Meanwhile, agent Kell had managed to seat Brainslug and SHRIMP at a blackjack table. Calmly, he explained the rules again to SHRIMP’s crabthrall servitors, who laboriously tapped out a translation to the featureless pink entity inside the tank.

“No, SHRIMP, why did you do that?” Kell asked helplessly, watching the dealer take away a pile of SHRIMP’s chips after the ambassador had happily printed out “HIT ME” with two queens showing. “That was a guaranteed bust. You don’t have to get exactly 21 if you’re close enough. Help me out here, Brainslug.”

“It was indeed a terribly illogical bet, SHRIMP.”

Tiny crabs, those not engaged in carrying more chips onto the table, tapped out a reply from their master: “THIS IS FUN”

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“Brainslug, why aren’t you betting?”

“The time is not right for me to place a gambling wager.” The unbidden thought came slowly, drawled as if bored. “If current patterns hold, after five more hands dealt to two players, the remaining unplayed cards will betray a pro-player bias that will shave approximately two point three percentage points off the house advantage.”

“What the h–” the dealer’s eyes went wide as the thought entered her mind too. She shook her head, as if trying to clear away the intrusion. “What was that?”

“I ‘eard it too.” A bald pit boss with a golden earring walked up, putting a hand on his dealer’s shoulder before turning to the ambassadorial party. “Ok, wiseguys, who’s the joker that’s been counting cards and can do telepathy?”

None of the group spoke, but the boss’ eyes settled quickly on the amorphous–but clearly brilliant–form of Brainslug and its pulsating grey matter.

“Out!”