“Yes, but food’s short. They’re going hungry. In this place, going hungry means you slow down and here, Raja Thomas, if you slow down you die. And maybe someone else dies because of it.”

“Do you do it?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” her skin glowed red, “when I can afford the time.”

She followed Thomas as he strolled toward the crew, pulled the sleeve of his singlesuit to stop him short.

“There’s more.”

“What?”

“It requires an even number of players, men or women. Each one buys into The Game with a certain number of food chits. They pair off any way they wish, and each one draws a wihi stick from a basket. They compare, and the longest stick wins a round. The shorter stick of the pair is eliminated, so those drawing the longer sticks pair up. They draw again, and so on until there is only one couple.”

“What about the food chits?”

“The players up the ante every round, so if there are a lot of people, The Game gets pretty expensive.”

“Does the last couple divide the chits?”

“No, they draw again. The one who draws the longer stick wins the chits.”

“That seems boring enough.”

“Yes.”

She hesitated, then: “The short stick runs the perimeter.”

She said it offhand, without as much as a blink.

“You mean they run around the outside . . .?” His thumb hung in the air over his shoulder.

She nodded. “They run it naked.”

“But they can’t possibly . . . that’s almost ten kilometers out in the open . . .”

“Some make it.”

“But why? Not for food, it’s not that bad yet, is it?”

“No, not for food. For favors, jobs, quarters, partners. For the thrill. For the chance to go out with a flash from a boring life. The long sticks are the losers. Food chits are a consolation prize. The winner gets to run the P.”

Thomas let out a long breath.

“What are the odds?”

“By experience, they work out just like the rest of The Game—fifty-fifty. Half don’t make it.”

“And it’s legal?”

It was her turn to look at him quizzically.

“They have the right to their own bodies.”

He turned to watch the people playing this . . . this game.

The crew had paired up, drawn, paired up, drawn, and was now down to the last pair. A man and a woman this time. The man had no nose, but wrinkled slits in his forehead pulsed with the moisture that Thomas took for breath. The woman looked vaguely like someone he had known.

They drew, and the woman matched longer. The crowd cheered and helped her gather her winnings. They tucked them in her collar and sleeves and belt. The last of the wine was passed around and the group began moving toward the west quarter exterior hatch.

“He’s really going out there?” Thomas followed them with his eyes.

“Did you notice his right eyebrow?”