Midshipman (17 page)

At first Cadet Crager didn’t seem to notice. He was a glandularly-normal male, however, and an adolescent one at that. As I filled in the details (my bunnygirl looked amazingly like Frieda, though of course no one else could know it) his face grew redder and redder. Then he began shifting uncomfortably in his seat. I was shifting too, of course. But poor socially inept Crager, who’d certainly never kissed a girl in his life and probably had given up all hope of ever doing so, went slowly mad as I roughed in hard nipples behind ‘Frieda’s’ halter-top, wrinkled her shorts just-so in a not-so-subtle hint of what lay beyond...

…and, quite unexpectedly, snatched up a knight when he left it foolishly exposed.

There was a loud groan among the Imperials when that happened, and one of their officers stood up and shouted at Professor Lambert. Our coach merely stood and smiled as the Imperial raged about smut and decadence and indecency. “It’s David’s notepad,” my coach replied in calm tones. “Not yours. He’s allowed to do whatever he likes with it. I’m quite certain that he’s violated neither the rules nor any local law.” His smile widened. “Though at the rate he’s going, he may well yet push the limits of the latter.”

And, to my secret glee, the New Geneva referee agreed with him!

By then ‘Frieda’ was about done, so I drew suggestive carrots in various stages of engorgement around the borders of the piece and took a rook in the process. “This is
absurd
!” the Imperial admiral raved as I removed the piece from the board. By then he was practically foaming at the mouth. “I refuse to participate any longer in this low-minded mockery!”

“Then you concede, sir?” the referee asked.

The admiral’s mouth opened, then closed twice before he could find the proper words. “I don’t concede; I
withdraw
!”

“That’s a concession in my book,” the official replied. “So I hereby declare Cadet Captain Birkenhead the winner by default.”

Poor Cadet Crager didn’t know how to handle it; I suspect it may’ve been the first time he ever lost an official game. Certainly he wasn’t emotionally normal, and I felt genuine pity for him as he grabbed up the pieces and sent them flying about the room, shouting and cursing and drumming his fists on the table. Meanwhile I completed my drawing by sketching in the title ‘Mate’ across the top of the paper. Then I tore it off the pad, stuffed it into my pocket and stood to take my formal victory bow beside the New Geneva official. The room was absolutely filled with booing and cursing by then; only James and one of the Yans and Professor Lambert stood applauding and laughing their faces off. Poor Heinrich was locked in a match of epic proportions on the other side of the room; he didn’t even seem to notice my victory, which I certainly understood. But… Where was the other Yan off to?

Probably, I decided, it was best if I didn’t know.

31

The next morning we were up and at it again. But right from the getgo things took on a much more serious tone. There was no lighthearted mockery as we once again walked across the lobby and directly to the gaming area, and the glares that met us along the way were uglier and icier than ever. We were tied 1-1 after the first day, and our opponents didn’t like it at all. Apparently they’d had their hearts set on a sweep. We met their gazes with quiet pride, or at least all of us except Heinrich did. My unfortunate team-mate fought a noble battle indeed, but was finally forced to concede on the fifty-sixth move. It’d been an epic match, and no one blamed him for the loss. Nor was he anything less than courteous and sincere in congratulating me—there wasn’t a petty bone in Heinrich’s body. But still… It rankled, and rankled deep. Especially since it seemed likely that I’d been matched against the stronger player. So Heinrich was full of fire, and the embers behind his eyes blazed every bit as hot as those of our opponents. Indeed, some of them were compelled to turn away.

Today it was my turn to carry the code book. I brought it along with several other mathematics texts, and planned to consult it throughout the day while doing practice-problems. Card-game tournaments tended to run even longer than chess matches, and were just as boring for non-participants. I could only hope, like everyone else, that the Geneva people would announce that poker was the game of the day. While the Yans could and did perform well at everything from canasta to contract bridge, poker was their true strength and love. The professor informed us that most tournament masters chose poker because it was considered the purest and most highly-developed of all strategy card games, but I worried right up until the moderator walked out to the podium carrying four equal-sized stacks of chips.

