But I guess I won't be
needing this any more."

He tossed it in the disposal unit. "I'm an Earther now. Every day that
goes by is just one day; objective time and subjective time are equal."

Hawkes grinned cheerfully. "A little plastic doodad to tell you how old
you are, eh? Well, that's all behind you now." He pointed to a button in
the wall. "There's the operating control for your bed; I'll sleep in
back, where I did last night. First thing tomorrow we'll get you a
decent set of clothes, so you can walk down the street without having
people yell '_Spacer!_' at you. Then I want you to meet a few
people--friends of mine. And then we start breaking you in at the Class
C tables."

* * * * *

The first few days of life with Hawkes were exciting ones. The gambler
bought Alan new clothing, modern stuff with self-sealing zippers and
pressure buttons, made of filmy clinging materials that were incredibly
more comfortable than the rough cloth of his _Valhalla_ uniform. York
City seemed less strange to him with each passing hour; he studied
Undertube routes and Overshoot maps until he knew his way around the
city fairly well.

Each night about 1800 they would eat, and then it was time to go to
work. Hawkes' routine brought him to three different Class A gambling
parlors, twice each week; on the seventh day he always rested. For the
first week Alan followed Hawkes around, standing behind him and
observing his technique. When the second week began, Alan was on his
own, and he began to frequent Class C places near the A parlors Hawkes
used.

But when he asked Hawkes whether he should take out a Free Status
registration, the gambler replied with a quick, snappish, "Not yet."

"But why? I'm a professional gambler, since last week. Why shouldn't I
register?"

"Because you don't need to. It's not required."

"But I want to. Gosh, Max, I--well, I sort of want to put my name down
on something. Just to show I belong here on Earth. I want to register."

Hawkes looked at him strangely, and it seemed to Alan there was menace
in the calm blue eyes. In suddenly ominous tones he said, "I don't want
you signing your name to anything, Alan. Or registering for Free Status.
Got that?"

"Yes, but----"

"No buts! Got it?"

Repressing his anger, Alan nodded. He was used to taking orders from his
shipboard superiors and obeying them. Hawkes probably knew best. In any
case, he was dependent on the older