They called it Last Chance, and it had been well named.

It was (currently, at least) the last populated planet on the way to the Galactic Core, the last source of nuclear fuel, the last place to fill up a ship's galleys, the last place (as far as anyone knew) to see another sentient being.

Last Chance, except for its location, was in all other respects unremarkable. It was small, but the gravity was within the normal range for human beings. It was hot, but not so hot that life couldn't exist. It was dry, but not so dry that water couldn't be coaxed up through the red clay that covered most of the surface. Its year was very long (4623 Galactic Standard days), but its days and nights were within acceptable bounds: fourteen Galactic Standard hours each. Its seasons were mild, but distinguishable. Its native life, primarily avians and marsupials, was unique but not plentiful.

It boasted a single community, a rustic Tradertown known, also appropriately, as End of the Line. End of the Line consisted of two hotels, a rooming house for more permanent visitors, a series of small spaceship hangars, a post office, a whorehouse, three empty buildings whose purposes were long since forgotten, an assayers’ office, a general store, and the End of the Line Bar, which was also a restaurant, a book and tape store, a subspace transmitting station, a gambling parlor, and a weapons shop.

The End of the Line Bar was the Iceman's, and he ruled it as completely as he ruled the rest of the planet. Not a ship landed without his permission. Not a ship took off without his knowledge. Not a man or woman entered the Tradertown without his consent. If, for reasons of his own, one of those men or women never left, there was no one to call him to task for it, nor would anyone who lacked a serious death wish have wanted to.

Nobody knew exactly why he was called the Iceman. His true name was Carlos Mendoza, but he hadn't used it in more than a decade, during which time he had had many other names, changing them to suit each new world the way some men changed their clothes. The Iceman wasn't even a name of his own devising, though it suited him well enough, and he elected to keep it.

He was physically nondescript. He lacked Undertaker McNair's terrifying gaze, or the awesome height and bulk of ManMountain Bates, or even the Forever Kid's shock of thick blond hair. He was an inch or two below normal height, and he had the beginning of a belly, and his brown hair was thinning on top and greying at the sides, but people tended to remember him anyway. Especially people he didn't have much use for.

The Iceman's past was murky, his future not clearly defined, his present an intensely private matter. He was friendly enough: he'd talk to anyone who cared to pass the time of day, he'd tell an occasional joke, he'd sleep with an occasional woman, he'd play an occasional game of chance, when properly drunk he'd even read an occasional poem of his own creation—but even those people who thought they knew him or understood what motivated him were wrong. Only one person had ever gotten that close to him.

And now she was orbiting Last Chance, asking for permission to land.

The Mouse entered the End of the Line Tavern, spotted a table in the corner, and turned to the Forever Kid.

“Would you get a room for Penelope and me, and one for yourself?” she asked. “I'll be along in a little while.”

The Kid looked around the enormous tavern and over at the gaming tables in the casino. “There's five bounty hunters here that I know of,” he replied in low tones.

“I'll be all right,” the Mouse assured him.

“You're paying me to protect you.”

“I paid you to get me to Last Chance. I'm here now.”

He shook his head. “You paid me for a week. You've still got four days coming to you.”

“Just return half the money and we'll call it square.”

“I don't make refunds.”

“And you'd love to take on all five of them at once,” said the Mouse with a knowing smile.

“I wouldn't be adverse to it,” he admitted, trying to keep the eagerness from his boyish face.

“Nobody's going to bother me here,” said the Mouse.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Penelope would have warned me.”

The Forever Kid stared down at the little girl. “Yeah?”

The Mouse smiled, reached out a hand, and tousled Penelope's hair. “She's my partner. You're just the hired help.”

“That's right,” said the little girl. “We're partners.”

“How do you know who's likely to cause trouble?” the Kid asked her.

“Just be grateful that she does know,” said the Mouse.

The Kid continued staring at Penelope. Finally he sighed. “Just my luck,” he muttered.

“What are you talking about?” asked the Mouse.

“The last thing I need is an edge. Now it looks like I've got one whether I want it or not.”

“Just for four more days,” answered the Mouse. “Then you can take on 300 killers all at once if that's what you want.”

The Kid shrugged, took Penelope by the hand, walked back out into the dusty street, and headed over to the nearer of the two hotels. The Mouse noticed that, despite his obvious death wish, he nonetheless held Penelope with his left hand while his right swung to and fro just inches from his sonic pistol.

The Mouse walked over to the corner table, and a moment later a redheaded waitress approached her.

“What'll it be?” asked the girl.

“A beer,” said the Mouse. It seemed foolish to ask for brand names; for a world this close to the Core to have any beer was accomplishment enough.

“Right,” said the waitress, starting to turn away.

“And I want to see Carlos Mendoza.”

“Who?”

“He's called the Iceman these days.”

“You will.”

“When?”

“When he's ready,” said the waitress. “He knows you're here. Your drink's on the house. So's your room.”

Yes, thought the Mouse grimly. He knows I'm here, all right.

“He'll stop by your table when he's ready,” continued the waitress.

The waitress walked back to the bar, returned with her beer, then vanished through a doorway. The Mouse stared at her glass for a moment, then lifted it to her lips and took a long swallow. When she put it back down on the table, she found the Iceman sitting opposite her.

“It's been a long time,” he said.

“Yes, it has.”

“I thought you were dead. I'm glad to learn I was wrong.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

“How have you been?” he asked.

“Well. And you?”

“I'm getting by.”

“When did you leave the service?” asked the Mouse.

“Nine years ago,” replied the Iceman. “I figured fifteen years was enough for anyone.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Another silence.

“I wouldn't have thought you'd want to see me,” he said at last. “I thought you'd be too bitter.”

“I am bitter, Carlos. But I need a favor.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “I'm in a little bit of trouble.”

“Judging from the way some people in here are staring at you,” he said, indicating the bounty hunters, “I'd say you were in a lot of trouble.”

“They say you run this world,” she continued, ignoring his comment, “that nothing happens here without your permission. Is that true?”

“Essentially.”

“I need a safe place to stay for a few weeks.”

“Just a few weeks?”

“Within a month there'll be so many bounty hunters here you couldn't call them off even if you wanted to.”

He smiled a humorless smile. “You'd be surprised what I can do on my world.”

“Just the same, we'll be gone within a month, probably sooner. But I need some time to plan my next move without ducking at every shadow I see.”

“What makes you think all these bounty hunters won't follow you?”

“If you can arrange for us to have a ten-hour head start when we leave, that's all we'll need.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Then we have your protection?”

“One of you doesn't need it,” said the Iceman. “And from what I hear, he probably doesn't want it.”

“So you know the Forever Kid?”

“I know of him.” He paused. “Why is he traveling with you?”

“I hired him ... but I can only afford him for a few more days.”

“Who are you paying him to kill?”

“I don't know,” said the Mouse. “Anyone who tries to kill me.”

The Iceman paused thoughtfully, then spoke: “If that little girl is who I think she is, the job's too big for him.”

“Who do you think she is?”

“Penelope Bailey.”

The Mouse nodded.

“How did you ... ah ... acquire her?” asked the Iceman.

“I freed her from an alien who had her back on Westerly.”

“You should have stolen a negatron bomb from the Navy,” said the Iceman wryly. “You'd be in less trouble.”

“I didn't know who she was,” said the Mouse. “I just saw this little girl chained in an alien's room and decided I couldn't leave her there.” She paused. “We've been on the run ever since. I think there may be as many as thirty or forty men out after us.”

“Thirty or forty?” repeated the Iceman, amused.

“It's possible.”

“You still don't know what you've done, do you?”

She frowned. “What do you mean.”

“There are three governments trying to find that little girl, and close to two hundred very motivated men and women are out to claim the reward.”

The Mouse looked her surprise. “Three governments?” she repeated.

“At least.”

She considered what he had said. “I didn't think there were two hundred bounty hunters on the whole Inner Frontier.”

“There are now.”

The Mouse shook her head in bewilderment. “All because of Penelope?”

“That's right,” said the Iceman.

“And what about you?” she asked sharply.

“What about me?”

“Are you interested in the reward, too?”

He shook his head. “I've got enough money—and I've done enough favors for the Democracy, too.”

She stared at him. “You're the last man I want to ask for a favor, but we need your protection.”

“We?”

“Penelope and me.”

“She doesn't need protection,” said the Iceman. “You do, but not her.”

“I'm not going to let anyone take her away and stick her in some laboratory somewhere.”

“Most of them don't want to.”

“A man called 32 does.”

He stared at her intently. “What do you know about 32?”

“Just that he had her once and probably wants her back,” replied the Mouse. “What do you know about him?”

“More than you,” said the Iceman. He frowned. “How did he ever let her get away? He's the most careful, thorough man I know.”

“How do you know him?”

“I've dealt with him in the past.”

“During your master spy period?” she asked sardonically.

“A master spy is nothing but an employer of spy labor,” replied the Iceman.

“I know. Like you hired me.”

“Precisely.”

“Did you hire him, too?”

The Iceman shook his head. “We worked for different agencies. Now and then our paths would cross.” He paused. “He's the best I ever knew. I can't imagine that he could be so careless as to let the girl escape. She must be everything they say she is.”

“What she mostly is is a lonely, frightened little girl who doesn't even know what world she was born on.”

“She's also the most potentially powerful weapon in the galaxy,” said the Iceman.

“She's just a little girl.”

“Little girls grow up.”

“And her abilities are very limited.”

“Abilities can mature, too.”

The Mouse shook her head. “All she can do is tell when someone is about to hurt her.”

“And you don't think someone with precognition, whose abilities may very well be embryonic at the moment, poses a danger?”

“To who?” demanded the Mouse. “To bounty hunters who want to harm her?”

“To anyone or any world she decides she doesn't like.”

“That's ridiculous!”

“Is it? From what I hear, you're traveling with a little child who can cause grown men to drop over dead.”

“It doesn't work like that,” said the Mouse.

“Are you saying she can't make people die?”

“It isn't that simple.”

“It sounds precisely that simple to me.”

The Mouse shook her head. “She possesses a form of precognition.”

“So I've heard.”

“She can see a number of possible futures, and sometimes, by her actions, she can affect which potential future becomes a reality.”

“As I said, you need protection. She never did.”

“She can't always choose a future in which she's safe. Sometimes there are no alternatives to being captured.”

“Has it occurred to you that as she becomes more mature, more alternatives will manifest themselves to her?”

“I hope so,” said the Mouse. “She's suffered enough for one lifetime.”

The Iceman shook his head impatiently. “I don't mean that she'll see futures in which she's not threatened.”

“Oh?”

“If there are an infinite number of possible futures, and she becomes more and more adept at visualizing and manipulating them, what makes you think that the day won't come when she can see a future in which she rules the entire galaxy with an iron hand—or that she won't be able to manipulate events to make that particular future come to pass?”

“My God, Carlos—she's just a frightened little girl! You make her sound like some kind of monster.”

“I'm sure that Caligula and Adolf Hitler and Conrad Bland were once frightened little boys. They grew up.” He paused. “Are you sure you want her to grow up?”

She glared at him furiously. “You really are a bastard. You didn't help me eleven years ago; I should have known better than to expect you to help me now.”

“You knew the risk you were taking,” said the Iceman. “When I heard that you had been captured, I tried to work out an exchange, but they weren't interested.”

“So you just wrote me off.”

“Everyone was expendable.” He stared at her dispassionately. “That's the nature of the game.”

