Here’s a piece I wrote a few years back when preparing for National Novel Writing Month 2005. It’s pulp scifi, and has a lot of plot holes. It might be interesting to expand upon.
Sam appeared to never lose at poker. This isn’t to say that he never lost. He lost more hands than any talented player would, and certainly more than anybody smart enough to quit when they were behind. But Sam, four-time Galactic Rules Poker Invitational winner, had a way of erasing the losses.
“Three aces,” the dealer smirked. “Your luck’s running thin, Sam.”
Sam scowled through his unkempt beard and felt an unnoticeable lump under his shirt. As Sam stayed in place, the world rewound around him. A few cards jumped into the dealer’s hand, and time stopped, and started its normal flow. A card jumped back into his pile, and he knew it was the Suicidal King, ready to join his two brothers, already in Sam’s hand. Sam didn’t wait for the dealer to ask.
“Fold.”
Outside, isolated from the tension of the playing room, holocams relayed Sam’s hand to the rest of the known galaxy. The first announcer, superposed atop Sam’s hand in the holocam feed, turned to his co-anchor.
“I’ll say it again, Vern, you just don’t fold with three kings, unless you know
your opponent is holding three aces.”
“I’d like to remind you, Jimmy, that Sam Egger has never been caught cheating, despite many investigations by the Galactic Gaming Commission.”
“So, he’s either the best clean player to have played the game, or the best cheater.”
The superposition of the announcers faded, as the view shifted to a jar of turquoise mist. A spindly robotic arm, attached to the jar, flipped over the cards placed in front of it. Three aces, a deuce and an eight. “A trio of aces,” the dealer spat out, disgusted with Sam’s seemingly eternal luck.
“You certainly can’t blame this on Fsshssp’s poker face,” Jimmy laughed. It was to the disappointment of many amorous spaceship captains that the Clouders, the only other known sentient race in the galaxy, existed solely as masses of incandescent gas. You couldn’t seduce what you couldn’t look in the eyes.
A wispy voice drifted out of a small speaker attached to the glass jar. “Your luck is unnatural, denser.” The insult was a thinly-veiled jab at humanity’s weak attempt at naming his native race. “I wager that this is where it begins to run its course.”
Sam’s intelligence was in a constant battle with his greed, with his greed winning as of late. In the first Tournament after he’d found the time eraser, he’d played things a bit more intelligently, barely eking out a modest Tournament pot. Everyone had chalked it up to beginner’s luck, until he’d won his second Tournament with a pot almost ten times the amount.
Then, he was good. Two Tournament wins later, and he was on the verge of another record pot. He’d went from good to too good in the span of two years.
“I’d rather be lucky than good,” Sam smiled as he took a slug from his whiskey. The Clouder was right, of course. I’ll need to lose a few hands, say three out of seven, Sam thought to himself. It was a good idea.
The dealer shuffled the decks, and began dealing again.
Well, maybe two out of seven.
***
Jynn slid effortlessly through the crowd and laid her elegant forearms on the bar. “A dry martini, please.” She turned to the man on her left and smiled, her left eye twinkling in the simulated starfield behind the bar. Her right eye was teasingly hidden behind naturally red hair. “Surely you’ve won enough to buy a girl a drink?”
Sam looked straight ahead, his lips set in a scowl. He never grew tired of the attention women had shown him in the past few years, but he’d learned to not be too eager about it. “I’ve still not won enough to just pass out drinks for free.”
“Everything’s about risk and rewards with you gamblers.” Sam noticed that Jynn had turned her entire body towards him, giving Sam an idea about the type of rewards she had in mind.
“Damn right it is, lady. Now, listen to me. I’m rich, and you’re beautiful. Don’t think for a minute, though, that those emerald eyes of yours will make me forget just how rich I am.” Sam instinctively raised his hand towards his chest, ready to rewind a few seconds of time at the first sight of an incoming backhand.
Jynn bit her lower lip and paused. She then curled her lips slightly. “I’m not a whore, Sam. I don’t want your money.” She leaned in, her lips within millimeters of his ear. “But I will confess, I do want to make the luckiest man in the Galaxy just a bit luckier.”
Damnitall, she’s good. Sam drained the rest of his whiskey and motioned for the bartender. “If this woman asks for Betelgeuse, you’d better find a big enough glass for it.”
***
The next few hours were spent with small talk and large stakes. Sam knew Jynn was playing him, and he thought he was allowing it. The starfield behind the bar grew dim, and Sam made a grand show of looking at his watch. “I’m afraid the bar’s closing. We could…”
“…continue this private party in private quarters?” Jynn feigned amusement at Sam’s failed cleverness. “Only if your winner’s suite has a stocked bar.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that well-stocked. It only has the best.”
Minutes later, Sam was awkwardly waving his hand in front of the door to his suite. His knuckles drug across the polished surface as he cursed to himself. The door finally recognized his identag and silently slid open. “Welcome, Mr. Egger,” the door chimed.
“Welcome, well come on in,” Sam slurred, as he half-fell, half-walked through the door. “You take your martinis easy on the olive, hard on the booze, right?”
Jynn wasted no time in going for the kill. She spun Sam around, her hands digging into his shoulders. Bracing herself for his drunken breath, she plunged towards Sam, kissing him deeply, forcefully. Sam relaxed in her clutches, too stupefied to move.
Her kiss was broken off instantly. Sam opened his eyes to find Jynn standing in front of him. She looked down at her hands in puzzlement, a small bronze stub held in her ivory hands. She finally found the coherence to say something.
“What the hell…”
Sam quickly slipped the bronze nub from her hands, his quickness belying his stupor. “Sorry, lady, the risk was too great.”
It was a minute earlier, and Jynn was standing outside of the suite, the door closed.
“Son of a bitch.”
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