Solomon Barton was not a lucky man, the fates did not shine brightly upon him, nor did fortune favour his boldness. No, if Solomon Barton were to cast his lot with turkeys and purchase stocks in tinsel, Christmas would surely be cancelled. So why Solomon Barton decided upon a gambling holiday was anyone’s guess.
“Sir, if would kindly place your omniwatch on the scanner, we will be happy to upload your passkey.” The hologram smiled, a translucent arm gesturing to the small infrared scanner built into the hotel reception’s countertop.
Solomon Barton offered a grumble in return, for the life of him he could not understand why they simply didn’t email him the passkey. Why bother with all this interaction? It wasn’t as though it was flesh and blood that greeted him.
A short jingle played as the passkey was uploaded to his omniwatch. The little lilt served no other purpose than to comfort the guests, letting them know that something was happening. It was a comforting noise, a reassuring sound, like the grinding and whirring of an old-fashioned ATM machine. In reality, the upload only took a nanosecond, but people get uneasy when things are too efficient.
“Thank you, sir. Package-relevant passkeys have been uploaded to your device. Your room is -747, please use the de-escalator to the left. Your journey time is approximately 13 minutes.” The holographic receptionist chirped informatively before collapsing in on itself and out of sight.
“Thanks” Solomon sneered. As he walked off towards the de-escalator his small suitcase followed behind him. It was hard to believe people used to carry these things. He descended deep into the bowels of the hotel, and true to the hologram’s word, it took just over thirteen minutes.
His room was small. There was a bed big enough for two and a wardrobe big enough for one. The bedroom and ensuite were both lit by sterile LCD lights, and there was a fake window built into the wall — complete with UV-ray generating glass panels. It was a cheap hotel but it had the best casino across the road. Waving his omniwatch in the vicinity of his luggage, he decoupled the case. It would no longer follow him around like a puppy. He permitted a small smile on his otherwise dour features. Now it was time to gamble. He was feeling lucky.
The Novo Vegas Casino was a matter of paces from the hotel. It was the last of the old-fashioned places, a place where you could experience sitting at a real card table, see a real roulette wheel spin, and most importantly, sip a cocktail that had been made by a human hand. There was no virtual reality and no drinks dispenser involved. Yes, the croupiers were mostly robotic, but there were the human waitstaff.
The casino was loud, but not unpleasantly so. The rattling of coins, the cranks of one-armed bandits, the gentle tinkling of ice in empty glassware, and the chattering of gamblers and croupiers all rolled together into a euphonic din. Solomon Barton smiled, it felt like home.
Solomon schlepped towards a blackjack table. Despite being overcome with joy he moved with all the haste and rhythm of an innocent man being marched to the gallows. His crooked smile unnerved some of the patrons, but it was soon wiped off his face as a waiter fell into him and covered his shirt in red wine.
“You idiot! You absolute cretin. Are those eyes painted on?” Solomon practically spat on the handsome young waiter.
“Please, sir, I beg your pardon. It was a mistake. This is my first night.” The young waiter was practically on his knees begging. An old custom, not one that was seen too often these days. “Your drinks are on the house. All night. I’ll make sure of it.” The young man’s eyes pleaded for forgiveness.
Solomon gave him the once over. “First night? I’ve half a mind to make it your last. Do you have any idea how many people would kill for a job like this?” He prodded the waiter’s odd black blazer with a bony finger, hammering his point home.
“I know, sir. Please, I’m truly fortunate. If you could be gracious enough… please take a seat at the table. I will be right over with a drink.” The young waiter gestured to the table. “I’ll even see if I can get you a replacement shirt. On the house, of course.” He bowed and took his leave.
As Solomon hopped onto the stool at the Blackjack table, he could see a sea of red blazers belonging the human waiting staff, and the flickering lights of dozens of holographic croupiers and receptionists. He had just caught the tail end of the game’s instructions and procedures. If it were up to him, anyone that required instructions to play any of these old games would be banned immediately, simply for a lack of respect to the past.
“…and all winnings will be deposited in your omniwatch account. After each hand, touch your device to the infrared scanner to complete any transactions.” The computerised croupier chimed.
Solomon patiently waited for his clean shirt and free drink but soon forgot about both. The hours drifted away but the money came rolling in. Hand after hand was his, and with every hand came another drink.
His modest 1000 credits had nearly tripled over the course of the evening. Solomon knew this was the start of something good. With the modest 3000 credits he could afford the deposit for a studio flat in one of the luxury hyper-rises.
The thought of a new life in a luxury apartment was enough to bring a moment of clarity. “Don’t push your luck.” He thought. “Cash out and start fresh tomorrow. Get some sleep.” Sliding off the stool and making his way to the receptionist he was too caught up in his own pep-talk.
His body made another rough introduction to the only black jacketed waiter around. He would not be as forgiving this time. “Watch out, you oaf!” he yelled. Solomon lashed out drunkenly at the waiter, too inebriated to do any damage. The waiter seized him by the wrist and patted him on the back as he offered his apologies.
“I am so sorry, sir. Please excuse me.” The young waiter had practically spun him around as he dashed off into the sea of gamblers, ready to ruin another night.
Solomon grumbled and staggered towards the reception desk. It was definitely time to cash out. “I’d like my winnings.’ His words tumbled from his mouth, spilling over each other. He proudly held up his hand to the holographic receptionist. “3000 credits. All mine”. He was beaming like a headlamp in fog, the light gradually dimming as he realised that he was no longer wearing his omniwatch.
Our task was to write a scene about something that happened to our character on holiday. I would like to go back and tighten up the ending of this when I get the chance.
