Starlady & Fast-Friend

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.

She sat there, calm, cold, and watched him and the shadows. This time Hal was crying.

“I can’t, Janey,” he said, over and over, in a broken voice. “I can’t. He chills me, Starlady, and I’ve seen him with his stick. The no-knife, yes, it’s a better weapon, quicker, cleaner. But him, the Marquis, he’s too good. Probly Hairy Hal could’ve taken him, he thought he could’ve, one on one, no-knife against stingstick. No chance, though. An’ now, Hal’s all crottled. Marquis’ll never face him alone anyhow.”

“You’re Hairy Hal,” Janey said evenly. “If he could take Marquis once, you can take him now. You can’t leave Golden Boy with him. You can’t. I love Golden Boy.”

Hal looked up, wincing. “Hey, Starlady,” he said. “I’m spinning you straight. You want Hal cold?”

“If you won’t do anything,” she said. “Yes.”

He shrugged. “I hum to you, Janey,” he said suddenly, staring at her with something that was almost fear.

“Wonderful. But you’ll never see me again.” She stood up. “Give me your no-knife, Hal. If you won’t try, I will.”

“They’ll kill you, Starlady, or worse. Root down an’ listen. You won’t even find the Marquis.”

“Yes I will. And he’ll face me one on one, too. You told me how, Hal. The Marquis is loud, remember? Well, me too. I’ll stand in the middle of the Silver Plaza and shout for him until he comes. He can hardly have his blackskulls gang up on me then. If he did, who’d ever get chilled again? Will you give me the no-knife?”

“No,” he said, stubborn. “You’re wobbly.”

“All right,” she replied, leaving.

* * *

Night-cycle in the Plaza, and the silver-shining overheads were out. The wall-lights provided a different illumination, winking through their color-phases, alternately dyeing the faces of the revellers blue or red or green or violet. The dancers were out in force, music was everywhere, and the air was thick with the sweet gaiety of joy- smoke.

On the polished stairway that curved up towards the second tier of shops, Starlady took her stand and began to spin.

“Hey,” she called to the throngs below her, to the people pushing by, “Hey, stop and listen to me spin. You won’t soon have the chance. The Marquis is going to kill me.”

Below, the off-worlders paused, curious, admiring. Whispers were exchanged. Prometheans shook their heads and grinned. And the swaggers in their swoopsuits, the redheads out to sell, the drooling dreamers and the men who doled out dreams, the pimps, the bodyguards, the dancers and the thieves—well, they knew what was going on. A show was coming. They stopped to watch.

And Starlady spun, Starlady with the shiny, dark hair, in a suit of milky nightwhite that took the colors of the lights, Starlady with a black rod in her hand.

“Marquis took my lover,” she shouted to the gathering crowd. “He chilled down Hal and stole the Golden Boy, but he hasn’t chilled down me.” And now the no-knife in her hand was alive, its ghost blade flickering strangely in the violet light. And Starlady was sheathed in purple, her face stained grim and somber.

“I’ll kill him if he comes,” she said, as they drew away around her, leaving her alone on the stairs. “Me, Starlady, and I’ve never used a no-knife in my life.” The Plaza was growing quiet, tension spread outward like ripples in a pool. Here the talking stopped, there the dancers ceased to whirl, over in the corner a joyman killed his smoke machine. “But he won’t come, not Marquis, and I’ll tell you why. He’s chilled.”

And now the light clicked over, and Starlady was a vision in green, the ghost blade a writhing bluish shadow. “You’ve seen him kill, starslummers,” she said, with a shake of emerald-dark hair. “And you’ve heard the wobbly spins, right? Marquis, who hums to pain. Marquis, Thisrock’s top ’stick.” She threw back her head and laughed. Over on the far side of the Plaza, they were muting their music and drifting her way. “Well, think now, have you ever seen him fight? Without his blackskulls? Without Crawney—” she pointed, and a man with a shiny striped skull straightened and glared and rushed towards the nearest corridor— “and Stumblecat—” she