Don't ask me how this horrid illusion is produced. The engineer who invented it probably flew off on his own broom. This red devil about a meter high appeared between us and the partition separating us from the driver (there wasn't a sign of a solly receiver) and started jabbing at us with a pitchfork. "Get the Hi-Ho Habit!" it shrieked. "Everybody drinks Hi-Ho! Soothing, Habit-Forming. Deelishus! Get High with Hi-Ho!"
I shrank back against the cushions.
Girdie phoned the driver. "Please shut that thing off."
It faded down to just a pink ghost and the commercial dropped to a whisper while the driver answered, "Can't, madam. They rent the concession." Devil and noise came back on full blast.
And I learned something about tipping. Girdie took money from her purse, displayed one note. Nothing happened and she added a second; noise and image faded down again. She passed them through a slot to the driver and we weren't bothered any more. Oh, the
transparent ghost of the red devil remained and a nagging whisper of his voice, until both were replaced by another and just as faint~-but we could talk. The giant ads in the street outside were noisier and more dazzling; I didn't see how the driver could see or hear to drive, especially as traffic was unbelievably thick and heart-stoppingly fast and frantic and he kept cutting in and out of lanes and up and down in levels as if he were trying utmostly to beat Death to a hospital.
By the time we slammed to a stop on the roof of Dom Pedro Casino I figure Death wasn't more than half a lap behind.
I learned later why they drive like that. The hackle is an employee of the Corporation, like most everybody-but he is an "enterprise-employee," not on wages. Each day he has to take in a certain amount in fares to "make his nut"-the Corporation gets all of this. After he has rolled up that fixed number of paid kilometers, he splits the take with the Corporation on all other fares the rest of the day. So he drives like mad to pay off the nut as fast as possible and start making some money himself-then keeps on driving fast because he's got to get his while the getting is good.
Uncle Tom says that most people on Earth have much the same deal, except it's done by the year and they call it income tax.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure dome decree- Dom Pedro Casino is like that. Lavish. Beautiful.
Exotic. The arch over the entrance proclaims EVERY
DIVERSION IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE, and
from what I hear this may well be true. However, all
Girdie and I visited were the gaming rooms. I never saw so much money in my whole life!
A sign outside the gambling sector read:
HELLO, SUCKER!
All Games Are Honest
All Games Have a House Percentage
You CAN'T WIN!
So Come On In and Have Fun-
(While We Prove It)
Checks Accepted. All Credit
Cards Honored. Free Breakfast
and a Ride to Your Hilton When
You Go Broke. Your Host,
DOM PEDRO
I said, "Girdie, there really is somebody named Dom Pedro?"
She shrugged. "He's an employee and that's not his real name. But he does look like an emperor. I'll point him out. You can meet him if you like and he'll kiss your hand. If you like that sort of thing. Come on."
She headed for the roulette tables while I tried to see everything at once. It was like being on the inside of a kaleidoscope. People beautifully dressed (employees mostly), people dressed every sort of way, from formal evening wear to sports shorts (tourists mostly), bright lights, staccato music, click and tinkle and shuffle and snap, rich hangings, armed guards in comicopera uniforms, trays of drinks and food, nervous excitement, and money everywhere- I stopped suddenly, so Girdle stopped. My brother
Clark. Seated at a crescent-shaped table at which a beautiful lady was dealing cards. In front of him several tall stacks of chips and an imposing pile of paper money.
I should not have been startled. If you think that a six-year-old boy (or eighteen-year-old boy if you use their years) wouldn't be allowed to gamble in Venusberg, then
you haven't been to Venus. Never mind what we do in Marsopolis, here there are just two requirements to gamble: a) you have to be alive; b) you have to have money. You don't have to be able to talk Portuguese or Ortho, nor any known language; as long as you can nod, wink, grunt, or flip a tendril, they'll take your bet. And your shirt.
No, I shouldn't have been surprised. Clark heads straight for money the way ions head for an electrode. Now I knew where he had ducked out to the first night and where he had been most of the time since.
I went up and tapped him on the shoulder. He didn't look around at once but a man popped up out of the rug like a genie from a lamp and had me by the arm. Clark said to the dealer, "Hit me," and looked around. "Hi, Sis. It's all right, Joe, she's my sister."
"Okay?" the man said doubtfully, still holding my arm.
"Sure, sure. She's harmless. Sis, this is Josie Mendoza, company cop, on lease to me for tonight. Hi, Girdle!" Clark's voice was suddenly enthusiastic. But he remembered to say, "Joe, slip into my seat and watch the stuff. Girdie, this is swell! You gonna play black jack? You can have my seat."
(It must be love, dears. Or a high fever.)
She explained that she was about to play roulette. "Want me to come help?" he said eagerly. "I'm pretty good on the wheel, too."
She explained to him gently that she did not want help because she was working on a system, and promised to see him later in the evening. Girdle is unbelievably patient with Clark. I would have- Come to think of it, she's unbelievably patient with me.
If Girdie has a system for roulette, it didn't show.
We found two stools together and she tried to give me a few chips. I didn't want to gamble and told her so, and she explained that I would have to stand up if I didn't. Considering what 84 percent gee does to my poor feet I bought a few chips of my own and did just what she did, which was to place minimum bets on the colors, or on odd or even. This way you don't win, you don't lose-except that once in a long while the little ball lands on zero and you lose a chip permanently (that "house percentage" the sign warned
against). -/
The croupier could see what we were doing but we actually were gambling and inside the rules; he didn't object. I discovered almost at once that the trays of food circulating and the drinks were absolutely free-to anyone who was gambling. Girdie had a glass of wine. I don't touch alcoholic drinks even on birthdays-and I certainly wasn't going to drink Hi-Ho, after that obnoxious ad!-but I ate two or three sandwiches and asked for, and got-they had to go get it-a glass of milk. I tipped the amount I saw Girdie tip.
We had been there over an hour and I was maybe three or four chips ahead when I happened to sit up straight-and knocked a glass out of the hand of a man standing behind me, all over him, some over me.
"Oh, dear!" I said, jumping down from my stool and trying to dab off the wet spots on him with my kerchief. "I'm terribly sorry!"
He bowed. "No harm done to me. Merely soda water. But I fear my clumsiness has ruined milady's gown."
Out of one corner of her mouth Girdle said, "Watch it, kid!" but I answered, "This dress? Huh uh! If that was just water, there won't be a wrinkle or a spot in ten minutes. Travel clothes."
"You are a visitor to our city? Then permit me to introduce myself less informally than by soaking you to the skin." He whipped out a card. Girdle was looking grim but I rather liked his looks. Actually not impossibly older than I am (I guessed at twelve Mars years, or say thirty-six of his own-and it turned out he was only thirty-two). He was dressed in the very elegant Venus evening wear, with cape and stick and