Chapter 11

The bar-room’s heavy vapors seemed to cease their dreary ballet. An uneasy cackle, strident and jarring, erupted from a corner, accompanied by the flat slap of a hard hand against the bar’s rough counter. The tension dissolved into a ripple of raucous laughter. The hubbub resumed, and quickly returned to its former level.

Myra, followed by Zolan, Adari and Kumiko, entered the bar-room, spotted Brad and Hodak, and moved toward them, snatching empty stools along the way. Placing the stools, they encircled the table.

Their eyes took in Scarf’s heavy-duty red-black weapon, and then Brad and Hodak, elbows on table, scanning the crowd. They saw Drummer nearby and noted his disheveled appearance.

They rose silently, rearranged their seats, and sat again, backs against the wall. Kumiko fixed her eyes on the entryway; Adari scanned in the opposite direction, taking in the bar. Zolan and Myra joined Brad and Hodak to observe the roisterers resume their bar-room habits.

Drummer still showed his embarrassment, apprehension and rage. His eyes darted from the doorway to Hodak to Brad. Brad turned his head slightly to take him in, then pointed to an overturned stool nearby.

“Pull up and sit a while.”

“You in charge?” Drummer asked.

“No,” Brad said, “we’re each on our own. Just socializing.”

He motioned at the stool again.

“C’mon, join us.”

Drummer looked closely at Brad, then at the others who ignored him. Brad’s expression was bland, neutral.

Drummer felt certain that Scarf would return soon with reinforcements. He had to get out, fast, and he needed an escort to safety. Beyond that, he wanted to know why the squat powerhouse, now sitting calmly at the table, had intervened. He must have realized that his interference had been made at great personal risk.

Drummer righted the stool and stared intently at Hodak as he sat. Hodak, sensing Drummer’s scrutiny, glanced sideways at him, winked straight-faced, and returned to observe the crowd.

Drummer finally turned to Brad, convinced he was the leader of this pack.

“We’d better get out of here, now,” he said, his tone urgent. “Scarf’ll be back as soon as he collects a few of his goons.”

“What was it about?” Brad asked.

“No time for talk,” Drummer replied, gesturing his impatience. “We’ve got to get away from here, and I mean right now.”

“Sure, but who is that guy?”

“Major Scarf, Chief of Internal Security for President Narval. He has his own troops, and I don’t doubt that he’s lining them up right now.” Drummer’s fingertips tapped the table in nervous staccato. “Let’s get out of here. Now.”

Brad stood, and the others rose with him. “Lead the way,” he motioned Drummer toward the doorway. “We’re not familiar with the territory.”

“Leave that to me,” said Drummer.

Brad hefted Scarf’s weapon, slipped it into ‘safe’ and, passing the bar, handed it to the bartender with a nod that was returned with a respectful wave.