“It doesn't seem much like a game when you're stuck in a cell on an alien world.”

“No, I suppose it doesn't.”

Another silence followed, during which the Mouse stared at the Iceman and tried to reconcile what she saw with her memory of Carlos Mendoza.

“You chose your new name well,” she said at last. “You were never the warmest or most demonstrative man, but you've become cold as ice.”

“Being warm and demonstrative never solved anything,” he replied. “In the long run they just bring you pain.”

“I find it hard to believe I ever cared for you,” she said. “It's like it was some other man.”

“It was. His name was Carlos Mendoza, and he doesn't exist any longer.”

“Probably just as well,” said the Mouse, getting to her feet. “I guess we'll have to take our chances elsewhere. I'm sorry I bothered you.”

“Shut up and sit down,” said the Iceman. He didn't raise his voice, but his tone carried so much authority that the Mouse, to her surprise, found herself obeying him.

“That's better,” he continued. “You and the girl are safe for as long as you remain on Last Chance. I owe you that much.” He paused. “My protection doesn't extend to the Forever Kid. Now go to the hotel and stay there for half an hour. That'll give me time to pass the word.”

“What about the Kid?”

The Iceman shrugged. “He can stay or leave as he pleases—but if he's looking for someone to put a permanent end to his boredom, he's as likely to find him here as anywhere.”

“You mean you?”

He shook his head. “He's got no reason to want to kill me, and I've got nothing to prove.”

“If I'm still here in three weeks,” said the Mouse, “someone will be joining me—an illusionist named Merlin. I want him protected too.”

He stared at her, and finally nodded his assent.

She pushed her chair back from the table and got to her feet.

“I'll see you around,” she said.

“I imagine you will.”

“The waitress told me that I wasn't being charged for my room or my drink. Is that right?”

“Your meals are on the house, too.”

“They'd damned well better be,” she said. “It's a small enough price to pay to sooth a guilty conscience.”

“I don't feel any guilt,” he replied. “But I do feel a certain obligation.”

“You may just overwhelm me with the force of your emotion,” said the Mouse sardonically.

“I am glad you're still alive.”

“Next you'll be telling me that you still love me,” she replied sardonically.

“No, I don't.”

“Or that you never did.”

“I did, once.” He paused. “It was a mistake. You can't send someone you love into danger.”

“So you stopped sending people into danger.”

The Iceman shook his head sadly. “No. I stopped loving them.”

That afternoon the Mouse stopped by the assayer's office and cashed in her diamonds for the standard 33% of market value. She walked out with 165,000 credits, and after she paid the Forever Kid for his entire week, she went to the room she was sharing with Penelope and hid the remaining money in the little girl's pillow, along with the 20,000 credits in cash she had removed from the miners’ bodies.

“Is the money safe here?” she asked.

Penelope, who was playing with her doll, shrugged. “I suppose so.”

“But you don't know for sure?”

“Nobody wants it right now.”

“Will they want it tonight, when they think we're asleep?”

“Probably not,” said Penelope.

“Why ‘probably not'?” asked the Mouse. “Why not ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ or ‘I don't know'?”

“I can't see all the futures that far ahead. In the ones I can see, nobody tries to take the money away.” She paused. “Well, all but one, anyway.”

“And what happens in that one?”

“The man you call the Iceman kills the woman who tries to sneak up here to rob you.”

“He'll actually kill her?”

“Only if she tries to come up here. In the other futures I can see, she doesn't stop by the assay office, or if she does, the man who works there doesn't tell her about your money.”

“It must be very confusing for you sometimes, trying to separate the present from the future, or the real future from all the imaginary ones.”

“They're all imaginary until one of them happens,” answered Penelope, carefully straightening her doll's dress. “It used to be more confusing. I'm learning how to sort them out better.”

“Do you ever see a future in which someone isn't trying to hurt or rob us?” asked the Mouse.

“Hardly ever.”

“Well, I suppose there's a certain twisted logic to that,” admitted the Mouse. “I have a feeling that half the galaxy wants to hurt us, and most of the other half would love to rob us.” She sighed and eased herself onto her bed. “At least we're safe for the time being.” She chuckled briefly. “Hell, with the Forever Kid and Mendoza both protecting us, it's probably the safest we've been since we met.”

“Mouse?” said Penelope after a lengthy silence.

“What?”

“How long until dinner?”

“I thought you just had lunch an hour ago. Are you hungry again?”

“Not really,” admitted Penelope. “But there's nothing to do here, and the Forever Kid told me I couldn't leave the room except to eat, and that when I did he had to come along.”

“Well, that's what we're paying him for.”

“I know ... but I'm still bored.”

“Play with Jennifer,” said the Mouse, indicating the doll.

“She's bored too.”

“Then try watching a holo.”

“There's only one frequency, and I've already seen what they're showing.”

The Mouse sat up. “Okay. Find us a deck of cards and I'll teach you how to play Dubai gin.”

The little girl pulled open two dresser drawers with no success, then walked over to the nondescript desk by the door, rummaged through it, and finally withdrew a deck of cards. When she took them out of their container she found to her delight that each card sported some artist's holographic treatment of humanity's most famous mythic figures. There were Paul Bunyon and Billybuck Dancer, Tarzan and Santiago, Bigfoot and Geronimo, Saint Nicholas and Saint Ngani, all in heroic poses.

The Mouse briefly explained the rules of Dubai gin, then shuffled the deck and began dealing.

“Don't forget to deal to Jennifer, too,” said Penelope, propping the doll up into a sitting position.

“I won't forget,” said the Mouse, dealing nine cards face down in front of the doll.

“These are lovely,” commented Penelope, as she began sorting the cards the Mouse had dealt her.

“You think so?” replied the Mouse. “When Merlin joins us, I'll have to have him show you a deck that he picked up on Sirius V. It has portraits of 52 extinct mammals from Earth, and he's got a matching deck with 52 extinct raptors.”

“What's a raptor?”

“A bird that eats meat.”

“Don't they all?”

“Hardly any of them do,” answered the Mouse. Penelope fell silent, studying the holographs on the cards, and the Mouse waited another minute before speaking. “If you'd rather just look at the cards, we don't have to play.”

“No,” said Penelope. “I want to play, really I do.”

“All right,” said the Mouse. “You have to pick a card from the pile, and then discard one over here.” She indicated where the discard pile would be built.

Penelope did as she was told.

“Now it's Jennifer's turn,” she announced.

She picked a card without looking at it, placed it in front of the doll, and discarded a four.

“Perhaps it might be better if you looked at Jennifer's cards before you played them,” suggested the Mouse.

“That wouldn't be fair,” said Penelope. “I should only look at my own cards.”

“Then Jennifer's going to lose,” said the Mouse.

“Oh?” said the little girl, looking concerned. “Why?”

“She discarded a very low card, a four. Sometimes that's a wise move, but in general you always want to rid yourself of the high cards first.”

“Jennifer knows that.”

“Evidently she doesn't, because she didn't do it.”

“She was going to put the ten in the pile next time,” explained Penelope.

“What ten?”

“The one she just picked.” She reached over and held up the ten of hearts, which sported a holographic illustration of the goddess Pallas Athene. “It's so pretty she just wanted to keep it for a few minutes.”

“How did you know that it was a ten?” asked the Mouse sharply. “I was watching you. You never looked at it.”

“I knew that it had a picture of a pretty lady on it,” said Penelope guiltily. “I didn't care that it was a ten.”

“But you knew what it was,” persisted the Mouse.

“I just wanted Jennifer to see the picture,” said Penelope, who was close to tears now. “I wasn't trying to cheat, honest I wasn't.”

“I know you weren't,” said the Mouse soothingly.

“You're not mad at me?”

“How could I ever get mad at my partner?” said the Mouse, forcing a smile to her lips to mask her eagerness. “I wonder...” she said, allowing her voice to trail off.

“About what?”

“Was it just because you wanted to see this picture that you knew what the card would be, or could you do it again?”

“Promise you won't get mad if I tell you?”

“Cross my heart.”

“The next card is a picture of a man dressed in black, with a black and red cloak.”

“Can you see what value the card is?”

“Value?”

“Its number and suit.”

“It's the king of spades.”

The Mouse turned over the card. It was the king of spades, with a rather frightening representation of Count Dracula staring out at her.

“Do you know what's in my hand?” asked the Mouse.

Penelope described the holographs, then, with far less interest, identified the accompanying values and suits.

“Very good,” said the Mouse.

“Will you still play cards with me, now that you know?” asked Penelope. “I can try to forget what they are when we're playing.”

“I don't want you to forget a thing,” said the Mouse.

“But if I don't, I'll win most of the time.”

“Why not all the time?” asked the Mouse curiously. “Can't you choose a future in which you always get the best cards?”

The little girl shook her head. “In some of the futures, you don't shuffle them right. Besides, that would be cheating.”

The Mouse considered this information for a moment, then shrugged. “What the hell—we don't want to win every hand anyway. It would just frighten people off.”

“We?” repeated Penelope. “I thought I was playing against you.”

The Mouse shook her head impatiently. “We're through with that game.”

“But you promised!” said Penelope, suddenly on the verge of tears again.

“We have a more important game to play,” said the Mouse.

“What game?”

“A game in which we can be partners instead of opponents.” The Mouse paused. “And you'll get to give me secret signals, too, just the way we talked about before.”

“Really?” asked Penelope, her enthusiasm returning.

“Really.”

“But won't we be cheating someone else? If I help you, I mean?”

“We won't be cheating anyone who doesn't deserve it,” answered the Mouse. “And we're stuck here on Last Chance until Merlin shows up or I can put together enough money to buy a ship.”

“Why can't we just tell the Forever Kid to take us with him?” asked Penelope.

“Because he doesn't do favors—he sells them. And I haven't got enough money to hire him for a second week.”

“You're sure it's all right?” persisted Penelope, a worried expression on her face.

“I'm not only sure it's all right,” answered the Mouse. “I'm sure it's the only way we're ever going to get off this dirtball.” She paused, then added: “And it's not safe for us to stay on any one planet for more than a few days; too many people want to take you away from me.”

“I know,” said Penelope glumly. “I keep trying to choose a future in which they all forget about me, but I don't know how.”

“Just pick one in which we win lots of money at End of the Line's card table.”

“I'll try,” promised the girl.

“All right,” said the Mouse. “Let's spend the next couple of hours making sure you know the rules. First comes a pair, then two pair, then three of a kind, then...”

The End of the Line was crowded. Its lights, glowing circular globes floating weightlessly near the ceiling, shone down on traders, prospectors, adventurers, bounty hunters, whores, gamblers, all the flotsam and jetsom of the Inner Frontier, as they gathered around the burnished chrome bar and the gaming tables. Here and there an occasional alien mingled with the mass of humanity, testing its luck at the tables, imbibing one of the special fluids that the Iceman supplied to his non-human customers, or selling black market commodities that weren't obtainable on the worlds of the Democracy.

The Mouse walked slowly through the mass of human and alien bodies, holding Penelope by the hand. The little girl drew some curious stares from brilliantly-clad gamblers, some disapproving glances from provocatively-dressed whores, some avaricious looks from the bounty hunters, but the Iceman's word had gone out, and nobody said a word or made a motion in their direction.

The Mouse was uncomfortably aware of the lean and hungry faces of the bounty hunters, and was almost awed by the power the Iceman seemed to wield. These were cold, hard men, men who backed down from no one—and yet a single command from the Iceman had gone out on the grapevine, and none of them seemed willing to cross the line he had drawn.

