On xbox, gamertag is “Oh No Im Down”

The game is free so it's hard to complain about a free game but there's a lot of issues here.
The game is a Casino game and it has the usual suspects of craps, roulette, blackjack and Texas Hold'em Poker, 5 reel slots, but then there's strange things I rarely see in Casinos such as War and other strangeness. That's fine, it at least has a lot to do.
The animations are terrible. It looks like Second Life for the most part which in 2020 isn't a good look. The controls of your character as you move around the casino are janky at best. The menu controls for whatever reason, have inertia? So when you try to scroll over something on the keyboard you scroll past when you stop...? This is an odd design choice and makes texting at the table a bit difficult.
You get an actual goal to "buy a trucker hat" early on but there isn't any trucker hats in the 4 in game shops. In fact there is NOTHING in them. They're either empty or the menu is just glitched because you can't buy anything whatsoever.
The menu UI is horrible to navigate and not the least pleasing aesthetically. It honestly reminds me of UI games in the early 2000s.
It's a Casino game right? All of that could be forgiven so long as the Casino games worked proper.
They don't. Had an issue with slots not paying me out for an obvious jackpot a couple times. Texas Hold'em works great somehow. I played for 2 hours with no issues. So, if you love Poker, you might be okay here! I dunno what happened with the Kino machine but it just like flat out took my cash without a game once, and blackjack... Lord we need to talk about blackjack.
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Blackjack is terrible. By terrible I mean, the game will randomly stop showing you cards it has dealt to the dealer, and the second card of the other players randomly. I'd say it happens about once every 20 hands. It happens to everyone at the table and usually people get annoyed and leave the table because of it. It sucks. Horrendously. Other times the UI of both the chat and the daily goals and event alerts will actually block the game hud showing other players cards and sometimes even your own depending on where you decide to put the chat window.
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I looked it up and apparently this game has been out for four years. Either this is an old old version or they ported something that sucks all around. I dunno which.
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TLDR: Clunky controls, bugged table gaming, shitty ui, bugged in game stores BUT HEY... FREE. AT LEAST IT IS FREE unless you insanely want to buy chips.
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Don't do that though. Don't buy stuff from this dumpster fire, please. I'm not the boss of you or your money but, you'd be better off actually eating whatever dollar bills you were going to put into this game.

Me and my friend keep on dying because this camera/guard keep on whipping their eyes everywhere 24/7.

As a casual gamer, the octogonia casino completely ruined the game for me. Im the type that likes to explore, even to the point of grinding levels like a final fantasy game, and to complete all quests I come across, and while I largely skipped the first casino, to start when I got to the octogonia casino, I lost all 70k gold I had grinded previously, by mistakenly believing you could turn tokens into gold just like you can turn gold into tokens (like ANY normal casino would), but no. Why would that make sense?
Second, who the heck wants to spend hours upon hours grinding an in game casino? When I want to gamble, I go to Las Vegas, with REAL money, where tokens (chips) ACTUALLY = money. Such a poor design/oversight imho. Seriously, who thought this was okay?
Furthermore, after 45 hours of game, I'm trying my best to say F it, persivere, spend the time on... gambling... sigh... I try to win the jackpot to finish that stupid little girls quest, and after 5 hours (seriously I'm casual, I have kids, 5 hours is like a week of gaming for me, all to be spebt trying to finish this dumb casino quest), just over it. I've reloaded the game about 10 times because... I mean that's what you do in video game Casinos, read the shortcuts/tricks and... It just friggin sucks. Last I'll play a DQ game.
Such an artful and beautiful game to be wasted on a garbage casino minigame.

All of that work. All of that anger.
For $300K.
The Diamond Casino Heist is, in my mind, without a doubt, the worst heist in the game. By MILES. Hours of heist setups and work spent alone, because none of my friends actually play this fucking game, and the best the game can give is $300K. In my naïveté, I thought R* had given us content that would actually be fun. Upon realizing the game was tasking me with choosing the approach, choosing the crew, and choosing the supplies, I had thought they had given us a heist similar to that of the story mode - no random players to worry about. Just you, and a shit ton of bullet-sponge enemies to deal with.
Well, I was half right.
After selling my Oppressor MKII to buy some worthless shitstain of an arcade (because R* has to find a way to make you lose money in the long run, and their favourite option is to make you think you have to “spend money to make money” by buying some useless property - but instead, you’re just losing money), I was already $2 million in the hole. I was desperate for cash, and the casino heist seemed like it would be worth it. Boy, was I fucking wrong.
For my weapons, I chose the SMG loadout. For the getaway cars, I (foolishly) chose the Drift Yosemite, because I was excited to drive an unreleased vehicle. That bullshit comes back to haunt me, just wait.
I chose the Sneaky approach, so I had to drag my own ass through the manure that is the nano drone and laser drill setup missions.
Both of these setups showed me just how bad the AI is in GTA. I already knew it was bad, but this was just unbelievable. Infinite cops spawning not even a block ahead of me, and don’t get me started on the fucking helicopters. It’s not hard to tell that the cops know where you are at all times, even when you’re in the cooldown period - by simply watching the minimap, they always seem to know exactly which side street you chose to escape, and once they find you, holy aimbot, Batman.
After at least 7 attempts, I managed to finish all of the setups, and I was already red in the face. But I knew that it would be worth it.
Ha. Nope. Why would R* ever think the player wants freedom, and to be left alone to deal with missions themselves? That would be anarchy. Of course the player wants to work with some random dude that probably doesn’t even own an arcade themselves, and is just tagging along.
$2.1 million is the best possible take, even with the high-end buyers. I did the heist with one other person (which I know was stupid, but I didn’t know it would be as much of a mistake as it ended up being) in the hopes that I could get away with more money, but that didn’t make even the slightest difference.
After entering the casino, you have to fight a ridiculous number of enemies, and like I said, I was half right when I made my predictions - as in the enemies are genuine bullet-sponges. My partner didn’t know what “Sneaky” actually meant, so they just ran in and started blasting. Rendering my approach absolutely pointless. Unless you get a perfect headshot, it takes between 4-10 bullets to kill each guard, which doesn’t sound terrible, but it gets to that point when you’re stuck in a small space with a mind-boggling number of doors and hiding spots that give the enemy a massive advantage if they pull the trigger first.
After battling down to the basement for probably the third time, here comes quite possibly the stupidest part of the heist. The mantrap.
Being a player that prefers independence, I don’t use my headset when playing, and having to rely on another sentient being to mirror my movements without any sort of communication is the stuff of nightmares. This part isn’t necessarily time-consuming, or difficult. It just doesn’t make any fucking SENSE. Why would they make this a crucial part of the heist, when 90% of players don’t even fucking TALK?
After many deaths and a boat-load of enemies to take care of in between attempts at swiping a fucking keycard, we made it inside, and...
...it’s underwhelming.
In most, if not all past heists, the game would just go through a few animations and you would hit the max take. But in this one, they require you to spam the ‘A’ button (or the equivalent button on other platforms) to clear off carts full of cash. Which doesn’t sound too bad - except each cart takes about 30 seconds to clear, and you get maybe 2 minutes to get in and get out before the nerve gas seeps in and kills you. It didn’t help that my teammate might’ve cleared off one cart before choosing to either go AFK, or just stand still, as I cleared two and waited for him to meet me at the mantrap to leave. The gas suddenly enters, and I turn my attention to the map.
5 seconds pass...
...he’s still in there.
15...
...still there.
25... he finally pops out, and we escaped with a measly $800K. Unsurprisingly, he crushes about four boxes of snacks while I’m staring at him, waiting to (yet again) swipe a pair of keycards in unison.
We trudge back to the mantrap entrance, and we have to (AGAIN) battle some brainless, yet John Wick-like enemies to escape.
We exit the casino, and...
...all hell breaks loose.
FIVE ARMOURED TRUCKS blocking the parking lot alone, and about four more littered around the streets. More aimbot gods to deal with, and a few aggravating deaths to come to terms with.
We reach the getaway cars, or in other words, the other worst part of the heist.
As there are about 20 different possible getaway cars to choose from (four per possible crew member), few people will encounter this issue.
Keep in mind, I chose the Drift Yosemite. On the plus side, it certainly drifts, unlike the disappointment that is the Drift Tampa. On the other hand, though, I’d stick metal pins under each of my toenails and kick cinder blocks before I drove those absolute piles in a heist again. My partner chose to ride shotgun with me instead of taking the extra truck, so having ALL of the gunfire trained on a single vehicle made things... less than simple.
We made it to the Vinewood Hills before a pair of NOOSE Grangers pinned us against a wall while we were on our side. The bed of the truck was stuck in between the push bar on the SUV and the cement wall, similar to that of a fat kid stuck halfway through an elevator. With nowhere to go, the cops killed my teammate, and I just waited for the final pistol round to penetrate my stupid fucking emoji mask.
We finally escaped the city on our third or fourth round, but with two blown tires, each on the right side of the vehicle, the already drift-prone Drift Yosemite just refused to go in a straight line. The high-end buyers were located underneath the massive bridge that led towards Paleto, and I had reached Fort Zancudo before I realized that the truck wouldn’t escape the cops on-road with two tires left, so we dived into the mountains as soon as we entered the police cooldown. After narrowly dodging a few cops, we FINALLY escaped, stole a street vehicle, and finished the mission.
The final take? Just under $700K. And that was before Lester takes his cut, and your partners take theirs. My cut was 70%, and what did I get?
$318,000.
So if you include the price of the arcade that grants you access to this shitshow (I bought the one closest to the casino)...
...I made out with a loss of $1,557,000, plus some change.
Fuck this update. Fuck R. And fuck me, for thinking I would actually have fun. It must be some sort of twisted type of Stockholm syndrome at this point - to continue to believe that R will do something that actually benefits the player, and to act surprised when they don’t. But to think that someday, it’ll change.
It won’t.
I don’t care if people call me retarded for making stupid choices or for being naive, and I don’t care if I get downvoted. I just. Don’t. Care.
I’m done with GTA, for now. I’ll check to see what the podium car is, and what vehicles are added in the dripfeed. But there’s no way in hell I’m touching this heist with a 10 FT pole, from now on.

