"That's about the quickest way of getting yourself killed that I know of," barked Reith. "Jack, can't you do something with this ass before he starts a brawl?"
The object of Ordway's vulgarisms, a tall Krishnan wearing a purple tunic aglitter with golden spangles, rose, stared coldly at Ordway, and stalked out of the bar.
White shrugged helplessly. "I'll try! But when liquor gets into him—"
"Oo you calling a hass?" said Ordway. "I don't let no fuckin' Yank—"
"Shut up, Goddamn it! Here comes Herculeu to take the two of you to dinner. You met him in Customs and Security, remember?"
The small, squirrel-like security officer approached. White plaintively asked: "Aren't you coming with us, Fergus?"
"Sorry; I've got another engagement."
"Oho!" chortled Ordway. " 'E's gonna have a tryst wiv the feir Alicia. I can tell you, mate, it's no good asking her to 'oist her skirt—"
"One more crack out of you," said Reith, rising, "and I'll show you what you can do with your movie ..."
"Cyril!" bleated White. "For Christ's sake, pull yourself together! Help me to get him out, Fergus."
White and Reith hauled Ordway to his feet and, with Castanhoso pushing from behind, started for the door. As they passed a table at which sat a Terran and a Krishnan, the latter wearing a false beard of purplish hue, Ordway wrenched loose, reached down, and yanked off the hairpiece.
"Hishkako baghan!" shouted the Krishnan, bounding to his feet. Instantly they were trading punches, while other patrons scrambled out of the way. A chair went over; glass shattered. Yang the bartender yelled: "Stop! Pare! Quitez! Bù huì! Ostanovityes'!"
Round and round they went, stumbling over broken glass and slipping on spilled liquids, flailing at each other with more vim than accuracy. Then the Krishnan kicked Ordway in the belly. As the Englishman doubled over, Castanhoso and the Krishnan's companion, a large, blond man who seemed to Reith vaguely familiar, seized the Krishnan's arms and pulled him back. Reith caught one of Ordway's wrists, while White grabbed the other.
For a moment the fighters glared and panted. Then Ordway, strong despite his dissipated look, wrenched his arm loose from White, throwing the slight location manager back against a table, which went over with a crash. With a yell of: "No fuckin' wog can lack me!" Ordway aimed a roundhouse swing at the Krishnan. He landed instead on the head of the Krishnan's companion, who released the Krishnan to roar: "Du Scheisskeri! Ich bringe dich um!"
The German swung at Ordway but instead connected with the side of Reith's head. Reith staggered and almost fell, but managed to retain his grip on Ordway's arm.
Yang, the bartender, pushed forward holding a siphon bottle. He aimed the nozzle at Ordway's face, pulled the trigger, and discharged a stream of carbonated water. The stream flowed until Ordway, half-drowned, raised his free arm in surrender. While others hustled the Krishnan out, a dripping Ordway stood coughing and choking.
Castanhoso looked at Reith and spoke in Portuguese: "Senhor Dom Fergus, I perceive that you are involved with one of those who may make trouble for us all if allowed to run loose. If you wish to file an expulsion request, I will put him back on the Pará for return to Terra as an undesirable."
Reith frowned. "Not just yet, Herculeu. This film job he's here for is too big and involves too much caixa for me to upset it lightly."
They hauled Ordway to the men's room and wiped him down. Ordway grumbled: "Oo the 'ell you fink you are? Don't nobody stand up for a white man's rights?"
Reith grabbed the slack of Ordway's jacket and thrust his face close to that of the drunken production manager. He snarled: "Look, you stupid bastard, I could have you put back on the Pará and shipped to Terra, and your half-billion movie would go down the drain. One more yelp out of you and I'll do it; understand?"
Ordway stared at the floor, clenched and unclenched his fists, swore under his breath, and finally muttered: "Okye, Reith, I guess I did rather let myself go. You've got me by the prick."
"Furthermore," said Reith, "if I take you out in the field, the first time I see you under the influence, back you go to Novo. Get it?"
Ordway mumbled what might have been an assent. Reith said: "All right, you two can go to dinner now with Herculeu."
Castanhoso whispered: "You really should come with us, Fergus. You know more about the project of these clowns than I."
Reith grinned. "Desculpe, mas tenho uma entrevista."
Castanhoso sighed. "With such a woman, I cannot blame you. Enjoy yourself!"
As Reith left the Nova Iorque, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found the large blond German. "Mr. Reith, not so?"
"Yes."
"The blow was unintentional, I assure you. There is, dennoch, another matter." The man brought his heels sharply together, gave a stiff little bow, and handed Reith a calling card reading:
Herr Enrique v. Schlegel
Kultursachverständiger
Reith stiffened. "Hello, Schlegel. I didn't know you without your whiskers."
The man bowed again. "If you will inform me of where you are staying, my seconds will call upon you to make arrangements. It must be outside of Novorecife, to comply with the law, and it must be early, because tomorrow leave I for Qirib."
"What on earth are you talking about?" said Reith. "Are you proposing a duel?"
"Naturally; honor demands it."
"Oh, grow up, Schlegel! Anyway, since I'm the one who was hit, it's up to me to demand satisfaction."
"I refer not to the accidental blow this afternoon, for which I apologize; but to the foul stroke you gave me in Mishé two years ago."
"Are you serious?"
"I am always serious. Will swords be satisfactory, or prefer you some other weapon?"
"Don't be silly! I don't fight duels; if I did, I'd pick the Novo cafeteria's rolls at ten paces. They're hard enough. But we're not living in the Middle Ages."
"Ah, but we are! Most Krishnans are in that stage of culture. That is the true Heldenalter. Will you fight, or are you a decadent coward?"
"I don't duel; but if you attack me, I'll defend myself. Several have tried, but they're no longer with us. Good night!"
Reith strode off, uncomfortably aware of his weaponless state. But nothing struck him in the back.
As red Roqir hung in a greenish sky amid the spires of ancient trees, like a beach ball impaled on a picket fence, Reith handed Alicia into the gig. She asked, "Where's your son?"
"I sent him ahead to tell my people to get dinner ready."
"You sound like landed gentry."
"Not really. I have just a cook, and a couple for general work, plus a few shaihan-herds and my secretary Minyev."
"Minyev? That's a Khaldoni name. Would it by any chance be my old factotum in the Khaldoni lands?"
"Yep; same one."
"What a coincidence!"
"Not really," said Reith. "Although he ran out on you, he still wanted to work for Terrans. He's got his eye on a diplomatic career. So our would-be Krishnan Talleyrand beat his way here, picking up odd jobs. A few years ago, he got my name from somebody who'd known us both and applied for the post when I needed someone to handle the bookkeeping."
"A clever little fellow," said Alicia.
"Right. In fact he can imitate my handwriting so perfectly he makes me nervous, lest he some day forge my name to a check."
Reith flicked the single aya with his whip, and the horned, six-legged beast trotted smartly out through the compound gate. In the open country, Reith turned towards his onetime wife for the simple, sensuous pleasure of looking at a beautiful woman, smiling in the ruddy light of the setting primary.