LEXO TOOK A CROWDED PUBLIC hovershuttle to Zord’s Spa and Bathhouse.

His place of employment was a wonder of false sandstone, false marble, and false terra-cotta. The bathhouse had to survive multiple environmental shifts throughout the day, so every wall and bed and floor tile was made of artificial material that not only was hypoallergenic to over two hundred sentient species, but could flex and breathe in any temperature and humidity.

Lexo ducked into the hot, tight servants’ closet to exchange his threadbare robe for a flowing white gown. It was sleeveless, with a high chest band and a long skirt whose elegant gathers drifted like feathers to the floor. He was not allowed to set foot inside the common areas of the spa without it. True relaxation starts with luxury and beauty, Zord always said.

Next, Lexo donned his translator necklace, then a series of golden bracelets, which the spa advertised as being magnetic and therefore “able to detect biorhythms.” The bracelets were useless, of course, but many of Zord’s clientele were soothed by having a technological explanation for how wonderful they felt after one of Lexo’s massages.

He disciplined his features and rolled his shoulders. Lexo was now “on,” and the next twelve hours would be a flawless performance. He exited the servants’ closet and descended the stair with quiet grace, gown flowing at his ankles. In anticipation of Big Sturg Ganna’s visit, the bathhouse was playing the councilor’s favorite music, which Lexo loathed. “Serenity Starscapes” was predictable and twee, composed for creatures with limited frequency range. But he would never say so aloud.

Lexo’s first client was already lying facedown on the table, waiting for him. Joris was a tall bipedal creature who always kept her beautiful silver hair in perfect order. Lexo always felt you could tell a lot about a personality by the hair.

Joris had no business being here. She couldn’t possibly afford Zord’s high-end services. She worked in currency exchange in the casino but fancied herself a player, betting the fathier races whenever she wasn’t working in the hopes that she could give up her day job. And maybe she would be able to; Lexo hoped so. But instead she seemed to spend whatever she won with him, a fate that seemed to satisfy her.

Lexo had a lot of clients like her.

“It’s nice to see you again, Joris,” Lexo said.

“My shoulders need extra attention today,” Joris said.

“Of course.”

“It’s going to be my big night, Sooger; some good prospects on the track. I want to be ready.”

“I can’t wait to hear all about it at your next appointment.”

Lexo let his hands drift up the being’s spine, toward the base of her head. Thanks to the corwindyl and the injections, his fingers were nimble, his chemical receptors as sensitive as ever. Sure enough, he detected a large knot of lactic acid buildup in the left trapezius and set to work coaxing it out. It was stubborn, but Lexo was an artist.

As he worked, Joris blathered freely about her recent decision to designate a new favorite viewing spot at the tracks and her picks for tonight’s fathier races. Lexo didn’t mind the talking. He just made affirming noises at appropriate intervals and occasionally said things like “Good point” or “You are very wise.”

Lexo always ignored what he heard, what he saw, and never got involved, not for any reason. He’d seen plenty of others get involved in order to improve their lot in life. And sure, they would make connections, earn some side money, maybe even maneuver themselves into better working conditions. But there was always a cost. Always. So Lexo had decided to remain neutral and nonthreatening in a city like Canto Bight. Ever since leaving the slave pits of Askkto-Fen IV, his personal motto had been Hear nothing, see nothing, say nothing. It had kept him safe for decades. Now it kept his daughter safe, too.

The knot was proving unusually tenacious, and stress pheromones assaulted Lexo’s sensitive nose; Joris harbored more anxiety than she let on. Lexo began oscillating the floating distal bones of his long fingers, creating a soothing vibration that could penetrate the toughest muscle fibers. He would be too old for this soon; his tendons were giving out. But not today. Today’s knot would be soundly defeated.

“Oh…my,” Joris breathed. “That’s amazing. How did you do that?”

“My bracelets are able to detect biorhythms,” Lexo said.

“Oh, that makes sense,” Joris said.

“I’m just glad you feel better.”

“I do! I feel much better! Hey, Sooger, do you ever bet on the fathier races?”

“Never.”

“Well, you should. Tonight. I’m going to give you a tip, because I’m the type who always repays her favors. So listen close.”

“I’m listening,” Lexo said, immediately tuning her out.

