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.