After all, he himself had been non-B once. He had obtained title to real estate the only way legally possible: he had posted his name and then waited for a Bindman somewhere to die. He had followed the rules set up by the vugs, had guessed a particular day, month and year. And sure enough, his guess had been lucky; on May 4, 2143, a Bind-

man named William Rust Lawrence had died, killed in an auto accident in Arizona. And Pete had become his heir, inherited his holdings and entered his Game-playing group.

The vugs, gamblers to the core, liked such chancy systems for inheritance. And they abhorred cause and effect systems.

He wondered what Mrs. McClain's first name was. Certainly she was pretty, he thought. He had liked her despite her peculiar bitter attitude, like the way she looked, carried herself. He wished he knew more about the McClain family; perhaps they had once" been Bindmen and had been wiped out. That would explain it.

I could ask around, he thought. After all, if they have three children they're certainly quite well known. Joe Schilling hears everything. I can ask him.

IV

"SURE," Joseph Schilling said, leading the way through the dusty utter disorder of his record shop to the living quarters behind. "I know Patricia McClain. How'd you happen to run into her?" He turned questioningly.

Pete said, "The McClains are living in my bind." He managed to thread a passage among the piles of records, packing cartons, letters, catalogues and posters from the past. "How do you ever find anything in this place?" he asked Joe Schilling.

"I have a system," Schilling said vaguely. "I'll tell you why Pat McClain's so bitter. She used to be a B, but she was barred from The Game." "Why?"