World of Chance

"I'm as far from satisfaction as it's humanly possible to be."

"Why?" she asked softly.

"I haven't really done anything. I thought it was the Hills, but Wakeman was right. It isn't the Hills—it's the whole society. The stench is everywhere. Getting away from the Hill system doesn't help me or anybody else." He angrily pushed his glass away. "I could simply hold my nose and pretend it isn't there. But that isn't enough. Something has to be done. The whole thing has to be pulled down. It's rotten, corrupt... ready to fall on its face. But something has to be built in its place. Tearing down isn't enough. I've got to help build up the new. I'd like to do something that will make it different for other people. I have to do something to alter things."

"Maybe you will."

"How? Where'll the chance come from? I'm still a serf. Tied down. Under oath."

"You're young. We both are. We've got years ahead of us in which to plan things." Rita lifted her glass.

Benteley smiled. "I'll drink to that." He raised his own glass and touched hers. "But not too much." His smile ebbed. "Verrick is still hanging around. I'll wait until he leaves before I do my drinking."

Rita stopped feeding bits of paper to the white-hot candle flame. "What would happen if he killed you?"

"They'd shoot him."

"What would happen if he killed my uncle?"

"They'd take away his power-card. He'd never be Quizmaster."

"He won't be Quizmaster, anyhow," Rita said quietly.

Benteley roused himself. "What are you thinking?"

"He won't go back empty-handed. He can't stop at this point." She glanced up at him, dark-eyed and serious. "It's not over, Ted. He has to kill somebody."

At that moment a shadow touched the table. He glanced up, one hand in his pocket, against his gun.

"Hello!" Eleanor Stevens said. "Mind if I join you?"

She sat down facing them, hands folded in front of her, a fixed smile on her lips. Her green eyes flashed brightly at Benteley, then at Rita. In the half-shadows her hair glowed a rust red, soft and heavy against her bare neck and shoulders.

"Who are you?" Rita asked.

Green eyes dancing, Eleanor leaned forward to light her cigarette from the candle. "Just a name. Not really a person any more. Isn't that right, Ted?"

"You better get out of here," Benteley said. "I don't think Verrick wants you with us."

"I haven't seen Verrick since I got here, except at a distance. Maybe I'll leave him. Everybody else seems to be doing it."

"Be careful," Benteley said.

"About what?" Eleanor blew a cloud of smoke. "I couldn't help hearing what you were saying. You're right." Her eyes were fixed intently on Rita; she spoke rapidly in a sharp, brittle voice. "Verrick wants you Ted, but he'll make do with Cartwright if he can't get you. He's down in his quarters trying to make up his mind. He used to have Moore handy to arrange things in a neat mathematical equation. Assign an arbitrary value of plus 50 for killing Benteley. But minus 100 for being shot in retribution. Assign an arbitrary value of plus 40 for killing Cartwright. But a minus 50 for losing his power-card. Both way he loses."

Benteley agreed warily. "He loses both ways."

"Here's another," Eleanor said brightly. "I thought this one up myself." She nodded merrily to Rita. "I mean, you thought it up. But I made up the equation. Assign an arbitrary value of plus 40 for killing Cartwright. And then try this. Assign a minus 100 by Cartwright for being killed. That takes care of that part; that's for Reese. Then there's my own, but that's not much."

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Rita said indifferently.

"I do!" Benteley said. "Look out!"

Eleanor had already moved. On her feet like a cat, she grabbed up the aluminium candle and ground the tube of bubbling flame into Rita's face.

Benteley slammed the candle away. With a ti

Benteley turned quickly to Rita O'Neill. "I'm all right," Rita said between clenched teeth. "The candle went out and she didn't get me with the pin. Better try to catch her."

People on all sides were leaping up and hurrying over. Eleanor had already disappeared.

"Go on," Rita cried, her hands over her face, elbows resting against the table. "You know where she's going. You know what he'll do to her."

Benteley ran into the corridor and towards the descent lift. A moment later he emerged on the ground level. At the far end of the corridor he saw a flash of green and red. He raced forward, turned a corner — and stopped dead.

Eleanor Stevens stood facing Reese Verrick. "Listen to me," she was entreating. "It's the only way." Her voice rose in shrill panic. "Reese, for mercy's sake believe me. Take me back! I'm sorry. I left you but I won't do it again. I'm bringing you this, aren't I?"

Verrick saw Benteley. He smiled slightly as he reached out to seize Eleanor's wrist with his iron-hard fingers. "We're back together. All three of us."

"You've got it wrong," Benteley said to him. "She didn't mean to betray you. She's loyal."

"I don't think so," Verrick said. "She's no good."

"Then let her go."

Verrick considered. "No," he said finally.

"Reese!" the girl wailed. "I told you what they said! I told you how you can do it—now! I made it possible, so take me back, please take me back!"

"I can do it. But I had already worked it out."

Benteley stepped in fast, but not fast enough.

"Ted!" Eleanor screamed. "Help me!"

Verrick swept her up and lugged her in three giant strides to a precipitous drop beyond which was dead bleakness. Verrick lifted the screaming, struggling girl high and with one quick movement threw her sprawling into eternity.

She stumbled and fell into rubble and rock, arms flailing, face distorted, eyes bulging. For one pleading instant she looked towards Benteley.

Numbed, Benteley plucked out his gun. Shaeffer knocked it from his hand. "No good—she's dead!"

Benteley nodded. "Yes, I know and Verrick is going to get away with it."

He moved away to stumble on to the ascent ramp.

Footsteps and heavy breathing sounded behind him and the ramp shuddered under a great weight. Verrick had followed.

"Wait a minute, Benteley," he said. "I'll come along with you. I have a business transaction I think Cartwright will be interested in."

Verrick waited until Judge Waring, muttering and fumbling with his chair, had seated himself. Opposite him Cartwright sat straight and white-faced.

"How's your niece?" Verrick asked.

"She'll be all right," Cartwright said, "thanks to Benteley."

"Yes," Verrick agreed. "I always thought Benteley could act when necessary. It was her face Eleanor struck for?"

"Surgeons can fix her up. It didn't get to her eyes; mostly her skin and hair."

Benteley couldn't stop looking at Reese Verrick, calm and collected. His breathing had returned to normal; his face had a mottled look but his hands had stopped trem­bling.

"What do you want?" Cartwright asked him. He turned to Judge Waring. "I don't know what this is about."

"Neither do I," Judge Waring agreed crossly. "What is this, Reese? What have you got on your mind?"

Verrick explained. "I have a proposal to offer Cart­wright. I want you to hear it out and see that it's legal." He placed his gun on the table in front of him. "We've come to a dead end. You can't kill me, Leon; that would be murder. The death of Eleanor will be ignored—she was in an important social category."