The burly bruiser was leaping toward me, fist swinging straight for my head.

I judged the Coriolis force and juked my head right. With the Coriolis force curving his fall, his fist just barely swept past my head, knocking my hat askew. As he flew by I turned and grabbed him and rode him from behind into the bulkhead, pinning him down.

"Relax, musclehead. I ain't here to bust up your game. I'm here for information, and I'm paying."

I waved a hundo of shipscrip in front of his face, and he calmed down. "All right," he said, and I let him up.

He dusted himself off and gestured towards the far door. "We'll talk in there."

Watching my back and letting him go first, I peered around from the sides of the door making sure no one waited to sandbag me. No one hiding, but a smell of stale cigarette smoke. Satisfied the chamber was empty, I stepped in.

The chamber was a starview balcony. Beneath our feet, a thick transparent panel showed a breathtaking view. The stars were under us, and to one side I saw the foresail, a view of our ship amongst the stars reflected in it amongst a golden glow. The total conversion effect transformed particles of the stellar wind to photons, but existing photons remained photons, bouncing off it to make an enormous mirror image.

"Whatcha wanna know, flatfoot?" the bruiser asked, shaking me out of my reverie.

"I'm looking for info on a hull-scraper," I replied, then gave the dead crewman's name. "Know him?"

"He's a regular. Last saw him three nights ago. He won a monster hand, cleaned out a few of our regulars, last hand of the night. Guess he decided it was time to take a break. What's it to you?"

"He's dead. Know anyone who might've bumped him off?"

The bruiser suggested any one of the people whom he cleaned out. "There was a bit of talk after the hand he won. Some thought it was a cold deck." A cold deck was a rigged hand, a way of cheating where one used a pre-stacked deck to give the marks hands that appeared very good, then beat them with a better one for all their money. "He held 45 suited, came up against aces, kings, and ace-king suited, and took 'em for everything they had by flopping the flush. Sliderule Stallone held the aces, Snake Lady had the kings, Bully Boy the aceking. They lost big. The hullscraper must've won--" and here he named a princely figure. Enough to buy that dame's sapphire? At wholesale prices, just about.

"'Sliderule' Stallone? Big into math, then?" A sliderule was a simple mechanical calculating device crew used; only officers were allowed circuitry.

"Sailor-caste. Does complex math in his head. We banned him from blackjack because he just memorized every card and only bet when the odds favored him, but he's not so great at poker--too autistic. Always spinning metal balls in his hands as his fidget spinner."

"And the others? Why they called 'Bully Boy' and 'Snake Lady'?"

"Bully Boy's my mate, the muscly porter-caste. Snake Lady, an independent businesswoman. As to the name... you'll see."

"Were they all here last night?"

"Yeah, but Snake Lady left early and hasn't shown up since. The others were here all night. I remember Sliderule won the last hand of the night last night against Bully Boy, raking in the chips with a flourish while he span a couple of metal balls in his other hand."

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I asked him for a few more particulars on the suspects and where to find them. A couple more 20s got me talks with Sliderule and Bully. So far I wasn't burning too much into my fee.

I laid out some thoughts to Bully Boy in the smoking room. At the revelation that the hullscraper was a cheater, Bully Boy grew red in the face. "Dead? Serves cheating scum right," he said, and spat. "Maybe they'll give me a refund from his corpse."

Sliderule on the other hand showed little reaction when I mentioned the marked cards, continuing to watch the three balls spinning in his hand. "So... why don't they touch?" I asked him.

"Some do it with skill, but these have a positive charge to them. They repel each other," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. One for nerd talk, this one.

"You don't seem very surprised he was cheating, eh?"

Sliderule shrugged. "It was obvious from the math. But if I called out every cheater, all the cheaters would be up in arms to ban me from poker the way they don't let me play blackjack. Besides, if you know a man's reading markers, you can play around it. Read his behavior, figure out what cards he sees, and make money. I didn't really mind."

"So... if you knew he was cheating, why'd you lose all your money to him that last game?"

"Cards marked or no, I had the Aces. Of course I played them. 'Sides, I was dealer. Though come to think of it, he cut the cards. Probably swapped the packs on me while I was watching the balls spin."

Made sense. Time to check some things.

I walked out of the gambling den a hundred forty the poorer. Fine, still in the black. The timing made Snake Lady the only suspect. Could Bully or Sliderule have slipped out without anyone noticing, used some sort of hidden contraband weapon to blow the man's head off, and come back before they were missed? We were clean on the other side of the ship, and I was certain they would have to walk 15 minutes to get anywhere with line of sight on where his splattered remains were. Stealth hit during a bathroom break, nyet.

But Bully and Slide were busy gambling, and I was never one to pass up an opportunity. I made my way to Bully's berth. Out of my pocket I pulled a little bit of contraband. Well, if I wasn't paid to break and enter occasionally, why were my fees so high?

My contraband circ pulsed the door wire, sending by induction the same signal the thumbprint sensor did. No wonder the officers didn't let us have this stuff. I walked in.

His berth was stacked full of containers with bubbly liquid. The place reeked of yeast. There were mixes in various stage of fermenting, and mixes more distilled. I uncapped one and gave it a sniff. Whoo-ee! He was one to come to next time I needed to fill my flask. Nothing to note other than some labels on his ferments. A nice side-gig; no wonder he had money to lose at the table.

I lost no time in making my way to Sliderule's place. By my estimate they'd be playing for a while yet, but who knew when a game might end for the night. I pulsed his door wire and walked in.

His berth was as clean and organized as one might expect from an obsessive autist. His bed was made, his tools were stowed in their proper position. To the side of his bed was a thin tube full of his metal balls, not quite touching each other as their electrical repulsion struggled against gravity. His tools were the usual sailor stuff--levels and two-angle astrolabes to judge sail angles.

On his desk was a paper with angles at the top, math, more math, some math I vaguely remembered as Maxwell's equations from Stellar Sailing 101, more math, and yet more angles next to other angles. Truly, his mind was wasted as a sailor-caste, required to merely slavishly implement the precise sail angles the officer-castes sent over at the precise requested times. No wonder he spent so much time calculating card game strategies instead. Anyway, you never knew what was a clue. I copied his bewildering math into my casebook and headed out the door.

Time to see what I could get out of Snake Lady. Not gambling tonight, she was likely at her berth. I walked to it and gave it a polite knock. "Come in," came a sultry, seductive voice. The door opened.

The berth was large. On the other side was sly-looking lady with dark eyes, straight dark hair, and an elegant black evening dress, posed enticingly. As I walked towards her, the portal behind me snapped shut. Suddenly, five metal ropes whipped out of metal plates by the door and wrapped around my arms, legs, and waist. I was trapped!