“One pack of Light Red Band Smokes,” I say to the cashier. She reaches for the Dark Red Band Cigarettes, so I stop her and point to where the Lights would be. I try not to be rude, but it probably comes off that way.

She’s young. Probably working this job as a means to help her family make ends meet. This is one of the cheaper parts of Starlight’s Corporate territory, but no matter where you settle down raising kids isn’t cheap, so they have to help out as soon as possible. She rings me up and checks the screen for my prize. It’s the minimum, hardly anything worth getting excited about. 

“Your total today is 10 Starlight Credits.”

I pull out my Starlight card. It holds currency from the company that owns this part of town. Each larger company or conglomerate from Axiom Alliance Administration Incorporated to ZZZ Last Resort Health Solutions has their own proprietary currency. Each day the exchange rates between them fluctuate up and down based on deals the companies make. The way I see it it’s all to make the lives of everyone else a bit busier having to balance multiple accounts and keep themselves afloat. Not to worry though, the stores each corporation owns can handle the exchange for you with any card, and all for a nominal fee.

I hand the card to her and the account covers the balance with plenty to spare. I’m careful to manage my funds, and the Starlight card is the only one I regularly use. I normally only leave Starlight’s little corporate sector when I have to go for medical procedures, and I always exchange that well in advance. I’m not going to wind up dead because I’m too good for Last Resort’s budget treatment when they have perfectly good odds of trained doctors treating you. After all, if you have a 100% chance of dying because someone shot you over a gamble gone sour, then a 50% chance of treatment is better than being unable to afford the doctors at a premium facility.

She bags up my prize with the rest of my smokes and hands me the store card before I head back out into the neon sea. I take the prize right out of my bag and my lighter from my pocket. I spark up the cigarette and take a harsh drag while standing outside the store. The neon glow from the signs and storefronts up and down the cramped alley under my apartment becomes overpowering. While I puff on my cigarette I think back to something my Uncle Ken told me when I was younger.

“It’s important to take care of your senses; they’re one of the only advantages you can routinely rely on to get you throughout the game of life.”

 I discard the butt from the cigarette I won in the neon stained puddle outside the ez-shop by my house, and walk down the street. After a few turns in and out of different alleyways and side streets, I turn down a small alley with minimal neon coming out of it; a welcome sight considering that I’m developing a pounding headache because of that cigarette. The prize smokes are never the good stuff.

In that narrow alleyway, between two shops with neon lights and selling souvenirs to those set on boarding Starlight’s Interstellar cruises, I find a small casino with a couple pool tables where I hope to earn my next meal. A sign above the casino’s archway reads “The Door” in what seems to be the owner’s attempt at a joke given there doesn’t seem to be one.

I look for someone to play pool with in the cramped casino. I’m no pool shark or anything, I just prefer games of skill to games of chance, because you can’t control what the dice will turn up. Despite how crowded this place seems to be I can’t find anyone to play pool with and eventually wander up to a curtained room at the back of this small casino with a lone bouncer outside. It’s situations like this where I’m especially thankful I’ve got a self-defense mod to keep myself safe in these seedier places.

The bouncer, a man who probably takes pride in using steroids like a traditional street tough instead of relying on strength mods, looks me over for a while. I’m about to leave when he holds up one of his swollen hands.

“You looking for something?” Asks the tough.

I almost laugh at the idea. Then a smell like spiced meat comes wafting from the back room which reminds me I haven’t had any kind of decent food since I won a bonus all you can eat at the Frelgian place up town 2 months ago. The thought of leaving without seeing what the smell is makes me start walking before I know what I’m doing.

“Is that a canteen back there?” I ask, making my way toward the curtain. “Sure smells nice.”

The bouncer puts his palm right in my face and stops me from getting a glimpse of what’s behind the curtain. For a second I consider ducking his arm, but the thought of this wall of muscle pummeling me on the ground makes me take a step back.

“You hungry? Well it’ll cost you.”

“How much?”

“20 starlight credits, and One SD mod key.”

How does he know I have a self-defense mod? And who collects that to let someone eat at a casino lunch room?

It’s crazy. I’ve had this mod since I was 16, just old enough to have it installed, but no one has ever mentioned it to me; not even in the high class places. This guy obviously doesn’t care how ridiculous his request is judging by the blank stare he gives me from his spot by the side of the door. All the more suspicious is how little he’s asking for the food. I almost turn around to walk away and the savoury spiciness takes me by the nose. Maybe I can just take a bite and get my key back on the way out.

