At one point during the long journey, a group of ships flew past them. The crew argued for a long time about who could be traveling at such a dangerous speed. On the radars, they were seen as "Abraham's Military Logistics." Wilder understood: these were likely Smith's aliens, running a new business through a different alien; otherwise, he would have lost the patent. How Smith planned to win back the King's support was still a mystery. Though, honestly, it was funny to remember how this "Mr. Abraham" had almost kissed everyone's boots at the party for the deal, begging for work.
"Yo, mr. Wilder! Yo, mr. Smith, my apologies for disturbing your dinner," said Mr. Abraham.
"Father, who is this? Kick him out right now!" the daughter screamed.
"Security!" Smith commanded.
And just like that poof! Yo-alien trail went cold. Bad plan. So, he decided to switch tactics, he greasing the palm of the receptionist, he managed to slip past the guards. Without any introduction, he rushed to Wilder's feet and practically started kissing his boots. As you can see, there are aliens who actually do what they say. In fact, it's a common tradition to kiss boots! If you're against it, then you clearly don't respect their sick brains! This stunt allowed him to get a few words in and even hint that he was in the loop about the patent. It was a bit dodgy, but the result is what counts. As the saying goes, alien only remember the final score. And we can see now in radar, the two of them clearly struck a deal. I just hope Smith is an alien of action and that their paths to the wormhole don't cross in future again. They're just currently heading toward military headquarters with the cargo. Wilder hope for that is much.
Then again... here's the catch! If Abraham is actually on his way to supply the fleet with supplies and weapons, does that mean the military headquarters is located right by the wormhole? There's a real risk the military will oppose their research. Although, why would they? After all, they have a clearance permit from Doctor Brans himself in their pocket.
"Look, Wilder—logistics!" Anna pointed bitterly toward the radar. "I heard they're paying huge amounts of money for moving weapons now. Those bastards... that whole royal... When we carried their cargo, they paid us so little it wouldn't fill a cup with coins, not to mention a pool. And they expect us to trust them after that?"
"Your statement is correct," Wilder replied flatly. "Life is a series of statistical injustices."
"It would've been justice if we'd gotten that patent ourselves! I guess we're just too bad, since we're moving slowly in this old ship," Anna added with a heavy exhale. "I usually leave a trail of bad luck behind me." Wilder replied dryly, without a shred of remorse.
"On a ship to extensive technical modification, initiated through the targeted allocation of Mr. Brans's financial assets, if one aims for absolute terminological precision."
The ship was full of boredom. Everyone was tired and angry, even though the mission wasn't even a quarter finished. Ahead lay the study of the "hole" and the creation of a plan. Cheddar had completely hidden in his cabin, refusing to look at Gabriel. Wilder, expecting this, had brought along games for the crew: cards and chips. A change of games could help ease the tension, especially since Anna had joined them. She was the best player in the fleet and arguably the best on the entire planet in her words. Samuel didn't care much for gambling, unlike Phoebe, who won almost every hand. This made Anna very angry. The stress of the trip didn't bother her as much as the constant losing. Even Sam had won once, though he usually stopped playing and went to the cockpit to be with Gabriel.
And so another hand. Sam had gone to check on the pilot again; Anna had only her last few chips left on the table. A proud Phoebe, looking closely, raised the bet. Anna faced a hard choice: bet everything, or stop playing in disgrace.
"Wilder, damn it, why did you quit?!" Anna tried to hide her hand. "Scared to lose your chips? You aliens just won't let me take everything! Get back in the game; we're ready to forget you said 'fold'!"
"Anna, I ask you to take a logical view of the situation," Wilder said. "Even if we continued to raise the bet, your total money would not be more than ten chips. Those are the strict rules. The rest... would be played out between the other players. Even if you held the highest combination and someone else held only a high card, we would divide it like this: ten chips to you, and ninety to the winner of our pair."
"You're lying! That's garbage, not poker!" Anna narrowed her eyes. "Every time we played in the fleet, we won by waiting. We'd go down to our last chip and then 'come back' using the money of others. I once won two hundred and twenty-three chips with a single one." She was clearly lying about her huge experience, but she did so with strong belief. "You aliens never traveled with the fleet, so you don't know the first thing about real poker. If anyone disagreed with the rules back then, they'd have gotten a punch for it." She placed his heavy fist on the table.
