Chapter NINE
Brad and Hodak pushed into the Charnel Pit,Coldfield's popular tavern.
The bar-room was noisy, grimy and crowded.Incense streamers slid and coiled along thesoil-fused floor, their dissipating pungencyunable to disguise the acrid stench of sweatybodies and unwashed garments.
The long bar was hidden by leaners. Narrow aislessnaked among benches and clustered tables aroundwhich boisterous, elbowing humanity teemed.
A coarsely seamed face along the bar turned,observed Brad and Hodak as they glanced aroundfrom inside the doorway. Whispers went down theline, jumped to the tables and around the room.
The tumult ground down as necks craned. A humrose and fell as Brad and Hodak were inspected,commented upon, and judged. It didn't take longfor the noise to return to its former level: theamenities of bar-rooms everywhere.
From where he stood, Hodak failed to see atable with a couple of empty chairs. They waited.Shortly, nudging Brad's arm, he nodded towarda table newly vacated against a wall.
They shoved and twisted through the narrow spacesto the table in time for Hodak to slam his hand,palm down, flat on the tabletop, glaring off a trioof competitors.
They sat, and Hodak pressed the glow-disk in thecenter of the table to summon the robo-dispenser.Meanwhile, they surveyed the throng.
Some types were recognizable; others wouldneed to be guessed at. Mostly, they were familiar:spacefarers and space tug cowboys in tight-fittingfoundation suits, construction stiffs in fittedhelmets and spacer harnesses, clerks and tradesmenin business tunics, and street people in coarselywoven, grimy open-necked shirts and shorts.Slingshot technicians' jumpsuits were markedby distinctive shoulder patches.
Scattered in knots, or leaning against walls andsupports, men and women, bare to the waistand sporting sheer breechcloths or none at all,flaunted their wares.
Brad recognized spoilsmen plying their trades.They were the dandies attired in colorful, skin-tightsports suits: thieves, pickpockets, high-tech gearrustlers, black marketeers, professional gamblers,and experts in all the scams that are or ever were.
Hand and shoulder weapons were everywhere: lashedto thighs or slung across backs, flat on tables orstacked along the bar. Churning and jostling, theswarm shifted constantly: singly, in couples andgroups; from fledglings newly on the wing to oldtimers diminished by adversity. Most were in theirprime: hard of face and body, wary, unbridled andself-seeking. They mixed freely.
At a table further along the wall near to whereBrad and Hodak sat, Drummer gently swirled thecontents of his drinking goblet. He was gaunt, wellpast middle years, with a high-boned countenance.His head was capped by snow-white hair trimmedstraight across at his shoulders. Dressed simply,Drummer wore a dark cloak over a white, open-neckedblouse tucked into loose breeches that ended a bitbelow his knees. He did not bear a weapon.
Drummer stared about and searched for strangersthat might serve his purpose. When he heard thatthe Raven was at planet-fall, he had called forand reread all available newscasts and reports torefresh his recollections of their crimes, personalbackgrounds, and escape.
Were they really escaped prisoners? Or werethey agents of the UIPS? If they were fugitivesthey might be suckered into President Narval'smercenaries where their spacer skills would helpfill the gaps. If they were revealed to be UIPSagents, they would be quickly disposed of, ormanipulated and exploited through false leadsto Narval's benefit. When no longer useful theywould be terminated.
The newscasts and intelligence summaries on theescape were insufficient. Drummer's position asone of Narval's closest advisors, and his own privateand secret ambitions, compelled him to learn moreabout the newcomers. How could they fit into hisschemes?
Drummer ordered a fresh drink from a passingrobo-dispenser. It arrived in a large snifter.Cradling the rounded bottom in his palm, he swishedthe gold-hued liquid with a gentle motion, eyesmoving from the drink to the crowd to Brad andHodak, and randomly round again.
A hard-muscled sledgehammer of a man bargedinto the Charnel Pit, sullen anger knotting his beefyface. His military uniform was skin-tight: a blacktunic belted over blood-red breeches. The militaryhelmet he wore was also halved black and red aswere his holster and the handgrip of the protrudingweapon. His black cavalier boots were made forswaggering. Formidable.
Deep, red-rimmed eyes glared from under thehelmet's visor, searching for an open space alongthe bar. The line was solid.
"Open ranks," he snarled, and leaned heavily intothe instant gap.
The barman rushed forward and raised his handin respectful greeting.
"Honored to see you, Major Scarf," he said,"what'll it be?"
"Firehouse Red, and I don't mean the runny slopsyou peddle to the bar flies."
The barman dashed off and returned with along-necked flagon and a large tumbler. He poureda slow-flowing, crimson liquor that bubbled as itsettled. The barman set the brimming tumblerclose to the Major's massive, thick-fingered hand.
The Firehouse Red disappeared in a single,spasmodic swallow, for all its slow-flowing nature.The barman stood by. The instant the tumbler slammeddown, he refilled it, the ritual repeated in silence.
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Finally, the sledgehammer hesitated, belched, and,with a satisfied sneer, scratched his crotch. Thebarman filled the tumbler a third time and turnedaway. Instantly, the flagon was yanked from hishand. The barman glanced back at the flagon, MajorScarf's face, grinned sheepishly, and kept going.
Placing the flagon alongside on the bar, Scarfraised the half-filled tumbler, fondled it, andtossed a scornful glance up and down the line. Fewmet his eyes, and those who did looked elsewhere assoon as he fixed on them. With a snort of contempthe wheeled to face the room. Removing his heavyhelmet and lowering it to the ground alongside hisleg, he leaned back to rest his elbows on the bar'sedge.
His eyes scanned the room, sectoring the crowdand scrutinizing each person. Taking in the tablesalong the wall, he paused at Brad and Hodak, andscowled at them steadily through half-closed eyes.
Brad and Hodak returned Scarf's gaze withexpressions cold and closed. The Major's eyesmoved on and fixed on Drummer. His face twistedinto a malevolent grin.