I shake my head, dragging myself from my gloomy thought. Instead, I look out of the window of the shuttle as we arrive.
I see The Rhino below us. The ten-story structure is just like it was in the hologram specifications. I remember exactly where the exits are – and visually identify each one I can, even as I hope it won’t come down to using any of them.
Daccia ordered me to run if trouble occurred – to take that service exit, deep underground. He said to go without them – but I have a feeling I wouldn’t need to. I’ve never had or needed a man to protect me before - but it sure as hell feels good to have these three Aurelians with me now, knowing through the Bond that they’d fight to their deaths to protect me.
Daccia pilots through open airlock on the top floor of The Rhino. The shuttle touches down so softly, I barely even notice our landing. Daccia truly is a masterful pilot – better even than the AI that would normally pilot the shuttle.
Now we’re landed, the doors open.
This tenth-story landing pad has a glass dome above us, so arrivals to the club can look out over the smog-clouded sky. I doubt many of the visitors stop to take in the view, however. The Rhino, from what the records could tell us, is primarily a place for men to buy sex. I know that kind of man well. Too well. I also know that men like that also like to gamble, drink, and partake in all sorts of illegal substances – and the Rhino caters to all of those tastes.
A short, greasy man with slicked-back hair greets us. He’s wearing four rings on his right hand, but none on his left. The right-hand rings are thick, strong bands of metal with raised designs and ridges on them.
That’s his ‘slapping hand’. Obbit had a similar technique for disciplining the girls as Spur’s joint.
I’d like to take that man’s ‘slapping’ hand from him before he leaves – rings still on those fat little fingers.
“Eyes down,” whispers Kitos as we disembark. I realize I’ve been staring – practically burning holes into the sleaze-ball approaching us. I don’t have the same, slim goggles hiding my gaze that the Aurelians are wearing. Instead, I avert my gaze, hating that in the role of a slave girl, I’m not supposed to even make eye-contact without the permission of my ‘master’.
“Aurelians,” the greasy man bows. “Welcome! Welcome to the Rhino. You may call me Giovanni. I heard you were coming here tonight. Mr. Torelli, the owner, will be happy to welcome you personally. He doesn’t see many of his kind this far out.”
My head suddenly snaps upwards – until I remember to force my gaze back down…
…but I felt my astonishment mirrored by the auras of Kitos and Hadrian.
Daccia’s aura, as always, remains ice.
His own kind!
That means the owner of The Rhino, Mr. Torelli, is an Aurelian!
As an Aurelian – clearly more travelled and experienced than the humans of this world – could he know where my sister is?
But before we can think about that, Giovanni reaches out his hands.
“One more small thing, before we enter the premises…”
The greasy-haired man shrugs apologetically – the unspoken statement of ‘I don’t make the rules.’
“…I’ll be needing to take those weapons from you.”
Daccia takes the lead. He simply ignores the request – as if the greasy-haired man demanding our weapons is so inferior to us that we don’t even acknowledge his existence.
If nothing else, that would keep up the character of a haughty, arrogant high-roller.
Ignoring the man’s splutters, we enter the elevator. He reluctantly presses the button, and the elevator descends two floors. Moments later, the elevator shudders to a halt – but the doors stay shut.
“I’ll happily welcome you to the main bar,” the same greasy-haired man interjects, with a little more determination this time. “If you’d like any of the girls, feel free to try them out. You’ll be billed afterward...”
Daccia stares forward. “We’re more interested in buying the girls.”
There’s a sudden smile on the greasy henchman’s face – one he grins before he can hide it.
“Ah!” His voice becomes more sycophantic. “Men of more sophisticated tastes. That can be arranged, too.”
Then that smile hardens.
“However, before we get out – I need your weapons.”
No please this time. No apology. He was obviously offended when Daccia ignored him the first time.
Kitos, Hadrian and Daccia exchange glances – and this time they pass over the hilts of their Orb-Weapons without pause.
It’s an interesting exchange. Daccia’s initial refusal was to show this man how little he thought of him… Then, the respectful acquiescence that followed was like giving a treat to a dog – giving him just enough acknowledgement not to be bitter about it.
But it was an inevitable move. Nobody would have allowed the Aurelians into the club with their Orb-Weapons. For a moment, I imagine how deadly those three warriors would be with those otherworldly weapons activated – and I can see why anybody would be scared of them.
Giovanni gratefully accepts the weapons – before pressing a button on the side of the elevator wall that opens a small compartment. Giovanni pushes the Orb-Weapons inside. They instantly get sucked away into storage.
“…and then,” he holds up his hand, almost apologetically, “a quick scan.”
And glass-faced camera device extends from the elevator ceiling and scans over us.
My stomach drops. My upgrades – those implants in my arms – were promised to be undetectable except under the lens of a full medical scan…
…but I’ve never tested that promise, and