“You going to be drinking or gambling?” asked a soft voice behind her, and she turned to find herself facing the Forever Kid.

“Gambling,” she answered.

“You sure? There are a lot of pros here tonight.”

“I'll be all right,” she assured him. “And besides, if I'm going to be able to hire you for another week, I need to raise some money.”

He shrugged. “That's up to you. Once you settle down at a table, I'll move to where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Thanks,” she said. “The Iceman has passed the word that no one is to bother us while we're on Last Chance, but there's always a chance that not everyone has heard.” She felt a sudden surge of bitterness. “Besides, I counted on him once before and he failed me.”

She walked past some of the alien games and the dice tables, and finally came to a hexagonal table where three men, two women and a Lodinite were playing poker. The dealer stood out even in this crowd of bejeweled gamblers: the prismatic cloth of his garments changed colors with every motion he made, his fingers were covered with rings of bloodnight and sheerstone, his boots were made from the glowing skin of some alien reptile. He wore a monocle of plain glass, attached to his tunic by a gold chain, and on his shoulder perched a tiny alien bird, its orange eyes staring intently at his shining rings, as if it might leap to his hand and gobble them up at any instant.

The Mouse stood behind the player with the smallest pile of chips, a woman dressed in such worn, plain leather that she actually stood out more in this crowd of gamblers and gadflys than the dealer did. After a few moments the woman rose from her chair, gathered up her few remaining chips, and walked off.

“Is this a private game?” inquired the Mouse.

“No,” replied the dealer. “But it's an expensive one.”

“How much?”

“Ten thousand to buy in. A thousand is the minimum bet.”

“Fine,” said the Mouse, seating herself opposite the dealer and placing thirty thousand credits on the table. Once her money was on the table, the Forever Kid seated himself at an adjoining table that was not currently in use.

“I see you've come to play,” said the dealer approvingly. “Banker!” he called out. “Get the lady some chips!”

The casino banker walked over, picked up her money, and replaced it with thirty elegant chips carved from the pink-hued bone of some alien animal.

“What about the child?” asked the dealer as the banker answered a call at another table.

“She doesn't play,” replied the Mouse.

“She also doesn't walk around looking at anyone's cards,” explained the dealer.

“Are you accusing me of cheating before I've even played a hand?”

“Not at all,” said the dealer. “I'm just making sure I won't have to accuse you later.”

The Mouse turned to the little girl. “Penelope, go sit over there"—she pointed to the Forever Kid's table, which she could see without having to turn her head—"and wait for me.”

“Can I have a deck of cards?” asked the girl. “So I can play solitaire?”

The dealer withdrew a sealed deck from his pocket and slid it across the table. “Give her these.”

“Thank you,” said the Mouse, picking up the deck and handing it to Penelope. “Now go over there and wait for me.”

Penelope thanked the dealer for the cards and walked over to the table.

“Got a name, ma'am?” asked the dealer.

“Lots of them,” replied the Mouse.

“Any particular one I should call you?”

“Whatever you like.”

The dealer smiled. “I've always been partial to Melisande, myself.”

The Mouse considered it, then frowned. “My name is Mouse.”

The dealer shrugged.

“What's yours?” she asked as she picked up her cards and studied them.

“Well, when I'm passing through Customs back in the Democracy, it's Valente, ma'am, Riccardo Valente. But out here, where I make my living by courting the goddess of chance, it's King Tout.”

“Do I call you King or Tout?” asked the Mouse.

“Call me anything that suits your fancy, ma'am,” replied King Tout.

“How about if we play some poker while I think about it?” said the Mouse, pushing two chips to the center of the table.

The Lodinite and the two men matched her bet, the woman dropped out, and King Tout surveyed his cards again.

“See you and raise you a thousand,” he said, picking up three chips and placing them next to the others at the table's center.

The Mouse held her cards up, appeared to be studying them, and took a quick peek over the top of them at Penelope. The little girl rubbed her nose once, the sign that the Mouse was going to lose the hand, then went back to deciding which card to play in her solitaire game.

The Mouse considered tossing in her cards and minimizing her losses, but decided against it: having opened, it would look strange if she folded immediately, so she regretfully met King Tout's bet, drew two cards, and then refused to match the five thousand dollars he bet after drawing a single card.

“Poor luck, ma'am,” he said with a smile as he reached out and collected the pile of chips. He passed the deck to her. “I believe it's your deal.”

“Same game,” said the Mouse, pushing another chip to the center of the table.

She dealt out the cards, then picked up her hand. She had three queens, a five, and a four, and when none of the others chose to open, she was about to bet five thousand credits ... but first she glanced at Penelope, whose hand seemed inadvertently to brush by her nose again as she looked down at the cards that were spread out before her.

The Mouse sighed, studied her cards for another moment, and then regretfully tossed her hand onto the table.

She won two small pots, dropped out of another one early on, and then it was King Tout's turn to deal again. As the Mouse picked up her hand, she took a quick peek at Penelope, who seemed to be paying absolutely no attention to her at all.

The Mouse held a deuce, a five, a six, a nine and a queen, three of them red, two of them black, and she opened with a single chip. So did the next four players. King Tout pushed five chips to the center of the table.

The Mouse frowned and pretended to study her cards, again glancing surreptitiously at Penelope. As before, the child seemed immersed in her game of solitaire, and sat rigid and motionless.

“I'll see you,” said the Mouse, matching King Tout's bet and hoping that Penelope's lack of a negative sign was purposeful and not merely neglectful.

“I'm out,” said the Lodinite into its translating mechanism.

“Me too,” chimed in one of the men.

The remaining man stared at his hand for a long time, finally sighed and pushed a little pile of chips next to King Tout's.

“How many cards, ma'am?” asked King Tout pleasantly.

“Three,” said the Mouse, tossing in the deuce, the five and the six.

“One for me,” said the man.

“Dealer stands pat,” announced King Tout.

The Mouse slowly picked up her cards, and found that she had drawn two nines and a queen.

“Check,” she said.

“Same,” said the other woman.

“Well,” announced King Tout, “I'm afraid it's going to cost you five thousand credits to see what I've got.”

The Mouse stared at him and resisted the urge to grin.

“I'll see you,” she said at last, “and raise you five.”

The man dropped out, and King Tout stared at his cards, fanning them so that he could see the edge of each in turn.

“You took three cards, right?”

“That's right,” said the Mouse.

He look at his hand once more and sighed deeply, as if he'd finally made his decision.

“See your five thousand,” he said, pushing a large pile of chips to the center, “and raise you another five.”

My God, thought the Mouse. When I think of the walls I've climbed and the ventilation shafts I've wriggled through for a twentieth of this amount!

“Right back at you,” she said aloud, pushing ten chips of her own up against the rapidly-growing pile between them.

Deep in his heart, King Tout had a feeling that he was beaten, that no one bluffed a pat hand to the tune of twenty thousand credits—but he'd invested so much money already that he felt he had to at least pay to see what the Mouse was holding, and so he did, tossing five more chips onto the table but declining to raise her again.

She laid out her full house—three nines and a pair of queens—and he folded his flush, tossed it face down on the table, and with a nod indicated that she had won the hand.

“That was very bold of you, matching my opening bet while you were sitting there with just a pair of nines ... or was it queens?” remarked King Tout.

The Mouse allowed herself the luxury of a smile. “Nice try, King Tout,” she said. “But if you want to know what I bet with, it'll cost you another twenty thousand.”

He matched her smile with his own grin. “I think I can live in ignorance.”

She purposely lost five and seven thousand credits on the next two hands, then struck again and won a fifty thousand credit pot, most of the money coming from King Tout.

That set the pattern for the next ninety minutes. Within an hour the other players had all quit, and it was just her against King Tout. She never folded a poor hand at the beginning, but always lost just enough to encourage him to keep trying her ... and then, when Penelope stared at her solitaire game, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world, the Mouse would invariably win the larger pots.

Finally King Tout pushed his chair back.

“You're quitting?” asked the Mouse politely.

“I know when the cards are running against me,” he said. “Will you be back here again tomorrow night?”

“I imagine so,” she answered, deciding that whether she bought a ship or an extension of the Forever Kid's services or both, she was going to need more money.

“I'll be back,” he promised, getting to his feet, offering her a low, courtly bow, and walking out the door.

“It won't do him much good, will it?” said a low voice at her side.

She turned and found herself staring at the Iceman, who had seated himself next to her. “I don't know what you mean.”

“I mean that my protection doesn't extend to people who cheat my customers—not even you.”

“It's hardly my fault if he doesn't know how to bet his cards,” said the Mouse defensively.

“Would he have known how to bet them if the little girl had stayed in her room?” replied the Iceman. He paused. “You may not know it, but you've made yourself a powerful enemy tonight.”

“I've had enemies before.”

“Your courage does you no credit,” said the Iceman. “It's the result of ignorance.” He paused. “If I were you, I'd quit while I was ahead.”

“I need the money, if I'm ever going to get off this dirtball.”

“If I were you, I'd find some other way to make it.”

“I can get what I need in one more night,” she said. “Will you extend your protection for forty more hours?”

He paused, considering her request.

“I'll let you know,” he said, getting up and walking away.

As soon as he left the table, Penelope got up and approached the Mouse.

“Did I do good?” whispered the little girl.

“You did great,” the Mouse assured her. “Do you think you can do it again tomorrow?”

“I suppose so,” said Penelope.

“You suppose so?” repeated the Mouse. “What does that mean?”

“Just that I can't see that far ahead.”

The Mouse relaxed. “You'll be just fine, partner,” she said, tousling Penelope's blonde hair. “Now let me cash in my chips, and then let's go to bed.”

She summoned the banker, converted her chips into cash, and then, taking Penelope by the hand, she began winding her way in and out of the tables and walking to the door, with the Forever Kid following a few paces behind.

“Had a good night, I see,” said the Kid when they were out in the street.

“Yes, I did.”

“Got enough money to leave now, or are we going to stick around?”

“I want to play one more night,” answered the Mouse.

“Good.”

She stopped and looked at him curiously. “Why should you care one way or the other?”

“Because that was King Tout you beat tonight,” said the Forever Kid. “He'll be back.”

“With more money, I hope,” she said, trying to ignore a growing feeling of uneasiness.

“If you're lucky.”

“And if I'm not?” asked the Mouse.

The Forever Kid's eyes brightened with anticipation.

“Then I've got a feeling I'll be lucky,” he said.

The Mouse slept late the next morning, and spent most of the day loafing in her room and watching the holovision with Penelope, who was willing to watch the umpteenth rerun of anything as long as she didn't have to do it alone.

She had their meals sent to their room, and at sunset she took a long shower, dressed in a new outfit she had bought during a brief tour of End of the Line's shops (and which was still dull in comparison to those she knew she would see at the casino), and spent a few minutes brushing Penelope's ragged hair and giving her some last-second instructions. Then accompanied by the little girl, she descended to the street and walked the short distance to the tavern and casino.

The Iceman was waiting for her, as she had suspected he would be. He stopped her before she could walk across to the table where King Tout, dressed even more splendidly that the previous evening, his tiny alien bird again perched on his shoulder, was dealing cards to a trio of men whose blue-tinted skin proclaimed them to be some of the mutated colonists from Kakkab Kastu IV.

