"Adda." Bzya smiled through his distorted face, and waved Adda to a clear space of rail. Adda hooked one arm over the rail, hooking himself comfortably into place. "Thanks for coming down." Bzya glanced, once, past Adda toward the door, then turned back to his bowls.

Adda caught the look. "No Farr," he said heavily. "I'm sorry, Bzya. I couldn't find him."

Bzya nodded. "I expect he's Surfing again."

"I know you did a lot for him, when he was working in the Harbor; he should have..."

Bzya held up his thick palm. "Forget it. Look, if I was his age I'd rather be losing myself in the sky with the Surfers than sitting in a poky place like this with two battered old fogeys. And with the Games coming up in a couple of days, they'll only have one thing on their minds. Or maybe two," he said slyly. He nodded at the three bowls on the rail. "Anyway, it just means there's more of this stuff for us."

Adda looked down at the row of bowls. They were crudely carved of wood and were little larger than his cupped palm, and they were fixed to the rail by stubs of wood. The bowls contained small slices of what might have been bread. Adda, cautiously, pulled out a small, round slice; it was dense, warm and moist to the touch. He turned it over doubtfully. "What the hell's this?"

Bzya laughed, looking pleased with himself. "I didn't think you'd have heard of it yet. No bars in the upflux, eh, my friend?"

Adda glared. "I'm supposed to eat this stuff?"

Bzya extended his fingers, inviting Adda to do so.

Adda sniffed at the plastic stuff, squeezed it and finally took a small nibble. It was as hot, dense and soggy as it looked — unpleasant inside the mouth — and the taste was sour, unidentifiable. Adda swallowed the fragment. "Disgusting."

"But you've got to treat it right." Bzya dipped into the bowl, drew out a thick handful of the stuff, and crammed it into his mouth. His big jaws worked as he chewed the stuff twice, then swallowed it down in one go. He closed his eyes as the hot food passed down his throat; and after a few seconds he shuddered briefly, suppressing a sigh. Then he belched. "That's how you take beercake."

"Beercake?"

"Try it again."

Adda reached into the second bowl and lifted a healthy handful of cake to his mouth. It sat in his mouth, hot, dense and eminently indigestible; but, with determination, he bit into it a couple of times and then swallowed, forcing his throat to accept the incompressible stuff. The cake passed down his throat, a hard, painful lump. "Fabulous," he said when it was gone. "I'm so glad I came."

Bzya grinned and held up his palm.