"Second-rate gladiator...." I blurted indignantly, but she was already on her way, stamping across the Venusian Chameleon rug to the door.
I was so surprised I stood there, letting her go. It took me a full minute to understand that Suzi had just run out on me. Me! The victor at the Interplanetary Meet. The sole survivor of the scores of gladiators who fought it out once every ten years to see which planet of the System would dominate interplanetary affairs.
I went over to the bookcase and wrenched out one of the many books on prehistoric times that Suzi was always insisting I read. That's Suzi's bug, if you didn't know. Prehistoric times, customs, history, language, legends—all of a period that most people don't even know ever existed, and don't care.
The book was "Glossary of Ancient Terminology." I thumbed through it and finally found my words.
"Stuffed shirt!" I yelped indignantly. "A stuffed shirt! Me?"
Ten minutes later I was in the Gladiator Room of the Spacenter Building and already had three or four slugs of woji under my belt.
"A stuffed shirt, yet. Me! Solar System Champ." I grunted sarcastically and made with a curt flip of my hand to the bartender. He was a Venusian spiderman, who of course, make the best barkeeps in the System.
"Another woji," I ordered.
A guy drifted down to me from the other end of the bar. "Hanging one on, Champ?" he asked. "You must be out of training."