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QUETZAL'S FLOCK<br />
He held open the tent flap and Kane bowed. He preceded his host into the<br />
darkened interior. It was cool and pleasant inside - they had certainly mastered the art<br />
of thermal control. It was surprisingly roomy, with low couches of Picun hide,<br />
grouped around the central space. Obeid joined them, having murmured something to<br />
one of the hovering audience. He loosened the tie of his Kous and flung it in one<br />
corner. He was as naked as a jay.<br />
"You're a bastard, Kane Ashford! Every time we go through that charade, you<br />
best me! Come on men, get rid of the cloaks! You're not outside now!"<br />
Hammadi, Dagh and Motya complied nonchalantly.<br />
"I don't have a tunic."<br />
Obeid eyed him with raised brows.<br />
"What the hell do you want a tunic for? This is a man's session isn't it?"<br />
In the face of that logic, Kane complied. They took to the couches - at least,<br />
they were an improvement to the back of a Picun. Obeid stared at him for a moment.<br />
"What in Sharta's name have you done with the scar?"<br />
Kane tensed.<br />
"Scar?"<br />
"Yes, the bloody scar! From the wound you took in the side. Hell - you were<br />
sick enough! Ajanta just pulled you through. A man keeps a scar like that for life!"<br />
Kane thought wildly.<br />
"Ah! That scar! You've got to remember, I've been to a few places since we<br />
last met. I found someone clever enough to fix it."<br />
It was lame but adequate, Kane could see that his host wasn't satisfied. He was<br />
saved from another inquisition by the entry of two men. They carried a large, gurgling<br />
sack between them and staggered under its weight. They heaved it thankfully, into a<br />
rack suspended from the top of the central pole. Five large pots were produced which<br />
were filled with due ceremony. Each was presented with one.<br />
Obeid raised his.<br />
"To equality."<br />
They all took a swig. It tasted fairly bland and Kane relaxed. Obeid continued.<br />
"Do you remember our old toast, Kane? The reason why men always shed the<br />
cloak in each other's company; equality! No fine clothing - no badges - no rank!"<br />
They settled down for a convivial evening. Great steaming platters of food<br />
arrived in due course. These were washed down with a massive volume of liquid from<br />
the suspended sack. It was a marvellous sack, it didn't seem to deplete, no matter how<br />
much was subtracted from it. They got decidedly merry and Kane was persuaded to<br />
sing. Hammadi wanted to hear the interrupted stanzas he'd started in the bath chamber<br />
at the Crag Caverns. There were twenty five. He remembered them all, which was<br />
total confirmation of the fact that he was pissed!<br />
Kane wasn't aware that the fire water ran out. Perhaps, it didn't. Perhaps, they<br />
ran out of steam. Something happened between the end of the Whorehouse on Mars<br />
and the first, dreadful moments of wakefulness. It took time to assess. He wasn't the<br />
first one to awake. He could hear subdued whimpers and groans. Gentle complaints<br />
wafted on the air. It wasn't all that wafted on the air, the tent smelt like a Picun's<br />
corral.<br />
Kane dragged his Kous round his shoulders and headed for the tent flap. It was<br />
as hot as hell outside but the fresh air cleared his head. It did nothing for the taste in<br />
his mouth - that was another problem. After a while, he went back inside. Hammadi<br />
gave him an accusing look, as if he was to blame for his condition. The other two sat<br />
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