 I pull the small chip from my wrist that controls the interface between the firearm built in my right forearm and the rest of the arm around it. It clicks as I pull it from the little port it sits in. Once it’s gone my arm is, for all intents and purposes, a normal arm. Back to how it was before the surgery – minus the inert bit of metal and several rounds of ammunition inaccessible inside of it.

After I hand the chip over, I make my way from the loud and energetic front room to a cramped rectangular room, just through the curtain, where no one else seems to be. There’s a square table with 4 chairs around it on one side of the room and a long rectangular table on the right of the room spread with food.

The main feature of this table is the rack of ribs that called out to me from behind the curtain. The ribs are seasoned with a dry rub and have a sauce on the side for dipping. There are some varying pastas, collard greens seasoned with bacon fat, salt, and pepper. There’s even a bowl of fresh chips in the middle of the large rectangular table, and a bucket of ice at the end of the table with bottled beers in it. Whoever owns this casino must have some crazy deals going to have access to all these premium foods in Starlight territory, the food you can usually get isn’t fresh and it isn’t nearly as appetizing.

There are other refreshments to be had, but I help myself to a plate of ribs and turn to sit at what I assume to be my place around the square felt lined table. As I turn around I notice another archway opposite the food table with a curtain covering it as well.

After I sit in a chair at the felt gambling table and get a closer look; I notice that it has 4 distinct markings around the center, facing each seat. The symbols are Japanese in origin, a language that fell out of use centuries earlier. I use my net connected contacts to translate them.

“East, South, West, and North,” I say to myself  “Like a compass except that east and west are swapped.”

“Very good.” Says a voice that comes from the archway opposite the food. It must be where the main office is, as out steps a man in a crop top leather jacket, so visually obsessed with money he may as well have two dollar bills for eyes.

 In actuality he’s so adorned in prosthetic “enhancements” that you can tell he’s bought into the word of the biomechanacorps that regularly promise increased strength, virility, and stamina as long as you upgrade to the new arm mod being released at their semi-annual events. An arms race in the most literal sense. I don’t understand the point in anyone but laborers getting into strength enhancement mods myself; not when someone with an unregistered self defense mod will more than likely kill you before you have the chance to lay hands on them.

The pit boss glides over to the table with an artificial smile on his face. A glance underneath his leather cropped jacket reveals an even tackier decision to go shirtless underneath, and that his mods are custom sculpted to look like massive pecs. He sits down; then looks at me and smiles like he just won a bet on the winning horse.

“So tell me,”  he says. “Why are they swapped? What orientation makes this arrangement make sense?”

He raises one hand to the side of his face and watches while my eyes scan to search his fingertips for twitching and his browline for furrows. Any kind of emotion that would show in an unmodded human’s movements has been thrown away. His massive sunglasses block any hint of emotion his still human eyes might show.

There is nothing aside from the plastic grin on his face to be read. It holds steady. It’s obvious he got to where he was the old fashioned way; winning the title from someone else. After I decide I can’t read anything else from the cyborg’s face I turn back to my food, and he breaks the growing silence.

He continues, “Very few players have the keen eye-sight required to, ‘condense truth from the vapors of nuance.’” 

I recognize the last part of the phrase as being one from an old novel about turn of the century virtual life alternatives. To me those kinds of simulations dull the senses too much. Just a bit too long spent in one of those simulations and you won’t be making enough money in real life to make ends meet.

“And what are you getting at with that weird non sequitur?” I ask the pit boss; as he pulls an unlit cigar from his jacket.

“I think you may be one of the lucky few born with the sight I’m talking about,” he says as his robotic prosthetic with its brass inlaid knuckles raises his cigar to his lips. He holds a lighter up to the end of his cigar and takes a puff. “I ask again; why are the symbols for east and west swapped?”

I look at the table and consider the arrangement. If you layer this arrangement on a normal compass at least one pair of cardinal directions will be off; either the north and south, or the east and west. But if you flip this weird compass over a cardinal axis…

“It makes sense for a compass built on the ceiling” I say, not quite sure what to make of this odd choice.

“Or a game played in the sky,” he replies with an impressed tone, “but you’re looking at things beyond the surface, in any case. That’s what I’m after so your answer is good enough.”

“So you think I’m the kind of player to read deeper,” I say with some finality, reaching for another handful of bribery. I’m not sure what he wants, but a rack of ribs with a side of sauce is hard to turn up even if it means humoring this weird conversation.

