fairly common where the two were bound, and many other languages were based on it and used loanwords from the Terran tongue.
A few non-Lunarians were also around, O'Neillers and other Solarians. Alacrity also spotted a number who were outsystem, and the nonhumans in the crowd were obvious. Floyt had often heard the term "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed," but never before encountered an intelligent being who lived up to the expression. His lip curled as a thing like a walking mushroom covered with feathers bobbed past. "I keep waiting to turn into a pillar of salt," he declared.
"Oh, this is just the action part of town," Alacrity said lightly. "Lunaport's got its monuments and parks and city hall." He watched a svelte young woman with a green-dyed topknot, wearing an extremely wide-mesh body stocking of the same color, sashay into an endorphin den. "Things are always a little looser around a spaceport."
Floyt checked the cheap proteus supplied him by Earthservice. His accessor, of course, was of no use away from Terra's data and computer-service networks and satellite links. "I suppose it's best we were getting to our lodgment. It's a place called the High Movers' Stop." Weir's executors had included provisions for quarters during the wait for transit. "Which way would that be, Alacrity?"
The breakabout answered, "Forget it; we're not going there. Too many people know we're supposed to."
"The Earthservice gave me definite instructions. It's settled."
"Hell's entropy! Will you forget Earthservice, Ho? We're on our own now, can't you get that through your turban?"
Several passersby noted the dispute without stopping. It wasn't much out of the ordinary in Billingsgate Circus. Besides, Alacrity had one thumb hooked in a gunbelt carrying a rather large pistol.
"See here," Floyt objected. "I'm tired and foul-smelling. I have no intention of wandering Lunaport until boarding time."
"Ho, how'd you like to check into the Stop and find another admirer waiting for you with a styrette, hm? Tired of living, are you, or just curious about the afterlife? We'd probably both end up getting terminal vitamin shots!"
Floyt half smiled despite himself. "Well, even at one-sixth gee, we're going to get pretty tired standing around here, aren't we?"
"I asked a few questions when I came through O'Neill V on my way to Terra. We've got a perfect place to moor down for a while."
"You have friends here?"
"Sort of. There's a Forager lashup out near Hubble City. That's for us."
Floyt yielded. They wove through the throngs, kangarooing and skid-stepping. Alacrity found a map sphere, then led Floyt off toward a tubeway.
When they'd boarded and found places on the insubstantial-looking seats, the Earther inquired, "Who are these Foragers?"
The capsule accelerated as Alacrity replied, "You'd call them, uh, Gypsies. Or beachcombers.
Salvage and recycling experts. Nomads."
"Criminals?" Floyt couldn't stop himself from asking.
Alacrity's look hardened. "No. And neither am I. Listen, I know what they told you about me, but I'm a murderer about the same way you're a noble, fearless hero of the Terran weal, all right?"
Without turning a hair, Floyt answered, "Credit me with a little intelligence; Skinner and his team worked on me, too."
They both acknowledged a bit of common ground, Floyt with a half smile and Alacrity with a nod.
Floyt went on, "So these Foragers roam the entire moon?"
"They go just about anywhere other humans go—any star system and in between."
Alacrity looked to the viewscreen at the front of the capsule. It showed the lunar surface beneath which they were passing and the ruins of the first boxtown. In its time, This End Up City, or "Upsie," as it came to be called, had been the largest ever to accumulate. But Upsie had been abandoned centuries before, ramshackled and used up during the first hundred years or so of human expansion.
Shipping containers of every shape and size, fabricated for cargo of all descriptions, had
A few non-Lunarians were also around, O'Neillers and other Solarians. Alacrity also spotted a number who were outsystem, and the nonhumans in the crowd were obvious. Floyt had often heard the term "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed," but never before encountered an intelligent being who lived up to the expression. His lip curled as a thing like a walking mushroom covered with feathers bobbed past. "I keep waiting to turn into a pillar of salt," he declared.
"Oh, this is just the action part of town," Alacrity said lightly. "Lunaport's got its monuments and parks and city hall." He watched a svelte young woman with a green-dyed topknot, wearing an extremely wide-mesh body stocking of the same color, sashay into an endorphin den. "Things are always a little looser around a spaceport."
Floyt checked the cheap proteus supplied him by Earthservice. His accessor, of course, was of no use away from Terra's data and computer-service networks and satellite links. "I suppose it's best we were getting to our lodgment. It's a place called the High Movers' Stop." Weir's executors had included provisions for quarters during the wait for transit. "Which way would that be, Alacrity?"
The breakabout answered, "Forget it; we're not going there. Too many people know we're supposed to."
"The Earthservice gave me definite instructions. It's settled."
"Hell's entropy! Will you forget Earthservice, Ho? We're on our own now, can't you get that through your turban?"
Several passersby noted the dispute without stopping. It wasn't much out of the ordinary in Billingsgate Circus. Besides, Alacrity had one thumb hooked in a gunbelt carrying a rather large pistol.
"See here," Floyt objected. "I'm tired and foul-smelling. I have no intention of wandering Lunaport until boarding time."
"Ho, how'd you like to check into the Stop and find another admirer waiting for you with a styrette, hm? Tired of living, are you, or just curious about the afterlife? We'd probably both end up getting terminal vitamin shots!"
Floyt half smiled despite himself. "Well, even at one-sixth gee, we're going to get pretty tired standing around here, aren't we?"
"I asked a few questions when I came through O'Neill V on my way to Terra. We've got a perfect place to moor down for a while."
"You have friends here?"
"Sort of. There's a Forager lashup out near Hubble City. That's for us."
Floyt yielded. They wove through the throngs, kangarooing and skid-stepping. Alacrity found a map sphere, then led Floyt off toward a tubeway.
When they'd boarded and found places on the insubstantial-looking seats, the Earther inquired, "Who are these Foragers?"
The capsule accelerated as Alacrity replied, "You'd call them, uh, Gypsies. Or beachcombers.
Salvage and recycling experts. Nomads."
"Criminals?" Floyt couldn't stop himself from asking.
Alacrity's look hardened. "No. And neither am I. Listen, I know what they told you about me, but I'm a murderer about the same way you're a noble, fearless hero of the Terran weal, all right?"
Without turning a hair, Floyt answered, "Credit me with a little intelligence; Skinner and his team worked on me, too."
They both acknowledged a bit of common ground, Floyt with a half smile and Alacrity with a nod.
Floyt went on, "So these Foragers roam the entire moon?"
"They go just about anywhere other humans go—any star system and in between."
Alacrity looked to the viewscreen at the front of the capsule. It showed the lunar surface beneath which they were passing and the ruins of the first boxtown. In its time, This End Up City, or "Upsie," as it came to be called, had been the largest ever to accumulate. But Upsie had been abandoned centuries before, ramshackled and used up during the first hundred years or so of human expansion.
Shipping containers of every shape and size, fabricated for cargo of all descriptions, had
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