oulders. Scarf dropped to his knees, then slipped
back on to his rump, legs spread, arms slack, face
perplexed. It was enough.

He sat there, shaking his head to clear it. Looking
up, he saw Hodak standing a short distance away,
and beyond, a ring of faces, several grinning, others
frightened and wary. Shifting his eyes to where his
weapon lay, Scarf glared at Brad and Drummer.

The silence was broken by the shuffle of Scarf
groping upright, using a nearby table for support.
He lurched to the bar and leaned over it for
several seconds. Straightening, he grasped his
helmet with one hand, wrapped the other around
the flagon of Firehouse Red, and stalked out of
the Charnel Pit.

Chapter ELEVEN

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 rea