That really bummed me out to be honest. I've been anticipating this and a little in game adventure to get to it would have been nice.
Edit: I actually timed out and logged back in and then it spawned me at my normal apartment so it all worked out.

Listen up. It's hard for a gay bear to say no to some BB; however, I miss the good quality bear posts and I'm not taking any more of the glittery $BB DD lying down. This post is a critique of positive remarks made about BlackBerry QNX. This is not financial advice. Welcome to the casino.
tl;dr QNX is not high-tech, isn't primed for crazy growth and isn't something that can milk a monopoly position. 🌈🐻
The retards with their bullish DD for $BB are getting off on explaining RTOS, the impenetrable security, the moat of standards, QNX's usage count, the EV & autonomous car revolution, and IVY. All of these points are weak and don't combine to create a strong bundle of sticks.
RTOS Stop throwing around the term RTOS like it's magic. An RTOS is just OS that lets tasks ask to be run within a certain time. Engineering students spin up basic RTOSs in half-semester courses. Sure QNX is going to be vastly more complicated than a student project, but stop throwing around "RTOS" like it's secret tech.
"It's so secure!" Known vulnerability counts of a software can be low for non-flattering reasons: the software is not open-source, no-one cares to hack it, there arn't many features and the software doesn't change fast. I think that the autonomous and EV progress will increase scrutiny of automotive software and we will start to see some QNX bugs. In addition, the pressure on QNX to start adding features faster will also bring some bugs. Random speculation: I bet that there are some zero-day vulnerabilities of QNX known to organizations like the NSA.
"But QNX has a moat! Look at all these safety standards." These safely standards are a shitty moat that will backfire. In general, I think safety standards for software are a joke. Check out this PDF guide to ISO 26262. The standard focus on, among other things, to "use style guides" and "use naming convection" and "restrict coupling between software components". The whole standard seems like a joke.
One illuminating document I found titled "Tesla comments on the cyber security regulation interpretation document" (source) is Tesla making recommendations on how to update the W.29 standards. It has the following passage:

"We believe the current regulations and interpretations extensively consider the context of a traditional OEM "model-year" release rate, but do not factor in the perspective of a company that releases software at a faster rate than once or twice per year - similar to the model used by every other modern internet-connected consumer device. The current regulations and interpretations do not fully consider the overhead introduced to a manufacturer that releases software at a frequent pace. We believe is the direction the entire industry will move in, especially to address security and safety considerations. Any requirement to submit documentation, or wait for approval, for every individual software release will compromise velocity and agility; and works against the goals of a cyber security strategy. The regulation should be designed so it is based on evaluation of the manufacturer's internal processes, appropriate records of activities, and trust between manufacturers and authorities."

Claims that Tesla is having difficulty passing these standards carry truth but are misguided; the standards are archaic and don't fit with modern software development and Tesla is contributing to these standards being rewritten.
"Look at the 175 million vehicles using QNX!" Is this an argument for growth or for a monopoly? An argument for growth shouldn't be "QNX already has a large % market penetration". In comparison, the growth argument for EVs and self-driving cars is that there are hardly any now, and in 30 years most cars will be EVs with self-driving capabilities. If QNX has X% of the market now, I need evidence for why this will grow. Instead, if you are arguing that QNX has a monopoly, this also seems flawed. A quick google finds other companies have automotive platforms, such as GreenHills software which claims also to be "Proven in Hundreds of Millions of Vehicles" and also meets the standards such as ISO 26262.
I'm pretty sure nearly every car released in the last 20 years runs an OS of some sort. It's used to run tasks like like controlling the breaks, turning on your window wipers, lights, sound etc. RTOS is already a fundamental requirement of cars. Saying things like "EVs and self-driving cars means BB to the moon" is like saying we should invest in air bag companies because of strong growth of EVs and self-driving cars.
BlackBerry IVY I don't get how this is huge news. The press release is vague on the details. What actually is BlackBerry contributing here? What does BlackBerry get? 50/50 of what? Amazon wants everyone using AWS and will be happy to make deals to get people onto AWS. My guess is that AWS just needs a partner to figure out a good way to design some good APIs for car data. BlackBerry will be useful to AWS for a few years and then discarded.
Talent Bullish $BB DD doesn't even cover this, and it's probably one of the most important factors. A software companies long term advantage is it's strength to attract top talent. I don't see BB being able to compete in this game at all. I encourage people to check out some of the reviews of BlackBerry QNX on Glassdoor. It seems that most employees enjoy working an QNX but think that the parent company BlackBerry is dragging them down. Poor QNX doesn't even have a separate careers page—you get redirected to BlackBerry's career page which mixes all of their departments together on one page. Furthermore, looking at LinkedIn profiles of current BlackBerry QNX employees shows that the developer workforce is heavy on the old-guard and doesn't seem to have much young top-tier talent. If $BB can moon, maybe it can attract more talent, but currently, I think talent is going to be a serious issue for BlackBerry QNX.
Parting sentiment QNX will either continue to be a low level RTOS that moves your window wipers, or they will be squeezed-out as car companies or companies like Cruise or Deep Scale develop their own low-level OS or use an open-source one. I bought BB in the hype and I think there is a strong case for it being undervalued, but I place a low probability on BB becoming some automotive superstar based on QNX.
Position: I have 160 BB shares.
Edit: emoji Edit 2: links for LinkedIn and Glassdoor. Edit 3: a lot of you retards overlook arguments and base your opinion solely on me getting high on GME. I love wsb and I don’t want it becoming more of an echo chamber. I wrote about BB as I’m familiar with running software companies and the bull DDs for BB are cringe. I know nothing of retail businesses and I definitely worry that this has made me susceptible to one-sided GME hype.

I had an 85% cut and got 600k. Was so confused until I remembered the npcs have a cut. And no first time bonus?? Way too much effort for jack shit

Ik ik this is a gay subreddit, so hetro sex is an awkward thing to talk about. However, I've heard many cases where a closeted gay man had girlfriends before they came out. Some of these relationships are short, like about a couple of months, but other relationships from what I've heard have been long, like a couple of years. Having a good sex life is important in many relationships, so I'm sure sex has been brought up a couple of times especially in a long relationship with a girl.
Have any of you actually had sex with a girl when you were in the closet or were you able to avoid it? If you did have sex, what did you do or think about to get you turned on?
Also, no idea what to flair this...

The chips tasted of plastic.

Do have family members or friends who work in any casinos? Family or friends who frequently go to the casino(s) for entertainment?
I know that for me, I have a younger sister who manages one of a few high-end restaurants in a big casino which I won't name. To her, when I read parts of the full German commission report, she'd just said to me: "Oh, yeah they REALLY haven't scratched the surface of this..."
Has anyone here taken the time to read the full report? It's pretty damning, and it paints an ugly, cyclical picture beginning with supply and demand for drugs/gangs/users/dealers then so and and so on.

My muscles are sore. Tomatoes are the worst part you're selfish. The worst part you're selfish. Worst case scenario, they now apply to you while you're stuck in the kitchen today? Worst hands ever; stop doing it right. I smell it! It smells great. Smells really, really? You post my number wasn't a metaphor. I obviously forgot to take a break! -Take out your bracket wrong.

