"Up the take or quit the Thorn!"

Dumped on Cadell or Bilton or another of the small worlds forming the Burdinnion. Garbage dumps mostly with little trade, no industry, scant farming and a viciously savage native life. Once kicked off the Thorn on such a world and he would starve. Too old to sell his labor, too inexperienced to wrest a living from the local terrain, he'd last only as long as his money. And the captain, damn him, would leave little of that.

A bleak prospect and one he had to improve. A decent cut from the table would grant him a reprieve and he could pad the captain's fifty percent share of the profit from his own cut. But first he had to fill the vacant seat.

"Come on!" Lissek, seated to his left, was impatient. "You're letting the deck grow cold."

"It'll warm." Cranmer was cynical. "Why be in a hurry to lose your money?"

"That's right." Varinia touched a handkerchief to lips painted a lurid scarlet. "Why be in a hurry over anything? But why the delay?"

"We need seven," said Lam. A lie and one he justified.

"It makes a better game and adds spice. Also it brings in fresh money."

"You should have told that to Deakin before he got skinned." Yalin, a wasp of a man, rapped a finger on the coins piled before him. "Come on, man, deal!"

Lam obeyed; a moving game attracted attention but his eyes weighed those lounging in the salon. The monk was out; no Brother of the Universal Church would waste time and money at the table. The young married couple had other things to interest them; after they'd swallowed their ration of basic they would vanish into their cabin. The gaunt-faced seller of symbiotes was immersed in his books and the old woman with the artificial gems had already used up her luck. Which left only two others.

"Damn!" A raddle-faced miner swore and threw down his hand. "That decides it! I'm out!"