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ident symbol transmitted to a local control station and checked for authenticity. He also knew that the
false tag would easily pass this test but that on the ten-hours recap in six more hours against the
master curve, the deception would be caught. A dummy tag, proof against visual examination, would
have cost no more than a hundred Q's as against the ten M price tag of the model he wore, but the
investment had bought him three hundred and sixty minutes of freedom on Level Blue One. It was worth
it. With a casual nod, Bailey brushed past the guards, lifted a finger to summon the heli whose operator
had been dozing at the curb. Sinking back in the contoured seat, he directed the man to take him to the
Apollo.
"Surface," he added. "Briskly, but not breakneck, you understand."
In spite of himself, his heart was beginning to thump now with a gathering sense of anticipation. It was
not too late, still, to turn back. But once he set foot inside the Apollo Club, the lightest penalty he could
hope for if apprehended was a clean cortical wipe and retraining to gangman. The thought flickered and
was forgotten. The business at hand outweighed all else. Already, Bailey's mind had leaped ahead to the
next stage of the adventure. It was a long way from street level to the penthouse of the Blue Tower; but
when the moment came, he would know what to do.
20
The doorman at the Apollo Club stepped smoothly forward as Bailey came up the wide steps between
the white columns. With an easy gesture, Bailey flipped up his swagger stick in a seemingly casual swing
which would have jabbed the attendant in the navel if he had continued his glide into Bailey's path. As the
man checked, Bailey was past him.
"Send Wilf along, smartly now," Bailey ordered as the doorman, recovering his aplomb with an effort,
fell in at his left and half a pace to the rear.
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"Wilf? Why, I believe Wilf is off the premises at the moment, sir. Ah, sir, if I might inquire "
"Then get him on the premises at once!" Bailey said sharply, and cut abruptly to his right, causing the
fellow to scramble again to overtake him. He gave the man a critical glance. "Have you been popping on
duty, my man?"
"Wha no, no indeed, sir, indeed not, m'lord!"
"Good. Then be off with you." Bailey made shooing motions. The man gulped and hurried away. Bailey
went down shallow steps into a long unoccupied room where soft lights sprang up at his entry. At the
autobar, he punched a Mist Devil, sipped the deceptively smooth, purple liquor, simultaneously
wondering at its subtle flavor and savoring it with familiar delight.
There were pictures on the wall, gaudy patterned space work for the most part, with here and there an
acceptable early perforationist piece incongruous among the shallow daubs that flanked it. Bailey found
himself clucking in disapproval. He turned as soft footfalls sounded behind him. A small, dapper man was
hurrying toward him across the wide rug, a small, crooked smile on his narrow face. He bobbed his head
almost perfunctorily.
"Wilf to serve you, sir," he piped in an elfin voice.
"I'm Jannock," Bailey said pleasantly. "I have some minutes to dispose of. I was told you'd show me
about."
"A privilege, sir." Wilf glanced at the painting before which Bailey was standing. "I see you admire the
work of Plinisse," he said. "The club has been fortunate enough to acquire a number "
"Frightful stuff," Bailey said flatly. "You've a few decent Zanskis, badly hung and lighted."
Wilf gave him an alert glance. "Candidly, I agree, sir if you'll forgive the presumption."
"Suppose we take a look at your famous gaming rooms," Bailey said patronizingly.
"Of course." The little man led the way through a wide court with an illuminated fountain of dyed water,
along a gallery with a vertiginous view of dark forest land far below whether genuine or a projection,
Bailey didn't know.
"There are few members about so early, sir," Wilf said as they entered the garishly decorated hall for
which the Apollo was famous. Chromatic light dazzled and glittered from scores of elaborate gambling
machines, perched tall and intricate on the deep-rugged floor. A few men in modishly-cut garb lounged at
the bar. Couples were seated at a handful of the tables on the raised dais at the far end of the room. Soft,
plaintive music issued from an invisible source.
Genuinely fascinated, Bailey circled the nearest apparatus, studying the polished convolutions of the
spiral track along which a glass ball rolled at a speed determined by the player. The object, he knew,
was to cause the missile to leap the groove at the correct moment to place it in the pay-off slot of the disk
rotating below it the disk also being controlled by the player. The knowledge flashed into Bailey's mind
that hundreds of M's changed hands every minute the device was in play.
"Looks simple enough," he said.
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