Starlady & Fast-Friend Read online

  For many of us, the Ace Double Novels of the ’50s and ’60s have long been a source both of pleasure and nostalgia. This new double volume from Subterranean Press stands squarely in that distinguished tradition, offering a pair of colorful, fast-paced novelettes from one of the most popular writers currently working in any genre: George R. R. Martin.

  Starlady takes place on a planet called Thisrock and depicts a Darwinian society populated by thieves, whores, cutthroats, pimps, and assorted lost souls. It is a tale of love, loss, vengeance, and ambition written with great economy of means, and with a narrative intensity that never, ever lets up.

  Fast-Friend takes a fresh new look at an enduring human dream: travel to the stars. With consummate narrative skill, and with a visionary’s sensibility, Martin tells an unforgettable story of longing and transcendence, a story suffused with images at once beautiful and terrifying, mysterious and profound.

  Dust Jacket Illustration © 2008 by Martina Pilcerova.

  George R. R. Martin

  Starlady & Fast-Friend

  Table of Contents

  Starlady

  Fast-Friend

  Document Information

  Starlady

  THIS story has no hero in it. It’s got Hairy Hal in it, and Golden Boy, and Janey Small and Mayliss, and some other people who lived on Thisrock. Plus Crawney and Stumblecat and the Marquis, who’ll do well enough as villains. But it hasn’t got a hero… well, unless you count Hairy Hal.

  On the day it all began, he was out late, wandering far from the Plaza in the dock section near the Upend of the Concourse. It was night-cycle, the big overhead light-panels had faded to black, and here the wall-lights were few and dim. Elsewhere, just down the Concourse, the Silver Plaza was alive with music; multi-colored strobes were Hashing, and joy-smoke was belching from the air ducts. But Hal walked in darkness, through silent halls full of deserted loading trucks, past shadowed stacks of freight. Here, near the docks, Thisrock was much as the Imperials had known it. The corridors near the Plaza were all shops and disfigured plastic; the walls of the Concourse were covered with boasts and slogans and obscenities. But here, here, the only markings on the shining duralloy were the corridor numbers that the men of the Federal Empire had left. Hairy Hal knew the business was elsewhere. But he’d given up on business that night, and he was here.

  Which was why he heard the whimper.

  Why he followed it is something else again. The starslums were full of whimpers, plus screams and shouts and pleading. Hairy Hal was a child of the starslums, and he knew the rules. But that night he broke them.

  In the black of a cross-corridor, up against some crates, he found Crawney and his men, with their victims. One victim was a youth. He stood in shadow, but Hal could make out a slender, graceful body, and his eyes. His eyes were immense. With him was a young woman, or maybe just a girl. She was backed up against the wall, under a yellow wall-light. Her face was pale, scared. And dark hair fell past her shoulders, so clearly she was off-world.

  Crawney confronted them, a short slim man with black and red skull stripes and a mouth full of teeth that stuck out too far. He dressed in soft plastic, and he worked for the Marquis. Hal knew him, of course.

  Crawney was unarmed. But the pair with him, the silent giants with the heads painted black, each of them carried a dark baton, and they waved them gracefully in front of them. Stingsticks. They kept the victims cornered.

  So Hairy Hal, unnoticed, knelt in darkness and watched it all. It was a bleak episode, but one he’d seen before. There were soft threats from Crawney, delivered in a mild slurring voice. There were pleadings from the woman. There was a lightning pass from a stingstick, and a scream from the boy. Then whimpers, as he lay crumpled on the floor. Then another stingstick pass, a touch to the head, and the whimpering stopped.

  Finally there were two rapes; Crawney, amused, just watched. Afterwards they took everything, and left her there crying beside the boy.

  Hairy Hal waited until they were long gone, until even the echoes of their passage had faded from the corridor. Then he rose and went to the woman. She was naked and vulnerable. When she saw him, she gave a small cry and struggled to get up.

  So he smiled at her. That was another of Hal’s trademarks; his smile. “Hey now, starlady,” he said. “Easy. Hal won’t hurt you. Your friend might need help.”

  Then, while she watched through wide eyes, he knelt down near the boy and rolled him under the wall-light with one hand. The youth was blacked out from pain, but otherwise unhurt. But Hal didn’t notice that much. He was staring.

  The youth was golden.

