Star Trek: Q-Dimensional
Star Trek TNG Crossover Fanfiction #3
Scene 12
“Three of a kind for the gentleman,” Branson gestured to Ace. “Well played.”
“And, I am out,” Rose sighed and sat back on her stool, holding up her hands as the last of her chips were pulled away.
“You played well, too,” Ace’s smirk softened. “I was actually getting a little worried there.”
The woman shook her head, her brown curls falling on her shoulders. “You’re just saying that.” She stepped down from the stool as Branson collected the cards. She then cozied up to Ace’s side, tugging on his tie to pull him closer.
“I always knew it would be you, Ace Gallagher.” She took her finger and slid it up his chin. “Good luck.”
Her lips were so close he could feel her breath on his chin. “Thank you, m’lady.”
Ace held his breath as Rose lingered a moment longer, only to turn and walk away of her own accord. She nodded to Bernard at the door before she exited the room without him.
“I suppose congratulations are in order, Mr. Gallagher,” Branson reached out his hand.
Ace, however, was still looking toward the door. “I suppose so,” he turned back, jumping when he saw Branson’s hand. He made up for it with a hearty handshake that had the dealer chuckling.
“You will move on to the final round once the other tables have finished, which shouldn’t be too long.”
“Sounds good,” Ace’s eyes drifted aside as an idea played in his thoughts. “So, Branson,” he leaned on the table as the dealer started sorting the chips. “Do you work for Mickey or is this a hired gig for you?”
“Both, I suppose,” Branson said with a shrug. “I’m usually one of his pilots, but I play cards in my spare time, so he hired me out to help with this tournament.”
“Nice,” Ace helped sort the chips nearest to him. “I’m training to be a pilot myself.”
“Oh, sweet!” Branson glanced up. “I enjoy it for the most part. Sometimes Mickey’s got me doing some crazy stuff though.”
“Like what?” Ace started grinning as the dealer eagerly took the bait.
“Well, so–like–this one mission he had me on,” Branson put away the last of the chips into the tray beside him, “I had to make three stops. They were picking people up, so I had to get in and get out real quick. The first planet–no lie–I have to fly into a sandstorm. Made the ‘stay out of sight’ bit easy, but man; those winds were brutal for a good landing.”
“Sounds pretty terrible, honestly,” Ace was wincing.
“Next planet, though,” Branson held out a finger, “ice storm. Third planet was a thunderstorm! All in the same system!”
“Wow, what system has three Class-M planets? That seems really rare.”
“Oh, it is; but that’s the Vega Quadrant for you; it’s full of inhabitable planets. There’s another three-planet system in there too, but he hired that one out to someone else. It was something like Talley… I don’t know.”
Ace froze. “Tal E?”
“Well!”
Ace glanced over his shoulder to find Mickey D walking up to him at a slow, waddle-like pace.
“If it isn’t table two’s champion, Mr. Gallagher!” He grinned wide as he approached.
“Hey, Mr. D,” Ace chewed on a smirk. “What’s that stand for, anyway?”
“What indeed,” the boss chuckled to himself. “I’ll tell you if you tell me what your real name is.”
The gambler laid a hand over his heart. “You don’t think my name is really Ace?”
Mickey broke into a laugh as he shook his head.
Still behind the table, Branson had donned a look of shock over their conversation–both from the way Ace was talking to Mickey, but that Mickey was going along with it jovially.
“You make me laugh more than anyone I know,” Mickey admitted after a moment.
Ace’s smirk softened as he watched the rotund gentleman catch his breath from both his walking and his laughing. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Please, do,” he scratched his graying black hair. “You have also made me think more than anyone else.”
“Think, sir?”
“About my home,” he admitted, “and the places I’ve lived.”
“Like where?”
Before he could answer, Bernard appeared behind Mickey, and the two exchanged a whispered conversation before the assistant quickly scooted away.
Mickey’s beady eyes were still glancing in the direction he came. “Where have you felt most at home, Mr. Gallagher?”
Ace noticed he had redirected the question, but he figured he’d give the man an answer for once. “Like you, I’ll have to go with my birthplace: Fortanya. I don’t think I truly appreciated it until I spent time away,” Ace continued, his voice shifting in regret. “For all its quirks, and despite its hardships, it was familiar and comforting, it gave me all I needed, and it held some of my favorite people.”
