The Casino loomed, a dazzling spectrum of light in Dec's optics. Triangular sheaths of glass, like shards of ice, formed the outer embryo of the building and reflected heat from its surrounds. It dazzled in its ever-changing temperatures, a chameleon of colour next to the stagnant heat imprints of the porous Victorian-style buildings around it.

Unmarked limousines congregated on the street, engine's idling, black shells trailing white streams of light where hot exhausts disappeared into the cool, black night. Men and women stepped onto the pavement, appearing in Dec's optics like orange faces floating atop nondescript bodies, marked only by small differences in clothing—the double layer of a vest, the slit in a floor-length gown.

Dec trailed Lazar into the foyer, gasping as lemon light billowed from between the sliding glass doors of the entrance. Inside, the room shone lime green, with watery tendrils of canary orange where warm air drifted from hidden climatisers in the floor and ceilings. Chandeliers hung in bright red circular patterns above their heads. A water feature glittered dark blue against the far wall. The rubber soles of Lazar's patent leather shoes left friction aquamarine footprints on the glossy marble floors.

They came to an abrupt halt beside a navy lift alcove. As they waited for the descending coffin to return from the viewing platform on the twenty-second storey, Dec stretched the neck of his shirt. Lazar considered him, his expression unreadable through his optics. As the lift pinged and the doors opened in a billow of dark blue, he said, "You're not getting hot feet, are you?"

Dec swiped a bead of sweat from his temple and stepped inside the lift. "I'm just not much of a fan of coffins."

"Interesting," Lazar said, touching the letter F for 'Function Room' on the touchpad next to the door, set one row to the right from the other floor buttons and holding it down until it gave another ping. When he released the button, the heat of his fingers left a fleeting orange fingerprint on the metal. "Claustrophobia is often a conditioned response to small spaces. What happened to you?"

Dec was saved from answering as the lift pinged again and a smooth voice wafted from speakers in the roof. "Two occupants detected. Please scan your palm pods on the sensor and place your index finger on the track pad provided."

A square section on the wall the size of a handspan glowed blue. Lazar leaned forward to scan his palm pod. Before Dec could do the same, Lazar gripped Dec's wrist and unclipped the magnetic tracking shield from it. "Keep this in your pocket during the party. You can put it back on once we leave."

Dec did as he was told, then scanned his palm pod and fingerprint. The lift gave another ping and instead of rising to the circular observatory where Dec had assumed the function would be held, dropped in one piston-smooth descent past the parking and basement levels, to an unmarked level below.

"Welcome Declan Hancock and Mobius Staedler," the elevator voice said once the lift slowed to a halt. "Please enjoy your stay at the Playford Casino."

"Your real name's Mobius?" Dec said as the doors slid open, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. "And you call yourself Lazar?"

"That is a story that could rival the one about how you became claustrophobic," came Lazar's response.

His comment wiped the smug curve off Dec's mouth. He wanted to know more, but was caught, mid-thought, by the sight of the room he'd just entered. At first, his brain struggled to interpret the input from his eyes. It was as though he'd been knocked off orbit and shot into a galaxy of stars. That, or he was feeling the affect of some very strong psychedelic drugs.

He blinked and focused. The room had been decorated with solar optics in mind. The ceiling had been heated around the optical spectrum of colours so that pinhole lights in the ceiling shone like stars. The drinks bar marbled neptune blue, spherical tables glowed mars red and venus yellow, and there, right at the centre of the solar system, a bright white fireball representing the sun had been created with boiling water bubbling over a large orb-shaped marble.

Someone had spent a lot of time and money on this infra-red optic display. Pity the effort was lost on Dec, who slid his optics off his nose to see the room for what it really was—black as the bowels of a monster. The only other person who seemed immune to the sight before them was Lazar, who made a bee-line for the bar. "The Health Minister's over there," he said, words slipping from the corner of his mouth.

"How can you tell?" Dec said.

"Look for the skeleton with the stick up her arse and the cross-hair on her forehead."

Dec looked. A tall, spindly woman stood at the bar in a mid-length gown which swished around her knees and plunged at the neckline to expose a swollen red bosom. She walked on stiletto heels so high, she seemed to float a few inches from the ground. She looked tense, and her head flicked this way and that, as though she really was about to be shot.

"I'll distract her attention. You find a way to steal the trackpad."

"But—" Dec began. He had no idea how he was supposed to go unnoticed in a room where it was impossible to disguise so much as a fart. But Lazar had already moved off through the sea of bright faces towards the bar. Dec followed at a discreet distance—far enough away so as not to raise suspicion, yet close enough so he wouldn't lose Lazar in the shifting crowd.

"Kayla Bishop," Lazar said, stopping beside the spindly woman.

It was only now that Dec remembered the health minister's name. Kayla Bishop—right hand woman to the late Minister Bloomfriar, straight as an arrow in mind and body. He remembered her reptilian smile from the news projections as she'd delivered the health budget for the following year, the way her mantis hands tipped with spindly fingers had rolled and unrolled her trackpad as she'd done so. He narrowed his eyes, wondering where the trackpad was now.

