The Grand Wheel

Scarne did not answer. Dom drew on his cigarillo. ‘I’m aware you were never an enthusiastic Legitimacy agent – indeed you failed to apprise your contact of the true nature of our project, though for your information, that knowledge would never have gone beyond Chasm. Nevertheless, I appreciate your reticence in that regard.’

‘I have no allegiances,’ Scarne said. ‘Not to the Legitimacy, to the Wheel, to anything.’

Dom chuckled. ‘But to Earth?’ he responded. ‘To civilization – to mankind?’

Scarne stared at him.

‘All I need concern myself with,’ Dom continued, ‘is that you will play until your guts hang out – and play to win. That I am fairly confident you will do.’

‘So you’re pardoning me?’

Dom said nothing, puffing at his cigarette-holder, looking enigmatic and self-contained.

‘And what about Cadence Mellors?’ Scarne asked.

‘Silly young woman. This project gave her the only chance she’ll ever get of getting into something big. Now she’s finished. I’m taking your little girl-friend away, Cheyne, as a small punishment for your treachery towards me.’

‘What have you done to her?’

‘Packed her off to a work-camp club on one of the minor worlds. It’s a pretty rough place, I’m afraid. She’ll spend the rest of her days there as a club tart. Until she’s too old. I dare say they’ll end up using her as a cleaner.’

Dom sneered slightly, suddenly derisive and supercilious. Scarne clenched his fists. His feelings were confused. He felt a sudden surge of rage at Dom for his treatment of Cadence. At the same time he was filled with relief – and amazement – that Dom was letting him off so lightly.

Then it struck him. Dom’s total lack of normal feeling. He felt no vindictiveness towards Scarne, no resentment at the role he had played. Everything was a game to Dom, viewed with a slightly amused detachment. There were no loyalties, no recriminations.

‘None of it was the girl’s fault,’ he said painfully. ‘I led her into it – you should be more lenient with her.’

Dom snorted. ‘This sort of thing is your whole weakness, Cheyne. Think straight for once. Here you are worrying about a club girl when the fate of the worlds is at stake – when you stand on the brink of something almost too big to imagine. And not only that, but at the moment when you finally found what you were looking for.’ His eyes glistened. ‘Yes, Cheyne. A mathematical treatment of luck! We have it! Together with a practical technique to put it to use!’

‘Then the mugger jackpot –’

‘One of our practice shots.’

Scarne sighed, pondering.

‘I can make someone so lucky he hits a mugger jackpot first time,’ Dom went on. ‘Or conversely, so unlucky his arm drops off.’

‘You make it sound like magic.’

‘Manipulated luck is magic, more or less.’

‘Do you propose using it when we meet the Galactic Wheel? Is that what makes you so confident?’

Dom paused. ‘Not at first,’ he said. ‘The technique is still under development. Later we’ll probably use it. The important thing is that the galactics, as far as we know, don’t have this technique. We may have something completely original.’

‘Should they discover what you’re doing, they might well accuse you of cheating.’

Dom laughed. ‘Of course it’s not cheating! I never heard of a player yet who claimed it was cheating to be lucky. There are all kinds of charms, tokens and prayers aimed at attracting luck, and no one objects to them. This is the same thing, but applied through scientific method.’

Perplexed, Scarne frowned.

‘Of course, you disapprove of what we’re doing, don’t you?’ Dom said gently.

‘I think you’re taking an insane risk.’

‘Good! I like your attitude – it means you’ll do your utmost to win!’ Dom leaned across, peering closely at Scarne. ‘Yes, I have your measure. You’ll play, and play as never before.’

Scarne looked down at his clenched fists. He felt trapped in this tiny, golden room. Dom was right – he had him where he wanted him, giving his talents to the Wheel in spite of himself. He would play to win, because only in that way could he rescue humanity from the Wheel leader’s mad gamble.

TEN

Shane was whimpering, his head down on a table already wet with his tears. Hakandra watched sadly, aware that the boy’s faith in his own ability had been badly eroded.

‘You shouldn’t blame yourself,’ he said inadequately. ‘You’re in a new situation.’

Shane shook his head. Hakandra put a hand on his heaving shoulder, patting it gently.

He gazed through the window of the tent they shared, looking up into the sky. He could see a star, shining in the fading evening with a steady, cool light. In thirty years, as viewed from here, it would flare up and take on the vivid aspect of a nova.