Chain Reaction

By BOYD ELLANBY
Illustrated by DOKTOR
Would this be the last poker game—with all life at stake and every card a mere deuce?
MacPherson shuffled the cards over and over again. His hands were almost steady.
Want to place a limit on the bets? he asked.
His two colleagues who had made the night drive with him from the University said nothing, but Rothman laughed.
Today? he said. Today, the sky's the limit.
MacPherson rested the deck on the table and watched as Rothman stood up to look through the barred window at the glittering Arizona desert. Rothman had got thinner during his months of confinement; his shoulders were bony beneath the gray hospital robe and his balding head looked like a skull.
Are you going to play? asked MacPherson. Or is poker too childish an amusement for a mathematician?
Rothman turned his back to the window. Oh, I'll play. When three old friends from the Project suddenly turn up for a visit, even a madman will string along.
Shuffling the cards again, MacPherson wished the other men would say something; it wasn't fair of them to make him carry the conversation. Professor Avery, who had cut his physics classes in order to join the morning's party, sat in glum silence. His plump face was pale, and behind thick-lensed spectacles which enlarged his eyes grotesquely, he blinked as he watched the flickering cards. Dr. Neill, from Physical Chemistry, was tapping his toe against the table leg, watching Rothman, who stood at the window, waiting.
But we can't have much of a game with only four people, said Rothman. We ought to have a fifth.