging holographic screens around himself, each of ten panels showing five viewpoints from the casino. A sixth screen, larger than the rest, was positioned in a place of prominence, and a single visual datastream was directed to it for preferential consideration. While the reality of the situation still had the same datafeeds present in Captain's consciousness, the array made it seem a lot more manageable.
Food preparation, bar, a security area, gambling floors in five environments, the locations crew were in was highly diverse. Similarly, eight dozen plus one species had been identified, some races a higher proportion of the crowded halls than others. 94 of 203 had attempted to sneak into a Color-only area, only to be swiftly intercepted by her shadowing Green guards and turned away with rolling eyes and annoyed shakes of head. Thus far, not much had been gleaned from the assignment as far as Captain could see, but the relevance of the data being packaged and funneled to the Greater Consciousness was not for lowly Cube #347 to determine. The sub-collective was only at Graygem to do a job, nothing more, nothing less.
{Um, whoops?} exclaimed 34 of 46, drone assigned to the non-card floor (e.g. roulette, darts, giant spinning tops) of the oxy-nitro node. Captain automatically brought 34 of 46's viewpoint to the forefront, gaining sight of a roulette wheel. It was spinning slowly to a stop, ball lodged in the black-23 slot. The Green working the game was triumphantly holding up a single chip, bright gold and unlike the dull plastic markers on the betting strip, his face stretched into a very unprofessional grin.
Captain swiftly replayed the series of events experienced by 34 of 46 leading up to this scene. With mounting horror, the sub-collective watched as 34 of 46 was extended "special credit" from a Green who literally dripped sweaty oil, followed by skillful maneuverings of security drones on the floor to lead 34 of 46 to a game marked "Do You Wanna Be A High Roller?", to the fateful spinning of the wheel.
{What did you bet?} demanded Captain urgently.
34 of 46 waffled, then blurted as he felt command and control begin to move overtly into his mind, {It seemed harmless, and I had this really good feeling...}
Sensors interrupted, reciting preliminary analysis from on-drone sensor streams her hierarchy had been monitoring, {Sensors sees a divergent signal, potentially [fan] neural functions. Yes, Doctor?} Doctor echoed acknowledgment: although he was on the casino and separated from maintenance tools, he retained access to relevant diagnostic files.
{Your mental functions have been compromised,} said Captain with anger. {The Green have manipulated us!} This was not a good thing, one which the Collective in its distant manner wasn't too happy about neither. {What did you bet?}
34 of 46 winced, {Um...the cube, I think?}
{The cube?}
{Yes, I'm pretty sure the cube. It was said, I think, when I was looking at the token.} That would explain why the incident had not been immediately flagged as a primary interest at time of occurrence. To speed data processing, the observation feeds did not include audio.
The memory files of 34 of 46 were ripped from the drone and immediately dissected. Indeed, words to the effect describing the golden disk as worth an Exploratory-class cube had been heard.
The Green at the roulette wheel was still grinning as two tactical drones seized 34 of 46. All over the casino members of the taskforce were being similarly detained. At the same time, two hundred transporter signatures were detected on Cube #347, grouping in clumps of ten to fifteen.
Barked Captain: {Shields!} even as the shields were raised. As Cube #347 broke from its parking space to take a more defensive posture, the signatures were analyzed and tagged as Borg origination, Colored Borg - Green - to be precise. The result was not surprising, but no more visitors were expected with shields up to block beam in (and out) access: the Collective, due to its larger resource base and technological knowledge, always remained tactically superior to the upstart factions. Cube #347 was a top-of-the-line modern cubeship, fully capable of the true random shield modulations necessary to stop an enemy matching transporter frequencies.
The Green drones who had beamed on board were trapped.
Of course, it worked the other way as well. The sub-collective drones stranded on the casino were shielded by a barrier to prevent retrieval. The system was actually a sophisticated method to foil would-be grifters and thieves, but it functioned perfectly well as an impromptu prison.
