“You aren’t listening, ser Merek Eln. I assure you, I have no interests in ITAK matters.”

“Yet you chose Istra.”

“Not I.”

The man blinked, confused.

“I didn’t divert the ship,” Raen said.

“If we can be of service—”

“You’ve offered me your hospitality. I’ve said that I shall consider it. For the moment, as you see, I’m engaged. I have four games yet to go this evening. Perhaps you’ll care to watch.” She turned her back on ser Merek Eln and sera Kest, looked at Jim, who waited quietly. Azi were accustomed to immobility when not pursuing orders. “What do you know of Istra?” she asked him.

“It’s a hive world. A contact point with Outside. Their sun is beta Hydri.”

“ Thecontact point. I don’t recall any Kontrin going there recently. I knew one who did, once. But surely there are some amusements to be had there.”

“I, don’t know,” Jim said very faintly, quieter in the presence of the Istrans than he had been since the beginning. “I belong to Andra Lines. My knowledge doesn’t extend beyond the range of my ship.”

“Do these folk make you nervous? I’ll ask them to leave if you like.”

“Please, no,” Jim said hoarsely. Raen shrugged and made the cast.

It came up three stars. She took first throw. Twelve. Jim made his: two. Raen gathered thirty-six points. Jim took up the wands as if they were venomed, threw three whites. Raen won the dicing and automatically took game.

“Your luck has bit a sudden downward turn,” Raen said, gathering up the three wands. She passed them to him. “But there’s still margin. We’re at four hundred fifty-five to your four hundred sixty-two.”

He lost all but the last game, setting the tally at four hundred sixty-three to four hundred fifty-seven. His margin was down to six.

He was sweating profusely. Raen ordered a drink for them each, and Jim took a great swallow of his, all the while staring at a blank comer of the room, meeting no one’s eyes.

“These folk do make you uncomfortable,” she said. “But if you win—why, then you’ll be out among them, free and very wealthy. Perhaps wealthier than they. Do you think of that?”

He took yet another drink and gave no answer. Sweat broke and ran at his temple.

“How many games yet remain?” she asked.

“We dock three days from now.”

“With time in the evening for a set?”

He shook his head. This was to his advantage. He still had his lead.

“Twenty games, then.” She glanced at the Istrans, gestured them to seats on opposite sides of her table, between him and her. Their faces blanched. There was rage there, and offence. They came, and sat down. “Do you want to play a round for amusement?” she asked Jim.

“I would rather not,” he said. “I’m superstitious.”

Azi served them, all four. Jim stared at the area of the table between his hands.

“It’s been a long voyage,” Kont’ Raen said. “Yet the society in the salon has been pleasant. What brings you out from Istra and back, seri?”

“Trade,” Kest said.

“Ah.”

“Kontrin—” Merek Eln said. She looked at him. He moistened his lips and shifted his weight in big chair. “Kontrin, there’s been some disturbance on Istra. Matters are still in a state of flux. Doubtless—doubtless you’ve had some report of these affairs.”

She shrugged. “I’ve kept much to myself of late. So trade took you off Istra.”

There was a hesitation, a decision. Merek Eln went pale, wiped at his face. “The need for funds,” he confided. His voice was hardly more than a hoarse whisper. “There has been hardship on Istra. There’s been fighting in some places. Sabotage. One has to be careful about associations. If you’ve brought forces—”

“You expect too much of me,” Kont’ Raen said “I’m here on holiday. That is my profession.”

This was irony even they understood as such.

They said nothing. Kont’ Raen sipped at her drink and finished it. Then she rose and left the table, end Jim excused himself hastily and withdrew among the azi who served.

The thought occurred to him, not for the first time, that Kont’ Raen was simply insane.

He thought that if she gave him the chance now to withdraw from the wager, he would take it, serve the ship to the end of his days, content in his fate.

He lost two points off his margin the next evening. The tally stood at four hundred sixty-seven to four hundred sixty-three.

There was no sleep that night. Tomorrow evening was the last round. No one in the azi quarters offered to speak to him. The others sat apart, as if he had a contagion. It was the same when one approached termination. If he won, they would hate him; if he lost, he would only confirm what they believed, the luck that made them what they were. He crouched on his mat in a corner of the compartment, tucked big knees up to his chin and bowed his head, counting the interminable moments of the final hours.

vi

Jim was at the table early as usual, waiting with the wands and the dice. The Istrans arrived. Other azi served them, while even beta crew arrived in the salon to watch the last games. The whole ship was shut down to skeleton crew, and those necessary posts were linked in by monitor.

Jim looked at the table surface rather than face the stares of free men who owned his contract, who had come to watch the show. They would not own it after this night, one way or the other.

There were light steps in the corridor, toward the door. He looked up, saw Kont’ Raen coming toward him. He rose, of respect, the same ritual as every evening. Azi set drinks on the table, as every evening.

She was seated, and he resumed his chair.

What others did in the room now he neither knew nor cared. She cast the dice for the first throw; he did, and won the right to begin.

He won the first game. She won the next. The sigh of breath was audible all about the salon.

The third game was hers, and the fourth and fifth.

“Rest?” she asked. He wiped at the sweat that gathered on his upper lip and shook his head. He won the sixth and lost the seventh and eighth.

“Four sixty-nine to four sixty-nine,” she said, Her eyes glittered with excitement. She ordered ice, and paused for a drink of water. Jim drained his glass and wiped his face with his chilled hand. The cooling did not seem enough in the salon. People were crowded all about them. He asked for another drink, sipped it.

“Your stakes are greater,” she said. “I cede first throw.”

He accepted the wands. Suddenly he trusted nothing, no generosity of hers. He trusted none present. Of all the bets which had been made on the azi deck, he was sure now how they had been laid. The looks as the Kontrin tore away his lead let that be known…who had bet on him, and who against. Some of those against, he had believed liked him.

He cast. Nothing showed but black and white; he declined and she cast: the same. It was a slow game, careful. At twenty-four he threw a black…chose to play the throw against her thirty-six, and won not only the pair of ships, but also the black, wiping out his score. His bands began to sweat He played more conservatively then, built up his score and declined the next black, dreading black in her hand, which did not show. He reached eighty-eight. She held seventy-two, and swept up a trio of stars to take the ninth game.

It stood at four hundred sixty-nine to four hundred seventy, her favour.

“What do you propose if we tie?” she asked.

“An eleventh game,” he said hoarsely. Only then did it occur to him that he might have proposed cancellation of bets. She nodded, accepting him at his word. He must win tenth to force an eleventh.

She gathered up the wands. The living chitin on the back of her hand shone like jewels. The wands spilled across the table, white, white, white.

Game, for the winner.

She offered him the dice. She led; the courtesy was mandated by the custom of the game. His hand was sweating; he wiped it on his chest, took the dice again, and cast: six.