"Gimme a draft," he said, sliding onto a stool at the bar.

The bartender hesitated, running an appraising eye over Harry's clothes until the Legionnaire-in-disguise produced a thick wad of bills from his pocket, peeled one off, and tossed it casually on the bar. The bill was of sufficiently high denomination that it would have been noticeable most places in the galaxy, but this was Lorelei, where gamblers often preferred to make their wagers in cash, and the barman barely gave it a glance before going off to fetch his drink.

The drink appeared and the bill vanished in the same motion, only to be replaced a few moments later by a stack of bills and change. Harry carefully separated a bill from the stack before pocketing the rest, pushing it forward on the bar as a tip. The bait worked, and the barman materialized again to claim the perk.

"Excuse me, my man," Harry drawled before the man could retreat again. "I was wonderin' if maybe you could help me out?"

"Depends on what you need," the bartender said, his eyes wary, but he didn't leave.

Moving slowly, Harry withdrew a wristwatch from his pocket and laid it gently on the bar.

"What can you give me on this?"

Shooting a quick glance around the bar, the man picked up the watch and examined it, front and back.

"This came from off station, right?" he said.

"Does it make a difference?"

The bartender looked at him hard.

"Yeah, it does," he said, and tapped a finger on an inscription on the watch's back. "I figure you aren't Captain Anderson or his grateful crew. If you picked it up here on Lorelei, I'm holding trouble in my hand. They come down hard on pickpockets and muggers up here-bad for the tourists."

Harry held up both hands with the fingers spread like a magician accused of cheating at cards.

"The captain misplaced that beauty before our last stop," he explained, "and stopped askin' around about it two days out. By now, he and his ship should be well on their way. If there was a chance he was still lookin', I wouldn't be showin' it around like this."

The bartender studied the watch again.

"Tell you what," he said at last. "I'll give you twenty for it."

Harry rocked back on his stool like the man had taken a swing at him.

"Twenty?" he echoed. "Excuse me, but that's a pretty steep cut. I knew I wasn't gonna get a one-for-ten deal, bein' new here and all, but that's barely one for a hundred!"

"Suit yourself." The bartender shrugged, setting the watch down. "Take it back if you think you can get a better offer. Let me show you something, though."

He ducked out of sight under the bar, then emerged again and plopped a cardboard box next to Harry's beer.

"Take a look," he said.

The box was two-thirds full of wristwatches and jewelry.

The bartender smirked. "This is Lorelei, my friend. Gamblers will hawk or pawn anything to raise money for a ticket off-station-or, more often, another pass at the tables. When the box gets full, I run it over to one of the pawnshops, and I'll be lucky to get back what I paid for most of it. I just do this as a public service for our customers."

Harry didn't bother to express his disbelief at this, but he found it hard to believe the Starlight had a Boy Scout working its bar. More likely, the man shipped his booty off-station and split the take with whoever did his selling at the other end.

Instead, he picked up his beer, took a sip, then smiled.

"All of a sudden, twenty sounds real good," he said.

The man picked up the watch again and tossed it into the box, replacing it under the counter before turning to the cash register and ringing up a "no sale" as he extracted a twenty.

"Tell me," Harry said as he accepted the offering. "Any chance of finding some work around here? I got a feeling that, between the casinos and the prices up here, my roll isn't gonna last all that long without some help."

"You'll have to talk to the manager about that," the bartender said. "There's a lot of turnover up here, but he does the hiring and firing. He should be in in an hour or so, if you can hang around."

"I gots nowhere to go," Harry said, flashing his teeth. "Is my hawg okay out front there?"

For the first time the bartender showed surprise, raising his eyebrows.

"You got a hover cycle up here?" he said. "I thought I heard one right about the time you came in, but I figured it was my imagination. That or wishful thinking."

"You sound like you used to ride yourself."

"Sure did." The man grinned. "Didn't you notice the bugs in my teeth?"

Harry threw back his head and gave an appreciative guffaw, slapping his thigh with one hand. It was a very old joke, probably predating hover cycles themselves: How do you tell a happy cyclist? By the bugs in his teeth!

It was still around, though, and served almost as a recognition signal between hover-cycle enthusiasts, since no one else remembered it, much less laughed at it.

"That was a long time ago, though," the bartender said, his eyes looking into the distance as he smiled at the memory. "I rode for a while with the Hell Hawks."

"That's a good club." Harry nodded approvingly. "I rode with the Outlaws myself."

"No foolin?" the man said, recognizing the name of one of the oldest, largest hover cycle clubs in the galaxy. "By the way, my name's William. Used to be `Wild Bill' when I was riding."

"Just call me C.H.," Harry supplied.

The two men shook hands solemnly, though the Legionnaire-in-disguise was mentally groaning at his slip. He was supposed to be working under a different name for this caper, but in the enthusiasm of talking hover cycles, his Legion name, which happened to also be his old club name, just popped out before he thought. He would have to pass the word to Mother that he wasn't using his planned alias and hope that the word of his whereabouts didn't reach the Renegades.

"Tell you what," the bartender said, leaning close. "When the manager comes in, let me talk to him first ... maybe put in a good word for you."

"Hey. I appreciate that."

"And let me get you another brew while you're waiting ... on me."

As the bartender headed off, Harry turned on his stool and rested his elbows on the bar, surveying his new home.

There was a small dining area attached to the bar, not more than a dozen tables, though those tables were widely spaced, leading Harry to believe it was more of a gathering point than a profit generator. Only a few of the tables were occupied, and those customers, by their dress and manner, seemed to be locals rather than tourists.

One group in particular drew his attention. The only man at the table had the broad-shouldered no-neck look of an astroball player, and he was listening intently to a woman old enough to be his mother-if not his grandmother. What really caught his eye, however, was the third member of the party. Sitting beside the old lady was a tall lean black woman whose severe, angular features failed to hide the fact that she was bored with or disinterested in the discussion of the other two.

As if she felt his eyes, she glanced over to where Harry was sitting and their eyes met. He raised his beer in a silent toast to her, showing all his teeth in a friendly smile. Rather than responding, however, she let her eyes go out of focus, her face impassive, looking right through him as if he wasn't there. A near-physical chill swept over Harry like a wind off a glacier, and he turned back to the bar where the bartender was just delivering his fresh beer.

"Say, Willie," he said. "What's the story on the group against the far wall? They look like regulars."

"I don't know who you're talking about," the bartender replied without looking.

"The monster and the two women," Harry clarified. "The ones sitting right over ...

He started to point, but William snaked out a hand and caught his wrist.