by Chris Turner
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 spoke a word to the Daulk who glided up and let drop his flared dumbo ears. Wordlessly, he led them to a table where sat three men in blue suits. One puffed a water pipe, the others stared and fiddled with luminous beads of some sort. Currency tokens? Craftwork? All scanned the newcomers with distrust—and yet, interest. The leader was a man with a short salt-and-pepper beard, a nose ring and thick, hairy chest exposed who dismissed the Daulk with a flippant gesture. Three upright organ tubes, swimming with life reared in multicolour before the table. Small translucent marbles, green and blue wagers, Miko saw, had been in play.
“Sit,” the man commanded.
Fenli, warily, gave him his hardest look and lowered his weight onto the padded stool. Miko took a seat next to him.
“What have you to deal, gentlemen?” the gambler asked. “I trust you know the rules of our ‘parlour’?”
Fenli shrugged. “One game’s as familiar as the other.”
“That’s a good attitude, stranger.” This earned Fenli several raised eyebrows and a chuckle.
“What am I to call you by?” he asked.
Fenli gave a grand gesture and a yawn. “This is Mr. Mak and I’m Mr. Fik.”
The man smiled—a shark-like grin. “Well, Messrs. Mak and Fik, welcome to the Skull Hotel. I’m Teebla, and these are my associates, Gayad and Ribshot.”
Fenli waved impatiently. “We carry no funds—for security reasons. But—” he dangled the blue chip taken from Salhan in front of the gambler’s nose. “We have this, which may interest you.”
“And what’s this?”
“What do you think? Where do you want to see our merchandise?”
“No need.” The gambler flicked a switch at his keypad. “Let’s see what you have.”
Miko saw a dispenser console wheel up on a robotic pedestal similar to what they had seen back in the tram-depot.
Fenli tensed, his jaw muscles bunching. His eyes sparked. “What we have to trade is not for public eyes,” he hissed. “A hot item, which could get us in a lot of trouble. You too.”
“All the better,” Gayad muttered. “Come on, let’s see it. We are all friends here.”
An awkward pause fell over the table.
“For whose eyes, is it?” quipped Ribshot.
Teebla waved. “Relax.” He coughed, pitching words in a diplomatic manner. “Many traders come to secure deals from far worlds: metals, chemicals, stones, dusts, elixirs. Others trade jewels, contraband, snow, even engage in human trafficking.”
“Is it legal?” demanded Miko.
The gambler shrugged. “An odd word to use around here. The phrase we use in Skullrox is, is it black market worthy? The thief-takers choose to ignore most of what goes on here. It makes business rather lucrative for men like us. I’m a casual gambler, sometimes compulsive, who wagers goods as easily as credits. Ribshot here enjoys the thrill of a chase, a part-time junkie. Gayad is another story.” He took a drag on his water pipe. “What brings you here?”
“Business,” responded Miko crisply. He glared at Fenli before he could interject an insult that would compromise their already precarious position. By this time the snow he had ingested had caused a languid grin to settle on his face, and his eyes to cloud over in a dreamy expression.
“Insert your token then. Otherwise we have nothing to talk about.”
Fenli reluctantly inserted the blue chip in the machine’s outer panel. A bright tinkling of machinery gave way to a lurid picture of the Jakru tank appearing on the holo-screen.
Chins lifted and men tilted back in their chairs, eyes staring at the curled horns and suggestive curves of the woman floating in the tank.
Teebla ogled the sleek body of the Jakru woman with a lascivious leer.
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Miko tensed at the men’s attention. He would not forgive himself if anything happened to the woman. He cursed that he had ever allowed Fenli to bring him here and con him into this sleazy scheme. A sick feeling welled in the pit of his stomach.
“The tank is an extra special touch, master Fik,” the gambler commented idly. “Such wonderful horns... Unless the woman is still alive, we will not make a deal.” He pressed a button and the holograph swirled to become a real form.
Miko gasped. Fenli’s mouth hung slack. “Dim it!” Fenli hissed. “Most folk wouldn’t take kindly to us possessing such a package, not to mention the city watch.”
The gambler chortled. “Yes, she’s alive. I saw her eyes move. Well, I’ll be damned...” He wound the dial back and both Jakru and tank disappeared back into holo form again. Eyes had turned, interested in what had riled the players, but from what Miko had seen, nobody had gained a proper look at the woman.
