T<\/strong><\/span>he leather-skinned, hard-faced man entered the brothel, carrying a shoulder-mounted gun. He resembled an Afroid Old Terran and wore a long pseudoskin overcoat. Unlike other Terran visitors, he didn\u2019t wear a transparent facial membrane against the toxic moondust \u2014 or even the customary goggles that even native Moonies used. This might have caused damage to his brown eyes, but they seemed only slightly bloodshot.<\/p>\n

Two bouncer bots, walking gorilla-like on their knuckles, blocked his entrance in the hallway.<\/p>\n

\u201cWeapon-free zone, sir,\u201d said one bouncer in an aggressive basstone. \u201cDeposit all weaponry in the cashier\u2019s booth, sir. If you have weapon implants, they must be neutralized with ParaGel before you can enter.\u201d<\/p>\n

The other robot added, in a lighter tone: \u201cBest little whorehouse on the Moon, sir. Caters to all tastes. Except the illegal ones. Illegal by lunar law, if you know what I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chewing on a toothpick, the leather-skinned man slowly reached for his shoulder-gun and removed it. Carefully, he placed the gun on the cashier\u2019s front desk. Behind the desk, a bald woman with faded military tattoos on her forehead put the weapon away. She pointed a scanner at the man\u2019s legs.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the boots,\u201d she said. \u201cI see you\u2019ve got a concealed blade.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man let out a theatrical, weary sigh and leaned his back against a wall to pull off his high snakeskin boots. His toothpick moved in and out between his lips, rolled from one corner of his mouth to the other.<\/p>\n

He made a show of how much effort it took to pick the boots up. When he finally put them down on the desk, a stiletto blade flicked out of one heel.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe spring\u2019s broken,\u201d he said. \u201cI forgot my other boots down the well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course you did,\u201d said the cashier. \u201cYou\u2019re clean. Do you want to hang up your coat, have some refreshments in the bar?\u201d<\/p>\n

The man with skin like brown leather gave her a scowl. \u201cIs this a whorehouse or a bar?\u201d<\/p>\n

She shrugged. \u201cVery well. Enter the door of your choice. Enjoy your stay, Mr. …?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMister Brown.\u201d<\/p>\n

She nodded to the bouncers, and they let him pass.<\/p>\n

Barefoot, Brown walked across the main foyer, where guests and personnel lounged in the bar and on gently vibrating couches. A row of doors lined the other end of the foyer, labeled by preferences. He entered the doorway marked MALE CUSTOMERS (HETERO), and it performed a quick body scan.<\/p>\n

\u201cGender confirmed, no known diseases found,<\/em>\u201d the doorway said softly and opened for him. \u201cWelcome to the House of Hormones!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

An elevator took him down one level, and he walked out into a hallway lined with more doors. Each door displayed a hologram of the female on duty inside, and her status. Most doors were tagged \u201cBUSY.\u201d<\/p>\n

The interior seemed new and expensive on the surface, but it might have been a cheap projection on a run-down basement. Something about the recycled air smelled off.<\/p>\n

Chewing on his toothpick, he arrived at a door in BUSY mode that holo-showed a voluptuous green-skinned NeoMartian. The tag above the display read: \u201cMartian Martha, Mistress of the <\/em>Red<\/em>Desert<\/em>. Let her teach you erotic secrets unheard of on other planets!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

He glanced at her face for a moment, to make sure he had got the right person, and pounded on the metal door with his fist.<\/p>\n

\u201cRoom service!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFark off!<\/em>\u201d cried a muffled male voice from the other side.<\/p>\n

Brown took out his toothpick and twisted it with his fingers. Out of the wooden splinter slid a black blade, two millimeters wide, made of the same fiber as an orbital elevator-cable.<\/p>\n

He shoved the miniature blade into the upper part of the door, and pulled down in a single movement. The sheet of cheap lunar aluminum split like paper, and Brown stepped in through the gash.<\/p>\n

On a heart-shaped bed, wrapped in sheets, the air thick with pheromone aerosols, lay two green-skinned NeoMartians. The male one, his face deep-green with fury, fluttered bushy eyelashes as he stared at the intruder.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho the fark you think you are, pink<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI came for the lady. Get out.\u201d<\/p>\n