 
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Alexa was sitting cross legged before Sassie, with Aiov lying casually on the German Shepherd’s back. She had a metal bowl in her lap with chunks of fresh meat for Aiov and cooked meat for her large canine protector. It had been a difficult time as the dog had missed Aaron more and more, to the point that she had begun to refuse food. Aiov's enthusiasm, however, seemed to help slightly in countering that refusal, and Alexa had found that feeding them together at least got some food into the lonely Earth ambassador.
She scratched at the dog’s head as Aiov happily chomped on another scrap of meat. “Look at that! You won’t be outdone by a leokit now, will you?” She placed a cube of seared meat before Sassie’s nose. She sniffed it twice before eating. “You’re going to be so spoiled by the time we get him back. We’ll both get in trouble.”
Aiov snuggled into the thick black and tan fur, using her paw to guide the next morsel into her mouth. Sassie managed a few more pieces before turning her head away with a grunt. Satisfied with what she had achieved Alexa gave a few more scraps to Aiov before placing the bowl into the recycler. The loudspeakers throughout the Rinoxian vessel blared a loud message announcing they had now crossed into Hive space and that their readiness was being moved to level three.
Her door chimed. Opening it, she found Allistan in his new Terran Wolves uniform. “You need to come quickly, the Porkchop Express has arrived.”
As she grabbed Aaron's old leather jacket, Sassie immediately rose to follow which caused Aiov to roll to the floor. "You come," she spoke to the dog, then turned to the distinctly unhappy leokit who had just lost her warm pillow. "You stay, sorry.”
They walked briskly through the corridors of the Rinoxian warship towards a secure meeting room which had two Terran Wolves outside the door. Their black uniforms and red collars were easily identifiable and they gave sharp salutes as Alexa approached. “I told you not to salute.”
The two guards lowered their hands sheepishly as the doors opened. Sassie immediately surged past Alexa to happily greet the returning crew members. She moved from Ranjaz to Jaym, receiving many scratches and hugs. Even Eruwenn and Cygna received a quick examination, but she soon stopped when no sign of Aaron could be found. The German Shepherd forlornly returned to Alexa's side as the Awakened took a seat at the meeting table. “Is the room secure?”
Cygna, now in a smart black uniform with white collar, stood. “We have taken additional precautions due to the sensitive information we will be discussing.”
Tilting her head, Alexa took in the Fae’Dan’s new clothing. “You’re one of us now?”
Eruwenn gave a slight chuckle. Aside from Alexa, she was the only one not in uniform. “She lost a game of dalcho, or two.”
“Seven.” Ranjaz said with a wicked grin. “Don’t worry, she’s actually been a fairly competent assistant. Aside from her gambling issues, obviously.”
Her head drooping to look at her feet, Cygna replied, “I swear by Tulseria’s right hand, I will get you back for this!”
The Kittran’s grin grew more predatory. “Wanna bet?”
There was a long table by the wall where Embar was fixing himself a drink, He turned, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I approve of your recruiting techniques.”
The Kittran shrugged. “She’s worth it – even broke the code on this.” He tossed the recovered device onto the table as Embar returned and took his seat opposite him. “And, you’re going to want a stronger drink, General.”
Curiosity piqued, Allistan took his seat, preparing his notepad and pen. “What did you find?”
Ranjaz was about to speak when Eruwenn held up her hand. “I think we should let General Embar read this first. He can take a moment before we all continue.”
Raising an eyebrow, Embar sat down in a nearby chair and connected the device to a non-networked datapad. “Why me?” He began scrolling through the files, tapping on icons and delving deeper. His breathing suddenly stopped, his face contorting. Disbelief morphed into anger, and as his body tensed, anger turned to white-hot rage. He placed the datapad down on the table before him and stood, walking back towards the drinks table. He lowered his head, his body radiating anger as his muscles clenched and unclenched, then raised his fist into the air and slammed it into the table. Bottles, glasses and everything else it had held went crashing to the ground as it buckled under force of his blow. “We’re going to kill every last one of those Sentinel bastards!”
No longer smiling, Ranjaz stood. “You’re Tulseria damned right we are.”
Jaym was sitting silently, but she pulled a rag from her pocket and dabbed at her tears. After they had fled from the casino she had tried to help crack the encryption on the stolen device. Part of her wished they never had, as its contents had disturbed her so much. Now that they had finally caught up with Alexa, Embar and the others who had been on the Rinoxian homeworld, she empathised deeply with the pain this information was bringing. “It’s so awful, I’m so sorry Embar.”
Eruwenn patted the young Arkellian on the shoulder to comfort her as she looked at the Rinoxian. “Please believe me, General Warbringer. The council knew nothing of this.”
Alexa picked up the datapad, using her nanites to more quickly access the information. She grit her teeth, biting back her anger, then passed it quickly to Allistan. “You need to read this. Then we need to plan our next move.” She looked at the back of the unmoving Rinoxian. “Embar?”
Embar slowly turned around, his jaw set, determination in his eyes. “We keep this quiet. We’re on an active mission and need everyone focused on the job at hand.”
Allistan went to click his pen as he read, but with a gasp the pen fell from his fingers. “We can’t keep quiet, the galaxy needs to see this.”
The Rinoxian nodded. “They will. When the time is right.”
 
 
It had been two cycles and the incursion fleet had advanced deep into Hive space. Over half of the force accompanying them were the Rinoxians under their new Galactic Federation commanders. There were over a dozen Galactic Federation ships along with six Gowe destroyers, and a dozen ships from other races including the Niham and Kah’Ree. Admiral Pelar, on board the Blazing Dawn, commanded four Ashi ships including the Righteous Fury.
The smallest craft by far was the Porkchop Express, a speck amongst titans. Its white painted hull, chrome bull bars and bright cartoon logo were a stark contrast to the military ships it accompanied. Sassie was more comfortable now that she was in familiar territory, and slept on a pile of Aaron’s clothes in his quarters.
Allistan and Alexa were sitting opposite Jar’Bek in his small office. The Ashi looked exhausted as he finally put down his datapad. “I’m sorry to have kept you.”
Allistan fidgeted in his seat. “Not at all, was that your mother again?”
Stiffening slightly at the use of the word mother the lawyer forced himself to relax again. “Admiral Pelar has informed us that they have been repeatedly scanned by the Gowe. She’s taking no action, as we’re supposed to be allies, but wanted you to be aware.” Alexa nodded and he continued. “When we arrive at the next system the commanders of each ship have been called to the Hooves of Destiny. Vice-Admiral Koo Ji has requested an in person meeting, with all senior officers.”
There were several pen clicks. “That seems unusual.”
Jar’Bek gave a knowing nod. “Extremely. To remove every ship’s command, behind enemy lines? It makes no sense.”
Alexa pushed her hair back from her face. “The Rinoxians agreed to it?”
The Ashi nodded. “Most of their command have been replaced. Anyway, they outnumber – and outgun – the other ships. Why would they be concerned?”
Allistan’s pen clicked. “They probably just put it down to Gal. Fed. protocols, or fear.”
Jar’Bek nodded. “They’ve had us stopping in random systems to scan. No doubt it’s to delay us, but perhaps also to lower the Rinoxian’s guard?”
Leaning back in her chair, the Awakened considered the options. “Maybe there's another fleet waiting to ambush us? Or following us?”
Allistan twirled his pen in his fingers. “No, no. All eyes are on the border since Aaron’s capture. It must be something else.”
Moving on to her next idea, Alexa asked, “Sabotage?”
The Ashi gave a chuckle. “That is Admiral Pelar’s conclusion. The Gal. Fed. officers have been on board the other ships, and the possibility exists that there are Sentinels working amongst them. They are all in command positions, and will all be leaving. It’s a logical conclusion.”
Allistan’s pen halted its spinning. “The Ashi ships, they can’t have been sabotaged, right?”
The lawyer nodded. “True, but, it wouldn’t matter. Their ships are old and have seen too much action. Those Gowe ships alone are more than they could handle.”
The Fae’Dan sighed and shook his head at the situation they were facing. “We should have brought more ships. The new ones.”
Alexa, staring at the ceiling, spoke softly. “No, we don’t need to show our hand just yet. But send word to Chae’Sol, make sure he has the coordinates.”
Jar’Bek nodded and made a note on his datapad. “What about the others?”
The Awakened closed her eyes. It was times like this she missed her human and his habit of taking charge. “Tell Embar to warn his contacts among the Rinoxians. The others… I have no idea, I just want to sleep.”
Allistan, a stickler for accuracy, replied, “I didn’t think Awakened slept?”
She sat up and gave a half-hearted smile. In an unusual moment of vulnerability, she replied, “I was told you can do anything in a dream. For those moments, we would all be together again.”
Allistan struggled to come up with a response to that, and the Ashi, having noticed this, stepped in to fill the gap in conversation. “We’ll find him. I can’t lose the most profitable client in the galaxy now, can I?”
Now past the moment of awkwardness, the Fae’Dan also answered. “I’m sure he’s fine. In fact, he’s probably already on his way back to us.”
Alexa gave Allistan a withering look. “You think he single-handedly defeated the Hive, stole a ship and managed to figure out how to fly it back here?”
The former Inspector paused to consider it. “No. It will most likely be something even more preposterous. Perhaps he married their Queen?”
The ridiculousness of the idea brought a chuckle to the Awakened. “Maybe. Hopefully nothing that drastic; he’d probably just turn their society upside down with some ridiculous scheme.”
Jar’Bek also smiled. “A little civil unrest, perhaps a few riots? No doubt with merchandise.”
Finally breaking into a broad grin, Alexa replied, “I think we all might be over-estimating him a little.”
 
