His hand closed around the steaming cup of Centaurian coffee and he flung the liquid into the Centaur's face.
III
An hour later he sat on his bed and rubbed his aching jaw. He peered through a puffed eye at Hawthorne beside him. The pilot's blunt face was all grin.
"So I'm the primitive savage!" Hawthorne doubled in laughter. "You're the one who acted intelligent like a guinea pig tonight!"
"Laugh, you ape!" O'Dea groaned and moved his jaw tenderly. "Not broken, I guess. But Morguma sure packs quintol in those cornerstones he uses for fists. All twelve of them!"
"Quintol—that's it." Hawthorne pulled a bottle from under his shirt. He looked patronizingly at O'Dea. "There's enough quintol here to get four Centaurs blind drunk!"
"Well, start slopping it up, slop!"
"This bottle," said Hawthorne patiently, "is our dictator's birthday present to our friend Morguma. The Centaurs will appreciate such a gesture of friendship!"
O'Dea stared through unbelieving black eyes at him. "Why, you—rat!—"