As I bite into the ribs the excess sauce drips onto my plate. It’s a spicy tangy blend that sends my mind racing. I’m about to ask where the kitchen was that made this so I can get some next week after the weekly hover races. Then I remember I’m being bribed and sweet-talked by my local mob boss, and not back at the pad eating a good meal with Uncle Ken.

“Okay,” I say, coming back to my senses, “you even knowing who I am is pretty weird considering I think this is the first time I’ve been in your little casino.”

“Let’s just say that I’ve had my eye on you for longer than you’d think,” says the cryptic asshole, “and you can call me Ronald. My friends call me Ron, and don’t take this personally – we’re not friends.”

Thanks.

It’s not like I care about being buddy buddy with him; I’m just trying to eat as much free stuff as I can before the game begins and lose as little of what I came with as possible once that happens. In the spirit of that goal I turn to my right to look at the table still so full of food. I make my way over to grab another couple ribs, and plate up a weird pink goop that frankly looks like a desert fit to be served at last resort. But I figure it can’t taste bad if he’s putting it on a table with the rest of this. Finally, I decide to ask my host another round of questions.

“Okay, Ronald,” I try to put as much mockery behind his name as I can muster before I begin, “You’ve had your eye on me, I get that, but you’re not exactly my type.”

“Cute”

“Thanks, but like I-”

“That joke isn’t as funny the second time.” Ron says, tilting his head so I can see his eyes clearly for the first time. “I’m not after you, I’m after what you can get me. You’ll be playing a game with me and a couple friends tonight, don’t worry it’s not a money game. I’m auditioning you, think of me as a talent manager for Starlight. I’m responsible for finding like yourself, people who coast by day after day squeezing what they can from the system. If you do well in the audition they’ll give you a place to stay on one of the Starlight cruises. You’ll work for them playing games for people with too much money to lose, and watch for any funny business.”

Great, it’s all some elaborate Starlight hiring scheme.

I’m not particularly thrilled at the offer, but I figure I’ll at least see what game they want me to play.

“I’ll do the audition,” I say, “But how long do we have to wait? These ribs are gonna get cold.”

“Oh it’ll be a while,” Says Ron, “But we have a lot of ground to cover before they get here, so we’ll be cutting it close.”

—

Two hours of explanation and practice later, the casino finally closes, and Ron says I’m as ready for the audition as I’m going to get. The whole two hours Ron goes on about the rules and complexities of Mahjong, having finally told me that a game I’ve never played before will be the subject of the audition.

“Standard starlight practice,” he says.

When the Starlight representatives finally turn up I’m still not sure if he means it’s standard practice to use Mahjong, or any game the one being auditioned hasn’t played.

Maybe it’s usually both. I can’t imagine many people know this particular game.

The first representative comes in through the curtain behind me and holds the door open for her partner. Her static smile makes Ron’s artificial grin seem subdued by comparison. It almost looks painful. She wears the standard Starlight manager’s uniform, a suit patterned with sickening swirls of red and white that curl towards the center of the body. Her partner, a man only slightly taller than her, wears a similar outfit I’ve never seen before. The same pattern, only with green swirls in the place of the red ones the manager’s uniform is traditionally known for. And instead of an artificial smile forcing him to look painfully happy like other Starlight employee’s I’ve seen, he retains an unnaturally natural face.

The pair exchange some words with Ron in the room he came from. I strain my ears to overhear, but they’re too far away, and the bouncer has moved into our game room since there are no customers left in the casino. 

I guess they don’t want me to eavesdrop from outside the room. Instead I look over one of the tiles Ron and I have been practicing with.

I recall Ron saying the tiles that made the bulk of the game’s supplies weren’t dissimilar to cards in games like poker, and the game we were to play with them would be a book taking game – similar to rummy with some extra complications around scoring and drawing. 

Not every hand will score (Ron gave me a crash course on the most important hands, and a sheet with the rest listed) and you can forgo drawing if you would rather take a discard to complete certain books.

Like a card in a traditional deck of cards, there are 4 of any given tile. They also have a few variations of games to play with these tiles; similar to special rules hold-em’. But unlike a deck of cards there are only 3 suits with numbers 1-9; those suits being reed, wheel, and man. The 28 remaining tiles can be divided into two uneven categories only used for triplets. 3 sets of tiles, red, green, and white, belong to the dragons, a special group of tiles that are always worth a point but can’t form runs. The last group are the winds, East, South, West, and North. They’re similar to the dragons in that they only formed triplets, but they’re used for defense primarily as each one is only valuable to the person who sits at its seat.

