The bar was clearly military, highclass military, but military nonetheless. One of the most apparent indications of this was that it offered live waitresses as an option. Of course, having a live waitress meant your drinks cost more, but the military men were one of the last groups of holdouts who were willing to pay extra rather than be served the impersonal hydrolift of a Servo-Matic.

Steve Tidwell, former major, and his friend Clancy were well entrenched at their favorite corner table, a compromise reached early in their friendship as a solution to the problem of how they could both sit with their backs to the wall.

"Let me get this round, Steve," ordered Clancy, dipping into his pocket. "That severance pay of yours may have to last you a long time."

"Hi Clancy, Steve," their waitress smiled, delivering the next round of drinks. "Flo's tied up out back, so I thought I'd better get these to you before you got ugly and started tearing up the place."

"There's a love," purred Clancy, tucking a folded bill into her cleavage. She ignored him.

"Steve, what's this I hear about you getting cashiered?"

Tidwell took a sudden interest in the opposite wall. Clancy caught the waitress's eye and gave a minute shake of his head. She nodded knowingly and departed.

"Seriously, Steve, what are you going to do now?"

Tidwell shrugged.