* * *
They walked along Central to one of the two major intersections and crossed it to enter a maze of narrower dirt streets and alleys twisting among trailers and instant buildings, dark except for isolated lights outside doors or occasional glows from some of the interiors. Ramona led the way to a small, flat-roofed cabin set on blocks. It had a split-height door behind a screen, and an outside lamp showing a green cross on an orange background. Vrel waited while she went ahead up several wooden steps to unlock the door, and then followed.
The interior, when she turned on the light, was what he supposed a Terran would describe as feminine and homey—but to Hyadean eyes a riot of decorative ingenuity. “You drink coffee?” Ramona asked.
“After a day like today? Sure, why not?”
Colorful woven tapestries and prints of animal and plant themes filled the walls; a carpet of rich designs covered the floor. All the pictures and curios that Vrel had come to expect of a Terran dwelling were there, with the added touch that females seemed to show for softening the effect with cushions and flowers, and frilly edgings to covers and drapes. It brought to mind Dee’s apartment in Los Angeles, though with a distinctly different “style.”
“You like it?” Ramona said, seeing him looking around while she filled a pot and took cans and mugs from a closet. “Is not like your Hyadean places, eh? Like army barracks or factories. How can anyone live in those? I buy it from a Chilean girl who is singer with a band, but has big gambling problems. Owes maybe ten thousand dollars to the clubs. You don’t mess those guys around. So she comes here to work in Uyali temporarily. Tells husband the band is on foreign tour. Is funny, eh?” Vrel wasn’t sure why, but grinned obligingly. “Do Hyadeans gamble?” Ramona asked him.
“No. The statistical demotivations are too obvious.”
“Oh? I guess I’m not too smart. What does that mean?”
“I’m beginning to doubt that. It means that nothing is more mathematically certain than that the class of gamblers as a whole loses. So why would anyone pay to belong to that class?”
Ramona put the coffeepot on and stared at it as if for advice. “Really so, eh? But what if you win?”
“It’s possible, of course,” Vrel agreed. “But the chance you buy isn’t worth what you pay for it.”
“Okay. . . . If you say so.” She didn’t seem convinced but wasn’t about to make an issue of it. They tossed the matter back and forth while the coffee was making, then sat down with their drinks in a couple of easy chairs in the living area adjoining the kitchenette.
“So what’s your story?” Vrel asked her curiously. “How did you come here? Any plans for the future?”
Ramona leaned back and sighed. “I am from Rio a long time ago, you know—over on east?” Vrel nodded. “Is big difference, who is rich and who is poor. I come from wrong part.” She laughed suddenly. “Maybe you are right after all: Luck doesn’t pay off, eh? The only way you’re gonna get rich is maybe be big soccer star if you’re a boy, or a girl, do this. Or maybe else you can sell drugs, either one. But is not for me. Too much nasty people—all the time killing, violence. And after? . . . I don’t know.” She winked. “Big savings already. Maybe buy my own bar someday. Lots of music, dance. I like to see people having fun. Maybe a Hyadean bar. They need teaching how to have fun, no?”
Vrel grinned tiredly. “Maybe.” He looked at his wrist unit again.
“Where you go tonight if your friend don’t show up?” Ramona asked him.
“I hadn’t thought about it. I didn’t think it would get this late.”
“You think he is okay?”
Vrel shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Ramona looked him up and down over the rim of her mug. “You can stay here if you want.” The color-enhanced eyes widened suggestively. “Maybe relax and make the best of it a little if you stuck anyway. Is okay, on me. I’m not working tonight.”