Chapter 10 Orion
orion
Someone Mentioned This Was A Bad Idea
The Red Sands Resort and Casino has all the elegance and charm you’d expect from a group of ancient mob warlords with too much money.
From the outside, the building is a mishmash of lopsided triangles and spheres of pink-tinted metal that reflect the setting sun in a sickly orange glow.
Stepping into the expansive foyer proves the ugliness is more than skin deep.
The lobby sports thick, blood-colored carpet and bright yellow walls, which clash terribly with the gilt gaming tables and gambling machines on the casino floor.
The air inside is thick with the acrid smell of smoke and tobellian pipe vapor, making my eyes water and pushing nausea through my stomach.
A cacophony of shrill music and cheery, drunken conversation from the assembled guests makes it nearly impossible to hear Lyra in the small earpiece communicator she insisted I wear.
“What?” I all but shout as her voice crackles with static.
“I said, go to the front desk! And stop scowling. You’re meant to be dangerous and charming,” she instructs.
“Who are all these people?” I ask idly, making my way to the front of the lobby.
Everywhere I look, it’s a sea of people—humans and aliens and hybrid species I’ve never seen before.
I’d be impressed by the variety if I wasn’t so disturbed by the thought of them willfully losing their money to a nefarious crime syndicate.
“Oh, you know, just your average mix of oblivious vacationing families, good-time folks, and desperate fools. Most of them are harmless, really,” she replies. “But I’m sure we’re not the only ones with ulterior motives. Do you remember what you’re supposed to say to the front desk attendant?”
“Of course I do. You only made me practice a hundred times. And how did you know I was scowling if you’re back on the ship?” I ask.
“I merely assumed. You do this thing with your eyebrows when you’re displeased—they get all scrunched up and it makes you look mean,” she says.
“I do not,” I argue, immediately rubbing at the wrinkle between my brows.
Lyra’s musical laugh filters through the earpiece, tugging at some invisible string inside me I’m not inclined to consider.
“Good evening,” I say, approaching the counter. “I’d like to speak with the manager about a private party.”
The being in front of me looks more like a gelatinous blob with tentacles than anything, but it tilts its head to the side and presses a button. A bright pink message splays across its abdomen, blinking in various languages. When the message flicks to Kailorian, I read, “Name?”
“Ah, yes. Laesher. I’m Alonius Laesher,” I say, attempting to look equally charming and dangerous per Lyra’s directives.
The blob pauses a moment and I heft the titanium suitcase onto the counter. When the blob pokes a tentative tentacle toward it, I pull it back and narrow my eyes.
“The manager, if you please,” I say sternly.
The blob ripples with affront and presses another button. It gestures me to the side, and I step away from the counter to wait.
“This seems to be going well,” Lyra patches in. “You’re doing great.”
Before I can reply, a firm hand grasps my shoulder and whirls me around. The owner is as tall as I am and twice as wide, covered in thick gray skin and bony plates. Horns sprout from the sides of its humanoid face and beady yellow eyes glare at me with impatience.
“You wanted to see the manager?”
The voice is soft, lilting—feminine. Entirely at odds with the brutal enforcer vibe of the alien in front of me.
“I’d like to speak to Fobos about a private party,” I reply, holding up the briefcase.
The enforcer—not Fobos, clearly, but one of his lackeys—growls and sniffs at the briefcase.
He adjusts his tie and leads me through the main floor of the casino.
The clattering, clanging, metallic sounds of credits being won and lost, of aliens in despair and triumph, pulls at my attention despite my efforts to keep my eyes forward and my expression impassive.
“First time in Minaris?” the enforcer asks.
I nod. “I do most of my dealings elsewhere.”
“Easy, Ranger,” Lyra chirps in my ear. “Don’t give them too much information. You don’t want to say something that’ll give you away.”
I press my lips together as we make our way to the back of the casino and enter a small, dark hallway.
The enforcer has to shift to the side slightly to squeeze through the narrow corridor, and I wonder if he’s been chosen specifically for the job because no one would be able to get past him—literally.
He knocks on a heavy metal door and lifts his hand to a biometric keypad at the right. The door opens with a rush of air and the enforcer shoves me in, but doesn’t follow me inside.
For a beat, there is only dark silence—the muted air is old and stale in comparison with the noisome casino floor, but the pleasant scents of worn leather, dust, and old books are something of a comfort.
