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when　they　call　themselves　''blunts''。　The　tall；　slender　people　of　low…grav　Sylvan　do　it　when　they　call　themselves　''sticks''。　A　slur's　not　a
slur　if　you　use　it　on　yourself。
Labour　laws　on　Eechan　permit　twists　to　work　as　indentured　labourers　in　the　industrial　mill…farms　and　the　sap　distilleries；　provided　they
abide　by　the　local　regime　and　keep　themselves　to　the　licensed　shanty　towns　huddled　in　the　skirts　of　the　bad　end　of　Eechan　mainhive。
The　barkeep　slapped　two　heavy　shotglasses　down　on　the　counter　and　filled　them　to　the　brim　　a　spouted　flask。
I　tossed　a　couple　of　coins　down　and　reached　for　my　drink。
The　bloodshot　eyes　leered　at　me。
'What's　this？　Perial　coins？　Come　now；　twist；　you　know　we　ain't　allowed　to　trade　in　those。'
I　paused。　A　glance　down　the　counter　showed　me　that　the　rest　of　the　clientele　were　paying　in　mill…authorised　coupons　or　nuggets　of
base　metal。　And　that　they　were　all　staring　and　scowling　at　us。　A　basic　mistake；　right　off　the　bat。
My　companion　leaned　forward　and　sipped　his　drink。　'Don't　get　fret　with　two　thirsty　twists　who's　happened　to　have　lucked　into　a　good
black　score；　eh？'
The　barkeep　smiled　and　his　black　tongue　flickered。　He　scooped　up　the　coins。　'Ain't　no　fret；　twist。　You　earn　'em；　I'll　take　'em。　Just
sayin'　you　might　not　want　to　go　flashing　'em；　s'all。'
We　took　our　drinks　away　from　the　bar；　looking　for　a　table。　It　had　taken　six　weeks　to　reach　Eechan；　and　I　was　impatient　for　a　lead。
The　beat　changed。　Another　pound　number　began　pumping　through　the　underfloor　speakers；　which　to　my　untutored　ears　was　simply　a
variation　in　auditory　assault。　But　the　crowd　clapped　and　roared　approval。　The　naked　girl　with　the　grinning　stomach　began　rotating　her
hips　the　other　way。
'I　have　a　feeling　I　should　be　leaving　this　to　you；'　I　whispered　to　my　companion。
'You're　doing　fine。'
'〃Don't　get　fret；　twist…〃。　for　God…Emperor's　sake…　where　did　you　learn　to　talk　like　that？'
'You　never　hung　with　twists？'
'Not　like　this…'
'So　I'm　guessin'　you　don't　s'love　that　genejack　pound　beat；　twist？'
'Stop　it　or　I'll　shoot　you。'
Harlon　Nayl　grinned　and　blinked　with　all　his　sixteen　eyes　in　mock　offence。
'Sup　up；　twist。　If　that　ain't　Phant　Mastik；　I'll　poke　my　eyes　out。'
'Oh；　let　me；'　I　hissed；　and　slugged　back　my　shot。　'Raise　'em　and　sink　'em　and　let's　have　another！'　I　grimaced　to　myself　as　the　burning
spirit　scalded　down　my　oesophagus；　and　then　scooped　two　more　drinks　from　the　tray　of　the　porcupine　girl　as　she　sashayed　past。
Phant　Mastik　sat　with　his　cronies　in　a　side　booth。　Generations　of　rad…storm　mutation　had　made　him　an　obese　thing　with　wrinkled　flesh
and　enlarged　features。　His　ears　were　frayed　fan…like　swathes　of　veiny　skin　and　his　nose　was　a　drooping　proboscis。　An　incongruous　tuft
of　thick　red　hair　decorated　his　neanderthal　brow。
His　eyes　were　deep…set　and　black。
And　sad；　I　thought。　Tremendously　sad。

He　was　drinking　from　a　big　tankard　by　snorting　the　alcohol　up　through　his　dangling　nose。　His　mouth；　distorted　by　tusk…like　jags　of
tooth；　was　useless。　A　twist　whore；　with　an　unnecessary　number　of　arms；　was　sipping　her　drink；　smoking　an　obscura　stick；　retouching
her　makeup　and　doing　something　to　Phant　under　the　table　that　he　was　clearly　enjoying。
We　approached。
Phant's　minders　got　up　immediately　to　block　us。　A　homed　brute　and　a　twist　whose　entire　head　was　a　wrinkled　skin　hood　for　an
outsized　eye。　They　both　reached　into　their　robes。
'How　you　tonight；　twists？'　puffed　Horn…brute。
'We　fine。　No　fret；　just　s'gotta　talk　to　the　Phant；'　said　Nayl。
'Ain't　not　gonna　happen；'　said　Big…eye；　his　voice　muffled　by　his　clothing。　God…Emperor　knew　where　his　mouth　was。
'I　s'think　so；　when　we　have　us　such　a　scalding　black　score；　him　to　enjoy。'　Nayl　didn't　shrink　back。
＋＋Let　them　through＋＋　Phant　said；　his　voice　conveyed　by　an　augmetic　carry…sound　unit。　A　vox…implant。　Few　twists　had　the　money　for
that。　Phant　was　certainly　a　player。
The　minders　stepped　aside　and　allowed　us　into　the　booth。　We　sat。
＋＋Go　on＋＋
'Twist；　I　s'tell　ya；　we　be　in　the　market　for　section…alpha　brainjobs。　We　s'hear　you　got　one　for　the　begging。'
＋＋Hear？　Where？＋＋
