l you
one thing, Alan: I'm going back to the _Valhalla_, whether you are or
not. I don't like Earth, or Hawkes either. Remember that."

"Who said I was staying here? Didn't you hear me bet Max that I'd go
back?"

"I heard you. I say you're going to lose that bet. I say this Hawkes is
going to fast-talk you into staying here--and if I had any need for
money I'd put down a side-bet on Hawkes' side."

Alan laughed. "You think you know me better than I know myself. I never
for a minute thought of jumping ship."

"Has my advice ever steered you wrong? I'm older than you are, Alan, and
ten or twenty times smarter. I can see where you're heading. And----"

Alan grew suddenly angry. "Nag, nag, nag! You're worse than an old
woman! Why don't you keep quiet the way you did last night, and leave me
alone? I know what I'm doing, and when I want your advice I'll ask for
it."

"Have it your own way," Rat said. His tone was mildly reproachful. Alan
felt abashed at having scolded the little alien that way, but he did not
know how to make proper amends; besides, he _was_ annoyed at Rat's
preachiness. He and Rat had been together too long. The Bellatrician
probably thought he was still only ten years old and in need of constant
advice.

He rolled over and went back to sleep. About an hour later, he was
awakened again, this time by Hawkes. He dressed and they ate--good real
food, no synthetics, served by Hawkes' autochef--and then set out for
the Atlas Games Parlor, 68th Avenue and 423rd Street, in Upper York
City. The time was 1327 when they emerged on the street. Hawkes assured
him that Steve would already be at "work"; most unsuccessful gamblers
started making the rounds of the parlors in early afternoon.

They took the Undertube back to the heart of the city and kept going,
into the suburb of Upper York. Getting out at the 423rd Street terminal,
they walked briskly through the narrow crowded streets toward 68th
Avenue.

When they were a block away Alan spotted the sign, blinking on and off
in watery red letters: ATLAS GAMES PARLOR. A smaller sign proclaimed the
parlor's Class C status, which allowed any mediocre player to make use
of its facilities.

As they drew near Alan felt a tingle of excitement. This was what he had
come to the Earther city for in the first place--to find Steve. For
weeks he had been picturing the circumstances of this meeting; now it
was about to take place.

The Atlas was similar to the other gam