Lazar flicked his hand at the bartender. "Two Dragon Eggs please with a touch of fire," he said before turning to Kayla. "To thaw the ice in the lady's heart."

Kayla turned, flashing her predatory smile, lips and teeth showing red in Dec's optics. "Lazar Moto," she said in an aloof voice, steady with the diaphragm control of a trained public speaker. "I see your tongue's lost none of its slime."

"I'm surprised you still remember my tongue so well after all these years," Lazar remarked.

Kayla snorted. "Witty."

Lazar continued, "And I'm surprised you could tell it was me with your optics on. Does my light shine so undeniably bright?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Kayla said. "I saw you coming from the other side of the room. You walk like you've got a stick up your ass and a crosshair on your forehead."

It was Lazar's turn to snort. "Funny. That's exactly how I located you," he leaned forward to whisper. "Two peas. As I like to say."

Kayla held her ground, though the colour of her bosom gave her true feelings away. She was flustered, angry, or both. "What do you want, Lazar?" she said, biting the end of her words off with her teeth.

The bartender returned with Lazar's dragon eggs—two shots of alcohol with a floating coffee bean on each, set on fire. Lazar left them on the counter to burn while he said to Kayla, "Your budget, Minister. How much are the Northerners paying you to show pony it around for them?"

Kayla leaned close. "Let's just say this pony is well-stabled and kept on the highest quality hay."

Lazar slid closer and placed an arm around her waist. "You know what happens when the show pony's glossy coat loses its shine?" he said. "The farmer puts a bullet through her head."

"Good thing this show pony's very careful about who she lets brush her down," Kayla answered, prying his fingers off her gown one-by-one. Despite her seeming aversion to Lazar's advances, she didn't step away. Lazar's fingers left green imprints on her waist.

Dec recoiled at the sight. He was reminded of two Siamese cats, scratching each other's eyes out one minute, then purring down each other's necks the next. It was clear Kayla and Lazar knew each other better than Dec would ever have expected. But whatever their history involved, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Drink, sir?"

It took a moment for Dec to realise the bartender was talking to him. He stared down at the menu, which happened to be heat-inscribed into the bar top. There were a range of fancy cocktails with ingredients he couldn't have pronounced if he'd tried. In the end he just said, "Surprise me," in order to make the bartender go away.

The bartender nodded and whisked herself off to make the drink.

Dec turned back to Lazar and Kayla. Lazar was pressing the burnt out shot glass to Kayla's sternum, his lips coming close to her ear and saying, " ... one drink. For old times sake."

"I have work tomorrow," Kayla said, stepping away.

"You always have work," Lazar said.

"So do you."

Lazar drew closer again, his fingers tracing Kayla's collarbone in what Dec perceived as a very brave move. Getting so close to the praying mantis' neck was asking for your head to be bitten off.

Kayla tensed, and her pincer hand flew up to grip Lazar's wrist. "You're working right now, aren't you, Lazar Moto? Working me into some grand scheme of yours." She turned up her nose. "How is it that you got invited to this party? I would've taken you for an adversary of the solar optic technology, since you're so resistant to any kind of innovative technologies that have been motioned since The Solution."

Lazar blew out a hot breath. "I don't know what you're talking about. I love looking like a bug-eyed alien." He peeled his lips over his teeth in place of a smile. "Besides, the cabinet could hardly hold a launch event for a Nocturnal technology without inviting any independent Nocturnal parties. It might make them seem biased." His teeth glinted in the dark room. "And I was the choice of least resistance."

"Doubtful," Kayla said.

"You know what they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

"I'll tell the resource minister you said so."

Lazar lowered his voice, "Don't pretend like you're not doing exactly the same thing—keeping your enemies close, I mean." He went on to say more, but by this stage, his voice was so low, Dec lost track of it.

Whatever he said next made Kayla's surface temperature flare, then cool. She flicked what Dec assumed was long hair over her shoulder as she sauntered away. "Goodbye Lazar," she said, gliding atop her stilettos as though they were extensions of her legs.

Lazar watched her go, spinning the shot glasses in his hands. Then, in one dramatic motion, he tipped both shots down his throat, leaving bright blue imprints where the heat of the liquid touched his lips. He slammed the empty shot glasses on the bar and brushed past Dec as he crossed the room in the opposite direction. "The trackpad is rolled between her breasts," he said out the corner of his mouth and kept walking in a way that warned, don't follow.

Dec turned his attention back to Kayla's retreating figure. He thought about how Lazar had wrapped his arm around her waist and trailed his fingers over her chest. How he'd leaned close and whispered down her neck. He realised Lazar hadn't been trying to seduce her. Rather, he'd been trying to locate the trackpad.

Between her breasts.

The rest was up to him.