The major whirled his cup once more, then downed its contents quickly. "I--uh--understand you took the Big Gamble." He paused to see how his opening would be accepted. Klythe nodded. "I was honored to be chosen; how could I refuse?" Crayley was enjoying the scene immensely. Both of the men were distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm afraid I would have been--uh, well--afraid." "Perhaps I was," Klythe said softly. "But I don't know. That whole year of my life is gone. That's why they call it the Big Gamble, you know; you bet one year of your life against the chance that you'll get an additional century or two. I don't know whether I was frightened or not." "I'm very happy for you," said the major, closing the subject. Crayley held out his cup for another drink. The Big Gamble had paid off for Berin Klythe. The year-long physical reconstruction had not resulted in his death, as it had for so many. But Klythe's gamble hadn't paid off for Lewis Crayley. Klythe held the Directorship. Crayley was in line for the position. Klythe would never leave of his own accord. It came out as a simple equation in symbolic logic. Before Klythe had been offered the chance for the Big Gamble, Crayley had been content to wait. At sixty, Klythe had been thirty years older than Crayley. Normally, he would have retired at seventy-five. He would have another forty years of life to go, but they would not be productive years. But if you survived the Big Gamble, you were in better health, both physically and mentally, than you had been at twenty-five. By the time Klythe was ready to retire, Crayley would be dead. Therefore, Klythe had to go. * * * * * The three men finished their drinks; the major shook hands all around, and left quietly. Klythe's eyes narrowed as he looked at the door through which the Space Force officer had departed. "Running in their own recording technicians on us, eh, Lew? Well, by God, we'll see about that! They'll be working under me; I'll make 'em jump!" "Jump it is, Berin." Crayley's voice was quiet, but his blood was singing. The Space Force Research Command team delivered the original two days later. It was obvious that the thing was not a drive generator. The sub-nucleonic converter had been elongated along the acceleration axis and reduced a bit in diameter. Evidently the Space Force wanted a high-velocity beam without much actual volume of energy. The thing looked like an over-decorated length of sewer pipe instead of having the normal converter's barrel shape. Crayley himself had accepted delivery of the original. He wanted to have a good look at it before Klythe did. He prowled around it, a handful of schematic prints in his hand, checking the symbols on the schematic against the reality of the converter before him. For the first time in his life, he wished he knew the theory behind a converter. That wasn't his job, of course, but he had a hunch it would be useful knowledge.