A broadshouldered, cleancut (well, ok, he has a bit of a gut on him) young spaceman swaggered into the bar. Pulling a deadly durasteel DeLaminater out of its white leatherette holster, he slammed it on the bar. "I want a cherry coke and some information!" he shouted. The bartender locked the stranger's eyes with his, while keeping a couple extra on the grungy group in the corner. "I don't know nuthin'," he said..."In fact, I don't tnink I like you. Take that damn space cadet pistola off of my bar before I feed it to ya."

Pulling his sleeve up, the stalwart young man revealed an iridium bracelet, sparkling with luminescent jewels. "A Lensman!" cried the gangly youth in awe, while passing through a door upon which Really Wierd Aliens was written and zipping up his trousers. "Yes, my mission in life is to save the galaxy from evildoers, tax collectors, and other such scum, and I have come to offer my assistance to the Free Iselene Movement. Can anyone here direct me to their headquarters?" The bartender reached down with one arm (while mixing drinks with the others), picked up a really foul spitton and upended it over the Lensman's head. "Mentor warned me there'd be days like this" he muttered.