Jocasta rechalked the que as she considered the table. Cygi appeared behind he in the clothing of a boxing coach, massaging her shoulders with fingers that she couldn't feel. She surveyed the balls, knowing that as she drank more her ability to make fancy shots would fall. Fortunately all pilots learned to do complicated vector calculations in their heads, which probably accounted for their fondness for the game.

"Edwards won't find the going so easy next time," one of the commentators was saying. "He suckered Varkin this time but he won't get away with that again."

Jocasta closed one eye to sight her shot and struck the que ball hard and slightly to the side, imparting a vicious spin that made the ball seem to curve around one of Neil's it struck one of hers, knocking it into the hole and then bounced of the edge to nudge another into a separate pocket. She whooped in triumph and blew chalk from the end of her stick like a gun fighter blowing smoke.

"I'm willing to bet the punters wont get anything like the same odds for his next fight," the commentator continued. 

"I don't know Chet," his partner replied, "sometimes these guys get luck once and flame out!"