//------------------------------// // Trimmel Is A Bad Co-Worker // Story: Full Hive // by JamesJameson //------------------------------// The Campaign of 986 was like pulling teeth, but it could have been a lot worse. The surprise alliance with Dieter Heinrich and his Saturnalian militias proved to shift the balance in the favor of the Queen’s armies decisively, and soon enough, after much bloody street fighting, the Third Great Strike was defeated, and so was the Second Wind Revolt, and then so was the Great Betrayal. It was in this milieu, this brief period where the entire future of the nation was undecided yet bright and the nation was for all intents and purposes finally whole again, when the most significant game of poker ever played took place. Dieter Heinrich was in the running to become the leader of the Queen’s Guard. His visionary new method of warfare had proven itself, he was swiftly becoming close with a number of significant figures, and the old head of the Queen’s Guard had been delivered in a bloody sack to Chrysalis by him when the retrograde fool had tried to take matters into his own hooves. The position demanded paranoia, loyalty, and political popularity, and Dieter had shown all three, constantly surging forward recklessly for the Queen with one force while defending against even the most unpredictable of attacks with another. Trimmel had been promoted to Fifth-Commander after his superior had been killed in action and no other Fourth-Commander beneath him had any wherewithal. He had his sights set on Seventh-Commander, the position Chrysalis technically occupied but would become available as the army grew to encompass all five great hives. He might even be able to snag Eighth-Commander, depending on how things went. A few days after the victory celebration, they, and the other officers and leaders of the victorious army, dragged their soldiers out of their hangovers, put them back on patrol, and then started to celebrate their victory. “I’m thinking that our little vacation is going to be starting soon. What are you planning for your night out on the town?” Trimmel asked Dieter in the stone tunnels beneath Lyctida’s central palace. Arclights bathed the entire area in a homely brown glow, and the air was pleasantly earthy. “I figured I would simply rest at home.” Dieter said. His changeling-speak had improved incalculably in the last eight months. “You have a home?” “I’ll find one.” “Come on, my friend. If you’re going to be a true patriot, you need to engage with some of the pleasures we have to offer.” Trimmel laughed, nudging him. Dieter stared at him. “I have no interests in prostitutes.” “No, not prostitutes, not if you don’t want. But you got to do SOMETHING. Watch a movie, play some Griffball, getting drunk and badly singing songs is popular now, I don’t know what you do for fun but you have to find something. You can’t be all business.” Dieter grimaced. “I don’t actually get paid, you know.” Trimmel stared at him right back. “What? I’m not actually a soldier, officially. Technically I’m not even a citizen. I’ve been living off of donations and logistics.” “By the Queen, that’s horrible.” “No, I’ve always kept the medical corps well-supplied.” Trimmel rifled around in his pockets. “Alright, I’ll give you some cash for a night or two ‘on the town’ as they say in Severyana.” “No.” “No?” Trimmel walked in front of him. Dieter was a big guy, for Trimmel at least, and well-filled. He had heard the circumstances of Dieter’s emigration, and he didn’t understand all of it, but he guessed that Dieter had been properly fed as a youngling, and that he was what an average changeling looked like without developmental malnutrition. Dieter was not the kind to start petty fights, though. “Why not?” “I won’t take your money when I won’t spend it.” Dieter flatly explained. Trimmel reached back into his pockets. “Well, then. If you won’t accept help, I’ll have to be cruel to be kind and force it on you.” Dieter raised an eyebrow. “Last time we went up against each other, you won by inventing the next generation of warfare and fighting an army that had no idea it was even possible. It wasn’t a true test of leadership. So I’m going to throw down the sword and say that you’re a bad general to all my friends, and if you want me to stop, you have to beat me in a contest where I’M the one setting the rules.” Dieter raised an eyebrow. Trimmel pulled out a deck of playing cards. “Where you come from,” Trimmel asked, “do they have Poker?” A gaggle of officers burst in through the cafeteria door. The room was empty at this time of day except for Trimmel and Dieter sat at one of the tables, a fresh and unopened pack of playing cards in front of them. In the new crowd was Enza and Manti, plus Rosin in his black coat and another of Dieter’s friends who Trimmel didn’t recognize. “Have you started yet?” Manti asked breathlessly. “No, we’re still figuring out what we’re playing for, you showed up just in time.” Trimmel said before turning to Dieter. “So if you win, you get three months wages out of me. 30,000 Yo’an is a lot. What’s something that’s just as valuable to you?” “Hold on,” Dieter interrupted. “You’re the one who wants to give me money. Why am I playing for it?” “You think I want to give you that much cash? I’m not a charity, you know.” Dieter groaned painfully and rubbed his forehead. He reached into his coat with his hoof and pulled out a pistol, a semi-automatic that was unlike anything Trimmel had ever seen, and placed it on the table. It was so futuristic and sleek and factory-made, and it had a miniscule trigger that no hoof could possibly grasp through the equally-sized trigger guard. It was a strange weapon for Dieter, who wasn’t in the habit of using his magic, but Trimmel realized that it was an artifact from Dieter’s past life where his biology was different. “Oh, yes. That’s beautiful.” Trimmel said. “It’s mine.” Dieter replied. “Since you are very annoying, I’m going to win just to spite you.” Manti reached into his coat and puled out a box of cartridges for his service revolver. “These will work as chips, right?” He asked. Trimmel looked at Dieter, who showed no reaction, so he just shrugged. Forty short pistol rounds landed primer-down on the table and were split in a green aura, half going to Trimmel and half to Dieter. Trimmel chuckled. The fluorescent lightbulbs buzzed above them. The four other officers were watching intently. Let the games begin. He dealt out two cards to Dieter and two to himself. He had the King of Hearts and the Two of Spades floating in front of him. Dieter’s cards must have been equally unimpressive, since he seemed to slouch down a little when he saw them, or maybe it was just a trick of the light. The officers had split up, the Royal Army ones now watching from Trimmel’s side and Dieter’s friends besides him. It was almost instinctual, but everyone knew that the others were partisans for their commander and didn’t want them feeding their own cards to their rival. Trimmel turned around to Enza and said, “Hey, could you get us some water?” Rosin spoke up. “If they have any spiced jerky left, I’d like some. Actually, nevermind, I’ll just get it myself.” Enza nodded and the pair moved to the cafeteria table to get the refreshments. Trimmel and Dieter both moved one bullet to the center of the table as the cards in Trimmel’s magic flipped around each other to keep his concentration busy. “I won’t raise here.” Dieter said. Trimmel shrugged again and dealt three cards onto the table from the deck. QH, 3C, 9C. Dieter waved away the option to raise here also, but Trimmel moved five more bullets into the center of the table. Dieter matched it rather than back down, still no clear emotion on his face. A fourth card came out. 6S. Then a fifth. QS. Rosin had tried and failed to strike up a conversation with Enza at the mostly-empty cafeteria line. As they were returning, one of Enza’s hooves landed on something wrong, and he pitched over ever so slightly before his next step sent him onto his side, loudly collapsing onto Rosin and spilling his water all over the floor, himself, and the other changeling. The glasses thunked loudly against the tile. Like everyone else in the room, Trimmel jolted in response. Giving him so much grief over the most important move of that first battle had meant that Enza had done Trimmel a great wrong. He owed the newly-minted fifth-commander a favor in return. His fall was not an accident and he hadn’t really slipped on anything. When Trimmel “recovered” from the shock, he had the King of Hearts and the King of Diamonds in front of him, and the Two of Spades up the left sleeve of his greatcoat. He was so satisfied that he didn’t quite notice at first that his left arm had been pinned to the grey table under someone else’s magic. All three cards were lying flat against the slick surface, and Dieter was looking at him with the same expression of tranquil fury as he always had. “I don’t think that this game was really spontaneous.” He spoke. “Are you