‘Yes.’
‘If you had held that last card and not played it, Cheyne, we might have come out well ahead on that round, despite the fact that you were already losing control. Still, it wasn’t really your fault.’
‘No.’
The Avenue of Chance was, at first sight, a tawdry affair. Built of a material resembling canvas, the booths had a make-shift appearance. The party ventured diffidently into the midway, then stopped as a peculiar animal, or creature, pushed through the front flap of the first booth and stepped out to accost them.
When squatting on its hind legs, the creature was about four foot high and looked somewhat like a cross between a monkey and a hairless dog, with a long tapering snout and narrow eyes that glittered.
‘Good day, gentlemen,’ it began in a soft, gruff voice. ‘Try your luck at my game of chance. The prize is of incalculable value.’
Scarne tried to peer past the folds that hid the interior of the booth, but he failed to see anything in the dimness within. Dom gestured around him. ‘Was all this set up just for us?’ he asked.
‘By no means, sir. We tour three galaxies with our little show, visiting all manner of out-of-the-way places. Step within, any of you, and dare the odds!’
‘What is the prize?’ Scarne asked curiously.
The animal licked its chops with a pink, pointed tongue. ‘In this galaxy it is a principle of life that all creatures have but brief life-spans. It is an escape from this law that I offer. Take a spin on my machine, and you may win immortality!’
‘And if we lose?’
‘Then your life-force becomes ours, to use as we wish.’
Müller spoke up. ‘What are the odds?’
‘A thousand to one against,’ the creature said smoothly. ‘Generous figures, in the circumstances. You have but a few decades to lose. But you may win years measured in millions!’
‘Come on,’ Dom ordered abruptly. ‘Let’s get back to the sphere.’
‘Wait a minute!’ Müller looked distraught; he was thinking hard. ‘I’ll take those odds,’ he said. He rounded on Dom, cutting off his angry remonstrances. ‘We’ve as good as lost, Chairman! This is the only way we’ll get anything. I reckon there isn’t much left to lose.’
A fateful look came over him as he lumbered towards the booth. The alien rose, held aside the fold of cloth to allow him to enter, then followed. Before the cloth fell, Scarne glimpsed a low table with some sort of apparatus on it.
Less than a minute later, the creature reappeared and once more sat on its hind legs. ‘Who else will dare to enter the presence of the gods and snatch life everlasting?’
It was, Scarne realized, the standard barker patter to be used on small planet yokels.
‘Where’s Müller?’ Dom demanded, blinking.
‘Your friend did not win and so lost his small stake. Come now, don’t hesitate! The great prize is still available!’
Dom shook his head in wonderment. ‘And after all I’ve taught him! Still, we don’t really need him any more.’
‘Maybe he was right,’ another teamster said, evidently much depressed. ‘Let’s see what else they’ve got here.’
‘No!’ Dom barked. ‘No more of this – we’re going back to the camp. Don’t you realize we are in the Cave of Caspar – the luck index is low here.’ He jerked his thumb. ‘Not that they rely on luck – they’ve fixed the odds in their favour.’
‘I hope you manage to find some, sir,’ someone else ventured.
Dom smiled, but said nothing as he led them back to the transparent sphere.
FIFTEEN
Some order had been put back into the Wheel camp by the time they returned. The burned-out tents had been bulldozed out into the desert and those still serviceable regrouped. Control had been re-established, too, over the camp’s twin – the Legitimacy site a couple of miles away.
Dom learned immediately, however, that Hakandra and Shane had both vanished, and could not be found.
He put the matter out of his mind for the moment and made his way directly to one special tent whose interior was completely screened from the outside by a long vestibule.
He was met by Haskand. ‘Well, are you ready?’ Dom asked the scientist sharply. ‘Can it be done?’
‘We’re as ready as we are likely to be.’
‘Then let’s waste no more time.’
There were others besides Haskand in the tent: a few members of the mathematical cadre, and some very special technicians. The reason for their presence lay in the three consoles that occupied the centre of the tent: machinery that Dom believed was unique in the galaxy, if not in the universe.
