They started by putting up ten-credit bets– steep enough for the recreation area. Chamco got a ninety and Terl a sixteen.

Terl insisted upon raising the bets and the Chamco couldn't refuse, of course.

The ring shot by the smaller Chamco brother sizzled through the atmosphere and clanged over a four peg. The Chamco groaned. Anything could beat that. And lately he had been saving his money. When he got home– in just a few months now– he was going to buy a wife. And this bet had been thirty credits!

Terl went through contortions of motions, put the ring on the back of his paw, sighted across it, and then with the other paw sent it like a ray blast at the board. A three! Terl lost.

As the winner, the smaller Chamco brother couldn't quit. And Terl had taken another pan of kerbango, leering around at the interested gallery, and upped the bets.

The onlookers placed some side bets of their own. Terl was reeling drunk. He did have a reputation with this game, which made the odds lower, but he was so obviously drunk that he even faced the wrong direction and had to be turned in the right one.

The smaller Chamco brother got fifty. Terl got two. “Ah, no, you don't quit now,” Terl said. “The winner can't quit.” His words were slurred. “I bet...l bet one hun -...hundred credits.”

Well, with pay halved and bonuses gone, nobody was going to object to winning easy money, and the smaller

Chamco went along.

The audience roared at Terl's bungling as loss after loss occurred. And the smaller Chamco brother found himself standing there with four hundred fifty credits.

Terl reeled over to the attendant and got another saucepan of kerbango. As he drank it he went through his pockets, turning them out one by one. Finally he came up with a single bill, a bit crumpled and marked all over. “My good-luck money,” sobbed Terl.

He lurched over to the firing position in front of the board. "Chamco Two, just one more crap-little bet. You see this bill?”

The smaller Chamco brother looked the bill over. It was a good-luck bill. Mine employees taking off for far places after a final party sometimes exchanged good-luck bills. Everybody signed everybody else's bill. And this had a dozen signatures on it.

"I’m betting my good-luck bill,” said Terl. “But you got to promise you won't spend it and that you'll trade it back to me on payday if I...I lose it?”

The smaller Chamco brother had gotten money-hungry by now. He was picking up nearly two weeks' pay, and the wage cuts had hurt. Yes, he'd promise to do that.

As winner, the smaller Chamco brother went first. He had never been very good at rings. He fired and ouch! It was a one. Anything, but anything, would beat it.

Terl stared at it. He went drunkenly forward and looked at it closely. He reeled back to the firing line, faced the wrong way, had to be turned, and then zip! He got off a sizzler.

It hit the blank wall.

With that, Terl passed out. The attendant, helped by the Chamcos and Char and couple of others, got Terl on a banquet serving trolley that groaned and bent. They wheeled him in a triumphal parade to his quarters, got the key out of his pocket, brought him in, and dumped him on the floor. They were pretty drunk, too, and they went away chanting the funeral dirge of the Psychlos in a most feeling way.

When they were gone, Terl crawled to the door and closed and locked it.

He had taken counter-kerbango pills after dinner, and all he had to do now was get rid of the excess, which he did, tickling his throat with a talon over the wash basin.

Quietly then, with great satisfaction, he undressed and got into bed and had a beautiful sleep full of beautiful dreams concerning the beautiful future of Terl.

Jonnie heard the monster enter the cage and close the door.

In the past few weeks Jonnie's hands and face had healed and his hair; eyebrows, and beard had grown out. His reflection in the water from the snow he had melted in a pan told him that. He couldn't see any scars on his hands but they still looked red where they had been burned.

He was wrapped in a robe, facing away from the door, and he didn't look around. He had worked late with the instruction machine.

“Look over here, animal,” said Terl. “See what I brought you.”

There was something different in the monster's voice. It seemed jovial if that were possible. Jonnie sat up and looked.

Terl was holding up four rats by their tails. Lately the nearby rat population had been cut down and Terl had been shooting rabbits and bringing them in, a very welcome change indeed. Yet here were more rats and the monster thought it was a favor.

Jonnie lay down again. Terl threw the rats over by the fire. One wasn't quite dead and started to crawl away. Terl flashed his handgun from its holster and blew its head off.

Jonnie sat up. Terl was putting the gun away.

“Trouble with you, animal,” said Terl, “you have no sense of appreciation. Have you finished the discs on basic electronics?”

Actually, Jonnie had. Terl had brought the discs weeks ago, along with some discs on higher mathematics. He didn't bother to answer.

“Anybody that could be fooled by remote controls couldn't ever really operate machines,” said Terl. He had harped on this before, omitting the truth that it was he who had been fooled.

“Well, here are some other texts. And you better wrap your rat brain around them if you ever expect to handle machines– mining machines.”

Terl threw three books at him. They looked huge but they were featherweight. One hit Jonnie but he caught the other two. He looked at them. They were Psychlo texts, not Chinko translations. One was Control Systems for Beginning Engineers. Another was Electronic Chemistry. The third was Power and its Transmission. Jonnie wanted the books. Knowledge was the key out of captivity. But he put the books down and looked at Terl.

“Get those into your rat brain and you won't be sending machines over cliffs,” said Terl. Then he came nearer and sat down in the chair. He looked closely at Jonnie. “When are you really going to start cooperating?”

Jonnie knew this was a very dangerous monster, a monster that wanted something that hadn't been named.

“Maybe never,” said Jonnie.

Terl sat back, watching Jonnie closely. “Well, never mind, animal. I see you pretty well recovered from your burns. Your fur is growing back.” Jonnie knew Terl had no interest in that and wondered what was coming next.

“You know, animal,” said Terl, “you sure had me fooled that first day.” Terl's eyes were watchful but he seemed to be just rambling along. “I thought you were four-legged!" He laughed very falsely. “It sure was a surprise when you fell apart into two animals.” He laughed again, amber eyes very cunning. “Wonder what happened to that horse.”

Before he could stop himself, Jonnie experienced a wave of sorrow over Windsplitter. He choked it off instantly.

Terl looked at him. Then he got up and wandered over to the cage door. To himself Terl was thinking: the horse is a key to this. He had been right. The animal was attached emotionally to that horse. Leverage, leverage. It came in many guises and its use was power.

Terl appeared to be laughing. “You sure had me fooled that first day. Well, I’ve got to be going. Get busy on those books, rat brain.” He went out. “That's a good one; ratbrain."

Jonnie sat staring after him. He knew he had betrayed something. And he knew Terl was up to something. But what? Was Windsplitter alive?

Uneasy, Jonnie built up the fire and began to look over the books. And then he was gripped in a sudden wave of excitement: he had found “uranium” listed in the index of Electronic Chemistry.