Deuces Wild: Stacking the Deck
by L. S. King
appearing in Ray Gun Revival
"Coffee Break"
Two Medanis waited for Tristan outside the midway. One curled his arms in to his chest respectfully. "May we carry further word to the Queen, Mimendi?"
"She might wish to have her people look into the corporation that rented that warehouse we blew up tonight. It's a front for the Confederation smuggling arms and supplies for their war."
"We will tell her."
"Is there more?" asked the other one.
Tristan stopped for a moment and glared at him. "Only what I could say directly." He blew out a breath. "Tell her...I am at her service, as always."
"I will tell her, Mimendi."
The two natives escorted him to the port and through customs without being searched. They then left him, murmuring respectful thanks and good-byes. He had never imagined his 'position' here could have advantageous results. The strange turnings of fate...
He arrived at the ship before his companions and began his pre-flight check. At least with Carter aboard, the ship should be ready to go. Ah, no—not with Carter's penchant for taking equipment apart to 'improve' it. He double-checked all systems were online and functioning normally.
"We're all here, Captain," came Carter's voice over the ship's comm.
"Strap in," he answered. "We're leaving."
The door to the bridge opened, and Addie barreled in. "Tristan! Is that how you learned all your fancy tricks? Were you in the circus? Did you grow up there? Is that where your family is? Who are these aliens that helped you out? They let you order them around like you were the boss—of course, you're always bossy, so—"
Last straw broken, Tristan rose and turned in one smooth motion, but before he could grab her throat, Slap seized her arm, his blue eyes round. "Addie, come on, you need to rest and recover—"
"But I want to know—"
Slap lifted her at the waist and set her outside the door as he said, "Get out, girl, before you end up shoved out an air lock." He banged the lock as the door slid shut. "Sorry."
Tristan slipped back into the chair without an answer and opened the comm to request permission for departure.
Slap said nothing as he sat in the other chair—which was as amazing as it was appreciated. As the ship gained altitude, the cowboy cleared his throat.
"So, uh, where are we headed?"
"Anywhere but here." Giselle rose through the clouds. Tristan felt hesitation in her just as a warning light flashed on the console. The engines cut off—she began to nosedive, and a klaxon blatted. He could barely hear Slap's "Brago's Bands!" as he tensed, one eye on the display for the automatic engine restart, ready to re-sequence it if necessary, while fighting to control their descent.
The engines restarted themselves and the klaxon stopped. Tristan frowned, leveling the ship off, as Slap asked what happened.
"I don't know." Tristan tentatively began an ascent again as he hit the comm and asked, "Carter? What did you do to the engines?"
"Checking them now, Captain."
Again, Tristan felt a slight shudder. The engines stalled, Giselle plummeted amidst the cacophony of the klaxon and Slap's shouts. Again, the engines restarted.
Teeth gritted, Tristan growled into the comm, "Carter...?"
"Um. It looks like the APE inlets are jamming open."
"Why?"
"Uh...we'll have to land for me to fix my modifications."
Tristan didn't answer—couldn't; his jaw was clenched too tightly. He wasn't going back to the city of Caldar, that was certain. He took several slow breaths, thinking; this planet had few space ports...
Another place come to mind. He wasn't thrilled with the option, but had little choice. Finally, he said, "There's a port city nearer the equator. We'll land there."
#
After they landed, Slap followed as Tristan shot off the bridge. He swore he could almost see the smoke pouring out of his friend's ears.
Addie tumbled out of her cabin, face white. "What happened? Did we almost crash?"
"Get back in your cabin," Tristan ordered.
"You aren't my boss, you can't—"
Tristan whirled and grabbed her arm. Slap stuck a hand in between them. "Hey, Tristan, ease up. She had to be scared spitless when we started falling."
His lip curling in a snarl, Tristan shoved her backwards. He dove for the nearby ladder, and Addie started after him. Slap caught her around the waist. "Oh, no, no, girl. Not smart."
"But—"
"Look, he ain't in no mood for any nonsense. Leave him be." He put a finger over her lips, then thought twice and pulled it away, not knowing if the wildcat would bite. "Do something useful—go make some coffee or something, all right?"
