“Cheyne,” he said tensely, “you and I are going in together. We’re in trouble.”
Scarne could not help but agree. Although they had won more rounds than the aliens-had constructed more metaphysical systems-the wagering was so complicated that the aliens were actually far ahead of them. Dom’s stock was already one-half depleted.
‘Two points,” Dom told Scame. “First, we have to concentrate less on systems-building as a target and more on winning side-bets. They can be more important than the ultimate outcome-that’s something they’ve tumbled to sooner than we have. They’ve latched onto the second point well ahead of us, too. The symbols involved in this deck are very potent-much more so than those of the Tarot. It’s possible by means of this game to alter your opponent’s mentality and hence to gain control over it-the team that happens to loses everything. I think they’ve already started building their strategy on that. And some of us have been falling for it. Even you, Cheyne.”
Scame reflected, thinking over the mental changes he had been experiencing. He nodded soberly. “I think you may be right.”
“We’ve got to win everything back, and then some. Are you ready? Let’s go.”
Scame downed his whisky and finished his bread roll, then they rejoined the aliens at the table. Each pair of partners now faced one another, and he looked briefly into Dom’s eyes before beginning. It was impossible to tell what the Wheel chief was feeling. Des-143
peration? Fascination? Or only pleasure in the game, still?
It was Scarne’s turn to deal. He sent the cards round the table, ten to a hand, then picked up his own and studied them, the number cards, the stable picture cards, the inner and outer sets.
He suddenly felt the slight mental jolt, like a missed heartbeat, that meant someone was practising thought-change on a card. With surprise he saw that it was one of his own cards that was mutating. He fought back using his own control to keep the card from transforming. What, he thought, was the object of the manoeuvre? Play had not begun; his opponents had no clue as to the cards he held.
Then he got the answer. The galactics had no idea what the card was, but they could feel his resistance;
they knew now that it was a card he wanted to keep unaltered.
Once again they had stolen a small advantage with a trick that could only be used once.
Dom led, with a picture card of the outer set, the card titled the infinite ray; he pushed a hundred units into the stakes circle. It was a bold move, a direct challenge. The player following tried to buy the card;
Dom refused to sell. Another picture card fell down in answer to the challenge and Scame, sensing Dom’s intention, added to it a card of even higher value.
Dom had set in train a process that could not be halted. There accumulated on the table a collection that naturally formed the core of a target construction-indeed no suitable system could be assembled without it. The struggle for possession of this package was now inevitable.
As usual, Scame had developed a rapport with Dom that was almost telepathic. He understood fully that the cards in the center of the table were Dom’s gambit, a decoy he had arranged while he attempted to win on the side-bets. Scame’s mind speeded up, his thoughts flashing ahead to strategy and counter-strategy … the possibilities were endless. The deck was capable of
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a universe of interrelationships, echoing and resonat-ing ad infinitum.
The rapidity of his calculation took another leap, like a starship slipping into overdrive. Then he discovered, with a shock of fright, that he could no longer see Dom, or the domed room, or the cards in his hand. A white haze surrounded him. At first the haze seemed to be composed of nothing but frosty light;
gradually he became aware that actually there was an image in it-an image that, indefinitely reproduced, made up the haze and was everywhere, like certain holo images.
The image was an enigmatic pattern resembling a manic machine, made up of rods and helices, some of which sported glistening blobs and nodules. It was the picture card known as the Apparatus, a card whose meaning was not entirely clear to Scarne. Once his eyes grasped it, the pattern began to move, breaking apart and reforming in a variety of alternative configurations. As he watched, it suddenly broke open, flinging itself out like an enormous disarrayed switchback, and constructed a bizarre, impossible landscape.
The terrain could not adequately be described in ordinary physical terms. It had no dimensions of its own, only those which emanated from the supporting framework of the Apparatus. The white haze, a frosty fog, hung over everything. Odd objects, made from smaller rods, spirals, and oozing blobs, emerged from and sank back into the interstices.
In the near distance Scame saw the two galactic partners sitting in their straight-backed chairs, watching him intently.
He knew he had to find his way out of here and back to the card table. But how? Mentally he tried to retrace the route his thoughts had taken prior to his arriving in this place, to banish the landscape, but with no results. “Cheyne!” The voice was Dom’s, though he could not say
THE GRAND WHEEL
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whether he heard it physically or only in his mind. “Cheyne, can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Listen carefully, Cheyne. The symbols in this deck are extremely powerful-even more so than those of the Tarot. The game has unlocked our minds. The galactics are using it to create alternate realities.”
“Is this part of the game?”
“Yes. A resultant level that they, once again, have realized ahead of us. The cards as physical entities are redundant. We are playing mind to mind.”
“Is all this an illusion?”
“Probably. But-perhaps not entirely. It would be foolish to be dogmatic.”
Briefly, Scame seemed to see Dom’s face in front of him, struggling to emerge from the fog. “How do I get out of here?” he asked.
“We can’t-not directly. We have to play…”
Dom’s voice faded, then came back again. “They probably don’t know we’re adept at this kind of thing, too. Use the doorway technique, Cheyne. Play a card -counter their” realities with ours.”
Scame noticed that the chairs on which the galactics sat were gliding slowly nearer to him. He sensed menace. “I don’t know if I can-not with these cards.”
“Then use the Tarot. The correspondence is close enough-it ought to work. If we can’t do it they’ve got us beaten; we won’t be able to withstand their mental bombardment. We’ll be changed, and they’ll win.”
There was silence, and Scame realized that Dom was no longer in communication with him. He was on his own.
Scame had been taught the doorway technique, as Dom called it, after his mind had been made more pliable by experience on the identity machine. It was in fact a meditative practice employed by ancient Kabalists, by which one projected oneself into each card in turn, identifying with it so completely that it came to life, as if one had stepped through a door into the realm it represented. By projecting into the cards
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of the major arcana one could explore various facets of the Kabalistic system; by projecting into the court cards, one felt oneself to be glimpsing one of the four worlds of that system-the archetypal world, the creative world, the formative world and the physical world. By concentrating on the numbered cards of the minor arcana, one gained access to worlds dominated by one or other of the four elements as understood by the ancients-fire, water, air and earth.
It was presumably some such method as this that the galactics were now using, the difference being that others besides the practitioner were projected into the realities evoked. Scarne looked down at his hand, and after a few moments was able to see the cards he had held at the table. Some were unique to the deck created for the game, and had no correspondence in the Tarot. Others, however, could easily be cross-identified. He concentrated, and these cards underwent mutation, changing into their Tarot counterparts.
He chose one: the Ace of Wands, Root of the Powers of Fire. He raised it before his eyes, summoning up all his attention in the manner Dom had taught him, driving his full consciousness into the simple illustration of an upright baton round which were twined a pair of snakes.
Something snapped in his mind. The scene erected by the card Apparatus vanished, together with the galactic players who had invoked it.
He stood in the midst of a baking desert that stretched in all directions to a far horizon. The air scorched his throat as he breathed. Overhead was a sun that sent wave after wave of heat pounding mercilessly down, turning the sand into a blazing carpet.