 
Aaron stood in the trade area of Toivoa station with a contingent of Gardener Royal Guards behind him, Tsy’Lo by his side, and a very angry mob in front of him. Several well-dressed local leaders were dragged from the crowd to stand before him; Mycena, Tricinic, Procyon and a dozen other refugee races were crammed into the triple height area of the station.
One of the leaders staggered towards Aaron. “You! You caused this!”
Aaron, feigning as much innocence as possible, pointed to his chest. “Me?”
One of the Mycena he had met during his time on the station came forward. “We’ve all seen the videos! They kept us in the dark about what is going on out there! The Galactic Federation are coming! Our leaders lied to us!”
The accusatory leader, a Procyon with greying fur, pointed at Aaron. “Your... Your propaganda, has driven them mad! Your lies! They’re destroying the station!”
The human smiled and maintained his innocent expression. “My propaganda?” Several in the crowd held up datapads; Aaron’s smiling face was on every one. “Oh... that propaganda.”
Tsy’Lo tugged on his sleeve. “What did you do?!”
Aaron crouched down slightly. “Remember when I accidentally picked up the kids datapad and you returned it?”
“Yes…” The Tricinic flushed orange as realisation struck. “It wasn’t the child’s datapad!”
Aaron straightened up. “Yeah, thanks for helping bring down society.” He laughed as Tsy’Lo became a very opaque green hue. “Don’t worry, I’ve got an idea.”
The greying Procyon shook his fist at the human. “You better! They should throw you in a cage for the rest of your life for this. Hundreds of celes of peace, destroyed!”
Aaron looked down at the angry alien. “Your peace, not theirs.” He gestured back towards the Gardeners, and walked towards them without waiting for a reply. He raised his hands high, motioning for the unruly mob to settle down. “Alright, alright. Settle down, munchkins. So the wizard’s a liar? Welcome to reality. The Gardeners have been fighting and dying to keep you safe from the flying monkeys, while you all hide in your Emerald City and get on with your lives. That shit ends now. You’re crying out for change? Then welcome to the revolution, baby! We’re opening up the borders, we’re rejoining the rest of the galaxy! No more hiding!”
The crowd was already worked up, and cheering came easily despite the large lack of understanding. The human nodded — he was enjoying this far too much — and then gestured again for quiet. He spoke quietly at first, adding excitement to his voice as it built in power. “So prepare for a chance of a lifetime! Be prepared for sensational news!”
The Procyon official’s mouth opened and closed silently before he managed to shake his mind free of the initial shock of the human’s words. “No! Stop! What are you even saying?”
Aaron didn’t care about the official. He put the palm of his hand on their face, which easily dwarfed it in size, and gently pushed them slowly backwards. He then leapt up onto a crate; his showmanship on camera was nothing to his on-stage presence. “A shining new era is tiptoeing nearer, and where do you feature? Just listen to teacher! You’ve stagnated here for long enough. Lied to and kept in the dark, well, no more!”
The crowd was his, he knew it. The official knew it. Tsy’Lo knew it and was a nervous shade of blue. Aaron clambered from the crate to the roof of a stall, standing high above the crowd. The cheers followed every rambling sentence and, drunk on power, Aaron was loving it. “Spread the word to every planet, every station, every colony and every ship. Change is not coming, it’s here and it is now!”
The crowd roared again, and the desperate official turned to Tsy’Lo. “What in the nine moons is he talking about?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m talking about.” Aaron snapped. He stood looking out over the crowd. “I am the Ambassador of a world called Earth. I have taken ownership of a small star system that is being colonised as we speak. These colonies are a coalition of races, from within the Federation, as well as without. We rule ourselves, but have treaties and agreements with the Federation itself, as well as various individual races within it.”
Several questions were called out from the crowd, but one voice was louder than the others. “How does that help us?”
With a smile, the human walked back and forth across the roof of the stall as he spoke. “Good question my friend.” He pointed vaguely at where the voice had come from. “I do not have contact with my homeworld at this time. To ensure that all of whatever Earth has become would be included we put in place clauses for future territories, dominions, settlements etc, etc…” The crowd was quiet now, trying to follow the human’s explanation. Looking out at the blank faces Aaron realised he needed to get to the point. “Congratulations, you’re now a protectorate of Earth!”

He was met with utter silence. 

Suddenly, there were several angry yells from the crowd, some claiming this was a joke while others were simply confused. The official was the one who dared clamber to the crate below Aaron in order to yell up to him. “Are you insane?”
Aaron’s smile made Tsy’Lo shudder, as it was the same one he had given as he had explained his idea to the Gardener Queen. The human stepped forward to stand at the front of the stall roof. “I declared war on the Gardeners. The war lasted seven Earth minutes, and was quickly resolved when the Queen surrendered to me in person.”
Silence fell once again, and Aaron found himself half-yearning for the sound of crickets to emphasize the moment.
The crowd erupted once more, outrage at the ridiculous claims the strange alien was spewing forth. Tsy’Lo released a deafeningly loud harmonic whistle which was followed by another momentary quiet. They paled as the crowd's attention fell on them. “You need to listen, all of you. He is speaking the truth, sort of. He held the Queen and the Gardeners council hostage with a bomb.” Small grey particles filled the Tricinic at the memory of being used as a weapon. The crowd began to grow rowdy at this news, causing Tsy’Lo to let off another sonic blast. “It is all a human trick; once we are part of his alliance we fall under the treaties he already has in place.”
The crowd looked back up to the human. “Like I said, congratulations. You just walked in through the backdoor of a peace treaty with the Galactic Federation, and over a dozen separate treaties with other races.”
The crowd were now arguing amongst themselves. The official - who Aaron was now mentally calling Gobshite - once again challenged him. “At what cost, though? What do you get out of this?”
The smile of mischief once more graced the human’s lips and Tsy’Lo considered pulling him down from his stage. They had been on their way to the border when news of the riots on Toivoa reached them. Aaron’s presence had been demanded and he had happily accepted. The human looked almost as gleeful as that moment of acceptance when he spoke again. “Me? I get to go home. I get friends with big sticks. I get to trade openly with you, and believe me, I have a lot of crap to sell you.” He chuckled. “You get to be part of the galaxy again. You get to travel and trade. Our rules are simple and fair; everyone is equal under the law. You have exactly the same rights as everyone else who joined us. And the cost?” He paused for effect, making sure they were all paying attention. “You stand on your own two feet.” He glanced around, noting the sheer diversity of the crowd. “Or one foot... or four... Or whatever it is you’re balancing on.”
The crowd was a buzz of conversation, and Gobshite once again chimed in. “You think they’ll let us back without a fight? We can expose them! Those bastards tried to exterminate us!”
The crowd jeered along with the old Procyon. Aaron held up his hands. “Woah, woah. Only some of them. That’s the thing, there are a lot more members now. So here’s the plan: shut up. If you don’t say anything, they sure as shit aren’t going to out themselves, are they? While everyone is staring at the former Hive terror that they all feared, you guys just start working and trading, nice and quiet.”
A few murmurs of agreement came from the crowd. Gobshite, however, was more than a murmur. “You want us to forget our ancestors suffering?”
A little irritated, Aaron was more harsh than he intended. “You’ve wallowed in it long enough. Look at you, hiding for generations, keeping your communications to a minimum to avoid detection. Is this all some master plan as you build an army to seek revenge? Fuck no!” He saw the shame on their faces. “You’re happy to leave this status quo to future generations? You want to remember the suffering of your ancestors, fine, build a fucking statue. But don’t hold back your children to do it.”
The crowd were growing louder again as they discussed his words. “Look!” the human yelled. “I’m not saying you forget, or forgive. I’m saying you keep your mouths shut. We won’t announce your presence to the Federation. Instead, I want those of you looking to start something new to come join the new colonies. No big fanfares, just get on with it. In a place filled with different races, you’ll just be another stranger.”
He saw the crowd looking at each other, and knew was a lot to take in all at once. “We gather evidence, build trust. Get yourselves established, forge friendships and alliances, and become accepted as part of the new colonies. Let those in the know think their past crimes are forgotten. And when we are ready, we burn down their false history and anyone who tries to defend it!”
The crowd cheered once more, and Aaron smiled triumphantly down at Tsy'Lo as he leapt casually from the roof. As he landed, many hands patted his back and many questions were yelled, but it all ceased as one of the Gardeners stepped forward. It was Eridor, as there was no mistaking the red cape he wore. "We need to leave, the Federation have entered our space.”
Next