The Mouse spotted the Forever Kid sitting by himself at a table that was midway between the tavern and casino areas, then turned to Penelope. “Go and sit with the Kid,” she said.

Penelope nodded, stopped by the bar to borrow a deck of cards, allowed the bartender to fill an elegant cocktail glass with fruit juice, then joined the Forever Kid at his table.

The Mouse turned to face the Iceman.

“What's your decision, Carlos?”

“If you insist on using the little girl, I'm withdrawing my protection.”

“I've got to have more money,” said the Mouse. “I'll have to count on my other protector.”

“Him?” said the Iceman, jerking his head in the Forever Kid's direction. “Forget about it. He couldn't protect you for five seconds in here.”

“He's managed to protect people for more than two centuries,” said the Mouse.

The Iceman shook his head. “He's been killing people for more than two centuries. There's a difference. And the only reason he's still alive is because he protects himself first and his clients second.” The Iceman looked around the bar and the casino. “There are six men and three women here, each of whom is pretty damned good as his job. Any of them would kill you and steal the child the second my protection was lifted. Even the Forever Kid can't save you from all of them.”

The Mouse surveyed the interior of the building, trying to spot the nine people in question. Two or three she knew from their holographs, another from his weapons ... but she realized that more than half of them were unknown to her.

“It's your decision,” said the Iceman. “You do what you think best.” He paused. “But remember what I said. If you use the little girl against King Tout, I'm—”

Just then a man and an alien entered the End of the Line, and the Iceman frowned.

“What is it?” asked the Mouse anxiously.

“Nothing,” said the Iceman.

“Don't tell me it's nothing, Carlos,” she admonished him. “I've seen that expression before.”

He turned to her. “You know what I told you about not using the girl?”

“Yes.”

“Forget it.” He nodded his head almost imperceptibly toward the two newcomers. “Your friend just evened the odds.”

She turned until she could just see them out of the corner of her eye.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“The man is called the Golden Duke. Ever hear of him?”

She shook her head.

“Well, take a good look at him,” said the Iceman softly, “and if you ever see him anywhere but on Last Chance, run like hell.”

“A killer?” she asked.

“A little bit of everything,” replied the Iceman, staring at the tall, almost skeletal human. The Golden Duke obviously possessed some Oriental ancestry, which was apparent in the shape of his eyes, the tint of his skin, the prominence of his cheekbones, his straight black hair. He moved with the smooth grace of an athlete, as if he was prepared to change directions and speeds instantly. He carried no weapons, but his right arm ended in a prosthetic hand made entirely of gold, a hand that hid four lethal, retractable knives, one in each long, lean, golden finger.

“He's been known to run drugs back in the Democracy,” continued the Iceman, “and he's also done a bit of arson.”

The Golden Duke and his companion seated themselves at King Tout's table, and suddenly the other players all seemed to remember that they had pressing engagements elsewhere and made a mass exodus to neighboring tables or the long chrome bar.

“A gambler, too?” asked the Mouse.

“Not much of one,” replied the Iceman.

“Then why is he sitting at the card table?”

“I imagine that King Tout has invited him to play cards with you.”

“But you just said—”

“I said he wasn't a gambler.” The Iceman paused. “If he helps King Tout cheat you, it isn't gambling, is it?”

“How do you think they'll try to cheat?” asked the Mouse.

“They'll probably whipsaw you,” replied the Iceman.

“Whipsaw?” she repeated, puzzled.

“They'll have some way of signaling each other which of them has the best hand. The other two will drop out early, so if you win, it's a much smaller pot, but if you lose, you're going to have to pay just as much to see the winning hand, because the one holding it will keep raising like there's no tomorrow.”

“I see,” said the Mouse. She nodded to the alien. “Who's that one?”

“Her?” said the Iceman, looking at the humanoid alien with wideset orange eyes, broad nostrils, a reddish wig that barely covered her gaping earholes, and a body suit that kept recirculating a clear fluid across her torso and legs. “They call her September Morn. She is a gambler, and a damned good one. She's King Tout's shill on alien worlds.” He continued to stare at her. “She doesn't actually breathe the liquid through gills or anything like that, but she's got to keep her body moist. If that suit stops running water over her for more than a couple of minutes, she curls up and dies ... or at least goes into some kind of catatonic state that's just about the same as being dead.”

“How do you know?”

“I've seen the suit malfunction on a member of her race,” answered the Iceman. “Not a pretty sight.” He paused. “Not a pretty smell, for that matter.”

They were both silent for a moment, and then the Mouse turned to him.

“What would happen if King Tout tried to kill me at the table? You're not even carrying a weapon.”

“This is my world: I don't need one. And he won't try anything.”

“But if he did.”

“Then he'd have eleven holes in him before he could aim his pistol.”

“You have eleven men watching him?”

“Twelve,” answered the Iceman. “I assume one will miss.”

“Where are they?”

“Around.”

“They're very well-hidden,” said the Mouse, scanning the tavern and casino.

“They're supposed to be.”

“How many are behind that mirror?” she continued, nodding her head toward the huge mirror behind the bar.

“A few.”

“It's a one-way mirror, isn't it?”

The Iceman almost smiled. “They wouldn't be much use to me there if it wasn't, would they?”

“No, I suppose not,” she answered. “Well,” she added, looking across the room, “I suppose I'd better go over to the table and let King Tout and his friends do their worst.”

“Just remember: they're not stupid.”

She smiled with more confidence than she suddenly felt. “It's only money.”

“You have something more valuable than money, and you're taking a chance on losing it,” said the Iceman, glancing across the room at Penelope. “King Tout and his friends don't know who or what she is yet, but if either of you screw up, he'll figure it out pretty damned quick.”

“We're still under your protection,” she reminded him.

“I thought you were playing to raise money for a ship,” he replied. “Once you take off from Last Chance, you're on your own.”

She stared at him for a moment, looking for some sign of emotion—annoyance, jealousy, anything—but finding none. Then she turned and walked rapidly across the tavern into the casino, approached King Tout's table, and seated herself where she could watch Penelope without making it too obvious.

“Good evening, ma'am,” said King Tout. “I trust you're ready to give me a chance to win some of my money back?”

“If you can,” said the Mouse.

“It looks like a small game tonight,” said King Tout. “Just the four of us.”

“Suits me,” said the Mouse.

“Fine. This gentleman on my left is called the Duke"—she smiled politely at the Golden Duke, who stared impassively at her—"and this charming lady is September.” The alien called September Morn inclined her head slightly and briefly contorted her face into a smile.

“Same game as last night?” asked the Mouse.

“That'll be just fine, ma'am,” said King Tout.

The Mouse signaled to the banker, who opened the safe and brought a number of thousand-credit chips to the table, placing them down in three neat stacks directly in front of her.

“Shall we raise the ante to two thousand tonight?” suggested King Tout.

“It sounds like you're in a hurry to get your money back,” said the Mouse.

He shrugged. “If you'd rather not...”

She stared at him. “No, two thousand is fine—if you'll get an unopened deck from the bar.”

“That's shows a serious lack of trust, ma'am,” said King Tout, though he looked unsurprised.

“We're playing for a serious amount of money,” she answered.

He shrugged, then called for a fresh deck. He had the Mouse open it, then shoved two chips to the center of the table and shuffled the cards with an easy precision while the other three players placed their chips atop his.

The Mouse won the first hand, then lost three small pots in a row. The Golden Duke seemed totally uninterested in the game, dropping out of each hand early and never taking his dark, piercing eyes from her. September Morn played her hands with more skill and more subtlety, and won two of the pots.

Then the Mouse hit big, winning sixty thousand credits when her four jacks beat King Tout's full house. After that the whipsawing began, with the Golden Duke, King Tout and September Morn began taking turns riding out each hand; the one with the poorer cards always folded early, leaving the other to bet against the Mouse. The Mouse couldn't quite tell how they were signaling each other, nor did she particularly care.

The game went on for another hour, the Mouse gradually accumulating more money, until at last, as the deal came around to King Tout once more, he stopped shuffling and stared at her for a long moment.

“You're a very lucky card player, ma'am,” he said at last.

“Maybe I'm just talented,” she replied.

He shook his head. “No, I'd have to say that you're lucky.”

She shrugged. “Have it your way: I'm lucky.”

“Very lucky.”

“Are you accusing me of cheating?” asked the Mouse.

“I would never accuse you of cheating without knowing how you did it.”

“You know, it doesn't sound any better that way.”

“How could you be cheating?” asked King Tout with an expression that belied his words. “Why, if my friend the Duke thought for even a moment that you were cheating, he'd cut your heart out right here at the table. If there's one thing the Duke hates, it's a cheater.”

“Yeah, well, your friend the Duke could use some lessons in poker,” said the Mouse.

“Poker's not really his specialty,” said King Tout meaningfully.

The Mouse looked briefly at the Golden Duke. “I can believe that.” She pushed her chair back. “This is becoming rather unpleasant,” she announced. “I think I've had enough for tonight.”

“How much have you got in your pile there?” asked King Tout.

“I don't know,” said the Mouse.

King Tout stared at her chips. “Looks to be about two hundred thousand.”

“If you say so.”

“I'll tell you what, ma'am,” said King Tout. “I'll cut you for it.”

“For the whole pot?”

He nodded.

The Mouse took a quick glance in Penelope's direction, but the little girl was seemingly involved in her solitaire game. Which makes sense, decided the Mouse; she can't tell me if I'll win or lose until I decide whether or not I'll even agree to play.

“What if I declined?” asked the Mouse. “Respectfully, of course.”

“I think my friend the Duke would take it as a personal insult,” answered King Tout.

The Mouse returned his smile. “My friend the Iceman might not like that.”

“Then let's leave our friends out of it,” said King Tout. “Let's make it just you and me. We'll cut for the whole pot.” He pulled an unopened deck out of his pocket. “And we'll use a fresh deck.”

“I kind of liked the one we were playing with.”

“For this kind of money, we should use a brand new deck.”

The Mouse considered asking him to get a deck from the bar, but decided to look at Penelope first. She saw no negative signal, and she finally nodded her agreement.

“Okay,” she said. “You match what I've got here and we'll cut just once for it.” She paused. “If you lose, you lose. We don't go double or nothing. You could keep that up all night until you finally won.”

“Agreed,” said King Tout. He broke open the deck and shuffled the cards, then placed them on the table.

“Be my guest,” he said.

“You go first,” she replied.

“I'd really prefer that you cut first.”

She shook her head. “It's my money. If you want a chance at it, you cut first.”

“As you wish,” he said. His hand reached out, caressed the deck swiftly, and then cut to a king.

The Mouse looked at Penelope, who seemed oblivious to anything but her solitaire game. Finally Mouse cleared her throat, reached out, paused hesitantly for a moment, and placed her fingers carefully on the sides of the deck.

And then Penelope spilled her glass of fruit juice, and made a distracting clatter as she jumped back from the table to avoid getting it on her clothes.

“Are you all right?” asked the Mouse, her hand once more poised above the deck.

“I'm sorry,” said Penelope, starting to wipe her table with a napkin. “I was just clumsy. Are you mad at me?”

“No, of course not,” said the Mouse.

“Ma'am,” said King Tout impatiently. “We're waiting on you.”

The Mouse stared at the deck, then took a deep breath and cut the cards—and came away with an ace.

“My congratulations, ma'am,” said King Tout, getting to his feet and bowing deeply. “I guess tonight just wasn't my night.”

