"Two aces."
Rafferty looked down at his pile of chips and counted them. Eight hundred credits left. Eight hundred lousy credits.
It was just enough to book passage to Aldebaran. Rafferty slumped in his chair.
The gambler in him urged him to go on, to try to win the thirty thousand he needed and clear out. But another part of him told him it was futile; Steel was getting sharper and sharper, and it was inevitable he'd lose even the remaining eight hundred. He didn't want that to happen.
He rose stiffly.
"Had enough?" Steel asked.
"I think so."
"I hope I haven't discouraged you. We can still play some more, if you like?"
"What's the use?" Rafferty said hollowly. "I can't win. And at least this way I'll be on Aldebaran tomorrow when Walsh and his gunmen come looking for me."
"What's that?"