Phoebe set her cards aside and stared closely into Anna's eyes.
"Oh, Anna! Which fleet did you serve in? The one with the coolest spacesuits?" Phoebe's eyes shone with curiosity again. "Tell us! Tell us! Did you have real adventures, like in the movies?"
"Adventures?" Anna gave a bitter smile. "Sure. Six days a week of nothing but practice and heavy lifting. Half a day for rest, and the other half spent cleaning the gear until it was like a mirror. So I'm not 'Sweet Auntie Anna'! Look, here—these are my tattoos from back then."
Anna quickly rolled up her sleeve, but instead of some tough military logo, her forearm showed the symbol of a football team from an expensive private school. The friends froze in a state of shock. Anna, instantly turning deep red, cursed quietly and hid her right arm, showing her left instead.
"Don't mind me, I used to play football! If it wasn't for the injury, I would've been the greatest player," Anna boasted.
"Oh! Re-al!" Phoebe switched topics so instantly that everyone's ears must have popped from the sudden change. "How did it happen? I mean... HOW did you get that injury? Tell us everything! I want all the details, from the first 'ouch' to the final 'kaboom'! Don't leave us hanging; this is a real-life story!"
"Heh, it's actually a pretty funny story, though it didn't seem that way at the time..."
Anna began, holding her left armo. On that arm, there was indeed a "Starship Troopers" tattoo. At that moment, Sam entered the mess hall, hoping to make it in time for the next game.
"Oh, lookit that! Anna! You already spillin' the beans on how we met each other? Shucks, it went more like this..."
"No! Shut up!" Anna shouted.
"So," Sam said, not even moving at her shout, "they took my old body down to one of them teen academies back in the day. My job was to be the face of the posters—selling the idea to the troopers, gettin' the young alien to sign up. Told 'em it was the real deal: big guns, shiny boots... and most of all, a ticket out of whatever gutter they'd come from."
"That's it! Story's over!" Anna jumped up, literally trying to put her hand over the old alien's mouth.
"Naw," Sam dodged her very fast. "There was this one little girl, see... she comes running up and thanks me for my service! And that wasn't the half of it. She was so ready to join, she was almost shaking with excitement..."
"Yes, and I did join! That's it, let's play!" Anna was almost growling now.
"If only... We didn't only take perfect students, but this poor thing's grades were very low, and her record was the saddest in the whole academy. Never finished a single thing she started, but she'd already taken a tattoo! She tells me, 'Well, that's it, you have to take me. I'm already yours!' Now, isn't that sweet..."
Anna slammed the table with a crash and, without a word, ran from the room like a bullet. Sam watched her go, his smile changing into a guilty look.
"I thought she could laugh about it by now... hell, there's a whole lifetime of history since then."
"Consequently, is that the reason Anna refuses to talk about the fleet? However, another question arises: where exactly did she play poker?" Wilder asked.
"Hell if I know what's gospel and what's just tall tales with her. Wanna hear somethin' a bit rich? She done won a trivia quiz once, then spent the whole week struttin' 'round and embarrassin' everyone with them fibs she cooked up. The rest of the crew and me didn't have a lick of sense 'bout it, 'cept for George, of course. He's one sharp feller, and he actually got a real hoot outta her wild theories. In the end, he's the one who done schooled her. Anyhow, so..."
"I have the feeling that our speed has stopped matching our plans. Does it not seem to you that we in a holding pattern?" Wilder asked carefully, recording the shift in spatial dynamics.
"Wildy! Seriously?!" Phoebe threw her hands up, looking at him with real anger. "We have a real DRAMA unfolding here! Hearts are breaking, futures are being decided! And you're all in a holding pattern 'calculations,' 'tempo,' 'beep-beep-beep'... Don't be such a buzzkill! Don't ruin the moment with your scientific nerdiness! We in gaining momentum!"
"No, Phoebe, Wilder is right. We in a holding pattern."
The entire crew, with the exception of Cheddar, rushed to the cockpit. There, in the pilot's seat, sat Gabriel with his hands raised. Everyone who ran in behind him automatically copied the gesture. Directly ahead, blocking the stars with its scary shape, hung a Royal Reconnaissance Starship.