dressed, in what Crawney had left of her clothing. Now she stood. “What can you do?” she said. “I’m Janey Small, from Rhiannon. Our ship….”
Hal looked up at her. “No, starlady,” he said. “No ship no more. Crawney got the name tabs, the Marquis’ll sell. Some insider will be Janey Small, from Rhiannon. See? Happens, well, every day. Starlady should have stayed on the Concourse.”
“But,” the woman started. “We have to go to someone. I mean the man with the striped head, he said he’d show us the good stuff. He hired the other two for us, as bodyguards. Can you take us to the police?” Her voice was even, quiet, and the teartracks on her face were dry now. She recovered fast. Hal admired her.
“Starlady landed on Thisrock,” he said. “No police here. Nothing. Should’ve hired a real bodyguard. Crew would give you a steer as usual. Crawney hit, instead. Starlady wasn’t Promethean, wasn’t insider, wasn’t protected, probly four-class passage, right?” He paused, she nodded. “So, right. Crawney wanted tabs, starlady was stupid, easy hit.” Hal glanced down at Golden Boy, then up at the woman again. “With you?” he asked.
“Yes. No.” She shook her head. “Not precisely. He was on the ship. No one could understand him, and no one seemed to know him, or where he was from. He started following me around. I don’t know much about him, but he’s good, kind. What’s going to happen to us now?”
Hal shrugged. “Help get Golden Boy over Hal’s shoulder. Come with, to home.”
* * *
Hairy Hal’s home; a four-room compartment on a cross-corridor near the Concourse, just off the Silver Plaza. It was good for trade. The door was heavy duralloy. Inside was a large square chamber, with a low couch along one wall and opposite a built-in kitchen. Above the couch were racks of books and tapes; for a starslummmer, Hal was an intellectual. A big plastic table filled most of the room and closed doors led off to the bedrooms and the waste cube. A glowing globe sat in the center of the table, sending pink reflections scuttling across the walls as it pulsed.
Hairy Hal dumped Golden Boy, still out, on the couch, then sat down at the table. He pointed to a second chair, and Janey sat too. And then, before either of them could say anything, a bedroom door opened and Mayliss entered.
Mayliss was very tall, very regal; sleek legs and big breasts and a hard, hard face with small green eyes. She painted her head bright red to let people know what she was. What she was was one of Hal’s girls. At the moment, she was his only girl.
She stopped in the door to her bedroom, studied Janey and Golden Boy, then looked at Hal. “Spin,” she said.
So Hairy Hal spun it. “Starlady got hit,” he told her. “Crawney did a bodyguard grabtab, threw in rip an’ rape.” He shrugged.
Her face grew harder. “Hairy Hal scoped it all, right? Did nothing?” She sighed. “So?”
“Seal it, Mayliss,” Hal told her. He turned back to Janey Small, smiled his smile. “Starlady know what comes now?” he asked.
Janey wet her lip, hesitated. Finally she spoke. “If there really are no police, I guess we’re stuck here for a while.”
Hal shook his head. “For good. Better face that, or you’ll get hurt. Easy to get hurt on Thisrock, starlady, not like Rhiannon. Look.” With that, his left hand reached across his body, grabbed a corner of his heavy green cape, and flipped it back over his shoulder. Then he took his right arm by the wrist, and lifted it onto the table.
Janey Small did not gasp; she was a tough woman, Janey Small. She just looked. Hairy Hal’s right arm wasn’t really much of an arm. It bent and twisted in a half-dozen places where an arm ought not to bend, and it was matchstick-thin. The skin was a reddish black, the hand a shriveled claw. Hal clenched his fist as it lay there, and the arm trembled violently.
Finally, when she’d looked enough, he reached over again with his left
Hal looked up at her. “No, starlady,” he said. “No ship no more. Crawney got the name tabs, the Marquis’ll sell. Some insider will be Janey Small, from Rhiannon. See? Happens, well, every day. Starlady should have stayed on the Concourse.”
“But,” the woman started. “We have to go to someone. I mean the man with the striped head, he said he’d show us the good stuff. He hired the other two for us, as bodyguards. Can you take us to the police?” Her voice was even, quiet, and the teartracks on her face were dry now. She recovered fast. Hal admired her.
“Starlady landed on Thisrock,” he said. “No police here. Nothing. Should’ve hired a real bodyguard. Crew would give you a steer as usual. Crawney hit, instead. Starlady wasn’t Promethean, wasn’t insider, wasn’t protected, probly four-class passage, right?” He paused, she nodded. “So, right. Crawney wanted tabs, starlady was stupid, easy hit.” Hal glanced down at Golden Boy, then up at the woman again. “With you?” he asked.
“Yes. No.” She shook her head. “Not precisely. He was on the ship. No one could understand him, and no one seemed to know him, or where he was from. He started following me around. I don’t know much about him, but he’s good, kind. What’s going to happen to us now?”
Hal shrugged. “Help get Golden Boy over Hal’s shoulder. Come with, to home.”
* * *
Hairy Hal’s home; a four-room compartment on a cross-corridor near the Concourse, just off the Silver Plaza. It was good for trade. The door was heavy duralloy. Inside was a large square chamber, with a low couch along one wall and opposite a built-in kitchen. Above the couch were racks of books and tapes; for a starslummmer, Hal was an intellectual. A big plastic table filled most of the room and closed doors led off to the bedrooms and the waste cube. A glowing globe sat in the center of the table, sending pink reflections scuttling across the walls as it pulsed.
Hairy Hal dumped Golden Boy, still out, on the couch, then sat down at the table. He pointed to a second chair, and Janey sat too. And then, before either of them could say anything, a bedroom door opened and Mayliss entered.
Mayliss was very tall, very regal; sleek legs and big breasts and a hard, hard face with small green eyes. She painted her head bright red to let people know what she was. What she was was one of Hal’s girls. At the moment, she was his only girl.
She stopped in the door to her bedroom, studied Janey and Golden Boy, then looked at Hal. “Spin,” she said.
So Hairy Hal spun it. “Starlady got hit,” he told her. “Crawney did a bodyguard grabtab, threw in rip an’ rape.” He shrugged.
Her face grew harder. “Hairy Hal scoped it all, right? Did nothing?” She sighed. “So?”
“Seal it, Mayliss,” Hal told her. He turned back to Janey Small, smiled his smile. “Starlady know what comes now?” he asked.
Janey wet her lip, hesitated. Finally she spoke. “If there really are no police, I guess we’re stuck here for a while.”
Hal shook his head. “For good. Better face that, or you’ll get hurt. Easy to get hurt on Thisrock, starlady, not like Rhiannon. Look.” With that, his left hand reached across his body, grabbed a corner of his heavy green cape, and flipped it back over his shoulder. Then he took his right arm by the wrist, and lifted it onto the table.
Janey Small did not gasp; she was a tough woman, Janey Small. She just looked. Hairy Hal’s right arm wasn’t really much of an arm. It bent and twisted in a half-dozen places where an arm ought not to bend, and it was matchstick-thin. The skin was a reddish black, the hand a shriveled claw. Hal clenched his fist as it lay there, and the arm trembled violently.
Finally, when she’d looked enough, he reached over again with his left
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