We met Marshall while we were staying on Turtledove Station waiting for our next assignment. We had this crappy little room on one of the lower habitation decks, and he had the room next door. Yeah, we could have stayed on our ship, the Civilian Cargo Vessel Russian Unicorn, but Delanna had put an ad, authorized by the company of course, on the station's net that we were looking for an engineer (neither of us were exactly wizz with that stuff, even though we should've been), and she did not want to conduct the interviews on the ship.
Interestingly, it wasn't on the habitation decks that we met Marshall, but in a bar called What-What. Delanna and I went there for a drink, and we noticed him when the guy he was playing pool with started yelling.
“What do you mean you don't have the creds?” the guy, practically a kid really, yelled.
“I'm just a little short right now,” Marshall stammered, “I sent all of my last payload home to my kids.”
“Okay,” the kid said, clearly trying to stay calm, “So when do you get paid again?”
“Well, I'm sort of between gigs now.”
The pool player lost it then, and hit Marshall in the face with the pool cue. Marshall went down, and the kid started kicking the crap out of him while cursing. No one tried to stop the fight since there was not much in here that they could actually break (human bones will break long before one of those synthwood pool cues), and it was just that sort of place.
“Oh Zane, stop him!” Delanna insisted. She told me later that she thought the kid has hustled Marshall at the time. Even knowing the truth, she still would have made me step in though.
“It's none of our business,” I said, and she gave me that look, “Alright, fine.”
I got up from my stool, and moseyed over to where the kid continued to beat on the deadbeat gambler, “Hey, why don't you cut that out? I think you made your point.” I said.
“Hey, why don't you mind your own business?” the kid replied.
“Hey, why don't I kick YOUR ass?” I said.
This is when I knew the kid was no pool shark. Even with the weapons prohibition, a real scammer would have had a blaster or a needler; something to shoot me with. This kid merely looked at me, and then dropped the cue on the pool table, “Yeah, alright, but I'm gonna get my money, you frassing quot,” he spat at the man lying on the floor.
The kid left, and I helped Marshall up from the floor.
“Thanks, man,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, “You know, you shouldn't gamble with money you cannot afford to lose.”
“Or that you don't even have,” Delanna added; I hadn't even heard her come up behind me.
“I'm gonna pay him back. I always pay back my debts.”
We introduced ourselves to each other, and then Marshall suggested we play a game of pool. Delanna suggested, strongly, that he go home. He did.
This should have been the last time we saw him, but the next morning we saw him coming out of his room as we headed out to breakfast; dark bruises still fresh on his face. He greeted us, commented on the coincidence of having neighbouring rooms, and asked if we were the owners of the Russian Unicorn.
We said that we were, and he asked if that ad on the net was still current. I wanted to blow him off, but Delanna insisted we give him an interview, and that food could wait.
I will admit that the interview went well, and when Delanna broke out our HR kit, he came back negative for illegal substances, and with a decent work history as an engineer on a number of ships. The only really bad thing was that he had filed for bankruptcy a few years back. I still had my doubts though.
“What's the problem, Zane? He's the best person we've interviewed yet,” Delanna asked me quietly while Zane waited on the other side of the room.
“He's just the only one who's not a reaper addict,” I said.
“We're hiring him,” Delanna told me, and I knew I had lost the argument.
I had a moment of hope when Marshall balked at the pay; saying that he was worth more than that. To be fair, his work history indicated that he was used to being paid more than what we were offering, and the company would allow us to pay more if we wanted to; we just didn't want to.
“I'll tell you what,” Marshall said, “We'll play for it. One hand of poker. If I win, you pay me what I'm worth; if you win, I'll take what you're offering less a hundred credits a week.”
Delanna agreed to this for me. She got a deck of cards, and dealt me and Marshall a hand. I drew two cards, and Marshall drew three. He looked at me grinning over the top of his hand like a predator about to pounce.
“Okay, Delanna said, “Show your hands.”
I put down two pairs, aces and eights. Marshall put down crap. He didn't even have a pair, just a king high. He had been bluffing, but for no reason. I wish I had seen that for what it was; he was a gambling addict.
I smiled, thinking that at least we'd gotten someone with apparent talent on the cheap. If only I had known then that he was indebted to the kind of people that do not appear on your official work and credit history; if only I had known how much that hand of cards would eventually cost me, I never would have played it.