Starman's Quest

by Robert Silverberg

  _Chapter Eight_

  They ate in a dark and unappealing restaurant three blocks from theCentral Directory Matrix Building. The place was crowded, as all Earthplaces seemed to be. They stood on line for nearly half an hour beforebeing shown to a grease-stained table in the back.

  The wall clock said 1732.

  A robowaiter approached them, holding a menu board in its metal hands.Hawkes leaned forward and punched out his order; Alan took slightlylonger about it, finally selecting protein steak, synthocoffee, andmixed vegetables. The robot clicked its acknowledgement and moved on tothe next table.

  "So my brother's a gambler," Alan began.

  Hawkes nodded. "You say it as if you were saying, _so my brother's apickpocket_, or _so my brother's a cutpurse_. It's a perfectlylegitimate way of making a living." Hawkes' eyes hardened suddenly, andin a flat quiet voice added, "The way to stay out of trouble on Earth isto avoid being preachy, son. This isn't a pretty world. There are toomany people on it, and not many can afford the passage out to GammaLeonis IV or Algol VII or some of the nice uncluttered colony-worlds. Sowhile you're in York City keep your eyes wide and your mouth zippered,and don't turn your nose up at the sordid ways people make theirlivings."

  Alan felt his face go red, and he was happy to have the trays of foodarrive at that moment, causing some sort of distraction. "Sorry, Max. Ididn't mean to sound preachy."

  "I know, kid. You lead a pretty sheltered life on those starships. Andnobody can adjust to Earthside life in a day. How about a drink?"

  Alan started to say that he didn't drink, but kept the words back. Hewas on Earth, now, not aboard the _Valhalla_; he wasn't required to keepship's regs. And he didn't want to be trying to look superior. "Okay.How about Scotch--is that the stuff MacIntosh was drinking?"

  "Fair enough," Hawkes said.

  He signalled for a robot waiter, and after a moment the robot slitheredup to them. Hawkes punched a lever on the robot's stomach and the metalcreature began to click and glow. An instant later a panel in itsstomach slid open and two glasses appeared within. The robot's wirytentacles reached in, took out the drinks, and set them on the table.Hawkes dropped a coin in a slot in the robot's side, and the machinebustled away, its service completed.

  "There you are," Hawkes said, pointing to the glass of amber-coloredliquid. "Drink up." As if to set an example he lifted his own drink andtossed it down in one gulp, with obvious pleasure.

  Alan picked up the little glass and held it before his eyes, staring atthe man opposite him through its translucent depths. Hawkes appearedoddly distorted when viewed through the glass.

  He grinned. He tried to propose a toast, but couldn't think of anyappropriate words, so he simply upended the glass and drained itscontents. The stuff seemed to burn its way down his throat and explodein his stomach; the explosion rose through his gullet and into hisbrain. For a moment he felt as if the top of his head had been blownoff. His eyes watered.

  "Pretty potent stuff!"

  "It's the best there is," Hawkes said. "Those boys really know theformulas."

  Alan felt a wave of dizziness, but it passed quickly; all that was leftwas a pleasant inner warmth, now. He pulled his tray toward him andattacked the synthetic meat and vegetables.

  He ate quietly, making no attempt at conversation. Soft music bubbled uparound them. He thought about his brother. So Steve was a gambler! Anddoing poorly at it, Hawkes said. He wondered if Steve would want to goback on the ship. He wondered also how it would be if Steve did agree togo back.

  The old comradeship would be gone, he realized sadly. They had sharedeverything for seventeen years, grown up together, played together,worked together. Up till six weeks ago they had been so close that Alancould almost read Steve's mind, and Steve Alan's. They made a good team.

  But that was finished, now. Steve would be a stranger to him aboard the_Valhalla_--an older, perhaps wiser man, with nine solid years of toughEarther life behind him. He would not be able to help but regard Alan asa kid, a greenhorn; it was natural. They would never be comfortable ineach other's presence, with the old easy familiarity that was so closeto telepathy. That nine-year gulf would see to that.

  "Thinking about your brother, aren't you?"

  Alan blinked. "How did you know?"

  Grinning, Hawkes said, "A gambler has to know how to figure things. Andit's written in permoscript all over your forehead anyway. You'rewondering what the first face-to-face meeting's going to be like. I'llbet on it."

  "I won't cover the bet. You'd win."

  "You want to know how it'll be? I can tell you, Alan: you'll feel sick.Sick and bewildered and ashamed of the guy who used to be your brother.But that'll pass. You'll look behind the things the nine years did tohim, and you'll see your brother back there. He'll see you, too. Itwon't be as bad as you're expecting."

  Somehow Alan felt relieved. "You're sure of that?"

  Hawkes nodded. "You know, I'm taking such a personal interest in thisbusiness because I've got a brother too. _Had_ a brother."

  "Had?"

  "Kid about your age. Same problem I had, too: no guild. We were borninto the street sweepers' guild, but neither of us could go for that, sowe checked out and took Free Status. I went into gambling. He hungaround the Enclave. He always wanted to be a spacer."

  "What happened to him?"

  "He pulled a fast one. Starship was in town and looking for a newgalley-boy. Dave did some glib talking and got aboard. It was a flukething, but he made it."

  "Which ship?" Alan asked.

  "_Startreader_. Bound out on a hop to Beta Crucis XVIII. 465light-years." Hawkes smiled faintly. "He left a year, year and a halfago. The ship won't be back on Earth again for nine hundred thirty yearsor so. I don't figure to be around that long." He shook his head. "Let'sget out of here. People waiting for tables."

