Rivqua wiped dressing off her lip. "That's always a risk when dealing with lower intelligence, especially when it sits in the head of a huge insect-type alien with unresolved tough-nut issues. Whatever you say to them, chances are it'll be taken the wrong way."
"That's when playing by ear comes in handy."
"We got them going. Calculating interest on their losses should keep them occupied for some time. And in crippling disagreement."
"We'll have to let Hoot Gaas know, just in case. He might want to lease a few more guard bots or something."
"It's worth a mention. The casino's got expensive furniture."
In just a short space of time the bright, throbbing machinery of Toss Vague-Ass had come alive. Slot machines flickered down glass alleys. Music thumped through open doorways. Silhouettes jived in there.
Ahead of them, half a mile down the road, the Grand Galactica tower lanced toward the velvety darkness, like a sparkling crystal rod, linking the city with the universe.
A police vessel glided past some fifteen feet over the busy boulevard, lightbar flashing slowly, as if to say, 'Yep, I'm here folks, watch your step.'
"Vacuum-packed sprouts with legs," said Zana about the doormen. They seemed to be of one kind. A blue-skinned race of sapiens, genetically quirked-up to have double sets of rippling muscles all over. Apparently for the single purpose of guarding nightclub doors in the most intimidating manner possible. The concept worked.
"Truck could whop any one of those guys, easy," she said.
"That she could," Rivqua agreed. "And the mere sight of one might provoke her to prove it."
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