e said,
"what'll it be?"

"Firehouse Red, and I don't mean the runny slops
you peddle to the bar flies."

The barman dashed off and returned with a
long-necked flagon and a large tumbler. He poured
a slow-flowing, crimson liquor that bubbled as it
settled. The barman set the brimming tumbler
close 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 slammed
down, he refilled it, the ritual repeated in silence.

##

Finally, the sledgehammer hesitated, belched, and,
with a satisfied sneer, scratched his crotch. The
barman filled the tumbler a third time and turned
away. Instantly, the flagon was yanked from his
hand. The barman glanced back at the flagon, Major
Scarf's face, grinned sheepishly, and kept going.

Placing the flagon alongside on the bar, Scarf
raised the half-filled tumbler, fondled it, and
tossed a scornful glance up and down the line. Few
met his eyes, and those who did looked elsewhere as
soon as he fixed on them. With a snort of contempt
he wheeled to face the room. Removing his heavy
helmet and lowering it to the ground alongside his
leg, he leaned back to rest his elbows on the bar's
edge.

His eyes scanned the room, sectoring the crowd
and scrutinizing each person. Taking in the tables
along the wall, he paused at Brad and Hodak, and
scowled at them steadily through half-closed eyes.

Brad and Hodak returned Scarf's gaze with
expressions cold and closed. The Major's eyes
moved on and fixed on Drummer. His face twisted
into a malevolent grin.

Chapter TEN

"Hey, everybody, quiet." Scarf's spit-and-phlegm
bellow tamped the bar-room noise. It ground down.

Pointing at the solitary figure seated at the wall
table, Scarf smirked and barked, "Give us the magic
words, Drummer."

The crowd's eyes went from Scarf to Drummer and
back. No one spoke.

"Drummer knows," Scarf added sarcasm to his
tone, raising his finger to tap his temple. "The future
is open to him."

Drummer sat, transfixed, staring at Scarf. His free
hand closed into a tense fist, then opened to cap
his knee.

"C'mon, Drummer," Scarf went on, derisively, "tell
us what you're going to do to make things right
for all of us, and how we'll all be prosperous after
Slingshot cuts away."

His voice became harsher, gibing.

"You've been sittin' on that Plutonian Council for