{Weapons,} said Captain, {find our intruders and escort them to Bulk Cargo Hold #6. It is unlikely they will resist, but if they do, terminate them. Only terminate if there is /overt/ resistance, not hinted or implied. Understand and comply.}
{Yes,} replied Weapons curtly as his hierarchy scrambled to confront the Green invaders. He was disappointed, but there were no loopholes of which to take advantage.
As the two hundred foreign units were located and led to their prison, a similar action was occurring on Graygem. None of the away team drones protested their capture, quietly following captors to the inner recesses of the nodes. As suspected, beyond the sparkling facade the tourists saw, the nodes were constructed as standard unimatricies. Shortly all fifty of the sub-collective were gathered in a warehouse hold of the oxy-nitro node, surrounded by neutral-faced Greens wielding disrupters in their limbs. Forcefields just didn't work very well as a Borg restraint device, necessitating a personal touch in the form of guards; and on Cube #347, Weapons and his drones were performing a similar chore.
Captain beamed himself to Bulk Cargo Hold #6, unwilling to open communication hails to mischievous daemons riding piggyback to the main carrier signal. Already electronic warfare was being fought by both sides, an undeclared skirmish which was likely wrecking havoc on electrical and computational systems of nearby civilian craft. Greens and sub-collective were searching for the appropriate intradrone fractual frequency linking individual units to vinculum and hence to the Greater Consciousness, goal to either disrupt that link else spawn false commands; and each side was shifting frequencies and re-encoding as attempts neared, forcing the opponent to start over again.
Pushing aside the broad back of 202 of 203 (as an assimilation drone he wasn't armed, but the fact he was a large Flarn tended to be intimidating in situations such as this), Captain entered the weapon hierarchy ring surrounding the captured Green drones. Weapons was on the other side of the group, trying to goad several nearby Greens into doing something they would regret. The insults were quite creative, drawn as they were from thousands of cultures. One of the Greens appeared ready to charge Weapons, except for the fact she was held back by a trio of her wiser peers. {Desist,} ordered Captain. Weapons frowned, then quieted and retook position among his hierarchy ranks.
"Who will speak for all?" asked Captain to the Greens. The Greens shuffled, looked at each other or at the ground, then finally pushed a small specimen of a drone to the forefront. The drone looked like a human, perfectly proportioned, except he did not top 75 centimeters. He was species #9813, a diminutive race prized by the Collective as engineering drones due to their inherent ability to actually be comfortable in interstitial spaces. They made decent tactical drones as well.
The drone boomed in a surprisingly loud voice, "I speak for all. My designation is 1024 of 2227." Greens, like all Color factions, were a relic from the Hive era, and thus, were formed at a time of quasi-individuality. While the collapse of Hive to Borg had erased that trait from the Collective, it still existed amount the majority of Colors, including Green. Therefore, the use of the singular pronoun instead of the plural was reasonable. "You owe us this vessel, and we have come to claim it."
Captain winced at the loud voice, decreasing the volume gain of his auditory implants. Species #9813 had a commanding voice to begin with, an intrinsic characteristic of the species, but 1024 of 2227 had been augmented with a microphone to amplify it. "Unacceptable. Return our drones and we will allow you to return to Graygem."
Negotiations had begun.
"Proposal not acceptable," countered 1024 of 2227 as he drew himself to his full minuscule height. "You may retain this vessel in exchange for items of equal worth. Nine hundred fifty drones in addition to the fifty we already possess would be satisfactory. They will be added to our Color. You will allow the Greens here to return to the casino."
Now with hardware and drones at risk, the Collective was very, very interested in the dilemma in which Cube #347 sub-collective had mired itself. To lose either type of toy was not acceptable. Neither would be relinquished, a strong feeling which forced Captain along a narrow path of unavoidable refusal which left little room for negotiation. "Unacceptable. We will not waive a quarter of this cube's crew. We demand the return of our units. Do not attempt assimilation: the drones will self-terminate before succumbing to the will of a Color. Colors do not strive for proper Perfection."
