The insects hid among the trash in the dumpsters and the paper littering the pavement. Earth crickets. God knows what starship or planetary merchantman had brought them--Las Vegas sucked up every stray, air-leaking derelict in the quadrant at one time or another, their pilots groping for that one big win that would pull them out of debt.
The chirping recalled genuine, feral sounds Beth had known back home. There weren't many traces of nature on this asteroid. Even the air and gravity were artificial. Beth came here a lot, to sit on the step outside the kitchens with her shoes off, and be alone.
The hiss of a van cutting off its air cushion broke her contemplation. Fresh pastries had arrived for the restaurant. Beth tugged a final drag from her cigarette and stood up. One of the bakery delivery boys wolf-whistled as she slipped back into her pumps. She shrugged. Looking was free.
She shot the bull with the cooks long enough to grab a maple bar from the incoming trays, and slipped out through the dining section. A bored cashier mumbled a hello as Beth went past.
She ignored the cocktail lounge. Too much competition, some of it by amateurs. And she never bothered with the casino floor. The assholes there were already making love to the odds. She chose the second level lobby.
A likely prospect stood in front of the Galac-Attack pod, blasting away small holographic opponents. Young, but the leather coat he wore looked like the real thing, and those didn't come cheap these days. Human, too, probably Terran. She wormed onto the stool next to him, and shoved a four-credit in the Raceway game.
She managed to crash all three of her ships inside of thirty seconds. "Goodness. Guess I'm not too good."
Her boy kept staring at the projection, intent.
"Where're you from?" she purred.
A long pause. He still didn't look at her. "Earth. Houston," he said finally.
"Be in port long?"
)