The first hands were lightly-bet and tentative as the players felt each other out. Not too many chips changed hands as the teams concentrated on deceptively simple games like five and seven-card stud. Then, not long before lunchtime, things suddenly escalated over a more complex hand of seven-card deuces wild. On the final down-card both Yans raised against each other again and again, catching the Imperials in the middle. “Call!” the Imperials replied every time, meeting each other’s eyes worriedly. The pot grew and grew. Yan Chang laid down five kings…

…and instantly the Imperials used one of their challenges, accusing our team of cheating and demanding a complete scan of the cards and table, plus a review of all holofilms.

I winced inwardly at this, knowing my friends as well as I did. Externally, however, my face revealed nothing. Nor did those of the Yans as the Geneva people obligingly swept their sensors back and forth and a panel of experts retained just for this purpose from the local casinos studied the players’ every recorded move. Rather to my surprise, however, everything came back clean and Yan Chang was awarded the fat pot.

The Imperials, to say the least, weren’t pleased. Apparently they’d somehow caught wind of the Yan brother’s flair for creative play, and reckoned they’d be caught at the first challenge. But the Yans were far more clever than that. As team captain, in my heart I’d counted whatever game they played as won before it began. And they didn’t disappoint me.

It was just after lunch that a second large pot developed. This time the game was seven card stud. Yan Ho was the dealer, and soon the stakes grew to epic proportions. The twins were at their most impressive. They munched roast-beef sandwiches, drank hot tea and raised, raised, raised at every opportunity, all the while not displaying even a trace of emotion. Once again Chang won the hand, this time by virtue of high-carding the Imperials. He had a full house consisting of nines over twos, while theirs was fives over fours. At first there was consternation among the cadets and officers on the other side of the room. Then the Imperials used up their second and last appeal, calling for another complete scan. I was plenty worried, because last night after dinner I’d seen one of the girls who’d served lunch loitering in the corridor outside our rooms. I should’ve had more faith in my teammates, however. The scanner did indeed emit a loud buzz as a solido card was detected, said card being programmed as a five of hearts. But…

…the card was not only found in an Imperial hand, but was exactly what they needed to complete the full house they’d raised so aggressively on.

“You’re disqualified!” the Geneva Station man declared to the Imperial players—possession of a cheating device was forbidden at all times, without exception. It didn’t matter that the Imperial team was who’d made the appeal, or that they held a losing hand. This time there was even more shouting and outrage, with some not-so-muffled threats and cursing thrown into the mix in as well. The Imperials requested—and got—a second film review by the experts. Even the professional casino security men looked worriedly at the Yans when no clear evidence could be found of them planting the card. None of that mattered to us Royalists, however. We stood and whistled and applauded like little kids—even Professor Lambert! The all-important scoreboard rolled over to read three to one, in our favor.

And that, we students of high-level strategy understood with acute clarity, was all that really mattered.

32

Because the poker game broke up so unexpectedly early we young strategists found ourselves with an afternoon to kill. With Professor Lambert’s blessing we decided to make the best of it by throwing ourselves an impromptu party. Pizza was ordered and laid out in one of our rooms and video games set up in a second. A third was reserved for poor Heinrich, who was determined to study, study, study after his loss no matter how much fun the rest of us were having. I didn’t eat pizza, of course, and planned on getting by with a few mouthfuls of hay that the maid-bunny had thoughtfully left me for emergencies. But then at almost the last minute Professor Lambert walked in waved his arms for attention. “I’m sorry,” he declared. “There’s been a change of plans.” He looked at James and I, who were currently teamed against the Yans at a game called “Mystique”. We were losing badly, and as always seemed to be the case when playing against the twins, were having the devil of a time figuring out exactly why. “The Imperial coach just called me in my room,” he explained. “We’ve been invited to dinner. Just three of us, I fear—the two ranking cadets and myself.”

James and I looked at each other. “Do we have to?” he asked for us both.

“I fear so,” the professor replied. “Though I’m about as excited as you are. The Commandant would see it as a priceless educational experience for you both. And he’d be right.”