{What?} sputtered Doctor. {Termination? What about all my pets, er, um, never mind.}
{But I don't want to die,} sobbed 26 of 203.
230 of 422 added a voice to the babbling with {Neither do I!}
Fifty drones began jabbering their reluctance to follow such a directive. They did not have a choice when it actually came down to it, but that did not stop the protests.
"It is the Collective with the dated version of Perfection. Perfection is best attained through the acquisition of wealth, for money can buy everything. Even Perfection is for sale, if one knows the appropriate peoples and if one had sufficient funds. Using current projections, we shall have adequate liquid assets for a down payment in 1,025 years." 1024 of 2227 looked as if he wanted to go on, but he froze mid-tirade. Coughing, he continued along a more sedate vein, "But that is not the topic under discussion. Therefore, we offer a proposal..."
Captain waited. The sub-collective waited. The Greater Consciousness waited.
"You may gamble for your lost assets to win them back. Your ante and betting is in drones. Specifically, we begin with a thousand of this cube's drones. You have 3000 drones to spend. If you can win back all thousand drones, you will be allowed to leave. If we win all 4000 drones, House takes all. If you do not like this proposition, you may either accept the original proposal of one thousand drones or this cube, else you will be blown up by Green forces now entering this system. Either way, you lose. However, we do offer you a chance of victory; and you may chose the games to play against the House."
Captain opened his mouth, prepared to spit out another 'unacceptable.' However, such was not to be so as the Collective took control of Captain's body - a puppeteer seizing control of the strings of an errant puppet. "We accept."
As the confident haughtiness of the Greater Consciousness left for a more comfortable observational distance, Captain was left to his own appalled thoughts, echoed by the minds of four thousand others. The sub-collective was screwed.
Captain peered at his cards. "I match five engineering drones and raise you a tactical unit," he said dispassionately. Internally, random designations of the appropriate hierarchies were generated, and the resulting drones beamed to the holding area on Graygem.
"Acceptable. Go," replied the Green facing Captain across the table.
Announced Captain, "Give me a seven."
"Go fish."
Staring at the jumble of face down cards on the table in front of him, Captain narrowed his eye. Unfortunately, cheating was not an option; and he could not see through the diamond pattern backs. A card was fingered, then turned over.
"Hah! Got my wish!" crowed Captain. The side wager of twelve drones was beamed back to Cube #347. However, it had only been a minor bet. The outcome of this game of "Go Fish" decided where five hundred six drones of mixed hierarchies would go - Cube #347 or casino coffers. Captain placed a pair of sevens on the table, next to a trio of threes and a full set of nines.
Captain was located in the high-roller parlor of the card floor. A single table, round with an eighty centimeter diameter, rose from the floor to a height comfortable for a standing drone. The other tables and chairs which normally populated the parlor had been removed, replaced by a large Plexiglas tank to hold wagers of thirty drones or less. A larger box, able to confine the entire population of Cube #347 if necessary in sardine quarters, was located in the middle of the card floor. The forcefield barrier dividing parlor from main room was lined with interested bystanders; and cameras relayed the unprecedented match of Green vs. Collective to monitors situated throughout the casino complex.
Five Green drones were in the parlor with Captain. One acted as dealer/opponent - 663 of 723; he was of an unexciting humanoid biped stock. The other four drones made sure Captain did not cheat, as well acted as deterrence should Captain attempt something stupid, like charge the forcefield barrier in a bid to assimilate casino patrons.
Among the base rules originally negotiated was a setting of value for the drone currently of Cube #347. For instance, tactical drones required greater investment of initial resources to produce than the average engineering drone, and so were worth more. Similarly, drone maintenance generally included highly specialized implants in addition to the general suite, and thus a single drone maintenance unit could be matched against four sensory hierarchy drones. Additionally, within a given hierarchy, some drones were worth more than others. In example, drones drawn from the assimilation Group of 20 were of higher value than the general hierarchy member. Of greatest value were command and control Hierarchy of Eight, with Captain himself the highest denomination of all.
"Give me an ace," demanded Captain.