He sensed tension in Joris’s lower back; instinct led his fingers toward the problem. Less lactic acid here, but still plenty of work to be done. Joris nattered about a great tip she’d gotten from a reliable source, mentioned the name DeFancio Storsilt, blah, blah, blah. Lexo didn’t care one whit but he said “Yes, certainly” and “Oh, I see.”

“—especially that gelding, Hard Luck,” Joris said.

Lexo drew in a breath, and his fingers paused over the lumbar vertebrae.

“An unfortunately named fathier, if you ask me,” Joris continued. “He’s had some hard luck lately, but tonight will be his hardest.”

Lula’s favorite fathier. The one she felt deserved their precious corwindyl herbs.

Lexo kept his voice even with some effort. “What, exactly, do you mean, Joris?”

“Haven’t you been listening?”

“Of course.”

Lexo decided to use a trick he saved for special occasions. Very few knew about this ability, and he wanted to keep it that way. First he glanced around the spa, looking for species with superior olfactory senses, but he didn’t see anyone who might figure out what he was up to.

Then he pressed firmly against Joris’s lower back, just above her hip joint, and excreted a pheromone that was absorbed quickly into the skin. It should warm the muscle, increase blood flow, produce a slight feeling of euphoria. On the right being, sometimes the calming effect reduced inhibitions enough to loosen tongues. Joris was exactly the right being.

Lexo waited a few seconds for it to take effect. Finally, as he felt the muscle relaxing beneath his fingertips, he gently asked, “But why Hard Luck in particular?”

“Hard Luck is…Oh, that’s nice, real nice. How did you…Er…Hard Luck is one of Storsilt’s best sprinters, right? Never wins, but often places second or third. He’s been underperforming lately though. Everyone’s noticed it.”

“I hear he got pushed into the rail last night,” Lexo said.

“He’ll do even worse tonight, along with Storsilt’s whole fathier fleet. So you’d better bet against them, Sooger. Trust me on this, all right? Pick one or two with long odds instead, like Shifting Sands, maybe. You’re bound to make a fortune. I’d do it myself, but between you and me, I can only afford to bet on the red-eye races at the end of the night.”

Lexo wasn’t sure how long he was frowning before he caught himself and fixed his features into what Lula called his “spa face.” Blandly pleasant, worry-free.

But he was deeply disturbed. Sure, race fixing happened all the time at the Canto Bight track. He suspected that Lula’s boss, Bargwill Tomder, would help or hurt any steed for the right price. But Lexo had never heard of anyone sabotaging a whole herd before.

He shouldn’t press the matter. Hear nothing, see nothing, say nothing. But this was happening at Lula’s stable. What if she got dragged into a huge mess? He had to know more.

“You are even more well connected than I realized,” Lexo said, his voice carefully tinged with wonder and respect. “To be given such powerful information. Most impressive.”

The flattery worked. Joris’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She wouldn’t say how it was being done,” she admitted. “I suspect some kind of poison.”

Her source was a she. “It’s a reliable source?”

“The reliablest! A pity, though. Hard Luck’s a magnificent critter. Loves to run. Given the chance, he’d run right off that track, wild and free.”

Lula would agree with her on that count.

Lexo was about to press for more information on Joris’s mysterious source, but a slight hum reverberated through the spa’s artificial limestone walls. The air changed, becoming thicker, colder, wetter.

Only the wealthiest, most powerful clients could buy an environmental shift for the entire spa. It meant that Big Sturg Ganna was getting prepped for his massage.

Lexo’s shoulders began to ache. His large humpback was the center of his limbic and endocrine systems, and he felt everything there—tension, happiness, love, dread. As he finished Joris’s massage, he willed his shoulders to relax, breathing deeply of the spa’s humidified air.

He told himself to ignore the rumble of wheels as a giant stone plinth rolled in behind him, replacing the regular massage table. He closed his nose to the scent of rotting swamp that filled the air—a prized perfume, purportedly, from Ganna’s home planet. Instead, he made Joris his whole world, giving her a final lumbar stretch and covering her with a warm towel.

Joris tipped him with two casino chips, which Lexo stuffed down the chest band of his gown. He took his time thanking Joris and giving her up to the assistant masseurs, bathing his hands in ultraviolet light to disinfect them, because Lexo needed the extra seconds to make sure he was calm. Serene. Implacable.

He turned to greet his new client. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Councilor Ganna,” he lied. “How can I help you today?”