In the gloom, yellow lamps flicker beneath golden lampshades.
As my eyes adjust, I realize I am in the foyer of a massive library, filled with towering aisles of books and crystalline cases boasting a bizarre array of treasures.
I recognize artifacts from a number of cultures tucked into the cases—some of which Lyra has told me she’d acquired.
So far, she seems to be telling the truth.
I casually slide my hand into my pocket, feeling for the holocorder’s smooth case.
The wealth sprawling before me boggles my mind. My initial perusal doesn’t yield the Nebula Gems, but I would've been surprised to see them laying out for all to see.
“Can I help you?” A disembodied voice slides over the nearest aisle of books. To say it’s unnerving is an understatement, and it sends my pulse racing.
“I’m here for Fobos,” I reply, craning my neck to find the source of the sound.
“You’ve found him,” the voice returns in a smooth drawl. “But I don’t have your name, stranger.”
With the soft shuffle of books sliding onto shelves and the gentle tap of hard-soled shoes against the expensive wooden floor, he emerges from the aisle to my left.
Fobos is a Senterion—an alien from the outer reaches of the Eternia galaxy.
No one knows where they originated or how many are left, but those who do remain hold vast stores of wealth and power.
He is roughly my height, with smooth golden skin and piercing red eyes.
Two long, curved horns protrude from his forehead.
Long black hair sweeps down his back over his glittering silver suit—like mine in style, but made from some luxurious metallic fabric.
On his feet, he wears a pair of white boots made from some mysterious reptilian skin.
“Alonius Laesher,” I reply, stepping further into the room. I’m reaching for the confidence I don’t really feel, but the chance of sending the Feds after this bastard is just enough motivation for me.
He tilts his head at me, studying me with thinly-veiled interest. “From whence do you hail, Laesher?”
Static crackles in my earpiece as Lyra groans loudly.
“I forgot these assholes always sound like they’re about to launch into a soliloquy,” she grumbles. “Thou art a fucking pain in my ass, Fobos.”
I smile. “Oh, all over. I never stay in one place too long.”
“That sounds rather lonely,” Fobos replies.
“How fortunate that you should find your way to my casino. Plenty of people seek company here—unless, of course, you prefer your solitude.” His red eyes narrow as he looks me up and down, appraising me with an invasive judgment that makes my skin itch.
A predatory grin tugs at his lips, baring his sharp, triangular teeth.
“My business demands it, I’m afraid,” I say, shifting uneasily. If only Lyra would hurry up.
“Ah, your business,” he echoes, eyes flicking to the briefcase in my hand, his nostrils flaring on an inhale. “Presumably that’s what brings you to me?”
“If we could go somewhere more secure, I’d like to show you something,” I say, raising the briefcase in front of me.
“Oh, we’re quite secure in my little library,” he says smoothly. “And it’s just us back here.”
The wink he adds would be alluring if I didn’t get the sense I’ve somehow become prey dancing in front of a predator. His eyes glitter a little too much in the dim room—his sharp-toothed smile stretches a little too wide.
Lyra’s choked laughter rings through the earpiece.
“Hell yeah, Ranger. Get some!” she cackles.
It takes every ounce of strength to remain calm and collected. Under Fobos’ watchful ruby gaze, I cross over to a large table in the middle of the room and the airtight case hisses as I unlock it. The Solar Mother idol glitters inside.
Fobos emits a quiet gasp, and even Lyra grows silent on the other end of the comms.
“Do you know what this is?” I ask, watching as lust and hunger sparks in the Senterion’s gaze.
“Of course I do,” he sneers. “The Solar Mother idol!” His seductive charm has all but evaporated under the weight of his greed.
“I have a buyer,” I say warily. “But perhaps you might offer me a better deal. I’ve been told you trade in Xylothian artifacts.”
Some of the frenzied desire in his eyes hardens to suspicion and he raises a brow.
“Pray tell, who told you such a thing?” Fobos reaches forward to stroke one claw-tipped finger down the idol and I clench my fists to avoid slamming the case shut on his hand.
“Do not tell him you know me, Ranger,” Lyra warns in my ear. “Just be vague, okay? Don’t offer any more information than you have to.”
I clear my throat. “Let’s just say I’ve heard more than a few rumors about the Nebula Gems in the outskirts of the galaxy,” I try, mustering as much confidence as I can. It’s difficult with Fobos’ unsettling red eyes boring into mine.