I made no answer, gesturing him to be
seated. On Wolf, formal courtesy requires a series of polite _non
sequiturs_, and while a direct question merely borders on rudeness, a
direct answer is the mark of a simpleton.
"A drink?"
"I joined you unasked," he retorted, and summoned the tangle-headed
girl. "Bring us better wine than this swill!"
With that word and gesture I recognized him and my teeth clamped hard on
my lip. This was the loudmouth who had shown fight in the spaceport
cafe, and run away before the dark girl with the sign of Nebran sprawled
on her breast.
But in this poor light he had not recognized me. I moved deliberately
into the full red glow. If he did not know me for the Terran he had
challenged last night in the spaceport cafe, it was unlikely that anyone
else would. He stared at me for some minutes, but in the end he only
shrugged and poured wine from the bottle he had ordered.
Three drinks later I knew that his name was Kyral and that he was a
trader in wire and fine steel tools through the nonhuman towns.
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