"Go fish."
This time Captain did not select his desired card.
Despite winning the side wager, Captain was not doing well. Two full sets and four partial sets were arrayed before his Green opponent. The toll so far, including all previous games, was a net Cube #347 loss of five hundred drones. Previously he had limited his wagers to small bets, but the number of units under consideration in this hand was a bid to return to the original state of Graygem holding one thousand drones to Cube #347's three thousand. A loss would mean a near split of the sub-collective between cube and casino, with casino slightly ahead.
"We require a ten."
Captain sighed and handed over the card he had just fished from the pile, then winced as the Green laid down a three-set.
"We require a king."
"Go fish."
Calculation of odds and card counting could only take a gambler so far. Cards, dice, roulette wheels, all had an element of chance which could not be adequately covered during cold manipulation of numbers. In the end, even cards had a component of randomness which ultimately decided which of two otherwise equal opponents would win. The luck had been favoring Green.
"Queen," said Captain. The card was handed over and a pair made. "Ace."
"As you were told before, go fish."
The game continued, cards exchanged and numbered fish of diamond and spade sought. The pond became smaller and smaller; and the face-up triumphs in front of 663 of 723 remained not only more numerous than that of Captain's but worth more. Finally, Captain sullenly handed over his final card, a three.
"House wins," stated the Green. The drones in the box on the card floor were transported to a holding area deeper within the node. "Would you like another game, or try something different?"
Captain's attention was directed on the holographic monitor - the trundleslugs were running.
About the size of greyhounds, trundleslugs looked like rags of snot balanced on five pairs of short, sturdy legs. They came in multiple shades of green and brown; and four black eyes on thin eyestalks rose from the front end. Trundleslugs were highly carnivorous, wild specimens successfully attacking prey several times larger than themselves. They played nicely only with other trundleslugs, most of the time.
"Go Harold! Go Harold! Go Harold!" chanted Captain as he watched his wagered beast ooze-run the half-kilometer track. The named trundleslug was one of a field of ten avidly attempting to catch a live bait animal which resembled a groundhog, the creature held just beyond the lead trundleslug's snout by a platform sporting both an invisible cage and anti-gravity propulsion. "Come on number six! Lucky number six!"
In the parlor cage, six drones, three bet each by Captain and Green, similarly urged on the simulcast trundleslug image. On the card floor, in the box, the stakes also called their encouragement.
Trundleslug wagering, or any simulcast event, was substantially different than cards. Captain first chose the animal to bet upon, then transferred a number of drones to the parlor cage, a bet which was subsequently matched by the Greens as they announced their pick. In the larger holding cage, the bets were covered with the appropriate number of units. Thus, if Captain wagered one drone on a trundleslug with 1:2 odds, Green would cover with two drones, and visa-versa. The winner took all; and in the case neither bet upon animal placed in the top three, a draw was declared and no assets changed hands.
So far, betting conservatively on sure winners, Captain had slowly drawn ahead. He was currently two hundred drones above that which when he had first started the trundleslug races; and it looked like number six, Harold, was going to gain him another fifteen drones.
"Aha!" chortled Captain as his beast passed the finish line first, the Green entrant placing a distant fifth. Already he had lined up his wagers for the next race.
Captain cleared his throat, "Two tactical units on number four, Runs Fast, odds 1:3."
663 of 723 countered, "We meet the wager, and bet upon number eight, Longshot, odds 1:150."
"Appropriate designation," commented Captain as the correct number of drones were beamed to the enclosures. Five minutes later, the next trundleslug race had begun.
Runs Fast jumped to an early lead, snarling at the other trundleslugs at it attempted to fling strings of mucus into its opponents' eyes. The bait squealed in fright as feisty Runs Fast lunged at it, but the platform moved just in time so all the trundleslug bit was empty air. A competitor nipped at Runs Fast's flank, an action which was responded to with a snarl and a single glaring eye.
