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 as anonymous mutants。 One flash of my
credentials would speed us past any arbites red…tape。 But it might also alert Lyko。
I'd insisted on full concealment for the mission。 No one knew we were here； officially。 Aemos had done some surreptitious checking；
and there was no official trace of Lyko either。 But that was to be expected； and there was no telling how many mainhive officials he
might have back…handed to alert him of any Inquisitorial presence。
Nayl and I turned west at the next junction； and followed the maze of alleys and breezeways between the rents and mill…habs to reach
the Twist and Sleep by a circuitous route that would keep us off the main thoroughfares and away from arbites patrols。
And； as it turned out； bring us right into trouble。
IT DIDN'T LOOK like trouble at first。 A short； flat…browed runt in rags stepped into our path； grinning like a salesman。 He held his hands
open； as if he was going to curtsy。 Twists； my twists； my friends… spare a few 'perials for a poor badgene down on his luck；' I heard
Nayl begin to say； 'Not tonight； twist。 S'get you to one side。' But I had already tensed。 How had this scabscum known to ask for
Imperial coins if he hadn't seen us at the bar and followed us on purpose？
His accomplices came out of the gloom and sap…rain behind us。
I rammed the word Evade！ hard into Nayl's mind with a 'pathic surge and dropped。
A massive； spiked weapon sailed through the space our heads had just been occupying and connected with nothing but air。
The rant who had ost obscene series of curses I have ever； ever heard and dived on me。 He had a doubleheaded
dagger with a nurled hand…guard。
I caught his upflung wrist as he made to gouge at me； broke his elbow and kicked him through a nearby fence while he was still
screaming in pain。
'Boss！ Move！' I heard Nayl sing out and I rolled hard aside in the mud as the spiked weapon slammed down into the mire。
It was a thick length of timber with dozens of nails and knife blades hammered through it。
The friendly end of it was held by two amazingly large paws。 The paws belonged to a hulk； a two hundred kilo monster covered with
blistered fish…scales and bony scutes。 It wore only a pair of ragged blue trousers held in place around its midriff； almost comically； by
a pair of red braces。
It swung the spike…post at me again； and I had to dive and shoulder…roll to escape it。
Nayl was going toe…to…toe with two others： a snouted female in black leather whose mouth and nose were hideously combined into
one drooling； snarling organ； and a tall； thin male with a face peculiarly distorted by bone and gristle。
The female had a reaping sickle in each hand； and the tall male was armed with a mace made out of a reinforced strut toothed with the
rusting blades of two wood saws。
Nayl had drawn his serrated shortsword and duelling knife and was fending off thrusts and strikes from both of them。
A power sword； a boltgun； a lascarbine… they would all have finished this unnecessary encounter fast enough。 But we had agreed to
carry nothing tha