The man nodded, squinting with a smile. “I can say the same for Trapani. Only my years on Galor IV came close. I had a small home there… it was… pleasant.”
“I think it’s possible to have two places that feel like home, especially when your life shifts things in a way you weren’t expecting.”
Mickey looked at Ace curiously. “You are a wise soul, Mr. Gallagher.”
“Michael.”
Mickey blinked back surprise.
“That’s my real name,” Ace leaned his elbow against the table.
The man in the pinstripe suit appeared to buckle under his acquaintance’s admission. “We are more similar than you know,” he admitted after a moment.
“Oh yeah?” Ace scooted closer. “So, I told you my name. Do I get yours?”
Mickey simply shook his head again with a chuckle. “Maybe after you win the tournament.”
“Hey, that wasn’t the arrangement,” Ace slipped off the chair as Mickey started away.
“I didn’t say knowing your name was the only stipulation,” the man shook his finger in the air, still hobbling back to his table.
Ace shook his head with a smile before leaning both elbows on the table.
“Well, sir,” Branson picked up the box of chips into his hands, “I’ll take this as my cue to leave.”
“Thanks again, Branson; it was great talking with you.”
“Same here, man. I don’t care what Rose says; I like that you’re not afraid to talk to Mickey D–or the rest of us.”
“You know Rose’s name too?”
Branson only laughed and walked away toward a doorway in the back corner.
Ace watched Bernard slip out of the room when Branson opened the door. The assistant then stiffly walked up to Mickey D and exchanged another soft-spoken conversation–ending with both looking across the room at Ace. A dealer from another table then interrupted them both, and with a quick nod, Mickey held open his arms. “The time has come,” he exclaimed from the center of the room. “Four contestants remain, and four contestants will join me at my table. Come… if you please.”
Ace watched Mickey D keep his arms outstretched as the three other winners got up from their tables around him. He took a deep breath and left for Mickey D’s table.
The man of the hour gestured to the seat beside him as he approached. “Please–Mr. Gallagher–sit here.”
“Don’t mind if I do, Mr. D.” Once in his seat, he nudged Mickey in the side. “Now you do realize I’m going to have to win so I can learn your name.”
Mickey again broke into a hearty laugh that shook his entire frame. “Is that so!”
The dealer cleared his throat as the others at the table looked on in varying states of shock.
“Ah–my apologies, Bernard,” Mickey waved his hand with an air of annoyance.
“Bernard,” Ace eyed the man at the head of the table, “you’re a dealer too?”
“The only one I trust at my table,” Mickey gestured to him. “And I trust all of you will play fairly?”
The others nodded or gave quiet agreement to his words.
“Then,” the man in the pinstripe suit opened his hands, “let us play.”
Bernard adeptly shuffled the cards and dealt them speedily. The chips had already been placed at each stool, and with Mickey at the dealer’s right, he would be last to place his bets.
“I am looking forward to seeing how you play, Mr. Gallagher,” Mickey said somewhat under his breath as the players picked up their cards.
“Same to you, Mr. D,” Ace replied.
When the betting round began, the blond-haired man at the far end was quick to raise the ante with the first bet, the gray-haired woman beside him raised it further, and the Benzite man beside her simply called the bet. Ace allowed himself to ponder his choices now that the threat of a Betazoid reading his thoughts was removed, and with high hopes, he raised the bet another 20.
“Call,” Mickey D nodded, tossing his chips in.
“Drawing round.”
The man and the woman did not draw new cards, but the Benzite meticulously set down three of his five cards one at a time. His facial structure and breathing apparatus made it difficult for Ace to read his expression, but he was able to hear the speed at which the man was breathing. It quickened after he drew new cards, and Ace assumed he was going to be up against three good hands.
Ace looked again at his hand; a pair of sevens and a scattering of other cards. Three of the cards were spades, and he could risk giving up one of his sevens for a chance at a flush. If the new cards were not spades, however, he’d be risking a hand of no value whatsoever.