  Out in the street again, Alan noticed that the sun was low in the sky;it was past 1800, and getting along toward evening. But the streets werenot getting dark. From everywhere a soft glow was beginning toradiate--from the pavement, the buildings, everywhere. It was a gentlegleaming brightness that fell from the air; there was no perceptiblechange from day-illumination to night-illumination.

  But it was getting late. And they would miss him back at theEnclave--unless Captain Donnell had discovered that Alan had gone intothe Earther city, in which case he wouldn't be missed at all. Alanremembered sharply the way the Captain had calmly blotted the name ofhis son Steve from the _Valhalla's_ roster as if Steve had neverexisted.

  "Are we going to go over to the Atlas now?"

  Hawkes shook his head. "Not unless you want to go in there alone?"

  "Huh?"

  "I can't go in there with you. I've got an A card, and that's a Class Cjoint."

  "You mean even gambling places are classified and regulated andeverything?"

  Hawkes nodded. "It has to be that way. This is a very complicatedsociety you've stumbled into, Alan. Look: I'm a first-rate gamesman.That's not boasting; it's empirical truth proven over and over againduring the course of a fifteen-year career. I could make a fortunecompeting against beginners and dubs and has-beens, so they legislateagainst me. You make a certain annual income from gambling and you gointo Class A, and then you can't enter any of the lower-class jointslike the Atlas. You slip under the Class A minimum three years in a rowand you lose your card. I stay over the minimum."

  "So I'll have to go after Steve myself. Well, in that case, thanks forall the help, and if you'll show me which Shoot I take to get to theAtlas----"

  "Not so fast, son." Hawkes grasped Alan's wrist. "Even in a Class C dumpyou can lose plenty. And you can't just stand around hunting for yourbrother. Unless you're there as a learner you'll have to play."

  "So what am I supposed to do?"

  "I'll take you to a Class A place tonight. You can come in as a learner;they all know me. I'll try to show you enough about the game so youdon't get rooked. Then you can stay over at my place and tomorrow we'llgo up to the Atlas and l
ook around for your brother. I'll have to waitoutside, of course."

  Alan shrugged. He was beginning to realize he was a little nervous aboutthe coming meeting with Steve--and perhaps, he thought, a little extradelay would be useful. And he still had plenty of time to get back tothe _Valhalla_ after he saw Steve, even if he stayed in the cityovernight.

  "Well?" Hawkes said.

  "Okay. I'll go with you."

  This time they took the Undertube, which they reached by following aglowing sign and then an underground passageway. Alan rode down behindHawkes on the moving ramp and found himself in a warm, brightly-litunderground world with stores, restaurants, newsboys hawking telefaxsheets, milling swarms of homebound commuters.

  They reached the entrance to a tube and Hawkes handed him a small ovalobject with figures engraved on it. "That's your tube-token. It goes inthe slot."

  They passed through the turnstile and followed signs indicating the WestSide Tube. The tube was a long sleek affair, windowless, shaped like abullet. The tube was already packed with commuters when they got aboard;there were no empty seats, of course, and everyone seemed to be jostlingeveryone else for the right to stand upright. The sign at the end of thetube said, _Tube X#3174-WS_.

  The trip took only a few minutes of seemingly effortless gliding, andthen they emerged far on the other side of the giant city. Theneighborhood they were in was considerably less crowded; it had littleof the mad hubbub of the downtown district.

  A neon sign struck his eyes at once: SUPERIOR GAMES PARLOR. Under thatin smaller letters was: CLASS A ESTABLISHMENT. A robot stood outside, agleaming replica of the one he had tussled with earlier in the day.

  "Class A only," the robot said as they came near. "This Games Parlor isfor Class A only."

  Hawkes stepped around him and broke the photo-contact on the door. Alanfollowed him in.

  The place was dimly lit, as all Earther pleasure-places seemed to be.Alan saw a double row of tables spreading to the back of the parlor. Ateach table was an earnest-looking citizen hunched over a board, watchingthe pattern of lights in front of him come and go, change and shift.

  Another robot glided up to them. "May I see your card, please?" Itpurred.

  Hawkes passed his card before the robot's photonic scanners and therobot clicked acknowledgement, stepping to one side and letting Hawkespass. It turned to Alan and said, "May I see your card, please?"

  "I don't----"

  "He's with me," Hawkes said. "A learner."

  A man in a dirty gray smock came up to them. "Evening, Max. Hinesy washere already and told me you weren't coming in tonight."

  "I wasn't, but I changed my mind. I brought a learner along withme--friend of mine name of Alan Donnell. This is Joe Luckman, Alan. Heruns this place."

  Luckman nodded absently to Alan, who mumbled a greeting in return.

  "Guess you want your usual table?" Luckman asked.

  "If it's open," Hawkes said.

  "Been open all evening."

  Luckman led them down the long aisle to the back of the big hall, wherethere was a vacant table with one seat before it. Hawkes slid smoothlyinto the seat and told Alan to stand behind him and watch carefully.

  "We'll start at the beginning of the next round," he said.

  Alan looked around. Everywhere men were bent over the patterns of lightson the boards before them, with expressions of fierce concentration ontheir faces. Far in the corner Alan saw the pudgy figure of MacIntosh,the Keeper of the Records; MacIntosh was bathed in his own sweat, andsat rigid as if hypnotized.

  Hawkes nudged him. "Keep your eyes on me. The others don't matter. I'mready to get started."