Continuing… (It's Part 6 in the saga, I fucked up. Sorry.)
So, after a few re-fueling and impromptu cigar-purchasing stops in South and Central America, we wheel up to the deserted jetway at LAX.
“Thought we were going to Elmendorf?” I asked.
“This isn’t it?” the pilot replied, feigning worry.
“No.”, I replied, “Looks like California. Fruits and nuts. All around. What’s going on? One minute we’re off to Texas, then Cali, then Texas again, now we end up here at the California airport of the iconic tower.”
“Yeah, it’s confusing enough haulin’ civilians around. But when we get a call from Virginia, we tend to comply without any questions,” the pilot explains.
“Aw, shit!”, I sort of exclaim, “Rack and Ruin called?”
“Yeah”, the pilot replies, “Figures you’d know these guys. They said they were closer to LAX rather than Texas and had us divert here. In fact, you look over there, see that dark blue Chevy? That’s them; and evidently, your ride.”
I tipped the airman from earlier a couple of cigars as he helped me with my gear off the plane and into the trunk of Rack and Ruin’s plain-Jane blue late modeled Chevy. Had to move the Sidewinder Missiles off to one side, though.
“Most honorable Agents Lack and Luin!” I quipped in my faux-racist greeting. “What the hell, guys? I’ve got to get to Japan and get some newly rigidified digits.”
“Let’s see your hand”, Agent Rack asks. “Nasty.”
“Yeah”, I sigh “And with the medicos in South America and their penchant for plaster, I don’t so much have a left hand as more of an ankylosaur tail.”
“Or Thagomizer”, Agent Ruin tittered. “Anyone gives you grief, and one upside the head should set them right. Or dead.”
“You’re a riot, Ruin.” I replied, “But not entirely incorrect.”
We all agreed that I really didn’t need any extra accouterments to make myself look more dangerous. I mean with my severe haircut, stern beard clip, and perpetual ‘Go fuck yourself’ scowl.
“Yeah”, I replied, stroking the aforementioned beard, “I just can’t get that. I’m such a people person.”
After Agents Rack and Ruin finished drying their eyes from laughing what I thought was en extremis, we finally got down to business.
“So, what’s the skinny, guys”, I asked. “New marching orders?”
“No. Not as such”, Agent Ruin said, still sniggering over my ‘people person’ comment.
I see we’re moving. Agent Rack is just driving casually, like Chewbacca when they were waiting to see if the Empire went for that expensive Bothan code.
“Then, what?” I asked, getting a slight bit piqued.
“Well”, Agent Ruin noted, “When you went to South America, you took some of your artillery collection with, correct?”
“You know I did. You even made some snide comments about my personal choice of sidearms and their ‘excessive’ calibers, if memory serves”, I reiterated.
“And if you are proceeding normally, as you always do, they’re all nestled in the trunk of this very car. All cleaned, quiet, unloaded, and smelling sweetly of Hoppe’s Number 9 and WD 40, correct?” Rack inquired.
“Yes?” I cautiously venture.
“Well, ya’ big dummy, do you think they’re going to let you saunter into Tokyo armed like the Third Fleet?” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Um…well…I do have a Diplomatic Passport.” I ventured.
“That’s not going to work this time.”, Agent Ruin said, shaking his head. “They’re tighter than Dick’s Hatband about sidearms. Want to bring in your Rigby SXS .500 Nitro Express double rifle? Not a problem. Sidearms, especially in your alien hunting calibers, nope.”
Well, that’s just….*dandy!”, I reply, semi-put out. “Now what the hell am I going to do?”
“Ever think that’s why Ruin and I are here, now?”, Rack asks.
“And here I thought it was just so you could bask in the warm glow of my fucking wonderful personality. Or that you actually cared about me as a real goddamn human”, I joshed.
“Ummm…yeah”, Rack replies, “There’s no way we can answer that without going on some Deadpool list. “
I agreed.
“OK, here’s the deal: you get your sidearms, ammunition, speed loaders, brass knuckles, Asp, laser range finders, Sap, Zeiss scopes, Kukri, Wisconsin Cheese Whittler, Buck folding skinner, Marine K-Bar, those two ultra-illegal Cheburkov Cobra titanium switchblades...”
“Three. Olga the KGB lady sent me one for Geologist’s Day.”
“Ahem. Those three ultra-illegal Cheburkov switchblades, that Wyoming Speedholer, your MASER Time-Distance Computer, garrote, pocket rail gun and whatever else lethal you carry and deposit it in the iron box in the trunk. We’ll ensure that it’s delivered to Esme post-haste. And by post-haste I mean one of our guys will deliver it personally.”
“Well…I suppose”, I conceded, “But best send someone who’s been to the house recently. I don’t know how much bigger Khan has grown since I left on this little fantasy trip. Wouldn’t want a star on the wall in Langley for someone eaten by a mastiff. Want to see a picture….Oh, bother. That’s right. My phone’s at the bottom of fucking Lake Maracaibo.”
“Good point”, Ruin interjects, “Guess we’ll do a little road trip and deliver it ourselves. Best call Esme and let her know what’s going on.”
“I have no objections to your proposals. Please give Esme this when you see her. I had some luck in the Calaveras Casino and if I don’t send her some mad money. Ouch. She’ll never forgive me for not taking her along to Japan.” I asked.
“But I thought Esme hated Japan? Too crowded and too ‘fussy’, I believe was her estimation.” Ruin asked.
“Yes, but once she saw the Ginza, all bets were off. Shopping the likes of which even Allah himself hasn’t seen.” I replied, slowly shaking my head.
“I see”, Ruin said, “Well, since you’re off to Sapporo, perhaps you can do a recon for Esme on the shopping there.”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”, I smiled, “Now I know why I let you guys hang around with me.”
So, as advertised, I am now standing on the tarmac at LAX, basically feeling naked.
“Can’t I keep just one switchblade?” I moaned to Agent Rack.
“Go ahead, if you’re really keen on donating it to Japanese customs”, he replied.
“Fuckbuckets.” I groused.
“There, there now. That’s the usual Dr. Rocknocker of which we’re all so fond.” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Remember, you do have that wallet-sized credit card gizmo from the Company. So you’re not entirely ‘naked’. Think of it as an emergency breechcloth.” He smiled.
“I’d like a larger model if you don’t mind. It’s chilly out here.” I joshed.
After Agents Rack and Ruin stripped me metaphorically naked as they de-weaponized me, they handed me a Business Class ticket to Tokyo, and a pass to the Japan Airlines Hospitality Suite and Lounge.
“So sorry you guys can’t hang around and have a few farewell snorts”, I chided, “But you’ve got a bit of a drive, so best be off before the weather turns to shit.”
“Who says we’re driving?” Agent Rack asked as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the ready and waiting C-130 cargo plane currently taxiing slowly in our direction.
“Well, in that case”, I smiled even more broadly, “Let’s invite the flight crew to join us. That’ll make the flight home all that much more interesting.”
After near tear-jerking farewell sentimentalities, i.e., “Piss on you”, “Get stuffed” and “Take a fuckin’ hike”; Agents Rack and Ruin, my weapons and the Agency’s plain-Jane Blue Chevy were all nestled snugger than buggers in ruggers in the belly of the thundering C-130.
Now truly on my own, I trudge the hundred thousand or so centisteps to my departure terminal, make a quick recon that my flight’s still slated to go in a generally westward direction, and hightail it to the nearest courtesy desk to ask for a motorized cart to take me and my remaining luggage to the JAL Hospitality Suite.
Hey. I’m old, infirm, and currently among the walking wounded.
Anyone that disagrees risks an Ankylosaur tail club swat or Thagomizer to the skull.
Finally ensconced in the JAL Hospitality Suite, Polo Lounge of course; I was drinking Tokyo Teas (3 oz. vodka, 2 oz. gin, 2 oz. rum, 1 oz. triple sec, 1 oz. Midori, good splash of lime juice, a slight splash of 7-Up (diet, of course), over ice with a lime wheel) with Pabst Blue Ribbon Extra 1844 chasers and Hangar One’s “Fog Point” vodka on the side, hiding from the brutish realities of this foul year of two thousand and twenty-something, Common Era…
I’ve already called Esme and we’ve had a good, long chat. She still managed to give me her shopping list for whenever I find myself bored on the Ginza.
She’ll be shocked when she learns that I’m not going to be in Tokyo long, but have 1st class tickets on the Bullet Train to Sapporo. Still, I’ll probably find myself in Pole Town or the Stellar Place there, trading piles of US greenbacks for locally produced Japanese curios and clothing.
I can hardly wait.
I order another round of drinks, as the wonderful attendants in the Hospitality Suite were bored out of their skulls because of the COVID-induced drop-in customers flying anywhere that requires a hospitality room stay, and I was virtually the only one around. They tried their level best to outdo each other when it comes to Japanese efficiency and friendliness.
After a couple of hours, they ask if I would like something from the grill, as the day chef had “the COVID” and the night chef just arrived. A quick perusal of the menu and I chose a 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse and another round of drinks.