“Toki it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” says the woman from the pair in an artificially saccharine tone, “I’m Marissa, and I look forward to being your examiner for the evening.”

Starlight managers are typically given standard issue names to go with the rest of their standard issue identities. I assume it’s rude to ask what her real name is though, and since the job they’re offering doesn’t sound half bad I avoid making it a point to ask.

“Nice to finally know I’m being stalked by a corporation, Marissa,” I say. Much better; Less confrontational.

“It’s standard practice for Starlight to screen any possible employees ahead of interviews to ensure maximum efficiency and safety for management staff. We assure you any invasion of privacy, such as examining records of your bodily modifications, was deemed to be completely necessary by Starlight.” Her smile never dropped from her face as she spouted this spiel.

Great. It’s corporate standards all the way with her.

“Well as long as it’s been justified by them, who am I to complain?”

“Ahem.” Ron clears his throat, unconvincingly, and stops the situation from escalating further. “Toki, you and I will wash the tiles, I’ll be seated to your left and Marissa will be seated to your right. Only your seat matters so roll to see where you’ll be and let’s get started.”

I don’t know whether to be thankful my new friend Ron stopped me before I ruined the audition, or annoyed that he stopped me from calling out Starlight. Either way I help him mix the tiles and roll to see where I’ll be seated.

I’ll be fine. I’ve made a living off of gambling in Starlight territory for years. Uncle Ken always said this was the best place for it. If they had some corporate shark they’d have sent them after me by now. I just have to get through the next couple hours and I’ll make a living on a Starlight cruiser instead. Business as usual…

Marissa quickly shows me that it’s not business as usual.

I remember Ron telling me during the two hours  of practice, there’s always a hand within 6 draws of being completed. I’m no fool though, I’ve been gambling long enough to know that that ideal draw isn’t likely to happen 6 times in a row. Even so Marissa puts her first hand together unreasonably fast, too soon for me to make any judgment over whether I should go for a flush, straight, or any of the other 28 hands on my cheat sheet. However, I’m lucky enough to avoid dealing her the tile she needs. Ron gives Marissa the chips he owes her for the hand and she begins washing the tiles with her partner.

Having narrowly avoided dealing in by pure chance I keep my eyes open. I don’t want to miss some important information, so I begin looking for as much as I can. I drop the first tile I draw since the 5 wheel doesn’t match the reed and man tiles already populating my hand. I see Marissa drop a 1 wheel. With that several options fall away from the sheet that suggests what her hand could be. The same goes for the man in green’s options when he drops a 9 man. Each of us has cut ourselves out of options to some extent. Ron isn’t playing to win, but his discard of a green dragon cuts that option off from the others as well.

As it comes back around to me I draw a third 7 man. That completes a book, but my hand is still pretty far from completion with only another triplet of 6 reed and a pair of west winds ready. Even so, the triplet hand means I have something of moderate value to go for. I discard my sole green dragon, making it clear to the others it will be no good for scoring. For a moment the man in green begins drumming his fingers. He casually wears his annoyance at the discarded tile on his face for a minute before he composes himself.

“You know,” he says, finally breaking his silence for the first time, “those can be pretty useful for someone still learning.”

“I’ll play my game my way.” I never like people who give advice at the table. It’s almost always a mind game, and never honest advice.

Marissa discards another tile, a 7 wheel that makes it clear her hand is likely to be completely devoid of any wheel tiles. Almost in response to this, the man in green glares at her.

He calls her tile, and arranges a triplet face up on his right. Ron had called this an open hand when teaching me earlier. It deprives you of the easiest option for scoring your hand, but allows you to take from other’s discards.

Given that opening your hand removes the safest option a few things become clearer. First, either his hand is ready for the last tile, or will be soon. Next, he isn’t going for a number of more complicated hands given he can’t mix them with a triplet of 7s. It’s most likely he wants some inside run of numbers, or a triplet hand like me. Lastly, he’s the one I’m being compared against for the position.

Over the next few discards it almost feels like the air grows stale at our game table. It becomes clear the man in green has a ready hand and just needs the final tile to complete it. Ron and Marissa try to bow out for the round, each of them discarding previously discarded tiles as often as possible. They would naturally be safe, since they can’t be what the man in green needs. I look over my hand before I draw my next tile, 2 completed triplets, 2 pairs, and 3 lone tiles. Going all in on triplets seems to have stalled my hand, but my next draw gives me the out I’m looking for. One of my pairs, the west winds, becomes a triplet book. The winds aren’t a scoring book, but they’re a book just the same, and almost bring me within reach of stopping the man in green’s run. 1 tile to go to a ready hand 2 for a win.

