The exits were jammed. Hendley shoved and jostled his way forward, found an opening and slipped through. He rode the escalator down to the lobby, where the milling crowd again offered a human screen. He began to breathe more easily. The bar on one side of the lobby offered a natural escape route. He fought his way through the clamoring horde of drinkers and ducked out a side door. From there it was only a short distance across the grounds surrounding the Rec Hall to the moving walk. He broke into a run. He stopped at the edge of the walk to look back. The feeling of triumph drained out of him in a rush. The hulking figure of the visitor was outlined by the lights from the Rec Hall. He paused as Hendley did, regarding him impassively, no more than thirty feet away. Staring back at the stranger, for the first time Hendley felt within him the coiling presence of hatred. * * * * * Hendley was, he knew, half-drunk. The condition was becoming a habit, as indeed it was with an apparent majority of Freemen. The easy availability of liquor was a superficial reason. More pertinent was the need to dull one's senses and artificially stimulate the mind. Pleasure seemed keener when, as in a photograph, it was brought sharply into focus against a blurred background. The casino, as always, was crowded. It was therefore safe. Hendley had had only a few chips, and he had soon lost these. Now, observing the action at one of the tables, he felt boredom nibbling at him companionably like an old friend. Gambling meant nothing unless you could play. He searched the crowd for the hard, cruel face of the visitor. It was not visible. But he was there somewhere, patiently watching and waiting. You have a long wait, Hendley thought. Tomorrow you must be on the copter heading back to the city. I can wait till then. Sleep is a bore anyway, a waste. If only he had some chips! A winner at the table, raking in a pile of chips, grinned at Hendley. "No chips, friend?" he asked. "Not just at the moment," Hendley said eagerly. "But I feel lucky. I'd be glad to share my winnings if you'll stake me." The player laughed. "Your kind of luck I don't need," he said. "Why don't you try the Big Game," he added jeeringly. "You don't need chips there." "You don't?" Hendley glanced quickly at the big table in the exact center of the casino. It was inactive, as it usually was, guarded only by the silent, motionless robot-dealer. "You mean you didn't know?" the player asked. "No. How does it work?" The player shrugged with an indifference that might have been exaggerated. "It's you against the house," he said. "You have a chance to win ten thousand chips--if you feel lucky."