The councilor was a massive amphibious creature with a gray leathery hide stretched over a thick layer of blubber, all of which made it nearly impossible to massage the muscles beneath. His round, slitted eyes were the size of Lexo’s fists, and his wide salamander mouth did a poor job of hiding his prehensile tongue. He weighed eight hundred kilograms at least, and his body ended in a stubby, ticklish tail, which was totally off-limits.

Ganna’s body was made for swimming in cold water, and Lexo supposed that he was graceful in his element. But on land he was a lumbering beast who needed special accommodations to travel any great distance. Lexo had no idea why he’d chosen to settle on the desert planet of Cantonica. But settle here he had, and despite his physical limitations he was one of Canto Bight’s richest, most powerful citizens.

“Lexo, my friend!” Ganna said, in a deep voice that rumbled like rocks falling down a cliffside. “I need your very special attention today.”

“I will do all I can for you, of course.” Lexo said. But when someone like Ganna called a lowly servant “friend,” it meant trouble was ahead.

Ganna chuckled, and Lexo felt the sound in the deepest part of his shoulders. “Heard anything interesting today?” Ganna asked.

“No, Honorable Councilor. It’s been very quiet.” Lexo’s fingers traveled up Ganna’s massive neck to his head. The gangster had several jagged scars across his face, which he needed massaged to keep supple and pain-free. Lexo wasn’t the only one whose life before Canto Bight had been very, very different.

“What about yesterday? Or the day before?”

“Those days were quiet, too,” Lexo said.

“Oh, come on, Sooger. Surely you’ve heard something interesting? A juicy tidbit for your old pal Ganna?”

Lexo massaged circles at Ganna’s temples, and the gangster’s eyes grew heavy and lidded. “I’m just a lowly masseur,” Lexo said. “No one tells me anything interesting.”

Ganna’s eyes opened wide, and his slitted pupils flared. “I don’t believe that for one moment. All of Canto Bight’s wealthiest, most powerful citizens frequent this fine establishment, and they all come to see you. You, Lexo Sooger. You’ve attended DeFancio Storsilt, Baron Attsmun, Ubialla Gheal, even the countess herself.”

“I’m very fortunate to have so many wonderful clients,” Lexo said.

Ganna shifted on the stone plinth, a massive, heaving effort that tilted his whole body upward to the side—just so he could look Lexo in the eyes. “Give me something. Even something small. Show me you’re worth having around.”

Lexo’s fingers stilled. Was that a threat? It was oblique, as threats from Ganna went. The gangster wasn’t known for subtlety.

“Of course I’m worth having around,” Lexo said with the most relentlessly serene smile he’d ever mustered. “It is my honor and privilege to bring joy, pleasure, and relief to Canto Bight’s finest residents and visitors.”

Ganna frowned, allowing himself to flop back down onto the massage table.

A familiar scent tickled Lexo’s nose, seemingly from the air Ganna’s massive body had just displaced. Spicy sweet.

Corwindyl.

Lexo’s shoulders tightened mercilessly, and his heart began to pound like a drum.

He forced himself to dig deep into Ganna’s massive shoulders, to pretend that nothing was amiss, but his mind churned. Ganna’s impenetrable hide and thick blubber made corwindyl impractical for him. There was no reason for him to use it.

Maybe the scent had come from Lexo’s own fingers. Yes, that must be it. Though the paste Lula made had been completely absorbed by now, the scent of it was somehow lingering. Maybe it had something to do with the increased humidity in the spa.

It took a tremendous amount of strength to access the muscles of Ganna’s shoulder, so Lexo was bearing down hard, concentrating, and he almost missed the movement on the balcony above them.

He glanced up. Looming over the faux-stone railing was Contessa Alissyndrex delga Cantonica Provincion. She was dressed in a black gown, the Onyx Bands of Cato Neimoidia draping from epaulets at her shoulders—all in sharp contrast with the halo of thick, white epidermis around her head and neck. As always, the stem of a crystal wineglass was pinched between her delicate fingers.

Lexo caught her eye, and she nodded to him once, slowly.

He returned his attention to Big Sturg Ganna’s massive deltoid, but the heat and stress in his shoulders was becoming unbearable. The countess. Here, unannounced.