  He was like no boy Hal had ever seen. His skin was soft cream gold; his hair was a shimmery silver-white. The ears were an elf’s, pointed and delicate, the nose small and chiseled, the eyes huge. Human? Hal didn’t know. But he knew it didn’t matter. Beauty was all that mattered, beauty and glowing innocence. Hairy Hal had found his Golden Boy.

  The woman had 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 hand, and took it off the table.

  Then he smiled at her. “Easy to get hurt,” he repeated.

  She chewed her lip. “Can’t you get it replaced?”

  He laughed. “Probly, starlady, on Rhiannon. Probly Prometheans could, too. But Hal’s here, and Thisrock forgot a lot during the Collapse. No. Not even if Hal was an insider, an’ Hal is no insider. Hairy Hal is a starslum pimp.”

  Janey’s eyes widened. “I don’t care,” she said. “You’re better than those others. You helped us.”

  Behind him Mayliss laughed. Hal ignored her. “Hey now, starlady,” he said smiling, “Listen and learn, an’ learn quick. Starslummers don’t help anyone, less they get a slice. Hal is no hero, he didn’t even try to stop that rip an’ rape, right? But Hal is offering you good, and straight, so listen to him spin. Starlady and Golden Boy can stay here till day-cycle. When the lights come on, they got to pick. One, go out and take their chances, and good luck. Two—” he cocked his head questioningly—“they stay and work for Hal.”

  He lifted his right arm then, struggling and trembling, without using his left. It hit the table with a thump. Mayliss was laughing again. “Hairy Hal was good with a no-knife,” he said, patting his arm with his good hand. “Still, this. Pick.”

  Well, I told you he wasn’t a hero.

  Janey’s face went baffled at first, as she listened to Hal’s words. Then, despite herself, she began to cry. Mayliss kept on laughing, but Hal’s smile faded then. He shrugged, and shook his head, and went to bed.

  The tears stopped in time and Janey sat alone, watching pink shadows race across the room. After a long time, her gaze wandered to Golden Boy asleep on the couch, and she went to him and curled up on the floor so her face was close to his. She stroked his silvery hair, and smiled at him, and thought.

  But, of course, she had no choice. When day-cycle came Janey told Hal what she must.

  He gave her a smile. He did not get one back.

  “You’ll work the Silver Plaza,” he told her, as he stood across the table and buckled a plastic belt. “Starlady’s fresh, an’ young, an’ she smells of stars, an’ that’s all good for trade. Mayliss’ll take the Concourse. Hal will take you round today, an’ spin out all the rules. Listen.”

  She looked at the couch. “What about the boy?”

  “Mayliss!” Hal bellowed. When she came, glaring, he gestured. “Stay an’ feed the Golden Boy, spin him soft when he blinks, an’ don’t let him fly. Hal’s got plans for Golden Boy.” He went back into his bedroom.

  Mayliss watched his door shut with a sullen expression, then turned on Janey. “Why don’t you run, ship girl?” she said. “Run back to your ship. You don’t click here, and Hairy Hal don’t click so good himself. Scope him smart before you root, he isn’t all that much. You and Golden Boy will get shoved up an air duct if you believe his wobbly spin.”

  Hal emerged from the bedroom, dressed in a black swoopshirt and his cape. “Seal it, redhead,” he told Mayliss. Then, to Janey: “First lesson, listen flow.” He reached across his body, beneath his cape, and his hand came out holding a finger-sized rod of black metal.

  “No-knife,” he said. He did something with his thumb, and suddenly there was a humming, and a foot-long blue haze that stuck out from his fist. “They make them, well, not here. They come on ships. The force-blade’ll cut anything, cept durloy, an’ it’s clean an’ quick. Hal was good once, now not so good, but still he’s better than most. This is your protection, starlady. This is why you don’t get hit no more. Today Hal’s parading you round the Plaza, an’ the word gets out. Tomorrow no one touches you.”

  “Cept Marquis,” Mayliss said. Her tone was cutting. “Cept Marquis and Crawney and Stumblecat, and any other blackskull who wants you. They get you free, starlady, and they do anything they want with you, and Hal don’t do a thing. Right, Hairy Hal? Spin that at her.”

  Hairy Hal made a palming motion, the ghost blade blinked out and the black rod vanished beneath his cape. “Dress, starlady,” he told Janey. “Take something from Mayliss, anything you like, an’ cut it to size.”

  “Hey now,” Mayliss started, but Hal raised his voice and bulled right over her.