'Round　and　around；'　said　Nayl。
＋＋Uh　huh。　And　you　are？＋＋
'Just　two　twists　s'gonna　earn　us　a　deal；'　I　said。
＋＋That　right？＋＋
We　sat　in　silence　for　a　moment　as　Phant　called　for　more　drinks。　The　girl　was　now　combing　and　fixing　her　hair　and　doing　her　make…up。
One　of　her　many　hands　was　on　my　knee　under　the　table。
She　winked　at　me。
With　an　eye　growing　from　the　end　of　her　tongue。
＋＋What　I　got；　ain't　no　section…alpha；　twists。　S'section…alpha…plus＋＋
'That　is　s'why　we　came　to　you；　Phant！　S'why！　No　upper　limit　for　our　buy！'
＋＋How　U　gonna　pay？＋＋
Nayl　dropped　one　of　the　ingots　onto　the　table。
'Pure　mellow…yellow。　And　we　got　the　bars。　Much　as　it　takes。　So…？　S'when…where？'
＋＋I　gotta　talk　to　some　people＋＋
'Kay。'
＋＋Where　can　I　reach　U？＋＋
'The　Twist　and　Sleep。'
＋＋You　sleep　tight。　Maybe　I　call　you＋＋
THE　AUDIENCE　WAS　over。　We　took　a　table　of　our　own　near　the　raised　stage　and　stayed　for　a　couple　more　rounds；　making　a　show　of
appreciating　the　indecent　writhings　of　the　girl　with　the　belly　mouth。
After　an　hour　or　so；　we　saw　Phant　and　his　retinue　leave　by　a　side　door。　'Let's　go；'　I　said。　We　finished　our　drinks　and　rose。　Nayl　gave
porcupine　girl　a　handful　of　coins　and　patted　her　bottom。　Her　quills　bristled；　but　she　smiled。
The　minder　didn't　spare　us　a　look　with　either　of　his　heads　as　we　left。　Out　of　sight；　round　the　corner　of　the　dreary　barstoop；　I　handed
Nayl　one　of　a　pair　of　brass　stimm…injectors　and　we　detoxed　quickly　to　rid　our　bodies　of　the　alcohol　dulling　our　systems。
It　was　the　dead　of　night；　but　there　was　little　darkness。　The　great　curve　of　Eechan's　ring　systems　glowed　with　reflecting　sunlight　and
shone　like　bands　of　diamond…crusted　platinum。
The　main　street　of　the　shanty　was　a　rutted；　water…logged　morass；　and　flaking　boardwalk　pavements　edged　the　rows　of　slumping；　dingy
buildings。　Glowing　signs　and　the　few　street　lamps　reflected　in　the　street　puddles。
Beyond　the　shanty；　to　the　west；　the　alpine　slopes　of　the　mainhive　rose　against　the　stars；　like　a　dark　mountain　of　trash　decorated　with　a
million　little　lights。　To　the　east　were　the　stacked；　grubby　mushrooms　of　the　mill…farms　and　the　distilleries；　venting　brown　steam　and
yellow　pollutants　into　the　wind。
To　the　south；　in　the　verdant　farm　lands；　plains　of　thick；　rubbery　growth；　we　could　see　the　running　lights　of　several　vast　harvesters。
They　were　segmented　juggernauts；　beetle…like　machines　the　size　of　small　starships；　chewing　up　the　greenbelt　with　massive　reaping
mandibles　and　digesting　it　through　vast　interior　vats　and　worklines。　Flues　lined　their　backs　like　spines　and　spewed　moisture　waste　and
atomised　sap　up　high　into　the　atmosphere；　where　it　drifted　and　fell　again　like　rain。　Everything　in　the　twist　shanty　was　sticky　with　sapfall。
The　rain　was　tacky　and　thick　like　syrup。　The　street　puddles　were　viscous。　Downpipes　glugged　and　throbbed　rather　than　pouring。
Everywhere；　there　was　a　stench　of　decomposing　plantfibre　and　liquefied　cellulose。
'Do　you　think　he　took　the　bait？'　I　asked。
Nayl　nodded。　'You　could　see　he　was　interested。　Gold's　rare　on　Eechan。　His　eyes　lit　when　I　showed　him　that　ingot。'
'He'll　want　to　check　us；　though。'
'Of　course。　He's　a　businessman。'

We　walked　along　the　street；　hoods　raised　against　the　sticky　rain。　There　were　a　few　mutants　around；　all　of　them　dressed　in　rancid
tatters。　They　shambled　along；　lurked　in　doorways　around　covered　braziers；　or　shared　obscura　bottle…pipes　out　of　the　rain　in　dim
breezeways。
A　squirt　of　sirens　warbled　down　the　main　street　and　Nayl　pulled　me　into　an　alley…end。　A　black　armoured　land　speeder　with　blazing
grilled　lamps　crept　past。
I　saw　the　crest　motif　of　the　mainhive　arbites　on　the　side　and　an　armoured　officer　sat　in　the　top　hatch　manipulating　a　spotlight。
The　beam　played　across　us　and　passed　along。　Another　flute　of　siren…noise　sounded　and　we　heard　a　vox…amplified　voice　demand；
'Idents　and　papers；　you　five。　Now！'
Moaning　and　grumbling；　a　pack　of　twists　moved　out　into　the　street；　lit　by　the　spot…beam；　as　the　officers　dismounted　to　shake　them
down　and　run　their　gene…prints　through　the　system。
Something　we　couldn't　afford　to　let　happen。　Not　if　we　wanted　to　maintain　our　position