DEATHWORLD
BY HARRY HARRISON
ason dinAlt sprawledin soft luxury on thecouch, a large frostystein held limply inone hand. His otherhand rested casually on a pillow. Thegun behind the pillow was withineasy reach of his fingers. In his lineof work he never took chances.
It was all highly suspicious. Jasondidn't know a soul on this planet.Yet the card sent by service tubefrom the hotel desk had read: KerkPyrrus would like to see Jason dinAlt.Blunt and to the point. He signaledthe desk to send the man up, thenlowered his fingers a bit until theybrushed the gun butt. The door slidopen and his visitor stepped through.
A retired wrestler. That was Jason'sfirst thought. Kerk Pyrrus wasa gray-haired rock of a man. Hisbody seemingly chiseled out of flatslabs of muscle. Then Jason saw thegun strapped to the inside of theother man's forearm, and he let hisfingers drop casually behind thepillow.
"I'd appreciate it," Jason said, "ifyou'd take off your gun while you'rein here." The other man stopped andscowled down at the gun as if he wasseeing it for the first time.
"No, I never take it off." He seemedmildly annoyed by the suggestion.
Jason had his fingers on his owngun when he said, "I'm afraid I'llhave to insist. I always feel a littleuncomfortable around people whowear guns." He kept talking to distractattention while he pulled out hisgun. Fast and smooth.
He could have been moving inslow motion for all the difference itmade. Kerk Pyrrus stood rock stillwhile the gun came out, while itswung in his direction. Not until thevery last instant did he act. When hedid, the motion wasn't visible. Firsthis gun was in the arm holster—thenit was aimed between Jason's eyes.It was an ugly, heavy weapon with apitted front orifice that showed plentyof use.
And Jason knew if he swung hisown weapon up a fraction of an inchmore he would be dead. He droppedhis arm carefully and Kerk flippedhis own gun back in the holster withthe same ease he had drawn it.
"Now," the stranger said, "ifwe're through playing, let's get downto business. I have a proposition foryou."
Jason downed a large mouthfulfrom the mug and bridled his temper.He was fast with a gun—his life haddepended on it more than once—andthis was the first time he had beenoutdrawn. It was the offhand, unimportantmanner it had been done thatirritated him.
"I'm not prepared to do business,"he said acidly. "I've come to Cassyliafor a vacation, get away from work."
"Let's not fool each other, dinAlt,"Kerk said impatiently. "You've neverworked at an honest job in your entirelife. You're a professional gamblerand that's why I'm here to seeyou."
Jason forced down his anger andthrew the gun to the other end of thecouch so he wouldn't be tempted tocommit suicide. He had hoped noone knew him on Cassylia and waslooking forward to a big kill at theCasino. He would worry about thatlater. This weight-lifter type seemedto know all the answers. Let him plotthe course for a while and see