"Yes, yes," Gavin said impatiently. He changed position so he could keep the entrance in sight. "The officers of the Nova are throwing a celebration here tonight. Where are they, man? Speak up."
The waiter looked at Gavin as if he were crazy. "I never heard of them," he said. "There's no such party here."
Gavin's lips thinned. He was silent a moment, digesting this information. He glanced toward the door. To return now to the street would be fatal. They would be waiting for him. He wasn't safe even here in the lobby of the Temple of Joy. He wanted to mix in with the safety of crowds and lights.
He gave the waiter a bill, saying, "Get me a table then, near the wall."
The waiter's expression changed miraculously. He said, "Yes, sir," and ushered Gavin into the inner sanctum.
A heady, throbbing rhythm beat like surf in Gavin's ears. The light was dim, rosy, intimate. Gavin threaded his way between the seated patrons conscious of laughter, of bare shoulders and arms, of vivid splashes of color.
"Here, sir," said the waiter. Gavin sat down and ordered bourbon.
A Martian girl was executing a barbaric dance in a cleared space in the center of the floor. When the waiter brought Gavin his drink, he sipped it guardedly, dividing his attention between the dancer and the entrance. From the corner of his eye, he saw someone come inside. He turned his head and immediately stiffened.
It was Nadia Petrovna. She was alone.