readable himself. It was a strange reversal for Rafferty, who was accustomed to detect his opponent's idiosyncrasies within three deals and to play them mercilessly from then on.

"Two kings," Rafferty said.

"Two aces."

Rafferty looked down at his pile of chips and counted them. Eight hundred credits left. Eight hundred lousy credits.

It was just enough to book passage to Aldebaran. Rafferty slumped in his chair.

The gambler in him urged him to go on, to try to win the thirty thousand he needed and clear out. But another part of him told him it was futile; Steel was getting sharper and sharper, and it was inevitable he'd lose even the remaining eight hundred. He didn't want that to happen.

He rose stiffly.

"Had enough?" Steel asked.

"I think so."

"I hope I haven't discouraged you. We can still play some more, if you like?"

"What's the use?" Rafferty said hollowly. "I can't win. And at least this way I'll be on Aldebaran tomorrow when Walsh and his gunmen come looking for me."

"What's that?"

"Never mind." Rafferty turned away, scooping up his remaining chips. He cashed them in and shambled out the door, still unable fully to understand that for the first time in his life he had met his master at the poker table.

After Rafferty was gone, the impeccable usher came over to Steel, who was sitting patiently by the huge pile of chips.

"You clean him out?"

"Just about," Steel said. "He had a little left to book passage with."

"It looked bad for a while, there. He was better than a hundred thousand ahead of you."

"It took me some time to detect his playing patterns," the house man said. "He was very, very good. He's the best player I've ever encountered."

"But he couldn't beat you, natch!"

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