I usually don’t like to eat too much before I fly, but JAL tells me the flight is going to be virtually empty, something like <121 pax, all told, so restroom availability shouldn’t be too much of a concern.
Plus, who am I to say no to a free, blue 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse?
There was a bit of difficulty conveying to the chef through the intermediaries of the hospitality just how I wanted my steak.
“Blue,” I said.
“Brue?” was the reply.
“Rare. Very, very rare.” I continued.
Look of total bewilderment.
I drag out my Personal Language Pro, speak “Steak, very, very rate” into the infernal gizmo, and hand the contraption to the attendant.
“珍しい、非常に珍しいステーキ?”[ Mezurashī, hijō ni mezurashī sutēki?]
“Raw! Nama!” I say, louder than need be.
They toddle off to find the chef.
“How is it sir, that you would like your steak cooked?” he asks.
“Very rare. Just a minute or two per side. Inside still cold.” I instructed.
All I got for the trouble was a puzzled smile.
“Give me the language gizmo…” I type in a few words…
“お尻を洗い、角をノックオフして、ここから出してください”
[O shiri o arai,-kaku o nokkuofu shite, koko kara dashite kudasai.]
“Wash its ass, knock its horns off, and walk it out here.”
“OH!” as the lightbulb pops. “Rare. Got it! Excellent!” the chef laughs and zips back to the kitchen.
Like I always say, I’m nothing if not the international ambassador of amity and goodwill.
“Crack tubes!”
Dinner was fantastic. I do wish I could have somehow mailed the Porterhouse bone back home for Khan. After that hambone incident, he might even taste it.
Finally on the plane, in an almost empty Business Class, the flight captain informs us that we’re headed to Haneda Airport Tokyo and anyone not headed in that direction better ‘haul ass off’ the flight or forever hold their peace.
Late-night international flights tend to be a bit more wooly than your average Chicago to Omaha gig.
Especially when the flight’s damn near empty and we have the next 12 hours or so to be best friends.
We taxi, turn and head into the wind. I’m doctoring up a couple of dossiers and keeping my personal cabin attendant, Luna since there were two of us in Business and two business flight attendants, busy with her trying to play ‘Stump the Geologist’.
“I’ll bet you never had this before.” She beamed and handed me a tumbler of very dangerous-looking brown liquor.
I cautiously sniff, take a modest gulp, swirl and glug the rest down.
“Ohishi Single Sherry Cask”, I say with a muffled belch. “Light. Fruity. An Englishman’s drink.”
“Oh. You knew. Let me try again.” She smiles beatifically.
“I have no objections to your proposal.” I smile as nicely as this crotchety old Komodo Dragon could.
She returns with another flagon of spirits; it smells of obsidian, leather, and earth.
I just had some of this back in LAX. I take a snort, smile, and shotgun the rest.
“Hibiki Japanese Harmony…lovely stuff.” I smile. “A little light for my jaded palate, but I’d never turn it down if it were free.”
“Oh, you win again. Wait. One more.” She smiles and skitters off to the galley.
She returns with another soupçon of some more dangerous brown liquor.
“Here, try this. It will make you very popular at social gatherings”. She smiles.
Sniff. “Splendid.” Snort. Swirl. Smile. Shotgun.
“Kanosuke New Born, if I’m not mistaken.” I smile back. “Very nice. I really do like this one.”
“You too good at this. One more!” she stands and stomps off defiantly. She returns in a trice and hands me the glass.
“Hmm…brown. Light notes of earth, leather, dating your daughter, and Kentucky…
“Beam Suntory, right?”
“You know them all!” she says, feigning irritation.
“And I thank you. Those were all excellent. Now, anything in the dangerous clear liquor category? I asked.
Luna smiled as I palmed off a 20k yen tip.
“Oh, no sir. Wait until we land.” She demurred, referring to the gratuity; which is know is not de rigueur in the Orient, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Just in case we never make it to Tokyo”, I laughed, unknowingly presciently.
We both chuckled about that last line as she tried out various sakes and shōchūs and an actual Japanese ‘White Liquor’ (ホワイトリカー), which were all excellent as was the company.
I tell her that I need to get some work done and could she bring me a tall Rocknocker. After explain the origins and construction of the eponymous drink, she brings me one that must tip the scales at 1 or so liters.
She settles down to an empty seat and I get after the work that I need to finish before we land. I’m about ½ way through my drink when it felt as if the plane hit a brick wall. She quivered and quaked and clutched at herself while I made some comments about the pilot’s mental health.
We dropped like a paralyzed falcon, then just as suddenly, felt like it was an express elevator to Angel’s 11. The plane bucked and shimmied, wickedly. Then we slam-danced right and fell a few more stories. It was like we were in a Mixmaster and the owner was trying out every speed.
The emergency lights in the 777-300ER popped on, and the fasten seat belt sign barked loudly so even sleeping travelers could enjoy the show.
Rinse. Spin. Shudder. Repeat.
Finally, the ride smooths out and we hear the captain on the blower.
“This is your captain speaking…ah, we seem to have hit some uncharted turbulence back there.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious”, I muttered.
“Everything’s A-OK. “ he reports.
“That’s good”, I note.
“But…”
“There’s always the but…” I groan.
“…we have a couple of warning lights for which we can’t quite account. So to just be safe and certain, we’re going to divert to Hawaii, get a clean bill of health and resume this flight once we make sure everything here is hunky-dory.”
There were scattered groans and applause. Add them together and divide by two and the average response on the flight was “Meh. Whatever.”
Except for the other guy in Business, with whom I hadn’t shared two words. He began to absolutely lose his shit.
“Oh, man! We’re so screwed! Mechanical malfunction? What does that mean?” he positively fizzed with fear.
The flight attendants tried to calm him down, to no avail. They basically gave up and said they’d report his misgivings to the Captain.
I motioned over to my personal flight attendant, Luna, and asked if I could be of service.
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled at me, “If you could speak with him. You are so calm, and he is…”
“Losing his bloody mind”, I chuckled as I finished her sentence for her. “Of course, I’ll take a stab at it.”
So, I grab my drink and ease over to my Business Class partner and introduce myself.
“Hey, pal. How’s it going? I’m Dr. Rock, gentleman, scholar, and connoisseur of cigars and things alcoholic. You doing OK?”
He looks at me with an ashen face and his eyes the size of bloodshot dinner plates.
“Yeah. I’m Todd Schotts. I’m flying to Japan for business.” He mumbles
“No surprise there,” I reply calmly and take a slug of my drink.
“But now we’re all going to die. The plane is busted and we’ll crash…” he started off again.
“So, Todd is it? Good. You drink?” I asked.
“Yeah?”, he stammered back.
I asked Luna to make us a fresh batch of my eponymous cocktails.
“OK, Todd, listen up”, I began after the drinks were served, “I have flown literally millions of miles over the last 4 decades. On Aeroflot when it was still the USSR. On TACA (Take A Chance Airways), on Chalk’s in the Caribbean, on Bob’s Verrifast Plane Company in Rhodesia, on regional carriers that don’t even exist anymore. All over the world. Had some bad experiences flying, and me ol’ mugger, this ain’t one of them. This is nothing more than the glitch for this mission.”
I chuckled lightly and complimented Luna on a fantastic drink.
“Yeah…yeah…yeah…but we have to land and check out some lights…” Todd squealed.
“Well now, Todd. It would be rather difficult to do any external assessment while in flight, don’t you agree?” I asked.
“But we’re diverting. We have to land and that adds more risk. We’re going to crash and die!” he was coming more and more unglued.
“I will bet you every cent you have on your person and home bank accounts that that will not happen”, I chuckled.
That took him by surprise. At least it shut him up for a while.
“Look, Todd. This is Boeing’s latest model. They have the most incredible safety record. And if a little clear air turbulence were to be knocking planes out of the sky, don’t you think we’d hear about it as the press went berserk?” I asked.
“But they don’t know what the lights mean! What if one of the engines’s out? How far can we fly on one engine?” Todd stuttered.
Having my fill of a supposedly grown man with inane childlike fears, I calmly replied,
“All the way to the crash site.”
He went white.
“...hope we hit something hard. I don’t want to limp away from this.”
He went limp.
Then I went to my seat and motioned for Luna to prepare a reload.
Of course, 45 minutes later, we land without incident at Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, Honolulu Hawaii.
We were told to just wait around until they figure out what the problem if any, was.
They had officials waiting at the end of the jetway to check our COVID status and passports before they let us loose in the terminal.
I asked Luna if she knew this airport. She noted that she did.
“Is there a JAL hospitality room here at this airport? I asked.
“Yes, Doctor. It’s the Sakura Lounge. It is located on the third level above The Local, Terminal 2.” She replied.
