Even in the office, enshrouded in layers of soundproofing and the finest sound dampening equipment money could buy, the music could be heard. Or perhaps heard was the wrong word, for the music didn't really enter the body through the ears, but through the entire body, the vibrations invading every last pore. Out on the dance floor, beyond the holomasked two-way mirror, it must have been nearly deafening.
And not a one of them seemed to care.
From her lofty vantage point, looking out across the main chamber of the club from the second floor office, Estrea could see a thousand souls write and twist, moving their bodies to the transcendant noise and screaming wordlessly for more. Half of them - at least - were drunk on the famed cocktails served by the scantily clad staff at the bar, and many of those who weren't had sampled some of the less legal substances that were available to those who knew the right questions to ask. But still they kept dancing. Surrounded by swirling colours and cavorting hologramattic images of every description, they always kept dancing.
"How long's it been," Estrea mused, "Since last time the music stopped?"
It wasn't really a question, but the answer came quickly enough nonetheless, supplied by the grating mechanical tones of her ever present protocol droid, P3-RC, "There was an interlude of point zero, zero, zero three one seconds during the last changeover. It seems that brain-node 3 suffered a momentary glitch. I have already arranged for replacement and maintenance."
Half-turning, the woman let her gaze linger on the droid for a moment. It looked innocent, in the way that only a lifeform with an entirely immobile face could manage, yet she couldn't help but feel it was gently winding her up. It was an uncomfortable sensation, and not for the first time Estrea found herself making a mental note to have the droid memory wiped at the first opportunity. For the time being, however, she simply nodded, adding, "Thanks, Arcee. That's very... accurate. Entirely unhelpful, but accurate, at least. Points for trying, and all that." Turning back, she watched in silence for a moment as the vast array of holographic projectors that covered most of the walls flickered and shifted, transporting the revelers onto the edge of a volcano that threw geysers of neon magma toward the heavens. The shift marked the end of a time slot, and dozens of lesser holograms that had previously been dancing with lonely clients flickered out of existence as the panorama changed. Even as Estrea watched, many of them began to fight their way across to the various bars, intent on buying another hour of holographic companionship. Pathetic really, but if they were so intent on giving her their hard earned credits, who was going to argue?
Certainly not she, not when she might need everyone one of those credits sooner rather than later.
"Have we heard anything from Adriot?" she enquired after a moment's pause, pointedly keeping her gaze on the sea of swaying bodies.
Behind her, a rustle of movement suggested someone straightening up in response to the question, and she allowed herself to turn in time to catch a glimpse of a towering man (who surely had a trace of Wookiee somewhere in his heritage) pulling himself up from where he had been lounging on one of the couches set against the wall. "The King," he grunted, placing heavy emphasis on Adriot's title even as he twisted a kink out of a neck almost as thick as Estrea's entire torso, "Hasn't been in touch since yesterday."
"Hmm," murmured Estrea, entirely unperturbed by the goon's unspoken rebuke. She knew where the lines were, understood what the King in the Shadows would tolerate and what he wouldn't. And calling him by his given name? That wasn't even close to the limit of what he would tolerate from one who brought so much money into his underground empire. He was, in that way at least, refreshingly pragmatic. "Arcee? Have them ready Moonfall."
"Certainly, madam," the droid answered, even as the goon spluttered out an incredulous exclamation. "Where shall I tell them we're going?"
"Where the money is, of course," came the breezey reply, before Estrea fixed her gaze on the thug and smiled wickedly, "Don't worry. I'm not going to do anything to upset Adriot too much."
Not yet, at least.
And not a one of them seemed to care.
From her lofty vantage point, looking out across the main chamber of the club from the second floor office, Estrea could see a thousand souls write and twist, moving their bodies to the transcendant noise and screaming wordlessly for more. Half of them - at least - were drunk on the famed cocktails served by the scantily clad staff at the bar, and many of those who weren't had sampled some of the less legal substances that were available to those who knew the right questions to ask. But still they kept dancing. Surrounded by swirling colours and cavorting hologramattic images of every description, they always kept dancing.
"How long's it been," Estrea mused, "Since last time the music stopped?"
It wasn't really a question, but the answer came quickly enough nonetheless, supplied by the grating mechanical tones of her ever present protocol droid, P3-RC, "There was an interlude of point zero, zero, zero three one seconds during the last changeover. It seems that brain-node 3 suffered a momentary glitch. I have already arranged for replacement and maintenance."
Half-turning, the woman let her gaze linger on the droid for a moment. It looked innocent, in the way that only a lifeform with an entirely immobile face could manage, yet she couldn't help but feel it was gently winding her up. It was an uncomfortable sensation, and not for the first time Estrea found herself making a mental note to have the droid memory wiped at the first opportunity. For the time being, however, she simply nodded, adding, "Thanks, Arcee. That's very... accurate. Entirely unhelpful, but accurate, at least. Points for trying, and all that." Turning back, she watched in silence for a moment as the vast array of holographic projectors that covered most of the walls flickered and shifted, transporting the revelers onto the edge of a volcano that threw geysers of neon magma toward the heavens. The shift marked the end of a time slot, and dozens of lesser holograms that had previously been dancing with lonely clients flickered out of existence as the panorama changed. Even as Estrea watched, many of them began to fight their way across to the various bars, intent on buying another hour of holographic companionship. Pathetic really, but if they were so intent on giving her their hard earned credits, who was going to argue?
Certainly not she, not when she might need everyone one of those credits sooner rather than later.
"Have we heard anything from Adriot?" she enquired after a moment's pause, pointedly keeping her gaze on the sea of swaying bodies.
Behind her, a rustle of movement suggested someone straightening up in response to the question, and she allowed herself to turn in time to catch a glimpse of a towering man (who surely had a trace of Wookiee somewhere in his heritage) pulling himself up from where he had been lounging on one of the couches set against the wall. "The King," he grunted, placing heavy emphasis on Adriot's title even as he twisted a kink out of a neck almost as thick as Estrea's entire torso, "Hasn't been in touch since yesterday."
"Hmm," murmured Estrea, entirely unperturbed by the goon's unspoken rebuke. She knew where the lines were, understood what the King in the Shadows would tolerate and what he wouldn't. And calling him by his given name? That wasn't even close to the limit of what he would tolerate from one who brought so much money into his underground empire. He was, in that way at least, refreshingly pragmatic. "Arcee? Have them ready Moonfall."
"Certainly, madam," the droid answered, even as the goon spluttered out an incredulous exclamation. "Where shall I tell them we're going?"
"Where the money is, of course," came the breezey reply, before Estrea fixed her gaze on the thug and smiled wickedly, "Don't worry. I'm not going to do anything to upset Adriot too much."
Not yet, at least.