She was one of the spa’s partners. Lexo didn’t know the proportion of her stake, only that she was provided free services whenever she wanted them. He also knew that she loved wine and preferred zero-g massages, that she tipped well and rarely spoke. As far as Lexo could remember, she’d never before paid the spa a visit without an appointment.

“You could get whatever information you wanted,” Big Sturg Ganna said, blithely unaware that the countess was watching them. “You have a way about you, Lexo Sooger, you and your bracelets and your unnervingly strong fingers. You could convince people to tell you anything.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Lexo replied. “Even if I could, the Zord’s experience is guaranteed to be elegant, relaxing, and safe. Discretion is the larger part of safety, yes? I see nothing but the sore muscles of my clients, and hear nothing but their sighs of satisfaction.”

“For some of us, knowledge is the larger part of safety.” He paused. Then: “Lexo, my friend, I shall be frank.”

Here it comes, Lexo thought.

“I need you,” Ganna said. “You are perfectly positioned. A war is looming in Canto Bight, you see. It will be a silent, invisible war to most, but make no mistake, blood will be shed.”

“That sounds very serious.”

“I’m going to win this war, Lexo. And don’t you want to be on the winning side of a war? Of course you do. Everyone does.”

Lexo said nothing. Feeling the countess’s eyes on them, he glanced upward. She took a sip of wine, her stare resolute.

“Be my eyes and ears,” Ganna coaxed. “I pay very well. Ask anyone. And I’m loyal to those loyal to me. Someone of your positioning, your abilities, could go very far in a city like this. I’m just the one to help you do it.”

The councilor didn’t know the half of Lexo’s abilities, and Lexo planned to keep it that way. To stall, to give himself time to think, Lexo asked, “That’s it? You just want me to gather information?”

“And sometimes give information,” Ganna said. “There may be occasions when I want specific tidbits planted in specific ears.”

“I see,” Lexo said. He had to be more careful than he’d ever been right now. “I can’t imagine Zord would approve of information brokering in his flagship spa.”

“It will be our secret,” Ganna said.

“Neither would the countess approve,” Lexo plunged on. “She’s here, by the way. Watching us right now.”

Ganna’s body tensed. “She is? Well, that’s interesting. Very interesting. Anyway, there’s no need to bother either her or Zord with such trifling matters. Besides, you needn’t worry about the countess at all. I’m buying her out.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll be part owner of this spa very soon, and when I am, I plan to make some personnel changes.”

“Oh.”

“Depending on how things go, someone could find himself with a raise and a promotion. Or, you know, without a job at all.”

Lexo was massaging along the councilor’s spine now. Every creature had a vulnerable point. An artery, a nerve cluster, a weakness. Ganna’s vulnerable point was near his neck, where blood traveled from heart to head, just as in Lexo’s human daughter, Lula. He would have to press very hard through hide and blubber to reach it.

Not that he would, of course. But the very fact that it crossed his mind startled him. He hadn’t had thoughts like these in years. Decades. That life was long gone, as dead to him as the fighting slaves he’d tended on Askkto-Fen IV.

“Surely you’ve sold information before?” Ganna continued. “All you service types do. I’m a man of the people, Lexo. I provide a way for the poor and downtrodden to improve their lot in life. Lucky for you, you’re in the perfect position to take advantage of my charity.”

“Indeed,” Lexo said, thinking of the stable hand Lula had known, the one who died in Ganna’s service. “Your generosity is well known.”

“I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Of course I shall have to think about it.”

Ganna made a noise that was something between a snort and a rumble. “You won’t think about it too long,” he said, and the smugness in his voice gave Lexo a shiver.

It was time to turn Ganna over and massage his monstrous chest, and Lexo gestured for the assistant masseurs. Maby Sagedo and Oble Rumb hurried over. They were well known for climbing all over their clients, using heels, toes, and knees to compensate for their lack of size.

“It’s time for your turning,” Lexo warned. Ganna grunted acknowledgment, and Lexo flipped a switch on the base of the stone plinth.

A soft mechanical hum reverberated, and Ganna seemed to expand on the table as his blubber became buoyant in the artificially lightened gravity. With Sagedo’s and Rumb’s help—and careful to avoid Ganna’s highly ticklish tail—Lexo heaved and scooted and nudged until Ganna was lying on his back, his whitish chest and belly exposed.

Then Lexo froze.

