substantial pre-flop raise in an attempt to win back some chips.
Cool called. The flop was good for Martin. Ace of Hearts, King of Clubs, 8 of Spades. No obvious flushes or straights coming and he had his two pair. He raised. Cool called. The turn, 4 of Clubs. He now had a flush possible. This was too good to miss. He made a substantial raise. Cool called. Cool obviously had a hand and wasn't letting Martin bet him out of this pot.
"More fool him," said Martin.
The river slid onto the table. 7 of Diamonds. This left his final hand as just the two pair. I am going for it, he decided. All-in. The voice of the compere trumpeted up.
"Here we have it Ladies and Gentlemen. Let's see what they got!"
Martin's cards showed first.
"Dead Man's Hand!" An announcement rang out.
Dead Man's Hand, a pair of Aces and a pair of 8's. Martin remembered the derivation of the slang, the cards Wild Bill Hicok had been holding when he was shot. He looked over to Cool.
"Cowboys!" shouted the arena host, "3 of those good ol' boys!"
Martin had lost. The hand that had got him to the showdown ushered him out. The popularity indicator went 100% to Cool. Martin took at last look at Alice who smiled at him as the array spotlights rolled back and his spotlight went out. The screen showed CoolRiver, bathed in the flashing applause of his adoring fans.
Martin closed the program. His eyes were sore and his head wooly. The on-screen time showed 4 a.m. Work in 4 hours. He couldn't think about the Alice thing anymore. He ached from sitting so long. He crawled across the room, into his bed, and slept.
Chapter 4 - Work
Martin stumbled into work late next morning, passing the usual faces. He grunted at their "Good Mornings" without engaging in eye contact. Thankful that the lift was empty, he descended to his lair. The hardware room was cold and functional. Machines of various shapes and unrecognisable purpose showed flickering indicators as they continued their endless conversations with the computers around the room.
Martin threw his coat onto a table beside his workstation. He switched on the three monitors in front of him. They displayed the same setup as the screens at home. No Alice here for him to interrogate however, the company had policies about what could be loaded. He didn't have to fight too hard to get his favourites installed. Excessive overtime brought some privileges.
He immediately began to concentrate on the previous days programming problem and reached over to lift a coffee cup to his lips. No refreshment came as it tipped. Looking inside, he realised that he had not been to the machine to get one yet. He must be more tired than he thought. To be efficient, he set a diagnostic algorithm running before getting up to trek to the drink dispenser, watching the results on the screen over his shoulder as he walked.
A figure in a lab coat was lifting his plastic offering from the machine and turning as Martin approached.
"Hey," the technician said. Martin turned his head, virtually on top of the man.
"Hey," Martin replied. He was fine with Dave.
Dave was a hardware engineer whose workstation was sufficiently across the room for them only to meet at this communal place. Dave stepped to one side as Martin keyed in the numbers which were now synonymous with his requirement for caffeine in large amounts.
"I got a hex dump from 42 on overnight soak that looks odd. Not seen anything like it before. Want to take a look?" Dave said.
"Sure!" Martins face lit up at the possibility of a novel problem in the systems he knew better than the back of his hand. "What version is it on?"
"126.14.2a. Still pretty buggy." They both smiled.
They often discussed the machines and the system together, but Martin knew nothing about Dave personally. If he hadn't sent e-mails to the man he wouldn't have known his surname. After a couple of hours of interrogating the data and an involved diagnostic chat, Martin returned to his desk. He felt as much
Cool called. The flop was good for Martin. Ace of Hearts, King of Clubs, 8 of Spades. No obvious flushes or straights coming and he had his two pair. He raised. Cool called. The turn, 4 of Clubs. He now had a flush possible. This was too good to miss. He made a substantial raise. Cool called. Cool obviously had a hand and wasn't letting Martin bet him out of this pot.
"More fool him," said Martin.
The river slid onto the table. 7 of Diamonds. This left his final hand as just the two pair. I am going for it, he decided. All-in. The voice of the compere trumpeted up.
"Here we have it Ladies and Gentlemen. Let's see what they got!"
Martin's cards showed first.
"Dead Man's Hand!" An announcement rang out.
Dead Man's Hand, a pair of Aces and a pair of 8's. Martin remembered the derivation of the slang, the cards Wild Bill Hicok had been holding when he was shot. He looked over to Cool.
"Cowboys!" shouted the arena host, "3 of those good ol' boys!"
Martin had lost. The hand that had got him to the showdown ushered him out. The popularity indicator went 100% to Cool. Martin took at last look at Alice who smiled at him as the array spotlights rolled back and his spotlight went out. The screen showed CoolRiver, bathed in the flashing applause of his adoring fans.
Martin closed the program. His eyes were sore and his head wooly. The on-screen time showed 4 a.m. Work in 4 hours. He couldn't think about the Alice thing anymore. He ached from sitting so long. He crawled across the room, into his bed, and slept.
Chapter 4 - Work
Martin stumbled into work late next morning, passing the usual faces. He grunted at their "Good Mornings" without engaging in eye contact. Thankful that the lift was empty, he descended to his lair. The hardware room was cold and functional. Machines of various shapes and unrecognisable purpose showed flickering indicators as they continued their endless conversations with the computers around the room.
Martin threw his coat onto a table beside his workstation. He switched on the three monitors in front of him. They displayed the same setup as the screens at home. No Alice here for him to interrogate however, the company had policies about what could be loaded. He didn't have to fight too hard to get his favourites installed. Excessive overtime brought some privileges.
He immediately began to concentrate on the previous days programming problem and reached over to lift a coffee cup to his lips. No refreshment came as it tipped. Looking inside, he realised that he had not been to the machine to get one yet. He must be more tired than he thought. To be efficient, he set a diagnostic algorithm running before getting up to trek to the drink dispenser, watching the results on the screen over his shoulder as he walked.
A figure in a lab coat was lifting his plastic offering from the machine and turning as Martin approached.
"Hey," the technician said. Martin turned his head, virtually on top of the man.
"Hey," Martin replied. He was fine with Dave.
Dave was a hardware engineer whose workstation was sufficiently across the room for them only to meet at this communal place. Dave stepped to one side as Martin keyed in the numbers which were now synonymous with his requirement for caffeine in large amounts.
"I got a hex dump from 42 on overnight soak that looks odd. Not seen anything like it before. Want to take a look?" Dave said.
"Sure!" Martins face lit up at the possibility of a novel problem in the systems he knew better than the back of his hand. "What version is it on?"
"126.14.2a. Still pretty buggy." They both smiled.
They often discussed the machines and the system together, but Martin knew nothing about Dave personally. If he hadn't sent e-mails to the man he wouldn't have known his surname. After a couple of hours of interrogating the data and an involved diagnostic chat, Martin returned to his desk. He felt as much
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