tily Hawkes made a correction in his equation. The lights on the
board flickered and faded, moving faster than Alan could see.

"377 third-quadrant 7."

Again a correction. Hawkes sat transfixed, staring intently at the
board. The other players were similarly entranced, Alan saw. He realized
it was possible for someone to become virtually hypnotized by the game,
to spend days on end sitting before the board.

He forced himself to follow Hawkes' computations as number after number
was called off. He began to see the logical pattern of the game.

It was a little like astrogation, in which he had had the required
preliminary instruction. When you worked out a ship's course, you had to
keep altering it to allow for course deflection, effects of planetary
magnetic fields, meteor swarms, and such obstacles--and you had to be
one jump ahead of the obstacles all the time.

It was the same here. The pilot board at the croupier's rostrum had a
prearranged mathematical pattern on it. The idea of the game was to set
up your own board in the identical pattern. As each succeeding
coordinate on the graph was called out, you recomputed in terms of the
new probabilities, rubbing out old equations and substituting new ones.

There was always the mathematical chance that a pattern set up at random
would be identical to the master control pattern--but that was a pretty
slim chance. It took brains to win at this game. The man whose board was
first to match the pilot pattern won.

Hawkes worked quietly, efficiently, and lost the first four rounds. Alan
commiserated. But the gambler snapped, "Don't waste your pity. I'm still
experimenting. As soon as I've figured out the way the numbers are
running tonight, I'll start raking it in."

It sounded boastful to the starman, but Hawkes won on the fifth round,
matching the hidden pattern in only six minutes. The previous four
rounds had taken from nine to twelve minutes before a winner appeared.
The croupier, a small, sallow-faced chap, shoved a stack of coins and a
few bills at Hawkes when he went to the rostrum to claim his winnings. A
low murmur rippled through the hall; Hawkes had evidently been
recognized.

His take was a hundred credits. In less than an hour, he was already
seventy-five credits to the good. Hawkes' sharp eyes glinted brightly;
he was in his element now, and enjoying it.

The sixth round went to a bespectacled round-faced man three tables to
the left, but Hawkes won