Miko’s scowl widened. His grey eyes darted toward the exit. He shook his head at Fenli, whispering under his breath: “I advise you to hurry up with your bids before this place blows up on us.”
Fenli waved him off. “I’m on it.” He spoke sweetly to Teebla, “Shall we proceed?”
“Punch the green light to agree to the terms. The house will extend you the estimate of the product’s worth, I’m guessing around 50000 credits. Such sums are automatically protected under common gamblers’ rights—from seizure by the authorities—minus a 6000 credit fee. Are you on board? That or we could go for double or nothing. If you lose, both you and the bathing beauty will become my property.”
“6000 credits?” gasped Miko.
“The going rate, based on the estimated value of the merchandise.” The gambler turned to Fenli with an evil eye, and some new amazement. “A Jakru dignitary... Well, gentlemen, you’re something else, and I had sized you up as chumps.”
Teebla seemed to become expansive upon sight of the merchandise. “Ice crystals, attendant!” He waved over a young server. “’Tis our local delicacy here. And courtesy of the house.”
The oceanless planet was lacking in clear water, from what Miko had gathered from Teebla’s talk. Water from the twin lakes was toxic, so drinkable water had to be manufactured or treated chemically in factories.
“It’s quite obvious you’re from offworld,” Teebla said, his remark more a judgement than a question.
“We arrived today,” offered Fenli.
The gambler’s brows peaked in interest. “A bad time to come. There was an incident over by the customs building today.”
Fenli nodded. “We escaped it—luckily. A nasty bit of violence. Security people were killed, I gather.”
Gayad cracked his knuckles. “Whoever those boors were who harmed innocent civilians, should be shot.”
Fenli licked his lips with a faint grin.
Teebla looked out over the lake and the blinking city lights seemed to take on a new life. “This place is notorious for criminals and scandals. The first settlers, in fact, warred amongst one another like a pack of snarling hyenas. An epidemic broke out, several were infected. The feistiest rebels fell to the ruling class—let’s just say that under superior fire power, they were relegated to the dregs.” He motioned. “Out there, beyond the lake. They live as exiles. We call them ‘undesirables’, ‘unwanteds’ if you like.” The man sighed and clapped his hands. “Well then, gentlemen, to happier topics.”
The drinks and snacks came with a side plate of nuts and Fenli downed his ice martini and snacks with hungry fervour, as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. Miko savoured his drink, enjoying every intimate swirl of the liquid and crunch of olive in his mouth.
The first glow of daylight was creeping over the lake and the tall smokestacks with wide-brimmed funnels at the top belched out yellow clouds high into the atmosphere, making the air breathable. Towers reared across the sallow skies. A tart, salty dry odour filled the air, even in the casino, and Miko wrinkled his nose. The large water towers added to the cluttered skyline of the city.
Fenli impatiently clicked dials, eager to start the game while Miko munched on nuts.
Ribshot reached out to detain him. “Uh, uh. Once we have verified your goods—”
Fenli shook himself angrily from Ribshot’s pawing grip. “What have you to offer? You blow hard on our collateral, and yet show nothing of your own.”
Teebla bridled at the comment. “Here’s fifty thousand credits!” he bellowed. “Count, if you will.” He lay a sack of fifty golden marbles, each a thousand credits, in the wager bowl in front of him.
“And here’s twenty of my own,” boasted Ribshot.
Gayad pitched in ten glowering blue orbs from his own pouch.
That made 30,000 over their own bid and Fenli grunted with appeasement.
“As you are guests, I give you three choices of the game of play,” said Teebla conciliatorily. “Beasts of the sea, space conquest, finally geopolitical domination—”
“Anything but water!” blurted Fenli.
“In that case—Gayad, can you select—why you rotter! Why did you click on the water battles?”
“Sorry, my hand slipped,” apologized Gayad.
Fenli gritted his teeth.
Teebla smiled genially and cleared his throat. “Let me explain a few things and offer some background behind the game. The avatars of this game are fishes, some from lake Zaol herself. We, as representatives of our own world, play on the theme of survival of the fittest—to the tune of fish. ’Tis a feral dog-eat-dog game, a reflection of real life. Hence the title of the game, ‘LIFE’, though many nickname it ‘Death’. It is most fitting. As games go, it is one of my favourites.”
