Undercity by Catherine Asaro Page B

few moments of silence, however, I asked, “Is that all?”
    “It appears so,” the EI said.
    Pah. “Send this reply,” I grumbled. “I got work to do.”
    “Send it where?”
    Good question. If the EI couldn’t ID the message, it couldn’t reply.
    “Never mind.” I stood up again. It seemed I wouldn’t get any rest after all. “I’ll do it in person.”
    * * *
    The gambling dens at the Black Mark were no less notorious tonight than the last time I had seen them, seven years ago. Jak took me through the main room, no doubt to show off the place. We followed a raised walkway that skirted the central den, and a glimmering rail separated us from the pit. The players at the tables below wore evening dress or stranger couture, spiky-shouldered tunics and skin wraps that left more parts of the body exposed than covered. Waiters served drinks while Jak’s patrons spent millions. Other more sensual pursuits would be going on in private rooms. The Black Mark was discreet. Criminal, but circumspect.
    I tried not to notice Jak as he walked at my side. He had on black pants and a ragged black tight-shirt with no sleeves. He looked like a thug. One hell of a sexy thug, but I wasn’t noticing.
    Not noticing. Really.
    “You like my new art?” He motioned at the holos that swirled in spirals and twists on the walls. If I looked too long, I felt sick.
    “What’s it for?” I asked. “To make people give back whatever they ate downstairs?”
    He slanted a look at me. “Disgusting, Bhaaj.”
    “Yah. Well.”
    He smiled, the barest hint of that killer grin. “It increases their susceptibility to suggestion.”
    “Makes me dizzy.”
    “Really?” He seemed intrigued. “I wonder why it doesn’t work on you.”
    I scowled at him. “The army trained me to resist coercion, Jak. Programmed it into my biomech. Your dastardly attempts to lure your customers into spending large sums of money won’t work on me.”
    A wicked gleam came into his eyes. “Shall I lure you elsewhere, Bhaaj, my sweet?”
    “Call me ‘your sweet’ again and I’ll flip you over this railing.”
    He laughed, his voice rumbling. “Might be fun.”
    No way would I risk answering that one.
    We reached a dark hall with galaxies swirling around us, and after a few minutes of those demented stars, we entered a black room with niches in the walls like in the entrance foyer. Instead of skulls, however, these held exotic drinks lit from within by lasers. The glass table in the center of the room was set with black china, goldware, and goblets. A decanter of red wine sparkled next to several covered platters.
    “You like?” Jak asked.
    “It’s different,” I said. Eerie décor, but gorgeous in its own dark way. The undercity nurtured its own unique ideas of beauty.
    “Same as always,” Jak said.
    “Doesn’t all this black depress you?”
    “Never.” He nudged me toward the table. “Sit.”
    So I sat. Jak settled across the table from me and uncovered the platters, revealing steaks in pizo sauce, tart-bubbles, and sweet clams. He had always set a good table.
    I poured the wine. “You going to tell me why I’m here?”
    He was all innocence. “What, I can’t invite an old friend to dinner?”
    I gave him a goblet of red wine. “Your motives are always ulterior.”
    “Just got dinner, that’s all.” He leaned back in his chair, letting the muscles of his torso ripple under his thug shirt. He knew what it did to me when he moved like that, slow and languorous, danger contained but never controlled.
    I drank half my glass of wine in one swallow. Thank gods for nanomeds.
    “Should I?” he murmured.
    I regarded him coolly and hoped he didn’t notice the heat in my face. “Should you what?”
    He said exactly squat, just sat there looking at me. If I didn’t distract myself, gods only knew what trouble I could get into here.
    “So,” I said. “You got nothing to tell me?”
    “Depends. You want the spit on your runaway prince?”
    I