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Sylvia timidly walked through the casino, avoiding eye contact with anyone. She felt the room closing in around her, and she realized she was entering the early phase of a panic attack. She seldom had them before she went to Mars and was fortunate enough while in the landing bay to never succumb to one. But now, tightness squeezed her ribcage. Breathing hurt. Dizziness made the room spin.
She took a quick breath, closed her eyes, and slowly exhaled.
Noises magnified around her. Slot machine handles clicked downward, followed by the whirling computerized beeping as the rows of various pictures spun. The roulette wheel ticked. A marble bounced. Some people cheered while others groaned or swore obscenities.
Her hand tightened around the thousand-dollar chip. When she opened her eyes, she fell forward and grabbed the side of the nearest slot machine. She steadied herself, turned, and placed her back against the machine for stability. Although no one noticed her dilemma, she felt like everyone was staring at her with hot, piercing glares.
Sylvia closed her eyes again. Perspiration dampened the back of her neck, beneath her arms, and trickled down her spine. She had never been afraid of crowds. Had she been locked away so long that she feared stepping into a public place? Most of her interaction inside the Olympus Mons Landing Bay was with a few mechanics and an occasional guard. Any time she had encountered a prisoner, she never experienced the possibility of a threat, mainly because the Sleeper Chips controlled them. Their eyes were frozen without judgment or any leering. The prisoners were nothing more than machines, obeying whatever commands the guards programmed. But here, in this bustling room of gambling hopefuls, they had the free will to gaze however they chose, but fortunately most were too busy counting their chips or rationing their tokens to give her the slightest second thought.
Those seated at the slot machines whispered, prayed, and cursed while a few of the crazier ones chanted, rubbed their lucky charms, and busted. In what most considered faint noises and rhythms, to Sylvia the commotion was thunderous and aggressive. Would she ever be able to blend in with society without this sickening anxiety?
“Miss?” a woman asked.
Deep in her mental prison of desperate fear, she didn’t hear the waitress.
The woman nudged her. “Miss, are you okay?”
Sylvia jerked and her eyes opened. She screamed but quickly clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle her cry.
“I’m sorry,” the topless hostess said, setting down her empty tray. She combed her blonde hair away from her blue eyes while she studied Sylvia with a concerned expression on her face. “Are you okay?”
Sylvia’s eyes widened when she noticed the lack of attire this woman possessed. “I’m fine. I . . . I didn’t mean to scream.”
“It’s okay. Is there anything I can help you with?” The woman straightened the hem of her emerald-studded miniskirt, which barely covered the V of her green panties. She also wore fishnet stockings and emerald high heels.
Sylvia read the waitress’ sticker nametag and nodded. “Yes, thank you, Marti. I need to cash this chip in, but I don’t know where to do that.”
“A thousand dollars? Wow, dear, Lady Luck shone full blast on you, eh?”
Sylvia blushed and nodded. “I suppose so.”
Marti smiled. “They’ll cash that for you at the cashier’s window. Follow me, and I’ll show you.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you sure that everything’s okay?” Marti asked, glancing back. “You look a bit frightened.”
“Crowds make me uncomfortable.”
“You do look out of place,” Marti said with a gentle smile.
“It has never bothered me before.”
“Perhaps the excitement of winning is partly to blame?”
“Maybe.”
Sylvia followed Marti, but she kept her attention on Marti’s shoes to prevent making eye contact with anyone she walked past.
“Here you are,” Marti said, waving her hand toward the window.
“Thank you.”
Sylvia walked to the bulletproof glass window and placed the chip through the small window. The cashier was a young man with tanned skin. His jaw was firm, and his brown eyes, piercing. His endearing smile caused her to blush.
“Can you cash this for me?” she asked.
The man behind the glass took the chip and nodded. “Certainly. How would you like it? Large bills or different denominations?”
“I need a room, so it doesn’t matter.”
“I can put it onto an in-casino card if you plan to use it here. Will that work?”
She nodded.
“Okay, what’s your name?”
Sylvia hesitated, trying to remember what name she told Carter she’d use. Then she said, “Tory Jones.”
The man adjusted his black tie, smiled, and typed the name into the computer. A second later he looked at her.
“Do you have some identification, Tory?”
Sylvia patted her pockets and nervously shook her head. “No. I lost my purse.”
“Okay, in that case, I’ll give you large bills.” He licked his thumb and counted out ten one hundred dollar bills. After she took the money, he pointed. “Take the money to the registry desk over there. Casey can help you get a room for the night.”
“Will I need identification?”
“Usually,” he said, “but if you, erm, tip her, I’m sure she’ll make an exception.” He grinned. “Tell her Burt sent you.”
Sylvia returned the smile. “O-okay, thanks.”
She hurried to the desk where a heavyset older woman stood. Her silver hair twisted upward in a strange bun design. Casey wore more eyeliner and rouge than most of the stage girls, and her red lipstick made the woman look cheap and childish. She chomped on stale chewing gum, much like a cow chewed its cud.
“I need a room,” Sylvia said in a near whisper. “I don’t have any identification, but Burt over there said that you could help me, provided I give you a decent tip?”
The woman glanced over at Burt. He waved and grinned. “Sure, honey. Let me see what I can do. How many nights will you be staying?”
“Tonight.”
“And your name?”
She hesitated in giving her name. Her mind went blank. Her eyes looked up, and she bit her lower lip while he searched her memory. “T-t-tory . . . Jones.”
The fake name didn’t flow smoothly, and the expression on Casey’s face indicated that a lot of people probably made up names for discretion’s sake.
“I see. Will you be staying alone, Tory?”
Sylvia shook her head. “No. My friend will be here soon.”
“Oh, your friend.” Casey rolled her eyes. “Does your friend have a name?”
“Yes. Rick Davenport.” Sylvia thought it odd that she remembered Carter’s fake name better than her own.
“So how much money do you have?” Casey asked.
“One thousand dollars.”
Casey slid a coded door key to her.
“How much?” Sylvia asked.
“One thousand, honey.”
“All of it?”
Casey nodded. “Welcome to Vegas, honey. But the good news is that you have a penthouse suite since I had a cancellation.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Casey replied. “Unless you’d like something a bit more modest?”
Sylvia swallowed hard and shook her head. After what she, Carter, and Magnus had experienced, she agreed with Magnus that maybe their luck in finding the chip was a good indication that their lives were turning around.
Sylvia slid the money across the desk. Casey eagerly took it. “When your friend gets here, I’ll send him to your room.”
“Thank you.”
Casey grinned, counting the money. “No, my dear, thank you.”
Sylvia’s heart plummeted, thinking of spending the entire amount of money for one room, but then she thought about what Magnus and Carter were selling. Those stones were worth much more than the casino chip. Carter would return with possibly more money than what she’d ever seen before she went to prison.
She smiled and took the room code key. The first thing she wanted to do before Carter returned was to take a hot bath. The quick, modestly lukewarm showers on the shuttle hadn’t made her feel clean. She wanted to fill the tub up to her neck and soak for as long as she could. Life, she believed, was about to get much better for her.
Subtlety of life has often never been what the imagination built. True lessons in life are usually paid with a heavy, unexpected price.