The girl, with an almost imperceptible gesture, shook her head.
The night was very hot; but then it is always hot on Mercury, the newest, the wildest, the hottest of Earth's frontiers. Fans spaced about the garden's walls sluggishly stirred the night air, while the men and women sitting at the tables drank heavily of Latonka, the pale green wine of Mercury. Only the native waiters, the enigmatic, yellow-eyed Mercurians, seemed unaffected by the heat. They didn't sweat at all.
Up on the stage the singer was about to begin another number when she stiffened.
"Here he is," she said to the pianist without moving her lips.
The pianist swung around on his stool, lifted his black eyes to the gate leading to the street.
Just within the entrance, a tall, thin man was standing. He looked like a gaunt gray wolf loitering in the doorway. His white duraloes suit hung faultlessly. His black hair was close-cropped, his nose thin and aquiline. For a moment he studied the crowded garden before making his way to a vacant table.
"Go on," said the pianist in a flat voice.
The red-head shivered. Stepping from the stage she picked her way through the tables until she came to the one occupied by the newcomer.
"May I join you?" she asked in a low voice.
The man arose. "Of course. I was expecting you. Here, sit down." He pulled out a chair, motioned for the waiter. The Mercurian, his yellow incurious eyes like two round topazes, sidled up. "Bring us a bottle of Latonka from the Veederman region, well iced." The waiter slipped away.