Of course, on the other side of the little railing that set Vastra's cafй off from the rest of the Spindle, half the tunnel-rats on Venus were thinking the same thoughts. This was the worst of the low season. The Hohmann crowd was still three months in the future, and all of us were beginning to run low on money. My need for a liver transplant was just a little extra incentive; of the hundred maze-runners I could see out of the corner of my eye, ninety-nine needed to cut a helping out of this tourist's bankroll as much as I did, just for the sake of staying alive.
We couldn't all do it. He looked pretty fat, but nobody could have been fat enough to feed us all. Two of us, maybe three, maybe even half a dozen might score enough to make a real difference. No more than that.
I had to be one of those few.
I took a deep swallow of my second drink, tipped the Third of Vastra's House lavishly-and conspicuously-and turned idly around until I was facing the Terries.
The girl was bargaining with the knot of souvenir vendors leaning over the rail. "Boyce?" she called over her shoulder. "What's this thing for?"
He bent over the rail and peered. "Looks like a fan," he told her.
"Heechee prayer fan, right!" the dealer cried. I knew him,
Booker Allemang, an old-timer in the Spindle. "Found it myself, miss! It'll grant your every wish, letters every day from people reporting miraculous results-"
"It's sucker bait," Cochenour grumbled. "Buy it if you want to."
"But what does it do?" she asked.
Cochenour had an unpleasant laugh; he demonstrated it. "It does what any fan does. It cools you down. Not that you need that," he added meanly, and looked over to me with a grin.
My cue.
I finished my drink, nodded to him, stood up, and walked over to their table. "Welcome to Venus," I said. "May I help you?"
The girl looked at Cochenour for permission before she said, "I thought this fan thing was pretty."
"Very pretty," I agreed. "Are you familiar with the story of the Heechee?"