The luck equations had not been obtained easily. They had been derived, after centuries of effort, from the work of the wayward genius Georgius Velikosk. Unfortunately Velikosk had committed little of his knowledge to record (he had, in fact, killed himself when the Grand Wheel tried to wrest his knowledge from him) and even now Wheel technicians did not understand how the single practical device he had built, the Velikosk roulette machine, functioned. Nevertheless his original machine formed the basis of the apparatus that now faced Dom – none other had been devised capable of handling the luck equations.
Dom sat in the straight-backed chair and let the techs tape leads to the palms of his hands. He was now part of the circuit.
He nodded, giving the signal to go ahead, and relaxed. He was aware that the procedure was not entirely safe. There was even a small risk that the Velikosk part of the equipment would inadvertently perform the only other use the Wheel had ever found for it, and dissipate his being, drawing him down into the region of pure randomness.
In silence the apparatus went into operation. A ghostly nimbus, the same that had raced round the table from man to man at the last Wheel council meeting on Luna, surrounded Dom. It seemed to everyone that an awesome, numinous power entered the tent; even the most hardened scientists among them were able to interpret it only one way: it was the presence of Lady.
The nimbus faded as the apparatus switched itself off. The leads were detached from Dom’s hands. He rose. He had been aware of no special sensation but he, too, had felt that presence. He was satisfied that the goddess had entered into him.
Haskand spoke deferentially. ‘You understand, sir, that no charge of this strength has ever been administered before? It cannot be compared with any of our practice shots.’
Dom looked at him in supercilious, amused fashion, the way a favourite of the gods might look at a mere mortal. ‘All is clear,’ he murmured.
Scarne had never been told what lay within the specially guarded tent, but after visiting his own quarters he had been watching curiously for Dom to come out. The Wheel leader walked straight towards him.
‘I want you to accompany me back up to the asteroid, Cheyne,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to be in on the final act. But first let’s take a little trip.’
Someone emerged from the tent where was kept the narrowbeam equipment that had been commandeered from the Legit archaeologists. He hurried up to Dom. ‘We’ve been getting news in the past hour, sir. The Hadranics are massing at the far end of the Cave. It looks like their big push.’
Dom raised his eyebrows. ‘Then this place may not be too safe shortly,’ he remarked casually. ‘But no matter, we should be away from here before anything drastic happens.’
He pointed to the edge of the camp, ushering Scarne in that direction, and beyond the pattern of tents climbed into one of the ground cars parked there. As Scarne joined him he took the controls and, raising the car a few yards above ground level, sent it shooting out into the desert.
Soon the camp was out of sight. Dom criss-crossed the terrain in wide sweeps. Half an hour later he settled the car down on the desert and brought it to a stop. For a while the two men sat staring in silence out over the wilderness. Then Dom twisted round in his seat to look directly at Scarne.
‘Why don’t you do it now, Cheyne?’
‘Huh?’ Scarne looked back
at him with an expression half-blank, half of fright.
‘Come, come, Cheyne, I know, or at least I am almost sure, that you have once again decided to kill me, this time without giving me an honourable chance, before I am able to play the last game. Is it not true that you have a weapon of some sort secreted about your person?’
There was a long pause before Scarne could bring himself to reply. ‘Yes,’ he said then, thickly. ‘At least we’d be left with half …’
‘Well, go ahead,’ Dom invited. ‘Try to kill me.’
Why not? thought Cheyne. Dazedly he brought forth the handgun he had picked up earlier. It was a small-aperture Borges beamer, an ideal gun for close quarters and more commonly a woman’s weapon.
‘It’s obvious you had a reason for returning here before continuing the game,’ he said, holding the Borges uncertainly. ‘What were you doing in that tent?’
Dom did not answer, but continued smiling while Scarne raised the beamer and pressed the stud.
Nothing happened.
Scarne turned the gun over and opened the inspection plate. ‘The charge failed,’ he announced, peering in. ‘It’s burned out.’
