Blue had won the last bout and the betting was heavy on red and green. Dumarest placed chips on the blue, waited as the globe filled with a swirling mass of spores, picked up his winnings as a lamp flashed to signal his success.

Luck, but favoring the house and he moved on to stand at a dice game, to pass on to a wheel of fortune, to spend an hour at the poker table, which he left richer than he had started. Only then did he see Vardoon.

The man stood at the far side of a roulette wheel placed beneath a circling cluster of shimmering bubbles which weaved in apparent random in their imprisoning magnetic field. He was sweating, pearls of moisture thick on forehead and cheeks, lying in beads on the ridges of scar tissue. His hands were clenched, knuckles whitening as the croupier called the winner.

"Twelve. Red."

A simple game with simple rules. A wheel marked in thirty-six divisions, one white, the others divided between red and black. Even money on the colors, thirty-five times the stake on a winning number. If the ball settled in the white slot the house took it all.

"Place your bets." The croupier's voice held the familiar, emotionless drone. "Place your bets." A pause then, as the wheel spun. "No more bets."

Vardoon lost.

And again.

And again.

Dumarest studied him from the far side of the table, noting the betraying quiver of his hands, the tension of the muscles around the eyes and mouth. The lips were clamped with pressure, the eyes glazed with concentration. Once, when a girl bumped into him, he snarled with barely controlled rage. Sweat ran unnoticed from his chin.

These danger signs others had recognized and they moved deftly into position. Neatly dressed men with bland faces and eyes of chipped and unfeeling glass. Servants of the casino who had seen others break when their luck had run too bad for too long; women who had gone into screaming hysteria, men who had run wild in a berserker frenzy. From their interest alone it was obvious Vardoon was near the edge.

"Thirty-one," droned the croupier. "Black."

Vardoon had backed thirty. He looked at the pile of chips before him, hesitated for a moment, then with an abrupt gesture thrust them all on the black.

Dumarest loaded chips on the red.

He said, "Tell me, Hart, how many survived the crash we were in? Nine? Ten?"

"What?" Vardoon looked at him, blinking. "Earl?"

Dumarest was patient. "The crash, Hart. How many survived?"

"At first? I don't know. Eight, maybe? Nine? Call it eleven."

"Eleven it is." Dumarest backed the number with a low denomination chip. "Good to see you again, Hart. Have a drink after this spin?" Words to allay the fears of those standing by to act in case of need. Two drinks, maybe. "Well, there she goes!"

The wheel spun, the ball bouncing, coming to a final rest. Twenty-eight and red.

Picking up his winnings, Dumarest said, "Let's go get that drink."

Vardoon needed it. He slumped in a chair as Dumarest ordered, the waitress returning with tall glasses filled with ice and flame. Half vanished at a single gulp and Vardoon scowled as he looked at the remainder.

"Luck," he said. "I guess I used all mine up in one go out there in the snow. I was crazy to think it would last." He emptied the glass, watched as Dumarest ordered more. "Well, at least you made out all right."

"Thanks to you."

"What?"

"You forgot the first rule of gambling," said Dumarest. "When you're desperate to win you never do. So I backed against you. The only real danger was losing to the house but, even then, the odds were in my favor." He added quietly, "How much, Hart?"

"Did I lose? Too much." The man reached for his second drink, swallowed, set it down a third empty. "My own fault but two days in this place was getting me down. And, at first, I won. A real lucky streak which turned sour but how was I to know that it would turn bad on me? So I changed games and won then started losing and, well, I guess you know how it is. Not that it matters, I can stand it."

Dumarest said, "You're lying."

"Now wait a minute, Earl!"

"You're broke," said Dumarest. "You didn't have much to start with and you tried to build your stake. Why else would you try to rob a dead man who you knew had nothing."

"Wiess?" Vardoon reached for his glass. "You don't miss much, do you? All right, that was a mistake, but most men hold a little something back. Cash for emergencies, a trinket, something. But you're wrong, Earl. I've money-enough for a Low passage. I hung onto that."

That, at least, demonstrated a degree of sense. Dumarest sipped at his own drink. Vardoon was an interlude, they had parted on reaching the town and would part after the drink and what the man chose to do was his own business.

He said, "Earl, I've been thinking. That world you mentioned, Terrel?"

"Terren."

"That's the one. Is it far?" He added hastily, "What I mean is it takes money to travel. You know?"

"I know."

"That's why I went to the tables." Vardoon pursed his lips as if about to spit. "Crazy, but I'd had enough. Win or bust and what the hell-we only live once. But before I go I'd like to make my pile. And that's crazy too, in a way. Am I talking sense?"

Dumarest shook his head.

"You think it's the drink?" Vardoon looked at his glass, again empty. "Back there, at the table, you saved me, right? Those goons would have jumped me if you hadn't stepped in. I saw them. I was gone but I saw them and I was about ready to blow." He looked at his hands, at the fists they made, and deliberately straightened his fingers. "I get that way at times," he said. "I just seem to go crazy-like out there on the snow when those damned birds attacked us. You saved me then, too, Earl. Not many would have done that. Not then and not at the table just now." He hesitated as he had at the table and then, as before, seemed to reach a sudden decision. "Listen, Earl, I'll give it to you straight. I've enough for a Low passage but that isn't enough for what I want. Stake me and I'll show you how to make a fortune. The biggest fortune you've ever dreamed of. Throw in with me and you'll be rich."

A bubble drifted, came within reach, lifted as Dumarest blew against it. A shimmering thing of swirling color, the sound it made was one of derisive laughter.

Vardoon heard it, guessed what Dumarest must be thinking, spoke with a desperate calmness as if aware he would be given no second chance.

"You've heard it all before, right? In a hundred taverns where men come up with secret coordinates of worlds loaded with easy pickings. Bonanza, Jackpot, Eldorado, Earth, Avalon-all mythical planets but always you'll find someone who knows just how to get there. Someone who'll give you the location-if the price is right. And you think this is the same. Babble from a man who acted the fool and lost his stake at the table. One who is stranded, maybe, desperate to find the cost of a passage. Well, Earl, I'm desperate but not because of that. Desperate to find those who'll help me get hold of what's waiting. Desperate enough to try it alone if there's no other way. But before I can do that I've got to get there and travel costs money I haven't got."

Dumarest said, "You mentioned Earth-do you know where it is to be found?"

"What?" Vardoon frowned, impatient. "No, nor Jackpot or any of the others. But look around and you'll find someone to tell you. All you need is money."

It wasn't that simple. Vardoon was right in most of what he'd said, but not even the most desperate beggar would claim to know the whereabouts of Earth. Even to hint at such knowledge would be to betray his falsity. Not even the most credulous would believe him.

"Money." Vardoon closed a hand into a fist. "That and someone I could trust. Just one would be enough. A man to watch my back, to stand his turn, to stand at my side. A friend. Earl-"