Andra's Jewel jumped and made slow progress to Andra station.  Ten grateful first-class passengers disembarked and the Kontrin did not.  The majority of lower-deck passengers left; more arrived, short-termers, for Jim, and three first-class, bound for Meron.  The game in the salon stood at eighty-four and eighty-six.

The Jewel crept outward in real-space, for Jim; again for Sitan and the barrenness of Orthan's moons; made jump, for glittering Meron.  Such passengers who remained, initiates of the original company, were dismayed that the Kontrin did not leave at Meron: there had even been wagers on it.  The occupation of the salon continued uninterrupted.

The score stood at two hundred forty-two to two hundred forty-eight.

"Do you want to retire?"  Kont' Raen asked when the game stood even.  "I've had my enjoyment of this.  I give you the chance."

Jim shook his head.  He had fought his way this far.  Hope existed in him; he had never held much hope, until now.

Kont' Raen laughed and won the next hand.

"You should have taken it," an azi said to Jim that night.  "Kontrin don't sell their azi when they're done with them.  They terminate them, whatever their age.  It's their law."

Jim shrugged.  He had heard so already.  Everyone had had to tell him so.  He worked the dice in his clenched hand and sat down on the matting of the azi quarters.  He cast them again and again obsessively, trying the combinations as if some magic could change them.  He no longer had duties on the ship.  The Kontrin had marked his fatigue and bought him free of duties.  He was no longer subject to ration: if he wanted more than his meals, he did not have to rely on tips to buy that extra.  He seldom chose to go beyond ration, all the same, save once or twice when he had been far ahead and his appetite improved.  He cast the dice now, against some vague superstition formed of these empty days.  He played himself, to test his run of luck.

He could not have quit, the game unfinished, could not go back to the others, to being one of them, and exist without knowing what he had given up.  He would always think that he might have been free and rich.  That would always torment him.  The Kontrin had sensed this, and therefore she had laughed.  Even he could understand the irony.