elaborate audio
system took up one entire wall; elsewhere, Alan saw books of all kinds,
tapes, a tiny mounted globe of light-sculpture within whose crystal
interior abstract colors flowed kaleidoscopically, a handsome robot bar.

Hawkes gestured Alan to a seat; Alan chose a green lounge-chair with
quivering springs and stretched out. He did not want to go to sleep; he
wanted to stay up half the night and talk.

The gambler busied himself at the bar a moment and returned with two
drinks. Alan looked at the glass a moment: the drink was bright yellow
in color, sparkling. He sipped it. The flavor was gentle but striking, a
mixture of two or three tastes and textures that chased each other round
Alan's tongue.

"I like it. What is it?"

"Wine from Antares XIII. I bought it for a hundred credits a bottle
last year. Still have three bottles left, too. I go easy on it; the next
ship from Antares XIII won't be in for fourteen more years."

The drink made Alan mellow and relaxed. They talked a while, and he
hardly noticed the fact that the time was getting along toward 0300 now,
long past his shiptime bunk-hour. He didn't care. He listened to every
word Hawkes had to say, drinking it in with the same delight he felt
when drinking the Antarean wine. Hawkes was a complex, many-faceted
character; he seemed to have been everywhere on Earth, done everything
the planet had to offer. And yet there was no boastfulness in his tone
as he spoke of his exploits; he was simply stating facts.

Apparently his income from gambling was staggering; he averaged nearly a
thousand credits a night, night in and night out. But a note of
plaintiveness crept into his voice: success was boring him, he had no
further goals to shoot for. He stood at the top of his profession, and
there were no new worlds for him to conquer. He had seen and done
everything, and lamented it.

"I'd like to go to space someday," he remarked. "But of course that's
out. I wouldn't want to rip myself away from the year 3876 forever. You
don't know what I'd give to see the suns come up over Albireo V, or to
watch the thousand moons of Capella XVI. But I can't do it." He shook
his head gravely. "Well, I better not dream. I like Earth and I like the
sort of life I lead. And I'm glad I ran into you, too--we'll make a good
team, you and me, Donnell."

Alan had been lulled by the sound of Hawkes' voice--but he snapped to
attention now, surprised. "Team? What are you talking ab