At the exact moment Sam was wondering what the point would be, the alien known as Bob was pondering that exact question.

Calibration errors didn’t happen. The system was automated and hands off, and over ninety percent redundancies. The science of it was centuries old. He’d seen it put beings onto pinpricks of land in vast oceans or into puddles in vast deserts repeatedly, with never a misstep. And now, out of the blue, it misses not only the point on the earth it was aiming for, but the earth itself? He wasn’t buying it.

First things first. He made his displeasure known to the transport administrator and demanded remuneration. Fifty points was far too small an apology for such a vast and potentially game changing error, but he didn’t have time to quibble. They’d acknowledged the problem and that would have to be enough. He could always revisit the issue later. Even lodge a formal complaint if he decided one was merited.

The next step, of course, would be to find out who was responsible, because someone was definitely responsible.

While there was a robust gambling aspect within the game itself, ranging from the purchasing of points and awards, to actual betting on the survival or death of the contestant, there was also a grey market area, and even a black, where sums far more weighty than any allowed within the official auspices of the game were exchanged.

Where the grey market skirted the law, the black market spurned it. They were dangerous beings, and none too honorable. Bob had had dealings with them before, on other ventures. It was due to these dealings that he knew where to go now.

“Gh-zant,” the being behind the bar growled. “Long time no see. Finally get the rock off far enough to crawl out?”

“I’m here to see Suchaali,” Bob ignored the barb. “Business.”

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“You don’t have any business with Suchaali,” the bartender laughed. “I was there, remember? He’s not happy with the ten sqween it took to regrow those arms.”

“Ah,” Bob waved the creature’s tale aside. “Water under the bridge. He gave me back the money he’d swindled my client out of, and I let him live. I didn’t even call in the enforcers. Hell, he owes me a favor just for that.”

And then he showed the creature the bloody smile he’d shown Sam that once. “Now get him, Chpunt, or I’ll go and get him myself. You won’t like that very much, I promise you.”

“Phfagh!” the creature —Chpunt— spat. “In that body? Maybe if you were in your old one—”

Bob’s hand snapped out and caught at Chpunt’s left mandible, squeezing and twisting before the creature could manage the muscular impulse to bite closed on it. There came an audible snap, and Chpunt squealed out a cry that approached ultrasonic.

When it could once more focus its eyes on the threat, it was staring directly into the end of the elbow-shaped device Bob had shown to Sam. His measuring device.

“The mandible will heal, Chpunt,” Bob’s voice remained amiable. “How about the brain?”

He needn’t have bothered. The squeal had drawn the attention of half the bar, most of whom worked for Suchaali. Rather than being alarmed, he hiked a butt cheek up onto the bar and crossed his forearms on his leg, smiling benignly out at them, his weapon trained on nothing in particular.

He didn’t have long to wait. Suchaali slithered out of his backroom office, radiating hatred and reflexively cradling two of his three right arms. “Well, if it ain’t my old friend Gh-zant,” he spat. “Got so tired o’ livin’ that you decided to end your days in my place?”

“Who had the under for day one of the Terran theater, Suchaali,” Bob asked calmly.

Suchaali came to a halt, several of his eyes narrowing. “What makes you think I’d know anything about that?” he demanded. “Or that I’d tell you if I did?”

Bob smiled wider. “You’d know because it’s your business to know,” he said. “And you’ll tell me because you don’t like having to regrow limbs.”

“Don’t you get all high—!”

Bob angled his measuring device and a chunk of the table nearest Suchaali blew into shards of plastic, sending splinters into any exposed skin nearby. The bar owner jerked away, crying out, and a gaggle of his thugs made as if to surge forward.

“NO!” Suchaali commanded hastily, the eyes not engaged in regarding them still locked on Bob.

“Good call, Suchaali,” Bob grinned. “Now, you had something to tell me?”