"We'll have to hurry or we'll miss the first show," Loong said, and pushed back his chair. "I have a car waiting outside."
"Armored?" Savage asked.
"Completely."
The existence of the Club Galaxy was discreetly proclaimed by a small, lighted sign and inside the theme of smallness was continued. Packed into its narrow confines was the highest strata of Trygonian society, uniforms predominating. They were guided to a microscopic ringside table just as the already dim lights dimmed still further.
From somewhere came soft, gentle music and a spotlight went on to reveal a male trio. They sang a song, barely heard over the buzz of conversation, and then bowed themselves out to the accompaniment of a light spattering of applause. Then the lights faded out completely and the spotlight cut off. All conversation ceased and an air of expectancy filled the room.
With an unexpectedness that made Savage catch his breath, the music crashed out in a wild, driving rhythm. The spotlight cut suddenly through the dark and caught a whirling figure in the center of the floor. The audience gave a gasp of appreciation in which Savage shared.
The dancer spun on her toes, a tall, long-legged girl in the briefest of costumes, her long hair flashing in a golden circle. She broke the spin abruptly and danced with flashing feet and writhing body to the wild rhythms. She moved with the precision of a fine machine, yet with the graceful beauty of a wild cat.
She gave a magnificent performance and when the spotlight suddenly cut out, her audience shouted its approval. But when the lights went on again she had disappeared and, in spite of the ovation, she did not return to the floor.
"She never takes a bow," Loong explained, "but you will meet her shortly."