He decided it wasn’t worth losing his passable hand to try for a better hand.
Ace saved his pair and set down the other three cards and lifted three new ones–finding them of no additional aid. He could only hope for luck as Mickey D finished the drawing round by taking one new card.
As expected, the first two human players were quick to raise the bets. The Benzite also raised it, albeit incrementally, and Ace, chewing his lip, decided it was best to fold.
To his surprise, Mickey did the same.
The three to their right ended up raising the bets a few more times before they realized none would be backing down. During the showdown, the Benzite ended up with the winning hand–a straight with a high queen.
During the second round, the three once again raised their bets to soaring heights, and Ace and Mickey D called them to stay in. Ace had three of a kind, and he drew one more in the off chance he’d pull a pair for his king. Unfortunately, he did not.
“I see your one-hundred, and I’ll raise it by one-hundred,” Mickey D announced, putting in the second of two 100 credit chips.
“Call,” said the blond-haired man.
“Call,” the gray-haired woman nodded.
The Benzite lifted a 50 chip. “I raise by fifty.”
Ace scowled silently at his chips. They were going far faster than he was hoping, and talking to Mickey during the game was not an option. He either had to win and hope he’d get another chance after the tournament, or take his loss and hope the man would ask him to stay. The latter seemed possible, but much less likely.
“I’ll raise by seventy-five,” he announced, biting the bullet to stay in the game.
Mickey D took another look at his cards. “All in.”
The collective shock at the table was only felt, as every player maintained a straight face. The only other cue Ace heard was the changes in the breathing of the Benzite beside him.
The blond-haired man and the Benzite folded, but the woman matched the bet by sliding her chips into the center.
Ace swallowed and did the same. “Call.”
“Showdown,” Bernard announced.
Ace flipped over his three jacks, but in an instant, he knew he was outmatched by Mickey’s flush. The gray-haired woman had also been bluffing, with only a pair of threes in her hand.
“Mickey D wins. Gallagher, Renick: you will be seen out.”
Mickey D laid a hand on Ace’s back. “Don’t tell anyone,” his voice was gruff as he tried to keep his volume down, “but I was rooting for you. Well-played.”
Ace smiled and offered Mickey his gloved hand. “May we meet again.”
Mickey glanced down as he shook Ace’s hand. “I wish we could, Mr. Gallagher.”
“Sir,” Bernard reminded the two of the ongoing game.
Ace somewhat awkwardly waved and got up from the table. As he walked away, a surge of emotions filled him. The first was accomplishment; getting as far as he did in a real tournament was impressive. The second: regret from not being able to talk to Mickey D more than he had–not only to fulfill his mission, but to get to know the man better. He could see beyond the hardened exterior and find a man who was kind, a little nostalgic, and certainly not the criminal he was said to be.
As he approached the doorman near the ballroom’s doors, the third feeling sunk in: fear. Every other participant was met with startling news before being led out of the room–or out of the mansion. Rose’s words echoed in his mind of participants never being seen again.
Ace swallowed, faltering in his steps. Was that what Mickey meant by only wishing they could meet again?
“Come with me, sir,” the doorman met him, “and I will give you your earnings.”
Ace paused his walk. “Earnings?”
“Yes, sir,” the man ushered him through the door. “Everyone who participated in the tournament receives a portion of the prize.”
Sure enough, the gray-haired woman was still in the foyer with another doorman, joyfully receiving a scan card of digital currency. Ace was handed a similar card, along with the thin box of dilithium he had turned in as his entrance fee.
“Wait, what?” Ace hesitantly accepted the gifts.
“This is what The Boss wanted: his fortune would be split among those who attended, and none would leave without what they brought in.”
Ace was truly stunned now: this was the reason everyone had seemed shocked and overwhelmed as they were coaxed from the mansion, and this certainly did not seem like the act a man of Mickey D’s notoriety would have ordered.
Still, he was sent on his way back to his shuttle, with the tip of the doorman’s hat and a door held open. He could do nothing more than walk down the long pathway dotted with tall lamp posts to the landing pads ahead–carrying his winnings in hand and a wave of thoughts in his mind.
Scene Notes
- Anybody else have theories about Mickey D? ...or Ace?