Craney howled in rage. “Why … you … you. …”
And then Oliver Meek did one of those things no one ever expected him to do, least of all himself.
“I’ll bet you my spaceship,” he said, “against anything you got.”
Astonished, Craney opened his hand and let him down on the floor.
“You’ll what?” he roared.
“I’ll bet you my spaceship,” said Meek, the madness still upon him, “that Twenty-three will beat you.”
He rubbed it in. “I’ll even give you odds.”
Craney gasped and sputtered. “I don’t want any odds,” he yelped. “I’ll take it even. My moss patch against your ship.”
Someone was calling Meek’s name in the crowd.
“Mr. Meek! Mr. Meek!”
“Here,” said Meek.
“What about that story?” demanded Billy Jones, but Meek didn’t hear him.
A man was tearing his way through the crowd. It was one of the men from Twenty-three.
“Mr. Meek,” he panted, “you got to come right away. It’s Gus. He’s all tangled up with rheumatiz!”
Gus stared up with anguished eyes at Meek.
“It sneaked up on me while I slept,” he squeaked. “Laid off of me for years until just now. Limped once in a while, of course, and got a few twinges now and then, but that was all. Never had me tied up like this since I left Earth. One of the reasons I never did go back to Earth. Space is good climate for rheumatiz. Cold but dry. No moisture to get into your bones.”
Meek looked around at the huddled men, saw the worry that was etched upon their faces.
“Get a hot water bottle,” he told one of them.
“Hell,” said Russ Jensen, a hulking framed spaceman, “there ain’t no such a thing as a hot water bottle nearer than Titan City.”
“An electric pad, then.”
Jensen shook his head. “No pads, neither. Only thing we can do is pour whiskey down him and if we pour enough down him to cure the rheumatiz, we’ll get him drunk and he won’t be no more able to play in that game than he is right now.”
Meek’s weak eyes blinked behind his glasses, staring at Gus.
“We’ll lose sure if Gus can’t play,” said Jensen, “and me with everything I got bet on our team.”
Another man spoke up. “Meek could play in Gus’ place.”
“Nope, he couldn’t,” declared Jensen. “The rats from Thirty-seven wouldn’t stand for it.”
“They couldn’t do a thing about it,” declared the other man. “Meek’s been here six weeks today. That makes him a resident. Six Earth weeks, the law says. And all that time he’s been in sector Twenty-three. They wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. They might squawk but they couldn’t make it stick.”
“You’re certain of that?” demanded Jensen.
“Dead certain,” said the other.
Meek saw them looking at him, felt a queasy feeling steal into his stomach.
“I couldn’t,” he told them. “I couldn’t do it. I … I. …”
“You go right ahead, Oliver,” said Gus. “I wanted to play, of course. Sort of set my heart on that cup. Had the mantel piece all dusted off for it. But if I can’t play, there ain’t another soul I’d rather have play in my place than you.”
“But I don’t know a thing about polo,” protested Meek.
“You taught it to us, didn’t you?” bellowed Jensen. “You pretended like you knew everything there was to know.”
“But I don’t,” insisted Meek. “You wouldn’t let me explain. You kept telling me all the time what a swell coach I was and when I tried to argue with you and tell you that I wasn’t you yelled me down. I never saw more than one game in all my life and the only reason I saw it then was because I found the ticket. It was on the sidewalk and I picked it up. Somebody had dropped it.”
“So you been stringing us along,” yelped Jensen. “You been making fools of us! How do we know but you showed us wrong. You been giving us the wrong dope.”
He advanced on Meek and Meek backed against the wall.
Jensen lifted his fist, held it in front of him as if he were weighing it.
“I ought to bop you one,” he decided. “All of us had ought to bop you one. Every danged man in this here room has got his shirt bet on the game because we figured we couldn’t lose with a coach like you.”
“So have I,” said Meek. But it wasn’t until he said it that he really realized he did have his shirt bet on Twenty-three. His spaceship. It wasn’t all he had, of course, but it was the thing that was nearest to his heart … the thing he had slaved for thirty years to buy.
He suddenly remembered those years now. Years of bending over account books in the dingy office back on Earth, watching other men go out in space, longing to go himself. Counting pennies so that he could go. Spending only a dime for lunch and eating crackers and cheese instead of going out for dinner in the evening. Piling up the dollars, slowly through the years … dollars to buy the ship that now stood out on the field, all damage repaired. Sitting, poised for space.
But if Thirty-seven won it wouldn’t be his any longer. It would be Craney’s. He’d just made a bet with Craney and there were plenty of witnesses to back it up.
“Well?” demanded Jensen.
“I will play,” said Meek.
“And you really know about the game? You wasn’t kidding us?”
Meek looked at the men before him and the expression on their faces shaped his answer.
He gulped … gulped again. Then slowly nodded.
“Sure, I know about it,” he lied.
They didn’t look quite satisfied.
He glanced around, but there was no way of escape. He faced them again, back pressed against the wall.
He tried to make his voice light and breezy, but he couldn’t quite keep out the croak.
“Haven’t played it much in the last few years,” he said, “but back when I was a kid I was a ten-goal man.”
They were satisfied at that.
V
Hunched behind the controls, Meek slowly circled Gus’