‘What are you going to do now, Cheyne? You could try strangling me, I suppose. You’d probably fall over and break your neck.’
Now Scarne’s suspicions were confirmed. ‘Luck,’ he said. ‘You’ve given yourself artificial luck.’
‘You asked me why we came back here. You knew already, unless you’re a fool.’
‘I thought you said the technique hadn’t been developed enough to be reliable?’
‘We’ve taken it to the point where we can risk using it, in an emergency. It would have been better,’ Dom added affably, ‘if matters had gone otherwise, of course.’
Scarne reflected. ‘I reckon you’ve already badly miscalculated once. The galactics’ gamesmanship was better than you anticipated. Now you’re using the luck equations. What if that goes wrong somehow, too?’
‘One must estimate the likely outcome. It raises an interesting conundrum. Can one be invested with luck and be unlucky enough to lose it?’
Scarne sighed. ‘You’ve certainly got nerve, I’ll say that. Did you bring me out here just for this little demonstration?’
‘No.’ Dom’s eyes scanned the horizon. ‘I’m looking for Shane. He’s got to be out here somewhere. Probably underground.’
‘And you can find him where others couldn’t?’
‘I’m lucky.’
He put the car in motion again and drove it on its wheels for about a mile, apparently in a direction chosen at random. Then he stopped and pointed to a rise in the ground some distance away.
‘See that bank – a sort of hillock? That could hide something.’
‘It’s far from being a unique feature.’
‘Just the same I think I’ll get somebody to fly over that hillock and take a heat reading,’ Dom said thoughtfully.
He seemed satisfied. He turned the car round and took it off the ground again. They went skimming over the terrain back towards the camp.
‘I think I’ll soon have him back again,’ he exclaimed gladly. ‘The dear boy.’
‘What for?’ Scarne asked in a sudden passion. ‘To make him as corrupt and evil as yourself? Why don’t you leave him alone and give him a chance to live decently?’
‘What’s this, my dear fellow?’ said Dom, affecting surprise. ‘Jealousy?’
‘Jealousy? No …’
‘No, it’s real hatred, real disgust, I can see that. And all based on a misconception, too! All because you think I’ve been gambling away Sol civilization. Putting up humankind as a stake in the game!’
‘Well, haven’t you?’ Scarne asked, puzzled.
‘Why, no, of course not!’ Dom, in high spirits, was laughing at him. ‘Allow me to destroy your delusions, Cheyne. I admit I did nothing to discourage them, but after all I wanted you to have an incentive to play. But did I ever actually say I was putting civilization at risk? The real truth is, I would have done it without a qualm – the higher the stakes, the more we stood to win. But the galactics wouldn’t accept anything we didn’t actually own. We would have had to be in possession of the Legitimacy, and that was something we couldn’t obtain. So it would have been like passing a dud cheque. The galactics don’t let you get away with that.’
‘Then what are the stakes we put up?’ Scarne wanted to know.
‘The Grand Wheel. All our tangible assets, and all our influence. The galactics regard it as a pitch which we operate. Should we lose, it will become theirs.’
‘They will run the Grand Wheel?’
‘Yes. Or do whatever it is they aim to do with it.’
There was silence for a while, except for the rush of air past the speeding car. ‘You’re just as bad as I said,’ Scarne said eventually. ‘You would have done it if you could.’
‘Face facts. We are going to win. I have luck, Cheyne! The goddess’s rays are blazing down on me. Instead of heaping recriminations on me, you should be feeling relief that your fears were groundless.’
But Scarne felt himself too confused to feel such relief. He no longer knew whether he could trust anything Dom said.
The Chairman did not drive back to the camp but instead put the car down near to the glassy travel-globe, which was still waiting for them. Scarne held back when Dom left the car and made for it.
‘Why are you taking me along?’
In comradely fashion Dom put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You are my favourite, Cheyne. You’ve gone through the whole thing with me. I want your moral support.’ Then he took his hand away and sighed. ‘But you may stay behind if that’s what you want.’
