At his table in the rear, Step Allenovich was dealing cards to Tyrell Lawson, and yes, right there sat Falise. As usual, Ednund and Clarice stood behind her chair, backs to the wall, keeping watch on the room.

Well, well, she’d finally run out of patience and taken steps to run him down. He beckoned Kalen Tompzen over. The ex-marine—wearing a crest-hide vest, high boots, and a claw shrub fiber shirt—gave Dek a smile, saying, “Looks like rich soft meat at your table.”

“Yeah. Do me a favor? Ask Step to meet me at the bar. Do it on the sly without mentioning my name.”

Kalen’s gaze turned conspiratorial. “Sure thing.”

Dek kept his hat pulled low, grunted at greetings from old friends, and elbowed up to the bar, saying, “Tall whiskey, Vik.”

As Schmenski poured, Dek tossed out a five-siddar, saying, “Keep the change.”

A moment later, Step Allenovich sidled up next to Dek, asking, “What’s up?”

“How much have you and Lawson told Falise about me?”

“Just about nothing,” Step said carefully. “She asked if it was your night to play at that table. We told her it was. Mostly, it’s like she really doesn’t want to talk to Lawson and me. Like we’re the sort of people she really wishes would go away. Any time we try to be friendly? Ask about the trip here? What news there is from Solar System? She shuts us down. Only time she opens her mouth, it’s about the game.”

Falise glanced their way, her emerald eyes turned to green ice. His vision already shading into the infrared, Dek could see the heat and disgust rise in her neck and face. Fascinating. He’d never been able to read her this well.

Dek said, “Let’s go play poker. Call me Mister. Any questions that come up about Derek Taglioni? Leave them to me.”

Dek led the way to the table, pulling out a chair opposite from Falise, waving Lawson down as he glanced up and opened his mouth to say something.

“What are you doing here?” Falise demanded, both Ednund and Clarice coming off the wall to take positions at her shoulder.

“Figured I’d ask Derek Taglioni if he had any objection to an old friend sitting in on his game.” He glanced around. “Assuming he gets here tonight.”

“Get out or I’ll call . . .” Falise seemed to realize there was no one to call. “I’ll have my people remove you, you bit of—”

“Tut tut,” Dek interrupted, emphasizing a clipped Donovanian accent. “One of the first things, as a good Taglioni, that you would have been taught, is that you never make a humiliating spectacle out of yourself.”