Ensemble [Book 1: SEKTOR V Trilogy]

Chapter 1: Stanley

Chapter 1: Stanley

Stanley Dial could feel the sweat building on his forehead. He didn't want to be sweating, especially in a room that couldn't have been more than sixty degrees, but he knew he had no biological say in the matter. His body chemistry was in overdrive. He couldn't roll up his sleeves unless, of course, he wanted to be shot on sight.

Just suck it up. Remain focused and stay on target.

The target was to win money, and lots of it. Enough to erase the insane spiral of despair he'd forced his entire family into. After a day of camping out, watching numbers, double and triple-checking trends, Stanley finally had amassed enough to make his move. One hundred and thirty-two thousand, six hundred and fifty dollars to be exact. It took him longer than he wanted to get there but he was finally ready for the next big step.

Stanley looked down and checked his watch...again.

Four minutes and thirty-two...thirty-one...thirty seconds— Lord have mercy, just stop the dramatics and breathe...s l o w l y...

After a minute or so, the self-coaching started to work. His pulse slowed as he wiped his brow. It felt much cooler to the touch than it did a few minutes ago. Good. One last move and it was going to work. Go with ten thousand on the inside with eight black and everything else on the first dozen. An inside number wouldn't be a problem but the outside max was fifty thousand. However, Stanley knew the table manager would make a limit exception with minimal prodding. As part of the plan, he made sure this particular dealer witnessed him losing more often than not. Why not take another chunk from the sad-sack fool? And he was right. With very little persuasion, the House was in.

Stanley smiled.

Two minutes and counting...

To help calm his nerves, he decided to take a short break from the action. The next ball was getting ready to settle. It was supposed to be thirty-two red. As the dealer rang the number, Stanley exhaled loudly. So noticeably, in fact, that half the table glanced his way.

Not good... Keep it together, man.

The simple passage of time was starting to play tricks on his mind. Somehow, the next ball was already in the track and the croupier was waving his hands to stop any additional bets. A few seconds after that, the decelerating ball violently popped and caromed multiple times before finally coming to rest.

"SEVEN RED!" belted out the table dealer.

Stanley heard a loud groan. One of his tablemates had just lost ten grand on an outside black bet. He felt bad since he knew he could have, at least in theory, helped the poor sap. In reality, he could do nothing of the sort, unless of course, he wanted to risk being exposed and lose his last chance to set things right. Stanley snapped back to the moment and checked his watch one last time.

It was down to twenty-three seconds. The sweat on his forehead returned. This time Stanley didn't care. His heart pounded so hard, he was sure everyone else could hear it too.

It's okay. Just put the markers down exactly where they have to be. You've done this a million times in your head, Dial, it's no different now...

The ball entered the track. Stanley placed 122,650 in chips on the first dozen and an even ten thousand on eight black as planned. He glanced over at the table manager who imperceptibly nodded in approval of his oversized bet to the roulette dealer.

"Brother's on!"

The spectators and players around him looked at him as if he was crazy. After that bold move, not a single chip was added to the table. As the ball rotated around the wheel, "the hand" came out and stopped any last-minute attempts to get into the action.

Time nearly stopped for Stanley, save for the deafening pounding he felt deep in his chest. His mouth was cotton-ball dry. He was convinced that gravity had stopped working since THE GODDAMN BALL REFUSED TO FALL OUT OF ROULETTE ORBIT.

In order to preserve the few unfrayed nerves that remained, he looked away. He would let the cheering be his guide.

Then, two impossible words rang out, "THIRTY RED!" which was immediately followed by a loud, group-choreographed sigh.

"Wait a minute— What? That simply cannot be!" Stanley muttered in a low-volume panic.

He looked back at the wheel in disbelief. The stupid ball was sitting in thirty red. Inexplicably, one slot away from where it HAD to be!

"The table is rigged! It was supposed to land on eight black!" he said, this time loud enough for everyone to hear.

He grimaced as he looked downward. Bad move...

Within seconds, multiple Tropicana casino bouncers came out of nowhere. Closing his eyes, Stanley shook his head. He knew he was done for. However, instead of grabbing and whisking him away, they did something far worse. They tore both sleeves of his shirt.

And there it was, as plain as day... The Traveler's Mark.

The crude attempt to cover up a partially shaved forearm resplendent with an incandescent stamp the size of a half dollar was rather pathetic and Stanley knew it.

The large crowd that had gathered around his table instantly burst into hysterics. A casino floor manager tried to calm the situation down but it was an exercise in futility.

"A Traveler!" someone screamed.

"They really exist?" echoed another.

Stanley looked around and saw nothing but shock and awe. He was pretty sure they were wondering how a "loser schlep" like him could possibly gain access to the most powerful technology on the planet.

Within seconds, two burley casino security guards pulled him from the table, each grabbing an arm as they escorted him across the gaming floor. As Stanley did his best to keep up with their overly brisk pace, he noticed the man on his left was intently staring at the Traveler Mark on his now bare forearm. With almost no notice, the guard halted, jerking Stanley hard to his left. A sharp pain seared his right shoulder as the guard on his right continued walking at a healthy clip until he was forced to stop.

"Ouch!" Stanley blurted.

The guard on his right who still maintained a vice grip on his right arm chuckled.

"Trust me, bud, your day is about to get a whole lot worse."

Stanley's stomach sank.

The guard who'd been inspecting the mark had a mild look of surprise on his face as he addressed his coworker.

"He's not from here."

Chuckle guard looked confused. "You mean, he's not from now?"

"That too..." Without hesitation, the guard on the left tapped his ear with his free hand. "Steve...get in touch with Joliet from the Ministry. Tell him we have a Jumper and that he'll be sending this one back."