going to play fair, or not?” Trimmel grimaced. “Good catch. You’re a cut above the usual.” The magic was released and Trimmel pulled himself back into his seat. Enza looked at the table as he picked himself up. “Trimmel, you cheating bastard! I want my cigarettes back!” He yelled as he grabbed the officer by his coat. Oh, hell. “Sorry, Enza, I already smoked them!” Someone was laughing at the door. Synovial had heard the commotion and the rumors of Trimmel playing Dieter and had come to watch. He was the oldest in the room by far, and the highest-ranked, but had a quiet dignity for it that meshed well with his seemingly effortless confidence. “Hey, you need some help keeping this moron honest?” He snarked. “Thank you for the offer, comrade, I believe I will take it.” Dieter said, staring at Trimmel as he had his wits shaken out of him by Enza. Synovial casually strolled over. “Alright, I’ll help. Enza, get off him!” The furious officer stepped back at his superior’s command and saluted. “At ease. Trimmel here needs to learn how to get things done without reaching into a bag of tricks anyways.” The old military bug grinned maliciously. In Severyana, clothes were a political statement more than anything. Plenty of ponies did without whenever they weren’t anywhere that demanded a uniform. A lot of changelings were nervous about being naked after generations of grey clothes being mandatory in public (that way rebels couldn’t wear uniforms to clearly distinguish friends from enemies without being out of place), but after his time out east, Trimmel wasn’t one of them. Which was good because all his clothes were now on a bench about ten meters away. He nearly had an entire second deck of cards hidden in that coat, and all he’d managed to get out was an Ace of Hearts that he was currently sitting on. What really stung was that, years ago, Manti had taught him how to hide cards in the holes in his limbs, so this wasn’t even going to keep him from cheating, he was being cold for nothing. Dieter’s portion of the pistol rounds were in a tight four-by-six square, with two extra off to the side. Trimmel’s were less well-organized. The score was Dieter 26, Trimmel 14. Synovial dealt out the first four cards of the second round as both players moved a bullet to the center. Dieter looked annoyed as usual. Trimmel got a 5H and a 4C. Neither party raised. The next three cards were an 8S, a KH, and a 4S. Trimmel had one pair, so he raised by a bullet. Dieter matched him expressionlessly. The next card was a 5D. Trimmel now had a two pair, so he raised by two more bullets. Trimmel matched him again. The next card was a 3C. Trimmel considered raising again, but the position was hardly unbeatable, and if he got too aggressive he might get frisked again, and he was still sitting on a card. He had good odds of winning, he didn’t need to risk a forfeit. It had been a long time since he’d had this much on the line in Poker and hadn’t been cheating like a libertine. He didn’t need a reminder of how much he hated it. Dieter didn’t raise either. Both sides revealed their cards. Dieter had a one-pair with an 8H, and a 6D that accomplished nothing. It lost to Trimmel’s two-pair of 5’s and 4’s. Trimmel took four bullets back and everything went into the discard pile. The score was Dieter 22, Trimmel 18. “See? You can play fair and still win.” Synovial said mockingly. “Not if I can help it,” Trimmel quipped. “Now deal the next cards.” The two officers Dieter had brought with him were talking to each other a short distance away. “What are they going on about?” Manti asked quietly. “Whether gambling is befitting of a true patriot.” Dieter answered. “It’s a bad habit, isn’t it?” Rosin yelled so that the whole table could hear him from where he was. “Only in excess.” Dieter replied. “And excess is often what it turns into.” Trimmel’s cards were a KD and a JS. Dieter chose not to raise beyond the first bullet. Synovial dealt the first three cards. KC, JD, 6D. Trimmel had two pairs already, and could get a flush if the next two cards were also Diamonds, or even a full house if he was especially lucky. He started twisting his face into a practiced act of concern. The goal was to look like he wasn’t sure of a win, but also like he was trying to hide it. Dieter raised by four. Trimmel raised by three more. Dieter matched him. That meant that Trimmel could look like he was worrying about his odds since his opponent seemed to have faith in his own cards. The more confident Dieter got and the more he