are obviously some consistent winners. That’s what worries me. If one person can keep winning, then others can-and if enough learn how, they can put this place out of business.“
Marti shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way, Mr. Phule,” she said patiently. “There’s no way around the odds. In the long run…”
“Long run? Pfui!” said Victor Phule. “Your whole business principle is wrong, and I’m going to prove it. Where do I get tokens to play these machines?”
“Right over there, Mr. Phule,” said Marti, pointing. She smiled quietly. It wasn’t the first time somebody had refused to believe the simple facts. Nor would it be the last.
Every casino in the galaxy made its money because of people who didn’t believe in the odds. It looked as if Victor Phule was about to find that out-the hard way.
Chapter 4
Journal #664
Excessive displays of zeal should always be grounds for suspicion. The religious bigot, the superpatriot, and the zealous company man have in common an emotion-loyalty to something larger than their individual interest. Loyalty to the greater cause is an emotion that everyone shares to some degree, and that in due proportion ought to be considered a good thing. But the zealots carry it to such an extreme that any reasonable person would feel a degree of embarrassment. Even more than the fanatical fixity of their loyalties, it is the lack of a sense of proportion that makes them suspect. Anyone with a balanced view of the world around him inevitably becomes to some degree a cynic: I consider myself to have an exceptionally well-balanced view of the world around me. In consequence I am frequently annoyed by the impositions of those less-balanced persons I find myself surrounded by…
The shuttle settled down roughly a kilometer south of the Legion camp. Phule and Beeker watched the landing from within the camp perimeter, then as the cloud of dust began to settle-Phule gave a signal to his driver, Gears.
The hoverjeep moved forward toward the landing site.
Ahead of them, the shuttle door was already open, and two men—presumably the hunters-were standing idly by, watching the crew piling luggage and equipment on a crawler. They’d evidently brought enough to last them twice as long as their little expedition was scheduled for-either that, or they’d assumed there wouldn’t be laundry facilities at a Legion camp. Actually, thought Phule, fastidious visitors might have been advised not to trust their clothing to the mercies of a Legion field laundry-as much to avoid the likelihood of rough handling as on account of pilferage.
With its own state-of-the-art automatic laundry facility built into the encampment module, Omega Company was miles ahead of the normal Legion standard. But the visitors could be excused for not having known that in advance.
Gears brought the hoverjeep to a halt next to the equipment crawler, and Phule leapt lightly to the ground. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m your host, Captain Jester. Welcome to Zenobia.” The men had been staring at Jester during the hoverjeep’s approach. Now one of them took the captain’s offered hand and shook it.
“Our host, eh?” he said. “Not quite the way most people describe a visit from us. But I’m glad you’re taking it in good spirits, Captain. It’ll make our work here a lot easier.”
Phule chuckled. “Work isn’t exactly how I’d describe your visit, either,” he said, heartily. “We’ve convinced the Zenobians to open up an area where no off-worlder has ever been-I’d call it virgin territory, gentlemen. It won’t be exactly a weekend in the Waldorf, but I think you’ll find it worth the effort. They tell me there are some spectacular beasts in there.”
“Opened up virgin territory?” It was a woman’s voice that replied, and Phule turned automatically to face the speaker. She was tall, with sharp features under a bowl haircut, and was dressed in