I look over my hand. This discard could have a major impact on the hand’s outcome, so I don’t want to rush. Dropping one of my loner tiles is the obvious choice, but none are safe. My remaining pair, two 1 man tiles, are safe based on a discard in previous rounds. But discarding that pair puts me farther from a win, and basically hands the position to the man in green.

I cut a lone 6 reed from my hand and place it on the table, a play that earns a scowl from the man in green.

“What?” I ask “Is that another mistake?”

“Only technically,” he replies through an exasperated sigh. “Unfortunately I’m not in a position to punish you for your error, and the others have messes for hands, so it passes for now.”

Play continues around the table until it comes back to me, I draw one of my two needed tiles, a 4 man, and for a moment I almost feel like I’ve won the round there. There’s just one problem; drawing that tile puts me at 3 finished books, and 2 pairs. A solitary 1 reed remains leftover and unwanted by this hand; another potentially dangerous tile that has to be pushed past the green man on my discard.

I look at his discards, aligned neatly in front of him. I look, trying to see some pattern in the chaff. What tiles came from in his hand and what had he not given a second glance? Do either of those things matter, or is the fact he discarded those tiles enough? Either way my option comes down to discarding the 1 reed, or bowing out like Ron and Marissa; hoping for the round to end in a draw.

Looking at the rest of the tables something seems right about discarding it. It could be the smattering of lower reeds throughout the table that suggest people aren’t in those straights and make it feel safe. Maybe, it’s the fact that Ron discarded only the other two suits then retreated, suggesting his reed heavy hand removed many more from play. Ultimately, I can’t pinpoint which detail leads to me placing the tile on the table, but I do. And the green man looks furious.

“I guess I’m just not very good at playing right.” I say ramping up my sarcastic tone. His eyes are wide, his face a shade of red not seen often outside of the pleasure district. I meet his boiling gaze and it feels good. I’m not the type to go all in on a pair, I don’t regularly play dice games, and pool is too systematic to surprise someone experienced at the game. But this is when playing against another person always feels best. Pulling the least expected move out on someone who knows the game, and making it work. It feels even better as it comes back around to him, and his discard finishes my hand.

The man in green is clearly frustrated I didn’t give up. He shoves down his annoyance at my comment and begins to speak in an even, deliberate tone.

“Well,” says the man in green, “Your play isn’t amazing, but for such a short time to learn you seem to have done rather well. Tell me, how long do you think it will be before you can board a Starlight vessel? We have ships leaving daily, each one carrying VIPs who would like to play with someone like you. If you play well on our cruises you will be rewarded generously.”

“You talk like the game is over and there’s still a lot to go. We’ve barely played two rounds. Who are you, anyway?” I ask, once again confused by the green man’s role in my exam.

“My identity isn’t something you need to concern yourself with at the moment,” he says, pushing on with his even speech. “As for the game, even if it isn’t over that doesn’t matter much. I was just sent to see if you could make a winning hand in mahjong, and judging from what I can see you have. Although it may surprise you, that was your exam.” 

“Wait, I just had to know how to make a hand?” I asked. “What’s with all the grandiosity if you just wanted me to learn the rules of a game.”

“Not know how to make it; successfully make it.” He says, that tinge of annoyed condescension creeping back into his voice. “Knowing how to theoretically do something, and actually being able to do it are very different.”

This man and his green suit are such an anomaly compared to everything I’ve seen of Starlight. If anything this man acts more like Ron, or my Uncle Ken than his partner Marissa. He’s too rough for any corporate worker I’ve known. I want to ask him some more questions, but he cuts me off.

“Now that that’s done, I’ve got a ship to catch,” he says, and hastily stands up. “I honestly didn’t expect your exam to be this quick, but you’ve surprised me. Here’s your ticket; it’ll get you on one Starlight cruise of your choice for the next week.”

I look at the ticket he gives me. It’s a paper ticket, with the word “crew” on it right under Starlight’s graphic. A number designates me as an employee – No. 373623. Marissa comes over, and reaches out a hand. Her plastic grin still hasn’t changed, and her mouth barely moves as she welcomes me to the Starlight family.