"But—"
"Please!"
Addie made a face, but surprisingly, sighed and nodded. As she turned toward the galley, Slap hoped she knew how to make coffee. No time for that worry though; he had to get to Tristan.
He almost tripped getting down the ladder and ran aft to find Tristan standing over a prone Carter—but it wasn't from a physical attack; the engineer was fiddling with something or other inside a panel.
Tristan's verbal attack, however, was blistering, made worse—and more frightening—by the fact he kept his voice low and deep, rather than yelling. Carter's meek replies and apologies seemed to go unheard.
Finally, Slap pulled on Tristan's shoulder. "Uh, Tristan? C'mon. Let him work."
Predictably, Tristan twisted out of his grasp—and that broke his barrage. He snapped a final, "Get it fixed," spun, and stormed off.
Slap again trailed him as he climbed the ladder. "Want some coffee?" he asked, nodding at the rec lounge.
Tristan stood, unmoving. At one time, Slap would have thought his friend's face was expressionless. Now, he could see Tristan struggling to control his emotions through such slight movements as the flicker of an eyebrow, the slight thinning of his lips, and twitch of his jaw muscles.
With an audible, disdainful sniff, Tristan walked to the lounge. Slap let his breath out, thankful his friend was defused. He entered the lounge and changed his mind; with Addie there, Tristan was not likely to stay defused long. Fortunately, the girl sat at a table, saying nothing, twisting her hands.
Tristan strode to the galley and returned with a cup of coffee. He sipped it as he sat and shot back up with a grimace. Slap couldn't hear what Tristan muttered under his breath as he returned to the galley and didn't need to, his tone and manner said it all.
Slap followed Addie following Tristan.
"What's wrong with the coffee?" she asked as Tristan lifted the pot.
Tristan's lips pulled back from his teeth, but Slap caught his eye and gave him 'calm down' look. He snatched a clean cup and poured some of the dark liquid into it. "Try it."
"I don't drink—"
"Try it."
Her back was ramrod straight, but his glare slowly wilted her. She took the cup from him, blew on it for a few seconds, sipped—and gagged. "Ew! How can you drink this stuff?"
"No one could. But made properly, even you might like it."
Tristan dumped the pot out and began afresh. Slap crossed his arms and leaned on the counter. At least Tristan was using his energy constructively, and for once, Addie wasn't interfering—she actually seemed to be listening as Tristan explained the process, emphasizing the 'over extracted' part. To Slap's relief, Tristan didn't go into a lecture about roasting beans and about the flavor of ones grown on different worlds, descended from Old Earth varieties.
The galley was quiet as the coffee brewed—all eyes on the water in the vacuum pot as it went up clear and came down black. When it was finished, Tristan poured a cup and handed it to Addie. She hesitated, wrinkling her nose, and tentatively sipped.
"Not bad, I guess."
As Slap got his own cup, he said, "Some folks take it with sugar and milk. Or cream."
"I know that."
"So fix it up and try it. Not everyone drinks it black like Tristan."
"I don't always drink it black. Sometimes I like café au lait."
"What's that?" Addie asked, peering through her curls.
"Another time." Tristan walked out, drink in hand.
"Boy," Addie said, staring at the door. "He's a funny one."
"Not really. Not when you know him. And thanks for not riling him up just now."
"He was almost nice to me," she murmured.
As he wondered why she'd care, a glimmer of realization sparked in Slap. "You were almost nice to him. See how that works?"
Addie stuck her tongue out, and Slap grinned.
#
Slap leaned against a bulkhead, watching Carter mutter to himself while working. It was great entertainment.
Tristan strode up, looking like a thundercloud. "Are we ready to leave yet?"
"Uh, no, Captain." The engineer held up a small gadget. "This plasma injector is defective. That's what caused the problem. Sorry."
"I don't want 'sorry,' I want 'fixed.'"
"I'm on it, Captain. Off to pick one up." With a nervous smile, Carter hurried off.
As Tristan started up the ladder, Slap called, "Take it easy on Carter."
His friend whirled sideways, hanging onto a rung with one hand. "He could have killed us."
"That ain't what's bothering you."
