30
Hervold folded down the front of the small vehicle. They clambered out, looking around them.
“Where’s Soma?” Caiman asked, disgruntled.
“He ain’t here.” Hervold crossed to the desk, glanced at a notepad there. “Well, we delivered, anyway.”
He spoke to Scarne. “He’ll be along shortly. Make yourself comfortable.”
He nodded to Caiman. The two of them climbed back into the inertial cab. It withdrew into the tunnel;
a facing panel came down, leaving the wall smooth and unbroken. In a few hours they would probably be back on lo.
Suddenly alone, Scame put down his hold-all. He went to the desk. Nothing there gave him any clue.
A door opened behind him. Scame turned to see a pale-eyed woman, aged about thirty-five, standing in sudden surprise in the doorway.
She recovered herself quickly. “Who are you?” she asked. “The man from lo?” She searched her mind. “Professor Scame.”
“Yes. Cheyne Scame.” He offered his hand. She shook it limply. She was still attractive, Scame thought; but with the faded, slightly worn look of a woman who has lived perhaps a little too fast. Her face had something appealing, almost touching about it.
“Welcome to the Make-Out Club,” she said. “I’m Cadence Mellors. We’d better get to know one another, I guess. How long have you been synched?”
“Synched?”
A frown crossed her face. “How long have you been entitled to wear one of these?” She held up her wrist to show him the dangling gridded wheel, similar to Hervold’s.
He caught her meaning. There was probably a lot of jargon inside the Wheel organization. “Only since today, as a matter of fact.”
“Oh.” The new realization clouded her features, as if it disappointed her.
“Who’s this man Soma?” Scame asked.
31
“Jerry Soma? He’ll be your boss. This is his office. He runs the Make-Out.” She crossed to the service unit and came back with two glasses, handing one to Scame. “Have some refreshment.”
She clinked her glass against his before they drank. “Good health,” she said. While Scarne merely sipped the malt whisky, she knocked hers straight back. “I’d never get through the afternoon without a pick-me-up,” she explained cheerfully.
The door opened again, admitting a tall, lean man who walked with a slight slouch, head down. He ignored Cheyne and Cadence as he strode to the desk, where he sat down and quickly tapped something out on an integrator.
“Jerry, this is Professor Scame,” Cadence said breathlessly.
Soma didn’t look up until he had finished what he was doing. His eyes went from Scame to Cadence and back again, calculatingly, as though suspicious of then:
being together.
“Scame. You got here, then.” His hand went to a piece of desk equipment, depressing a key. He read out loud from the showplate. “Lessee … born in Minnesota, Earth. A ground town.”
“Not everybody likes to live in a tower,” Scame interrupted him.
Soma didn’t seem to hear. “Your parents were cyb-clerks. Looks like they tried to give their son a start in life. You attended the university of Oceania, majored with honors in randomatics. Then you got drawn back to source, like a lot of randomaticians are: you became a full-time gambler. Your legit-type parents didn’t like that, did they? Still, it’s a professional hazard … the science of probability originally grew out of games of chance, didn’t it?”
“I don’t see what my parents have got to do with anything,” Scame said stiffly. He hadn’t seen them for over a decade.
“Ask any psychiatrist. Parents are the first cards you’re dealt. It’s in the Tarot, isn’t it? The Emperor,
32
he Empress … Anyway, you haven’t made very good use of your talent. Drifting around solsystem … no concerted plan of action. Caught between two stools: science and gambling. Several times you’ve been in trouble for bad debts.”
“I’ve always come out clean,” Scarne said. He felt uncomfortable, being described in precis in front of the girl.
“But that’s all you’ve done.” Soma made a sudden, angry gesture. “Hell, if you’d used your abilities you could have had everything. Money, whatever you wanted. Entry into the Wheel. The Wheel really leaves it wide open for people like you-don’t you know that? But only if you can find your own way. All these years you’ve stayed right there below the fifty-fifty line. You never got into even one weighted game.”
Scame didn’t know what he was talking about. “I’m surprised you want to use me now, if I’m such a loser.”
