When You Have Nowhere Left to Go

Posted on Wed 30th May, 2018 @ 6:27am by

766 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Brushfires
Location: Phaokirn's Beer Garden, Oblivion

Doctor Holly Day was sitting at a round table. The table was wood, though likely replicated. It had years of circular stains from beer mugs and one or two the Doctor suspected were blood. They were playing cards, the most simple, pure luck sort of game: even and odd. The values on the faces of the cards each player held were tallied, with black cards being positive values and red cards negative. In five rounds, buying a new card each round, you attempted to build an even number. You could sit a round out, but there was a small though statistically significant chance that, if you did so, the cards you held would revalue themselves.

The cards, the table, and the Doctor sat in Phaokirn's Beer Garden, on a lush purple lawn with mauve hedges which were about shoulder-height to a typical Preserver-descended humanoid. Above, a crystalline dome let in the light of a distant white K-type star, and a view of other hulls in the vicinity. Phaokirn's garden had originally been a grow-dome in an agricultural ship, but now, no one could accurately say what species had built it, or how long ago. There had once been shutters like the petals of a flower, that could darken the interior, but now only two of them remained, frozen in the open position, leaving the garden in eternal daylight.

Or, thought Doctor Day, as eternal as anything gets in Oblivion. She looked at her cards, shrugged, and tossed a platinum coin on the table to buy her fifth card. The coin showed buxom Andorian girl with saphires on her chest; it was a token for a brothel. Day looked at the card she received and smiled. "Even," she said, laying the cards on the table, their values showing.

"How do you keep doing that?!" one of the other players exclaimed, throwing down his own cards in disgust. Day glanced at them to confirm his total was odd.

"It's pure chance, friend," the Doctor said, raising a hand and beckoning to a beer maiden passing nearby. When she had the girl's attention, she made a circling gesture with her finger, indicating refills all around. "Here, let me buy you a drink."

"It's pure targ veQ, is what it is," the young fellow shouted, not mollified by the offer. "Everyone else has lost hands, but not you!"

Day reached into the pocket of her silk brocade waistcoat and took out a handkerchief which had been fine lawn when she set out from home that day; now it was blood-spotted. She held it to her lips and coughed, and more blood spots joined the dried ones.

"Holy crap!" one of the other players exclaimed. "You're Holly Day, the Butcher of Clarvis!"

"I prefer Doctor Day," Holly drawled, not taking her eyes from the man who'd all but accused her of cheating. "Or, if you absolutely must, Mrs. Day. You should not believe all of the things you've heard."

The young man paled, his hand drifting down toward the edge of the table.

"Ah-ah," Day said. "This is a friendly game. Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

The kid didn't listen. They never did. Of all the rumors about her he should have paid attention to, the one he'd discounted, was the one about how fast she moved, how accurate she was with a weapon. Before he'd even cleared his disrupter from its holster, Day had her antique phase pistol pointed at him. "Calmly," she said. "Push the weapon back down, and stand up."

The kid did as he was told, but the beer maiden took that moment to return, her tray laden with frosted mugs. Day's eyes flicked to the motion, and the kid took his chance. The sound of energy weapons firing filled the little clearing, and the players who hadn't drawn weapons dove for the grass. There was the sound of a body falling, and then Day sighed, standing and returning her weapon to her holster.

"They never learn," she commented to the beer maiden. She kissed the girl's cheek andscooped one of the mugs off the tray. "You can have my share of the pot," she said. "Tell Phao I'm good for the damages."

"Yes, ma'am," the beer girl said, setting down her tray and glancing at the pile of mismatched coins on the table. "Anyone else want a split of this?"

Nobody said anything, and the girl smiled, scooping the coins into a pocket on her apron. "My best customer," she commented. "Such a sweetie!"

 

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