Gamblers World | Page 5

Retief said. "We've got a hundred credits between us. We'll get to Zorn
in due course, I hope."
"Your pleasure, gents," a bullet-headed man said, eyeing the colorful
evening clothes of the diplomats. "You'll be wantin' to try your luck at
the Zoop tower, I'd guess. A game for real sporting gents."
"Why ... ah ..." Magnan said.

"What's a zoop tower?" Retief asked.
"Out-of-towners, hey?" The bullet-headed man shifted his dope-stick to
the other corner of his mouth. "Zoop is a great little game. Two teams
of players buy into the pot. Each player takes a lever; the object is to
make the ball drop from the top of the tower into your net. Okay?"
"What's the ante?"
"I got a hundred-credit pot workin' now, gents."
Retief nodded. "We'll try it."
The shill led the way to an eight-foot tower mounted on gimbals. Two
perspiring men in trade-class pullovers gripped two of the levers that
controlled the tilt of the tower. A white ball lay in a hollow in the thick
glass platform at the top. From the center, an intricate pattern of
grooves led out to the edge of the glass. Retief and Magnan took chairs
before the two free levers.
"When the light goes on, gents, work the lever to jack the tower. You
got three gears. Takes a good arm to work top gear. That's this button
here. The little knob controls what way you're goin'. May the best team
win. I'll take the hundred credits now."
* * * * *
Retief handed over the money. A red light flashed on, and Retief tried
the lever.
It moved easily, with a ratcheting sound. The tower trembled, slowly
tilted toward the two perspiring workmen pumping frantically at their
levers. Magnan started slowly, accelerated as he saw the direction the
tower was taking.
"Faster, Retief," he said. "They're winning."
"This is against the clock, gents," the bullet-headed man said. "If
nobody wins when the light goes off, the house takes all."

"Crank it over to the left," Retief said.
"I'm getting tired."
"Shift to a lower gear."
The tower leaned. The ball stirred, rolled into a concentric channel.
Retief shifted to middle gear, worked the lever. The tower creaked to a
stop, started back upright.
"There isn't any lower gear," Magnan gasped. One of the two on the
other side of the tower shifted to middle gear; the other followed suit.
They worked harder now, heaving against the stiff levers. The tower
quivered, moved slowly toward their side.
"I'm exhausted," Magnan gasped. He dropped the lever, lolled back in
the chair, gulping air. Retief shifted position, took Magnan's lever with
his left hand.
"Shift it to middle gear," Retief said. Magnan gulped, punched the
button and slumped back, panting.
"My arm," he said. "I've injured myself."
The two men in pullovers conferred hurriedly as they cranked their
levers; then one punched a button and the other reached across, using
his left arm to help.
"They've shifted to high," Magnan said. "Give up, it's hopeless."
"Shift me to high," Retief said. "Both buttons!"
Magnan complied. Retief's shoulders bulged. He brought one lever
down, then the other, alternately, slowly at first, then faster. The tower
jerked, tilted toward him, farther.... The ball rolled in the channel,
found an outlet--
Abruptly, both Retief's levers froze.

The tower trembled, wavered and moved back. Retief heaved. One
lever folded at the base, bent down and snapped off short. Retief braced
his feet, took the other lever with both hands and pulled.
There was a rasp of metal friction, and a loud twang. The lever came
free, a length of broken cable flopping into view. The tower fell over as
the two on the other side scrambled aside.
"Hey!" Bullet-head yelled. "You wrecked my equipment!"
Retief got up and faced him.
"Does Zorn know you've got your tower rigged for suckers?"
"You tryin' to call me a cheat or something?"
The crowd had fallen back, ringing the two men. Bullet-head glanced
around. With a lightning motion, he plucked a knife from somewhere.
"That'll be five hundred credits for the equipment," he said. "Nobody
calls Kippy a cheat."
* * * * *
Retief picked up the broken lever.
"Don't make me hit you with this, you cheap chiseler."
Kippy looked at the bar.
"Comin' in here," he said indignantly, looking to the crowd for support.
"Bustin' up my rig, callin' names...."
"I want a hundred credits," Retief said. "Now."
"Highway robbery!" Kippy yelled.
"Better pay up," somebody called.

"Hit him, mister," someone else said.
A broad-shouldered man with graying hair pushed through the crowd
and looked around. "You heard 'em, Kippy. Give," he said.
The shill growled but tucked his knife away. Reluctantly he peeled a
bill from a fat roll and handed it over.
The newcomer