Soma smiled sourly, contemptuously. “You’re a failure. But you’re not a loser. Losers we can’t use.”
“Don’t be too hard on him. Jerry,” Cadence said tentatively. “You’ll make him lose confidence.”
“He’d better not be that delicate. All right, Scame, you’re working for us now. For the time being you’re assigned to the Make-Out while we check your performance. This is a special club, not the usual kind. We have special games, games you probably never heard of, new games, special clientele-private list only, some of them high-ranking Legit officials who’ve got the bug, even. You’ll be learning to play against them.” He paused. “One question I’m told to ask: can you play Kabala?”
Scame hesitated. “I think I probably could. I’ve studied the game, but I’ve never had an opportunity to play it.”
“The report on you says the same.” Soma made a note on his pad.
“Will I be playing Kabala?”
33
“Not here. Who knows, maybe Dom will want to try you out.”
Scarne’s mind thrilled at mention of the name. Marguerite Dom-chairman of the Grand Wheel! It excited him to think he might actually be that close to what he wanted.
He coughed and spoke in an innocent tone. “Is this all you want me for, as a player? I had hoped to be introduced to the planning side of things. After all, I am a highly qualified randomatician.”
“Is this all we want you for?” Soma mimicked unpleasantly. He leaned forward, his vulpine face glaring at Scame. “We moved on past the three card trick a long time ago. Here on Earth there are people whose whole lives are games of chance organized by the Wheel. There are people playing games just to win a chance to get into bigger games. It’s a study of life itself. There are people who don’t even know that they are playing. There are people who have a life-game set up for them before they are even born.” He leaned back. “Don’t tell me it’s belittling to be a Wheel player.”
“I won’t.” Soma was a typical Wheel operative, Scame thought. He had that odd combination that made the Grand Wheel so frightening. Intelligence, ability, even a certain amount of scientific knowledge, but along with it all the whiff of the hoodlum, the sinister influence of past Wheel history.
Maybe the members of the mathematical cadre, academic randomaticians like himself, would be of a different sort, he told himself.
He decided to ask a question of his own. “Last night on lo I hit a jackpot on the muggers. I’m curious to know how it was done.”
“Are you implying the muggers are fixed?” Soma asked sharply. “If so, forget it. All our formats are inviolably random.”
“It’s not that,” Scame said, skirting clear of the dangerous subject. “It was the vision itself … I’d like to know how it was achieved.”
34
“What vision?”
“The vision of probabilities.”
Soma looked puzzled for a moment. Then he glanced at Cadence, waving his hand at her peremp-torily. “I’ll speak to the professor alone for a moment.”
The girl left. Soma settled himself in his chair again, tilting his face to look Scarne directly in the eye. “Tell me about this vision.”
Haltingly, as best he could, Scame described what had happened to him when he took hold of the mugger handles. Soma listened attentively, asking a question now and then when Scarne’s account became vague.
When Scame had finished he became silent for a moment. “Well, I don’t know,” he said. “You were supposed to get a brain charge, a few moments of pure pleasure, that’s all. This I’ve never heard of.”
“Pure pleasure? Is that standard for a jackpot?”
“Sometimes it’s a lot of money, sometimes it’s some type of brain charge. It may not sound like much;
actually pure unadulterated happiness is something the average person never experiences normally. He remembers it all his life. This other thing, though, that’s something else again. I’ll check it out.” Soma rose to his feet. “Cadence will show you to your quarters. Do you need any sleep?”
“No, I’m all right.”
“Rest a couple of hours, anyway. We’ll run through a session tonight.” Soma’s hand on his shoulder was proprietorial, almost comradely, as he guided Scame through the doorway. Cadence sat in an adjoining office. She rose to her feet, smiling nervously as Soma handed Scarne over to her; then she led him to a travel cubicle.
The cubicle was the standard means of transport in the tower cities. Zipping through a ubiquitous network of square-sectioned tunnels, up, down, sideways and in ranging curves, it could deliver one to almost any dwelling in the pile. This one did not take them far,