ne below Class Three was allowed to carry a beamgun, and only Ones
and Twos were allowed to wear the screening fields that protected them
from the nerve-searing effects of the weapon. And they, being Execs,
were in no danger from each other.

Finally, after much walking, he decided that he was in the wrong part of
town. There were no Class Three bars anywhere along these streets.
Perhaps, he thought, he should have gone to the Spacemen's Club at the
spaceport itself. On the other hand, he hadn't particularly wanted to
see any of the other minor officers of his own class after the
near-fiasco which had damaged the _Naipor_. Being a Guesser set him
apart, even from other Threes.

He thought for a moment of asking a policeman, but he dismissed it.
Cops, as always, were a breed apart. Besides, they weren't on the
streets to give directions, but to preserve order.

At last, he went into a nearby Class Four bar and snapped his fingers
for the bartender, ignoring the sudden silence that had followed his
entrance.

The barman set down a glass quickly and hurried over, bobbing his head
obsequiously. "Yes, sir; yes, sir. What can I do for you, sir? It's an
honor to have you here, sir. How may I serve you?"

The man himself was wearing the distinctive clothing of a Five, so his
customers outranked him, but the brassard on his arm showed that his
master was a Two, which afforded him enough authority to keep reasonable
order in the place.

"Where's the nearest Class Three bar?" The Guesser snapped.

The barman looked faintly disappointed, but he didn't lose his
obsequiousness. "Oh, that's quite a way from here, sir--about the
closest would be Mallard's, over on Fourteenth Street and Upper Drive. A
mile, at least."

The Guesser scowled. He was in the wrong section of town, all right.

"But I'd be honored to serve you, sir," the barman hurried on. "Private
booth, best of everything, perfect privacy--"

The Guesser shook his head quickly. "No. Just tell me how to get to
Mallard's."

The barman looked at him for a moment, rubbing a fingertip across his
chin, then he said: "You're not driving, I suppose, sir? No? Well, then,
you can either take the tubeway or walk, sir...." He let the sentence
hang, waiting for The Guesser's decision.

The Guesser thought rapidly. Tubeways were for Fours and Fives. Threes
had groundcars; Ones and Twos had aircars; Sixes and below walked. And
spacemen walked.

Trouble is, spacemen aren't