September Morn also arose, but the Golden Duke remained seated, still staring impassively at her. Finally, when King Tout and the alien reached the door, he stood up and walked silently after them.

As she had the previous evening, Penelope walked over and joined the Mouse, while the Forever Kid remained at his table.

“Well, we did it!” whispered the Mouse, trying to control her excitement and elation. “What was that business with the spilled glass?”

“I saw that if you cut the cards, you'd draw a three, so I tried to see how to change it,” explained Penelope. “If I shrieked and you looked up, you'd draw a jack, and if I did other things you'd draw other cards ... but I saw that if I spilled the juice, you'd draw an ace. It all depended on how startled you were and how much you moved your hand.”

“Remarkable!” said the Mouse. “Just remarkable!” She summoned the banker, changed her chips into credits, and carried the cash over to the Forever Kid. “Here,” she said, handing him the money. “You can probably protect this better than I can.”

The Kid placed the wad of bills inside his tunic.

“Why the long face?” asked the Mouse. “I won. I can afford you for another week or two.”

“They just walked out,” said the Kid unhappily.

“What did you expect them to do?”

“I know what I wanted them to do,” he replied. “I've heard about the Golden Duke. I never thought he'd walk away from a fight.” He shook his head in abject disappointment.

“Look, I'm sorry you didn't get to die on this godforsaken planet,” said the Mouse with false sympathy. “But look at the bright side: You'll have two more weeks of opportunities to toss your life away. In the meantime, do you mind taking Penelope back to the hotel?”

“I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on both of you,” noted the Forever Kid.

“I'll be all right,” said the Mouse. “Besides, everyone just saw me give you the money. Don't get your hopes up too high, but if anyone's going to be in danger, it'll be you.”

That seemed to raise the Kid's spirits, but Penelope suddenly looked unhappy. “Can't I stay with you?” she asked.

The Mouse shook her head. “I have to talk to the Iceman.”

“I'm not afraid of him.”

“I know,” said the Mouse with a smile. “But I have a feeling that he's afraid of you.”

“Him?” said Penelope unbelievingly.

“Him,” repeated the Mouse. “Now go on over to the hotel. I'll join you in a few minutes.”

The Kid got to his feet, took Penelope by the hand, and walked unhappily into the cool night air.

The Mouse saw the Iceman staring at her as he leaned against the long bar. She beckoned him to join her with a motion of her head, and he carried his drink past half a dozen gaudily-dressed miners and traders, giving a wide birth to the huge alien Torqual who seemed to have no interest in drinking either whiskey or any of the exotic alien concoctions, but insisted on standing at the bar anyway. A striking redheaded woman stopped the Iceman to whisper something to him; he looked across the tavern, seemed to consider whatever it was he had heard, then nodded his head and, without another look at the woman, walked the rest of the way to the Mouse's table.

“You won a lot of money tonight,” he noted, seating himself and placing his drink in front of him. “Would you like me to keep it for you until you need it?”

“The Forever Kid won't let anyone take it away from him,” she replied. “And I'm going to need it tomorrow morning.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “I need to buy a ship.”

“I thought the Forever Kid had a ship.”

“He does, but I can't keep paying him 100,000 credits a week. Sooner or later I'm going to need my own—probably sooner.”

“How big?”

“Big enough for three people,” said the Mouse. “No, make that four, in case the Kid's still with us when we join up with Merlin.”

The Iceman arched an eyebrow at the mention of Merlin's name, but didn't ask any questions about him.

“Well?” said the Mouse.

“Well what?”

“Can I get a ship tomorrow?”

“Go over to the hangar. They usually have a few for sale, or, if not, they'll know where you can get one.” The Iceman paused. “You're definitely leaving tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Too many people know she's here already. The longer I wait, the more of them we'll have chasing us when we finally leave. Now that I have the money, there's no reason to stay.”

“She's in no danger,” said the Iceman.

“Are you kidding?” she demanded. “Look around you. Not everyone is here just to drink your booze and play at your tables.”

“You're in plenty of danger,” replied the Iceman, gazing casually at a pair of bounty hunters who were pretending that they had no interest in the Mouse. “But you still don't seem to know what you're traveling with.”

“I'm traveling with the best damned gambling partner anyone ever dreamed of.”

The Iceman shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “Do what you want. It's none of my business.”

“I don't know why you persist in thinking of her as dangerous,” continued the Mouse. “I keep telling you: she's just a very tired, very frightened little girl.”

“A little girl who has had 200 professionals looking for her for the better part of a year, and who's still free,” said the Iceman. “Doesn't that suggest something to you?”

The house banker caught the Iceman's eye, made some brief signal with his hand, and the Iceman shook his head. A moment later the banker was explaining to an annoyed customer that New Kenya shillings were not acceptable currency on Last Chance.

“She was an alien's prisoner when I found her,” answered the Mouse. “I told you that.”

“Is she an alien's prisoner now?”

“No. She's just damned lucky that I found her.”

“Do you make a practice of entering the alien sections when you're looting a hotel?” asked the Iceman.

“No.”

“How many rooms were there in that hotel?” he continued.

“I don't know.”

“A few hundred?”

“Probably.”

“Haven't you wondered how you wound up in the one alien room where she happened to be?”

“I told you how it happened,” said the Mouse irritably.

“I know how it happened.”

“You haven't changed at all, Carlos. You never trusted anyone or anything.”

“Maybe that's why I'm still alive.” He paused. “But let me give you one piece of advice.”

“What?”

“Don't ever get her mad at you.”

“I'm the only friend she's got.”

“She didn't do that badly when she had no friends at all,” he noted.

“What would you have me do?” demanded the Mouse. “Desert her? Return her to your friend 32?”

The Iceman stared at her for a long moment.

“If it was me,” he said at last, “I think I'd kill her while I had the chance.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

“No,” she said distastefully, “you haven't changed.”

She got up and walked out the door, then crossed the street and entered her hotel. She got on the airlift, ordered it to elevate her to her floor, then rode the corridor to her door. Just as she turned the corner leading to her room, she found herself face to face with the Golden Duke. He held a sonic weapon in his hand, and silently directed her into a darkened room three doors down from her own.

“Lights,” commanded a low voice, and suddenly the room was bathed in illumination.

“Good evening, ma'am,” said King Tout, as the Golden Duke stationed himself in front of the door. She looked around desperately, silently cursing her stupidity for not keeping Penelope with her, and saw September Morn smiling at her from her position by the room's only window.

“What do you want?” demanded the Mouse. “If it's money, I don't have it with me.”

“Oh, we'll get around to talking money in a while, ma'am,” said King Tout. “Right now I think I'd like to talk about luck.”

“Luck?” repeated the Mouse.

“Luck.” He stepped forward and pointed to a small scar above his temple. “Do you see this, ma'am?”

The Mouse nodded, but said nothing.

“Do you know what it is?”

“No.”

“It's a surgical scar.”

“Somebody you tried to whipsaw shot you in the head?”

He chuckled. “No, ma'am, I'm afraid not.” Suddenly his smile vanished. “It's where I had a silicon bubble implanted. A Steinmetz/Harding 90347 bubble.”

“Should that mean something to me?”

“It's the most powerful mathematics bubble ever invented,” explained King Tout. “I can do eleven million calculations before the card you see registers on your retina.” He paused. “Do you see my left eye, ma'am?”

“It looks just like the right one,” answered the Mouse.

“It's supposed to. But it's artificial, ma'am. It can see into the infrared spectrum, just as this artificial digit"—he raised the index finger of his left hand—"can produce a mark that can only be seen by this eye.” He paused again. “That's why I know you were lucky these last two nights, ma'am. Do you know how lucky?”

“Why don't you tell me?” said the Mouse.

“Well, in the beginning, I had a nine-to-one chance of winning, just because of the bubble. But when I started losing, I started cheating. By the end of the evening, you'd beaten odds of more than six thousand to one. That was impressive enough. But tonight,” he continued, “tonight I was dealing seconds and we were whipsawing you and I knew I was going to cut to a king, because I marked it when I opened the deck. The precise odds of your coming out ahead tonight, ma'am, were 53,024 to one.” He paused again. “That's so lucky it's almost unbelievable ... so you'll have to forgive me if I don't believe it.”

The Mouse made no reply, and King Tout continued speaking.

“You know, ma'am, for almost two nights I couldn't figure out how you were doing it. I know you couldn't read the cards, because you don't have an eye that can see into the infrared spectrum, and even if you did, you couldn't have broken my code. I knew you didn't have a collaborator, because there was no one else at the table, and I knew there was no way you could know what was in my hand, because on two occasions I didn't even look myself.”

“Get to the point,” said the Mouse.

“The point?” repeated King Tout. “The point is that I couldn't figure out how you were cheating me, so I decided to make you cut the deck with me, and I decided to pick a king, and then I watched to see what happened next.”

“What happened was that I drew an ace, in case it's slipped your memory.”

“Oh, I knew you'd draw the ace, ma'am,” said King Tout. “It never crossed my mind that you might not. No, I was looking to see what happened before you drew it.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Not quite nothing,” he corrected her. “The little girl happened.” He paused. “At first I thought she must be a telepath, but then I got to thinking, and I realized that a telepath couldn't know where the ace was, or read my hand when I myself hadn't looked at it and didn't know what was in it. And then I remembered hearing stories about a little girl that everyone seems to want.” He stared at the Mouse. “She's the Bailey girl, isn't she?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” said the Mouse. “She's my daughter.”

“Duke?” said King Tout, and four thin blades slid out of the fingers of the Golden Duke's prosthetic right hand.

“Now, ma'am, I'm going to ask you one more time, and if you lie to me, my friend is going to gut you like a fish. Do you understand?”

“You go to hell,” said the Mouse.

“I'm sure that's where we're all going, ma'am,” said King Tout. “Now, is she the Bailey girl or not?”

“Don't!” yelled a small voice on the other side of the door.

King Tout and the Golden Duke froze for a moment. Then the gambler motioned the Golden Duke to pull the Mouse into a corner, took a small laser pistol out of his pocket, and ordered the door to open.

“Don't hurt her!” said Penelope. “She's my best friend.”

“Do come in, young lady,” said King Tout, stepping aside and allowing the girl to run to the Mouse's side.

“You shouldn't have done that,” said the Mouse. “He was bluffing.”

Penelope shook her head. “In every future I could see, you didn't tell him and the Golden Duke killed you.”

“So that's how it works!” said King Tout with a smile. “Just as easy as that? You see a million futures and choose the one you like best?”

“It's not that easy,” answered Penelope.

“If it worked like that, you'd never have surprised me here,” said the Mouse.

“Ah, but she was in her room, far away from you, ma'am, or I've no doubt you'd be back at the tavern, begging the Iceman for help.”

“He's watching you right this minute,” said the Mouse.

“Oh, I very much doubt it,” said King Tout. “My friend September managed to find all of his holo feedlines—it's one of her talents: she's attracted to power, any kind of power ... electrical, conductive, nuclear—and my friend the Duke cut the lines.”

“Then he'll know that something's going on here that you don't want him to see.”

“Just how clumsy do you think I am, ma'am?” asked King Tout. “Right now his security people are watching holos of an empty room, which my friend September rigged before the Duke went to work.”

“He'll find out.”

“Oh, I'm sure he will,” agreed King Tout, “but not before we're all long gone.”

“I wouldn't be too sure of that if I were you,” said a youthful voice from the still-open doorway, and they all turned to see the Forever Kid standing there, his fingertips poised lightly on the holster of his sonic pistol.

