Read ARC: Under Nameless Stars for Free Online

holographic cards he held and they hovered up into the air, where they floated in place for a second before rearranging themselves into a flying wedge. With a short burst of mechanical-sounding trumpet music, three of the cards transformed themselves into small silver scepters that flew in quick circles around the other two cards, which converted themselves into a pair of spiked balls affixed to short wooden handles.
    “Scepters over maces,” the dolphin said with evident satisfaction.
    The Skirni snorted in disgust. “Blast and pestilence.” He glared at the dolphin and threw his cards at the table, where they landed with a soft, buzzer-like bleat of defeat.
    The Alcyon released his grip on his cards, and they spread out in the air over the table. “Scimitars over tongs,” the reptile hissed. “I am afraid the weeping will be yours. Salty tears for your salty sea-home. Ha.”
    More mechanical music sounded as the Alcyon’s cards turned into four small curved swords and a tiny set of blacksmith tongs. The swords twirled through the air toward Jules’s still-hovering weapons, neatly sliced both the scepters and maces in half and, to a short fanfare of victory music, rose a foot higher before they and the fragments of Jules’s items became cards again and dropped to stack themselves neatly on the tabletop.
    The Alcyon laughed another short, harsh laugh and swept the discs to his side of the table. Jules shook his head, his permanent dolphin smile unable to mask his disappointment.
    “Crap,” he muttered, giving the traitorous cards a stare.
    The Skirni pushed his chair away from the table. “That’s it. I’m done.”
    “But Master Thrott,” Jules said, “I have lost a significant amount of my chips here. You are stopping now, without allowing me to regain my lost funds?”
    “Yes,” Thrott grumbled. “It is called quitting while I’m ahead.” He hopped down out of his chair, pointed at what remained of his chips on the table and said, “You. Pick these up; we’re going.”
    With a start, Zenn thought he was addressing her. Then she saw a figure crouching against the wall behind her. The creature had been so still and the smoke so dense, she hadn’t noticed. The Fomalhaut was a female, much taller than Zenn but only about half her weight, the slender humanoid form dressed incongruously in a shabby black tuxedo several sizes too small, her yellow crescent-moon eyes focused permanently on the floor. The delicate features of the Fomalhaut race always made Zenn think of an elvish child’s doll stretched lengthwise in a funhouse mirror.
    “Don’t muck about! Pick those up, I said.” The Skirni raised a hand in threat, and the Fomalhaut scurried to the table, gathered up the discs and bowed her head in submission before moving to stand a few paces behind the Skirni. Slavery had been outlawed on all the planets of the Local Systems Accord centuries ago. But with no home world of their own, the wandering Skirni mainly lived aboard a scattering of starships in the Outer Reaches, beyond the oversight of most LSA laws; the law governing slaves aboard starliners remained unsettled. Subsisting on the grudging acceptance of the other races, they scraped out a living selling questionable medicinal potions, arranging marginally honest transactions, telling fortunes to the gullible and generally doing the jobs no one else would do. Their Fomalhaut slaves were given the jobs even the Skirni balked at.
    “So, Master Van-coo-vehr, you wish to recoup your losses?” the Skirni leered at Jules.
    “Earnestly.”
    “In that regard…” Thrott said, bringing his hands together with a clink of heavy rings. “I have a proposition. I own an animal. A fighting slug. It is nothing special, a feeble thing, actually. Wins so seldom I don’t know why I waste my time with it. But if you wished to put a creature of your choice up against it, accompanied by a suitable wager, you could regain your losses several times