The Grand Wheel

The Chairman did not drive back to the camp but instead put the car down near to the glassy travel-globe, which was still waiting for them. Scarne held back when Dom left the car and made for it.

‘Why are you taking me along?’

In comradely fashion Dom put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You are my favourite, Cheyne. You’ve gone through the whole thing with me. I want your moral support.’ Then he took his hand away and sighed. ‘But you may stay behind if that’s what you want.’

‘No,’ Scarne decided, ‘I’ll come.’

Fearfully, he walked towards the majestically shimmering sphere.

‘Has it occurred to you that this planetoid is a bit tatty?’ Scarne asked Dom as the sphere descended towards the coldly glowing surface. ‘It seems to me we’re not too important a customer.’

‘They’re handling deals like this all the time,’ Dom agreed. ‘They’re big. Very big.’

‘Doesn’t that make you feel insignificant?’

‘No. It’s our way in, that’s all. The first rung of the ladder. Once inside we’ll have immortality, power, knowledge – but you know something about gaining knowledge already, don’t you, eh, Cheyne?’ He shot Scarne an enquiring glance. ‘Maybe I’ll try a shot of that drug of yours myself.’

With the odd, disconcerting effect that caused them to brace themselves needlessly, the sphere embedded itself in the earth. This time they had not come down near the games village. The small landscape was empty except for what appeared to be a hut just short of the horizon. Dom and Scarne trudged towards it over the cinders-like ground, reaching it in five minutes or so.

The hut had a crude makeshift appearance. It was constructed of planks of a fibrous material resembling wood and was windowless. After looking it over, Dom knocked on the door.

Immediately the door swung open. Within, the hut looked more comfortable but by no means luxurious. There was a table, and two chairs, one of them large and peculiar-looking, built for something other than a human.

That something beckoned them in from the opposite side of the table. Only by a considerable stretching of definitions could it have been described as humanoid. It stood on two legs, but these were hinged partway up a sloping body, which balanced its weight by means of a thick tail as in some dinosaurs. The head, however, lacked any kind of snout. It was skull-like, covered with horny grey skin and looked upon them with staring, deep-set eyes.

They entered, Scarne closing the door behind them. The air of the hut was close and stuffy, with a dog-like odour which Scarne found unpleasant. The alien took the larger chair, seating himself in it with a flick of his tail, which rested on a curved groove, and with a surprisingly long and slender arm motioned Dom to do likewise. There apparently being nowhere for Scarne to sit, he remained standing to one side.

The alien’s head turned to regard him. ‘I am sorry,’ he said in well-modulated, civilized-sounding tones which Scarne guessed came from an artificial voice-box, ‘you will wish to sit.’

He made a motion with a long, multi-jointed hand. Some mechanism apparently responded to the signal, for a part of the wall came adrift and folded itself into a serviceable straight-backed chair which crept across the floor to Scarne.

‘Thank you.’ Scarne sat down.

The galactic player turned his attention to Dom. He placed a deck of cards on the table.

‘Our proposal is this. This deck is of the same type that was used in the earlier games. No two cards have the same value, as you are aware. We will cut for a card, and play three times. Two winning cards out of three wins all.’

‘Highest takes it?’

‘Correct. I need hardly add that these cards are specially treated against any kind of legerdemain, which is superfluous in any case since they will be machine-shuffled. If there are to be subsequent games we can proceed by gentlemen’s agreement.’

‘What about change-cards?’

‘For this game, all cards are immutable,’ the alien answered in a slightly surprised tone, as though the point was obvious.

Dom nodded slowly. Scarne found himself wondering, not for the first time, why Dom seemed to trust the galactics when they were in a position to perpetrate all kinds of trickery on him. But suddenly the answer came to him. For decades Dom had managed the Grand Wheel, and he knew the ethics and habits by which such organizations operated. The Galactic Wheel would not cheat him – or so he believed. It could, Scarne told himself, be another case of occupational delusion.

Ever since the incident with the failed gun, Scarne had been feeling unwell. Now his head began to ache; he felt as if he was stifling in the hot atmosphere of the hut.

Hot? It had not seemed hot when he entered a few minutes ago. He put his hand to his brow. He was feverish.

The skull-headed galactic took the deck from the shuffling-machine, laid it on the table and invited Dom to cut.

As Dom reached for the cards a choking pain seized Scarne in the chest. He fell off his chair, clutching the region of his heart, and then passed out.