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The match was set to start at midnight local time. It would take place in a room furnished with a heavy carved table and comfortable chairs for us, our seconds, the heralds and the notary with the patent from the Central galactic bureaucracy. According to the rules laid down in the galactic charter, representatives of the media or persons whose lives might be influenced by the result of the contest were forbidden to attend.

I did not expect it to last longer than sixty minutes of interplanetary time as codified by the bureaucracy. Fortunately Joachima had managed to get me quality alcohol pills, to which she added a supply of my favourite water, the Wizz brand. And so I was in splendid form. Mercedes, meanwhile, was as nervous as the little rodent from Lagerlöf. Parnas made futile attempts to calm him. Looking at the groping Kolden Haulfield, nominated the best player in the Galaxy by the infallible Joachima W, was certainly not helping to put him in an optimistic humour.

Redman had his bodyguards and the cream of the Galaxy's investigative journalism surrounding him. Confidently he answered questions about his plans after the wedding with Joachima. He was throwing hate-filled glances in my direction: my personal microprocessor did not fail to pick them up.

We sat modestly in her box, and the firm's security men, in typical blue caps, protected her from the newshounds.

ÌýÌýÌý Ten minutes before the contest began the heralds, relentlessly watched by the holovision crews' cameras, announced the players' names. They began with mine. At this Redman lost control. Rushing from among his mob of admirers, he yelled:

– That fellow's a cheat! A crooked player!

The directors and advertising managers in the holovision channels must have been over the moon. Big Fritz had lost his nerve in live transmission!

– Are you making some objection to my champion? – Mercedes responded with admirable speed. – I'm not aware that the agents of theÌý bureaucracy have ever sought him on account of dishonest play. He's the best of the best. –

To this the notary added his support. The galactic saw how the land lay.

– Fritz Redman won't lose,– he announced proudly.

– Parker Lewis said that too, – I retorted. – And how did he end up?

One of Redman's entourage turned towards me with interest. He waited awhile for the punchline and then turned away, disappointed. Doubtless an idiot.

– Let us drop this and get down to business, – the notary proposed, using the full weight of his authority.

ÌýÌý There was a pair from Green seven present, to uphold Fritz's interests. I knew Horst, but not the second one. He too pretended he had never before heard of me. I was not bothered by his arrogance. Entering the gameroom, I even let him go ahead of me. This surprised him so much that he thanked me and went so far as to pull out a chair for me. I sat facing the door and Parnas, who was seconding me, stood at my back. I looked at Horst. The-puffed-up champion, however, came and stood opposite me.

– This is my second, – indicating Horst. – I'm Trapper.

I shrugged.

– I don't give a shit about cardsharping and jargon, – I informed him. – I don't know any. For me it's about the game. The pleasure. And the kwachs.

We quickly reached agreement on the rules. The notary wrote them down and took a position in front of the monitor, where a number of cameras showed the situation not only at the table, but also in the immediately surrounding area.Ìý

ÌýÌýÌýÌý My opponent just wagged his head and didn't even try to conceal his powerful feeling of ascendancy. He was convinced that today the cards would come his way. And so he found the reality all the harder to bear, since I didn't give him the slightest chance. In a word, I had luck such as I hadn't known for a long time. Out of nine games I lost only one. The first.

– That's not possible! – Horst shouted.

He'd howled just like that when I'd taken his last 800 kwachs in the luxury bar on Variago XI. It was a few days before he started his career as a professional player.

– You're cheating! – the champion Trapper accused me, and he jumped behind the table.

The fellow was a nutcase. A knife with a short blade glinted in his hand.

– Put that away, – I told him coldly, gazing into his eyes, which were bleary with anger and humiliation.

Horst slowly retreated towards the wall. The notary reached in his pocket. I did not doubt that along with his patent he had packed a personal handgun. These boys often have to move in outlying areas of the Galaxy where, even though everyone gives formal respect to the charter and the bureaucracy, they're not much inclined to follow the actual rules. The notary's intervention, however, was not necessary. The champion sustained my gaze, hardened by my personal processor, for about twelve seconds. Then he accepted the analysis of his PM that it made no sense to attack with the knife.

