Deathworld Read Free Page B

clamped swiftly around the house man’s wrist, then they were gone. The man screamed shrilly and held up his arm, his hand dangling limp as a glove from the broken wrist bones.
    With his flank well protected, Jason could go on with the game. “The old dice if you don’t mind,” he said quietly.
    Dazedly the stick man pushed them over. Jason shook quickly and rolled. Before they hit the table he realized he couldn’t control them — the transient psi power had gone.
    End over end they turned. And faced up seven.
    Counting the chips as they were pushed over to him he added up a bit under two billion credits. They would be winning that much if he left the game now — but it wasn’t the three billion that Kerk needed. Well, it would have to be enough. As he reached for the chips he caught Kerk’s eye across the table and the other man shook his head in a steady no .
    “Let it ride,” Jason said wearily, “one more roll.”
    He breathed on the dice, polished them on his cuff, and wondered how he had ever gotten into this spot. Billions riding on a pair of dice. That was as much as the annual income of some planets. The only reason there could be stakes like that was because the planetary government had a stake in the Casino. He shook as long as he could, reaching for the control that wasn’t there — then let fly.
    Everything else had stopped in the Casino and people were standing on tables and chairs to watch. There wasn’t a sound from that large crowd. The dice bounced back from the board with a clatter loud in the silence and tumbled over the cloth.
    A five and a one. Six. He still had to make his point. Scooping up the dice Jason talked to them, mumbled the ancient oaths that brought luck and threw again.
    It took five throws before he made the six.
    The crowd echoed his sigh and their voices rose quickly. He wanted to stop, take a deep breath, but he knew he couldn’t. Winning the money was only part of the job — they now had to get away with it. It had to look casual. A waiter was passing with a tray of drinks. Jason stopped him and tucked a hundred credit note in his pocket.
    “Drinks are on me,” he shouted while he pried the tray out of the waiter’s hands. Well-wishers cleared the filled glasses away quickly and Jason piled the chips onto the tray. They more than loaded it, but Kerk appeared that moment with a second tray.
    “I’ll be glad to help you sir, if you will permit me,” he said.
    Jason looked at him, and laughed permission. It was the first time he had a clear look at Kerk in the Casino. He was wearing loose, purple evening pajamas over what must have been a false stomach. The sleeves were long and baggy so he looked fat rather than muscular. It was a simple but effective disguise.
    Carefully carrying the loaded trays, surrounded by a crowd of excited patrons, they made their way to the cashier’s window. The manager himself was there, wearing a sickly grin. Even the grin faded when he counted the chips.
    “Could you come back in the morning,” he said, “I’m afraid we don’t have that kind of money on hand.”
    “What’s the matter,” Kerk shouted, “trying to get out of paying him? You took my money easy enough when I lost — it works both ways!”
    The onlookers, always happy to see the house lose, growled their disagreement. Jason finished the matter in a loud voice.
    “I’ll be reasonable, give me what cash you have and I’ll take a check for the balance.”
    There was no way out. Under the watchful eye of the gleeful crowd the manager packed an envelope with bills and wrote a check. Jason took a quick glimpse at it, then stuffed it into an inside pocket. With the envelope under one arm he followed Kerk towards the door.
    Because of the onlookers there was no trouble in the main room, but just as they reached the side entrance two men moved in, blocking the way.
    “Just a moment —” one said. He never finished the sentence. Kerk walked into them without