“I know who you are,” said King Tout.

“I know who you are, too,” said the Forever Kid.

“This doesn't concern you. Just be on your way and no one will get hurt.”

“Just follow your two friends out into the hall, or a lot of people are going to get hurt,” responded the Kid, his eyes alive with excitement for the first time since the Mouse had known him.

“We're not looking for a fight,” said King Tout.

“Sometimes you can't always have what you want,” replied the Kid.

“Let me take him,” said the Golden Duke, his face absolutely expressionless as he stared at his antagonist.

“You can try,” said the Kid, his hand tensing.

“No!” screamed Penelope suddenly.

All the participants froze for an instant.

“What is it?” asked the Mouse.

“I don't want you to die!” sobbed Penelope.

“I'm not going to die.”

“If the Forever Kid draws his gun, no matter what happens, you'll die and I can't change it!” wept the girl.

“Well?” said King Tout, still looking at the Kid.

“Kid, you'd better leave,” said the Mouse at last.

“But I can take these three,” he protested.

“Nobody said you couldn't,” answered the Mouse, trying to steady her voice. “But even if you do, I'm going to catch a laser beam or a sonic blast.” She stared at him. “Please, Kid?”

The Kid stared at the Golden Duke for another moment, then slowly backed out of the room and rode the corridor to the end of the hall, where he disappeared around a corner.

“Very wise of you, ma'am,” said King Tout.

“I'm not ready to die yet,” said the Mouse.

“Nobody's ever really ready to die,” he agreed.

“Then release us and the Iceman won't kill you,” said the Mouse. “He's not like the Forever Kid. I can't call him off.”

“Why don't you let me worry about the Iceman?” said King Tout. “He hasn't left the planet in five years. He's not about to start now.” He paused. “However, you and the girl are.”

“You'll never live to collect the reward for her,” said the Mouse.

“I know this may come as a shock to you,” said King Tout, “but I have absolutely no interest in any reward.”

“Sure you don't.”

“Really. The reward is a single finite amount, whereas the possibilities involved in using this little girl are infinite. Do you know how much I can win at some of the Democracy's larger casinos with her help?”

“I'll never help you,” said Penelope.

“Of course you will, my dear,” said King Tout pleasantly.

“You can't make me, no matter what you do to me!”

“You're a rare treasure, my dear,” said King Tout. “I would never dream of hurting you.” He suddenly put an arm around the Mouse. “But I have absolutely no objection to hurting her.”

“No!” said Penelope. “She's my only friend! Leave her alone and I'll go with you.”

“Oh, I couldn't to that, my dear. Now that I understand what you are, I would never dream of taking you without some means of controlling you. Sooner or later you'd find some way to escape or perhaps even kill me. But if you know that I'll have the Duke kill your friend the first time you disobey me, then I think we can have a long and happy relationship.” He smiled. “You're very young, my child. When you're older, I'm sure you'll be able to appreciate my point of view.”

“Let's go,” said the Golden Duke, holding his claws to the Mouse's throat and preparing to step out into the hall.

“Not just yet,” said King Tout.

“What now?” demanded the Golden Duke.

“Blindfold and gag the little girl.”

“Why? She's no problem.”

King Tout sighed. “I'm glad at least one of us is using his head in this endeavor.” He signaled September Morn to begin binding Penelope's eyes. “You may have forgotten it already, but there happens to be a very disgruntled killer out there in the corridors waiting for us. As long as the Mouse thinks she will be killed, she won't order him to attack. Now, what do you suppose will happen if the little girl can see a future in which only we three will be killed?”

A light of dawning comprehension spread across the Golden Duke's features.

“Right,” continued King Tout. “So if she can't tell them, they won't take the chance.” He checked Penelope's blindfold. “Good. Now the gag.”

The alien placed a crumpled handkerchief into the girl's mouth, then bound it shut.

“All right,” said King Tout, surveying his captives. “I do believe we're ready to go.” He turned to the Mouse. “Ma'am, if you'd be so kind, tell your friend not to molest us.”

“Kid!” yelled the Mouse. “If you're still out there, let us pass.” She paused. “Remember, you're still working for me. That's an order.”

There was no answer.

“Kid,” said the Mouse. “I mean it!”

Then the little party entered the corridor, the Golden Duke's blades resting gently on the Mouse's throat. She half-expected to run into the Forever Kid at every turn of the corridor, or perhaps in the lobby, or even at the hangar, but within ten minutes they were aboard the gambler's ship, and in another five Last Chance was so far behind them that it didn't even register on the viewscreen.

The End of the Line Tavern was closed for the night when the Forever Kid arrived. He pounded on the door, and a moment later the interior of the building was bathed in light and the Iceman spoke the seven-digit code that unlocked the ornate door.

“I've been looking for you,” said the Forever Kid ominously.

“You found me.”

“Why can't I get clearance to take off from Last Chance?” demanded the Kid, walking into the tavern.

“I wanted to talk to you first,” said the Iceman. “Care for a drink?”

“I'm in a hurry.”

“They'll keep,” said the Iceman. “If King Tout had wanted his money back, he'd have sent the Golden Duke after you. He wanted the little girl.” He paused. “She and the Mouse are safe for the time being.”

“You know they're gone?”

The Iceman almost smiled. “Not much happens on my world that I don't know about.”

“Why didn't you stop them?” asked the Kid. “I seem to remember that they were under your protection.”

“And I seemed to remember that you were being paid to protect them,” responded the Iceman. “It looks like neither of us did a very good job.” He walked across the empty room to the bar, where he pulled out an oddly-shaped bottle and two glasses. “You sure I can't offer you a drink?”

The Kid shook his head. “Just give me clearance to leave: I'm still working for them.”

This time the Iceman actually smiled. “You couldn't care less about them,” he said bluntly. The Kid made no answer, and he continued: “You just want to take on the Golden Duke.”

The Kid considered the Iceman's statement for a moment, then shrugged. “What difference does it make?” he replied, not bothering to deny it. “The result will be the same. I'll kill him and free them.”

“I have no objection to that,” said the Iceman, filling his glass with a blue liquid.

“Then why haven't I been cleared to leave?”

“Because I thought you might like to come with me.”

“You thought wrong.”

The Iceman downed his drink. “My ship's faster and more comfortable than yours.”

“I work alone.”

“I know where King Tout will be going.”

The Kid was unimpressed. “I'll find him. A man like that doesn't stay hidden for long.”

“You're only on salary for a day or two more,” continued the Iceman. He paused. “Come to work for me and I'll double whatever the Mouse was paying you.”

The Forever Kid returned his stare and paused before speaking. “What's your interest in this?” he finally asked. “You don't exactly strike me as the philanthropic type.”

“I own this world,” answered the Iceman. “I rule it as surely as any king ever ruled his domain back on Earth. I passed the word that they were to be left alone, and King Tout disobeyed me.” He poured another drink and downed it in a single swallow. “If I let him get away with it, I won't even rule this barroom next year.”

“And that's it?” asked the Kid.

“Most of it,” replied the Iceman. “You look amused.”

“That's because you don't care any more about them than I do,” said the Kid. “You're going to protect your reputation, and I'm going because I want to take on the Golden Duke.” He paused. “I find that amusing.”

“Ah, well, heroes are hard to come by these days,” said the Iceman with fine irony. “Out here you take what you can get. And what they've got is us.”

“How many of your men are you taking along?”

“None.”

The Forever Kid arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“I'll hire anyone I need once we get to where we're going,” added the Iceman.

“They say you used to be quite a killer yourself,” said the Kid.

“They say a lot of things,” replied the Iceman. “Not all of them are true.”

“Not all of them are lies, either.”

The Iceman stared out the door into the night for a moment.

“It was true once,” he said at last. “Then I found that it was easier to hire people who were more eager than I was.”

“Eager to kill?”

The Iceman shook his head. “Eager to die.” He placed the bottle back behind the bar. “Ready to go?”

“What about my ship?” asked the Kid.

“Leave it here. If you come back in one piece, I'll wave the storage charges. If you don't, you won't need it anyway.”

“And the Mouse's money?” continued the Kid, patting the wad of bills beneath his shirt.

“Take it along. She won't be coming back here, whatever happens to you or the girl.”

It took the Kid less than five minutes to gather his belongings and stuff them into a single small bag that he slung over his shoulder, and five minutes after that he and the Iceman were aboard the latter's ship, breaking out of orbit and heading toward the more populated worlds of the Inner Frontier, on the outskirts of mankind's sprawling Democracy.

They slept as the ship's computer kept them on course, then awoke some time later and ate breakfast in total silence. As the Iceman poured himself a cup of coffee, he looked at the youthful figure sitting across the galley from him.

“You're not the most talkative man I've ever met,” he said dryly.

“You live for a couple of centuries and you'll find out that you've said just about everything you want to say,” answered the Kid.

“I suppose so,” said the Iceman, nodding thoughtfully.

“I do have a question or two for you,” said the Forever Kid. “But they can wait.”

“Ask away.”

“Might be better not to. We're going to be stuck on this ship for a few days. No sense getting mad at each other.”

“I don't get mad anymore,” said the Iceman.

“You ain't chasing King Tout just for the fun of it,” observed the Kid.

“I'm chasing him to teach him an object lesson: that no one can disobey me on Last Chance. But I'm not angry. This is simply business.”

“And of course you wouldn't mind too much if he kills the little girl, would you?”

“What makes you think so?”

“I got eyes and ears. I use ‘em.”

The Iceman paused. “He won't kill her,” he said at last, ignoring the Forever Kid's question.

“When he wins enough, or someone figures out what he's doing, he might.”

“Not a chance.”

“You think not?” said the Kid. “He and the Golden Duke never struck me as compassionate.”

“It's got nothing to do with compassion,” answered the Iceman.

“Then why do you think he won't kill her?”

The Iceman paused. “Because she won't let him,” he said at last.

The Kid paused thoughtfully. “She's really got you worried, doesn't she?”

“No,” replied the Iceman. “Just concerned.”

“Well, don't get too concerned,” said the Kid. “I'm still being paid to defend her.”

“I'm paying you now,” said the Iceman. “You'll do what I tell you to.”

“Not for two more days,” said the Kid. “And I wouldn't give too many orders if I were you. I don't kill children.”

“Hired killers kill whoever they're paid to kill,” said the Iceman. “However,” he added, “no one is going to kill this child—not King Tout, not the Golden Duke, not you, not anyone.” He paused again. “Penelope Bailey doesn't need your help. I'm paying you to help me free the Mouse, and to make sure everyone understands what happens when someone disobeys my orders on my world.”

“Mind if I ask another question?” said the Kid after a momentary silence.

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you so hot to rescue the Mouse? According to her, the last time she needed help you left her to rot in a jail on Msalli IV.”

“The situation's different this time. When I sent her to Msalli IV, we were both working for the government on a secret mission. She could have turned the assignment down. She knew the odds, and she knew that if she was caught, the political and military situation there meant there could be no rescue attempt.” He paused. “Once they caught her, that was that. I was under orders not to mount a rescue mission.”

“I got the impression you two were pretty close back then.”

“We were.”

“But not close enough to disobey orders, I guess?”

“We were nearing a political solution to our problems. If I'd have tried to break her out, I'd have lost a lot of good men and women, and probably precipitated a war.”

“You got your war anyway,” said the Forever Kid. “I showed up just a little too late to hire out as a mercenary.”

