"Hamburger, coffee, please," he said, and laid Beti's money beside him on the counter.
The other customer looked up and eyed him sharply, but the man behind the counter merely yelled "One on a bun!" through a hole in the wall. "Mustard?" he asked, "Onions? Cream?"
"No, Citizen. Hamburger, coffee," Mikel repeated, flustered.
"A joker!" the man grunted. "This town! You in the movies, bud?"
Mikel stared.
"He wants a burger without and coffee with," the other customer put in suddenly. He picked up his dishes and slid down to the next stool. He was a heavy-set, middle-aged man, dressed as the man in the store had been—in dark cloth bifurcated leg-coverings and a dark, long-sleeved upper garment over a light-colored under-garment, with a gaudy ribbon around his neck.
"Okay, okay," said the man in white placatingly, and set down before Mikel something on a plate and something else in a cup, both hot. Mikel began sampling them gingerly with the unaccustomed implements. The restaurant man took the money, put it in a box that rang a bell, and laid down some small metal objects in its place. Then he disappeared through a door behind the counter.
Mikel's neighbor waited until he had gone. Then in a low voice he said:
"Finish the food, Citizen Skot. Then we'll talk."
Mikel looked up, frozen. The stranger shot his left wrist out from the sleeve. Sealed to it was a timeporter.