"Lousy substitute, but it'll have to do. See you at nine."
CHAPTER III
The rendezvous-point the other operative had named was a street corner in another quarter of the city. Harris hired a helitaxi to take him there.
It was a nightclub district, all bright lights and brassy music. A figure leaned against the lamppost on the southeast corner of the street. Harris crossed to him. In the brightness of the streetlamp he saw the man's face: lean, lantern-jawed, solemn.
Harris said, "Pardon me, friend. Do you know where I can buy a mask for the carnival?"
It was the recognition-query. The other answered, in a deep harsh voice, "Masks are expensive. Stay home." He thrust out his hand.
Harris took it, gripping the wrist in the Darruui way, and grinned. Eleven hundred light-years from home and he beheld a fellow Servant of the Spirit! "I'm Major Abner Harris."
"Hello. I'm John Carver. There's a table waiting for us inside."
"Inside" turned out to be the Nine Planets Club, across the street. The atmosphere inside was steamy and smoke-clouded; bubbles of light drifted round the ceiling. A row of long-limbed nudes pranced gaily to the accompaniment of the noise that passed for music on Terra. The surgeons, Harris thought, had never managed to instill a liking for Terran music in him.