It was a second-class night spot called The Yarga. Glayne would meet
the Stellar Guardian espionage chief for the Lorle Sector here. As
he stood at the entrance bar absorbing the customary drink prior to
entering the first stage, he swept the place with cold grey eyes.
Evidently the city commission of Lorle Capital was going through a
phase of puritanism because the deadly Kesla lights were absent and
the swirling strains of the reportedly _jawth_-fed orchestra were
considerably toned down. Nevertheless, the general impression was quite
sufficiently exotic to suit Glayne as he entered the dimly-lit first
stage.
Vaguely he was aware of the less restrained laughter of patrons who had
already reached the second stage, having passed through the vibrator
screen that simulated a soothing color movement. The function of the
vibrator was to give jaded sensibilities the physical fillip necessary
to convince reluctant laggards that they really were ready for the
second stage. Glayne was also aware of his table's slight movement
toward the vibrator screen and he felt a wave of irritation at the
prospect of chasing through nine stages in this outlandish place
looking for his contact.
Suddenly the annunciator light in the center of his table began to
glow an intermittent red-orange. Glayne looked at it, eyes narrowed.
Experimentally he stabbed its speaker stud and a voice seemed to emerge
from the empty air before his face.
"Captain, you look _so_ lonely and disconsolate sitting by yourself.
Won't you join me?" It was a woman's voice, low and casual. Glayne was
briefly startled--he had expected that his contact would be a man.
Then it occurred to him that she was not his contact, but that doubt
vanished when he remembered that he had discarded his uniform for the
light grey business jumper of a young business executive. How could
she know him for a Captain in the Stellar Guardians unless she was his
contact?
On the other hand, she had not made herself known with the code which
had been selected beforehand. Puzzled and suspicious, he flicked the
transmitter stud and said cautiously: "Where are you?"
"You can't miss me, darling," she replied. "Just stand up."
Glayne hesitated, hefting the heavy, comforting weight of the Cardy
blaster under his arm-pit. With a shrug he tossed off the remnants of
the blue-green _borse_ which stirred lambently in the exquisite goblet.
Then he stood up.
She was perfectly correct. He couldn't miss her from ten light years,
much less thirty feet. She was tall and graceful in a tailored green
jumper which half suggested, half concealed the long, smooth curves of
her young body. She had coppery red hair and wide-set green eyes that
smiled boldly at him. She rested a hand on her hip in mock impatience.
"Well, don't just stand there, fat-head!" she cried across the tables.
"What do you usually do when you haven't seen someone for years and
years?"
With an effort Glayne collected himself, assayed a weak smile, and
maneuvered around the tables to her side.
"Oh, you look perfectly gorgeous," she said, oblivious to the amused
people around her. "Dance with me--you always were a divine dancer.
You know, I was telling Jani just today how I wished you'd come for a
visit--we haven't seen you for such a long time...."
She prattled gaily on. Somewhat dazed, Glayne led her to the resilient
dance floor, an absurdity which had suddenly become the very latest
rage overnight. The girl slipped smoothly into his arms, her fragrant,
perfumed hair under his chin.
He wasn't at all prepared for the hard tones of her voice when she
said: "I regret to inform you, Captain Glayne, that the agent you were
supposed to meet here is dead. He had an unfortunate accident with a
Cardy gun."