I nodded, then sighed long and loud. “Class A’s, I suppose?”

“Of course,” our instructor replied. “And a tux for me. We’ll meet in the lobby at five; that should just give us all time to get ready.”

We ended up eating in the same five-star steakhouse we’d dined at before, though in a different and larger back room. Most likely, I figured, the Geneva Station security types had once again had a hand in the matter. I was pleased to see the same server-bunnies assigned to me as before, and they seemed happy to have me back as well. If it hadn’t been for the Imperials, we might’ve had a very good time indeed. The fact that they’d invited us made them the hosts, which to an extent also meant that they set the ground rules. For example, contrary to our own military tradition they leapt to their feet and saluted the moment I brought my Sword into the room, and maintained such a strict level of formality that it reminded me of eating at attention back at the Academy. It wasn’t until everyone else was enjoying some sort of ultra-sweet iced dish and I was munching banana chips that anything in the way of meaningful conversation took place. “So,” the Imperial team leader declared to Lambert. His name was Benton. “This is your first year teaching strategy?”

The Professor smiled. “Actually, no. I’ve taught at two other military schools among the Independent Systems, plus I’ve guest-lectured here on New Geneva.”

“And written several excellent books on the subject,” Admiral Benton agreed, nodding as if to himself. “I enjoyed them very much. Your emphasis on keeping one’s ultimate ends firmly in mind at all times is good advice indeed.” He smiled slightly. “My superiors expected a blowout, as you probably imagine. I, however, tried to warn them.”

Then one of the Imperial cadets spoke up—his name was Jason, and he was a full cadet-colonel, a higher rank than any of us at our academy could ever aspire to. There weren’t enough of us to justify the existence of such a high-level officer, yet the Imperials had several just on their team alone. “’The game isn’t over until I’ve won’,” he quoted one of the professor’s favorite sayings. “Simple, succinct, effective.”

The Imperial coach nodded and smiled. “You’d have made a good Imperial officer, Professor,” he agreed, emphasizing the point with a jab of his dessert-fork. “We are of one mind in many ways.”

Our coach blushed. “I fear that I wasn’t cut out for a military career,” he replied. “I never could quite master that left-right, left-right thing.”

James and I smiled, but the Imperials all looked confused for a long moment. Then the officer dropped the subject and turned to James and I. “And you two are of course the heart of the team.” He nodded at my friend. “You won’t be in the navy for long. Which is a major loss to the service, though perhaps a fine thing for your kingdom as a whole. Please forgive me for saying that I could wish you were a bit less promising.” Then he turned to me. “And you…” He shook his head. “I must admit that you have me baffled, Cadet. Utterly and completely.” He tilted his head to one side. “It’s clear enough that you did what’s claimed for you on the battlefield— our own survivors confirm it.” Then he placed his elbows on the table and pressed his hands together, as if praying. “And yet… How is it possible?”

I looked down at my banana chips and shrugged, but said nothing.

He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t understand at all.” Then he turned back the professor. “He’s clearly intelligent as well as brave. Does he get good marks?”

“David stands number two in his class,” Professor Lambert replied proudly, failing to mention that James stood number one. Not that James would mind the omission, under the circumstances. “His leadership capabilities are extraordinary.”

“Leadership!” the Imperial admiral snorted. “Courage and intelligence, yes. I’ve been forced to accept that these can exist in Rabbits. But… Leadership?” He turned back to me. “In our fleet, you’d have been rewarded for what you did. We’re not ungrateful, after all. You might’ve received special treatment for a time, or been moved to a more desirable assignment. But you’d never have been freed, much less…” He shook his head in wonder again, unable to complete the sentence. “Surely this can lead only to chaos and ruin!”

“Still,” the assistant Imperial coach declared suddenly. He was a captain and had hardly said a word all night, instead studying we Royalists as if we were specimens under a magnifying lens. “We agree that the Rabbit here behaved bravely, no? Perhaps we should show him the picture?”

The Imperial team commander scowled for a moment, then nodded. “I suppose.” He looked at Jason. “Let him see,” he ordered.