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.”