Thus it was that two short, heavy-set Delfians, muffled to the eyes in the shapelessly billowing robes and hoods that were the trademarks of their planet, milled through the crowd that was still departing from the main tent and even yet talking about the unbelievable act it had witnessed. It took half an hour for the crowd of people to file through the exits and out into the enormous parking lot, but those mysterious, silent Delfians appeared to take no notice of time. Delfians, as everyone knows, are never in a hurry.
They found the car at the far end of the lot. At first glance it appeared to be a standard sports model Frascati, a low, sleek, silver-gray bullet for shooting down the highway. Only to the trained eye would that car have appeared a little too long, a little too wide, a little too round and much too heavy to be a standard model – and, of course, there was a reason for that.
Once out of the traffic jam created by cars leaving the Fair Grounds, Jules maneuvered his sporty vehicle up into the second-level, westbound stretch of Interstate Four. Like all cars on the more civilized planets, this one was equipped with the option of being computer-controlled by the electronic guidance equipment installed in the roadbed itself, but Jules preferred to do his own driving – and his reflexes were almost as fast as the traffic computer’s.
It took almost no time at all to reach the Dunedin district and pull into the parking lot of the Dunedin Arms, one of the most exotic nightspots along the renowned Gulf Strip. At the Arms, Jules slipped a twenty ruble bill to the parking lot attendant – the car could have been parked automatically, but Earth had to find some jobs for its surplus billions – another to the resplendently-uniformed doorman, and a third into the palm of the usher who escorted them, with great ceremony and a flourishing of his arms, into the elevator tube and up to the dining room on the fourth floor.
No one thought it unusual that the two Delfians refused to part with any of their muflings, for such was the custom of their secretive race. Jules did, however, tip the cloakroom girl a five ruble bill just for being clad in, as Yvette put it later, ‘a couple of sequins and a bangle.’ The two Delfians, alas, had no reservations, but a fifty ruble bill slipped to the table captain brought beneficent assurances that something would be ready for them shortly. ‘Thank you, gospodin and gospozha,’ the maitre d’ said obsequiously: ‘There will be a delay of perhaps five minutes, regrettably, but not more than that. Perhaps you would care to spend that time having a cocktail in our bar?’
The table captain had spoken in Empirese, the Russo-English mixture that was the official language of the Empire, and Jules answered in the same tongue. ‘That would be delightful, thank you.’ This delay was included in his plans.
The entrance to the bar was just in front of them. Jules and Yvette paused at the threshold and gazed around the huge room. The decor was dark, elegant, subdued. At the right, running the entire two hundred meter length of the room, was the bar, made of ornately carved rare mahogany and backed by a mirror that was veined and flecked with gold. The far wall was a rich chocolate wandwood, hung with heavy velvet draperies of dark red. Little niches were spaced every few meters along the wall, in which resided suits of armor and marble religious statues from ancient medieval times. Wrought-iron sconces held myriads of candles; their light mingled with the candles set in the three enormous wrought-iron chandeliers to illuminate the room to a comfortable, if dim, degree.
On the left were three tremendous windows overlooking the beach and the open Gulf four floors below. On a stage at the far end of the room, a pair of entertainers from one of the more exotic planets – perhaps Binhalla, judging from their long, slender appearance – were engaged in a sleek, sensual dance depicting a mating ritual and leaving little to the imagination. For the most part, the audience – which was seated at the sturdy solentawood tables scattered not too closely spaced around the floor – gave the dancers their full attention, with the exception of several parties engaged in private conversations. The room was jammed with a bright, colorful and festive crowd, all thoroughly enjoying themselves; there were only a few vacant spaces even at that incredibly long bar.
‘Yes indeed,’ Jules reiterated, taking his sister’s arm. ‘A cocktail or two would be sublime.’
At the bar, Jules laid a fifty ruble bill on the surface and said, ‘Two vodnak slings, please. Made with Estvan’s from a new bottle; sealed, if you have it.’
‘We have it, gospodin.’ The barkeep seemed slightly insulted that they would question his integrity as he set before them the heavy, crudely molded green glass bottle of the one hundred and twenty proof beverage that was the favorite tipple of the rim-world, Delf. ‘We’ve got just about everything. The Dunedin Arms caters to all tastes.’
Jules was just as glad his face was muffled as he gazed at the distinctive bottle that was the unmistakable trademark of Estvan’s, for with the hood and wrappings the bartender would not see the grimace he made. DesPlaines’ dense atmosphere had, over the centuries, wrought subtle changes in the body chemistry of its inhabitants, making them allergic to alcoholic beverages in any form. Though he and Yvette could drink the cocktails – and would in the line of duty – the sensation would be unpleasant and he was not looking forward to it.
The bartender broke the seal on the bottle and poured the glasses about three-quarters full of the vodnak, then added the dashes of jumberry fizz that made vodnak slings such popular drinks. Taking the fifty ruble bill from the counter top, he brought out ten rubles and assorted kopeks change. Jules waved the money away with an impatient gesture.
‘I do believe,’ he said, holding his glass up to the light, ‘that this is the only civilized drink in all the Galaxy.’
His voice was loud enough to be heard for several tables away. ‘In all the Universe l’ Yvette chimed in, just as loudly.
Neither of them had the opportunity to taste their beverages, though, for within several seconds a tall, slim Earthman had come up to the bar, taking the spot next to Yvette. He did not look at the ersatz Delfians, but instead held up one finger to attract the bartender’s attention. When that worthy came over to him, the newcomer began, ‘I’ll take a jigger of the …’
That, however, was as far as he got. Yvette, whose eyes had remained constantly on the mirror in front of her, detected a rapid movement down at the near end of the bar. Rapid as that motion was, though, Yvette’s reaction was faster. Reflexes on a planet like DesPlaines, where even a simple stumble could shatter bones, tended to be lightning fast.
The old-time circus battle-cry of ‘Hey Rube!’ had survived even to this day at least in part – so that her shout of ‘Rube!’ brought her brother, as well as herself, into instant action. She grabbed the heavy Estvan’s bottle that the bartender had resealed, gripped it firmly by its neck and hurled it even as she dropped. A vicious blaster beam blazed through the air, incinerating the slender Earthman and sweeping through the space her chest had occupied just an instant before. Still in air, falling almost flat, she braced one foot against the bar and pushed off it as strongly as her powerful thighs could manage. Her dive brought her headfirst under the nearest table; bending her back, she heaved it upward.
But the deadly blaster beam she feared had already died out – along with the gunman who’d fired it. The heavy bottle, made of thick glass and half-filled, had been hurled with a DesPlainian’s strength and with an aerialist’s sure control. It had struck bottom-on squarely in the middle of the gunner’s face- and now that gunner had no face at all, and scarcely enough head to be recognizable as human.
Jules had not been idle during this interval, either. He, too, had dropped at his sister’s warning, scanning the room as he fell. But he hit the floor like a spring, with his legs tight under him. In what looked to be a contradiction in action, he fell to the ground and leaped simultaneously. His leap was high and far, toward a table for six three meters away at which only two couples sat. One of the men at that table, half hidden behind a tall, statuesque blonde, had begun to rise to his feet and was reaching for an object inside his overtunic that made just the slightest bulge near the left armpit.