“It’s called a casino,” Kell explained, again, to the party of ambassadors.
Above the group, a million and one flash-bulbs decorated a garish marquis. The sounds of muffled music and ringing jackpot bells filtered out from the main entrance.
A small printout emerged from SHRIMP’s typewriter: “I LIKE IT”
“It’s a lot.” A thought, unbidden, entered into the minds of Kell and the ambassadors, spoken in the distinctive accent of Brainslug. “Is overstimulation the purpose? Why do humans need so many lights and noises when they…when they…”
“Gamble?” Kell finished.
“Yes. Gamble. I suppose I’m intrigued.”
Hive, in their glass sphere, floated closer. “What’s Agatha doing?” They buzzed, one of their number blinking in the direction of Kell’s partner, busy in a discussion with casino security.
“-diplomatic immunity,” the special agent was arguing. “Your security scans could cause irreparable harm to some of our dignitaries. Look at them,” she pointed back toward Hive, “if you were a swarm of robotic bees, would you want to go through the scanner?”
Eventually, casino security relented, giving Kell and Agatha an especially thorough screening but allowing the ambassadors, even Snips–a species composed mostly of eyeballs and sharp spikes–entry onto the gaming floor.
Hive floated ahead of the group, passing a long line of slots and ignoring the bewildered looks of human gamblers. Phlegmatically, Brainslug shuffled its way over the red-velvet carpet. SHRIMP, the slowest of all, trundled up the rear, his large glass tank and typewriter carried by an army of tiny crabthrall servitors.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
“I remember getting dragged to places like this when I was a kid,” Kell confided in his partner, under his breath, “but now I guess we’re the parents.”
Agatha’s polite chuckle turned into a real giggle as she watched Snips eagerly pincer-walk toward the buffet, almost knocking over a stanchion in the process.
“I want this one.” Snips squeaked, bobbing their upper and lower heads. “I want play this gamble game.”
“No, ambassador, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood.” The special agent stepped over, having to bite her lip to keep from smiling unprofessionally. “This is a place for food.”
“Food gamble? Some poison, some not? Good game. I play.”
“How about we try something more traditional,” she redirected, “maybe roulette?”
As Agatha pointed, the spinning roulette wheel with its clattering, tumbling ball and colorful number grid immediately caught five of Snips’ seven eyes. One of the predator’s eyes continued to track SHRIMP from across the room, and the final eyeball settled on Agatha, pleading.
“Exciting. I like. How play?”
“It’s easy,” the agent explained, “you just place your bet on a number, or a color. This guy spins the wheel, and wherever the ball lands wins.”
Snips’ eyes devoured the table.
“So number 17, color red, wins?”
Agatha blinked for a second, confused by the ambassador, but then, sure enough, the ball settled into the slot marked for 17-Red.
“Again. Spin roulette again.” Snips demanded of the croupier, not bothering to place a bet.
After a few moments, the human complied, dropping the ball onto the spinning wheel. As the ball tumbled and whirled rapidly, the predatory alien tracked it and calculated its trajectory as easily as if it were one of the bonbon-flies of its native planet.
“Green zero. Bet now. Bet all.” Snips commanded furiously, scratching a divot into the green felt in a rush to participate.
“No more bets.” The worker called out, glaring at Agatha and Snips.
When the ball ceased its mad tumble, it rested in a green hollow marked with a single zero.
“Ok buddy, you’re out of here.” A pit boss in a shiny black suit had appeared behind the pair.
“Snips have fun. Not want to leave.”
“Excuse me sir, these are visiting dignitaries from the galactic-”
“When it comes to cheaters, I’m afraid that the kingdom of Caesars,” the pit boss interrupted smoothly, “does not recognize diplomatic immunity.”