"All the same," Verrick rumbled, "this chance business deposes a man for no reason and elevates an ass, a crack­pot, picked at random, without regard to ability or class."

"Our whole system is built on Minimax. Everybody is compelled to play a Minimax game or be squashed; we're forced to give up deception and adopt a rational pro­cedure."

"There's nothing rational in chance," Verrick answered angrily.

"The chance factor is a function of an overall rational pattern. In the face of random changes, no administrator can be a schemer. Everybody is forced to adopt a ran­domized reasoning: analysis of the possibilities of certain events tempered by the assumption that any machinations will be found out in advance."

"So we're a bunch of superstitious fools?" Verrick complained. "Everybody trying to read signs and har­bingers. Two-headed calves and flocks of white crows! Dependent on chance, we're losing control because we can't plan."

"How can you plan with telepaths around? They find out every move."

Verrick pointed to his great barrel chest. "There are no charms hanging round by neck. I play a game of skill, not chance. What about Pellig—that's strategy, isn't it?"

"Strategy involves deception and with Pellig nobody is going to be deceived."

"Absurd!" Verrick growled. "You've been knocking yourself out keeping the Corps from knowing about Pellig."

"That was your idea." Moore flushed angrily. "I said then, and I say now: let them all know because there's nothing they can do. If I had my way I'd announce it over television tomorrow."

"You fool," Verrick rasped, "you certainly would!"

"Pellig is unbeatable." Moore was furious at being humiliated in front of everybody. "We've combined the essence of Minimax. Taking the bottle twitch as my start­ing point I've evolved a———"