“Yeah, we got our war anyway,” acknowledged the Iceman with a sigh. “But at least I wasn't the cause of it.”

The Kid refilled his coffee cup and stirred it idly. “Why did she agree to take the assignment, if the odds were stacked against her?” he asked.

“For the same reason she's King Tout's prisoner right now.”

The Kid frowned. “I don't think I follow you.”

“The Mouse was the best thief I ever knew,” said the Iceman. “There was no building she couldn't scale, no room she couldn't break into, no situation she couldn't bluff her way out of. Cool head, quick mind, nerves of steel. That's why I recruited her.” He paused. “But she had a flaw. She still has it, for that matter.”

The Kid seemed to consider this, then finally shrugged. “What is it?”

“To borrow a line from Shakespeare, she loves not wisely but too well. She didn't go to Msalli IV because she thought she could do the job; she went because she loved me, and I asked her to. And now she's decided to be a mother to the Bailey girl, and she's in the throes of another kind of love, and she's in trouble again.” He shook his head sadly. “She lets her emotions cloud her judgment. It's going to get her killed one of these days.”

“We'll get her out of this in one piece,” said the Forever Kid confidently. “We may not be in the hero business, but we're sure as hell in the rescue business.”

“First things first,” replied the Iceman. “We're in the punishing business.”

“But you don't mind if we rescue her somewhere along the way?” asked the Kid, amused.

“I'm not even sure who she most needs rescuing from,” said the Iceman grimly.

They fell silent then—the Iceman immersed in his own thoughts and memories, the Forever Kid simply tired of talking—as the ship continued to speed through the Inner Frontier.

Suddenly Penelope sat up in her bunk

“He's coming!” she whispered, frightened.

“Who's coming?” asked the Mouse apprehensively, staring at the locked door to their quarters.

“The Iceman.”

“He's here on this ship?”

Penelope shook her head. “But he's coming.”

“You must be mistaken,” said the Mouse. “He never leaves Last Chance.”

“He's coming to kill King Tout and the Golden Duke,” said Penelope with absolute conviction. “And maybe me.”

“You think the Iceman will kill you?”

“He thinks I'm a bad person,” said Penelope. She turned to the Mouse. “Why does he hate me?”

The Mouse climbed down from the upper bunk, sat down next to the little girl, and put a reassuring arm around around her. “He doesn't love or hate anyone,” she explained. “He's too detached to feel anything for anybody.”

“The Forever Kid is with him,” said Penelope. “Maybe he'll save us from the Iceman.”

“You've got it all wrong, Penelope,” said the Mouse. “If they're together, they're coming to save us from King Tout and his friends.”

Penelope saw the Iceman's cold, remote face in her mind's eye, and shuddered. “I'd rather stay with King Tout.”

“The Iceman won't hurt you,” said the Mouse soothingly. “I promise you.”

“You're wrong,” said the little girl. “Of all the man who are hunting me, he's the one who can hurt me.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know.” Suddenly a tear rolled down her face. “I miss Jennifer. I wish we hadn't left her behind.”

“We didn't have any choice,” said the Mouse.

“But she's all alone there, back at the hotel.”

“If she was with us, she'd be a prisoner,” the Mouse pointed out. “She's better off where she is.”

“But she was my first friend, and now I'll never see her again.”

“She'll never really be gone as long as you remember her,” said the Mouse.

“I want her to be with me, though,” said Penelope.

“Sometimes you have to say good-bye to someone you love,” answered the Mouse. “It's part of growing up.”

“Does everybody leave someone they love behind when they grow up?” asked the little girl.

“Almost everybody.” She paused. “Sometimes they get left behind themselves. I suppose it comes to the same thing in the end.”

“But Jennifer likes to be talked to,” persisted Penelope. “What if the maids just put her in a closet?”

“I'm sure they'll give Jennifer to some lonely little girl who needs a first friend,” said the Mouse.

“Really?” asked Penelope, brightening somewhat.

“I'm sure of it.”

“I hope so.”

Suddenly the Mouse smiled. “How would you like to sleep in the upper bunk?”

“Do you mean it?” asked Penelope.

“Sure.”

“I'd like it very much.”

The Mouse hugged the little girl, then lifted her to the higher bunk, and began examining her surroundings for the hundredth time. The walls, ceiling and floor of their small cabin were composed of a titanium alloy and were a dull battleship gray. The two bunks were bolted to the bulkhead. The cabin's computer lock had been disabled, and the door was now bolted from the outside. The tiny lavatory consisted of a Dryshower, a chemical toilet, and a Drysink. The ventilation shafts were far too small for any human, even the Mouse, to crawl through. There was no viewport, no vidscreen, no intercom.

The Mouse paced the floor for a few moments, looking for a weak spot, but to no avail. If there was a means of escape, even a remote possibility of escape, she was sure she'd have spotted it by now. Still, she went over every inch of the cabin methodically, pretending she hadn't already done so two dozen times already, and finally she returned to the lower bunk.

A few minutes later she heard the bolt move, and then September Morn entered their cabin with two trays.

“Dinner,” said the alien, handing a tray to each of her prisoners.

“How much longer before we arrive?” asked the Mouse.

The alien's face contorted in its grotesque parody of a human smile. “If I tell you that, you might guess where we're going.”

“What difference does it make?” said the Mouse. “Who do you think we're going to tell?”

“You? No one.” She glanced at Penelope. “Her? Who knows?”

“She's not a telepath.”

“You say she reads the future. I say she reads our minds. What's the difference?”

“The difference is that she can't communicate telepathically with anyone, so you might as well tell us where we're going.”

September Morn smiled again. “If I don't tell you, there's no difference. If I do tell you and she is a telepath, there might be a very big difference.”

“But I can't read minds or send messages,” protested Penelope.

“You would say that regardless,” replied September Morn.

And with that, she walked out of the room, and bolted the door again as it slid shut behind her.

“I don't like the sound of that,” said the Mouse.

“Of what?” asked Penelope.

“If they think you're a telepath, they might demand that you read a mind or send a thought for them, and if you explain that you can't do it and they don't believe you, we could be in for a lot of trouble.”

“We're already in a lot of trouble,” said Penelope, picking unenthusiastically at her food.

“As jails go, I've seen worse,” said the Mouse, inspecting her own tray and starting to eat an exotic salad made of vegetables from half a dozen different alien worlds.

“What was the alien one like?” asked Penelope. “The one where the Iceman deserted you?”

“Not very pleasant.”

“Was it cold and dark and damp?” asked Penelope with a child's innocent enthusiasm.

The Mouse paused, as if remembering.

“It was dark,” she said, “but not cold. Actually, it felt more like an oven. Msalli IV is a very warm world.”

“Did they torture you?”

The Mouse shook her head. “Not so you'd notice it. They just threw me in a cell and left me there. Sometimes they remembered to feed me, sometimes they didn't.”

“How long were you sentenced for?”

The Mouse smiled wryly. “The Klai—that's the race that lives there—don't operate like that. When you're found guilty of something, they toss you into jail, and when you die, they bury you.” She paused. “I almost died from their water a couple of times. Diseases aren't supposed to be cross-species, but I guess enough filth will make anyone sick—and that was the filthiest water I ever saw.”

“Did they give you a doctor to make you well?”

“Eventually. That was how I escaped.”

“Tell me about it!” said Penelope eagerly. “Did you kill the doctor with one of his surgical instruments?”

The Mouse smiled. “You've never seen a Klai, have you? They're about eight feet tall, and perhaps 600 pounds, with skin like armor. Stabbing or shooting one of them would just make him angry.”

“Then what did you do?” persisted the girl.

“I pretended to be sicker and weaker than I was, and after a couple of days, when I felt strong enough and they weren't watching as closely as they should have, I sneaked out of my room and found an air shaft leading to the sub-basement. I spent three days hiding there, following various passages, until I found a sewage tunnel the led to a drainage ditch almost half a mile beyond the prison.”

“How did you get off the planet?”

“Two days after I escaped the Democracy invaded it, and I just presented myself to one of our military units. They transferred me to the flagship, questioned me until they were convinced that I was who I said I was, and then transported me to the nearest human world.”

Penelope shifted her position on her bunk so that she could see the Mouse better. “Why didn't the Iceman try to rescue you?”

“I used to wonder a lot about that,” admitted the Mouse. “I couldn't figure out why he cared more about his orders than he cared about me.” She shrugged. “Then one day I realized that he would never send someone he cared for into that situation, and finally it made sense.”

Penelope's eyes narrowed. “I don't like him.”

“Well, there are people I'm more fond of, myself,” agreed the Mouse dryly.

“Why is he coming after us?” asked Penelope, deciding she didn't like her meal and pushing her tray aside. “He doesn't like you, and he hates me.”

“He has a reason for everything he does,” answered the Mouse. “My guess is that he's going to let the Forever Kid kill King Tout and his friends, just to prove that no one can get away with disobeying his orders on Last Chance.” She paused. “Can the Kid beat all three of them?”

Penelope shrugged. “I don't know.”

“He was about to try at our hotel. What did you see then?”

“In some futures he won, in some he didn't—but in all of them you were killed.”

“The Golden Duke must be pretty good at his trade.”

“Oh, he always killed the Golden Duke,” said Penelope. “But in some futures September Morn killed him.”

“I didn't even notice her carrying a weapon,” said the Mouse. “What does she use, and where does she hide it?”

“There were so many futures, and everything happened so fast,” said Penelope helplessly. “I can't remember.”

“But she's the dangerous one?”

“I don't know. Maybe it was because the Forever Kid was concentrating on the Golden Duke.”

“Oh, well,” sighed the Mouse. “We'll just have to hope that the Kid is up to it.”

“What if he isn't?”

“Then Carlos will find another way to kill them.”

“Can he?”

“He was one of the best in his day, but that's not the way he operates any more. Still,” she concluded, “once he sets his mind on something, he usually gets what he wants.”

“What if he wants me dead?” asked Penelope.

“Then he'll have to kill me first,” promised the Mouse. “And he won't do that.”

“Why not, if he doesn't care about you?”

“Because I know how his mind works. He hates waste, and killing me would serve no purpose.”

“It would if you were protecting me.”

“He'd try to find a way around me,” said the Mouse. “Take my word for it.”

“How would he do that?”

“I don't know.” The Mouse noted the genuine fear on Penelope's face, and reached up to hold the child's hand. “Don't worry. It's a moot point. He's coming to rescue us, not harm us.”

“I hope you're right.”

“Don't you know?”

Penelope shook her head. “Not yet. It's too far off.”

“Well, believe me: I'm not going to let anyone harm you.”

Penelope suddenly climbed down from her own bunk to the Mouse's, and threw her arms around her.

“You're my best friend. My only friend,” she amended. “I want us to be together always.”

“You're my best friend, too,” said the Mouse.

Suddenly Penelope straightened up.

“What is it?” asked the Mouse.

“We just changed course.”

“I didn't feel anything. How can you tell?”

“I just know.”

“Do you know where we're heading?”

Penelope squinted and peered into space, as if trying to read a sign within her mind.

“The Starboat,” she said at last.

“The Starboat?” repeated the Mouse. “What is it?”

“It's a huge ship that's orbiting a red world.”

“How huge?”

“It's got lots of cabins, and big rooms like the one the Iceman owned.”

“You mean taverns?”

“Those too.”

“Casinos?”

Penelope nodded. “Rooms where they play cards and games like that.”

“Do you know the name of the red world?”