"And what is?" Tristan spat.
Slap raised his eyebrows; this was the perfect opening, but not the perfect time. He wasn't really sure there would ever be a time, actually. Tristan was like a locked safe with the combination lost. "You really want me to say?"
Tristan met his gaze with a scowl. "No." He continued up the ladder.
Slap followed him up. "Want some coffee?"
"No."
"A game of chess?"
"No."
"How about—"
"No!"
Slap pursed his lips as Tristan entered his cabin. The door slid shut, and he stood there, feeling helpless.
Addie peeked out from the galley. "He's really pissy, isn't he?"
"You oughta learn to talk more like a lady."
"Why?"
"Little Girl..." Slap riffled his hair in exasperation. "If you don't know, there ain't no use telling you." He headed back down to the hold. Maybe a workout would help his frustrations.
#
Slap shuffled to the galley, yawning and sniffing. Tristan must be up; he could smell the coffee. He stopped in the doorway, squinted, and stifled a groan. "Hey there," he muttered to Addie.
"Hi. I made coffee. Will you try it? I think even he will like it. I hope so."
Ha! Careful, Little Girl. "Why do you care?"
She crossed her arms with a pout. "Because he thinks I can't do anything."
Slap barked a laugh. "So, that's what it takes to get you off your a—um, yeah, gimme a cup."
He sipped it cautiously. Not bad. Pretty good, in fact. He slurped and smacked his lips. "Good stuff. Nice work, Little Girl."
"Don't call me that!"
He refilled his cup. "Don't act like a kid then."
"I don't."
"Yeah. Sure." He headed back to his cabin.
"I don't!"
Slap's door shut, cutting off her protestations.
He emerged a little later, washed and shaved, ready for the day. Tristan was up now—he could tell by the wonderful aromas assailing his stomach. Addie sat perched on a chair in the galley, watching silently as Tristan cooked. Slap did not comment on the miracle of the two being in the same room without sparks a-flying; he didn't want to jinx it. He poured another cup of coffee and entered the lounge. Carter sat in the corner at a comm terminal, cup in hand, reading something on the display.
He wasn't surprised when he heard Addie's voice rise in temper. "You think I'm stupid? Like I'd believe a story like that."
"I don't care if you believe it or not." Tristan carried a plate into the lounge. Addie trailed him, huffing like a bellows.
"So what's for breakfast?" Slap asked.
"Omelet."
"Yum." Slap rose to get his share from the galley. Addie followed. "You know what he's trying to tell me?"
"Don't care."
"He's trying to tell me there was a type of coffee back on Old Earth that came from cat poop."
Tristan did have a dry sense of humor. Slap wasn't certain if he thought his friend was trying to job the girl or not. "Well, we got data terminals. Look it up. Prove him wrong."
"I might just do that."
"And ya know, if you find out you're right, you might just laugh about his cat-poop coffee story, instead of crowing about it."
Addie glowered. "Why?"
"Don't you want him to like you?"
Her glower turned indignant. "Why would I want that?"
Slap just smiled.
#
Slap started down the ladder to the hold and caught himself—just who he was looking for. Tristan climbed the rungs, perspiring, yet still looking like he wanted to punch something—or someone.
"We ready to go yet?" Slap asked.
"Not quite. Carter says he needs to do more work on the APE inlet actuators—among other things."
"Again? You know...it goes back to what my Pa used to say. 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it.'"
Tristan snorted. "Carter's motto seems to be, 'if it isn't broke, it isn't fixed enough.' Anyway, the delay will give you time to add some exotic fruits and vegetables to the galley."
"Ha! Not much, considering what we sold our cargo for, and that we left without any to sell."
"We might pick up something at this port. Do some checking."
"Yeah, I will." Slap sighed. "How long till we leave?"
"Probably another day. Ask Carter."
Addie strolled up and gave Tristan a once-over with a disgusted look. "Why do you do that?"
Tristan's open face—well, open for him at least—closed up and he glared at Addie. "Do what?"
"All that exercise you do. It makes you all sweaty and stinky."
Slap stuck his hands in back pockets. "You should be grateful. If he wasn't able to do all that stuff, how would you have gotten down from the top of that dome?"
