just appear out of nowhere was jarring. And they congratulated Leighton on his win as if they were in the room with us.

In small letters at the bottom of the screen were the words “Live, broadcast throughout the entire Machby system.” I noticed that Leighton had found a pair of shorts from somewhere. I also noticed that his erection was as excited to win as he was, straining against the fabric like a caught animal. I tried to sneak away from the dataphone, so as to be out of broadcast range, but… no luck.

“And who’s your friend, Mr. Axcess? How does he feel about the good news?” the blonde asked, turning her holographic head to look at me.

Up on the media screen was the footage sent around the system: the commentators, Leighton in his tented shorts and myself, halfway off the bed, covering my crotch with a pillow.

Frozen in terror.

“This is my friend Braden James!” Leighton yelled. He pulled me up to my feet. I was gripping the pillow so hard, I could feel it tearing.

“He’s a Prostitute!”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” beamed the little thin man. “And Mr. James, what do you feel about your friend winning the annual jackpot?”

“He’s my client, actually,” I managed to cough out. “And I guess I feel I should up my rates.”

That aroused peals of laughter from the commentators. Leighton squeezed me around the shoulders and kissed my cheek.

“Mr. Axcess, check your dataphone. I’ll bet you have a message from Central Banking!”

Leighton looked at his dataphone and his jaw dropped in actual, genuine shock.

“Oh my God, oh my God!”

He started jumping around again, his face a mask of pure happiness.

So, he was capable of that emotion.

“Four hundred and seventy six billion IPC’s!”

Now it was my turn to drop my jaw. And my pillow.

“Well, Mr. James!” purred the blonde woman. “Looks like it’s a sellers market!”