“No.” Suddenly Penelope smiled. “But I know something else.”

“What?”

“I know that there's a man on the Starboat who can help us.”

“Who?”

“I don't know his name, but he's dressed in very bright colors, and he's very tall, and he had a beard.”

“Is he a killer?” asked the Mouse. “A bounty hunter?”

“I don't think so.”

“How will he help us?”

“I don't know yet,” said Penelope. “But once we're at the Starboat, I'll know how.”

“If he figures out you're helping to cheat him, he might kill us all.”

Penelope shook her head firmly. “No. I don't know what he'll do, but I know he won't hurt us.”

“He'll help both of us, not just you?”

“Yes.”

“You're absolutely sure?”

“I would never leave without you,” Penelope assured her.

“Can Carlos catch up with us before we reach the Starboat?”

“No.”

“Then we've got a decision to make,” said the Mouse.

“This man will help us,” insisted Penelope.

“Will he kill King Tout or the others?”

“I don't know.”

“Can you see if King Tout will come after us again?”

“No.”

“No he won't, or no you can't see?”

“I can't see that far.”

The Mouse sighed deeply. “I just don't know,” she said. “At least if Carlos and the Kid catch up with us, we know they won't leave until King Tout and his friends are dead.”

“I don't want the Iceman to catch up with us,” said Penelope, her fear reflected on her face once again.

The Mouse studied the little girl's face intently. “And you're sure this man will help us?” she asked at last. “Not just try, but succeed?”

“I think so.”

“But you're not sure?”

“I will be, before I let him know that we need his help.”

“Once he knows, he'd better act fast,” said the Mouse, “or you're going to be minus a best friend.”

“King Tout will only hurt you if I disobey him,” said Penelope with absolute conviction. “Once I find someone to help me, he'll be much more worried about his own skin.”

“You can see that, too?”

Penelope smiled. “Not in the future. I know it, because King Tout is so simple to understand.”

“He is?”

The little girl nodded. “He's no smarter than Jennifer was,” she said, and the Mouse noted a certain contempt in her voice that had never been there previously.

“He was smart enough to capture us,” replied the Mouse, watching Penelope closely for a reaction.

“I couldn't see far enough ahead. Next week or next month I'll be able to.” She hugged the Mouse again. “They think they can hurt you, but I won't let them.” She paused thoughtfully, then added, “They're very foolish men, King Tout and the Golden Duke.” Suddenly a look of childish fury crossed her face. “And they'll be sorry they made me leave Jennifer behind.”

The Mouse looked at her for a moment, startled—and then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the almost alien expression of rage vanished from Penelope's face.

“I love you, Mouse,” she said.

The Mouse embraced her. “And I love you too, Penelope.”

“And if they try to hurt you,” she continued, “something bad will happen to them.”

“Like what?” asked the Mouse.

“Oh, I don't know,” said Penelope with a shrug. “Just something.”

The Starboat was the most impressive and elegant space station on the Inner Frontier.

Hundreds of ships, some small, some incredibly large, were docked along its sleek, shining hull. In fact, the hull itself was the first thing to capture a visitor's attention, for it proclaimed the station's name in 200-foot-high letters that blazed like a million tiny suns, and it was visible to approaching ships that were still thousands of miles away.

The interior lived up to the hull's glittering promise. There were restaurants, bars, nightclubs, and a dozen immense public gambling rooms, as well as some very private rooms for high-stakes games, games that even King Tout couldn't afford. Men in formal dress, women in very little dress at all, aliens in exotic attire, all moved discreetly from table to table, from game to game, offering drinks, drugs, an assortment of alien tobaccos, and gaming chips.

The tables themselves were divided almost evenly between human and alien games, and, not surprisingly, the jaded human customers clustered around of the more popular alien games, losing tens of thousands of credits at a time at games such as jabob, so complex that it took years to learn, while the score or more of alien races—Canphorites, Domarians, Lodinites, even a pair of methane-breathing Atrians in their frigid protective suits—lost just as heavily at poker, blackjack and roulette.

There was no form of wager one couldn't make aboard the Starboat. One huge room, housing hundreds of computer and video screens, offered up-to-the-minute news and odds on sporting events all across the Democracy, while another posted odds and results of the tens of thousands of elections that occurred daily for major and minor political offices on the Democracy's fifty thousand worlds. A third room was devoted to an endless series of trivia games, which were making their hundredth or so reappearance in a galaxy where Man had grown out of touch with his origins and constantly sought to relearn them.

The Golden Duke had been left behind to keep an eye on the Mouse—or, more specifically, to punish her if Penelope refused to make her talents available to her captors—and King Tout had taken September Morn and the little girl with him aboard the Starboat.

They were scanned very briefly and very thoroughly at the entrance. Then King Tout walked up to one of the many cashiers’ windows, established a line of credit, and took a quick tour of the gaming rooms. Finally he found a table, no different than any other, that seemed to appeal to him, and he gestured September Morn to take one of the empty seats at it.

Then he leaned over and whispered to Penelope.

“You remember the signals we talked about?”

She nodded. “I touch my left ear when you're going to win, and my right ear when September has the best hand.”

“That's right, my child,” he said. “And do you remember what will happen to your friend if you give me the wrong signal even once?”

“I remember,” said Penelope. She looked around the room. “Where do you want me to sit?”

“Come with me,” said King Tout, leading her to a long bar that lined the back wall. He lifted her up onto an exotic-looking stool and summoned the bartender, an orange-skinned Belonian.

“Do you have something non-alcoholic for the young lady to drink?” he asked pleasantly.

“We have a wide selection,” said the Belonian into its translating device.

King Tout slipped a wad of New Stalin ruples out of his pocket and laid them on the bar.

“Give her whatever she wants, and make sure that nobody bothers her.”

The Belonian flashed its purple teeth in its version of a happy smile and picked up the money.

“It will be my pleasure, sir,” it replied.

King Tout turned to Penelope. “I don't want you moving away from here, do you understand?”

“I understand,” said the girl.

“I hope so, my child, or it will go very hard on your friend.”

Penelope stared at him, but said nothing, and a moment later he walked back to the table and seated himself where he had a clear view of the girl.

The Belonian brought Penelope a selection of three fruit-flavored drinks, and she chose the one in the most elaborate container, a sparkling crystal that was shaped like the horn of some ancient animal. A moment later the first hand was dealt, and she casually raised her hand to her right ear. King Tout smiled—his opponents thought he was smiling at some remark one of them had made—and kept betting and raising until everyone except September Morn had dropped out, then tossed his cards in without showing them when she displayed a full house of aces and jacks.

Her captors lost the next two hands, and then Penelope touched her left ear, signaling a win by King Tout. This time it was September Morn who kept betting and raising until all but one player was driven out, and then she folded and allowed King Tout to continue betting on his own.

They continued in this manner for another half hour. They didn't always raise each other when King Tout knew they were holding winning hands, and they didn't always drop out early when he knew they were destined to lose, but they gradually accumulated most of the money at the table. A couple of the players—a Canphorite and a human—decided that they'd had enough, and were replaced by two others, both human this time.

And as King Tout and September Morn accumulated their winnings, Penelope sat almost motionless at the bar, her blue eyes scanning the room, her mind sorting out different possibilities, different futures, different means to the end she desired.

Finally she found what she had been looking for. It was a tall, stunningly-dressed man, his glowing garments changing colors constantly, his hair and beard a rainbow of hues, his boots made from the phosphorescent blue fur of the now-extinct Icedemon of Belloq IV. He seemed to be wandering aimlessly through the room, pausing now at one table for a moment, now at another, his dark eyes missing no detail. Finally he stopped in front of a huge roulette wheel, summoned one of the many waiter/cashiers, and ordered a handful of chips. Penelope didn't know his name, or why he was aboard the Starboat, but she knew that this was the man she sought.

Penelope observed the man for a few moments, as he wagered on four successive turns of the wheel and lost each time. So intent was she on studying him that she almost forgot to signal King Tout that he had another winning hand, and tried to ignore his glare as she informed him only after the initial series of bets.

Then the opportunity she had known would occur came to pass. A thin young man walked up to the the bar, and she managed to spill her drink, splashing some of it on him.

“I'm so sorry!” she said apologetically.

“No problem,” said the man, signaling for a bartowel and wiping his sleeve off. “But you should really be a little more careful, young lady.”

Penelope waited until the alien bartender was out of earshot.

“I spilled it on purpose,” she said very softly.

The man stared at her, and said nothing.

“I need help,” she continued.

“If you go around spilling drinks on strangers just to amuse yourself, you need more than help,” he said. “You need some manners, young lady.”

He turned and started to walk away.

“If you go away,” she whispered intently, “I won't tell you what number will win next at the roulette wheel.”

“And if I stay here, you'll give me the winner and I'll win a million credits?” he asked, highly amused.

“How much you win depends on how much you bet.”

The young man glanced over at the roulette table. “The wheel's spinning now,” he said. “Why don't you tell me the winning number, just as a show of good faith?”

“27,” said Penelope without hesitation.

“You're sure?”

“Yes.”

He grinned at her. “What do I get if you're wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, freezing suddenly as King Tout, who had just been dealt a losing hand, looked across the room at her. “But because you didn't believe me, you won't get anything anyway.”

“Didn't anyone ever teach you how to speak to adults?” said the man. “Because—”

“27 on the black!” announced the croupier.

Penelope resisted the urge to smile smugly at the young man.

“Luck,” he said.

“If you believe that, I won't give you the next number.”

“Why are you giving me any numbers at all?”

She waited until two men who were passing the bar momentarily obscured her from King Tout's line of vision. “I told you: I need help.”

He frowned. “You want me to bet for you?”

“No. I want you to rescue my friend and me—and don't look at me when we talk,” she added.

“What friend?” he asked, gazing around the crowded room.

“She's not here. She's on a ship that's docked outside.”

“I'm not in the rescuing business, little lady,” said the man.

“The next number will be 8,” she said suddenly.

The man waited until the ball had come to rest, and the croupier confirmed that the winning number was indeed an 8.

“Now do you believe I can tell you the winning numbers?” whispered Penelope, glancing at King Tout out of the corner of her eye, and finding that the gambler was too involved in the play of his hand to pay much attention to her.

“Very interesting,” he said, the grin gone from his face. “I would have sworn that was an honest wheel.”

“It is.”

“I don't believe it.”

“What difference does it make?” said Penelope. “Whether it's honest or not, I can tell you the winning numbers.”

He stared at her. “Every time?”

“Yes.” She glanced again at King Tout's table. “And stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

“I don't want anyone to know we're talking to each other.”

“Why are you talking to me?” he asked, quickly averting his gaze.

“I told you: I need help.”

“Why did you choose me?”

“I don't want you,” said Penelope. “I want the man you work for.”

“What makes you think I work for anyone?”

“I haven't got time to explain,” said Penelope. “But if I walked over and talked to him, they'd hurt my friend. Nobody knows who you are, so I'm talking to you instead.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about things that are none of your business, young lady,” said the man, frowning. He paused briefly. “Who do you think I work for?”

“The man with the fur boots.”

“And if you were right, why do you think he'd want to help you?”

“He doesn't want to now, but he will when you give him my message.”

“Why should I give him a message from a little girl who knows too many things?”

“Because if you don't, I'll find someone else to do it, and then he'll be mad at you.”

The young man looked over at the roulette table, then back at Penelope.

“What kind of message do you want me to give him?”