planet at one rev every five seconds ў fast enough so precession was clearly
occurring. Between it and the destination planet moved a third world, also in an
eccentric orbit. Rosas grimaced. No doubt the only reason Tellman left the
problem coplanar was that he didn't have a holo display for his Celest. Mike had
never seen anyone without a symbiotic processor play the departure/destination
version of Celest at level nine. The timer on the display showed that the player
ў the kid ў had ten seconds to launch his rocket and try to make it to the
destination. From the fuel display, Rosas was certain that there was not enough
energy available to make the flight in a direct orbit. A cushion shot on top of
everything else!
The kid laid all his bank notes on the table and squinted at the screen. Six
seconds left. He grasped the control handles and twitched them. The tiny golden
spark that represented his spacecraft fell away from the green disk of the
departure world, inward toward the yellow sun about which all revolved. He had
used more than nine-tenths of his fuel and had boosted in the wrong direction.
The children around him murmured their displeasure, and a smirk came over
Tellman's face. The smirk froze:
As the spacecraft came near the sun, the kid gave the controls another twitch, a
boost which ў together with the gravity of the primary-sent the glowing dot far
out into the mock solar system. It edged across the two-meter screen, slowing at
the greater remove, heading not for the destination planet but for the
intermediary. Rosas gave an low, involuntary whistle. He had played Celest, both
alone and with a processor. The game was nearly a century old and almost as
popular as chess; it made you remember what the human race had almost attained.
Yet he had never seen such a two-cushion shot by an unaided player.
Tellman's smile remained but his face was turning a bit gray. The vehicle drew
close to the middle planet, catching up to it as it swung slowly about the
primary. The kid made barely perceptible adjustments in the trajectory during
the closing period. Fuel status on the display showed 0.001 full. The
representation of the planet and the spacecraft merged for an instant, but did
not record as a collision, for the tiny dot moved quickly away, going for the
far reaches of the screen.
Around them, the other children jostled and hooted. They smelled a winner, and
old Tellman was going to lose a little of the money he had been winning off them
earlier in the day. Rosas and Naismith and Tellman just watched and held their
breaths. With virtually no fuel left, it would be a matter of luck whether
contact finally occurred.
The reddish disk of the destination planet swam placidly along while the mock
spacecraft arced higher and higher, slower and slower, their paths becoming
almost tangent. The craft was accelerating now, falling into the gravity well of
the destination, giving the tantalizing impression of success that always comes
with a close shot. Closer and closer. And the two lights became one on the
board.
"Intercept," the display announced, and the stats streamed across the lower part
of the screen. Rosas and Naismith looked at each other. The kid had done it.
Tellman was very pale now. He looked at the bills the boy had wagered. "Sorry,
kid, but I don't have that much here right now." He started to repeat the excuse
in Spanish, but the kid erupted with an unintelligible flood of spaЦolnegro
abuse. Rosas looked meaningfully at Tellman. He was hired to protect customers
as well as proprietors. If Tellman didn't pay off, he could kiss his lease
