king telefax
sheets, milling swarms of homebound commuters.

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

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

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

A neon sign struck his eyes at once: SUPERIOR GAMES PARLOR. Under that
in smaller letters was: CLASS A ESTABLISHMENT. A robot stood outside, a
gleaming 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 is
for Class A only."

Hawkes stepped around him and broke the photo-contact on the door. Alan
followed 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. At
each table was an earnest-looking citizen hunched over a board, watching
the 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?" It
purred.

Hawkes passed his card before the robot's photonic scanners and the
robot clicked acknowledgement, stepping to one side and letting Hawkes
pass. 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 was
here already and told me you weren't coming in tonight."

"I wasn't, but I changed my mind. I brought a learner along with
me--friend of mine name of Alan Donnell. This is Joe Luckman, Alan. He
runs 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, where
there was a vacant table with on