bet, the more Trimmel would take off of him when he won. Except that Dieter had just put down seven bullets without seeming to notice that Trimmel was supposedly uncertain of his odds. That was worrying. Trimmel’s mind raced with ways he could possibly get one of his guys to see what Dieter had without him or Synovial catching on so that he could tell if he had made a mistake. He had a few methods, but none of them worked here, they all involved him having access to the room before the game started. He’d been sloppy, relying on his allies alone to carry him. After so many impromptu games where that was all he needed, he’d gotten lazy. He cursed himself. The fourth card was drawn. It was the Ace of Diamonds. Dieter raised by three. Trimmel matched. He really, really, REALLY wished that the next card would give him a full house, he needed the security now that he was 7 bullets deep. His faked lack of confidence was becoming real. At least Dieter didn’t seem like the type to wager his entire stockpile on any set of cards, but damn, his must be really good for him to go this far with it. Unless he was trying to psyche out Trimmel in return. Was he bluffing? Trimmel looked at Dieter. His face was stony and unmoving, and his voice never changed tone except that occasionally he became slightly annoyed. Was Dieter the kind to fake his strength? “Hey, Dieter?” Trimmel asked. “Yes?” “Do you think leading armies in war is more like Poker, or like Chess?” Dieter paused. There was a subtle change in his attitude, but Trimmel couldn’t see anything definite besides a slight shift towards pensiveness. “I suppose that it is like chess. It’s very logical, very precise and mathematical. If you had enough information, you could know everything that happens and pre-empt it.” That was not the answer Trimmel wanted. The Chess/Poker divide was something he’d found in Severyana and the ones who treated war like Poker were always trickier in the game and on the field of battle. The problem was that Dieter was dumping huge amounts of risk onto one move while telling Trimmel that he didn’t believe in tricks. Dieter continued. “Even Poker has elements of it. For example, my cards are very strong right now. I don’t know if you think yours are even stronger or what, but I’m just betting based on how much I should expect this to win in most games.” “You overplayed yourself.” Trimmel commented, smirking. “For a second there, I was worried, but nobody’s that confident in pure statistics. Synovial, draw the last card.” It was a 6H. With Trimmel’s KD and JS and the other cards on the field, he had two pairs, but missed a flush or full house. “You can fold, you know.” He mocked Dieter. “My cards haven’t gotten any worse.” Dieter answered. “So are you going to raise?” Trimmel asked. Dieter thought for a second. “Sure.” He pushed three more bullets forward. Trimmel did the same. You tried to death-dive me into giving up my position, now eat your loss, he thought. They revealed their cards. Dieter spoke without a hint of pride or accomplishment. “Three of Diamonds, Nine of Diamonds, Jack of Diamonds, Six of Diamonds, Ace of Diamonds. A flush beats your two-pair.” “GOD DAMNIT!” Trimmel yelled as he pounded the table with his arm. “Did you think I was joking?” Dieter asked soullessly as he grabbed the bullets and moved them into his stack. Trimmel took a deep breath to try and bring down his nerves. The score was Dieter 32, Trimmel 8. Dieter felt like ants were crawling on his brain, only stopping to bend down and take a bite. His muscles ached in revolt at continuing to be a part of his body. He could hardly think, and when he was able to string together a full thought, it suddenly fell away in front of him to be replaced by the wailing of the damned or visions of one of the many, many bodies he had seen in his life. Damn Trimmel, damn his co-conspirators, damn the game, damn this entire hive and everything that crawled in it! He wanted to go to his room and immerse himself in his stash of morphium, the only friend that had yet to abandon him in a hail of fire and blood and pain. If it weren’t for the threat of that stupid damned rumor, he would have left long ago, even if it meant killing someone! He looked around. Some of the monstrous beings around him were staring at him with their grotesque blue eyes, and his heart twisted itself raw when he recalled for the millionth time that he was one of them now, a slick-shelled black insect the size of a man living in a hole that smelled of decay. They were