‘No,’ Scarne decided, ‘I’ll come.’
Fearfully, he walked towards the majestically shimmering sphere.
‘Has it occurred to you that this planetoid is a bit tatty?’ Scarne asked Dom as the sphere descended towards the coldly glowing surface. ‘It seems to me we’re not too important a customer.’
‘They’re handling deals like this all the time,’ Dom agreed. ‘They’re big. Very big.’
‘Doesn’t that make you feel insignificant?’
‘No. It’s our way in, that’s all. The first rung of the ladder. Once inside we’ll have immortality, power, knowledge – but you know something about gaining knowledge already, don’t you, eh, Cheyne?’ He shot Scarne an enquiring glance. ‘Maybe I’ll try a shot of that drug of yours myself.’
With the odd, disconcerting effect that caused them to brace themselves needlessly, the sphere embedded itself in the earth. This time they had not come down near the games village. The small landscape was empty except for what appeared to be a hut just short of the horizon. Dom and Scarne trudged towards it over the cinders-like ground, reaching it in five minutes or so.
The hut had a crude makeshift appearance. It was constructed of planks of a fibrous material resembling wood and was windowless. After looking it over, Dom knocked on the door.
Immediately the door swung open. Within, the hut looked more comfortable but by no means luxurious. There was a table, and two chairs, one of them large and peculiar-looking, built for something other than a human.
That something beckoned them in from the opposite side of the table. Only by a considerable stretching of definitions could it have been described as humanoid. It stood on two legs, but these were hinged partway up a sloping body, which balanced its weight by means of a thick tail as in some dinosaurs. The head, however, lacked any kind of snout. It was skull-like, covered with horny grey skin and looked upon them with staring, deep-set eyes.
They entered, Scarne closing the door behind them. The air of the hut was close and stuffy, with a dog-like odour which Scarne found unpleasant. The alien took the larger chair, seating himself in it with a flick of his tail, which rested on a curved groove, and with a surprisingly long and slender arm motioned Dom to do likewise. There apparently being nowhere for Scarne to sit, he remained standing to one side.<
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The alien’s head turned to regard him. ‘I am sorry,’ he said in well-modulated, civilized-sounding tones which Scarne guessed came from an artificial voice-box, ‘you will wish to sit.’
He made a motion with a long, multi-jointed hand. Some mechanism apparently responded to the signal, for a part of the wall came adrift and folded itself into a serviceable straight-backed chair which crept across the floor to Scarne.
‘Thank you.’ Scarne sat down.
The galactic player turned his attention to Dom. He placed a deck of cards on the table.
‘Our proposal is this. This deck is of the same type that was used in the earlier games. No two cards have the same value, as you are aware. We will cut for a card, and play three times. Two winning cards out of three wins all.’
‘Highest takes it?’
‘Correct. I need hardly add that these cards are specially treated against any kind of legerdemain, which is superfluous in any case since they will be machine-shuffled. If there are to be subsequent games we can proceed by gentlemen’s agreement.’
‘What about change-cards?’
‘For this game, all cards are immutable,’ the alien answered in a slightly surprised tone, as though the point was obvious.
Dom nodded slowly. Scarne found himself wondering, not for the first time, why Dom seemed to trust the galactics when they were in a position to perpetrate all kinds of trickery on him. But suddenly the answer came to him. For decades Dom had managed the Grand Wheel, and he knew the ethics and habits by which such organizations operated. The Galactic Wheel would not cheat him – or so he believed. It could, Scarne told himself, be another case of occupational delusion.
Ever since the incident with the failed gun, Scarne had been feeling unwell. Now his head began to ache; he felt as if he was stifling in the hot atmosphere of the hut.
Hot? It had not seemed hot when he entered a few minutes ago. He put his hand to his brow. He was feverish.
The skull-headed galactic took the deck from the shuffling-machine, laid it on the table and invited Dom to cut.
As Dom reached for the cards a choking pain seized Scarne in the chest. He fell off his chair, clutching the region of his heart, and then passed out.
The Grand Wheel Page 16