"Ann Maxwell - Fire Dancer 1 - Fire Dancer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maxwell Ann)

Rheba was 300 credits richer. She used it as leverage against a third-level player who was barely
able to hang onto his seat. His orange circles paled to yellow; he had no blues to balance them
and no credits to buy what he needed. His circlet chimed and informed him that his credit balance
could not sustain a third or even a second-level ante.

In silence the man switched places with Rheba, who had bet against him. She had 1,200 credits
now, enough for three rounds—if no one raised the ante or bet against her one-on-one.

Her progression from entry to third level attracted little attention. There were sixty players on the
first three levels, and they changed rapidly. When she progressed to the fourth level, however,
there was a stir of interest. Only twelve players were on that level, three seated on each side of
the ziggurat, well above the heads of the crowd.

Twelve minutes and 46,000 credits later, Rheba settled into the fifth level, one of only eight
players on that level. The players were seated two to each side of the ziggurat. Three of the
players teamed illegally against her, but she did not have the skill to decipher their signals and
thus prove how they cheated.

Credits drained precipitously from her OVA until she managed a desperate twist of energy that
made a whole row of markers flash into incandescent silver. Though startling, the effect was not
unprecedented; the computer of Chaos was known for its wry sense of the improbable.
Nonetheless, there was a murmuring on the fifth level that was echoed by the crowd growing
around the crystal ziggurat. Gradually, other games stopped. Gamblers and dilettantes flowed
toward Chaos like a gigantic amoeba progressing from one viscous pseudopod to the next.

Rheba barely noticed the casino’s slow transformation. The curling patterns of power on her
hands were visible now, glowing softly, pale gold against the rich brown of her skin. She
scratched the backs of her hands absently, totally absorbed in her strategy. For the sake of
appearances she programmed her computer from time to time, but her success depended on other
less obvious skills. Whistling quietly, she wove tiny increments of energy inside the transparent
ziggurat.

Her circlet purred, signaling an end to programming. The players paid the ante. The instant that
her credits were placed, Rheba’s circlet chimed and whispered of changes: Jal and the other
players had matched the pot in order to change the rules; player number 7 would now play nude
or forfeit.

Rheba looked at the number 7 glowing on her computer and grimaced. She stood up and stripped
quickly, knowing that pragmatism rather than voyeurism motivated the others. They assumed that
she had some electronic means of cheating concealed beneath her flaring, multicolored robe.

Naked and unconcerned, she cast aside both her outer robe and her brief crimson ship clothes.
She sat and studied the markers while casino personnel studied her clothes. The searchers found a
few personal weapons and the packet of expensive but otherwise ordinary gemstones. They did
not find anything that could have been used to influence the Black Whole’s sophisticated
computer.

“The earring,” said Jal coldly.

Rheba punched a query into her console. The answer flashed back. Smiling, she looked up to the