The Game

"You have two options," said Gaheris Rhade. "If you choose the first, I'll win in seven moves. If you choose the second, I'll win in five."

The Nietzschean wasn't being arrogant about it; well, not any more than usual. It was just his way. As Rhade had explained it not long ago, nothing was a game to a Nietzschean. Or maybe everything was a game, with life and death stakes. Rhade, it seemed, wanted to win so that he'd be proven superior to Hunt, and he'd be considered better breeding material for his Nietzschean Pride. The fact that Hunt had no desire to mate with any Nietzschean females was apparently not relevant. It was the principle of the thing.

How had Rhade put it? "Everything in our lives is an intense, sexually-charged negotiation?"

Too bad; Hunt would have been just as happy to concede breeding rights to Rhade and have a nice, friendly game. Nietzschean company was always eventful, occasionally fascinating, and sometimes even enjoyable, but it could be a little... intense.

Intense, like Rhade himself. Tanned, handsome, and always in control, Hunt's first officer made no effort to hide his superiority complex. If it could be called a complex-- in all fairness, Hunt had never seen any evidence that Rhade wasn't superior. That was why he was an Nietzschean Alpha, with eight wives and something over a dozen children on Fountainhead. Whatever games Gaheris Rhade chose to play, he usually won.

Including his games with his captain, Dylan Hunt. It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't feel compelled to predict his victories in advance.

Not that the victories came easily. Hunt, captain of the Systems Commonwealth Starship Andromeda Ascendant, had often been mistaken for a Nietzschean himself. He was certainly big and strong enough, and female members of the crew had been known to express the opinion that he'd make a hell of an Alpha, in a Nietzschean way of speaking.

Too bad I don't have the spines, Hunt thought. Bare wrists are a dead giveaway...

Rhade, of course, did have the spines... nasty, yellow bone spurs lining his lower arm. All Nietzscheans had them, and Hunt had never figured out why they'd chosen that particular genetic manipulation as a survival trait, though he'd heard the spurs could be pretty nasty in battle.

Hunt wouldn't have known. He'd never fought a Nietzschean... and he'd already decided he never wanted to. Grinning at Rhade, he reached up and moved one of his pieces.

"Interesting." The first officer’s eyes revealed interest, though none of his self-assurance slipped. "I didn’t see that one."

"Neither did I," said Dylan, "until you warned me I was about to lose. Then I reevaluated my options."

Rhade laced his fingers together, studied the board for the second it took him to analyze all the strategic options, and made a killer move that pushed Hunt’s side right back into its corner. "You’re learning."

"I have to, playing against a Nietzschean." Hunt saw three possible moves, all of which Rhade could easily counter. Time to reevaluate again... "If you could bluff, you’d be the perfect player."

"I can bluff. Nietzscheans prefer not to."

With a sigh, Hunt took the least obvious of the three moves. No last minute escapes this time. "Now, why wouldn’t you bluff? I know it’s not a matter of honor."

Rhade saw the same opportunity Dylan saw, and he seized it without mercy. "There’s nothing wrong with bluffing... when it’s the best option for survival. The problem is, to get to that point, you have to be desperate."

"You can bluff when you’re winning."

The first officer settled back in his chair. "You’re never winning unless you’re prepared to lose. Bluffing is usually an excuse for unsound planning."

Hunt leaned over the board, reached for a piece, then changed his mind at the last moment and moved it to a different level. "And Nietzscheans always leave themselves covered."

"Exactly." Rhade’s dark eyes swept the board. Hunt saw momentary confusion, and relished it. He got the advantage rarely enough in these games. "That was a useless move."

Hunt folded his arms behind his head. "Was it?"

Rhade sighed, and Hunt saw the word in his eyes, though he didn’t say it: Humans... Rhade reached for the board. "You see? You’re desperate, and you’re bluffing."

"Find out."

Haven’t played poker in a long time... Hunt kept his face expressionless, particularly the eyes. He knew Rhade watched his eyes-- he’d seen the Nietzschean react to a simple look often enough on the bridge of the Andromeda.

The first officer kept his hands folded together, staring, computing... whatever tactical subtleties Nietzscheans computed. He was usually inscrutable about it, but in this case, Hunt could make a good guess about the line of thought: Was Hunt really in a bad enough spot to make such an obvious bluff, or did he just want Rhade to think he was? Or was that what he wanted Rhade to think? Or was he such a dunderheaded human that he hadn’t even considered anything that far ahead? The usual clues weren’t there.

In the end, Rhade moved forward aggressively, ignoring Hunt’s non sequitor of a move. "I don’t choose to play your game, Captain."

"This isn’t a game, it’s a negotiation." And then Hunt moved one of his pieces into the space his bluff had left vacant, in position to take any of Rhade’s three pieces on the level. He saw Rhade’s eyes flicker as the Nietzschean realized he’d been played... "Now I get to teach a lesson about bluffing. It works very well on people who overthink."

The shock in Rhade’s eyes melted away, and one set of bone spurs scratched the edge of the board as he brought a new marker down from another level to take Hunt’s intruding piece. The balance of power was restored, and his self-assurance took a turn into outright condescension.

"So it does."

Hunt made a face. "You knew?"

"No. I was prepared." Another smile. "And I’m still going to win."

Hunt sighed. As he looked over the board, he could see that Rhade was right. It would be impossible to recover. "I’ll concede that much. We have combat drills in the morning." As his first officer nodded and stood, he added, "but Rhade?"

Rhade arched an eyebrow, waiting for the comment.

"It would have taken you more than seven moves. A lot more."

The Nietzschean shrugged. "A win is a win."

"And nobody’s perfect," Hunt said, smirking.

Rhade just turned and left, which Hunt took as a sign that his first officer wasn’t so sure of that. Truth to tell, as he studied the board for whatever opportunities he’d missed, Hunt wasn’t certain, either. But he knew one thing: