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it is serious, and they've got more money than you."

Herman felt weak and cold. This was not expected. Of course there were always speculators in the games. But Herman always paid well for his position, and because he had contributed most to the slot, when he was awake no one could buy Italy but him, as long as he offered at least fifteen percent over the last purchase price. But now the purchase price had been more than half his wealth.

"It doesn't matter," Herman told Grey. "Borrow. Liquidate. I'll give you ninety percent power of attorney. But buy Italy."

"What if they won't sell?"

Herman leaped to his feet, so that he towered (delicious!) over Grey. "They can't! They can only sell to me. They have to be speculating on stripping me. Well, let 'em. This time Italy takes over the world, Grey. And the bets won't be just seventeen percent. We'll be in for the long odds. Do you understand?"

"They don't have to sell to you, Herman," Grey said. "The player who has it isn't on somec."

"I don't care. I'll outlast them. They have to quit sometime. Pay their price. They have a price."

Grey nodded, unsure. Herman turned away, and heard Grey shuffle softly through the carpet as he left. Herman switched on the screen as his stomach churned. Italy was valuable, but only because of Herman Nuber. Only a genius could have taken that second-rate country and made it a world power. Only Herman Nuber, the greatest International Game player in history, dammit. They're just trying to rob me, Herman concluded. Well, let 'em.

And then, though he knew it would torture him, he flashed the screen through to a close-up of current military operations by the Italian Empire. There was a border skirmish in Korea. India was becoming hostile. The Italian agents were doing well at subverting Japanese rule in Arabia.

Everything's perfect, Herman said softly. In three days I can have this game flying. In three days, if I can once get Italy.

Grey didn't come or call all day. By evening, Herman was a nervous wreck. He had already had to watch as three perfect opportunities for quick, decisive action had been missed by the idiot playing Italy. Of course, that kind of thing happened all the time when Herman was on somec-- but he was asleep, he didn't have to watch. And still Grey didn't come.

The buzzer. Not Grey, since the door opened to his hand. Must be the woman. Herman stroked the release strip and the door opened. She was young and had a beautiful smile. Just what the doctor ordered.

At first, because she was beautiful and cheerful and good at her job, Herman forgot the game, or at least was able to concentrate on something else. But then, even as she tried to arouse him again, the pent-up worry flooded back, and he sat up on the bed.

"What's wrong?"

Herman shook his head.

"Too tired?"

Good a reason as any. No reason to pour out your heart to an edna.

"Yeah. I'm tired."

She sighed, leaned back again on the pillows. "Don't I know it. I get tired, too. They give me shots so I can keep going for hours, but it's so nice to get a breather."

A talker. Damn. "Want something to eat?"

"We aren't supposed to."

"Diet or something?"

"Naw. Sometimes they try to drug us."

"I won't drug you."

"Rules are rules," the woman insisted. The girl, rather.

"You're pretty young."

"Working my way through college. I'm older than I look. But they can rent me juvenile, too, so we all get more money."

Money money money. Pay for sex and you get a treatise on the state of the economy. "Look, kid, why not go now?"

"You paid for all night," she said, surprised.

"Fine. You were wonderful. But I'm tired."

"They don't like giving a refund."

"I don't want a refund."

She looked doubtful, but when he started dressing, so did she. "That's an expensive habit," she said.

"What is?"

"Paying for love and then not using up what you pay for."

"Well, right," Herman said, then added wryly, "we wouldn't want any extra love lying around, would we?"

"Everybody's a comic," she answered, but even at that the habits of the trade stayed. It was sexy, her smile and her tone of voice, and for a moment he wondered if he really wanted her to go. But then he thought of Italy and decided he'd rather be alone.

She kissed him good-bye-- it was company policy-- and then left him alone. He sat up all night, watching Italy. The imbecile was letting things go.