“Semi?” Ru raised an eyebrow.
He grinned. “Dulls the kick if you take it all out.”
“I’ll have the lager,” Micah said.
Ru nodded. “Same here.”
Pago returned to center of the bar, to a row of taps whose manual design suggested a simpler, unconnected world. He was preparing two other orders at the same time as theirs, and it was dizzying to watch his spindly extra arms weave deftly around each other: a ballet of bartending. Finally he returned and put the two drinks down in front of them. Tall glasses filled with amber liquid: the color of Micah’s eyes. “That’s fourteen creds.”
As Micah rummaged in his pocket for the cash chits that Ivar had procured for them, Ru said, “Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
She looked back over her shoulder. “What’s the cage for?”
His upper shoulders shrugged. “Personal challenges, grudge matches, sometimes a formal competition. Whatever people want it for. Better to fight there than in the middle of the bar, yeah?”
Micah sorted through his chits until he found a twenty. “Here.” He put it down on the bar in front of Pago. “Keep the change.”
“Much obliged.” Clearly pleased, the man tucked it into his apron pocket. “It’s been an unusually slow shift up till now, but if you hang around for a while I’m sure you’ll see some action. A day doesn’t pass without someone wanting to beat the crap out of someone else, and this is where they usually come to do it.”
“Inside a cage, so no one else can get hurt,” Ru said.
“Not to mention, it’s easier to clean up after.” He grinned again, then moved on to other customers.
Ru and Micah tasted their lager. It was indeed very smooth. “Alcohol acquisition complete,” Ru said. “Now all that’s left—”
“Is to figure out what manner of game we have to play to find our informant.”
She chuckled softly. “Everything’s a game to you?”
“World’s too damn boring, if you look at it any other way.” He took a deep drink. “Pago’s a talker, and he likes our money, but he’s way too busy right now.” He looked her up and down. “You could seduce someone.”
She blinked. “Say what?”
“Get some pillow talk going. It’s a classic.”
She laughed. “Hardly my style, Micah.”
“Why not? You’re hot, in a Can-you-tame-this? way. Some men can’t resist that.”
She ignored the compliment, mostly because it startled her so much she didn’t know how to respond. “You might be more successful at it. In fact, there’s someone over there”—she gestured past his shoulder—“who has been eyeing you since we sat down.”
“Really?” His eyes widened with interest. “What does she look like?”
“He looks pretty hot.”
He said nothing.
“Not your thing?”
“Not my thing.” He took another drink then looked around the room. “It looks like there’s a card game going on back there. Maybe poker. You any good?”
She chuckled. “I’m good at anything that two people would do to pass time during a tediously long interplanetary flight.”
“Well then, you see? You’d be a natural to—”
“Y’know, I do think that guy is trying to get your attention, maybe I should invite him to join us—”
“Cards it is.” He downed the last of his drink and put the glass down on the bar. “We don’t have to win anything, right? Just make some new friends. Hell, losing might work better for that.”
“You’re the gaming expert. Lead on.”
But before he could get off his stool, a man’s voice rang out. “Attention, all! We have a challenge!” Ru looked for the source of the voice and saw a small group of people gathered at the cage. A tall Medusan was looking around the room, waiting for everyone’s attention. From the way his cranial tentacles were twitching around his head, Ru guessed he was pretty inebriated. Next to him a woman was fumbling with the cage lock, and two men were stripping off their gear and clothing, baring torsos covered in tattoos.
Micah leaned back against the bar. “This should be interesting.”
The two contestants were totally mismatched. One was a hulking terramorph, a solid wall of muscle in the shape of a man. Even his tattoos looked aggressive. The other was maybe half his size, a slender Frisian who looked like a strong wind could blow him over. He was clearly nervous about the coming challenge, and one could hardly blame him. Soon the two men had taken off everything but their pants; without his shirt, the Frisian looked even smaller. They entered the cage, taking up positions on opposite sides. And waited.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Medusan announced, “and those of you who are both, or neither! This is to be an endurance challenge. No rounds, just survival. On my right is Tank Logan, three-time champion of Hydra’s freestyle competition. On my left is Shane Everest, making his first appearance on our stage.”
Micah muttered, “He’ll fucking crush him.”
“Unless he knows some tricks,” Ru said.
Micah snorted. “It would take one hell of a trick to even that match.”
The Medusan spread his arms wide and called out, “Declare your wagers!”
“Ten seconds!” a voice from one of the gaming tables cried out. People laughed.
“One and a half minutes,” a woman’s voice called out. “Fifty Cs.”
“I’ll take that at three to one,” a man responded.
“Done!”
Other times and prices were called out, gamblers pairing off to wager against each other. Sometimes the odds were haggled over like goods at a bazaar. Most of the times suggested were short, Ru noticed.
“They’re betting on how long he’ll last,” Micah murmured.
“Yeah.” She shook her head. “This is not going to be fun to watch.”
But it was impossible to look away.
When the mating cries of the gamblers had subsided, the Medusan looked around the room one last time. “No one offering three minutes? Oh ye of little faith!” He gestured broadly toward Everest. “Consider: would any man step into this pen if he lacked the fortitude to put up a good fight?” There was no response. “I’ll offer ten to one odds myself, if anyone has the balls to bet on a full three minutes.”