“Montessori, Nomlin, this is Captain Fu Tichi,” said Coal Shack, making brisk introductions. “And his partner, Cuspitui. They’ll be taking us across the desert.”

The rough fellow looked me up and down, taking special interest in my teeth. Nuts displayed hers in a friendly smile that seemed to take him briefly aback. Still, however pointy her demmie dentition, she was clearly no vampire, and that seemed good enough. He answered with a wry, uneven grin of his own.

“Nice to meet you both. Any friends of Cat-ski and Cola Snack are acquaintances of mine.”

“That’s Coalshack,” the policeman growled, stepping closer, as if daring the mercenary to make an issue of it. Holding his ground, the captain seemed willing.

His furry were-companion let out a plaintive yowl, in a voice that seemed surprisingly whiny, for one so large. Somehow, my ear nanos made sense of it.

“Let us be off, before the bookies come to enforce our debts!”

“Bookies? I ain’t afraid of no bookies,” snapped Fu Tichi. But he relented. “Come quickly then, while there’s still daylight. To our ship!”

Ship? I thought, briefly allowing hope to spark. But no. He can’t mean that kind of ship. Something much more primitive, no doubt.

Soon, in the cavernous casino parking garage, I discovered just how primitive.

“It’s a lovercraft!” murmured my demmie colleague, as she hurried forward, running her hand along the streaked and stained hull, stretching about ten meters in length, by six in width. Low-slung, with a single-story cabin, it seemed to levitate, just above the ground. “I’ve never seen one so big,” she crooned. “They don’t even work on most worlds! Captain Tichi, how fast does it go?”

The grizzled pilot tossed our bags up to his hirsute comrade while Katske ascended a narrow boarding ramp, the old man carefully cradling the finder, out of sight beneath his cape.

“How fast? Get aboard, sweetfeet, and let me show you.”

Nuts sighed, suddenly happy, and hurried to comply. Though not before bumping the mercenary with a wide sway of her hip, accompanied by a coy smile.

Oh, boy, I thought. I hope we’re not in for trouble. At least not that kind.

At the top of the ramp, I took one last look around the garage. Nearby, a row of oversized transports ranged all the way from grungy barges to highly-polished land yachts. Then came rows of smaller coupes, sedans and hearses, leading finally to the underground back entrance of the Golden Palace, where imp-like valets in burgundy uniforms hopped about, parking vehicles or retrieving them, greedily accepting gratuities in the form of red disks that they popped into their mouths. One more thing about this world that I found curious, but probably would rather not learn about up-close.

Then I spotted a more familiar figure, standing to one side of the doorway. Someone tall and wide and hairy.

Lorg?