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resembled the one in which he now found himself; the architecture was too much of a piece, and too different from the other worlds he had seen, not to have been carefully planned.
    "Where to now?” asked the driver as they entered the heavy traffic of the city center.
    "I've never been here before,” replied Chandler. “Can you recommend a hotel?"
    "With or without?"
    "With or without what?"
    The driver shrugged. “Whatever you want—women, men, drugs, gambling, you name it."
    "Without, I think."
    The driver grinned. “That may be a little harder. This isn't the Democracy, you know."
    Chandler leaned forward and handed him a fifty-credit note. “Why don't you fill me in?” he suggested.
    "You thirsty?” asked the driver.
    "Should I be?"
    "I can fill you in a lot better if my mouth doesn't go dry halfway through."
    "I've already given you fifty credits. You can buy a drink after we're through."
    "You've already made a couple of mistakes,” said the driver meaningfully. “I can tell you about them while we drink, or you can learn about them the hard way."
    "Suddenly I'm thirsty,” said Chandler.
    "I thought you might be,” chuckled the driver. “By the way, my name's Gin."
    "Just Gin?"
    "Gin's my game, gin's my drink, Gin's my name."
    "Okay, Gin,” said Chandler. “Where do you think we ought to have this drink?"
    "I'm already heading there,” said Gin. “It's not real fancy, but they don't water the booze and people will leave us pretty much alone."
    Chandler leaned back and observed the city as the vehicle sped through it. Most of the buildings were centuries old, and except for a handful of truly palatial structures in the downtown area, they looked their age. There was a definite seediness to the city, as if most of the residents were transients: small hotels and rooming houses greatly outnumbered apartments, and restaurants and bars were omnipresent, implying that almost no one ever ate or drank at home. There was an almost tangible gloom, partially due to the ambience, partially due to the fact that Hades cast its massive shadow across the moon's surface.
    "Here we are,” announced Gin, pulling up in front of a tavern that was indistinguishable from four others on the same block.
    "Lead the way,” said Chandler, getting out of the vehicle.
    He fell into step behind Gin and soon entered the dimly-lit interior. There were some two dozen tables and booths, half of them empty, the other half occupied by Men and aliens conversing in low voices. A very tired-looking woman was performing a very unenthusiastic striptease to recorded music in one corner; a Lodinite was observing her with clinical detachment, while none of the other customers paid her the slightest attention.
    "How does this one suit you?” asked Gin, indicating a booth as far from the door as possible.
    "Fine,” replied Chandler.
    Both men seated themselves, and Gin raised his hand and made a swift signal in the air. An overweight waiter arrived a moment later with a pair of green-tinted drinks.
    "What is it?” asked Chandler, staring at his glass and frowning.
    Gin shrugged. “They call it a Dustbuster on Binder X. Here it's a Number Five."
    "What's in it?"
    "Lots of stuff, most of it good for you,” answered Gin, picking up his glass and downing it with a single swallow.
    Chandler raised his own glass, stared at it for a moment, then took a sip.
    "Well?” asked Gin.
    "It'll do."
    "Best damned drink you ever had, and that's all you've got to say?"
    "You're the one with the thirst. I'm just here to talk."
    "Right,” said Gin, signaling for another drink. “Hope you don't mind,” he said, “but talking is mighty dry work."
    "I have a feeling that everything you do is mighty dry work,” said Chandler sardonically.
    "Now that you mention it...” said Gin, and laughed. “By the way, you got a name?"
    "Chandler."
    "Okay,” said Gin with a shrug. “But if I were you, I'd change it."
    "Why?"
    "Why advertise that the Whistler has come to