Farrell nodded his head affirmatively.
The Martian smiled weakly and inquired in broken English, "Vhot is
vager? Monee or duchal?"
"What in hell is duchal?" Tharp asked.
"It's hard to explain," Farrell confessed. "But, we'll have to wait
until those Marties are through and you'll see what duchal is when they
finish."
Farrell squatted on the cold floor.
Tharp sat two yards to one side.
Silently they watched the Martian gamblers.
Several minutes later the emaciated aliens rose from their positions
behind the small control boards.
"Is the game over?" Tharp asked.
"Yes. See the Martian with the green tunic? He's the one who lost the
game. The winner will receive a certain measure of duchal from him."
* * * * *
They watched intently as a strange machine was brought into the room.
The two gamblers sat close to each other. A third Martian attached
electrodes to their heads, then flipped a lever on the ancient, rusty
machine.
The Martian who lost the game grimaced with pain.
A needle on the machine's single dial moved all the way to the right,
then quickly returned to its original position.
An expression of joy spread the victor's thin lips into a wide smile.
A few seconds later, the electrodes were removed from their heads.
Tharp grunted his bafflement.
"Duchal," Farrell explained quickly, "means an expression of sorrow or
pain. By means of that machine, the winner was able to receive in his
brain the sensation of the loser's physical and mental agony at losing
the game."
"That's what they were betting?" Tharp asked unbelievingly.
"Yes. It's the same principle as humans who play games merely for
the disappointed expression on the loser's face. The Martians do it
a little differently: they have a machine that transmits the loser's
pain into the victor's brain. The Martians are constructed in such a
way that the agony of another person, implanted in their minds, is very
pleasant to them."
"They must be crazy!"
Farrell shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. Anyway, you have a choice. You
can bet the thousand dollars or a certain amount of duchal."
"If we bet duchal and lost, we'd only have to pay the Martians a
little ... sensation of agony at losing the game?"
"Right."
Tharp laughed. "Hell, let's bet duchal. That'd be better than losing a
thousand bucks if we should lose the game." He slipped his hand into a
pocket and the cloth bulged in Farrell's direction. "And we'd better
win!"
_What's the difference?_ Farrell thought. _If we win or lose, you'll
kill me. You can't leave me alive to report you to the police!_
"You can play the game," Farrell suggested. "I'll tell you what buttons
to push."
"Okay. Tell the Martians we want to bet an amount of duchal worth five
thousand. How much would that be on the dial on that gimmick?"
Farrell pointed at the graduation to the extreme right of the dial.
"See that line? That would be worth five thousand in duchal. The same
amount the Martian bet."
Tharp smiled as he remembered how easily the Martian gambler had paid
that amount of duchal. If they lost the game, he'd have no trouble
paying the gambling debt.
"Five thousand," Farrell told the waiting Martian. "We'll bet duchal."
The Martian smiled happily, disappeared for a few minutes and returned
with a large bag.
Without ceremony he spilled the contents on the stone floor.
Tharp gasped when he saw the golden earrings, cups, anklets, rings and
bracelets studded with diamonds. They were easily worth more than eight
thousand dollars.
"Why the hell are they living in dumps like this when they have that
kind of stuff? They could buy--" He hesitated as if the incompleted
sentence indicated an infinite list of articles.
"It means nothing to them," Farrell explained. "They have a different
monetary system. Most Martians are so poor, even the rich ones can't
buy anything more valuable than food, clothes and shelter. And the
Martians are too stubborn to trade with Earthmen."
He reflected idly that on all of Mars the only place where the two
races associated was in gambling rooms like this. Even there, the
Martians' attitude was stiff and business-like.
The group of aliens shuffled about uneasily, impatient for the game to
begin.
"You ready to start?" Farrell asked.
"Sure."
* * * * *
"The object of the game is to get those balls at the top of the cube to
the bottom level. The Martian will try to get the ones at the bottom to
the top. The balls are governed by the control panels. It's like three
dimension Chinese checkers."
"Sasush rhakol," a Martian said loudly.
"The game has started. Push the top green button."
Tharp thrust with a grimy finger.
The game lasted several minutes. Each time it was their turn to move,
Farrell told Tharp what button to push. Even while the game progressed,
the husky man watched Farrell out of the corners of his eyes. Farrell
realized that even with the distraction of the game, he'd have no
chance to launch a surprise attack on his enemy.
Finally the Martian gambler rose. His colorless lips spread in a wide
grin of anticipation.
"We lost!" Tharp exclaimed.