– Okay, – he said, and the dagger vanished into his pocket. – We'll meet again, after all.

Though I cannot endure being threatened, I smiled at him.

– It'll be my pleasure, – I lied, and when he turned to the door, like a flash I lifted a chair and flattened him to the floor.

– That's just so you'll remember who you pulled a knife on – and with every word I kicked him, in the face, the loins, the ribs.

The notary polished his glasses and the others present did not try to intervene.

Afterwards I stepped over the huddled body, shook hands with Horst and the notary, and followed by the poet's servant and the herald I walked out into a hall full of anticipation.

Von Klewe and the galactic, surrounded by their people, were sitting on a raised podium in a corner of the hall, on what looked like uncomfortable replicas of the armchairs of antiquity. The Holovision 1 team was the first to notice our arrival. Instantly their cameras were trained on us. In the hall there was a racket like in the Honeycombs on Hive VIII. We kept our decorum, however, and came to a halt beside our employer.

– We've done it, – I announced, knowing that my words were being transmitted to milliards of holovision viewers on thousands of planets, awaiting the result of the contest for the hand of the best-loved manageress in the known universe.

Van Klewe smiled broadly.

– Bravo! – someone yelled.

I saw that Joachima was smiling at me from her box.

Fritz Redman, without a word, put down a glass of vitamin extract and breathed deeply. His escort put a hand on his shoulder. That had its effect. The galactic shook hands with the poet, congratulated him on his success, and strode off down the expensive plush carpet. He didn't even look at me. The cameras followed him till he left the room. Then they turned back to the poet. He was expressing his delight in a way quite beneath the dignity of one in his position.

He pumped my right hand and mumbled something to me.

– Sometimes, – he exclaimed finally to the cameras, – I'm bad! I defeat all those who desire to win!

At this point the notary arrived in the hall with the certificate of victory. He gave the original to Mercedes and offered one copy to the representative of the Central press office. This meant that our success was also confirmed de iure.

And so, in a humble tone, I said, – Don't forget the fee, please –and to cover all cases I gave Parnas my business card with the number of my account in the Second Magellan.

Despite his euphoria he threw me a disgusted glance. I replied with a smile.

Mercedes von Klewe y Julich was not paying me much attention. With all the most modern techniques of photography following his moves, he took the first step towards the official megafusion of the Klewe-Julich corporation with the Kwido company. Escorted by two bodyguards, he strode across the room to Joachima W's box.

Most of those present had tears of emotion glistening in their eyes. Some men with the Klewe-Julich logo on their breasts were sniffling, and Blitzfood blew his nose into his handkerchief with a trumpeting sound.

– This is only a few small steps for Mercedes von Klewe y Julich, a giant leap for the galactic economy – an employee of Holovision 1 said, commenting on the events in the hall.

– Poetry and business, two activities which have been part of human civilisation since the dawn of history, have today shaken hands, – an enthusiastic commentator persuaded his viewers on the first state holovision channel.

– She's some bit of stuff, that Joachima W! – a drunken fellow from Microsoft declared.

There was something in his voice which came very close to the strictly forbidden practice of sexual harassment.

It was only the presenter of a local programme who expressed disgust at this evening's events. He described the megafusion as a further loss for those fighting for civilised hospitality, and he urged the representatives of the local government to resign from their posts.

The poet and W meanwhile left the hall. As a liveried lackey in the company colours announced, they had withdrawn to private chambers. The drunken commentary of a representative of the 42^nd sector's gutter press was of no interest to me. Rather, I was looking round for some member of the serving staff. To my chagrin, however, there was no mention of Kolden Haulfield in the guest list. And so I lay down on an uncomfortable couch right in the poorly-heated foyer of the castle, and almost immediately I fell asleep.

Von Klewe woke me with two glasses in his hand. He gave me one and tossed back the other. He was blind drunk. I looked at him sleepily. The deserted hall was full of sunbeams.

– Sometimes, – the poet finally broke the silence, – the disorder in the bed makes me realise how frightful it is to be a couple.

I drowned my smile with an alcohol pill dissolved in a glass of quality water.

ÌýTranslated by John Minahane