expecting him to respond to Trimmel’s pensiveness across the table, but he was fine sitting where he was and trying not to break down. Hold it together, Dieter. You’re almost done. Then you can get out of here. Just a little longer, then the pain will go away. Just a little longer. He refocused on the cards he had just been given through the haze of pain and madness. A Jack and a 2. He’d manage. Trimmel checked what he had been given again. The Ace of Hearts and the Five of Clubs. He’d hoped for a better starting set. Well, he could get a 1 pair by taking the card he was sitting on, but he wished he could use that to get a big finish, not to claw himself out of a hole. He and Dieter both pushed a bullet into the center of the table for the starting bet. He couldn’t give up here. Synovial put the first three cards down. 2H, 8D, 7D. A pair of aces would beat anything that Dieter could get out of this so far, but he wasn’t sure. His only hope seemed to be to bet it all on this round. So what were the odds of that working? He reached into the part of his mind that handled counting the cards and drew the complete roster of what had been pulled. There were a lot of court cards and low-value cards that had been drawn and discarded, but high-value hearts and clubs were the remainder. There were still two aces outside of the one he had, and one was the real version of the Ace of Spades he was sitting on. Odds were very low Dieter happened to have it. And hell, if someone pulled it later, he could either accuse Dieter of cheating or swap it out for the 2 he had pocketed. He had reasonably good odds of a flush, but that was about it, and those odds were only good by flush standards. Beyond a one-pair of aces that he cheated for, chances of everything were bad. Darn. He knew he would wind up betting all of his remaining bullets this match, the question was when. Was Dieter lying to him then when he said he wasn’t letting Trimmel affect his strategy? He hoped so, the best odds were a bluff. He pushed four of his seven remaining bullets forwards. Dieter matched him. The fourth card was 7C. That was bad. No 7 had been played yet and now there were two on the field. If Dieter had a third, and he very well could, it would be three-of-a-kind. If that blind retard didn’t back down in front of Trimmel, it was over. Neither side chose to raise the bet. The fifth card… oh, that glorious fifth card. Trimmel would have bet it all on this one no matter what, but when it was the Ace of Clubs, he knew he had it. It was over. Beat that with your three 7’s, you prick! Now he just needed a way to get his hidden ace into his deck. It struck him that Manti was no longer in the room. He wondered who else had noticed. “Hey, where’s Manti?” He asked. “He remembered he had a meeting with a friend and ran off a few minutes ago while you were staring at your cards.” Synovial mockingly said. Perfect! As the joke had gone in officer training, ‘Manti doesn’t have friends!’ Although it was no longer true, that was the signal that he saw how desperate things were and was going off to pull some stunt that would keep him out of the room for the rest of the match, an act of last resort. It was a shame that the otherworldly artifact wasn’t something that could be split, normally that was how was compensated for this kind of thing. Trimmel just had to hold off for a few minutes. “You know, Dieter, you seem very good at this for someone who doesn’t like playing.” He spoke as he pushed all of his remaining bullets into the center. All of them. Dieter, you poor fool, you’ve really gotten under my chitin, and now I’m going to enjoy taking all my chip-cartridges back. “Many of my comrades liked to play to pass the time.” Dieter explained. “I learned the ropes a bit so I could go with them. Now I just like playing with the numbers in my head. It’s a nice distraction, I’m sure you understand.” “I do. Say, this might be the biggest pot you’ve ever gambled over, isn’t it?” Dieter thought for a second. “I believe so, but I’d rather not talk about it.” “I see. I just enjoy the thrill of the game. It’s not just having cards up my sleeve, you know. I’ve got all the tricks, from the minor to the downright felonious. It’s rare for me to lose. But you’re a good one, I’m excited for more than just getting something new, I feel like I’m not destined to win for once.” Trimmel explained back. “How about you, then?” Dieter replied. “What’s the most you’ve ever won?” “A company of troops. In Severyana, I beat a communist in Poker