Fenli shrugged. “I could take it or leave it. My favourite is Spleened. Ever play it?”
“Not recently.”
“I actually prefer Scrabble,” remarked Miko casually.
They afforded him queer looks and Fenli shook his head in wonder.
“Right then!” Teebla snapped his fingers. “Grab your toggle, master Fik! The game commences! May the best man win.”
A virtual gaming board rose slowly from the game stand, morphing out of the metallic material. Four sets of controls, one for each player gleamed before their fingertips. Fenli, his eyes blazing, apprised himself with the hyper-tensile, double velocity-sensitive joysticks. Rows of multi-coloured attack buttons ranged to the side with defence adjustment controls and monitors.
The three pipes rose higher and widened to become one fluid-holo screen; phosphorescent liquid flooded in. Holo-tech took over, and the waters roiled in a dizzying haze of stars and sparkles to dazzle the eye and settle into a majestic underwater terrain. Miko saw sea green-blue waters with coral and weeds wavering in warm currents. The effect was 4D; sound travelled in and around his head.
Miko looked on mesmerized. From where the sound of sloshing water came and underwater whale-sounds ended, he had no clue. Like multi-layered soundscapes of the most hypnotic sense, it appeared to come from inside his skull. But how could that be? He looked around, his head swimming. His eyes blinked. Colours of rainbow light streamed from the sky above down into the seawater.
A menacing array of fish appeared in the foreground. The men selected their avatars. Fenli chose a primitive shark of the Hybodus genus with a hooked nose. Teebla selected a blue killer whale. Its mouth opened with yawning mockery. Ribshot selected an ancient pike with grey-mottled skin and a blood-battered beak. Gayad, finally chose a curious blowfish, oval in shape, with lethal poison sacs hanging from its underbelly and a bristly maze of quills like a porcupine beast on its back. Rumour had it that such a creature could drop a large marine predator, if pricked in the right place.
The green light flashed and the enemy fish circled, eyeing one another with evil intent. They swam forward to confront each other, tails swishing menacingly.
Fenli pulled hard on his command toggles. The shark swam about the others, then Fenli thrust straight down, nose abreast the coral reef.
Ribshot and Teebla darted after him, almost colliding with each other.
Fenli led them down, down, toward the bottom of the ocean. His powerful fins and monstrous tail brushed the jagged coral edges. He gave a sharp twist on his joystick, and he swam up over to nip at Ribshot’s fins.
Ribshot gave a croaking cry. He spun about, snapping wicked teeth at Fenli. Gayad finned forth to menace the shark with its quills spurting poison, but Teebla’s lips cracked in a sly grin as he intercepted Gayad’s ponderous blowfish, to chase Fenli’s tail himself.
“You grey-haired dog, Teebla!” sneered Gayad. “You deliberately blocked my chance for a clear assault on Fik’s predator. I could have had a clear win.”
“Touché, Gayad. You were a tad slow. Your prickly dogfish is a weighted stone in my opinion. I was forced to look after my own interests. Watch out!”
“You’re a bastard,” cried Gayad, as he avoided Fenli’s teeth.
“Prepare for your demise, you foolish Dawcocks!” gloated Fenli. Triumph lit his face as he charged in to capitalize. Dark-blue caves were etched in the coral reef and Fenli weaved in and out of them, drawing the others into his trap. “Ribshot, you are dead. My jaws are already around your grey throat. Gayad, be dismayed as your poisonous blowsac sinks in its own poison. En garde, Teebla! Your steed ribback is failing!”
“I can see that,” spat Teebla. “Gayad, you detain me again.” He jerked hard on his stick and his whale bunted Gayad sideways. The blowfish twirled end over end off into the grey-blue murk while Fenli’s shark took a bite out of his fleshy underbelly.
The creature sank to the bottom, oozing sparkling pinkish blood in a thin ribbon.
Gayad swore. He slapped the controls in a fit of blazing anger. He poured in 30k more credits of marbles to continue his game, and his blowfish came rearing back to life, lancing quills at scavenging swordfish that sought to examine its bloody hide.