“Please notify whoever needs to know that that’s where I’ll be for the duration”, I smiled and handed her my business card. “See you soon, I hope.”
“Oh, Dr. Rock”, she replied, “I am sure it is nothing much. We’ll be back in the air within mere hours.”
“Well then”, I smiled, “Guess I’d better get ready to hoof it to the lounge.”
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled, “No rush. I will call for you a courtesy cart. You are injured, you are Business, you are priority.”
“I love that Asian efficiency.” I smiled back and toddled down the jetway.
At the terminus of the jetway, I show my COVID-clear papers, dates and times of my Anti-Virus vaccine administrations, the letter from Virginia clearing me of all detention, and my red Russian diplomatic passport.
While in the cart, whizzing our way to the JAL lounge, the driver said “Man! You must be some kind of VIP. You were through that welcoming committee in less than two minutes!”
“Me? Nah!”, I chuckled, “Just an old phart of a geologist that they didn’t want to mess with. Not on such a bright, sunny day as this.”
“I see you’re not wearing a mask.” The driver quipped.
“Very observant. There are reasons for that.” I replied.
He careens around a corner and if this were a normal pre-Covid day, I’m certain we’d have killed hundreds. However, the airport, as I’ve come to grow accustomed to, was virtually deserted.
“Yeah? Like what?” he asks.
“Well, Scooter, 1. I have an active and hardworking immune system that I let off the chain every once in a while for exercise. Got to let it know what it’s up against, right? 2. I’ve had all my shots and some that were experimental. They seem to have worked. And 3. I find it difficult to drink and smoke cigars while wearing a mask. However, if you’d prefer, I will mask up. No problem, though it still is optional.”
“Nah, man”, he said, “I was just wondering if you were one of those religious idiots or conspiracy nuts.”
Nope”, I smiled back, “Just another geologist out in the world plying his trade for cash. Y’know, whorin’ around for money.”
He laughs aloud as we skid to a stop right in front of Lounge.
I slip the guy a $20 and ask if he’d listen for the JAL flight I was just on. If we’re going on ahead today, I’d need him to scoot by and putt-putt me back to the plane.
He laughs and pockets the $20 as quick as a mink ruts.
“No worries. I’ll just hang around this area. I hear anything about the flight, I’ll come and let you know.” He grins.
“Good man”, I say, as I hand him my card. “I’m Dr. Rocknocker. Call me Rock”.
“And I’m Kapula Mano, call me Kap” he replies.
“Good man”, I say again, “Hope to see you in a while.”
He grins, floors his electric cart, and peels out at speeds approaching 4.5 MPH.
I wander into the lounge, show my credentials, and am escorted to a post up on Mahogany Ridge.
The bar is very quiet. Besides the bartender, I can’t see anyone else in the darkened and Smooth Jazz-infused drinking emporium.
I order a local drink, a Mai Tai, just for the experience and something a bit different.
It’s served in a goldfish bowl on a stem, bedecked with a slice of lime, a sprig of mint, a stick of sugar cane, a polychromatic orchid, and the obligate paper umbrella.
“Ah. Mai Tai. I will enjoy it.” I said to no one in particular.
One was enough, and I decided to go back to the old standard. Once I explained to the bartender what that was, he made them heroic and enthusiastically.
I’m reading up on a random dossier, making notes in a new file, and puffing away on a Fuentes Onyx double Maduro Churchill cigar.
I hear a slight cough coming from my right, and this here lovely lady, she sat to my immediate starboard and looked at me semi-quizzically.
Not in the mood for shenanigans of any stripe, I give her the obligate Baja Canada nod and tilt of the drink. I return to my dossiers and continue to read and take notes.
“Excuse me!” I hear.
Fearing the worst, either the woman is Karen-oid anti-smoking or a religious fruit-and-nutburger, I slowly turn to face her and reply, somewhat glacially, I have to admit.
“What?”
“That cigar…”
“Here we go…” I mutter, eyes rolling northward.
“Smells exquisite. Could you tell me the brand? My husband would enjoy some like that.” She notes.
Instantly my demeanor switches 180^0.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s an Arturo Fuentes Onyx. Churchill size, or 60 ring x 7” length, double Maduro. Here, take one for your husband. I have an ample supply.” I smile.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. Could I?” she asks.
“Please. I insist.” I smile the best I could given the circumstances.
“Thank you. You’re too kind…umm…Mr….?”
“Doctor. Doctor Rocknocker. World traveler, oilman, and international ambassador of amity, good drinks, and fine cigars. Call me Rock” I said.
“Oh! A Doctor?” she brightens.
“Yes, of Petroleum Geology and Engineering. Not medicine.” I chuckle.
She chuckles back.
“And I am Hella Aaberg”, as she offers her hand for a quick shake.
“Interesting name, Hella. Scandinavian or Old German heritage?” I ask.
“On my father’s side. He’s Finnish.” She replies.
“But I’ll wager your mother is not Scandinavian, correct?” I ask.
“She was from Truk, an island…”
“In the South Pacific, Micronesia. Was she from Weno city?” I asked.
“Why yes. How could you possibly know that?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve been there. Great diving amongst the WWII wrecks. I think it’s actually called ‘Chuuk Lagoon’ or something like that now.” I said.
“That’s right! Amazing. Where else have you been?” she asked.
“Anywhere there’s oil, strife, booze, cigars, heavy explosives and typically long distances from whatever most normal people call civilization,” I replied with a chuckle.
Suddenly, I hear a voice booming out behind me.
“Why don’t you save that rapier-like wit for those musky-fuckers back home, Rocko?”
My expression changes. My eyes pop fully wide open.
“Hella?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“May I ask you a favor?”
“You can ask…”
“Thank you. Now, looking over my shoulder, is there a hulking goon of a person, thin up top, paunchy halfway down with the most ridiculously tiny sized shoes you’ve ever seen for a so-called grown man?” I ask.
“Yes. Yes, there is.” She replies.
“I thought so. Many thanks.”
I spin and launch off my barstool and grab Toivo by the hand. He hadn’t seen my left-hand Thagomizer yet.
“Toivo! You old sumbitch. What the flying fennec fox fuck are you, of all people, doing in Hawaii?” I laughed.
“Just keeping an eye on you, Rock!” he laughed equally as loud.
“No, fucking-A, seriously. What the actual fuck? What are you doing in this actual nice place?” I asked.
“Just headed to Tokyo to conduct a bit of service company business. I walked into the lounge and smelled a foul cigar. I figured it can’t be the venerable Dr. Rocknocker. He’s back at some school up north terrorizing geology and engineering grads and undergrads.” Toivo laughed.
“But there I was. Surprise!”, I laughed and pumped his hand.
“What the fuck, Rock. Now what did you do?” he asks, referring to my Ankylosaur tail club left hand.
“Ah, fuck. Long story. Oh, pardon me. Toivo, this is Hella. We were just talking about the South Seas Islands.” I said.
“Planning on running off together?” Toivo laughs, to the amusement of neither party.
“Oh, and this idiot is Toivo, a man with a congenital foot-in-mouth disorder. He’s mostly harmless.” I noted to Hella.
Greetings were shared all around. Hella made some small excuses and said she needed to depart. I gave her another cigar for her husband, shook her hand, and wished her well.
“Here’s my business card. If your husband has any questions, have him drop me a line.” I noted.
Hella smiled beautifully. She said she would. Then she thanked me shook our hands, and like that, there she was, gone.
“Well Toivo, you old bastard. Don't just stand there in the doorway like some lonesome goddamn mouse shit sheepherder, get your ass over here and have a drink.” I motioned over to my perch on Mahogany Ridge.
“Don’t mind if I do”, he says as he deftly winds his way to a seat to my left, snagging a cigar out of my pocket on the way over.
“You might want these”, I say in an exasperated tone, and hand him my gold Dunhill Hobnail lighter and V-cutter gizmo.
He cuts and fires up his heater.
“What you drinkin’, Rock”, he asks.
“Anything with alcohol, as usual. You know that Toiv.” I reply.
“No. I mean right now.” He clarifies.
“Well, I had a Mai Tai. Very nice if you like fruity, flowery drinks. It’s the locals’ favorite.” I reply.
“Sounds good. I’ll have several. And you?” Toivo asks.
“My usual. The bartender is already apprised of the situation.” I reply.
Toivo smiles the smile of one knowing his sobriety is going to be taken out for a swim. Hell, taken out and tossed into the deep end.
Toivo and I sit there, swapping lies, smoking cigars and sipping at our toddies.
Hell, Toivo was slurping them like a sump-pump during an extra-wet summer.
We chattered about family, work, whether or not Tokyo was going to host the Olympics or if the COVID-boogie man scared everyone off.
Toivo, always one afflicted with TB (“Tiny Bladder”) got up to go to the loo for the third time that hour. He left his pocket organizer on the bar and I swear on a stack of Origins of Species, I didn’t touch it.
I reached over to his vacated seat to retrieve my cigar lighter when I looked down and saw in his organizer a tab that reads “Rack & Ruin”.