for control over around two hundred of his fighters.” Trimmel smirked impishly. “Little did he know that, if he had won, he would have taken control of a ‘company’ of random convicts we press-ganged just for the match. They weren’t even out of jail yet. Now that I think of it, though, a weapon from another dimension would certainly be one of the most interesting things I’ve ever won.” “Have you ever considered playing honestly?” “’Only cheaters prosper’, Dieter. Infiltrator’s code.” “Hm. Any other nuggest of wisdom from the code?” “’If you’re not willing to shell your own position, you’re not willing to win.’” Dieter paused. “That’s a good one.” Trimmel sat back, letting his nostalgia show. “I thought that a lot of those sayings were hokey, but damn, when I was in Severyana, and I’d lost contact with the CO, and it was just me and my insurgent cell versus the world with a vague mission objective at the end, reminding myself of the basics is probably how I got through it.” “I think everyone is shocked by which parts of their training are the most useful when they’re in combat,” Dieter added. “You see it all-“ The lights flickered and he stopped himself. Then they shut off. “What the hell?” Rosin said. “The lights went out,” The officer behind him replied. “You idiot, we can see that!” Synovial added. Someone sighed. “I’ll-“ The lights came back on. “Oh, nevermind.” Rosin continued. “Guess we’re back in business.” Trimmel looked around. Nobody suspected a thing, except for Enza, who could see the 5C in one of the holes of Trimmel’s arms, pressed against the side. He knew that Trimmel hadn’t had two aces when the lights went out, but he wasn’t going to help one of these Saturnalian barbarians embarrass a fellow Royal Army officer, and his face showed it. Trimmel turned to Dieter. “Well, that was exciting. Now, are you going to match my call?” Dieter pushed four more of his own bullets into the center to make 16. Synovial looked from one to the other. “Since you can’t raise it any higher, let’s see what you both have got.” Cards hit the table. Trimmel could feel the happy-chemicals preparing to surge from his brain as he got back in the game. Dieter had a two-pair with his 2C and the 2H, plus the two sevens in the center. Trimmel had had nothing to worry about, equipped with all three of the unplayed aces and those same two sevens making a technical full house and a practical three-of-a-kind. Yet, Dieter looked angry. He looked angry. Why did he suddenly look angry? Trimmel knew it wasn’t because he had just lost. Dieter wordlessly reached over to the pile of discarded cards and started taking them off the top five or ten at a time. When he reached the last few, he revealed the first two cards he had been given in the game, which Trimmel hadn’t had the chance to see due to the fact that he was being disrobed when they were discarded. The Nine of Hearts, and the Ace of Spades. Dieter even reached across the table to put the AS from the discard pile right next to the one Trimmel had had in his cards, just to accent the point. “You said you would play honestly,” he forced through gritted teeth. Synovial burst out laughing. Enza looked away in shame at being in the same corps as Trimmel. Rosin put his head into one of his hooves, and his friend rolled his eyes and walked off. Someone slapped Trimmel on the back. “Well, I’d say ‘better luck next time,’ but maybe you should stop making your own luck, eh, buddy?” Synovial snarked. “Say, wasn’t this for three months wages from you? I happen to know exactly how much that is, so we can watch you give it up without worrying that you’re still trying to cheat.” “So how’d you get out of paying?” Manti asked over a cup of pork stew. Trimmel idly stirred his own cup as he stared at the table. He was back in his overcoat and military-blue scarf. “I didn’t.” Manti whistled. “Trimmel paying what he owes, I never thought I’d see the day...” “You still haven’t, smart-ass, you were out of the room at the time. And if that’s not enough, you were helping me do it as usual, so this is your failure too.” “Alright, point taken. Although I played my part exactly as well as I could have, for the record.” Manti threw his arms up theatrically. “So I guess I’m picking up the tab? What with you being 30,000 Yo’an lighter and all.” “That would be nice, I didn’t have that much on me so they took everything and then sent the Royal Army an IOU in my name for the remainder. Unless I can convince the manager to accept my clothes as payment, I’ve got