The customer had not finished talking, before Brown grabbed and thrown him out the broken door.<\/p>\n

To the lady on the bed, Brown said: \u201cCitizen\u2019s arrest. Get dressed. I\u2019m taking you down the well.\u201d<\/p>\n

Martha reached for a bedside drawer, but he rushed it and kicked the drawer shut. She snapped back her green fingers and bared her teeth.<\/p>\n

\u201cAny second now, the bouncers will come in and fry your Pink ass.\u201d She dressed quickly, glancing at the doorway for the rescue that wouldn\u2019t arrive. \u201cYou can\u2019t leave this place with me. You\u2019re crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n

He grabbed her wrist hard, and slipped a ribbon of his pseudoskin coat across it. The living tissue of the ribbon locked around her wrist like a handcuff.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll bring you back alive. The other guy won\u2019t. He likes to hurt his marks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat<\/em> other guy?\u201d<\/p>\n

A loud crash sent vibrations through the entire corridor floor. He glanced down at his bare feet, and his scowl turned into a look of bewilderment.<\/p>\n

\u201cGot spare shoes?\u201d<\/p>\n

S<\/strong><\/span>econds later, Brown ran away through the corridor with Martian Martha in tow. In the lunar gravity they had to skip like gazelles \u2014 and the glittering high heels on his feet did not make him look any less ridiculous.<\/p>\n

They reached a fire door. Brown sliced it open with the toothpick blade, and dragged Martha through the opening. Behind them came the noise of an approaching, heavy figure.<\/p>\n

The fire door led to an airshaft with a winding stairwell. Brown hoisted the girl over one shoulder, ignoring her shrieks and beating fists, and ran up the stairs. A furious growl sounded from the fire door, and something smashed right through it. Brown did not stop to look at the pursuer.<\/p>\n

H<\/strong><\/span>e emerged from the stairwell and into a back alley behind the brothel\u2019s entrance. A trash-bot stood along a wall, chomping and sorting garbage with a stomping, grinding noise.<\/p>\n

Brown pressed a switch on a trash container, and a section of it fell open. Inside in a hidden compartment lay a motorbike; he picked it up.<\/p>\n

\u201cHop on,\u201d he told Martha, and loosened the ribbon from her wrist. \u201cThat\u2019s Toe-Eater <\/em>who\u2019s coming for the same bounty, and he\u2019s still mad about last time I beat him to it.\u201d She hesitated; Brown pulled her onto the seat behind him and closed the bike shell. A transparent bubble folded out around them, and he drove off. As the bike speeded out of the alley and into the street, a giant hairy figure ran after them and waved his fists.<\/p>\n

Brown turned on the cruise control and checked the rearview screen: Toe-Eater had stopped following them. All around them, neon lights and holoprojections created the glamorous New Paris skyline that covered the drab, colorless buildings of the domed city.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay?\u201d he asked. Only now did he notice that even the whites of Martha\u2019s eyes had a green tint. Her eyelashes, made to shield the eyeballs from getting sandblasted by Martian gales, were two inches long and dark-green. Her long hair fluttered like seaweed in the air. Rumor had it a NeoMartian could live on sunlight and water for up to six months.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not<\/em> okay,\u201d she said. \u201cEarth gravity is gonna kill <\/em>me! But you don\u2019t care, do you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll live. I hear the Terran weather does wonders for the chloroplasts. Maybe you\u2019ll sprout flowers down there.\u201d He paused. \u201cOn Earth.\u201d<\/p>\n

Martha clung to his body, more than she had to.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo how much does the Agency pay you to bring me in?\u201d Her voice softened. \u201cMaybe I can give you a better offer.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brown was silent for a moment. \u201cI\u2019ve got this aching stiffness in the back of my neck…\u201d<\/p>\n

Her hand went to work on his neck; its muscles were like ropes. Her other hand reached down below his belt buckle.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell me about \u2018Green\u2019 Fingers,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you want to know?\u201d She leaned forward and licked his ear.<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brown pressed the opacity setting, and the bike\u2019s shell turned dark. The cruise control took them to the spaceport.<\/p>\n