West stayed a good distance away from the door, but still in the hallway, so that he wouldn't be tempted into eavesdropping. Regardless of whether or not he did, he knew exactly what was going on inside the Briefing Room.

McCain came into view from the corner of Brian's eye. Chris guestured with a tip of his head to the dor. "What's the story?"

Brian didn't answer; he merely shook his head, but whether it was directed toward himself or Chris, neither of them would know. Chris waved a hand in front of Brian's face. "Hello, Brian. Come on, chap, wake up. What're you thinking?"

Brian looked up, and then turned his head toward Chris. "I have a sinking feeling that the message was the Professor saying his final goodbyes."

Without any further elaboration, Brian quietly walked off to be by himself and wonder if that searching for Jake Berenson was really such a good idea.

-----

"Keep those damn stalk eyes on your own cards!" the irritated Hork-Bajir snapped at the Andalite opposite his table. Jan Tormak wasn't going to lose. Again.

Kerell-Thurtorne-Chimlay gave him one of those Andalite eye-smiles that only soured Tormak's mood even moreso, accomplishing its purpose. How many do you want?

Jan's eyes flicked over his hand of five. He tossed down a card with a hand bladed at the wrist. "From the top. I know how you Andalites work."

Kerell made a show of taking the top card and sliding it, face down, across the table. Here you go, although you aren't going to be getting that ace.

"How the hell do you know?"

My, we've gotten a harsh tongue, haven't we?

"Consider it the curse of genetic engineering. Sometimes you take on a few of the traits of your creator."

The two had only recently begun to take up poker, but it was slowly becoming addicting to them. Not in the sense of becoming a full-time gambler, but it was a game that required more than luck. The game wasn't to force a hand. The game was to force a fold. The subtle hints, the flicker of eyes; one could play the game without even needing to see the cards, if they could pick up on all that.

Jan was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check. He knew that he had to give his four-legged opponent a passive stare in order to protect himself from being found out. He shifted in his custom-made seat, and tossed in a hundred dollars. American currency seemed to be the norm, these days. "Raise," he muttered.

Kerell thought for a moment. He hemmed and hawwed, like he wasn't sure whether or not he should go for it.

Then it hit Jan. He's got a full house. He looked down at his own cards. Two aces and two queens. He was hoping that he could get at least one more ace, but the fifth card was a ten of spades, useless. He knows I've got two pair, but he gave himself up when he said I wasn't getting the aces.

He surveyed his situation, looking for any outs as Kerell put on his show. Finally, Kerell reraised by another hundred, making the pot five hundred and two dollars.

Now! Jan didn't hesitate and put in all his remaining money in, five hundred dollars. He didn't even breathe. His face, a blank stare. It was like looking into a brick wall.

Kerell glared at him. Peering into his eyes. Jan only stared back, reverting to the peacefulness of normal Hork-Bajir life. The Andalite looked at his cards, then at Jan, then at the pot, and at his cards again. The people around them in the rec room, from the technical support crew to Katrina Michaelson and Casimiro Martinez, were deathly silent, even moreso than when the two first began.

Tormak could feel his tail twitch, which he quickly stopped. He waited ten seconds. Long enough to not look anxious. "Well?" he asked.

Kerell shook, his concentration broken. Jan gave himself a mental brownie point. Another five seconds. Jan could have sworn that Kerell's green eyes burned red in that instant as he threw his cards down. Dammit. Take it down.

The small crowd erupted in applause and cheering as Jan pulled in all one thousand and two of his dollars. They both began with a thousand, and as Jan watched Kerell mutter something about having to feed, he knew that he was going to walk away with two dollars more. Breaking even would have been wonderful for him, but he took money from Kerell, albeit a small amount, yet that did not do anything to sour his suddenly boisterous mood. "Have a nice day, Lieutenant!" he called out as the Andalite stalked off, his deadly tail twitching with rage.

Casimiro clapped a hand on Jan's shoulder, although mindful of the blades that stuck out from it. "Bloody good show, Jan. Did you have the ace?"

Jan shrugged innocently. "I'm sorry, Casimiro, I don't remember."

Operations, report to the Briefing Room. Operations, report to the Briefing Room, Jan heard the announcement via thought-speak, something that still never ceased to bother him. He looked at Martinez and Michaelson, who both nodded and waited until Jan had all his money stashed away in a pouch of the belt that he always wore, before walking to see what awaited them in the Briefing Room.