Meanwhile, Longshot loped out of the starting gate more interested in its surroundings than race or bait. It generally moved in the correct direction, only because the snarling pack of its rivals had gone that way, not out of any sense of competition. Longshot was swiftly left behind, far behind.
It looked like Captain was soon to be up another six drones.
A trundleslug chomped Runs Fast's butt, causing the leader to yelp in surprise and jump forward. The computer controlling the bait platform was not expecting the suddenly movement, and so did not compensate in time to prevent the sharp impact of slimey head. The platform wobbled, tipped slightly, then dropped as power was lost. The lead trundleslugs suddenly found the object of their chase dumped in their midst. The race was forgotten as nine animals pounced on the furry bait, becoming a mucused heap of brown and green...and now red.
Longshot approached the writhing, snarling pile and passed it. If an expression could be assigned to the trundleslug, it would have been one of slack-jawed yokel. It knew somewhere ahead was the bait...it had never actually seen the bait during these races, but it had to be somewhere. The snotty group of its competitors who were now doing their best to tear each other apart was not afforded a second glance.
Exclaimed Captain in dismay, "No! Come on, Runs Fast, your dominance games are irrelevant! You - we! - are losing!"
No amount of long-distance urging could change the outcome; and by the time the trundleslug handlers had arrived to prod their beasts apart with long sticks, Longshot was single-mindedly, if slowly, crossing the finish line. Captain ground his teeth as all his simulcast winnings, and then some, were transferred to Green coffers.
"Again," asked 663 of 723 across the table from Captain.
Captain drew in his breath to answer affirmation. That race had been an utter fluke. Since he always had first choice of animal, he could choose the safe beast. Sure, the winnings were minor with each race, but they added up. In a couple of hours he would win back all that were just lost and begin concentrating on digging himself out of his debt hole.
"No," was the answer Captain spat back as the Greater Consciousness took control and withdrew. Simulcast betting had odds, but they were precalculated before the race. There were not on-the-fly calculations, no counting of cards or tiles, no control. The Collective did not like not having control of a situation, even illusionary control. Therefore, the Greater Consciousness decreed no more simulcast wagers.
Captain ground his teeth some more as he questioned the sub-collective what game to try next.
Ga'vah, nero, shovi, blackjack, bones, ledshoe, those were but a few of the games Captain had played over the last forty-nine hours. Every time he had attempted to move to something either more or less an exercise in calculating running odds than cards, the Greater Consciousness had balked. Dice - too chancy. Wheels of fortune - the mechanism had ultimate control. The list was long, each with its own rationalization as to why not to play.
Through it all, Captain had slowly, but steadily, lost. After the original Go Fish disaster, he had been very conservative in his wagers, betting as few drones and in the lowest denominations as possible. Taking the greater view, he actually had a better win percentage than the House, which theoretically should have put him ahead, not on the verge of losing all. However, not all bets were equal, and on those slightly higher than the low median Captain strove to keep, his Colored opponent almost inevitably won. After all, the essence of gambling was not how many times a game was won, but winning when it was most critical and the stakes were highest.
The current, and likely last, game was Terran five-card poker, nothing wild. In the parlor pen were Cube #347's final assets, among them high valued chips in the form of Second and Sensors. Captain was preparing to discard part of his hand in order to gain new cards, but the initial deal had been less than stupendous by his estimation. Second's advice was not helping.
{Get rid of the 7, 8, and 9,} urged Second.
Captain stared over his cards at his opposite number, but 663 of 723 had the patented Borg poker face. Of course, so did Captain. Poker faces were easy when one could literally disengage all facial muscles.
Captain scoffed, {Ridiculous! Not only are those cards all one suit, but I have the like jack as well. All I need is either another diamond for the flush, else a ten for a run. Either will build a very strong hand. That two of hearts is gone.}
{Wait,} pleaded Second, {if you only discard one card, the chances of you getting something you need are smaller than if you have /three/ cards coming to you.}
{And if I rid this hand of the three cards you suggest, I might as well fold now because those cards are what makes this round viable. The two goes.}
Captain plucked the offending heart from his hand and threw it on the table. A replacement was slid his way, face down. As there was basically nothing more to wager for Captain, the rasing and matching phase which traditionally came next would not occur. The card was picked up. It was the two of clubs.
{HA!} said Second. {If you had listened to me, then you would be having a pair of deuces right now, at least.}
Carped Captain, {And won only if the Green had nothing but a high card.}
663 of 723's hand shifted slightly as his pair of new cards were added to it.
Sensors, who had been slouching as only one of her species could slouch, suddenly rose high on her four walking legs. One at a time each limb was lifted and set down in place, a sign of either agitation or excitement on the part of Sensors. {The cards! They [fertilizer]! Green cheats!} piped Sensors.
Captain paused as he was about to show his ugly hand. The Green followed suit, understanding the nature of crises which sub-collectives and Greater Consciousness fostered upon drones. {Explain. More comprehension.}
{They cheat. Sensors [blankets] ultraviolet markings on [coat] of card.}
Marking patterns on the cards in ultraviolet was the concept Sensors was trying to pass to Captain. Even without specialized implants, Sensors' species was visual sensitive to a wide range of frequencies, including ultraviolet, infrared, microwave, and x-ray. Her view of the world undoubtedly contributed to a mental architecture only 78% understood by the Collective, an architecture which was continually rewiring itself in a manner which did not foster a good working relationship with universal translator algorithms. Still, Sensors' visual acuity was not something to ignore.
Although he was capable of viewing his surroundings through a UV filter, Captain did not like to do so. A faulty connection in the optic lobe processor meant UV derived signals were imperfectly translated into impulses his brain could understand. He could still comprehend incoming ultraviolet information, but his view became filled with random purple sparks and he could feel a nascent headache trying to form as certain pieces of hardware overheated. Since Captain rarely used his UV filter, the need to have the bad connection fixed was not urgent.
Captain initiated a UV filter and focused on the backs of the cards held by patiently waiting 663 of 723. A series of subtle triangles and very small hash marks became visible along the upper and lower edges of the cards. The pattern was different for each card, likely symbolizing value and suit, although without at least several minutes of comparing code to card he was at a loss to decipher the encryption. The cards had originated from a sealed deck opened at the table, which meant they had been manufactured with the markers.
Suddenly the pattern of Green betting, raises, and other wager manipulations was crystal clear. The Color had been cheating the entire time, at least in cards, making sure it won the large bets even as small wagers were sacrificed.
Captain revealed his hand, unsurprised to see his rival had a pair of tens, including the one he had required to win the match. The drones in the parlor cage were removed.
"That will do it," declared 663 of 723 as he absently shuffled the cards with great dexterity. "Provide us with the access keys to your cube to simplify the process. If you refuse, we will have them eventually upon assimilation. Resistance is futile."
"Wait. Cube #347 retains one asset - myself. I have yet to bet myself, and I am worth the entire sub-collective combined. You will allow us to bet myself," demanded Captain.
663 of 723 blinked, then responded mildly, "Very well. And the game will be?"
"Poker, but not with those cards. The cards used will be those ones." Captain pointed to an observer on the other side of the parlor forcefield, and more specifically, to the key fob dangling from the gentleman's belt. The decoration was that of a miniature pack of cards, fully functional, such as one could buy in nearly every tourist shop in the universe.
663 of 723 said, "Unacceptable. Those cards are not casino standard."
Captain minutely shook his head, "That is an unacceptable excuse. Negotiations stated my sub-collective has the ability to choose the gambling game. Poker is chosen.../with/ those cards. Is the Green faction backing out on this deal in front of witnesses?"
"Green always honors contracts," stiffly muttered 663 of 723. "Very well, we accept. Poker, with those cards."
The human with the fob tried to back away in alarm as Green guards in the parlor approached his position. The press of the crowd against his back was too great, however, and he was unable to escape. A drone hand reached through the forcefield, retrieving decoration and attached keys, sans owner. Keys and pack were dumped on the table.