This time, as the scent of corwindyl filled the air, Lexo couldn’t pretend it came from his own hands. Ganna was definitely using the stuff. Or someone else had placed it on him.

“Get on with it, Sooger,” Ganna said.

“Yes, of course.” Lexo placed his fingers against the councilor’s left pectorals and began to knead. He watched as Ganna made eye contact with the countess, who was still standing on the balcony above, her wineglass nearly empty. After a moment the countess turned and fled, gown swishing at her feet.

Big Sturg Ganna chuckled.

Lexo’s shoulders were almost quivering now, with the physical exertion of massaging this creature, and with the sure knowledge that something was deeply, deeply wrong.

To calm himself and stave off panic, he thought of Lula. She was probably mucking crowded stalls now, dodging fathier hooves, giving pats and kind words whenever her boss wasn’t looking, trying to make the poor creatures’ plight a little less awful. He hoped she’d gotten a chance to rub the corwindyl into Hard Luck’s hock joint. Maybe her favorite fathier was feeling better already.

Councilor Ganna opened his mouth, but Lexo interrupted him. “Do you ever use corwindyl, Councilor?” he asked.

“Huh? Cor-what? Never heard of it.”

“It’s an herb that—”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Look, Sooger, you’re going to work for me whether you want to or not. I’m doing you a favor. You’ll realize it soon enough, and you’ll thank me.”

“I don’t think—”

“I don’t care what you think. I’m hiring you to broker information for me, not think.” Ganna’s voice had become low and dangerous. “You have to ally yourself with the winner. And that’s me. If you don’t, no one is safe. Not you.” He paused for a long moment. “And not your human daughter.”

Lexo’s breath hitched. “You know I have a daughter,” he said flatly.

“Of course. I never bring someone into my employ without vetting them thoroughly. She seems like a nice kid. A bit on the small side, though. Too fragile for working in the stables. It’s a wonder she hasn’t been kicked in the head already.”

Lexo couldn’t seem to fill his chest with enough air.

“You see,” Ganna said, “I had a feeling you’d resist my generous offer. So I took some precautions. I feel confident that you’ll come around very shortly.”

“I told you I would think about it,” Lexo said in a small, tight voice.

“Take as much time as you want,” Ganna replied. “But I suspect you’ll not want to take much time at all.”

Lexo was desperate. He didn’t want Ganna to know the extent of what he could do, but he had to take a risk. He had to know more.

Pheromone flooded his fingertips. As he pressed into Ganna’s chest, osmosis allowed it to secrete through his porous epidermis, onto Ganna’s hide. He massaged it in, making little circles, then wider circles, pressing hard, hard, harder.

“You’re really outdoing yourself today,” the councilor observed. “I may have to increase my sessions to once per week.”

Lexo would rather massage a rathtar. He said, “It would be a delight to see you more often.”

“I mean, I’ll practically own the place soon. Stopping by regularly is just good management.”

“You are very wise.”

Ganna wasn’t relaxing. He was talking, sure, but he wasn’t saying anything useful. Lexo’s pheromone wasn’t working.

Lexo tried again, secreting a small amount at the base of the councilor’s neck. Many species were especially sensitive there, where their skin was a little thinner.

“Do you smell something?” Ganna said.

“Just an enchanting, swampy perfume imported from your very own homeworld.”

“No, it’s something else.”

“Your olfactory senses must be superior to mine.”

“Maybe. Just give my face another once-over, will you? We’re running out of time.”

“Of course.”

Not only was Ganna immune to his secretions, he could smell them as well. Lexo would have to find another way to get the information he needed.

They chatted a while longer about nothing in particular, Lexo responding with things like “Yes, I expect you’ll do a lot of winning,” and “No, he was a fool for doubting you,” but all the while his mind was screaming, What have you done with Lula?

When their session finally, finally drew to a close, Ganna insisted that they would talk again very soon, and Lexo said he was looking forward to it, and the moment the giant plinth rolled away, Lexo was sprinting up the stairs to the servants’ closet to change into his regular clothes.

On the way out, he grabbed Oble Rumb and said something he hadn’t said since that day thirteen years ago when he found a cargo crate containing a tiny human baby: “Cancel all my appointments. I’m taking the rest of the day off. Zord can dock my pay.”

Lexo fled into the streets of Old City and hailed a speeder cab.