ing a hole in my pocket,"
Ramsey went on. "How's about taking them?"

"But I haven't the slightest idea when I could pay back."

"I didn't say anything about paying me back."

"I couldn't accept charity, Jase."

"O.K. Pay me back when you get a chance. There are plenty of hyper-space
jobs waiting for us all over the galaxy, you know that."

"Yeah, all we have to do is get off Irwadi and go after them. But the
Irwadians are keeping us right here."

"Sure, but it won't last. Not when the folks back in Capella and Deneb
and Sol System hear about it."

"Six months," said Englander bleakly. "It'll take at least that long."

"Six months I can wait. What d'you say?"

Englander coughed wrackingly, his eyes watering. He got off the bed and
shook Ramsey's hand solemnly. Ramsey gave him three hundred and
seventy-five credits and said: "Just see you make that go a long way
supporting Sally and the kids. I don't want to see you dropping any of
it at the gaming tables. I'll knock your block off if I see you there."

"I'll knock my own block off if I see me there. Jase, I don't know how
to thank--"

"Don't is right. Forget it."

"Do you have enough--"

"Me? Plenty. Don't worry about old Jase." Ramsey went to the door.
"Well, see you."

Englander walked quickly to him and shook his hand again. On the way
out, Ramsey played for a moment or two with the twins, who were rolling
a couple of toy spaceships marked hyper-one and hyper-two across the
floor and making anachronistic machine-gun noises with their lips. Sally
Englander, a plump, young-home-maker type, beamed at Ramsey from the
kitchen. Then he went out into the gathering dusk.

* * * * *

As usual on Irwadi, and particularly with the coming of night, it was
bitterly cold. Sucker, Ramsey told himself. But he grinned. He felt good
about what he'd done. With Stu sick, and with Sally and the kids, he'd
done the only thing he could do. He still had almost twenty-five credits
left. Maybe he really would have a lucky night at the tables. Maybe ...
heck, he'd been down-and-out before. A fugitive from Earth didn't have
much choice sometimes....

"Red sixteen," the croupier said indifferently. He was a short,
heavy-set Sirian with a shock of scarlet hair, albino skin, and red
eyes.

Ramsey watched his money being raked across the table. It wasn't his
night, he told himself with a grim smile. He had only three credits
left. If he risked