"To not worry," Retief said, irritated. "To pour it out and let me decide whether I like it."
"To be grappled in by peace-keepers for poisoning of—foreigners." The barkeep looked around for support, found none. The Groaci customers, eyes elsewhere, were drifting away.
"To get the lead out," Retief said, placing a thick gold-piece in the dish provided. "To shake a tentacle."
"The procuring of a cage," a thin voice called from the sidelines. "The displaying of a freak."
Retief turned. A tall Groacian vibrated his mandibles in a gesture of contempt. From his bluish throat coloration, it was apparent the creature was drunk.
"To choke in your upper sac," the bartender hissed, extending his eyes toward the drunk. "To keep silent, litter-mate of drones."
"To swallow your own poison, dispenser of vileness," the drunk whispered. "To find a proper cage for this zoo-piece." He wavered toward Retief. "To show this one in the streets, like all freaks."
"Seen a lot of freaks like me, have you?" Retief asked, interestedly.
"To speak intelligibly, malodorous outworlder," the drunk said. The barkeep whispered something, and two customers came up to the drunk, took his arms and helped him to the door.