The Hotel Grenada was a huge, ancient structure that had been built just after the atomic bombs had blasted the city during the Final War, and it showed every century of its age. It had once been an imposing structure, but its chromium trim had begun to peel, and the aluminum siding was whitely pitted with oxide.
I walked into the lobby and flashed my identity bracelet at the bored-looking clerk. "Do you have any Damakoi registered here?"
The clerk looked a little bewildered. "Gosh, mister, I wouldn't know a Damakoi if I saw one. We got lots of aliens registered, though."
"I am a Damakoi," said Holdreth Khain. There was a touch of pride in his voice, and I felt my nerves tighten a little more.
The clerk looked at him. "Oh, yeah! Sure. Guy checked in yesterday."
"Let's see the registration," I said.
The clerk pulled out the book and flipped it open. There was the name, big, bold, and firm.
Zorvash Pedrik. Room 706A.
I left one of my men at the desk to make sure that no one warned Room 706A, and headed for the lift tube. Holdreth Khain and I went up to the seventieth floor and looked for 6A.