“Oh. No. Fucking. Way.” I recoiled as I’d just reached out and petted a 6-foot hungover scorpion.
“One of my best friends? Secretly allied with the Agency? No. Not possible.” I drained my drink and called for another.
“No. No. No. It can’t be. No. No fucking way…” as doubt began to dissolve when I thought back to all those times I had just ‘run into’ Toivo.
“But he’s oil patch as well. That could be chalked up to coincidence.” I ruminated quizzically in my brain.
I quickly reflected back on J.M. Darhower: “Yes, you see, there’s no such thing as coincidence. There are no accidents in life. Everything that happens is the result of a calculated move that leads us to where we are.”
She may be the author of the execrable New Adult Sempre series, which Esme likes and I loathe, but she might just be right on this occasion.
Toivo return, lighter in the bladder and good sense. He never even noticed he’d left his organizer out in broad bar light for all to see.
“So, Toivo, when’s your flight?” I ask.
“Oh, man. Was I lucky. The JAL flight to Tokyo from Los Angeles had mechanical trouble and had to divert here. I got a ticket on the plane for that flight, when it continues.
“You mean ‘if it continues’,” I replied.
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I meant. Hey! Was that your flight?” he asks innocently. He’s really innocent of fieldcraft.
I decide to have some fun at my old friend’s expense.
“Yep. Hit some CAT (Clear Air Turbulence) and the JAL pilots reported some lighting problem. No apparent ruin to any of the systems. They relay racked their brains to figure it out, but they couldn’t that’s why I here.” I said, waiting for the words to swim upstream in Toivo’s coconut and make some sort of connection.
“Yeah. Double lucky. No problem with the plane and I get to go to Japan early.” Toivo crookedly grins.
“So, no trouble with the plane? Then why haven’t I heard that the flight’s going to resume?” I asked as I pushed a fresh, seriously strong drink to Toivo.
“Oh, must have heard it in the john.” Toivo countered and tried to cover his tracks by taking a huge gulp of his drink and damn near dying coughing.
I pound on Toivo’s back.
“Heimlich time?” I ask.
Toivo signals ‘no’.
“Jesus Christ, Rock. What was that?” he asks.
“Just my usual”, I innocently replied.
“Holy fuck. No wonder you have the reputation of…” Toivo realizes too late that he’s said too much.
“Yeah. They can rack you out. Really ruin a person if they’re not careful.” I reply icily.
“Why, Rock. Whatever do you mean?” Toivo slurred as he realized he’s been caught out.
“The jig is up, you turncoat. You know Agents Rack and Ruin from the agency. Right? You keeping tabs on me for them? You Quisling! You Benedict Arnold!” I almost was on the verge of losing my cool.
“It was nothing. They approached me years ago as I kept being mentioned in your reports. They asked me for some information. One thing leads to another…” Toivo was ready for an Ankylosaur tail club swat to the bean.
“Oh, put your fucking hands down, you asshole.” I smiled and chuckled.
“You’re not mad?” Toivo slurred badly. I had the bartender make him another special drink.
“No, Toivo. Not mad. Just disappointed.” I said, smiling like a Komodo Dragon just finishing up a fortnight-old wildebeest.
Toivo sat there and puzzled and puzzled until his puzzler was sore.
“You’re not going to kill me or anything rude like that?” Toivo asked, half-assedly trying to inject humor into the proceedings.
“Nah. The paperwork’s too ridiculous for me to do another liberation. But, Jesus Fucking Christwagons, Toivo; you could have mentioned it to me. Fuck, I thought we were friends to the end?” I said, dejectedly.
I was really getting through to Toivo. I could tell he was loaded; feeling like shit and massively deplorable.
Great fieldcraft, indeed.
I told him things “are what they are” and that I won’t blow his cover nor his honorarium.
He began to feel better. I often wonder if he was serious about the sanctioning thing.
Then I delivered the strategic missile strike.
“Just remember, Toivo. I wrote your dossier for the Company…”
He swivels to look at me.
“And one for the KGB. Olga says ‘howdy’.” I grin evilly.
Toivo short-circuited at that. Russia is his company’s bread and butter. Now he has the KGB as well as his best buddy looking over his shoulder at every move.
I bought him a few more drinks and continued to needle him about his ’leading a double life’. He was well and truly fuckered when the electric tap-tap driver from before came looking for me to whisk me back to the plane.
Seems it was simply some knocked-out wires on the plane, or slammed bulbs that were generating a false positive, indicating something other than the system that alerts one to something haywire went haywire.
Toivo was pretty much down for the count. I got him sober enough to hand them his ticket and ensure that he was really supposed to be on this flight. Thing was; h e was in Economy, and I was, as always, in Business.
I spoke to Luna, and the plane was going to be even less crowded than previously because some folks could or wouldn’t wait, or didn’t want to go on with the rest of the trip on a ‘damaged’ aircraft, or were just stupid and superstitious.
“Luna, could I pay for the difference between Business and Economy for my less than 100% conscious friend here? He’s had a rough day.” I asked.
“Dr. Rock. Just put him into Business. No one will be the wiser. Luna says so.” As she gave us a grand smile.
“Luna, I owe you. Thanks so much.” I said.
“Now get on board. Your friend looks like he needs all the downtime he can get.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I said and saluted here be best I could which dragging a schnozzled Toivo down the jetway.
I dumped Toivo in a window seat well away from my seat. I know Toivo. He snores like a semi-load of live hogs rocketing downhill locking up the brakes at 88 MPH.
Surprise! There was no one else in Business. Luna looked at me, at Toivo, and gave me a thumbs up.
Whatever I can write to further her career at JAL, she’ll have it before I deplane.
We finally get everyone settled, and with Captain Kangaroo at the helm, we bounced gracelessly off the tarmac, into the warm, tropical Hawaiian air, finally headed for the Land of the Rising Sun.
Toivo was snoring like a chainsaw hitting rusty nails as I worked on the various letters, communiques, and dossiers which needed updating before we reached touchdown. I gave Luna a thick letter with instructions not to open it until we were on the ground and Toivo and I were well off and away into the terminal.
We left Hawaii at 1300 hours, so we should arrive at Tokyo Nareda around 4:00 pm, the previous day. I was so bereft of time and time zones, I couldn’t figure out what time it really was, as judged by my biometric rhythms, so I asked Luna for a stiff drink as I was kicking off my boots and going to attempt to get some kip.
She brought me another liter or so eponymous drink. I was sawing logs by the time I slurped the last swig of that nifty drink.
Suddenly, or later, I have no idea really, some loudmouth drunk asshole from way-the-fuck-back in economy-land toward the ass end of the plane staggered into Business demanding free drinks.
Luna was nothing but civil, and asked him to both shut up and return to his seat. His air cabin hostess, or whatever the fuck they’re calling them these days, will attend to his needs.
“Naw they won’t! They want me to pay for more drinks! I’m broke but I demand more booze! You fucking owe me.” railed the asshole. “I sat at the bar in Hawaii for four hours. Them fuckers charged me an arm and a leg!”
“No, they don’t owe you shit”, I said in a voice that unmistakably loud and clear.
“Fuck you, old man! You stay the fuck out of this!” he bellowed. “Shut up or I’ll do ya’!”
“’Old man’? ‘Do me’? Excuse me. Luna, may I have a word alone with this individual?” I asked sweetly.
Luna shook her head in the affirmative, and I stood up to confront this flagrant asshole.
“Now look, Scooter. You have gone way, way over the fucking line. You are loud. You are abusive. You are obnoxious. And you stink. Plus you insulted a person who is just barely containing his righteous wrath right now. So, I’m giving you one and one only chance to shut up, sit back down before your body spontaneously develops all sort of bruises, contusions, broken bones, and unconsciousness.” I said calmly, evenly, and threateningly.
“What da’ fuck you think you’re going to do…old man?” he screeched, trying to inflate himself into full mammalian threat posture, all 5’ 9” of it.
He didn’t notice Toivo walking up quietly behind him, as Toivo was returning from the head, quiet as a moose.
“Well, Scooter, I am an Air Marshall. Duly appointed, fully trained, and properly pissed off. Right now, I can arrest you, physically detain you, turn this flight around and take you to the Hawaiian police, at your cost for the inconvenience of the entire flight. Or I could arrest you, physically detain you, and turn you over to the Japanese authorities when we land. It’s really your choice. Choose wisely.”
To be continued…⇝

Just needed to rant about this -
I refreshed every 3 hours as best I could during this event. I got one L/D shards and zero max golds on the wheel.
In 400 spins, I got the 4* shards just twice. The light shards took 250 spins, I got the next one on my first 10, and then never got another in my last 140 spins.