  “You pick, you get, starlady,” he said. “Keep your hair, so they know you work for Hal. But tie something red round your head, so they know you work.”

  Afterwards, they left Mayliss and Golden Boy alone, and went out into the corridor down to the Concourse, out towards the Plaza. Janey Small wore a red headband and a gossamer yellow dinger and a cool, pale face. She did not talk. Hal did all the talking, Hal in black and green, who smiled and kept his arm around her.

  The Concourse, already, was jammed. Hal pulled Janey to a food stall, nodded to the man behind the counter, and they both ate crusty brown breadsticks and cubes of cheese. Janey put her elbows up on the counter. Hal put his arm around her, rubbed her shoulder, and pointed at people with his eyes.

  That one’s a thief, he told her, and that one pushes dreams, and the other with the wide eyes and the drools, well, he’s that buys them. And there’s another pimp, but his girls are old and baggy, and there’s Bad Tanks who owns a stall out near the plaza. Don’t ever eat there, though, cause he laces his sticks with dust to bring in more new dreamers. French is a joy-smoke merchant, he’s quick but you can trust him, but Gallis don’t sell nothing but a spin.

  They started down the Concourse together, past the grimy plastic walls and the countless shops, past fat, half-naked women with shaved red skulls who glared at them resentfully, past swaggering youths with stingsticks who gave Hal a wide berth. All the time Janey Small walked in silence while Hal kept on his lessons.

  The place with the blue curtains is Augusty’s, he told her, he rents you bodyguards that you can trust. But never, never get a guard from Lorreg, worse than Crawney, only half the brains. That fat man with the green stars on his head? He’s a pimp, a straight one if someone gets to me, you go to him. Dark Edward pimps too, yes, but don’t go near him, he used to be much bigger than he is. Over there you’ve got yourself religion, if you’re the kind who likes to mumble in the dark. The guy in the silver swoopsuit, he don’t have long to live, he talks too loud and he’s going to get a stingstick up his ass.

  They reached the Silver Plaza: a huge open place at the end of the Concourse, a ceiling far above that spilled down silver lights, tiers of balconies and shops, welling music all around them, a troupe of dancers whirling in the street. Hal pushed his way toward them; Janey followed. He watched, smiling. One of the women, a blur in scarlet veils, spun up against him, stopped, and grinned. He reached under his cape and pressed something into her palm. She grinned again, and danced away.

  “What did you give her?” Janey asked, curious despite herself, after they’d elbowed free.

  “A coin,” Hal said, shrugging. “The dancing clicks for Hal, starlady. Probly that’s another lesson for you. You won’t get hi
t cause you’re with Hal, right? But you don’t hit no one, see? Hal spins straight, the ship men give steers to pimps who serve up girls without the stingsticks.”

  Suddenly his arm tightened on her shoulder. “An’ there,” he said, pointing with his chin “There’s two more lessons for starlady, walking right together.”

  She looked in the direction he’d indicated. A man and a woman were making their way across the Plaza slowly. The man was broad-shouldered and blond, dressed in a dark floor-length cloak with heavy gold embroidering. The woman was brown-skinned, with kinky black hair and a pale green uniform.

  Janey was still looking when she heard the voice from behind her. “The man is one of the leading citizens of Thisrock,” the voice said, in a mellow, purring tone. “We call his kind insiders. The woman is an officer from a Promethean starship, of course; I expect that you knew that, dear. And your lesson, I’d guess, was to be that both insiders and Prometheans are to be treated with deference. They are powerful people.”

  They turned. The speaker was wearing a Promethean uniform, too; but unlike the woman’s his was thin and patched. He had nothing else in common with the starship officer, or with anyone else in the crowd. Instead of being hairless, his face and hands were both completely covered by a soft gray fur. His ears were pointed, his nose was black, his eyes feline. He was, in fact, a man-cat.

  “Hello, Hal,” he said, in the oddly gentle voice that mocked the stingstick swinging from his belt. Then he smiled at Janey. “Right now you’re full of questions,” he said. “I know them all. First, I don’t talk like the others because I’m not from Thisrock, and I have an education. I don’t look like the others because I was genetically altered. A game they play with the lowborn on Prometheus, you know. My alterations were not satisfactory, though, so I wound up here. Some of them work, however. I heard Hal’s last comment from quite a distance. Now, yes, that should cover it.” He smiled. His teeth were very sharp.