Hosato studied the group as he approached them. Suzi floated silently at his side, her disapproval displayed by the absence of her traditional comments and observations.

Three of the men were obviously the Scale brothers. Their flashy, stylish clothes disguised neither the family resemblance nor the arrogant slouch of habitual bar toughs. They were long-limbed and broad-shouldered; their build and manner set them apart from the fourth man, even more than their obvious difference in color.

The fourth man stood slightly apart from the others. He was bald and Negroid, his ramrod-stiff posture marking him as military. His face was impassive, but his well-muscled, compact body and poised readiness were enough to cause anyone to give him wide berth. It was obvious to the most casual observer that the worn holster of his blaster had not been purchased used, but had aged the hard way.

The bald man moved forward to meet Hosato. “Mr. Mathers?” he asked.

“I am Hayama,” said Hosato. “I have been retained by Mr. Mathers to settle this affair.”

The bald man swept him with a speculative glance before replying. “I am Moabe, Mr. Hayama. I have been asked to serve as umpire.”

Hosato inclined his head slightly in formal acknowledgment.

“Hey. Are you one of Mathers’ seconds?”

Hosato turned to face the speaker. “Might I ask whom I am addressing?” he queried.

“I’m Harry Scale, the challenger. These are my brothers, Casey and Tom.”

Hosato inclined his head to them. “I am Hayama.”

One of the brothers, Tom, snorted derisively. The other studied Hosato carefully.

“You didn’t answer Brother Harry’s question,” he commented quietly.

“I have been retained by Mr. Mathers to settle this affair,” Hosato replied. “He sends his regrets over last night’s incident and states he is ready to make public apology under any condition you might set forth.”