Marcus, who by this time was accustomed to the oddities of up-timers, only nodded. “House bourbon? Or the Special?” He glanced from Kit to the kid then back, smiling far back in his dark eyes. Marcus had seen it all, even before his arrival in La-La Land The “Special” was a particular bottle Kit had brought back on one of his last trips. The Down Time kept it in a private cabinet for special occasions. Two matching bottles sat in Kit’s private liquor cabinet. Getting through an interview with a Journalism student called for more fortitude than a lone bottle of Kirin (his usual) could provide, but this was not a celebration.
”House will be fine.”
Marcus nodded. Kit reluctantly led his mystery pursuer to a table. He chose a spot as far toward the back of the Down Time as he could get, in the dimmest corner of the dark room, far enough from his friends to prevent casual eavesdropping and dark enough to make it hard to read his face. If he had to endure this, by God, she was going to work for the story. The darker the corner, the better.
Wordlessly, Margo picked up her suitcase and followed.
* * *
CHAPTER THREE
Nothing was working out as she had planned.
Nothing.
Margo cursed her bad timing, bad temper, and bad luck and followed the retired time scout into the dingiest corner of what had to be the darkest, most miserable bar in Shangri-la Station. The atmosphere matched her mood: gloomy as a wet cat and just about as friendly. Even the carved wooden masks which dominated the bar’s primitive decor seemed to be scowling at her.