The hologram was a map of the galaxy, including, like off-shore islands, the Magellanic Clouds. Further to one side, in an inset, was a smaller map of the Andromeda galaxy. Scarne studied the layout briefly. The minute portion controlled by human civilization was clearly marked, as was the territory of the Hadranics – the latter’s expansionist tendency being shown by thrusting arrows. The map contained other data, too: wavering coloured lines, stars indexed according to a code at the bottom of the hologram.
‘Little of this information is definite,’ Dom said. ‘We’ve gleaned it, one way and another, from Pendragon. It locates some of the civilizations in unexplored parts of the galaxy, and also some particular contact points.’
‘Contact points?’
Dom was staring raptly at the map. ‘The world, it emerges, is bigger than any of us had thought,’ he murmured. ‘There are wheels within wheels, Scarne. Wheels within wheels, worlds within worlds.’
He turned his back to the map, his manner suddenly brisker. ‘And gambling, it is clear, is by no means a preoccupation unique to humanity. Most intelligent life has a taste for it – yet one more indication, one might think, that contingency and hazard, rather than formal laws, are what lie at the root of existence. Not only that, but there is gambling on a very large scale – larger than anything our civilization can offer.’
He glanced at Scarne. ‘Given these circumstances, it shouldn’t take you long to guess that there exists an organization analogous to our own, but operating on a galactic scale, or greater: a syndicate whose operations cover thousands, if not millions, of species.’
This colossal, totally new thought was spoken so blandly that Scarne could scarcely believe he was taking in the import of Dom’s words. Yet Dom had no reason to lie. Scarne looked again at the creature in the tank… there was the evidence.
‘Oddly enough this super-syndicate also calls itself the Wheel,’ Dom ruminated, ‘possibly for the same reason – the language of symbols might well turn out to be universal. That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? Or perhaps it’s to represent the wheel of the galaxy. As yet we’re not sure whether they are restricted to this galaxy alone, or if they actually originate from outside. That’s why we’ve tried to get Pendragon to tell us something about Andromeda, but his knowledge of that quarter is sketchy.’
‘Then your game,’ Scarne said quietly, ‘is with them.’
‘Yes!’ Dom’s eyes became lustrous. ‘A game with the Galactic Wheel – that’s what this is all about. With the help of Pendragon we eventually made contact. Now we’re on the verge of setting something up.’
‘Are the Hadranics anything to do with this? I heard this training programme has something to do with the war.’
Dom shook his head. ‘We’re not interested in them. We’re thinking on a bigger scale. We aren’t the sort of people to stay huddled in our own little corner, collecting pennies, now we know what’s going on out there in the wider world. If this Galactic Wheel exists we want a piece of it. I think we’ve got what it takes to get it.’
‘How do you know you can play your way into this galactic thing?’ Scarne asked. ‘You might just stay punters. How intelligent are they? How much experience have they got? Do you even know any of this?’
Dom moved his shoulders in a sinuous motion. ‘They could be millions of years old for all we know,’ he admitted. ‘But we’ve a thousand years of experience ourselves. I think we’re out of the kindergarten stage. After all, Pendragon made the mistake of underestimating us.’ He leaned closer. ‘I taught him to play Kabala, you know. Offered him his freedom if he could beat me. But he’s quite hopeless at it. Can barely play at all.’
There was a sudden surge of movement at the back of the tank. The fluid roiled and became congested. A bunch of plastic plaques, oblong in shape, were flung towards them to splatter against the near wall of the tank, spinning and tumbling in the murk, displaying the coloured Tarot figures etched on them: Pendragon’s special pack.
‘And if this game comes off,’ Scarne said, ‘what will the stakes be?’
Dom’s expression became veiled. The hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is the big question.’
After Scarne had left for Luna, Marguerite Dom received a briefer, rarer visitor.
Historically the interview was unique, though since it was held in secret it would remain unrecorded. Never before had a meeting taken place between the Chairman of the Grand Wheel and the Premier of the Legitimacy. And even now it would have seemed unthinkable, to the public mind, that the Premier should have been the one to make the move, to request the meeting, and to travel to the demesne of Marguerite Dom.
Dom reposed himself in his main lounge to await the Premier’s arrival, permitting himself feelings neither of triumph nor of curiosity. When Premier Mheert entered, he found him to be a fair copy of the personality profile he had already studied: a white-haired man of about Dom’s age, with flinty blue eyes, a strong, prominent nose, and a face that displayed an obdurate, committed character.
They wasted no time in dispensing pleasantries. Mheert, his subdued tone expressing how burdensome he found the necessity for his visit, told Dom that the war situation was grave. Every effort would be needed to beat back the Hadranics. War production would have to be expanded. For this, industry would have to be re-directed. Otherwise there was a possibility of total military collapse.
The Legitimacy, regrettably, did not have enough practical power to achieve the necessary rationalization. Too much commercial influence – the huge stock and commodity exchanges, the banks, the commercial houses – was under the aegis of the Grand Wheel. To avert catastrophe, therefore, the Legitimacy had need of an unprecedented co-operation from the Wheel.
Dom listened to this argument coolly, and when the Premier had finished he fitted another purple cigarette into his long holder, blowing out fragrant streamers. The Grand Wheel was not a government, he pointed out, and had none of the responsibilities of a government. The conduct of the war was, entirely and absolutely, a matter for the Legitimacy.
Mheert was shocked and indignant at his refusal. ‘Do you not understand the consequences? We have our backs to the wall. We are all in this together!’
Dom made a proposal of his own. ‘You’re asking us to bail you out because you can’t handle this thing on your own,’ he said. ‘You’re asking me, in effect, to save humanity for you. All right, we’ll co-operate on the industrial side – if you can meet the price. Something reciprocal and condign.’
‘And what is that?’ asked Mheert suspiciously.
‘The Legitimacy becomes our property.’
Mheert snorted, aghast. ‘You want to own mankind!’
‘Yes!’ Dom’s eyes blazed. ‘If we pull it out of the fire, it belongs to us. We are not for hire, Premier. I’m putting you the same deal you just put me. If you want to hold off the Hadranics, move over.’
‘It is impossible. You cannot simply take over the government. There would be chaos.’
Dom’s expression mellowed. ‘We don’t want to be the government. We want the Legitimacy to stay on in that role. The only difference will be that you’ll be in thrall to us. You’ll make a secret covenant with us. Nobody will know about it for the present, maybe not ever. I don’t even say we’ll necessarily ever invoke that covenant. But it will be there if we want to.’
‘To destroy everything we have tried to achieve – to plunge humanity into disorder, superstition, random activity!’ Mheert spoke with passion – the passion of a man who had spent his life trying to construct a civilization that was durable, in control of itself, and not subject to the contingencies of nature. Always the fight had been against nature’s tendency to disorder, to chance and hazard. Mheert saw mankind as fighting a perpetual war against these destructive natural forces – and he saw the Grand Wheel as merely an extension of the same forces, capitulating to them by reason of its evil philosophy and threatening any hope for the future.