Addie shrugged. Slap twisted slightly, swinging his arm forward and nudging her with his elbow; now was the perfect time. He'd nagged, but she had yet to say anything.
She shuffled her feet. "Uh. Yeah. Um, I, uh..." She squinted up at Slap then at the floor, avoiding Tristan's eye. "Thanks for that." She bolted down the corridor, like a rabbit in a near miss at being someone's supper.
Slap suppressed a chuckle, but at the bemused expression on Tristan's face, couldn't help but grin. "Well, I'm gonna go see about cargo, I guess."
Tristan walked off muttering about a shower. At least his buddy was getting a little less volatile, but Slap would bet he was going to be testy for quite some time.
#
"What are you doing?" asked Addie from somewhere in the galley behind Tristan.
He didn't turn, just continued slicing the tomato. "What does it look like?" Could he have no peace anywhere? His mind gave him none, even in his sleep. It would be a long time before Zvi and memories from his childhood didn't haunt him daily. But this girl had been even more of a thorn since her rescue. Every time he turned around, there she was. His only solace was his cabin, and that got old.
"I didn't know you cooked. Slap usually does." Addie sidled to the counter, staying at the far end.
Tristan ignored her.
"I, um, I looked up that cat-poop story you told me. I guess it was true."
Without answering, he took the bowl of salad and the main dish to the lounge, and Addie followed. She never took a hint. He sat and spread the napkin in his lap.
Pointing to the plate, she asked, "What's that?"
"Leeks."
"That's a funny name. What sort of meat is that?"
"Something native. Slap says it 'tastes like chicken.'"
Addie leaned over and sniffed. "I don't think I want to try any."
"I didn't cook for you."
She straightened with an indignant "Oh!" and stormed out.
With a slight smile, Tristan began to eat.
#
Slap moseyed into the lounge with a wry expression. Tristan nodded at the platter in invitation.
"Thanks. I ate in town, but I'll have coffee."
Slap poured a cup and sat down across from Tristan. "Do you enjoy setting her off?"
Tristan took his time swallowing, and took a sip of coffee. "She presumes too much."
"'Too much' describes quite a bit about her. But you seem to enjoy putting burrs under her saddle."
Tristan didn't answer.
"So..." The cowboy leaned back, pursing his lips. "You tryin' to starve Addie?"
Tristan snorted. "I'm not stopping her from eating."
"You told Addie you wouldn't cook for her. She bawled in my ears the second I came aboard about how you were trying to starve her."
"I merely said I didn't cook for her. If she doesn't like my culinary choices, she can stay away while I'm eating, not reject a dish she hasn't even tried."
Slap sighed. "You really don't like her, do you?"
"Why should I? She assumes everything is done for her, no thought to others. She never asks, she takes."
"And you ask first? I don't notice you caring about other people's feelings."
"That's different."
"How?"
Tristan gave Slap a cold look and put down his coffee. "I'm aware of my antisocial ways. She's not aware other people exist except to fulfill her wants."
"So it would be all right if she realized how badly she treated people?"
Tristan shot daggers at Slap, which didn't seem to daunt the cowboy. His eyes shone clear blue, questioning without fear, and with a touch of amusement. Not deigning to answer, Tristan picked up his cup, and a grin slid onto Slap's face.
"Did you get cargo?"
"Yep. But we have to corral off the back of the hold..." Slap paused. "It's a passel of pigs."
Tristan slammed his cup on the table. "What!"
Slap burst out laughing. "Got you! Oh, the look on your face!"
Tristan glared at the cowboy, contemplating whether to knock him out of the chair. Finally, with gritted teeth, he asked, "What is the cargo?"
Still chuckling, Slap said, "Supplies for settlers on Regesh III."
"That planet is in a disputed area, and the Confeds have had it blockaded."
"Which is why they need supplies."
"Did you hear me? We'll have to run a blockade."
Slap shrugged. "Rumor is, they're low on manpower due to the war. Besides, I figured you'd enjoy the challenge."
With a sigh, Tristan pondered whether letting Slap handle cargo had been a wise decision after all.
© 2006 - 2010 L. S. King