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set eyes on us. Several of them smiled and catcalled Anna, despite the fact that I was standing right next to her. I wanted to teach them a lesson, but knew, in the end, it was probably futile.
    Anna just ignored them. “Keep your gun showing. I doubt most of these men are carrying anything more sinister than a knife.”
    “A knife can still kill,” I said.
    “Yeah,” Anna said, touching the hilt of her blade. “But mine is bigger.”
    Several of the men averted their eyes upon her touching the blade, but the bold ones continued to stare.
    “Come on,” I said. “We can start with this one.”
    Anna looked at the crudely painted sign hanging above the glass door, of two drunken sailors holding bottles. The door was wide open to the wind, but I could see that the glass had several bullet holes and webs of cracks.
    “The Wasted Wastrel,” she said, reading the sign. “Do any of these men know what that word means?”
    “Do you?”
    She shook her head. “Come on. There are probably ten other such places here. Finding Marcus and Char might be difficult.”
    “Let’s get started, then,” I said.
    As the Imperial sailors stared on, Anna and I strode toward the door. The stench of ale, sweat, and smoke became stronger as we neared the building. Several men called out to Anna in Spanish. I was glad I couldn’t understand what they were saying.
    We pushed open the swinging, wooden door.
    ***
    A t least fifty filthy and extremely drunk sailors were crowded into an area that was about equal to the deck space of the entire Perseus spaceship. The interior was dim and dingy, both from lack of light and an abundance of smoke – smoke not just from tobacco, but various, questionable origins. Anything less than a yell could not be heard in this environment.
    Trying to find Char or Marcus in this place, or in ten others like it, was definitely an unenviable task.
    “Just work your way around the room,” I yelled.
    Anna nodded, and we jostled our way through the stinky and teeming mass of humanity. As we came to the room’s far corner, I was surprised to hear the honky-tonk jangle of a battered piano, an old sailor mashing on the keys hard in order for the song to be heard. Several sailors belted out words to a Spanish sea chantey. If there was a regular piano player for this establishment, he’d probably been run off by the horde of sailors.
    The men drank deeply from pint glasses, the brew the color of deep amber. Froth covered lips, beards, and faces. A sour reek permeated the air. I couldn’t believe Marcus or Char would want to hang out in a place like this.
    “I don’t think they’re in here,” I said.
    Anna shrugged off the groping of a fat-bellied sailor. I reached for my gun, but Anna slapped my hand away.
    “We’re here to find Marcus,” she said. “Not start a fight.”
    I noticed more drunken men leering at Anna. I realized Samuel might have been a better companion for a task like this. I hadn’t realized how full these bars would be, especially in the daytime. The sooner we found Marcus and Char and got out, the better.
    We got to the bar itself, completely filled with boisterous mariners. Two men chugged from pint glasses while others cheered on.
    Marcus and Char.
    Anna and I watched, shocked, as our two friends raced to drain their mugs. Fists pounded on tables as batts shifted between sailors’ hands. Who would win, the Alpha of the Raiders, or the Chief of the Exiles?
    But at last, Marcus tipped the remainder of his mug, draining what was left of the froth, wiping his red beard in victory. His brother finished just a second later.
    A roar emanated from the watching sailors, batts exchanged hands, and a second round was bought for both brothers, regardless of victory. They nodded their thanks to the jovial sailors, and began drinking anew
    I stood, shocked, as Anna strode up. She laid a hand on Char’s shoulder. Voices quieted as she spoke.
    “I haven’t seen you drink like that since the