'That's seven keys for seven pods.'

The receptionist handed over seven cards to two Human males, two Human females, one Androssian female, a Kakr female and a male Merkiosen.

'Thanks,' said Crysis.

'You've got a twenty four hour period to access the pods, when after that you won't be able to open them and, if you really want to, you'll be forced to sleep on the floor at the bottom of the tower. Everything is paid for, have a pleasant sleep,' the receptionist (Gurshala, by the nametag pinned to her front) said pleasantly.

'Not if we're sleeping on the floor,' Skreem said.

'Be nice,' Rhama said, smiling away as she always did. She scratched her arm where their escape had caused her to scrape her arm on the pod. She led them away and back into the city.

Tarterra, the largest city on Androssios I, was mostly hewn out of the great mountains of Tarthurros, the biggest range on the planet. The red rock, combined with the scarlet skin of Androssians, had made Rhama squint when they had clambered out of that escape pod and left the capsule to burn in a new hole in an abandoned building site not far away. The red reminded her of blood, no matter how she looked at it. That, and the image of old Christian devils at the back of her mind, told her to be on her guard. It was an image you never got out of your mind. Still, she put on her facade through it all, smiling pleasantly and waiting eagerly for nightfall when everything would take on a different colouration and she could walk around with her face hidden by the dark.

The sun was setting, long black shadows being thrown from one side of the streets to the other. The stalls were beginning to turn on their lights on the second side, the first side having turned them on long ago. The seven of them wandered through the streets, a thousand exotic smells wafting through their noses, tingling their taste buds. A myriad of voices, a Babylon of languages, people of every size and shape, colour and species, pushed around them as the markets began to switch from day to night. Crysis saw Skreem's pigtails moving from one side to the other, sniffing and experiencing but never thinking. Crysis knew they were an extension of her inner self, and was pretty sure they couldn't think for themselves, but he wondered. He just wondered, sometimes, whether they ever talked and kept her up at night. If they would keep her up tonight.

'Where are we going?' Doone asked, all five eyes looking in different directions. 'Give me something to look for.'

'Anywhere that sells something alcoholic,' Crysis replied.

'That's pretty much everywhere, you numbskull,' Skreem replied.

'Skreem, you're fifteen,' Doone said. 'You can't drink, anyway.'

'Aldesarian drinking age is thirteen, and on Androssios I it's fifteen,' Heratrix said to him as if she was reading it from an article in a tourist information centre. 'She's fine to consume alcohol if she so wishes.'

'So there you are,' Skreem said, turning and sticking her tongue out. Her pigtails tried to follow her, discovered they had no tongues to stick out, and fell back on her shoulders, defeated.

'One day you'll be wrong, you know,' Doone said.

'She usually is,' Crysis said.

'Hey...'

'She just insults you enough for you to forget it. You need to be like Rokoara or Gurgaston to be able to see through it all,' Crysis completed.

Rhama laughed. 'Your cover is blown, little one.'

Skreem frowned. 'I will slit your throat in your sleep, one day, Crysis, you know that?'

'I'll put The Butcher as my guard,' Crysis replied, ducking under the flapping canvas of a seafood stall. Someone thrust a sample in his hand as he walked and he quickly nodded and took it without breaking stride.

'Don't call me that,' Gurgaston complained.

'My apologies,' Crysis said, taking a nibble of the food he had been given, which looked like a burned tentacle of some sort. 'You want some food to make up for it?'

Gurgaston's face lit up. 'Oh, you bet,' he said. He took the rubbery charcoal and threw it all into his mouth in one go. His face contorted, twisted in disgust, and he rushed over to a nearby litter bin and spat it out. Everyone save for Heratrix burst out laughing.

'That was absolutely disgusting,' Gurgaston complained, wiping the spittle away from his mouth.

'You thought I would share food without a good reason?' Crysis asked, an eyebrow arched.

'Was renewing camaraderie not a good enough reason?'

'No way in hell,' Crysis said, walking on with pride for another successful prank. 'What about there, guys?'

They came to the front of a relatively quiet tavern with a sign on the front reading 'Red 'N Black.' From either side of the main door were neon tubes twisted to represent Androssian horns. From the looks of things, there was enough of a crowd for them to be able to blend in, but not enough for them to get their voices drowned out by a drunken din.

'This'll do,' Rokoara said.

'It adequately suits our purposes,' Heratrix concurred.

'Don't like it,' Skreem said.

'What?' Doone asked, looking at her perplexedly. 'Why don't you like it?'

'Why does everything have to have a reason? I just don't like the look of the place. Looks dodgy.'

'It looks like a perfectly fine establishment,' Rokoara said, her bulging muscles like rocks as her hands found their way to her hips. 'I don't see your reasoning.'

'Fine,' Skreem said, huffing a little. 'Nobody ever listens to the Aldesarian chick.'

'Let's go in then,' Rhama said, pushing the door open and holding it for the others to go in.