iddle by his first name. "No trank," he said. "Alcohol for
me. Mankind's old faithful."

"Well," Max debated, "get high on alcohol and bingo, a hangover in the
morning. But trank? You wake up with a smile."

"And a desire for more trank to keep the mood going," Joe said wryly.
"Get smashed on alcohol and you suffer for it eventually."

"Well, that's one way of looking at it," Max argued happily. "So let's
start off with a couple of quick ones in this here Upper joint."

* * * * *

Joe looked the place over. He didn't know Kingston overly well, but by
the appearance of the building and by the entry, it was probably the
swankiest hotel in town. He shrugged. So far as he was concerned, he
appreciated the greater comfort and the better service of his Middle
caste bars, restaurants and hotels over the ones he had patronized when
a Lower. However, his wasn't an immediate desire to push into the
preserves of the Uppers; not until he had won rightfully to their
status.

But on this occasion the little fellow wanted to drink at an Upper bar.
Very well, it was election day. "Let's go," he said to Max.

In the uniform of a Rank Captain of the Military Category, there was
little to indicate caste level, and ordinarily given the correct air of
nonchalance, Joe Mauser, in uniform, would have been able to go
anywhere, without so much as a raised eyebrow--until he had presented
his credit card, which indicated his caste. But Max was another thing.
He was obviously a Lower, and probably a Low-Lower at that.

But space was made for them at a bar packed with election day
celebrants, politicians involved in the day's speeches and voting,
higher ranking officers of the Haer forces, having a day off, and
various Uppers of both sexes in town for the excitement of the fracas to
come.

"Beer," Joe said to the bartender.

"Not me," Max crowed. "Champagne. Only the best for Max Mainz. Give me
some of that champagne liquor I always been hearing about."

Joe had the bill credited to his card, and they took their bottles and
glasses to a newly abandoned table. The place was too packed to have
awaited the services of a waiter, although poor Max probably would have
loved such attention. Lower, and even Middle bars and restaurants were
universally automated, and the waiter or waitress a thing of yesteryear.

Max looked about the room in awe. "This is living," he announced. "I
wonder what they'd say if I went