"I'll remember that."
Martin lurched to his feet and collected the chess set.
"Till then."
"Ciao."
Martin dusted and polished again, moved in the player piano andscattered sawdust upon the floor. He installed a fresh keg. He hungsome reproductions of period posters and some atrocious old paintingshe had located in a junk shop. He placed cuspidors in strategiclocations. When he was finished, he seated himself at the bar andopened a bottle of mineral water. He listened to the New Mexico windmoaning as it passed, to grains of sand striking against thewindowpanes. He wondered whether the whole world would have that dry,mournful sound if Tlingel found a means for doing away with humanity,or—disturbing thought—whether the successors to his own kind might turnthings into something resembling the mythical morning land.
This troubled him for a time. Then he went and set up the boardthrough Black's P-Q3. When he turned back to clear the bar he saw aline of cloven hoofprints advancing across the sawdust.
"Good evening, Tlingel," he said. "What is your pleasure?"
Suddenly, the unicorn was there, without preliminary pyrotechnics.It moved to the bar and placed one hoof upon the brass rail.
"The usual."
As Martin drew the beer, Tlingel looked about.
"The place has improved, a bit."
"Glad you think so. Would you care for some music?"
"Yes."
Martin fumbled at the back of the piano, locating the switch forthe small, battery operated computer which controlled the pumpingmechanism and substituted its own memory for rolls. The keyboardimmediately came to life.
"Very good, Tlingel stated. "Have you found your move?"
"I have."
"Then let us be about it."
He refilled the unicorn's mug and moved it to the table, along