“Afterward, all the nerves were crottled or something, and Hal wasn’t nothing with his no-knife. Everybody left him; his ’sticks, his girls, everybody. The Marquis took his exotics. Hairy Hal had nothing cept me. Little stupid Mayliss, she still hummed to him, and I stayed. I helped him use his other hand, and I thought once he was good again, he’d take his no-knife and go after the Marquis, right?
“Well, wrong. That’s where my spin went wobbly on me, and I learned. Hairy Hal was scared and he still is. He’s never dared to get big again cause the Marquis gives him big chills. Every once in a while one of the blackskulls’ll come by to have me, and they never pay, and Hal never does anything. They’ll do it to you, too, watch. You’ll learn, Starlady. You’re a stupid if you hum to anyone, or buy anybody’s spin, or do anything for anyone but you!”
Janey waited until the outburst had passed. Then, very quietly, she said, “If you gave up on Hal, then why are you still here?”
Before Mayliss could answer the door opened, and Hairy Hal and Golden Boy were back. Hal was smiling broadly. He reached under his cape, pulled out a packet, and tossed it on the table. Mayliss looked at it, grinned, and whistled.
“Golden Boy clicked good down in the Ivory Halls,” Hal said. Then, startled, he stopped and looked at Janey. She’d gone to Golden Boy and wrapped her arms around him and now she was fighting not to cry.
So things began to click.
Down inside, in the Ivory Halls and the Velvet Corridors, in the great cool compartments around the Central Square, the word was loose. And the customers came; sleek blond men in woven robes, matrons in dragon dresses, adventurous girls in soft plastic. Others sent for Golden Boy, and Hairy Hal took him to them, walking the streets inside as if he were born to them. He handled things quiet and smooth, and he sold Golden Boy only for big money. No starslum funboys got their hands on him; Hal had his wide-eyed gold mine reserved for men of taste.
And Golden Boy went, and did what was required of him. He never spoke, but he seemed to understand, sometimes even without Hal telling him. It was almost like he knew what he was doing.
Sometimes the insiders would buy him for a night, and Janey would float in her sleep-web alone.
On one of those nights, Hal returned from inside by himself, carrying a heavy book under his good arm. He was sitting at the table, poring over the pages, when Janey and a customer returned from the Silver Plaza. He ignored them and kept poring.
When the man had gone, Janey came out and looked at him sullenly. “What’s that?” she asked.
Hal glanced up, smiled. “Hey, Starlady. Come an’ look. Hal got it for Golden Boy tonight from an insider. It’s old, you know, pre-Collapse. Straight spin!”
Janey walked around behind him to peer over his shoulder. The pages were big, glossy, full of closely packed text and bright holostrations of strange creatures in colorful costumes.
“There’s something here, look here, about a race that might be Golden Boy’s. Look at that picture, Starlady, the same, only the hair is the wrong color. Still. They were a Hrangan slave-race before the war or the Collapse. So, probly Golden Boy is a little Bashii. Unless….” He riffled some more pages. “Here, this part about genetic alteration experiments an’ cloning an’ that stuff. The Earth Imperials were trying to clone their best pilots an’ such, duplicate them. An’ you had alters, like Stumblecat cept he’s a defect. See starlady, it has this bit about esthetic alters on Old Earth, pretty boys, being worked up. So. Maybe he’s one of those. From Old Earth, what a spin! Thisrock hasn’t heard from that far in, well, long time. It chills you, right Janey?”
His enthusiasm was a flood; Janey felt herself smiling at him. “I don’t think he’s from Old Earth,” she said. “If he were, he could talk to us. He’s probably a Bashii. But I really don’t care what he is. He’s just Golden Boy.”
“Just! Janey, you’re positively warm. Listen, he’s clicking for us, Starlady. They hum to him down there, they hum high an’ hot, an’ probly they’re going to want him down there more, right? But he won’t do it right less Hal wants it, an’ Janey, of course. In a while, Starlady, we can buy down inside, all of us, cause Golden Boy is Golden Boy. An’ cause Hairy Hal is quiet, right?”
“Not quiet enough, Hal,” the voice said from the doorway. Stumblecat stood there, smiling, his hand on his stingstick. “Not quite quiet enough.”
He sauntered in with the clumsy ease that was uniquely his. Crawney followed, pushing Mayliss ahead of him. She stumbled up against the table, reeled, then pulled away towards the bedrooms.
“They want to see you,” she said, looking apprehensively at Crawney and Stumblecat. “They found me on the Concourse and took my keyplate.”
Hairy Hal closed his book and stood. “Spin it,” he said. His face was a guarded blank.
“You know it all already, Hal,” Stumblecat said. Such a soft voice he had, such a civilized purr. “You’ve known it all along. We told you long ago that we bear you no grudge. You can pimp all you like, girls, boys, anything. But exotics, well, you know. The Marquis has a sentimental attachment to exotics. He collects them, you might say.”
“You been spinning us wobbly,” Crawney put in, grinning at Hal and showing off all his teeth. “But you can straighten out. Just give us your exotic.”
“Golden Boy, I believe he’s called,” said Stumblecat.
“Yes,” Hal said. “Only Golden Boy isn’t an exotic. Would Hal spin you wobbly, eh? He’s just human, an alter, look at the book.” He tapped it, offering.
“I’m not interested in any books, Hal,” Stumblecat said. “An alter is exotic enough for the Marquis. And even if you were right, well, the sad fact is we’d still want him. That much inside business is too tempting.”
“You want to get your other arm crottled?” Crawney said. “Wrong? Then you’d better hum to us, Hal.”
Hal did not move. But Mayliss did. She came around the table, grabbed him, shoved him towards them. “Hal!” she shrieked. “Hey, this is your chance! Only two of them, and Crawney never carries nothing, and Stumblecat is a clumsy stupid with his stick. Take them!” She pushed him again from behind.
And he hesitated, then whirled and slapped her hard. “You want to spin me cold, redhead,” he said. “There might be more outside.”
Mayliss pulled back, said nothing. Stumblecat and Crawney just watched and smiled. Janey frowned. “Hal,” she said. “You can’t give Golden Boy to the Marquis. You can’t do that, Hal, she’s right.”
But Hal ignored her. “Golden Boy’s gone now,” he said, turning back to the two men. “He’ll be back, straight spin! You can have him.”
“We’ll wait,” Crawney said.
“Yes,” said Stumblecat “And Hal, you haven’t treated us very hospitably, you know.”
Hal’s lip trembled. “I—no, Hal will set you right. Drinks?”
“Later,” said Stumblecat. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.” He walked over to Janey, reached out and stroked her hair. She shivered.
Hal looked at her. “Janey?” he said. “My Starlady? Will you….” But she was already gone, with Stumblecat, to the bedroom.
Crawney, not to be left out, took Mayliss.
They watched pink shadows run as the globe pulsed.
Two of them.
Alone together.
The insider had brought Golden Boy back at last, and the blackskulls who’d been outside had taken him. Mayliss had left too, packing all her things in silence. Now there was Hairy Hal and Starlady.