663 of 723 asked, "Acceptable?" as he spread out the pack for Captain to examine. Each small card was approximately the size of a fingernail.
"Yes," replied Captain.
A new hand of poker was dealt. On the card floor, the holding box was filled shoulder to sardine shoulder with Cube #347 drones packed so tightly that falling over was not possible.
A pair of nines was the only spectacular thing in Captain's hand, the other cards a three, a six, and a queen. To an outsider, 663 of 723 appeared utterly calm, the image of a perfect poker player. Captain, however, saw the minute signs of stress echoed not only in his immediate opponent, but the Green guards as well. Keeping the pair, Captain discarded the other three cards. Replacements slid along the table; Captain did not bother to look at them.
"Turn them over," demanded 663 of 723.
Captain said simply, "No."
"You are refusing to play?"
"No. There is no need to turn them over. They will be as they will be. Are you going to discard?"
663 of 723 threw two of his hand to the table.
"Show your hand," prompted Captain.
With a hint of a nasty smile, 663 of 723 lay down his cards. On the minute faces were picked out three kings, an ace, and a two. "Three of a kind."
Captain revealed his pair, the proceeded to turn over the face down cards. The first revealed a third nine to add to the other two, but the three of a kind was of lower value than the Green's kings. Forth card - a four of hearts. Fifth card...
"Well, said Captain conversationally, "it looks like I have two pair. Two pair of nines, that is. Your triple is beat. We win."
The transporters were directed to remove all sub-collective drones from the card floor box to Cube #347 before the casino device inhibiting such an action was reinitialized. Captain was a split second too late locking a transporter on himself, however.
"Let us go. We won, fair and square," snarled Captain. In the space surrounding Cube #347, Green reinforcements were powering weapons. Cube #347 was responding in kind, but sheer firepower would overwhelm the Exploratory-class cube.
663 of 723 said, "You cheated."
Captain gestured towards the crowd watching the exchange. "We did not, and funny you should mention that. If you break contract, one might have a little information to disseminate before our termination. Ultraviolet priority. While it would specifically be directed at species #6766 and other races of appropriate visual acuity, I'm sure the news services wouldn't reject it if intercepted.
"And if you still press forward, we will target this facility. Even if this cube is destroyed, the casino will be annihilated by future Collective forces."
Casino patrons began murmuring among themselves. There were things being said obliquely, but enough was clear to recognize a threat to the casino and, following that line of reasoning, to self. The barrier, which formerly had been clear and able to pass sound, shimmered to opacity.
"This room is now secure," commented 663 of 723. "You would blackmail us and risk open warfare with a potential to drain Collective resources? How very unBorg."
Captain shook his head, "We are Borg, but this sub-collective, as your Color well knows, is imperfect. The Collective is willing to risk war, yes. This sub-collective, however, are the ones blackmailing you. Let us go unharmed, and not only will you remain unchallenged physically for a short while, but your reputation will remain intact. The only reason your faction is large enough to remotely challenge the Collective is due to facilities such as Graygem. If patrons are no longer willing to gamble because it is widely known Green cheats, then a large proportion of new drones and credit is removed, weakening you.
"Personally, the Collective could care less what happens to us, except for the principle of the matter concerning our loss through an initial sneaky gambling manipulation. If anything, the Greater Consciousness desires you to terminate us, so as to justify concentrating all resources from other endeavors to eliminate Green. This sub-collective, on the other hand, would like to escape, relatively intact. Take us down, and we will exact our own, very unBorg revenge."
The Colors in the parlor cocked their heads sideways in the classic sign of internal deliberation. It was likely that other Greens beyond the barrier were likewise positioned. After several seconds, 663 of 723 refocused his attention on Captain.
"Very well," said 663 of 723 as the bitter pill was swallowed, "leave. However, your sub-collective is banned from all of our casinos. If we see you again near our facilities, you will be destroyed with no warning."
Captain shrugged. "Fine with me. I was never fond of gambling anyway." A transporter was activated and Captain beamed back to Cube #347.
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