Miko frowned. “Why don’t we hit that Overons joint first? Seems like a safer bet than what ‘greasy curls’ back there was priming us up for?”
“And have our pockets picked clean, you mean?” Fenli sneered. “These lesser underground sheds are notorious for touts gulling off-worlders into scams—Let me do the choosing.”
Miko threw up his hands. He hated leaving Fenli in charge of operations, but the cargo master did know the city—supposedly. Yet it was no secret he had already gotten them into this jam by insisting on dragging the Jakru along with them.
The glass skull, grinning down on them like a cosmic joke, did nothing to ease Miko’s spirits. He shivered and tugged at his chin. “These architects really need to erect something a little more aesthetic.”
Fenli, for once, agreed. He looked warily at the locust. “Usk, you’ll never get in there. Might as well beat it. And don’t wait up for us. Make yourself scarce. Vamoosh.” He flicked his fingers in insolent fashion.
Miko gave Fenli a disparaging look. He glanced at the locust and felt some pity. Inclining his head towards the side street, he looked back the way they had just come. “Wait up for us there, Usk. As soon as we get out of this joint, we’ll get you,” he murmured.
The locust cocked his head, made champing noises with his teeth. If anything, Usk was clever. Down the street he clacked, clutching the weapon he had plundered from fingerless Salhan. He probably went off to seek out food, Miko thought. He hadn’t eaten for a long time. But then again, how? He had no more tanks out of which to feed.
Miko watched him sidle off in the shuffling crab-like gait insects of his kind were known for, duly heading for the direction he had suggested.
Fenli grinned. “Our locust friend’s going to get himself killed carrying that billy blaster of his.”
Miko didn’t even honour the comment with a reply.
They approached the glass doors of the hotel. Coloured mist shot up from sprinklers behind the lawn’s shrubs and curled around the spotlights to give a mystical effect.
“We’ll have to check our weapons in the foyer,” declared Fenli, “or at the front desk.”
Miko shrugged.
“But, hold on...” He thumbed the razor-thin fire disks they had acquired from the fallen Jakru. “Military grade, it seems—it sneaks past scanners. Hide it in your shoe. They won’t check, Miko. Promise. To arm, press the yellow flange like this and flick it out like a switchblade to launch a strike. Here—” Fenli demonstrated. The blade extended a foot to Miko’s amazement.
Miko copied the manoeuvre and muttered with surprise.
The two approached the gateway as nonchalantly as possible. There was a brief flutter in Miko’s heart, for there was some doubt to Fenli’s claim. True to his promise, the alarm did not sound.
The attendant behind the wicket droned, “Any ammo patches, tetraguns or raid immunitors?”
“None,” answered Fenli. He held up a small pistol.
“Stun rays are allowed in here,” the attendant remarked. “Why, I don’t know. Move along.” The screening officer waved them through and Fenli gave a drowsy sigh. “See, I told you so,” he said to Miko.
The warm and humid air hit Miko’s senses with welcome relief, unlike the dry, tart, oxygen-deprived atmosphere of the city. He felt relaxed for a time, but also tired and battered. He wondered when the next bout of invisibility would strike him. Would it go badly? Maybe he should just come clean and tell Fenli about it? He winced. He had a bad feeling about that course.
Amidst a range of prickly cacti and green and yellow tropical plants, more brisk fountains shot multi-coloured water up to the lofty ceiling, to fall back down into a rippling pool.
Fenli grinned. “How do you like the ‘Grand Hotel’?”
The foyer was posh, admittedly. Tinted glass ran the gamut. Couples moved on the escalators up and down the floors, laughing, flashing bright smiles, clinking goblets.
“Reference?” a big man in the blue-grey suit asked them at the elevo-lift.
“Maestro,” exclaimed Fenli.
“Go ahead.”
Miko’s brows rose. That was easy, he thought. Almost too easy.
Immediately they were assailed by a wall of noise as they took the elevo-lift and entered the second-floor casino.
The hall was spacious and dimly lit. The Grand Skull Inn served as a hotel and bar and gaming establishment all at once. It brought in an impressive, rich clientele. Through the tall glass panels, Miko could see the lake shimmering like a black satin sheet. Boats lit up the water, plying gracefully across its surface like enchanted fireflies. A flat, treeless waste occupied the farther shore.
Miko sidled up to the bar, looking for their Daulk. He was quite noticeable, playing at a side table what seemed a musical instrument. He tapped keys in front of him on a small console. Coloured objects flitted up a hollow tube: city towers, statues and stars and light streaks, each making their characteristic sound and connecting with other objects that seemed to score him points on a holo display above. The men at his table gestured excitedly.
At nearby tables, couples and groups played similar games, where other fluorescent tubes rose up, true to the pawnshop owner’s word, like pipe organs. The air was filled with laughs, cries, clinking glasses. Alongside a dance floor, a bar band played exotic instruments centre stage—some techno beat, but layered with electronic textures of sound Miko had never heard before, and odd to the ear, as if the sound came from behind and in front of him simultaneously.
Miko shook out his daze. A waiter accosted them, almost knocking him over, bearing a tray of fizzy, pale-coloured drinks in goblets. “Sirs, your order?”
Fenli and Miko shook their heads. Even if they had the funds to pay, they would likely decline. The waiter shrugged and moved on.
Fenli bent and
