"Sure," Rick replied, falling into the role of a science-fiction spaceman. "We might pick up the latest gossip on that uranium strike on Venus, or the discovery of live prodsponders on Mars."
Scotty swung into the parking lot. "Tell me, Space Commander, what are prodsponders?"
"A subspecies of sponprodders. Your ignorance surprises me, Cadet Scott."
"I haven't been to the inner planets for a week," Scotty apologized. "I lose touch."
They walked across the driveway, noting that the customary shrubs and plants were replaced here by artificial ones, made in a form that represented someone's idea of what plants from other worlds must look like. The effect was actually pretty good. The place had been built with imagination.
The spacesuit-clad doorman nodded, and they saw that he was perspiring freely inside the transparent helmet.
"Who ever heard of a non-airconditioned spacesuit?" Rick murmured. "Bet he couldn't survive the Venus-Mercury run in that rig."
Inside were the inevitable slot machines, in banks of fifty or more. Rick decided the objective must be one slot machine for each person in town. Behind the slot machines were the dice layouts, roulette tables, and blackjack tables.
Beyond the casino proper, however, was a pleasant lounge that included a snack bar and tables for dining. The boys wandered over to the snack bar and sat down on stools, looking around with appreciation. The walls were decorated with murals—photographic reproductions of a famous artist's conception of other planets.
"This is nice," Rick said appreciatively.