The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [50]
“Too late,” said Worf, quaffing his prune juice in one gulp. “The USS Venture docked there an hour ago. That gives them six.”
He waved to Guinan for a refill.
“What!” cried Geordi. He had been too busy talking to take more than a few sips of his own drink. “But the Venture wasn’t even scheduled for RandRather at Luxor IV.”
“Chief Engineer Logan reported a baffle plate malfunction yesterday.”
“Yeah, right.” Finally acknowledging defeat, Geordi slumped down into his chair. “And what do you bet he has it fixed by the time the game is over?”
Worf’s glass was still empty. The Klingon raised his hand to signal again, but when he saw the number of people pressing up against the bar he decided the effort was futile.
“… fourteen … thirteen …”
William Riker sniffed at the colorful concoction that Guinan had dropped on the counter in front of him. His nose wrinkled at the burst of bubbles that rose to the surface.
“I ordered a Finnegan’s Wake,” he called out when the lounge host passed by again.
Guinan paused in mid-stride, a tray full of glasses balanced in her hands. “As far as I’m concerned, that is a Finnegan’s Wake.”
“Since when is a Finnegan’s Wake purple?”
“Since half the starship crew decided to drop by Ten-Forward this morning,” she said firmly and sped away.
“I hate bubbles.” Riker pushed aside the drink and began to toy with several stacks of colored poker chips. Even seated, he towered over the woman who was perched on the stool beside him.
“I tried to get Beverly to join us, as a member of the team,” said Deanna Troi as she dug her spoon into a mound of chocolate ice cream, “but she insisted she had too much work to do.
I suspect our CMO is brooding instead; she seems to think that everyone blames her for our diversion from Luxor IV. I wish you would talk to her.”
“I don’t know, Deanna,” said Riker with a shrug, “if it hadn’t been for Beverly—” “Will!”
“… seven … six … five …”
Having spied the first officer from across the room, Ro Laren jostled her way through the milling crowd to reach the counter. The ensign was slim and muscular and used her sharp elbows to good advantage. “Are you ready to pay up, Commander?”
Riker shook his head. “Not until the game actually—” “… one … zero!”
The room echoed with a collective groan as somewhere on Luxor IV, the first hand of the Fleet poker championship was dealt out.
Riker heaved a sigh and shoved the stacks toward the ensign. Red, blue, and green chips cascaded across the countertop. “Here’s your hundred.”
“Poker chips?”
“You never specified the exact form of payment,” he said with a perfectly sober face, but there was an undercurrent of smugness in his voice.
“So I’ve decided to pay up in chips.”
Ro called out to Guinan as she swept by.
“Can he do this?”
“What now?” asked the designated arbiter as she looked over her shoulder. Ro pointed to the chips on the countertop. “Yes, I’ll allow it as legal tender.”
“Fah!” said Ensign Ro as she scooped up the tokens, but the sight of Riker’s amusement brought a wry smile to her own face. “You’ll probably win every one of these back from me.”
Riker’s grin widened even more. “I certainly intend to try. Care to test your luck at tonight’s game?”
“No, thanks,” said the Bajoran. “I’d rather lose my money on Starbase 193.”
The first officer shook his head. “Sorry, Ensign Ro, no shore leave privileges at this port.”
“None?” Troi looked up from her dessert. “Not even for senior officers?”
“No one from this ship goes on that starbase,” said Riker. “It seems the owner of a bar called the Due or Die is some kind of black market knowledge-broker, and the captain is concerned that she’ll find a way to pump the crew for information on our current mission. Evidently, listening is her specialty.”
“What did you say?” Guinan doubled back in her tracks to confront the first officer. “What’s the name of this woman?”
“Something exotic,” said Riker, searching his memory. “The captain said it was from Greek mythology …”
“Camenae?”
“Yes, that sounds right. How did—” But Guinan had already slipped out