nothing on me.” Manti stuffed a big piece of soaked pork into his mouth. Before swallowing, he managed to get out. “Wow, they really gave you the works.” He wiped his mouth. “So, the moment of truth. The question of destiny. What did you learn?” Trimmel leaned back in his chair. His head rolled until he was staring at the ceiling. “Do not mess with Dieter.” Manti looked at him. “That doesn’t sound like a plan of action to attain victory in the next battle.” “It’s not. I’ve been going over it in my head, and I can’t think of anything I could have done to improve my odds of victory. He plays like he fights. He knows himself and his limits, and barely reacts to his enemy. There’s nothing to grab onto to pull him in your own direction.” “So he’s unbeatable?” Trimmel sat up suddenly. “No. He’s very beatable. But only if your cards are better than his. Only then.” “I think you need something a bit more alcoholic. If I didn’t know any better it would sound like you’re about to join him.” Manti said casually as he moved to pick up the menu. Then he stopped himself. He saw that Trimmel had something welling up in his eyes, a grim purpose that could move mountains. “You aren’t going to, right?” Trimmel looked at him with deathly seriousness. Then he smiled and burst out laughing. Manti did the same, nearly spilling his stew as he steadied himself against the dinner table. “Yeah, no, I’m not going to be putting on a black coat and calling folks ‘untermenschen’ or anything. As long as the Queen keeps giving me soldiers and directions, I’m sticking as close to her as possible.” He took a big sip from his own neglected cup of stew. “Not going to fight that psycho again, though. Even if I’m not going to be his vassal, I will try to stay an ally of his. That’s manageable, and besides, you should hear his theories on ‘armored warfare’, they’re so brilliant I’m going to rewrite them into my Severyana memoirs. You know, in that section about the machine-gun carts. Point is, I have a lot to learn from him, and something tells me that the Royal Army will have a lot to learn from us.” “Not just you,” Manti added. “Did you hear that Ms. Factrix has been getting into very energetic debates with him about technology? Word has it that she’s becoming obsessed with mass-producing machine guns that common soldiers can wield.” Trimmel leaned over the table. “Is that so?” “So the rumors say, at least.” Manti admitted. “Still, if it’s true, then Dieter’s getting his own power bloc. Running alongside him might put you in a good position.” “Mark my words, it’s true.” Trimmel stated. “And I bet Dieter didn’t plan any of this. He just let things fall where they would and now he has his own political faction with two high-ranking government servants in tow. See what I mean when I say he can’t be beat unless you have better cards?” “Honestly, that’s more a factor of your style than anything. I’ve been helping you cheat at card games for years now and I’m still shocked sometimes by your insistence on not playing fair. Although he does have me spooked, too.” “Yeah, you’re probably right that it’s a style thing.” Trimmel pointed at him casually. “Anyways, we’re just lucky that he has the weirdest ambitions I’ve ever seen. I still think that he legitimately believes Queen Chrysalis is going to fix the world and that it’s his duty to support her, however the hell that works when you’re a former rebel warlord. Although…” He whispered conspiratorially. “I bet Synovial could beat him.” “You have a plan, huh?” “You’re damn right I do. I’m going to support Dieter and Synovial to the Queen at the same time. Dieter and his radical ideas will make our country strong, Synovial will owe me a favor, and the Queen will see me pushing for massive changes while also trying to keep them in check at my own expense, raising her estimation of me. And since Dieter doesn’t know what’s going on, he won’t catch that I’m playing for and against him at the same time.” Manti rubbed his hooves together. “My, what an idea. Looks like you really have learned something from all this.” Trimmel stretched out. “Yeah, thanks for helping me work through this. I’d offer a toast to our future success, but it doesn’t feel right to ask a subordinate to pay for drinks.” “Guess we’ll have to postpone it until your next paycheck comes in.” “Or…” Trimmel grinned. “We could play a game for it. They took all the spare cards out of my coat as they were taking all my money, but I got to keep the deck we were playing with.” Manti grinned back. “No.”