"“I used to play in a game, because I needed the money…It was a hobby for them. Rich fucks. They bet on who’d win.” She was staring at Netherton. All his glibness, all his faithful machinery of convincing language, somehow spun silently against this, finding no traction whatever. “But if it’s a game, why did someone send those men to kill us? How’d you know the winning number in the lottery, Mr. Netherton?" “This isn’t…your world.” “So what is it?” “The future,” said Netherton, feeling utterly ridiculous. On impulse, he added the year. “No way.”"