lized 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.

Chapter TWELVE

Mixing with the street people, Drummer in sight up
ahead, they moved swiftly. Adari trailed Drummer;
Brad next followed by Myra and Kumiko. Zolan and
Hodak brought up the rear. Drummer successfully
resisted the temptation to look back.

Zolan tensed, activating the mind-mike in his
armpit. Brad acknowledged by stepping up his pace.
He passed Adari and drew alongside Drummer.

"Your buddy, Scarf, must have had a friend in the
bar," he said. "We're being tailed."

"Another hundred meters. Cut into the alley on the
left."

Drummer responded. "It'll take us through a
maze that still confounds the street people. We'll
have a better chance in there to lose whoever is
following."

A corner loomed. They squeezed into a narrow,
rubble-strewn passageway between high, rough
walls. Stumbling along the barely lighted shaft
they entered an alley, equally shabby, crowded with
street people, refuse, and abandoned machinery.

They sped along the alley, noting its darkened,
fuser-formed doorways, some empty, others
clogged with trash. Inside, they saw the shadowy
outlines of men, huddled women and children.

Drummer twisted from one alley into the next,
and then another.

He ducked through a gap in