“They might at that,” a thought, Camelon’s thought, comes into your mind, “but you won’t be there to give them those clues and tell them what offensive weapon to fear. Or the deadline they’ll have to meet.”
“They’ll know something happened if they find me dead here,” you think.
“Of course. And as we are taking along your books and apparatus for study they’ll know beings from outside were here. But they won’t know our plans, our capabilities, where we come from. They won’t develop this defense of which you were thinking.”
“Better take no more chances with him,” Borl thinks at Camelon.
“Right. Look at me, Bobthayer.” You look at him and his eyes suddenly seem to grow monstrous and you can’t move although it isn’t the same type of paralysis as before and you suddenly realize that you are being hypnotized. Camelon thinks, “You can no longer harm us physically in any way.”
And you can’t. It’s as simple as that. You know you can’t and that’s that. They could all lie down on the floor and go to sleep and you could have a machine-gun in your hand and you couldn’t pull the trigger once.
Camelon thinks at Borl, “No chance of his doing anything now that I’ve done that. We may yet learn more things of value from him.”
“Shall we choose the things we are to take with us when Dral returns with the ship?”
You gather that Dral is one of them and that he has gone somewhere in the spaceship in which they came, which accounts for the fact that there was no ship in sight when the Relief landed. You wonder where Dral has gone and why. Probably to look over the bases being started for the rockets to Mars -while the others study the contents of this dome. A casual affirmative thought from David gives you confirmation of your guess.
Camelon is thinking to Borl, “No hurry. He will not be back for hours and it will not take us long. We take all books, all apparatus, nothing else.”
THERE is a thought at the back of your mind and you try to keep it there. You try not to think about it. It’s not really a thought—it’s the thought that there may possibly be a thought if you dig for it and you don’t dare dig because they’ll catch you at it and know the thought as soon as you do. Deliberately you think away from it. Maybe your subconscious will work out something from it without even you recognizing the score…
It’s got something to do with their love of gambling, the fact that the only honor they have has-to do with gambling. Think away from it quickly. None of them look your way—the thought was too vague for them to catch. And it hasn’t anything to do with harming them—you know you can’t do that now. ‘ -
You sit down and you’re bored. You. think about being bored so that if they tune in on your mind that’s what they’ll get. And you really are bored that’s the funny part of it. You’re waiting for them to kill you but it’s going to be hours yet and there’s nothing you can do about it—not even think about it constructively.
You wish there were something to do to fill in the time. These guys like to gamble, don’t they? A poker game, maybe. Good old-fashioned poker. Wonder if they’d be any good at it?
But how could you play poker with people who could read your mind? The thought, “What is poker?” flashes at you.
You answer simply by letting yourself think of the rules of poker, the values of the hands, the excitement of the game and the thrill of running a bluff. And then, sadly, that it wouldn’t be possible for them to play it because of their telepathic abilities.
“As he thinks of it, Camelon,” Borl thinks, “it seems tremendously fascinating. Why shouldn’t we try it? A new gambling game would be a wonderful thing to take back to Tharngel—almost as good as the news of two habitable planets if the game is a success.
And we can keep up our second-degree barriers so that no thoughts can be sent or received.”
Camelon—“It’s risky with an alien.”
“We know his capabilities and they are slight. You’ve put him under compulsion not to harm us. And at any move of his we can lower the barriers instantly.”
Camelon stares at you. You try not 1 to think but you can’t not think at all, so you concentrate on the fact that there is a box of games equipment in a certain locker, that it includes cards and chips. It is there because occasionally this dome has been occupied by two or even three men if the research , project they were involved in was a very brief one.
“What about stakes ?” Camelon wonders. “Among us we could use Tharn money. Your money if—no, you have none with you, I perceive, because you thought it would be of no use to you here—and anyway your money would be useless to us, ours to you.”
You laugh. “You’re going to take my books and equipment anyway. Why not win them if you’re smart enough.”
You underlie it with the thought that probably’ they’re too stupid to play poker well and that they’d probably cheat if they did play. You feel the waves of anger, untranslatable because 1 they don’t need translation—anger is the same in any language. Maybe you went too far.
“Get the cards,” Camelon says. And you realize that he said it aloud, in English. You wonder—and then realize that you’ve been asking all your questions by wondering and that this one isn’t being answered.
You ask, “You speak English?”
“Don’t be stupid, Bobthayer. Of course we can speak English after our study of your mind. And of course we can speak—it’s simply such an inconvenient method of communication that we use it only under special circumstances such as this. Our barriers are up—we can no longer read your mind or you ours.”
The big table serves. Borl is counting out chips. Camelon tells him to issue you chips to the extent of a thousand units on the books and equipment. You wonder how much a unit is and whether you’re being gypped or not but nobody answers unasked questions anymore.
Maybe they aren’t kidding—maybe the barriers are really up and will stay up while the game is on. Come to think of it they probably will. Poker wouldn’t be enjoyable otherwise. Just the same you don’t let yourself think too much about anything important—such as your subconscious reason for having wanted this poker game. They might be testing you now even if they intend to maintain their barriers while the game is actually on, while the chips are really down.
You start to play. You deal first to show them how. Draw, jacks to open. Nobody gets openers and the deal passes to Borl. You have to answer a few questions, explain a few minor points out loud in answer to spoken questions. Borl is awkward handling the cards—you wonder that a race of gamblers hasn’t discovered playing cards.
Nobody explains. Borl deals and you get queens. You open. Borl and Camelon stay. You don’t improve the queens but you bet twenty units. Camelon has drawn three cards and after’ Borl drops his hand Camelon calls. He’s caught a third trey to his original pair and he wins the pot.
They’ve got the idea all right—you’d better concentrate on playing good poker. You concentrate on it. You have to because they’re good. And every indication is that they’re on the level, playing square with you. Once, with a busted flush, you push in a fifty-unit bluff and you aren’t called although David shows openers.
ONCE you spike an ace to a pair of gentlemen and draw an ace and a king for a full. You bet a-hundred and Borl calls you on a ten-high straight. The call almost breaks Borl. He buys chips—and has to buy them from you because all the chips in the rack have been sold.