World of Chance

"You knew I'd sworn loyalty to him?"

Davis's kindly face beamed up at Benteley. "I hope that means you'll be moving over here."

"Why?"

Davis blinked. "Well, because then we'll see more of you and Julie."

"I haven't been living with Julie for six months," Benteley said impatiently. "That's all off. She's on Jupiter as a work-camp official."

"I didn't know. I haven't seen you for two years."

"I came over with Verrick and his staff." Benteley's voice hardened. "When Oiseau-Lyre released me I headed for Batavia. I wanted to get out of the Hill system once and for all. I went straight to Reese Verrick."

"You did the right thing."

"Verrick tricked me! He was out of the Directorate completely. I knew somebody was bidding for the Hills. I wanted nothing to do with it—and now look!" Benteley's resentment increased. "Instead of getting away from it I'm where it's dirtiest."

Indignation crept into Davis's tolerant face. "Some of the nicest people I know are Verrick's serfs."

"People who don't care how they make money."

"You want to penalize Verrick because he's a success? He's made this Hill; is it his fault nobody else can operate like he can? There's a natural selection and evolution. Those who can't survive fall by the way."

"Verrick fired our research labs."

"Our? You're with Verrick, now!" Davis's indignation boiled over. "Verrick is your protector and you're stand­ing here——"

"All right, boys," Laura exclaimed, back from her kitchen. "Di

Benteley pulled up a couple of chairs and sat down moodily.

"Don't look so sad," Laura said to him. "See what you're getting to eat. Aren't you living with Julie any more? I'll bet you eat at restaurants where they serve that awful protine stuff."

Benteley said presently: "When I saw you last you were living in a Hill dormitory. But you weren't married then."

"Remember when you and I were living together?" Laura asked. "That wasn't more than a month."

"A little under a month," Benteley agreed. He relaxed somewhat, thawed by the smell of hot food, the bright living-room, the pretty woman sitting opposite him. "That's when you were still under fealty to Oiseau-Lyre, before you lost your classification."

Benteley listened to the television between conversations, his mind on only half of what Laura and Al were saying.

"... Quizmaster Cartwright has a

"Bad security risk," Laura murmured. "That's what they always say."

"... Convention plans are booming. Applications are flooding the Convention Board and the Westinghouse Hill office. Reese Verrick, the former Quiz­master, has agreed to handle the technical details that will set in motion the most spectacular event of the decade."

"Is old Judge Waring still on the Board?" Laura asked Al. "He must be a hundred years old."

"He won't resign, not until he's dead."

"But he knows everything about the Challenge," Laura said.

The television had changed a

"... Reese Verrick's offer of a million dollars has galvanized the Convention proceedings. Statisticians estimate a record number of applications. Everybody is eager to try his hand at the most daring role in the system, the greatest risk and the highest stakes. The eyes of six billion people on nine planets are turned on the Westinghouse Hill tonight. Who will be the first assassin? Out of these many brilliant applicants, representing all classes and Hills, who will be the first to try his hand for the prize and the acclamation of a whole civilization?"

"How about you?" Laura said suddenly to Benteley. "Why don't you put in an application?"

"Not my line!"

"Make it your line! Al, haven't we that big tape they put out—all the successful assassins of the past, their lives and everything about them? Show it to Ted." "I've seen it," Benteley said curtly.

"... Experts predict that the first assassin will have a seventy-thirty chance of destroying Quizmaster Cartwright and wi

Laura leaned contentedly back, a cigarette between her fingers, and smiled at Benteley.

"Think you'll move your things here to Chemie? You could stay with us until you find a decent place."

Al picked a date from a bowl. He ate it slowly. "Too sweet. What planet's it from? Venus? It tastes like one of those pulpy Venusian fruits."

"It's from Asia Minor," Laura said.

"Here on Earth? Who muted it?"

"Nobody; it's a natural fruit. From a palm tree."

Benteley got slowly to his feet. "Laura, I have to get going."

Al rose in amazement. "Why?"

"I have to collect my things from Oiseau-Lyre."

Al thumped him on the shoulder. "You're one of Verrick's serfs now; give the Hill traffic office a call and they'll arrange it."

"I'd rather do it myself," Benteley said.

"Why?" Laura asked, surprised.

"Less things get broken," Benteley evaded.

Al went on: "You'd better get your stuff here as soon as possible. Sometimes Verrick wants a person quickly, and when he wants you quickly———"

"The hell with Verrick!" Benteley snapped.

Their shocked looks followed him as he moved from the table.

"... more than ten thousand already, from all parts of Earth. Judge Waring's a

Al whistled appreciatively. "Verrick doesn't waste any time."

Benteley crouched down and snapped the television off. The sounds and images faded as he rose to his feet.

"You mind?" he asked. "I'm tired of the Convention and everything about it."

"It won't be for a time, anyhow," Al said, seeking to smooth things out. "They're still testing equipment."

"I went to Batavia expecting to get in on something big," Benteley continued. "Something beyond people grabbing for power, struggling to get to the top of the heap over each other's dead bodies."

Al Davis extended a chubby finger.

"Reese Verrick will be back in the number One spot inside a week. His money picks the assassin. The assassin is under fealty to him. When he kills this Cartwright per­son the limelight returns to Verrick. Wait a week, man. It'll be back the way it was."

Laura appeared at the doorway, her face flooded with peevish anxiety. "Al, couldn't we get the Convention? I can hear Judy Klein's set down the hall and they're choos­ing the assassin now!"

"I'll turn it on," Benteley said wearily. "I'm going, anyhow." He snapped on the power and as he moved to­wards the front door a thick voice swelled from the speakers out into the room.

"Oh, heavens!" Laura moaned, "it's that Sam Oster. Turn him off and get the Convention!"

Benteley closed the door, and with the grumble of Oster's voice still in his ears plunged down the dark path.

Sitting at his desk, his script gripped in his beefy, thick-fingered hands, his bull-neck jutting forward, his square face set in a rigid block, Sam Oster addressed his invisible audience with great care, picking each word with studied precision and letting it grind out harshly and methodically.

The engineers monitoring the transmission were follow­ing the Convention on another cha