Tharp grinned broadly. "When anyone makes a reservation on the flight to Earth, the news gets around. It got around to me." His laughter sounded brittle in the thin atmosphere. After what seemed like years, they arrived at the outskirts of Dankor. Although it was off-limits, the police patrolled infrequently and even those patrols were publicly known schedules. Dankor was a small cluster of low crumbling buildings. The streets were littered with filth and pale Martians dressed in rags shuffled aimlessly with blank eyes as if their world had already died. Jars of brilliant fireflies on roof tops illuminated the village. Imprisoned in the transparent containers, the fluttering insects cast an eerie, pulsating glow on the dismal buildings. Farrell paused before a thick wooden door and kicked it with his right foot. "The first time I came here," he explained, "I almost broke my knuckles before they heard me." A few minutes later, the door opened. "Come in," a bony, wizened Martian invited. Tharp remained a few paces behind Farrell as they entered the room. The stench of the place made their stomachs churn sickly. A group of listless Martians sat in the center of the floor and watched a large cube-shaped object. Two Martians on opposite sides of the cube sat before small control panels. The Earthmen watched as one Martian touched a button on his control panel. A green ball inside the cube rose a few inches. The other Martian pushed a button and a brown ball at the top of the hollow cube dropped a few inches. A thin Martian with grey hair and watery eyes asked, "You vish gamble?" Farrell nodded his head affirmatively. The Martian smiled weakly and inquired in broken English, "Vhot is vager? Monee or duchal?" "What in hell is duchal?" Tharp asked. "It's hard to explain," Farrell confessed. "But, we'll have to wait until those Marties are through and you'll see what duchal is when they finish." Farrell squatted on the cold floor. Tharp sat two yards to one side. Silently they watched the Martian gamblers. Several minutes later the emaciated aliens rose from their positions behind the small control boards. "Is the game over?" Tharp asked. "Yes. See the Martian with the green tunic? He's the one who lost the game. The winner will receive a certain measure of duchal from him." * * * * * They watched intently as a strange machine was brought into the room. The two gamblers sat close to each other. A third Martian attached electrodes to their heads, then flipped a lever on the ancient, rusty machine. The Martian who lost the game grimaced with pain. A needle on the machine's single dial moved all the way to the right, then quickly returned to its original position. An expression of joy spread the victor's thin lips into a wide smile. A few seconds later, the electrodes were removed from their heads. Tharp grunted his bafflement.